i love you

“It is,” you hummed. “I’ll keep working on the ocean fish bundle, by the way. It’s a good luck day, so you should be able to make it maybe another ten levels in the mines if you keep at it? I left some salads in a chest for you to take.” 

Okay, and maybe he was realizing just how intense you were about this whole thing. To be fair, he knew how serious you were about games. Felix had introduced you to him forever ago as one of his gaming buddies, and even then he’d been exposed to the fact that sometimes you would make spreadsheets for things. He’d seen your sims legacy challenge and both the family tree and the spreadsheet attached to it. Felix had teased him about it once, saying that you were serious about things sometimes… and yet Chris found himself falling harder for you and your passions more and more over time. The fact that you liked him back was what surprised him, only to find out that the reverse was true for you.

“I mean… You’re you,” was what you had said to him, visibly a little nervous. “You’re cute, you’re funny, you’re incredibly talented… It’s kinda crazy that you’re into me and my dorky… everything, I guess.” 

Well, your dork stuff was what endeared him to you in the beginning. And he knew that now, playing this game with you, that you were holding back on how intense you really could be. If he didn’t make it through those ten levels in the mines, you wouldn’t care at all. You hadn’t before, saying that your intensity was what was fun for you. If he enjoyed taking it easy, then you wouldn’t push—although you did know how he could get while playing Genshin, purely from witnessing it yourself. Completing the bundles in this game was really the only thing you did get intense over. The farm you two shared didn’t have any sort of cohesion to it, mainly because it was still early game and the two of you had plans to map it out later once you had the funds to do whatever you wanted with it. 

Chris just smiled at you for a moment, watching as you ran your little character off the farm to begin working toward your goal. “Hey.” 

“Mhm?”

“You’re cute.” He giggled. “Can I come fish with you instead?”

You glanced up, smiling. “You can always come fish with me if you want. I’ll be on the docks.” 

He set off after you after dumping his supplies into a chest to get his fishing gear instead, setting down a sign on his way off the farm. Through idle chatter, the two of you sat at the beach, fishing up ocean fish until you were out of stamina and food and space to keep your fish in your inventory. He followed your character back through the town, checking trash cans the entire way back. He saw the look of confusion cross your face, listened to the way you muttered under your breath as you read the text aloud…

“What do you mean ‘go check our bed’?” You looked up. “Chris?”

“Throw your fish in and go to bed,” he said. “And then go look.” 

You did as prompted. The moment the two of you had your characters in bed and the earnings screen popped up, he watched as you stood, making your way to your bedroom. Barely a minute later, you had returned to him, clutching a wrapped book in your hands.

“Christopher, you didn’t.” 

He giggled, watching you. “You love this game!”

“I know! But–” You’d already begun tearing off the wrapping paper to reveal the very cookbook you’d talked about wanting for the past few months, only to debate with yourself over whether you’d actually cook something from it. “Chris…” You pouted at him. “You’re sweet.”

He opened an arm out to you, letting you sit on his lap for a moment. He wrapped his arms around you, happily settling in.  “It’s your birthday! I couldn’t just get you nothing—I got you a shirt, too, but it got delayed.” 

You pouted at him again, wrapping an arm around him as you leaned against him. “I’ll look through it later and see what looks good.” And then you turned, kissing him on the cheek. “And you didn’t have to get me anything, you know. I was happy just playing games with you.” 

“Well.” He hooked his arms around your waist. “Now you get me and a cookbook… and a new shirt in a few days.” 

Setting the book aside, you turned, fingers underneath his chin so that you could guide him into a proper kiss this time. When you drew back, you just smiled at him again. “I love you. You’re—you’re adorable, you big dork.” “And I’m yours,” he giggled. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, back pressed against the wall, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. You left your phone in the other room- so the only way to tell the time is by judging the brightness outside.

You finally gain the courage to stand up, lightheadedness immediately flooding your senses as you realise it’s been hours since you last ate.

“Fuck.” You mutter, not ready to face him.

You quietly open the door, hoping to avoid making too much sound.

You tiptoe to the kitchen, your footsteps softly pittering down the hall.

You enter the kitchen, bee-lining towards the pantry when you notice a slouched figure sitting at the bench.

Chris.

His head rested atop his folded arms and his curly black hair was fanned messily upon the countertop, like he’d been sitting there a while.

You panic, unsure of whether he had heard you come in.

