#xdz

You’d caught him glancing at your lips a few times mid-conversation,his gaze lingering for a heartbeat too long before flicking away,as if afraid you’d notice and feel uncomfortable.

If only he knew you’d been watching his lips too. Just… quietly, secretly.“So,” he said, stopping in front of your apartment building. “This is you.”

“Yeah…” you replied, not moving an inch.You didn’t want the night to end. You didn’t want to say goodbye.

Not yet.

He didn’t move either.

He didn’t want to go.

Not yet.

“Uh… goodbye hug?” you offered, folding your hands nervously in front of you.

He smiled, that soft, crooked smile of his, and stepped into you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You circled your arms around his neck, drawn in by his warm scent, the steady heat of him pressing close.

He closed his eyes, holding you gently like he wanted time to pause.

Even when you pulled back slightly, you stayed close, faces barely inches apart, breaths mingling in the cool night air.Something shifted.

The air between you thickened.

This time, you didn’t look away from his lips.

And that was all it took.

“Can I kiss you…?” he asked, voice low, careful, almost trembling, brushing the words across your skin as if they were a caress. You didn’t answer with words, just nodded, eyes fluttering closed, heart hammering.

He looked at you for a heartbeat longer, as if memorizing every curve of your face, every flutter of your eyelashes, the faint warmth of your cheeks.

Then he leaned in.The kiss was slow at first, tentative; soft, featherlight. His lips pressed to yours with a gentleness that made your knees feel weak, like the world had shrunk to only the two of you.

Then he deepened it, lips parting slightly, inviting yours to do the same. Your breaths mingled, soft sighs escaping as your tongues brushed, delicate and curious, tasting and teasing, learning.

His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks, while the other hand rested against the small of your back, pulling you closer, grounding you in the heat of the moment.

Your hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the silky strands, holding him as if you could anchor him there forever.

The kiss grew bolder, deeper, slow and lingering. Lips moving in rhythm, hearts hammering in unison, breaths shallow, warm, mingling in the quiet night. The faint sound of your lips meeting, parting, pressing again was like music, subtle yet intoxicating.

Every nerve ending seemed alive, every pulse a current of heat between you. The world around you, the street, the distant music, the apartment lights, disappeared entirely.

Finally, you broke apart just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching, noses brushing, lips still tingling from the contact.

He opened his eyes, a faint blush painting his cheeks, and your lips curved into a shy, knowing smile.

And, of course, neither of you could resist.Another kiss, soft and lingering, teasing, tasting, the small exploration of lips and tongues, warmth spreading through your bodies like wildfire.You pulled back only slightly, eyes glinting with amusement and desire.

“Wow…” you whispered, heart still hammering.

He chuckled softly, voice rough, still pressed close. “Yeah… wow…”

Kim Jungsu

Lately, life had been a whirlwind, endless rehearsals for him, endless touch-ups and rushed schedules for you. The band was preparing for more shows than ever, and as the makeup artist, you were pulled in every direction. Between soundchecks, stage lights, and backstage chaos, you and Jungsu had barely stolen a moment for yourselves.

Since the start of your relationship, you’d been inseparable. Whispered smiles, waiting for each other at the end of the day, subtle exchanges of accessories; your bracelet swapped for his ring, his hoodie draped over your shoulders. Even your colleagues had started to notice. But when the storm of work hit, the absence was sharp, almost painful, leaving you both restless, aching, more needy than before.

By the end of those long days, Jungsu was like a cat starved for touch, melting into your hands whenever you stroked his hair, leaning into your palm when you brushed his cheek. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for you either. You both wanted more, the kind of closeness that burned, that said: I need all of you.

And yet, despite everything, you hadn’t kissed yet. The desire was there, heavy in the air, lingering in the way your eyes kept slipping to his lips, but there had never been the right moment.

Until now.

That evening, after another exhausting day, Jungsu offered to drive you home. It was the first time in weeks that your schedules aligned. Normally you finished earlier, leaving him behind with rehearsals. But tonight, the universe gave you this one chance, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

“Susu!” You slid into the passenger seat, tossing your bag into the back, before leaning straight into him. The hug was desperate, bodies pressed tight, hands roaming in gentle, hungry touches, both of you whispering without words: give me more.

When you pulled back, he pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. His breath trembled against your skin.

“I miss you so much,” he murmured, letting his head fall onto your shoulder, still holding you as if afraid you’d slip away.

