You only meant to buy a few things—bread, milk, some eggs—essentials that justify an evening grocery run when your fridge has become an echo chamber of condiments and wilted lettuce. 

So you're not so sure how you ended up in the clothing section.

Maybe it's the red SALE sign, hand-written and clipped above a rack with a plastic clip, casual advertising that suggests genuine deals rather than marketing psychology. Maybe it's because you've been meaning to replace the basics gathering lint at the back of your drawer. Maybe it's because it’s almost closing time, the store empty enough to hear the low hum of refrigerators. 

Your fingers find the fabric before your brain fully registers what you're looking at.

Lace. Delicate and intricate, the kind with floral patterns that catch on the ridges of your fingerprints. There's a lilac set—soft purple that looks almost gray in the store’s lighting—with thin straps that loop and tangle around the hanger. A blush pink thong with a satin bow at the center. A black bralette, sheer enough that you can see your hand through it when you hold it up.

Just looking. Just browsing.

But then one piece is in your basket. Then another. And another.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck even though you're alone, even though there's no one to see, no one to judge the growing collection of satin and lace sitting on top of your very practical, boring sandwich bread and milk. It's fine. It's normal. People buy lingerie at the grocery store all the time.

You head towards checkout, and to your ill-fate, most of the lanes are dark, those plastic “CLOSED“ signs propped against registers like tired sentries. Lane four has a line three people deep: a man with a cart full of energy drinks, a woman with a crying toddler, a college student with fifty dollars worth of snacks. Lane five has its light on but no cashier in sight.

Then, at the far end, a light flickers on above lane seven. The mechanical click of it is barely audible from where you stand, but you see it—that wash of fluorescent white pooling over an empty conveyor belt: open.

You move quickly, almost reflexively, your cart wheels humming against the floor as you cut across the main aisle. You're not running exactly, but you're definitely walking with purpose. There's a small victory in being first, in claiming a lane before the line-avoiders and the impatient descend.

You're already unloading your basket when you look up.

And that's when you see him.

The cashier is tall—taller than you expected from someone sitting on a small stool—with warm brown hair that falls in soft, messy waves across his forehead. He’s wearing a green-brown striped sweater that looks a size too big, sleeves pushed up to his forearms where the knit gathers messily. It only makes the shape of his forearms more noticeable: lean, defined, a quiet strength revealed every time his fingers move.

His name tag sits slightly crooked on his store vest: Kai.

He's looking down at the register screen, one hand poised over the keyboard, but as you approach, he glances up. His features are fine-boned and pretty in a way that feels almost unfair under the harsh overhead lighting; his face should be photographed in golden hour, not fluorescent white.

His eyes meet yours for a fraction of a second—dark, warm, framed by lashes that cast faint shadows across his cheeks—before his gaze drops to the conveyor belt. 

Where you've just placed the first piece of lingerie.

The lilac set, specifically. The one with the delicate lace and the straps that are definitely, visibly tangled.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

“Evening,” he says finally, and his voice is lower than you expected. Soft, but with a slight rasp to it, as if he hadn't spoken in a while.

“Hi,” you manage. You busy yourself with unloading the rest of your basket, trying to create a buffer of normalcy—the bread, the milk, a carton of eggs—but then there's another piece of lace, and another, and suddenly the belt is a pastel parade of satin and sheer fabric. 

Kai reaches for the first item.

The straps are a mess: looped around the plastic, tangled with the price tag, seemingly knotted by a boy scout. He pauses, and you see the small furrow appear between his brows, that micro-expression of concentration. He sets the hanger down on the counter so he can work at the knot with both hands.

And that's when you notice his hands. 

They're big. So large that the delicate straps look almost comically small woven between them. His long fingers move with visible tendons shifting beneath the skin.

You watch his thumb slide under a loop of satin, easing it free. The slow hook of his index finger around a twist of lace, pulling slowly so it doesn't tear. His nails are clean, neatly trimmed. A faint scrub of callus at the base of his fingers. There’s a gentleness to the way he handles the satin, a carefulness that makes you bite your lower lip.