After a moment's silence, you choose to creep quietly towards the pantry.

Once you reach the door, a wave of dizziness crashes over you.

Instinctively, you drop- immediately sitting and leaning against the wall. Your descent is not at all graceful, and the quiet thud of you landing on the floor alerts Chris.

He immediately sits up, and you get a flash of his red-rimmed eyes before your vision goes blurry.

“Fuck.” You hear him exclaim as he rushes over, kneeling beside you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, briefly touching your shoulder before quickly withdrawing his hand.

“Fine.” You mutter, your eyes shut tight as you try to take deep breaths. “Dizzy.”

“When did you last eat?” He asks, moving to get a snack from the pantry before you even finish- knowing the answer.

He hands you a small packet, you tear it open, immediately chewing and swallowing whatever was inside.

After a minute or two, the dizziness clears. Your ears stop ringing, your hands stop tingling and your vision clears when you blink your eyes open.

“Thank you.” You murmur, still avoiding eye contact.

“How do you feel now?” Chris asks as he sits down beside you.

“Better, thank you.” You respond, trying to ignore the anxiety and embarrassment twisting in your gut.

The two of you pause for a moment, just sitting there in silence, an anxious tension filling the space with a suffocating dread.

“I’m sorry for fucking everything up.” You whisper, your voice thick as you blink back tears.

“You didn’t-” Chris starts but you cut him off.

“I did.” You pause for a moment. “When I first agreed to all of this.”

“I didn’t think about how it might impact our friendship, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” You keep your eyes trained to the floor, too ashamed to look at him.

“I thought it was helping.” Chris whispers, and the way his voice shakes breaks your heart.

“It did.” You murmur. “Too much.”

“I feel so much more comfortable with physical touch now. Only problem is, now I can only imagine it with you.” You whisper, voice breaking as tears start trailing down your face. “I only want it with you.”

“Look at me.” Chris whispers, his voice devastatingly soft.

You shake your head, simply far too afraid that this is the end.

“Please, lovebug.” He whispers and as much as it hurts you turn towards him.

“I am yours.” He murmurs, a soft, hesitant smile resting upon his tear-stained face.

“I have been for ages. Why do you think I offered to help with the romantic stuff in the first place?” He mumbles, his eyes heart-wrenchingly fond.

“A chance to kiss my super hot best friend and crush, I’d be crazy to ignore that.” He adds and a laugh gets caught in your throat.

“I’m in love with you, have been for ages.” He murmurs, a soft pink dusting his tear-streaked cheeks.

You stare at him for a moment, the gears whirring rapidly in your mind.

“What?” You murmur, trying to process everything. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” He whispers. “You’re you.” “Exactly. I’m me. Why would you ever love me?” You mutter, voice bitter.

“Why would I?” He asks incredulously. “You’re the best person I know. You’re so kind, to everything and everyone, even when they don’t deserve it.” “You’re always there for me, even when I’m in the studio at 3am. You’re so passionate about what you do. You’ve never once judged me and you always know just how to make me laugh. You’re honest with me, and I feel so safe with you, like I don’t have to worry.” He whispers, taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“You’re my best fucking friend. And I can’t imagine myself loving anyone as much as I love you.” His voice breaks slightly and you feel yourself begin to cry more.

“But- do you really want to be with someone who’s so broken?” You murmur softly between sobs.

“You’re not broken.” He whispers, softly brushing a tear off your face. “You’re healing, that’s why it hurts so much.”

At his words, you somehow start sobbing harder, years of anguish and exhaustion being let out as you cry.

He pulls you close, manoeuvring the two of you until you were cuddled comfortably on the floor. 

The two of you sit there for a while, silently holding each other as you let your emotions out.

“Can we move somewhere else?” You gently ask after sometime. “My ass hurts.”

He laughs before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and standing up.

He holds his hand out to you, a gesture that's much more than an offer to stand.

And you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

Once you stand up, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, looking at him with a quiet reverence.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“What time is it?” You murmur, after the two of you stand there for a while.

He briefly checks his phone. “7:15.”

“I need to have dinner.” You groan, resting your head against his shoulder as he giggles.

“Wanna get take-out?” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“Only if we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie.” You whisper, your voice slightly muffled against his shirt.

“Of course.” He giggles, pressing another gentle kiss to your head. “You go pick a movie, I’ll order. Do you want the usual?”

You nod, humming happily as gently pulled away from him.