“But I’m here now,” you soothed, fingers combing through his soft hair.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, lifting his head, his eyes catching yours. And this time, his gaze didn’t wander; it dropped to your lips.

Your smile faltered, replaced by a soft flush rising in your cheeks. The air between you thickened.

It was reckless, sitting there in the car where anyone from work could stumble by. But none of it mattered; not when all you could think about was how close his mouth was to yours.

“You… want to kiss me?” you whispered, your fingertips brushing against his cheek.

“You have no idea,” he breathed, lips curving into a nervous smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered there, trembling slightly. “Can I?” You nodded, closing your eyes. Both your hearts raced, breaths tangled, anticipation humming like electricity.

His lips brushed yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if memorizing every curve, every tremble. The warmth of his mouth seeped into yours, soft yet insistent, and your fingers threaded through the fine strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, holding him as if afraid the world might pull him away.

The first gentle pressure grew, lips parting slightly, letting breaths mingle. You tasted him, subtle traces of mint from his toothpaste, a hint of lingering coffee, the unmistakable warmth that was purely him. It sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands moved along your waist, pressing you against him, grounding the intensity, while your own hands roamed, brushing along his shoulders, tracing the lines of his jaw. Every small movement became a conversation, every sigh and tremble a language only you two understood.

Then he deepened the kiss, tipping his head to the side, tongue teasing, tentative, then exploring, slow and careful, as if learning a secret. Your breaths came faster, mingling with his, hearts racing in synchronized panic and pleasure. The faint, audible sound of lips meeting, parting, and rejoining filled the quiet car, a private symphony that made the world outside disappear.

Time stretched and warped; you could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady press of his hands, the heat radiating from his body into yours. Every nerve felt alive, every heartbeat like a drum urging you to melt completely into him. You tilted closer, letting your lips mold to his, your tongue brushing his, the kiss becoming a slow, sensuous dance of give and take, push and pull.

Breath grew scarce, and finally, reluctantly, you broke apart, foreheads brushing, noses grazing, lips swollen and warm, breaths mingled, hearts still hammering. Jungsu pressed one more quick kiss to your lips before hiding his face in his hands, laughing in disbelief.

“You’re not going shy on me now, are you?” you teased, though your own cheeks burned just as much.

He peeked at you between his fingers, his grin boyish and flustered. “God… I’ve wanted that for so long,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse with need.

You smiled, trembling slightly, fingers still clutching his hair. “Me too,” you whispered. “More than I thought I could.”

He kissed you again, soft and lingering.

O.de (Oh Seungmin)

Ever since the two of you started dating, life felt just like before, only a hundred times more intimate, more comfortable, as if everything had finally fallen into place.

Seungmin loved making couple plans: the cafés that gave discounts to pairs, theme parks, costume parties where you dressed as famous pop-culture couples. But the truth was, both of you preferred the quiet rituals at home; watching movies curled together, experimenting with ridiculous recipes found online, or lying in bed sharing the details of your day, just as you had during that first, trembling confession.

What he loved most were the self-care nights. Clay masks, new skincare routines, you dyeing his hair while he returned the favor, or the intricate hairstyles he insisted on trying out for you, styles that somehow always turned out flawless.

“Wow! How did you do this?” you gasped, staring at your reflection, the braids along the sides of your hair woven so neatly it looked professional.

“Oh… just a few tutorials,” he shrugged, pretending it was nothing, though the truth was he spent hours looking for new styles, proud to see your eyes sparkle each time.

But tonight’s plan was different. You had decided to practice an elegant dance for an upcoming party. Yet the air in the room carried something heavier, warmer, no longer the playful ease of your usual nights, but a tender pull toward something more. Lately, the romance between you had begun to stretch its wings: longer embraces, lingering kisses on the cheek, his hand brushing down your waist as his lips lingered on your temple.

The room glowed in soft amber light, jazz spilling gently from the speakers. Two untouched glasses of wine rested on the table, forgotten. You stood shyly with your hands folded, and he stepped closer, nervous but determined.

“Your hands…” Seungmin murmured, guiding them gently to the back of his neck. His touch was steady but warm enough to make your skin prickle. He cleared his throat, then placed his own hands at your waist, tentative, careful, yet so deliberate you felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Like this?” you asked softly.

