You’d know; you were currently five months in and you couldn't wait for the next four months to get over.

Oh and then there would come the birth, postpartum depression, the probability of not loving your baby afterwards and being judged by society because you’re a woman and we’re all destined to die under the thumb of patriarchy one way or another—

And you’re crying again.

Fifth time today.

Great for you. 

The tears came hot and humiliating, sliding down your cheeks while you sat curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket wrapped around your swollen body. Your back hurt, your ankles hurt, your breasts hurt. Even breathing too deeply felt uncomfortable now, like your own ribs were protesting the life growing beneath them. You pressed a trembling hand against your stomach and laughed weakly through your tears.

You remembered when the test had first turned positive. Euijoo had stared at it for a full ten seconds in complete silence, eyes wide and disbelieving before looking at you as though the world had just handed him something sacred. Then he’d laughed—a startled, breathless sound—and pulled you into his arms so quickly you nearly dropped the test into the sink.

“We’re having a baby?” he’d whispered against your hair like he still couldn’t believe it.

Back then, happiness had been easy, bright and weightless.

Euijoo had kissed your stomach every night despite there being nothing there yet. He’d spent hours researching cribs and vitamins and the safest baby monitors as if preparing for an exam he absolutely could not fail. You still remembered how he’d looked sitting cross-legged on the floor of your shared apartment, reading parenting forums with a furrow between his brows so deep you’d laughed at him until he pouted and claimed he was being a responsible father.

And God, you loved him.

You loved him in the way he always reached for your hand during crowded walks, in the way he memorized your coffee order after hearing it once on your second date, in the way he looked at you like you were something soft enough to protect and strong enough to admire all at once.

Euijoo loved through warm meals waiting for you after exhausting days, through fingers combing gently through your hair when migraines left you unable to speak, through sleepy midnight conversations and forehead kisses and the habit he had of pulling you closer in his sleep like his body knew yours by instinct.

And he still loved you now. 

Even when pregnancy had hollowed you out and replaced your patience with exhaustion and your confidence with fear.

Euijoo rubbed lotion onto your stretch marks with reverent care, woke up at three in the morning to hold your hair back when you got sick, whispered ‘you’re beautiful’ so sincerely that sometimes it made you cry harder because you couldn’t understand how he still saw beauty in someone who felt so miserable all the time.

You were happy. You were.

But happiness and pain could exist together, and nobody warned you about that part. Nobody told you that growing a child could feel miraculous and unbearable at the same time. That you could want this baby with your entire heart and still feel moments where you wanted to give up simply because everything hurt too much.

You wiped your eyes with a sleeve already stiff from salt, and the motion made you think of his sleeves. Euijoo’s, how they’d always been soft.

You hadn’t met him in some grand, cinematic way. It was at a friend’s cramped apartment, a board game night. He was quiet, but his laughter was a sudden, clear sound that cut through the noise, and you found yourself trying to make it happen again. 

He had a way of listening that made you feel like your thoughts were being gathered like mushrooms from a forest. His hands were gentle—he sketched in margins, on napkins, on the back of your hand once, a tiny, perfect star.

When Euijoo loved you, it was with a quiet certainty that felt like shelter. He remembered the songs you hummed absentmindedly and learned them. He cooked meals that were colorful because he said your joy deserved a palette. Your love was the steady warmth of a hearth in a room you both built, brick by brick. You’d talk for hours about everything and nothing—the ethics of fictional worlds, the shape of clouds that looked like old memories, the best way to eat an avocado.

The catalyst for your tears today was an avocado.

A stupid, simple, perfectly ripe avocado you’d been craving for two days. You’d finally mustered the energy to go to the market, stood in line feeling like a swollen monument to inconvenience, just for this one thing.

You got it home. You sliced it in half with ceremonial care and the pit—the damn pit—wouldn’t budge. You tried the knife trick, you tried a spoon, you tried gripping it with a towel, your hands slippery. Nothing. 

You stood there in the silent kitchen, wrestling with this stubborn seed, and a wave of pure, childish frustration crested over you. It wasn’t just about the avocado anymore. It was about the jar you couldn’t open yesterday, the socks you couldn’t bend to pick up this morning, your own body becoming a series of locked doors you no longer had the keys to.

You gave it one last, furious wrench and the knife slipped. It didn’t cut you deeply, but it nicked the side of your thumb, a bright bead of red welling up against the green flesh of the fruit. And that was it. 

The dam broke.

You weren’t crying over the avocado, or the cut. You were crying because you felt broken, defeated by a vegetable. The tears were hot and silent as you sank down in defeat onto the small kitchen island seat, cradling your hand, the uncut avocado halves staring up at you like mocking, green eyes.

A memory came into your mind—his hand, steady and warm under yours. A night on the sofa, early in your relationship, bathed in lamplight. You were talking about dreams and stars and whatnot. 

"Draw me one.” You’d said, pointing to your skin. He’d produced a pen from behind his ear—he always had one—and drew a tiny star on the back of your hand. His touch was feather-light, his concentration absolute. 

"There.” He’d said, sealing it with a soft kiss to the ink. "A piece of a constellation, just for you. So you're never lost." You felt chosen, adorned, seen in the most delicate way.

You looked at the same hand now, the star long washed away. In its place was a small, stinging, your wedding band feeling tight and foreign. You weren't a canvas for dreams anymore, you were a clumsy, sore vessel. The contrast was so violently absurd it made a sob catch in your throat.

Stupid stupid stupid.

___________

The front door clicked shut with a quiet thud.

Euijoo stepped inside carefully, shrugging off his coat with one hand, exhaustion still clinging to the slope of his shoulders from work. The apartment was warm and washed gold by the evening light filtering through the curtains. Usually, you’d call out to him by now. Usually there’d be the soft sound of your slippers against the floor or your sleepy voice asking what he wanted for dinner.

Instead, he heard a tiny, muffled sniffle from the kitchen and his heart dropped instantly.