You begin to turn towards the lounge room before pausing.

“Wait.” You murmur, butterflies twirling in your stomach as you move to face him again.

Before he can process it, you press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Okay, that’s all.” You giggle before turning and walking towards the lounge room.

When you glance back, you briefly see him standing there, eyes wide with a soft smile on his lips and a light, pink blush spread across his cheeks.

His reaction makes you smile to yourself again, those butterflies once again spinning around in your stomach.

And in that moment, you know- it will all be okay.

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

Taglist: ʚ✩ɞ

You were the last one out of the van. Not on purpose, really — just taking a moment to let the moment seep in. Maybe to shake off the nerves, maybe to adjust your coat. Maybe because you still could not believe they had invited you on this trip in the first place.

But then the van door slid open again.

“Come on, angel,” Felix grinned over at you, curls falling over his forehead. “Your room’s got such a pretty window view and three blankets. I picked them myself and gave you the best ones.”

Grinning softly, you followed him out into the cold, your boots crunching against the snow. The others who had yet to run inside to claim a room were unloading bags and shouting across the clearing of the driveway.

You stood in the entryway of the cabin for a moment, frost clinging to the ends of your hair, and your arms wrapped tight around yourself — not because you were cold, but because you were trying to make yourself small. Like you always did when they were all around you. Not because they ever made you feel like you had to… but because sometimes it was hard to believe you didn’t have to.

Then came Chan, stepping behind you, the soft thump of his hand landing gently on your lower back, rubbing comfortingly.

“You okay?”

You nodded, not wanting to ruin the warm mood with your thoughts.

He didn’t press. Just gave that quiet little hum — the one he always gave when he wanted to say more but knew better — and took your bag from your hand like it was instinct. “Come on. They’re already fighting over who gets to cook for you first.”

Of course they were.

And you felt it then; how soft the air turned whenever their eyes landed on you, how it lingered. No one said it aloud. No one needed to. You were the only guest. The only one they had all invited, alongside the original eight. And something about that meant more than it should have.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the fire was crackling, hot chocolate was brewing, and you were on the couch with eight bodies stretched out around you in every direction. Not touching — not yet. But close. So close you could feel it in your fingertips.

And the way Seungmin handed you a pillow without speaking, the way Hyunjin’s hand brushed yours as he passed the marshmallows, the way Chan lingered a moment too long in the doorway before flicking the lights off for the night.

It made you feel peaceful, soft, and comfortable.

The cabin had gone quiet hours ago. Everyone else had drifted off — some to bedrooms, some still snoring softly from the living room floor — but you had not been able to sleep.

So you wandered to the kitchen. Barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, trailing your fingers along the edges of counters you barely recognized in the dark.

You had just opened the fridge when you heard it: soft footsteps behind you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Jeongin asked, voice scratchy from tiredness.

You turned. He was in flannel pants and a hoodie too big for his frame, hair messy and lips still pink from sleep. But his eyes were sharp. Awake. On you.

“No,” you murmured. “Too quiet.”

He nodded, walking past you to the kettle. “I was gonna make tea. Want some?”

You nodded.

The silence between you was easy — companionable. But it held something else, too. That faint, charged awareness that had followed you all day. It lived in the way he poured the water without asking your favourite and somehow still picked the exact tea you would have chosen. It lived in how he leaned against the counter beside you, arms folded, hip brushing yours like it had nowhere else to go.

“Everyone’s been all over you recently,” he said after a moment. Not jealous. Just observant. His voice stayed soft. “Not that I’m surprised.”

You looked over at him. “What do you mean?”

Jeongin’s lips curled into the smallest smile. “You’re the kind of person who makes people want to lean closer.”

The kettle clicked and a soft whistle echoed in the room.

He poured the tea, added the components to make it just how you like it, and poured your mug over without meeting your eyes.

“But I saw it first,” he added, a little quieter now. “I just… never knew how to say it.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you leaned your head gently against his shoulder, and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it all day.

He stayed there with you until the tea went cold, and lingered where you once stood by him when you retired to your room after exchanging caring goodnights.

You were the last to wake, you had slept through breakfast with everyone. You padded out into the kitchen, yawning, hoodie pulled tight around your middle, and observed the guys outside. Snow pressed soft against the windows, and the world outside was dipped in white and gold.