He's focused entirely on the task, head bowed, and you realize with a that you've been openly staring. That you're still staring. So you look up.

And he does too.

Your eyes meet.

You see the exact moment the blush starts: a faint pink that blooms across his cheekbones, creeping up toward his temples. His ears go red at the tips. His lips part slightly: “sorry,” he mutters, “this is really... tangled.”

“It's okay.” Too fast. “Take your time.”

The silence that follows stretches, filled with small, amplified sounds: the murmur of mainstream music that's been playing on loop since 2010, the distant beep of another register, the rustle of fabric as he frees the last strap, his slow breaths. The barcode scanner beeps, sharp in the quiet, and he sets it aside. 

He reaches for the next piece. This one isn't tangled, but he still handles it with that same careful attention. His eyes stay fixed on the barcode, on the little red laser, on anything except the blush pink thong currently draped over his very large, very nice hands. 

You should say something. Break the tension. Make a joke, maybe, or a casual comment about the weather, the store, literally anything.

But your mind is blank. An empty slate. 

“So, um.” His voice cuts through the quiet, but it wavers, almost catching before he clears his throat. “Quiet night, huh?”

Your breath catches, feeling your pulse kicking up a notch.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding too enthusiastically. “Really quiet. Everyone’s probably home watching TV or… yeah.”

“Right. Yeah.” He nods too, still not meeting your eyes. His hands continue moving: scan, set aside, reach.

He picks up the black bralette, the sheer one. His fingers still. You see his jaw tighten and the way his throat works as he swallows. He's staring at the fabric in his hands like it's a puzzle he can't solve, and then, so quickly you almost miss it, his eyes flicker up.

Not to your face.

To your body.

It's a fast sweep, shoulders to waist, a fraction of a second. But it feels like a touch, a warm drag of awareness down your skin that makes your breathing shallow. 

And then his eyes go to the faster rise and fall of your chest. The movement is barely noticeable, your top shifting only a fraction with each inhale, yet he watches like he can see every millimeter of it. His stare is a like laser, heating up your ribs, then spreading outwards like a wild fire making you shift your weight. 

And that’s all it takes to snap him out of it. He jerks his gaze away, shifting on the tool, his knee knocking softly against the counter. Thud.  

“Card or cash?” He says, clearing his throat, forcing the moment back on track. 

“Card,” you mumble quietly, enough to be heard.

You fumble for your wallet, fingers clumsy as you pull out your card and slide it across the cool metal edge of the payment terminal. He's still not looking at you. His hand rests on the counter, knuckles faintly tensed, fingers drumming once, twice, then going still.

The machine beeps. Transaction approved.

“Uh— do you need help packing your things?” he turns, reaching for your bag. 

“Oh, no, that's okay,” you blurt out, snatching your reusable bag before he can touch it. “I've got it. Thank you.”

He nods once again and turns his back to you.  

You start shoving items into your bag: the milk goes in first, then the eggs, then you're cramming lace and satin in with no regard for wrinkles or order, your hands moving too fast. 

A soft automatic whir rings as the paper feeds out: long and white, covered in tiny print. From the corner of your eye, you see Kai tear the receipt from the printer cleanly. Then pause. 

He looks down at it, still as a held breath.

Then reaches for the pen.

A small movement: wrist turning, fingers tightening around the plastic, the slow deliberate line of his handwriting. 

You keep packing. Faster now. Your fingers catch on a strap and you yank it free with more force than necessary. Almost done.

“Here.” 

You freeze.

He's holding out the receipt, arm extended across the counter. His expression is controlled, but you notice the tiniest unsteady flicker in his hand.

“Oh, I don't need—” you start, waving him off.

He steps closer before you finish speaking. You catch a faint clean scent of his detergent combined with a lavender accord that you supposed is from his cologne.

He places the receipt directly into your palm. His warm fingers brush yours, lingering half a second—and then he's pulling back, tucking his hands behind the counter like he doesn't trust them.

“Take it.” His voice is different now, dropped even lower, rougher around the edges. 

Your fingers close around the paper automatically.

“Thanks.” 