He nodded, though his gaze flickered to your lips before darting back to your eyes. “And now… slow steps. Two this way, two that way…” You moved together, though the rhythm was clumsy, almost forgotten the closer you grew. Each sway drew you nearer, breaths mingling, eyes catching and holding too long. His fingers flexed slightly at your waist as though fighting the urge to pull you closer.

A laugh bubbled between you, breaking the silence, until it dissolved, leaving the room charged.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m… not paying attention to the dance.”

“Then what are you paying attention to?” Your voice was barely a murmur, though you already knew.His lips parted, hesitation thick in the air. Finally, he breathed, “You.”

The steps faltered, the music fading into the background until there was only the sound of your breaths. His thumb brushed your side, climbing slowly until it reached your cheek. The warmth of his palm held you still, and in that closeness you could feel the tremor of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of wine and shampoo, the nervous flutter in his chest that matched your own.

“Is this… okay?” he asked, voice hoarse with restraint.

You nodded, your pulse thundering in your ears.

The first kiss was a fragile thing, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting, trembling touch that felt more like a question than an answer. You exhaled into it, eyes closing, and leaned forward to catch his mouth again, firmer this time. His soft gasp was swallowed into the kiss as he drew you nearer, the space between your bodies erased.

It was slow at first, tentative, testing, savoring the shape of each other’s mouths. His lips lingered, pressing and pulling back, as though memorizing the taste of you. Then, when your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, something in him loosened. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing carefully against yours in a hesitant request.

You answered without words, parting your lips to welcome him. The kiss grew warmer, fuller, your mouths moving together in a rhythm as natural as breathing. Each meeting of lips carried a faint, wet sound that seemed louder against the quiet jazz, each slide of tongues a spark that sent shivers down your spine.

His hand slid from your cheek back to your waist, pulling you close until your bodies aligned, heat coursing between you. Your own hands roamed from his neck to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though anchoring yourself in the moment.

Time blurred; the kiss stretched into something unhurried yet desperate, as if neither of you wanted it to end. The taste of red wine lingered, mingling with the warmth of his breath, the tickle of his hair brushing your face, the thrum of his heartbeat racing against your own.

When air became scarce, you pulled back just enough for your lips to part with a soft sound. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, both of you flushed and smiling shyly. His lips were swollen, his voice husky when he finally whispered, “Do you still want to practice the dance?”

You laughed quietly, brushing your thumb across his jaw. “The dance can wait.”And before he could reply, you kissed him again, longer, deeper.

Gaon (Kwak Jiseok)

Since that clumsy, half-whispered confession you and Gaon shared, time had reshaped everything between you, like the tide smoothing the sharp edges of a broken shell. At first, you both stumbled backward, retreating into awkward silences and nervous glances. You avoided him at every corner, not out of disinterest, but because your heart refused to behave. Every time you saw him, you wanted to run straight into his arms, to say I like you until your throat ached, to kiss him until the air between you disappeared. But wanting it only made the embarrassment burn deeper.

Yet time, gentle and patient, stitched things back together. Little by little, comfort returned. Only now, it came hand in hand with tenderness. You were no longer just friends; you were something more.

You walked home together beneath the soft glow of streetlights, shared ice cream at your favorite corner shop, your laughter spilling into the evening air. The neighborhood ladies had begun to notice too.

“You two make such a lovely couple! Enjoy these days of youth,” said the white-haired lady from apartment 301 as you passed by, her smile wide and knowing. You both flushed crimson, sharing shy laughter that lingered all the way up the stairs.

Tonight’s plan had been his idea: the amusement park. You’d both been looking forward to it all week, he especially, insisting he was brave enough for anything the park could throw at him. That illusion shattered the moment the roller coaster dropped, and his scream pierced the air like a siren. You laughed so hard you nearly forgot to breathe, clutching his arm while he swore he’d never set foot on it again.

After the adrenaline faded (and after you promised never to tell anyone about his terrified face), the two of you decided to end the night gently, with the Ferris wheel.

What you didn’t know was that Gaon had been waiting for this all along. He wanted your first kiss to be the kind people remembered for years, the kind that happened under city lights, when time felt like it held its breath just for the two of you.

What he hadn’t accounted for was the Ferris wheel’s dizzying height. Halfway up, the ground looked miles away. His palms grew damp, his heartbeat a wild drum against his chest.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice threading through the hum of the wind.