Your boys were outside, partaking in a spontaneous snowball fight caused by Jisung throwing—and missing—a snowball at Hyunjin, laughter echoing through the trees. You opted to stay behind, content to warm your fingers near the stove and drink in the hush.

That’s when Minho walked into the kitchen. Clad in a low-slung pair of sweats and a cardigan hanging open at the chest, hair still tousled from bed. He didn’t look surprised to see you up late.

“I figured you’d skip the cold,” he murmured.

You shrugged. “I’m conserving my energy.”

Minho snorted, then moved past you to the fridge.

“You eaten?”

“Not yet. I’m not really hungry.”

He paused.

Then, he moved away to pull out one of the chairs at the small table near the window, “Sit. I’ll make something.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m making it anyway,” he said simply.

You obeyed him, there was no point in arguing against Minho. He moved around the kitchen with calm precision. He made nothing overly flashy, but it came together fast — practiced, like he’d made it just for you before.

He slid the plate in front of you, then leaned against the counter, watching.

“You gonna stare at me until I eat?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You smirked. “Why?”

“Because I care about you.”

The answer hit harder than it should have.

You looked down at the plate. It was perfect. Just the way you liked it. No questions asked.

“You’re always feeding the others,” he said softly. “So I wanted to feed you.”

That was Minho, really. He didn’t say I love you — he handed you a peeled orange before you asked for it. He didn’t ask Are you okay? — he made your favourite meal without ever being told.

You took a bite and hummed, pleased.

His smile was small and slight, and his shoulders relaxed just a tad.

Then — like it was nothing — he walked over, sat in the chair beside you, and pulled your socked foot into his lap.

“You can pretend I’m not soft,” he murmured, pressing his thumb gently into your arch. “But you’re the only one I do this for. Don't tell the others, only you get special treatment.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

He fed you warmth in food, in touch, in silence.

And for the rest of that morning, you allowed him be as soft as he pleased for you.

In the afternoon, the backyard had erupted into chaos.

Somewhere in the distance, Hyunjin was filming a fake music video with a broom, much to Changbin’s entertainment. Felix and Seungmin were arguing over who had better aim with a snowball, despite the snow already half-melted into slush. But none of that mattered. Not to you. Not to Jisung.

Because he had locked eyes with you, wiggled his brows, and said, “I bet I can catch you in ten seconds.”

You had bolted before he had said go.

Now, you were sprinting through the wet grass, passing remnants of melting snow from the beaming sunshine, Jisung right on your tail with all the determination of a man chasing something he never wanted to let go.

“You’re cheating!” you yelled between laughs.

“Impossible!” he panted. “You’re just slow!”

You zig-zagged around the side of the cabin, heart pounding, lungs burning with breathless joy. Then — arms around your waist, a victorious yell — he tackled you onto the oversized beanbag someone had conveniently dragged outside earlier.

You landed with a thud, his body crashing half on top of you, his face hovering over yours.

The laughter caught somewhere between your throat and his. Everything froze.

You were both breathing hard — noses almost brushing, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, chest heaving where it pressed lightly against yours.

“Got you,” he whispered, a little dazed.

You swallowed.

“You always do,” you whispered back, quieter than you meant to.

Jisung’s grin faltered, replaced by something softer. His eyes searched yours — still bright, still teasing, but now shimmering with something far more dangerous.

He reached up, brushing a blade of grass from your hair, fingers lingering just a moment too long.

“I like when you laugh like that,” he said softly.

Then, just as quickly, he flopped onto his back beside you, pulling you with him until your head landed on his shoulder. His arm curled instinctively around you, casual but firm. Protective.

“I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushing suddenly. “I like a lot of things about you, but... that one’s high on the list.”

He grinned again, smaller now. More real.

You lay there like that, pressed into his side, feeling the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow.

“You make me feel like I’m fourteen again,” he murmured, voice low. “Stupid and giddy. And like maybe, if I say one more dumb thing, you’ll kiss me just to shut me up.”

You didn’t answer.

But your hand found his. And you held it. Quiet and sure.

And for once, Jisung didn’t joke. He just smiled — soft and private — like maybe that had been enough.

Dinner was chaotic — as dinners always were with eight boys and too many voices. Laughter echoed off the walls, the table overflowed with mismatched dishes full of different delicious foods, and someone had already spilled a drink across the tablecloth.

You sat at the end of the table, half-listening, your fingers idly turning your fork over and over. You were not hungry, not really — there was too much noise, too much motion, too many eyes. You had made yourself small again without meaning to.