Not out of irritation or alarm, just that immediate, aching tenderness that always seized him whenever you cried now. Pregnancy had made your emotions delicate in the same way frost made flower petals delicate—one small thing and suddenly everything trembled apart. Euijoo set his bag down and followed the sound. 

And there you were. Perched miserably on the kitchen stool in one of his oversized shirts, face damp with tears, one hand cradling the other while a mutilated avocado sat abandoned on the cutting board beside you like evidence of a crime scene. For a moment, he simply stood there unnoticed.

And God.

You were so beautiful.

Soft and angelic, the incarnation of heaven, and carrying something precious inside you at tremendous cost to yourself.

The curve of your stomach beneath the fabric made something deep in his chest ache with overwhelming affection. His child, your child, a tiny life the two of you had somehow created together, nestled safely beneath your ribs while you sat there crying over an avocado with the saddest expression he had ever seen in his life.

He loved you so much it frightened him sometimes.

Loved the sleepy puffiness beneath your eyes in the mornings, loved the stretch marks beginning to bloom faintly across your hips, loved the way you absentmindedly held your stomach now when you were upset, protective even through your frustration.

Euijoo looked at you and saw devotion made flesh, saw every sacrifice your body was making to bring your baby into the world, saw strength in the exhaustion and beauty in the tenderness of you.

His throat tightened painfully.

You sniffled again, wiping at your face angrily with the heel of your palm, and he noticed the tiny cut on your thumb immediately. That did him in completely.

His expression softened into something unbearably gentle as he crossed the kitchen quietly, as though approaching a frightened animal he didn’t want to startle.

“Baby…” he murmured.

You startled slightly, eyes lifting to him, embarrassed tears immediately gathering harder the second you saw him.

“I hate everything,” you whispered miserably.

Euijoo almost smiled because you sounded so genuinely devastated that it wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

He stepped between your knees without hesitation, hands instinctively settling on your hips before one moved carefully to your injured hand. His fingers were warm, careful as he examined the tiny cut like it was something serious.

“Oh, my love.” The endearment alone nearly made you cry again.

His thumb brushed softly beneath your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. He leaned down until his forehead rested against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you with that same tenderness he’d had the night he drew stars onto your skin.

“I leave you alone for a few hours and you go to war with an avocado?” he murmured softly. A watery laugh escaped and victory flickered briefly across his face at the sound.

Euijoo kissed the corner of your mouth gently before pulling back just enough to look at you again, gaze moving slowly across your face like he was memorizing it.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

Your lips trembled. “Euijoo—”

“No, really.” His voice was soft but certain. “You sit here thinking you’re falling apart, and all I can think is how lucky I am.”

Another tear slipped free. He caught it with his thumb immediately.

“You’re carrying our baby,” he whispered, eyes shining now too. “You’re exhausted and hurting and still trying every day anyway. And you’re worried because an avocado made you cry?” He kissed the crown of your head softly, “I’d peel a thousand avocados for you if it meant you never had to cry over one again.”

Your breath hitched softly as your tall husband bent down to kiss you, a quiet anchor in the storm of your emotions, like he was trying to pour every ounce of love he had through touch alone.  

One of his hands remained at your hip while the other drifted instinctively over the gentle curve of your stomach beneath the oversized shirt, his palm warm through the fabric. 

Euijoo’s palm spread there possessively, reverently, thumb stroking slow circles over the taut skin. The pressure was gentle, but somehow it loosened something knotted painfully deep inside you. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been all day until his touch began smoothing it away piece by piece.

Under the steady, loving pressure of his touch, the pain softened from a scream to a sigh.  Your shoulders softened first, then your jaw and then the ache sitting heavy behind your ribs seemed to melt beneath the steady warmth of his hand. You let out a breath you didn't realize you’d been holding, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

“See?” he murmured against your lips, “Even our little one knows to settle down for dad.”

His hand continued rubbing soothing circles over your bump, almost absentmindedly now, like comforting the both of you at once. Every so often his thumb would pause when the baby shifted faintly beneath his palm, wonder flickering across his face each time no matter how many times it happened.

You watched him quietly. The absolute gentleness in him never failed to undo you. One of the many reasons you’d decided to make him your husband. 

“How do you always know what to do?” you asked hoarsely.

Euijoo smiled faintly, brushing his nose against yours. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No,” he murmured honestly. “I’m just obsessed with making you feel better.” A weak laugh escaped you again, and he looked absurdly pleased with himself for managing it. 

Euijoo held the kiss until your breathing evened out and your hands unclenched from the fabric of his shirt. “Stay." He whispered, as if you had any intention of moving.

Your husband moved around the kitchen gathering the first aid kit from the drawer. He guided you carefully to stay seated with a hand on your thigh before crouching slightly in front of you. 

He took your injured hand, cradling it in his own, and set about cleaning the tiny nick with an antiseptic wipe. His focus was absolute, his brow slightly furrowed in that way you loved.

Even now—even pregnant, swollen, exhausted—he looked at you like you hung the moon. It made your chest ache. You stared at him quietly while he worked.

His soft sweater sleeves were pushed up to his forearms. His hair had fallen messily over his forehead from the humidity outside. There was still tiredness lingering beneath his eyes from work, but he’d come home and immediately poured every remaining ounce of energy into you without hesitation. 

And the hormones were telling you that you didn't deserve a bit of this and that he deserved to rest properly and you were taking that away from him.

“Ju…” You said softly, “I’m not ridiculous for this, am I?”

“No baby.”  He finished applying a small, cartoon-character bandage. He smoothed the edges with his thumb, his touch lingering. “You could never be ridiculous to me. Overwhelmed? Yes. Fierce? Always. My beautiful, brave, avocado-conquering wife?” He brought your bandaged hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “Absolutely.”

Your lip trembled at that. Beautiful, brave—the words felt too large for someone who had dissolved into tears over produce fifteen minutes ago.

Euijoo seemed to notice the doubt flicker across your face immediately because his expression softened even further, impossibly gentle.

“Hey,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb across your knee. “What’s happening in that pretty little head?”