He looked at you, your face bathed in golden light, eyes glinting with laughter, and forgot everything else. God, you were beautiful. He wanted to kiss you so badly it almost hurt.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, the words tripping out with an awkward laugh. “Just… not great with heights.”

“You don’t have to be scared.” You squeezed his hand, your thumb drawing slow, soothing circles against his skin. Then, without thinking too much, you leaned in and pressed a small, warm kiss to his cheek.

His breath caught. The spot where your lips touched felt like it had caught fire.

“Why’d you come to the park if you’re scared of rides?” you teased gently, smiling at his reddened ears. “We could’ve done something else.”

“Well…” He shifted, turning to face you fully, voice softer now, softer than the music playing faintly below. “I wanted to make a special memory. For us.” He swallowed, meeting your eyes with a mix of nerves and hope. “I wanted our first kiss to be… special.”

Your heart melted at the honesty in his voice. You smiled, moving closer, your knee brushing his. “Just being with you is special,” you whispered.

And before he could react, you leaned forward and kissed him. Just a gentle press of lips, brief, weightless, but it stole his breath completely. He froze, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise.

“Hey—!” he stammered, laughing softly, still dazed. “That was supposed to be my job.”

You grinned, resting your arms loosely around his shoulders. “Then take it back.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked, his gaze tracing every soft curve of your face, the reflection of neon lights dancing in your eyes. Then he leaned in, slowly, carefully, as if afraid the moment might shatter.

The second kiss bloomed like something inevitable. His lips found yours with shy certainty, warm and trembling, tasting faintly of sugar and courage. The world seemed to tilt, not from the height, but from the closeness. The air between you thickened, sweet and electric, until the small Ferris wheel cabin felt like its own quiet universe.

He kissed you as if learning how. His hands rose to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks in reverence. You could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, quick and unsteady. When your lips parted, the kiss deepened, a soft hum of breath shared between you.

The taste of him was gentle, something between strawberry ice cream and the night air, and it made your chest ache in the best way. Time dissolved. There was no noise, no motion, only the warmth of him and the fluttering pulse in your own wrist.

When you finally pulled apart, the world seemed to return all at once, the creak of the wheel, the distant laughter, the faint scent of popcorn carried by the wind. You rested your foreheads together, breaths tangled, hearts still racing in unison.

“Think we’re almost down?” he asked softly, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. “Because I’m still terrified of this thing.”

You laughed, brushing your thumb over his mouth before stealing one last kiss. “We’ll be down soon,” you promised, still smiling against him. “But I don’t mind if it takes a little longer.”

Junhan (Han Hyeongjun)

Since that quiet confession, something in the air between you and Junhan had changed, not suddenly, but with the slow grace of dawn light creeping across a room. What was once simple friendship had begun to hum with a softer electricity.

Small things carried new weight: the brush of pinkies when walking side by side, the laughter that lingered a little too long, the silence that no longer felt empty. Nights turned into gentle rituals; folding laundry together, whispering secrets at the convenience store when the city slept, sharing the kind of smiles that lived somewhere between shyness and longing.

Junhan was never one for grand gestures. He loved in quieter ways, through steadiness, through presence. His shoulder became a small refuge for your tired head, his hands steady when yours trembled. When he couldn’t say what he felt, he showed it in time spent together, in late-night games, half-burned instant ramen, the soft strum of guitar strings guiding your clumsy fingers.

That evening, the air around him felt different. Maybe it was the golden light slanting through the blinds, maybe it was you, sitting cross-legged on the floor, chin resting on your knees, eyes fixed on him with a quiet, unspoken tenderness.

He’d asked Seungmin for advice once, awkwardly, almost regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth. “Hyung, what do I do?” Seungmin had only laughed, shaking his head. “She wants you to kiss her, idiot. She’s just waiting for you to realize it.” Junhan had gone silent then, unsure if the warmth spreading through his chest was courage or panic.

Now, sitting in front of you, he thought about that moment. The way you looked at him, as if he was something fragile and luminous, made it hard to breathe.

“I think I need a break,” he murmured, setting the guitar down slightly. “You want to try playing for a bit?”

Your eyes widened, startled from your reverie. “Oh- sure.”

Then, as if guided by something beyond thought, he shifted a little, parting his knees, opening his arm. “If it’s okay,” he said softly, barely audible, “sit here.”

You froze. His words hung between you like a held breath. Slowly, you nodded, crossing the small distance and lowering yourself onto his left thigh. Your pulse thrummed loud enough you were sure he could hear it. His arm came around you, tentative but warm, adjusting the guitar so it rested across both your laps.