And Felix noticed.

He always noticed.

You felt his gaze before you heard his voice — soft, close, careful.

“You didn’t eat much.”

You flinched and looked up.

Felix was beside you now, crouched slightly so he could speak just to you. His freckles were highlighted in the warm light. His eyes held none of the teasing sparkle he showed the others. Just quiet concern.

“I’m okay,” you said, brushing it off with a faint smile.

He did not move. Did not believe you.

“I made the roast for you,” he said as casually as asking for the weather, but the pink flush dusting his cheeks and his lips lifting at the edges showed anything but casualness in his actions. “You said it reminded you of your mum’s.”

That part was true — you had told him once, offhandedly, that you had missed your mother’s home cooking on a walk last week when the wind was sharp and your heart was soft.

He had remembered.

“I’ll get you a plate,” he said gently, standing before you could argue.

You watched as he carefully chose from each dish — made sure you had enough of what you liked, and none of what you avoided. He even added a sprig of parsley on the edge to decorate the plate, like it was something sacred.

When he placed it in front of you, he smiled — small, private. “Eat slow,” he said. “No one’s rushing you. No one's judging you.”

Then — before he left — he leaned down, brushing a stray hair from your face with the backs of his fingers.

“You deserve to be looked after, too. I’m always here to do that angel.”

And just like that, he returned to his seat. But his eyes flicked to you now and then — checking on you quietly, not pressuring.

You ate slowly. Not entirely because he told you to — but because in that moment, you felt steady. Seen, like you mattered in ways that did not need noise to be real. Your warmed heart was a lot to process.

After everything was cleaned up, you found Changbin by the fireplace, fiddling with the worn zipper of his hoodie. The others had migrated elsewhere — a movie murmuring in the background, snacks crunched between shared jokes — but this room was quieter now. Lit by firelight and something else that hung between you.

“You okay?” he asked, looking up at you with a soft voice, like he already knew the answer.

You gave a small shrug and dropped to sit beside him. Not quite close, not quite far.

“I just…” You paused. “Sometimes I feel out of place. Like I take up too much space. Or not the right kind.”

Changbin looked at you then. Really looked. No surprise in his eyes. No pity, either — just a calm kind of recognition.

“I feel like that sometimes,” he said quietly.

You blinked.

He smiled, self-conscious, rubbing the back of his neck. “People see confidence. Muscles. Jokes. But I grew up hating my voice. My face. My body. Still do, some days.”

You stayed silent, stunned by his honesty.

“I know what it feels like,” he continued. “To sit in a room full of people you love and still wonder if you belong in it.”

You could feel your throat constricting.

“But you do,” he said. “I promise you do. We brought you here for a reason.”

He shifted closer, enough for your shoulders to brush. “And even if you don’t see it tonight... I’ll see it for you. I see you as someone I want to be around every day.”

You let your head tip onto his shoulder.

“I know you hide yourself sometimes,” he added. “When you’re tired. When you’re overwhelmed. When you’re down. But I see you.”

Your eyes met his — wide, vulnerable.

“And you do not have to be like that with me. Not here. Not tonight. Not ever.”

He opened the his arm and wrapped it around you, then pulled you against his chest like it was the only place you were meant to be. His arms were solid around you. Not caging. Not forcing. Just there. Anchoring.

“You’re allowed to fall apart a little,” he whispered, lips just above your temple. “I’ll hold the pieces.”

You didn’t realise how long you had needed to hear that. To hear that not only someone understood, but had been in the same boat as you.

Not through a grand gesture. Not through loud declarations. Just through a boy who knew how it felt.

It was not even 8 a.m. the next morning when you were challenged to a nine-way game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who was going to make the dreaded convenience store trip.

And it ended with both you and Seungmin standing at the edge of the driveway, groggy and blinking against the pale morning light, breath puffing visibly into the air.

“Remind me why we agreed to this,” you muttered.

“We did not agree to this. They rigged it,” Seungmin muttered, adjusting the sleeves of his oversized hoodie. “Hyunjin always does that weird finger-twitch before scissors. It’s cheating, psychologically.”

You smiled sleepily, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets. “You’re really upset about this.”

“Obviously. I’m now awake too early, underfed, and in charge of everyone’s snack cravings.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just started walking down the road toward the convenience store at the corner. You jogged a few steps to catch up.