You looked away first, which alone told him enough.

The kitchen fell quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant rain beginning to patter lightly against the windows. Euijoo stayed crouched in front of you patiently, one hand still resting on your thigh. He never rushed you when you got like this, never demanded words before you were ready to give them.

“I just…” You swallowed thickly. “You work all day and then you come home and have to deal with me crying over avocados and stupid things and—”

“None of this is stupid.”

“But it feels stupid.” Your voice cracked softly. “And I feel…..difficult.”

His face changed instantly at that, something akin to hurt flashing across his beautiful eyes. Like the thought of you seeing yourself that way genuinely pained him. His hands felt warm against your skin. Like home. 

“Look at me,” he said quietly. You did and the look on his face made you want to cry all over again. Your husband, oh your darling husband. 

“I need you to understand something, my love.” His voice stayed soft, but there was certainty beneath it now. “Taking care of you is never something being taken away from me.” Your eyes stung immediately.

“I come home tired,” he admitted gently, brushing hair back from your damp face, “and then I see you, and suddenly I don’t care anymore because you’re my home too.”

A shaky breath left you. Euijoo leaned down, resting his forehead against yours again.

“You think I’d rather be resting somewhere else?” he whispered. “Than here with my wife and my baby?”

One of his hands slipped instinctively back to your stomach, spreading protectively over the curve of it. His thumb rubbed slow circles there again, soothing both of you at once.

“I love you.” He said simply. “Even when you cry. Even when that pretty mind is trying to convince you that it’s hard to love you.” His nose brushed yours lightly. “Especially then.”

The tears finally spilled over properly after that, silent and warm.

Euijoo sighed fondly the second he saw them. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered miserably.

“For what?”

“For being emotional all the time.”

He looked genuinely confused. “You’re growing a human being with your organs.” A tiny laugh escaped and he smiled warmly, that smile you’d fallen so deep in love with, “There she is,” he said immediately, eyes lighting up like he’d won something precious, “My sweet girl.”

He kissed you again—soft, lingering, full of affection that felt almost too big for your chest to hold. When he pulled away, he rested both hands around your face carefully.

“You know what I saw when I walked in here?” he murmured.

“A disaster?”

“My favorite person in the world.” Your face crumpled a little at that. Euijoo smiled softly, brushing away another tear with his thumb. “And maybe a slightly threatening avocado.”

You laughed harder this time, wet and breathless, and he grinned so brightly it made him look younger. Like making you smile was the most important thing he’d done all day.

You stayed there for a long time after that, neither of you in any hurry to move.

Euijoo stood between your knees while you leaned into him bonelessly, forehead resting against his chest, your arms loosely around his waist. One of his hands remained spread protectively over your stomach while the other moved slowly up and down your back in absentminded strokes.

The kitchen lights glowed soft and golden above you. Rain tapped quietly against the windows. Outside, the world continued moving at its usual pace, but inside your apartment time seemed to slow into something gentler. Safer. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear 

Home.

Every few minutes Euijoo would press a kiss into your hairline or temple like he simply couldn’t help himself. Sometimes he’d glance down at your stomach with this dazed little expression that still looked new on him every single time.

At one point the baby shifted faintly beneath his hand.

“Oh.’ He said softly, “Hi there, sweetie.” He whispered with quiet wonder.  

You smiled tiredly against his sweater. “She’s been kicking me all day.”

“Already causing trouble like her mother.”

“How dare you?” You gasped weakly. Another laugh escaped you, softer this time, and Euijoo looked ridiculously pleased by it again.

Eventually he tilted his head slightly to catch your eyes. “You wanna go lie down, baby?” he asked quietly. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” you admitted.

“Mm.” His thumb stroked over your hip. “Bed?” You hesitated.

Euijoo noticed immediately. “What?”

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight slightly with a small grimace. “I feel like if I lie down right now I’m gonna feel worse.” He listened carefully, nodding once like this was the most important medical briefing he’d ever received.

“The baby wants to move?” he asked solemnly.

“Your daughter,” you confirmed gravely, “wants to move.”

Euijoo hummed thoughtfully. Then a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Okay what?”

“Let’s dance.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Let’s dance.” He repeated like it was obvious. “Doctor’s orders.”

“There is absolutely no doctor that would prescribe dancing in the kitchen.”

“My medical license says otherwise.”

“You don’t have a medical license, Ju.” You laughed heartily. Your husband could be so ridiculous sometimes. You imagined what he’d be like with your daughter—inventing silly games, prescribing dance breaks for scraped knees—and your heart swelled until it ached.

Euijoo ignored your protest entirely and reached for his phone. A moment later, soft music crackled quietly through—something slow and warm, woven with strings and a gentle piano melody.

The song to which you’d had your first dance at your wedding, when the world was just the two of you and a circle of golden light.

Your husband—ever the romantic. You stared at him as he set the phone down and held his hand out toward you dramatically.

“Come on sweetheart.” His eyes softened instantly afterward, voice gentler. “Just a little.”

You looked down at yourself, oversized shirt, puffy eyes, swollen ankles. Euijoo looked at you like you were something sacred anyway, a statue carved from moonlight. 

“I look awful,” you mumbled automatically.

His expression turned scandalized. “You look like the love of my life.” Your face heated immediately. “Now,” he said firmly, wiggling his fingers at you, “dance with me before our child grows up thinking her mother hates fun.”

A reluctant smile tugged at your mouth as you slipped your hand into his. His fingers closed around yours and his other hand found the small of your back.

The kitchen seemed smaller somehow once you were in his arms, softer and warmer. The rain beyond the windows blurred the city lights into watercolor streaks while your song drifted through the apartment in quiet crackles of piano and strings, the melody wrapping around you both like memory.

Euijoo slid one hand to your waist while the other settled instinctively over your stomach again, protective and tender. You rested your hands against his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath the soft fabric of his sweater.

And you danced.