He nods once. His gaze stays down, but a faint curve tugs at the corner of his mouth, barely there, but enough to root you in place for one more second.

Then you move. Bag over your shoulder, receipt tight in your fist, feet carrying you toward the doors on instinct. You don't look back. You can't.

The night air hits you like a slap.

Cooler than you expect: sharp, clean, threaded with the faint smell of rain even though the pavement is bone-dry. You inhale hard, trying to steady the rapid thrum under your ribs, the leftover heat simmering stubbornly along your skin.

The parking lot is half-empty, streetlights casting long pools of amber across the asphalt. Your car is parked near the front, and you make your way toward it with the bag bumping against your hip with every step.

You unlock the door and toss everything onto the passenger seat. The bag tips, a slip of lilac lace catching the glow of the overhead light before you shove it quickly back inside with a groan.

You sink into the driver's seat and close the door. Your pulse is way too loud, even more in the absence of everything else. You press your hands to your face, exhaling until your breath fogs against your palms.

Your hands leave your face, needing something steadier to settle your beating hear. Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at the glowing storefront. The lights inside are warm and hazy, and you can barely make out the checkout lanes from here. 

Something crinkles in your hand.

The receipt.

You glance down. The paper is soft from your grip, edges creased, but the print is clear. Item list. Total. Date. Time. You’re halfway to tucking it into the cupholder before you notice the handwriting at the bottom.

You still.

The ink curves neatly, confidently—just a short line of text, but your breath stutters as you read it.

Would love to see how these look on you. Text me? — Kai

Below it, ten digits trail in neat, slanted script.

You stare.

And stare.

Heat floods through you, different from before. Not embarrassment this time, something hotter that coils low in your stomach and spreads like warm honey through your legs.

A small laugh slips out, quiet and disbelieving, your breath catching on the edge of it.

Your phone sits heavy in your pocket, but you don't reach for it, not yet. Instead, your eyes drift back through the windshield, back toward the store.

Through the wide glass windows, you can see lane seven. Kai stands behind the counter, scanning items for an older man with a cart full of canned soup. His posture is relaxed again, professional. The flush you saw earlier is gone. 

But even from here, even through the distance and the glass, you can see it. The smile. Small. Private. The kind that doesn't reach the rest of his face but changes everything about it. He's looking down at the register, scanning items, but that smile is there, curving the corner of his mouth like a secret he's keeping.

Like he knows exactly what he just did.

🧾 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚒’𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎!: is this just me feeding my hand kink (specially kai's)? Yes. Part two is in the works people. I'm doing it for the citizens of moablr. Yes it will be smut. Do mention in the comments if you want to be tagged! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

ᥫ᭡. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Other work:

You're both sprawled on the couch, takeout boxes forgotten nearby, while Huening Kai animatedly explains some complicated game mechanic that has you both a little lost. His hands gesture wildly, voice bright with excitement, until the words start to slow and soften. His eyelids droop, fighting it for just a few seconds more—"...and then if you combine the skill with—" before silence takes over.

You glance over and there he is, head tipped against the cushion, one arm still draped behind you, mouth slightly open in peaceful surrender. A quiet laugh escapes you, soft and wondering, because this feels deeper than any grand gesture.

Kai, who gives so much of himself to fans, cameras, and endless schedules, has simply let himself rest here with you. Trusting. You pull a blanket over him, and even in sleep he reaches toward you instinctively, fingers brushing your side. Your heart never quite settles back into place after that.

Loving Kai means noticing a thousand tiny just-in-cases he scatters like breadcrumbs. He loves loudly without realizing it—flooding your phone with photos of a dog from rehearsal, yet forgetting to say how often his thoughts drifted to you that day. He’ll slip out for water and return with your favorite snack because something about it reminded him of you. At odd hours, a song will hit him and he’ll text, “THIS IS SO YOU,” with no further explanation, just pure conviction. You never fully trace how his mind makes those connections, but you cherish them anyway.