Despite the grumbling, Seungmin made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk. When a car passed, he subtly angled himself between you and the road. When you tripped slightly on the uneven pavement, he caught your elbow without missing a beat.

He sighed theatrically. “They better appreciate this. If Felix texts me for some kind of milk after we get back, I’m going home.”

You laughed, leaning into him slightly, shoulder to shoulder. “You say that like you aren’t going to get him two of what he wants.”

He scowled at you.

You grinned in return.

The store was mostly empty, bright fluorescent lights buzzing quietly overhead. You both wandered through the aisles, grabbing a mess of snacks — ice creams, seaweed crisps, warm sweet buns from the warmer near the counter. Seungmin wordlessly handed you a can of your favourite drink, then looked away like it was nothing.

To him, it was not nothing.

On the walk back, you offered him a bite of the red bean bun you had opened. He accepted it with a grumble. “This is the only good part of this whole cursed mission.”

And when the house finally came into view again, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Next time,” he said, voice low, “let’s lose on purpose.”

You blinked. “Why?”

His mouth twitched into a barely-there smile.

“Because it was kinda nice. Just us.”

And that, for Seungmin, said everything.

The steady afternoon murmur of voices and clinking dishes drifted from the open windows behind you, laughter bubbling up in waves as the others prepared the evening’s meal. You slipped outside, craving a moment away from the bustle, and found Hyunjin settled in the porch swing, a steaming mug cradled between his hands.

He looked up as you approached, that familiar, easy smile lighting his face. “Needed some fresh air?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded and eased down onto the chair beside him, the wood creaking softly beneath you. The sun was warm, filtering through the tall pines that surrounded the cabin, dappling the porch with patches of light and shadow.

For a time, you simply breathed in the quiet—the soft rustle of the trees, the distant chatter, the faint crackle of the fire pit beyond the porch. The contrast between the lively energy inside and this peaceful corner made the moment feel like a secret shared between the two of you.

Hyunjin shifted just enough so your shoulders touched, the contact simple but grounding. His gaze softened as he met yours, eyes reflecting the dappled sunlight. “It’s nice here,” he murmured. “Like the world slows down a little.”

You smiled, leaning your head lightly on his shoulder, warmth spreading through you beyond the sun’s touch. “I could stay here forever,” you whispered.

His fingers found yours, weaving between them with a quiet certainty. “I don’t want to share this with anyone else,” he admitted, voice low, sincere.

You looked up, catching the depth in his eyes—the gentle promise wrapped in his words, the way he was offering something steady, patient, and real.

A breeze stirred, carrying with it the scent of pine needles and wood smoke, and you both exhaled together, breathing in the calm. Around you, the cabin pulsed with life, but here on this porch, cradled in the soft afternoon glow, it was just the two of you—connected, content, and quietly holding space for whatever might come next.

The night had settled quietly, wrapping the world in a blanket of soft snow and silence. The cold was sharp, each breath sending out little clouds that hung in the air like tiny ghosts. You tugged your coat tighter around yourself, fingers slipping into the warmth of your gloves, but the chill didn’t bite as fiercely when Chan was near.

Chan stood beside you, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes bright beneath the hood of his jacket. “It’s too perfect to stay inside,” he said, voice low and warm. “Come on. Let’s make snow angels.”

Without waiting for an answer, he took your hand, fingers curling around yours in that familiar way that made your heart skip. Together, you stepped off the porch onto the thick, untouched snow that blanketed the lawn.

Lying down side by side, you stretched your arms wide and moved slowly, carefully tracing wings into the soft powder beneath you. Your laughter rang out softly, the sound carried on the cold breeze, mixing with Chan’s own joyful chuckles.

When you sat up, the snow clung to your hair and coat, cold and fresh, and Chan reached out instantly, caressing your face to brush stray flakes away from your face. His fingertips were gentle, warm against your skin despite the cold night.

“You’re cold,” he said quietly, concern threading through his voice.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, catching your breath, the warmth from the shared laughter still glowing inside you.

He looked unconvinced, his eyes searching yours, full of that quiet care he showed without ever needing to say much. Slowly, he shifted closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you near.

“I’m always here, you know,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper. “No matter what.”

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest where you could hear the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm so calm and grounding it made the cold feel miles away.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, wrapped in the fragile warmth between frost and light, under a sky so vast and still it seemed to hold all your unspoken promises.