Not the polished sway of your wedding day, but something slower and truer, a careful navigation of the new geography of your body. Your steps were small shuffles, a quiet counterpoint to the music, bare feet against cool kitchen tile.

His forehead brushed yours as he hummed softly under his breath, slightly off-key in the way he always was when he got too comfortable. It made you smile instantly.

“You’re ruining our wedding song,” you murmured.

“I’m enhancing it.”

“You sound like a dying cello, baby.”

Euijoo gasped softly in mock offense before spinning you barely half a step, careful of your balance. A startled laugh escaped you, bright and alive enough that his entire face lit up at the sound.

God.

He loved that sound. You could tell, for he looked at your laughter like people looked at sunrises and other such precious things.

The song carried on around you gently, filling all the quiet corners of the apartment with something achingly intimate. Your bodies moved together without thought, without effort, like years of loving each other had taught you a language beyond words.

Then, a flutter, a distinct, rolling thump against the place where his hand rested on your side. You gasped softly against his shoulder. 

“Oh,” you breathed.

Euijoo’s eyes widened immediately beneath yours. “Did she kick again?”

Right on cue, another tiny flutter rolled beneath his palm. Both of you froze. And then you laughed at the exact same time. The sound spilled through the kitchen, warm and helpless and full of wonder.

“Our baby likes this song,” you whispered.

“Well obviously,” Euijoo said seriously. “Excellent taste. Genetically inherited from me.”

You snorted softly, leaning closer into him until your face tucked against his neck. Another kick answered almost immediately, stronger this time.

Euijoo let out the most awed little laugh you’d ever heard from another human being. One hand stayed on your stomach as though he couldn’t bear to lose contact now that your daughter was answering him from inside you.

“Hey there,” he murmured softly to your belly. “You dancing with us too?” 

Your chest tightened so painfully with love you thought it might split open.

The three of you.

In a tiny kitchen washed gold by evening light. An avocado still abandoned on the counter. Rain whispering against the windows. Your husband humming your wedding song while your unborn daughter kicked happily beneath his hand.

And suddenly the day didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

The exhaustion was still there, the aching body, the hormones, the fear. But they no longer felt sharp enough to drown you.

Euijoo pulled back just enough to look at you again. His eyes were soft in that dangerous way they got sometimes—so full of love it almost hurt to be seen by him.

“You know,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your stomach slowly, “I think this might be my favorite version of us.”

Your throat tightened instantly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, small and unbearably sincere. “You in my arms. Our baby dancing between us.”

The song swelled softly around you both.

You closed your eyes for a moment and let yourself sink fully into it—the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the tiny life fluttering gently inside you like a second heartbeat answering the first.

Love existed in grand declarations, yes.

But sometimes it existed here too. In kitchens, in laughter through tears, in cartoon bandages and slow dancing and a hand splayed reverently across the curve of new life. A perfect, temporary universe held in the palm of a single dance. 

And as Euijoo held you beneath the golden light, humming your song into your hair while rain painted silver trails against the windows, you thought perhaps this was what happiness truly looked like, not untouched by pain, but glowing softly beside it anyway.

In this moment, paradise truly belonged to you.

With love like this, love that felt like home.

fin.

A/N: first pregnant reader fic and i wrote it for euijoo are we surprised my good people. but yes i did cry whilst writing it like hello brain why are you giving me all this fluff i'll die. Anyways i hope all my people on ovulation are eating this up. Please do give a listen to Love like This by Fujii Kaze!!!

divider by @anitalenia

@eu1joo @kwnnies @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!

“okay, sweetheart, close your eyes.” euijoo murmured against your cheek before pulling back, a small giggle escaping from your lips as your eyelids fluttered shut. you could hear him move next to you, the blanket beneath you rustling with the motion.

the gentle breeze brushed itself through your hair, the cool evening air sending a shiver up your spine. as you sat there with your eyes shut tight, euijoo’s soft hand finding your face, your mind is sent back to the beginning. back to when everything began.

---

all those years ago, you had met euijoo in high school - painfully awkward interactions, terrible haircuts, even worse outfits. he had approached you during the school’s annual prom, both of you stood awkwardly to the side, no date to dance with.

“hey, uh, i’m euijoo. you probably already know that,” he said, his hands adjusting the blazer he wore. “you… you here alone too?”

you nodded, fixing your hair as you glanced at him.

“i know you. and yeah, i’m here alone too.”

your eyes didn’t miss the brief frown that flickered across his face. it was quickly replaced with a sheepish grin, his hand extended to you.

“well, um… wanna dance with me?” euijoo asked, sounding hopeful. you took his hand gratefully.

“of course i would.”

what blossomed from that fateful prom night was a beautiful relationship. both of you were unfamiliar with what love looked like, but it somehow felt natural when you were together, like finding a missing puzzle piece after searching for so long. you’d shared nervous touches, ‘accidental’ brushes of hands, pinkies linking as you walked to class together. sometimes, if euijoo felt brave, he’d cup your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead when he walked you home.

“see you tomorrow.” he’d whisper into your skin, cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink that you found utterly adorable.

you always loved how warm his hands felt on your cheeks.

---

“are you listening?” euijoo’s voice pulled you back into the present moment. you cleared your throat, nodding, your eyes still shut.

“yeah, i’m listening.”

“okay, good.”

a beat of silence passed, the sounds of the ocean calmly crashing against the shore being the only noise you could hear for a moment. then he continued.

“ever since the day i first spoke to you, at that stupid school dance… i’ve been sure of my feelings for you.” euijoo’s voice wavered ever so slightly. “and i’ve tried my best to show you every single day how undeniably in love i am.”

that familiar buzz of emotion hit you, tears already building up on your waterline.

“open your eyes, sweetheart.”

slowly, your eyes opened, adjusting to the light before focusing on what was in front of you - euijoo, on one knee, his big brown eyes full of love as he looked at you.

“oh, euijoo…” you whispered, the hot tears falling before you could say anything more.