He makes space for you so naturally it’s almost invisible. When you speak, he leans in with his whole body, eyes steady, remembering details you mentioned once and forgot. That time you casually missed a hometown bakery? Six months later he spots something similar and deliberates over it for twenty minutes before buying it anyway—just in case. There’s the extra charger always in his bag for your dying phone, the way he unconsciously slows his stride to match yours, the playlists that quietly slip in a song chosen just for you, waiting for your smile.

Sometimes you catch him staring—not dramatically, but with soft curiosity, as if he’s still learning every piece of you. One quiet evening you’re reading beside him while he works on music, the room filled with gentle keyboard clicks. You turn a page and feel his gaze linger for nearly a minute.

When you look up, he startles and glances away, ears turning pink. “Sorry… I was staring.” You squeeze his hand. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re allowed.” He blinks, soft “Oh,” escaping him, surprised again by the simple truth of being wanted.

On stage, Kai becomes something magnetic, music lighting him from within as confidence settles into his frame. Yet he always finds you afterward, still buzzing, and asks the same thing: “Was it okay?” You laugh every time, charmed by how unaware he is of his own brilliance. At home, though, the idol melts away. He’s the boy stealing your blanket, leaving cups in odd places, humming melodies while making midnight ramen, talking to himself as he searches for things already in his hand. He’s warm, sleepy, endearingly human—yours.

Late one night, you’re both tangled in your bed, the room dim and cozy with only the low glow of a bedside lamp and city lights filtering through the curtains. The day has long since faded, leaving just the quiet comfort of shared breathing and lazy conversation that drifts into comfortable silence.

Kai lies on his side facing you, hair tousled, one leg hooked gently over yours under the covers. You trace a finger along his jaw, and he leans into the touch with a sleepy hum. The air feels heavy with intimacy, warm blankets cocooning you both, the world outside forgotten. Slowly, you lean in and kiss him—soft at first, then deeper, unhurried, tasting the faint sweetness of the tea you shared earlier. His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you back with that same gentle certainty, lips warm and familiar.

There’s no rush, just the steady rhythm of hearts beating in sync, the occasional soft sigh, and the way his thumb brushes soothing circles against your skin. In that cocoon of sheets and quiet affection, everything else disappears. It’s pure, cozy intimacy—the kind that wraps around your soul and makes you feel endlessly safe.

And maybe that’s what loving him really is. Not fireworks or dramatic declarations, but this steady accumulation of moments. A boy who leaves pieces of himself everywhere, loving with his whole heart so effortlessly he barely notices. A boy who still apologizes for looking too long, unaware you’re memorizing him just as deeply, day after day. It’s trust, comfort, and the quiet joy of belonging—together.

author's note — awwwww they are a coupley couple, look >< thank you for reading lovies <3 SIZE DIFFERENCE KAI WHEN. cof cof who said that.

[1] Stalker 𓂃˚₊⊹🍬

 You hear a rhythmic knock on your door, and you already know it’s Kai. First of all, he was on his way, second who else do you know knocks like that?

You shuffle over to the door, your slippers dragging across the floor. You look through the peephole just in case. Who knows, last time it was a DoorDash driver arriving at the wrong door.

 You’re relieved when you see a head of shaggy platinum blond hair, it’s Kai. You unlock both locks, the top one being more stubborn. (You should probably get that fixed sooner or later.) He barges right in, not even a hello. At least he took his shoes off like always. He knows your rules in the apartment and he respects them. And luckily for you, he brought snacks.

  He easily makes himself at home, throwing himself onto the couch, not yet grabbing a blanket but placing the remote on the coffee table in front of him. You didn't even invite him over to watch TV but that's probably where the night is going to end anyways.

“Hello! I’m doing good too.” you say mockingly because he didn’t even acknowledge you letting him in. Men. “Hi, sorry, what’s up this time?” He says in a softer tone than usual. Honestly, you find that adorable how he immediately jumps to ask what’s wrong. “Don’t even, I literally just texted you about this. Also why do you always think something’s wrong when you come over?” He lets out a soft laugh at that. You shoot him a look that immediately makes him apologize. “Sorry, I’m laughing because you’re acting like you actually gave me details.” He really called you out there. But does he really expect every detail if he's just going to come over anyway?