“Hands,” he murmured, and the word brushed your skin like velvet. His breath touched your ear, light and warm, smelling faintly of coffee and something that was just him. You placed your fingers on the strings, and his hands followed, larger, gentle, guiding yours with a tremor that betrayed his calm tone.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, half amused, half nervous.

“Can you blame me?” you said with a small, shaky laugh. “It’s not easy being this close to a rock star.”

He smiled, his voice soft as he answered, “The rock star’s your boyfriend, remember?”

You laughed together, and for a heartbeat, the sound filled the room. But laughter faded easily into silence. Into the stillness of two people realizing how close they’d drifted without meaning to. Your eyes met, his dark and uncertain, yours wide and trembling with something that wasn’t fear.

“Jun…” you began, your voice little more than air.

“I know,” he said quietly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I just didn’t want to mess it up. I’ve never… you know.”

“Hey,” you murmured, tilting your head. “You’re doing fine.”

He swallowed, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up again. “You’re sure?”

You nodded. “I am.”

The guitar slid from his lap to the floor with a soft thud. His hands found your waist again, fingertips tentative but warm. You could feel his heartbeat through his palm, fast, uneven, alive. You leaned closer until your noses almost touched.

The first kiss wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t cinematic or polished. It was hesitant, barely a press of lips, and yet the whole world seemed to hush around it. His mouth tasted faintly of cappuccino, a trace of sweetness over nerves. You could feel the soft exhale he let out against your skin, his hand trembling as it moved up your back.

When you deepened the kiss, the rhythm found itself, slow, tender, a pulse of warmth that spoke without words. His lips parted slightly, shyly, inviting you in. Breath mingled, the world reduced to heartbeat and heat, the faint hum of strings still vibrating from earlier notes. His hand tightened at your waist as though afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t hold it gently enough.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breaths tangled and uneven. The air between you was heavy with sweetness and disbelief, the kind of silence that follows something sacred.

“You okay?” you asked softly, voice trembling like a note held too long.

He smiled, small, crooked, full of wonder. “Yeah,” he whispered. Then, as if the first kiss hadn’t been enough, he leaned in again, pressing one last kiss to your lips, fleeting, like punctuation at the end of a prayer.

You laughed quietly, arms wrapping around him as if you could keep the moment from fading.

Lee Jooyeon

That jealous little confession had changed everything between you and Jooyeon. You’d been close before, inseparable since childhood, but now there was a softness in the air, something warmer, deeper. You still teased each other endlessly, but beneath the laughter, there was something else pulsing quietly between your hands, your glances, your silences.

You did everything together: lazy afternoons spent drawing each other, ridiculous internet recipes that always went wrong, arcade runs that ended in laughter and snacks. Even small competitions, who could eat the spiciest dish or win at video games, had turned into excuses to be close, to touch, to steal glances when the other wasn’t looking.

Jooyeon had always been the clingy one. He loved having you near, loved the simple things; holding your hand, brushing your hair from your face, leaning close enough to breathe the same air. And lately, he’d developed a habit. A strange, adorable, dangerous habit. Biting.

It started as a joke, one playful nip at your finger when you teased him; but soon his little “bites” became something else. On your cheek, on your hand, at the edge of your shoulder. Always light, never serious. And somehow, always enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

You never complained. You couldn’t. You liked it too much.

But lately, the teasing tension between you had been shifting, something unspoken pressing at the edges of all that laughter. Jooyeon was trying to be patient, but you could tell. The way his eyes lingered on your lips when you talked. The way he’d say, half-joking, “Then come shut me up,” when you told him to stop talking. He’d wanted to kiss you since he was sixteen. Now that he finally could, he didn’t know how to stop wanting it.

The night was soft around you, the air smelled faintly of rain and something fried from a neighbor’s kitchen, a lazy symphony of domestic noise. Inside your room, the glow of the TV painted everything in shifting shades of blue and red, the title screen of a new game flickering.

Jooyeon sat beside you on the floor, legs crossed, hair falling loosely over his face as he set up the console. The faint hum of the machine filled the silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was. You’d always been like this, close enough to share warmth without needing words.

“Alright,” he said, his voice breaking through the static glow, “rules are simple: loser eats the vegetables in your fridge.”

You looked at him with mock horror. “Excuse me? You hate vegetables. That’s not even fair.”