“this has been on my mind for a while, i’m pretty nervous.” euijoo chuckled quietly, clearing his throat before fishing for something in his pocket. “my love for you can’t be expressed with the words of any language. you make me the happiest man on earth, and i’m so proud to be yours.”

pulling out a small box, he flips it open, revealing a beautiful ring, a diamond center stone, with encrusted gems along the band. you’d only ever dreamt of a ring as perfect as this.

“my love, will you marry me?”

time felt like it stopped when those words fell from his lips - the words you’d been waiting for since the day you met. 

“yes, baby. yes.”

sliding the ring over your finger, euijoo let out a heavy sigh of relief, his eyes watery as he admired you. he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. quiet sobs escaped both of you and euijoo, your face buried in his shoulder. everything about the moment felt unreal.

“i love you so much, euijoo.”

“i love you so much more.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ taglist: @byudai @nichozzystuffs @kwnnies @seanidas @preachersdaughterx @stxrrymarsz @ssosstrange @7yataki @makizdoll @minhosimthings @starshuas @leewayout @xionvlog @deerhuntings @smidare @fumaid

that was the problem. he never rejected you harshly, never pushed you away, and never looked uncomfortable. but he also never treated your confessions seriously either.

to him, you were just yudai’s younger sibling and his classmate. someone funny and someone he cared about.

that evening, you walked home beside yudai and euijoo after classes ended, absentmindedly kicking small rocks across the sidewalk while the two boys talked about basketball practice.

occasionally, euijoo glanced toward you whenever you got unusually quiet. which was happening a lot lately.

because honestly?

you were tired of being confused.

euijoo acted too nice for someone who supposedly didn’t like you back. he remembered your favorite snacks without trying, always saved you a seat during lunch, and waited for you after class whenever yudai got held back at practice.

sometimes it felt real enough to make your heart ache.

you finally reached your house, but before euijoo could say goodbye and leave, you stepped in front of him.

“euijoo, can i ask you something?”

he blinked down at you softly. “hm?”

your chest tightened immediately. “i was wondering if maybe you—”

before you could finish, your older brother suddenly hooked an arm around your neck and dragged you backward dramatically.

“okay, that’s enough embarrassing behavior for today.”

“oi!”

yudai ignored your complaints completely.

“stop bothering euijoo all the time,” he sighed. “the guy probably wants to go home in peace.”

you froze slightly at the words despite knowing yudai was teasing. for a second, you avoided euijoo’s eyes.

“…fine.” your voice came out quieter than before.

euijoo noticed immediately. his expression shifted slightly, almost like he wanted to say something, but yudai was already pulling you toward the front door.

you glanced back one last time with a small pout while euijoo stood there awkwardly, watching the two of you.

honestly, he never understood why you liked him this much.

the front door swung open.

yudai walked inside first, still rambling about something while you lingered behind for one more second. then suddenly—

“[name]!” yudai’s voice echoed from inside the house after realizing you weren’t following him anymore.

euijoo looked up instinctively. and before he could react properly, you quickly stepped forward, grabbed the front of his hoodie lightly, and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

everything stopped.

you giggled immediately after seeing his completely frozen expression before running into the house without another word.

the door slammed shut behind you.

outside, euijoo remained standing there in stunned silence, one hand slowly lifting toward the warmth still lingering on his cheek. his heartbeat became painfully loud all at once.

and for the first time since meeting you—

euijoo started thinking maybe your feelings weren’t as harmless as he originally thought.

“quit blinking”

“quit stabbing my eye.”

she sank her head deeper into the pillow in an attempt to escape your deadly weapon, which was just an old eyeshadow brush. it was frayed from years of use but still soft enough to use on your best friend’s precious eyes. you dipped into a muted, very loved light brown eyeshadow, packed neatly into a very loved palette, and you swirled it over euijoo’s fluttering, very loved eyes. 

“you asked me to, remember?” you taunted, dipping the brush back into the pigment, and euijoo took the opportunity to shove your shoulder as you leaned back down over her. with your weight settled low on her hips, you felt her stomach tighten with stifled laughter. the movement only made her situation more dangerous, made the brush in your hand unstable and the loose powder on the tip of it scatter on the roundest parts of her cheeks. 

“i asked you to do my makeup,” she mumbled, and she flinched, creasing the skin around her eyes as she squeezed them shut in short bursts, “not give me a black eye.” 

“like the one you’re gonna have when i beat you for wasting my expensive products?” 

euijoo cracked one eye open, tentatively checking your expression and gauging the sincerity of your threat, only to find your brows raised with pure amusement. in fact, you were smiling, like it didn’t bother you at all that she had you try three different foundations because the first two felt too sticky. they were all sticky, meant to stick to your skin all day long, but you gladly wiped the tint away with a cotton pad, silently musing over the way her natural skin looked better than any of the gunk you were about to layer over it. she had the perfect natural complexion, and you loved making her laugh because you got to see it a bit brighter, a bit louder. 

“you could have used the cheap stuff,” euijoo argued with a sigh, shifting her posture beneath you, “i just wanted you to make me look pretty.” 

she said it like it was nothing: make me look pretty. like you were a wizard with a staff or a genie in a lamp and she had just swiped her hand over the worn bronze edge of your prison. if that were the case, it was the kind of demand that would’ve resulted in hundreds of workarounds to make happen. you hesitated to press the brush into the fold of her eyelid; her hair was fanned out over the pillow, scrunching up with every flinch and laugh, and her lips were slightly downturned in a pout, naturally, as nothing was ever good enough for her. she had to have control of the music in the car, she demanded extra butter on her popcorn when you would spend an entire day movie hopping at the cinema, and she had to be prettier.

the words fell from your lips, casually, softly, “you’re always pretty.” 

and though you continued the same as before, the cautious graze of the brush’s fibers on the delicate skin of her eye, the infamous battle of trapping her sweeping lashes in the eyelash curler without somebody bleeding out on the bed, and the light pressure of the powder puff on her forehead to seal in all of your hard work, it felt different, disturbed, like you had flipped the light on or taken the first breath in the middle of a tunnel, your lungs concave in your chest. euijoo was less relaxed, too, if it were even possible. she didn’t flinch when you rolled the mascara through her unfairly long lashes, and she kept her eyebrows relaxed as you dragged a pencil over the tails of them, despite her incessant joking earlier in the night that she was going to wiggle them like worms just to get under your skin. as if she wasn’t already there. 