You find yourself a spot on the couch, making yourself comfy as well. You grab a blanket from the basket full of them beside you. You throw one at Kai, so he too can make himself comfortable. After he does, he looks at you, waiting for you to settle and start talking.

 “Okay so, with the thing about my ex,” you say in a tone that sounds bored. “Well, yes that’s the whole reason I’m here.” He interrupts. “Okay anyways…” you pause before starting your next sentence. “So, he keeps making those accounts on every social media platform imaginable and it’s getting creepy. He even tried stalking my Spotify account, who the fuck does that?” Kai giggles. “Really? Spotify?” You scoff. “Yes, Spotify. Anyways, I’ve also seen him around town, and I think he might be stalking me. Like literally stalking me. Following me stalking me. Maybe even watching us right now I don’t know.” Kai’s eyes widened. “He’s following you?” You sigh. “I’m pretty sure of it.” Kai looks like he’s in disbelief.

 “[y/n], this is serious. That’s illegal.” He looks very concerned, he’s usually never like this, always carefree, you’ve never seen him this way before. “I know that’s why I invited you over. I need to ask you something.” You take a deep breath. This might give you the ick to even say it. “What’s up?” He replies. He’s very focused on your talking. “This sounds kind of embarrassing to say or even admit that I thought of this…” you admit. “It’s okay you can talk to me [y/nnie].” You shiver at the nickname. It’s random, but weirdly comforting considering the situation you’re currently in.

 You hesitate before talking, really, what you're thinking is that you should probably have Kai as a fake boyfriend. The thought itself is foreign to you. You don't know how to feel about pretending to date your best friend. You really think about your decision now. It'll be really awkward if he says no, which you're sure he will. You try and shake the nerves off but can't help regretting your decision of inviting him over. “I was going to ask you if we could do something like a fake relationship to get me out of this situation so just maybe he would back off. This does sound really weird Kai, I do admit that, but I really trust you the most out of the rest of my friends, that’s why I asked you. Again, I know you’re probably going to say no because that’s weird but-” you say the words so fast it sounds like a foreign language you haven't yet learned.

“Yes.” He replies. You’re shocked for a second, you didn’t expect him to accept, especially this fast. You look at him confused. He stares back. “What?” He asked, looking even more confused than you, “was I not supposed to say yes, or….?” You laugh. “No, I just didn’t expect you to even accept it, let alone that fast.” He looks at you, but this time it’s a deeper look, like there’s a warm light in his eyes. “I’m saying yes because I care about your safety, [y/n].” You nod your head at that, thanking him for helping you out.

     After that, it’s a little awkward, you guys put on a movie as you usually do. You always let Kai pick. He feels bad picking and wants you to but when you actually pick a movie, he regrets it. You end up sitting through all his movie options whether they’re corny, funny, or boring, because, the movies he picks are always somehow cute. It really shows how much of a nerd he is.

After you finish the movie, you’re half asleep, almost like a zombie. Kai came over at 8, it’s 10:20 something now, and you’re both tired. Kai should get home but he had a little too much to drink, as you pulled out your 12 pack of beer earlier to keep you guys as tipsy as possible to keep your minds off the conversation you two had earlier. You’re still cringing thinking about the way you worded it. You don’t want him driving, it’ll be unsafe. He’s not scarily drunk, but he’s tipsy enough. You don’t let him go. He doesn’t necessarily mind, your couch does happen to be very comfy. Same with the temperature of your apartment, it’s nice and cool. He doesn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, it’s Saturday anyway.