He grinned. “Exactly. I’m betting on my victory.”

You scoffed, holding up your controller like a challenge. “If I win,” you said, sticking your tongue out, “you eat all of them. Even the broccoli.”

Jooyeon’s laugh filled the room, low, bright, contagious. Then, before you could react, he leaned forward and nipped playfully at your finger. “Deal,” he murmured against your skin, the warmth of his breath lingering there a second too long.

You yanked your hand back, laughing. “Yah! What is wrong with you—”

He lunged again, catching your hand, trying to bite it once more, and suddenly you were both tumbling sideways onto the rug, tangled in laughter and limbs. The room echoed with it, that kind of carefree sound that only belonged to the two of you.

But somewhere between the laughter and the mock fighting, something shifted. Jooyeon pinned your wrists gently against the floor, his body hovering over yours, chest rising and falling. His hair brushed your cheek, soft as a whisper. You were both laughing still, until you weren’t.

He dipped his head slightly, his lips brushing your wrist before giving a teasing bite. It should’ve been funny. It wasn’t. It sent a spark through you, sharp and electric, something warm curling low in your stomach.

You looked up at him, your breath caught halfway. He was looking back, his usual grin fading into something quieter. His thumb brushed against your skin, tracing the spot he’d bitten as if he wanted to apologize and repeat it all at once.

“I win the bite war,” he whispered, smiling just enough to soften the tension.

You laughed under your breath, trying to mask how hard your heart was beating. “Sure,” you said, pretending to roll your eyes. And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He froze, just for a heartbeat, then exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. When he opened them again, something had changed. His gaze was darker now, but not in a way that scared you. It was the kind of look that asked a question he didn’t know how to voice.

“Can I—” he started, his voice rough, uncertain.

You didn’t let him finish. “I want to,” you whispered.

Silence wrapped around you like a second skin. Jooyeon’s hand slid from your wrist to your face, brushing your hair aside, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. He leaned closer, slow, almost hesitant, as if afraid to break whatever fragile spell had been woven between you.

And then his lips found yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was real.

A kiss born from years of friendship and unspoken longing, soft but trembling, unsure but utterly sincere. The room seemed to fade away, no TV, no music, just the hum of two heartbeats syncing by accident. You tilted your head slightly, finding his rhythm. His hair brushed against your face again, tickling your skin as you smiled into the kiss.

He deepened it slowly, carefully, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath mingled with yours, sweet with the faint trace of cola and sugar. You felt everything, his hesitation, his warmth, the small tremor of relief that ran through him as if he’d been holding this moment for years.

It wasn’t a kiss to take your breath away. It was a kiss that gave it back.

Quando vocês finalmente se separaram, suas testas permaneceram coladas. O ambiente estava silencioso, exceto pelo som fraco da música do jogo tocando sem parar ao fundo. Vocês dois riram baixinho e sem fôlego. Os lábios dele estavam vermelhos, os seus um pouco inchados, e o ar entre vocês parecia algo sagrado, algo merecido.

“Forget the vegetables,” you murmured, voice still trembling with laughter. “If you lose again… I want another kiss.”

Jooyeon smiled, eyes crinkling, soft and mischievous all at once. “Then I’m never winning again,” he said.

In all honesty, the comfort the universe gives me could never be matched. We're truly just in a floating dead rock following mass, that is following mass, that is following mass. It's so dead it's alive. It's so meaningless, all of it, that moments like this gain meaning. Without you, there's still life. But I am so lucky to be loved by you, I am so lucky we decided to give meaning to each other.

"You're being all philosophical again," Jungsu groans rolling in your arms to face you.

"How did you even know? I thought you were asleep by now."

He keeps quiet closing his eyes and stretching his arms out behind you with a sigh.

"Never let me be small spoon again," he says shaking his head.

Jungsu's arms fold carefully around your body, tension melting away. His lips curl into a smile—the kind you can't force yourself to do. He rubs your back for a while and, when he is satisfied, he straddles his leg over your waist and hugs you closer.

"So no to small spoon, but yes to choking me to death?" Your voice gets lost in between Jungsu's hair, who moved his face to be buried on your neck.

"You love it," he kisses your skin softly.

"You know, the first time you asked me to sleep with you, I thought you meant something completely different…"

Jungsu let's out some incoherent complaints. And by the time you try to ask him what he said, he was already out.