you dusted the finishing touches of powder over the curves of her cheeks, reluctant to dull her glow but necessary to preserve the work of the last hour. she did look pretty– you’d be lying if you said she didn’t. but she looked so different; the dark brown and pink shadow sank her round, glossy eyes into the even, somewhat lifeless complexion your foundation gave her. and as she opened her eyes, you noticed the smoky pigment on her lashline made her dark brown irises even richer. it was as if they were swirling, like frothy, hot coffee in a handmade ceramic mug. you didn’t even realize you were staring, eyes adjusting to this new version of your best friend that you, unexpectedly, didn’t exactly recognize. until she smiled. 

“all done?” euijoo asked, raising her eyebrows and visibly recoiling at the feeling of the hairs gelled in place, “can i see?” 

“all done,” you confirmed and leaned back to grab your mirror from behind you. you felt euijoo’s hand slide up the back of your leg, holding you in place as you craned your body haphazardly. it was typical of her to keep you upright–  she was always your shoulder to lean on, physically and emotionally– but, now, your stomach tightened, and not just to engage your core and keep you from sliding all the way off the bed. no, it flipped. it was like opening a bottle of soda from the most aggressive vending machine and twisting the cap off, slow, the wet hiss of the pressure a warning and a temptation. 

the mirror was heavy in your hands as you held it, blocking your face and perfectly centering hers in the reflective glass. you peered over the top, watching her tongue poke out of her mouth as she examined the textures of the products on her face, the precise layering of color on her eyes, and the intensity of it all. euijoo glanced once, quickly, at your focused stare, your mouth slightly agape and hidden behind the mirror, and fought a smile. you cleared your throat, adjusting your position on her lap, if only just to get her to drop her hands from your legs, to stop the goosebumps from pinching your arms and the butterflies’ unwavering beating against your stomach, your chest, all the way to your throat. there was no doubt that she could hear them as you asked, “do you like it?” 

you didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on you as she answered, “yeah.” euijoo reached up, then, and wrapped her fingers around one of your wrists, angling the mirror downward, bringing it a little closer. she furrowed her newly penciled-in brows for just a second, lips pulled to one side contemplatively, like she were solving a puzzle or counting tablespoons of sifted flour. she poked her cheek with one finger, “i’m not sure about this, though.” 

“what?” you dropped the mirror, leaning closer. did you smudge the mascara under her eye? did you forget to wipe away the fallout from the eyeshadow? 

“all the blush,” she admitted in a hushed voice, clearly regretful to be criticizing your work, “its… a bit much.” 

your faces were so close, closer than they had been before when you were packing shades of tan against her honey-toned canvas. you breathed a laugh at her innocent, guilty expression, and she laughed, too, just happy that you weren’t upset. one thing you were completely certain of was that you could never be upset with her. throughout your years of friendship, euijoo had been racking up a list of lines to be crossed. she had accidentally signed you up for an automatically renewing subscription service for bales of organically grown hay when you lived in an apartment and had, not only no need for multiple bales of hay every month, but no space for multiple bales of hay. your couch still smelled like straw. euijoo had invited your exes to parties by sending the invite text to everyone in her contacts, but she only had your exes’ numbers because she signed them up, too, for the hay bale subscription. after she realized how powerfully inconvenient it was to have an abundance of alfalfa. but at the end of every day, it was euijoo on facetime with you, decompressing after a shitty day at work, making cheap noodles on the stove and fanning the smoke detector after burning them, too invested in your conversation to notice the smoke rolling over the pan. 

the blush was prominent. it was a saturated peach, pink on the edges and flushing so evenly across her cheekbones and nose that you almost didn’t realize it was also on her ears, melting down her neck and onto her chest. and it only got brighter, or darker, rather, under your study. you had thought about what shade to use on her as you were gathering your products. before you had even began, you pondered a cherry red, a blistering pink, or a light wash of coral, all of which would have looked gorgeous on her. but after her dilemma with the feeling of the product on her skin, you had decided to skip out on the color. you could always add it on after the fact, if she asked for it. you broke the news carefully, “you’re not wearing blush.” 

“liar,” euijoo sat up slightly, craning her neck to the pile of makeup next to your perpendicular bodies and sifting through the palettes and compacts, searching for a brush with red bristles. the color was flaming bright on her ears, now, the skin there unmuddled by concealers and powders. she reached for the mirror again, “what’s this, then?” 

“that’s all you, juju,” you teased, earning another shove from her as she forced the mirror back in your hands. she reached up to cover her face, a habit you secretly adored, but stopped just short of making contact with her face, like she remembered she was about to touch paint that hadn't yet dried. she balled her hands into fists instead, containing her frustration or embarrassment or some combination of the two that only happens when you’ve been found out. like she had cheated in a game of cards and still lost. you continued, less teasing and more explanatory, “i didn’t use blush or lip color because i didn’t know if you’d like it.” 

you reached behind you again, and there was her hand on your leg, steady and warm. you felt that same warmth blooming in your chest and wondered how far it would spread before she noticed. how much could your hand shake as you blended the color seamlessly into her skin, blending even when the lines are blurred to perfection just to quiet your racing thoughts? you assumed your feelings for euijoo had fizzled out to nothing after all this time, but there had been a muffled voice you’d grown accustomed to ignoring deep, deep down. it sounded like it was drowning and its mouth had just sank below the water’s surface, whatever message it had been trying to send you reduced to helpless splashes and erupting bubbles. now that you were drowning, too, you could hear it clearly; now that you were pinning her to your bed with your hips and tilting her face like a doll with your fingertips on her chin, you could hear it louder than ever. 