You drag yourself to your bed, leaving Kai in the living room. He’s also half asleep, making you feel assured that he won’t go through your snacks again. Once you get yourself relaxed in your bed, you realize that you feel quite safe with Kai around. It has been quite hard trying to fall asleep recently, thinking about your stalker. You don’t quite trust your apartment building or locks anymore. And after you’ve seen him for the first time when you went to a cafe alone about a week ago, you realized that all those followers you’ve been gaining was not a coincidence. Your thoughts slowly fade as you become drowsy and fall asleep almost instantly. You are not worried at all with Kai being in your living room.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist :) again If this looks different it’s because I changed the formatting with new pictures about an hour after it was originally uploaded 😭

you wake up before the sun does.

for a moment, the room is still caught in that hush before daylight—dim and blue-toned, with shadows soft enough to pretend they don’t belong to anything real. the kind of quiet where time feels suspended, like you could live inside this exact moment forever and no one would notice.

kai is still asleep beside you.

his breath is slow, even, the way it always is when he’s actually resting. his face is turned slightly toward yours, lashes fluttering just a little against his cheek. a strand of hair falls across his forehead, and you’re tempted to brush it back, but you don’t.

you barely breathe.

he’s always been beautiful. that much, you’ve known. but this—this version of him, draped in your shared blanket, one hand resting near yours like he was reaching out in his sleep—is something else entirely. something soft and quiet and aching.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with your best friend.

it wasn’t a plan. it wasn’t supposed to happen. but now it’s three in the morning, and you’re lying beside him in a tangle of warmth and cotton, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s right here. inches away. close enough to kiss.

your chest tightens at the thought.

you blink slowly, gaze flickering from the curve of his mouth to the slope of his nose. his lips are parted just slightly, and it would be so easy—so impossibly easy—to lean in. just a little. just enough.

you hesitate.

just a centimeter away, heart thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to break free. your lips hover, close enough to feel the faint warmth of his breath. one inch. maybe less. your fingers curl in the sheets.

what if he wakes up?

what if he doesn’t want it?

what if this ruins everything?

you swallow hard. your nose is almost brushing his. you could close the distance right now.

and then—his eyes open.

not slowly. not in confusion. not with a flinch.

he opens them calmly, as if he’s been awake this whole time. as if he was waiting for you to lean in.

his voice is low and still touched with sleep, but there’s amusement there too. warmth. maybe something else you don’t dare name.

“well if you won’t do it,” he says, one corner of his mouth twitching upward, “i will.”

you freeze.

his hand lifts, slow and unhurried, fingers brushing your jaw. he leans in just enough to tilt his forehead against yours, eyes still locked on yours.

your voice barely comes out. “kai…”

his thumb moves along your cheek, featherlight. “you thought i was asleep.”

“you—you were.”

“i wasn’t.” he smiles wider. “not once you started staring at me like you were in a romance drama.”

you let out a strangled noise and bury your face in the pillow, mortified. “oh my god.”

kai laughs softly, the sound muffled by proximity, and tugs the blanket further up around you both.

“you’re lucky i like you,” he says, voice teasing but thick with something more honest underneath.

“you’re insufferable,” you grumble, refusing to look at him.

“and yet… you were about to kiss me.”

“i was not!”

“you were literally hovering over my face.”

“i—” you start, but there’s no defense. “i hate you.”

“mm,” he hums, brushing your hair back gently. “feels like love to me.”

your heart stutters.

he says it so simply. like it’s always been true. like it is true.

you lift your head just enough to meet his eyes again. they’re warm. steady. kind.

you whisper, “you weren’t supposed to know.”

kai’s smile softens. “but i do."

his fingers trace your jaw again, slower this time, almost like he’s memorizing it.

“and for the record,” he adds, “i’ve wanted to kiss you for a while.”

your lips part slightly.

“so if you still want to,” he says, tilting his head just enough to close the gap, “you don’t have to hesitate.”

you don’t.

you lean in that last inch, just barely, and it’s him who meets you halfway, soft and slow and impossibly careful. his lips taste like sleep and warmth and a thousand unsaid things.

the kiss is quiet. short. but it feels like the beginning of something infinite.

when you pull back, his eyes are still closed for a second too long, like he doesn’t want to let the moment go.

“was that okay?” you ask, voice small.

kai opens his eyes again, gaze lazy and full of something so unguarded it makes your throat ache.

“perfect,” he whispers. “but next time, don’t make me do all the work.”

you laugh, breathless.

“okay,” you murmur, settling back into the pillow beside him. “next time, i’ll wake you with a kiss.”

“good.” he tugs you in closer. “because now i’m expecting it.”