you picked up the three lip colors you were considering for her, similar tones as the blushes but with different finishes. you selected a matte burgundy, a satin pink, and a gloss with coral undertones, all of which sat behind you untouched until now. you dangled them in front of euijoo’s still flushed face, opening each bottle and pulling the applicator out with a suctioned pop! that made her smile each time, her brows raising higher with each option. taking the dusty pink one, she held it up to your lips, comparing the colors. she frowned slightly, “i want whatever you have on.” 

you felt your breath catch as euijoo’s finger dragged, lightly, over your bottom lip. you gulped, tongue darting out instinctively as soon as she dropped her hand back to her chest and started flipping the lipstick bottle in her grasp. your lips were shiny with spit, no doubt, from having your lip tucked between your teeth in concentration. they were probably red for that reason, too. giving you a bitten, ruby hue that was impossible to recreate with product. just-kissed lips, euijoo would taunt you when you would send her selfies after your past successful dates. you laughed the tightness in your chest away, “i’m not wearing any lipstick,” you deflected, tapping the bottle in her hands, “i like this one, though.” 

“okay,” euijoo said, reluctance dripping off each syllable. she reached for the mirror, “can i try it?” 

she rarely wore makeup, and when she did, it was concealer on a pimple or some mascara if the occasion called for it. she loved lip balm, though, and took pride in her collection of flavors. it was more frequent for euijoo to match the flavor of her lips to her outfit rather than the color. neutrals called for coconut or vanilla whereas cool toned blues or greens were to be worn alongside blackberry or watermelon. even if no one knew but her, she would coordinate with clear, non-tinted lip balm. she made the mistake once of applying a strawberry balm that had the most pigmented sheen you’d ever witnessed in a chapstick, applying it in messy circles and overshooting her lipline by a mile. so, when you nodded, you expected much worse from her application of the pink, creamy lipstick. 

she focused in the mirror, pulling her plush lips taut and gliding the applicator along the expanse of pink flesh. carefully, euijoo traced the edges of her lips, dancing along the sharp line you’d created with the concealer earlier; the bottom lip was smooth, but the top lip posed a new challenge as she tackled the curve of her cupid’s bow. it took everything for you to not reach forward and confiscate the wand from her, to not just do it yourself. you had looked at her lips a thousand times– surely you could do it with your eyes closed. but you didn’t. you let euijoo press her lips together, a finality in any lip product application. she flinched slightly in surprise at the way her lips adhered to each other, the satin finish leaving them slightly tacky. she put on an exaggerated pout in the mirror, angling her head dramatically, “how’d i do?” 

“not too bad,” you said, truthfully, although you gingerly extended your arm and placed your thumb under the shadow of her bottom lip. with barely any pressure at all, you swiped your nail along the edge of her lip, dragging all the way to the corner and cleaning up her messy application. euijoo melted into your touch, her mouth slightly open, lip slack under the pull of your finger. absentmindedly, you wiped the excess lipstick on the side of your bed, clearing your throat as she stared, dazed. you shifted the vibe, quickly, tossing the mirror onto the comforter bunched up next to the two of you. “it looks better on me, though,” you teased, lifting your leg to slide off of her, finally finished with the task at hand, which was to do your best friend’s makeup and none of the intimate touching or staring you’d caught yourself in. 

but euijoo’s fingers tightened around the back of your leg, keeping you in place as her other hand mirrored the gesture, feathering her nails up your skin. you didn’t mean to look as shocked as you did, lips parting and the skeleton of a gasp slipping down your throat, but euijoo looked just as surprised if not more. her chest heaved noticeably beneath you, fingers drawing circles on your calves. she narrowed her eyes, pupils blown wide against the dark brown smoky shadow you packed under her lashes. she looked intense, far different from the euijoo who tried to do a flip two hours prior and almost broke your lamp because she didn’t realize she was that close to your nightstand. or that she was incapable of doing a flip. you would have placed a bet, though, that she would have looked just as intense if you wiped all the makeup off. her eyes were that sharp, burning hot, like holding an ice cube for too long. the moment right before your flesh goes numb and you can’t feel the damage anymore– a perpetual limbo between feeling everything and nothing, a fever. 

“i don’t think i’ve seen you wear this color before,” euijoo spoke like she wasn’t burning holes into you everywhere your bodies were connected, “i would have noticed.” 

“then you need to pay more attention,”.you laughed, but she didn’t, “i wear it all the time.” 

“when?” 

it sounded more like a demand than a question, but you struggled to answer it nonetheless. you wore a lot of different lipsticks, as one does, but this one was one of your favorites. the tone complimented your skin, and you liked the finish more than the matte colors in your collection. it wasn’t transfer proof, so you didn’t wear it on dates or anywhere you knew you’d have a drink or a meal. it was an activity color, so you guessed, “um, last week? when we went to that craft fair.” 

“wrong,” euijoo breathed, “you wore a gloss. your hair kept getting caught in it.” 

“then, the movies,” you shrugged, “i dont know why it matters so much.”

“because you’re not wearing it with me,” euijoo relaxed into the pillow beneath her again, but her hands wandered further up your legs, over your knees, teasing the lower half of your thighs, “and that means something.” 

it did mean something; you just didn’t know euijoo had caught onto your code. you always wore lipgloss around her, which had been the only thing keeping you from this exact situation several times before. you had a strict no kissing policy when wearing lip gloss; it was messy, sticky, and ruined your makeup without fail every time. so when euijoo would invite you to hang out, you coated your lips in a gooey shimmer. you could flirt with her all you wanted, play it off as friendly banter, but it would never go further than that. you didn’t know if she would even allow it to go further, and that, the prospect of demolishing such a perfect friendship, scared you more than ruining your makeup. to ruin your friendship and your flawless base at the same time would have been a major low for you.

you didnt know what to do with your hands, no longer holding the mirror, no longer holding a brush. now, euijoo was the artist, painting your skin with heat, with chills, like a master of the elements– she contorted your being like clay. she always had. 

“euijoo…” you sighed, attempting to brush away the embarrassment. somehow, she knew your feelings before you did. usually, she was good at that, though; she anticipated your sadness, keeping a bag of your favorite snacks on her counter in case you had a rough night and needed a pick-me-up, and she knew all your tells for when you were about to explode from anger, even over the little things. 

“can you do something for me?” she asked, ignoring every tell you were showing. you nodded despite yourself. you hoped she would tell you to stand up and let her feel the lower half of her body again, or that she would ask you if you wanted to order something to eat. anything that might signal to you that she was more oblivious than you assumed. she reached over into the pile of makeup and picked up the peach-toned lipgloss. “put this on?” 

she watched as you worked from muscle memory, no mirror needed. the gloss was thick, shiny but not shimmery, just clear and syrupy and a the rim of a glass’ worst nightmare. it accentuated the plumpness of your lips like a spyglass, reflecting the warm light of your bedroom. surely, euijoo could see herself in it as she stared at you from below, her eyelids still heavy. you lightly rubbed your lips together and twisted the lid closed. your brows raised, silently asking euijoo if she was satisfied with her request. 

but she wasn’t finished, as was typically the case with her.

“can you do something else for me?” euijoo’s voice shook, barely noticeable over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears as her hands slid up your thighs and settled on the curve of your hips. you breathed deeply, once, and nodded again. she craned her neck up to you, and her freshly rose-colored lips grazed your sticky, peach ones, “kiss me?”  

it was like one of the unthinkable ultimatums they gave the heroes of action movies, only instead of saving one man or an entire city, you had to preserve the perfect application of your lip gloss or kiss your best friend, whom you had been silently and helplessly in love with for years. decisions, decisions. you imagined this moment a dozen times, and every time it was you initiating it, making the first move and taking her breath away. one scenario was sweet in a traditional, rom-com way, hands held over an expensive meal, one kiss stolen quickly under harsh restaurant lighting; another placed the two of you in a haunted house with your fingers interlocked, moments shared in strobing flashes, gasping through the burn of artificial fog; one scenario even took place at the aforementioned craft fair, where one vendor was drawing live portraits and the hypothetical, self-induced idea of kissing euijoo for fifteen minutes straight, holding back laughter as it became incredibly awkward, made you so nervous that you nearly fainted. you blamed it on the unusual warmth of the evening and the excess of sugarly lemonade, then, but the same could not be said for right now. there was in fact no lemonade, only the sweet scent of euijoo’s perfume wafting from the heat of her chest as she lingered in the space between you. 

the only thing worse than kissing euijoo while wearing your stickiest lipgloss was not kissing her at all.

your stomach flipped and urged you forward, until the gap was closed and your lips were on hers. euijoo sighed, quietly, almost with relief like she didn’t think you were going to oblige, like there existed any version of you that would deny her anything. her hands bunched up the sides of your tshirt, pulling you closer, while yours found either side of her newly painted face. the powder made the plush skin in the hollows of her cheeks undeniably soft; the pad of your thumb glided over it like silk on silk, like twisting in rich sheets. the weight of her lips on yours was unlike anything you had imagined. your scenarios failed to account for the addictive yield of her lips against yours, the way she folded so easily. 

it was only one kiss, one to start or end it all, and when you finally pulled back, you felt your skin crawl at the way your lips refused to part from hers. it was like your body was rejecting your wishes, keeping the two of you anchored together. you peeled away from the kiss, lips heavy with the mixture of product; your gloss swirled with euijoo’s pink lipstick and left traces of each other on your mouths, traces of each other on your hearts, too. 

tentatively, you dipped your lips back to down to hers, leaning her back until euijoo was flat on the pillow again. your kiss pushed her deeper into the cushion, her lips slotting perfectly between yours. you didn’t care about the gloss anymore, how it was undoubtedly smeared and collecting in the corners of your mouth. all you could taste was the waxy, bitter paste of the lipstick with the faintest hint of euijoo’s lip balm at the tail end. she was the first taste of a ripe peach on the verge of spoiling, almost too sweet. euijoo kept you flush to her, so close that her chest grated against yours with every heavy breath that fanned over your face, every gasp between open-mouthed kisses. beside you, the pile of makeup tins and brushes clanked and clattered as they rolled closer to the dip in the mattress that cradled your bodies, burning with excitement, with the spontaneous revelation of feelings long suppressed. not just by you but euijoo, too, her tongue swiping over the sticky substance on your lips to slip into your mouth. 

it was the weight lifted off your chest, the pulling of the drainplug that had left the voice in your head submerged for so long, to be kissing her, to be in love with her. maybe you’d tell her that, soon. maybe you’d tell her that in a few moments. but for now, you disconnected your mouth from hers, leaving her gasping and confused, just for a second, as you turned to your never-ending pile of makeup supplies. euijoo sat up on her elbows, concerned, “what’s wrong?” 

you turned back with a cotton pad, a bottle of makeup remover, and a determined expression, which turned soft at the sight of her downturned eyebrows. lipstick was fucking everywhere. you doused the little white circle and swiped it across your mouth, erasing all traces of the goop that you’d began to almost associate with euijoo by how often you wore it with her, afraid of falling victim to your feelings. you wiped and wiped until your lips were totally bare, completely natural and sensitive. 

“nothing’s wrong, juju,” you cooed, dousing another cotton pad with remover and bringing it to her lips. you ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her beautiful, flushed face, “i’m gonna wipe this shit off so that i can kiss you and actually feel it.” 

and maybe after, you’ll tell her you’ve loved her for an embarrassingly long time. 

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@cheolscherries1812 @jungwonsgff @heesoulnotes @kjjupilled @xionvlog

@ikigaijo @0wisewisdoom @minhosimthings @luperque @ikeuholica

@nichozzystuffs @zzniya @livelaughloveseventeen @yuuniversezx @yukisroom97

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@euijoo1sidechick @deersui

ⓘ i've added a femteam option to my taglist post! if you are on my nsfw or sfw taglists and wish to be tagged in future femteam works of mine, please let me know!!