Then Chan’s hand found yours again, fingers threading through yours with effortless ease, grounding you even more.

“It is cold out here,” he said after a beat, voice gentle but firm. “Let’s not wait too long before going back inside.”

You smiled up at him, your cheeks flushed not just from the cold. “Soon,” you promised.

But for now, you were exactly where you wanted to be—under fairy lights, cradled in the quiet night, with Chan’s steady warmth beside you.

Before you both could move inside, however, one by one, the others drifted outside, drawn by the soft night time snow and the sound of your shared laughter.

Jisung called out with a laugh, balancing a tray of snacks, while Minho checked the fire pit, expertly coaxing flames to life. Felix and Jeongin settled on the porch steps, quietly sharing a joke, while Seungmin leaned against the railing, watching the sky with a small, content smile.

Hyunjin sat on his spot on the swing, tired from having a warm, full stomach, and still wrapped in the peaceful quiet of the surroundings.

And there you were — nestled comfortably in the centre of this easy cluster, feeling every heartbeat and breath like threads weaving a delicate tapestry of belonging.

Changbin slid beside you, slipping his hand around your waist with a softness that surprised you, his usual fiery intensity melting into quiet warmth. “You okay?” he murmured, voice low and steady.

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder again.

The air was cool but not bitingly cold, scented with pine and smoke, with the faint hum of the forest settling around you all.

Minho caught your eye, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed you a cup of warm tea. “Make sure you don’t forget to eat,” he said softly, his tone protective, tender.

Felix grinned, nudging Jisung playfully. “We better watch out, she’s got us all wrapped around her finger.”

Changbin laughed, squeezing your hand gently.

Seungmin glanced over, eyes gentle. “I’m glad we’re here together.”

The night stretched before you — open, full of quiet possibilities.

No words were needed to say what simmered beneath the surface. The slow burn of something sweet, something patient, something that might someday be—but for now, it was enough to simply be here.

Together.

Under one sky.

tysm for ur req bbg i hope u liked :)

more skz content - reqs open!

You blinked at him, heart already starting to race the way it did when you could feel something good was about to happen. Chan smiled — a real one, the kind that crinkled his eyes, the kind he didn’t use for anyone else.

"I, uh..." He toed the suction cup across the floor with the side of his sock. "Had an idea. For you. For, y'know, spring and stuff."

He crouched down to pick it up, grumbling to himself, before straightening up and holding the whole thing out toward you. Finally letting you see it properly.

A bird feeder.

Clear plastic, simple design, with little perches and trays. Small enough to stick directly onto the glass of your bedroom window.

“So you can see them whenever you want,” he said, voice soft, almost shy. “You shouldn’t have to go looking for them.”

For a second, you just stared. Not because you didn’t get it — no, you got it too much. The thought behind it hit you straight in the chest, so much louder than any words could’ve been. 

Your hands twitched before you could even think. You squeezed them into fists, You rocked on your heels in what slowly progressed into a small bounce, and then you burst — your hands fluttered up, half-formed movements in the air, your feet carried you in excited circles as you tried to get the fuzzy feeling out. A high, shaky noise slipped out of your throat, this bright, raw little laugh you couldn't even contain.

And Chan... God, Chan just looked so stupidly proud. Like he'd just handed you the entire sun.

You didn’t know what to do first — say thank you? set it up? hug him? cry a little because someone thought of you like this?

You did a messy mix of all of it — Chan set the feeder down carefully to catch you when you fling your arms around his waist, laughing and half-crying into his hoodie.

"I love it," you mumbled against him, voice muffled. "I love you." 

He chuckled low against the top of your head, squeezing you so tightly it felt like he was trying to put all the unspoken things into his arms instead.

"Let's stick it up now," he said, pulling back just enough to wipe your cheek with his thumb, grinning like you personally kept the stars lit.

The two of you ended up perched on the windowsill, crammed side by side, sticking the feeder to the glass with too much excitement and not nearly enough coordination. Your hands kept fluttering every time you touched the feeder — tap, tap, tap — a little dance of your fingers against the window, almost like you were coaxing the birds to come faster.

Chan caught you doing it once, and instead of saying anything, he just bumped his knee against yours, soft and understanding.

It didn’t even take an hour. A tiny, brave sparrow fluttered down, landing on one of the perches like it had been waiting for the invitation. You gasped so sharply you clapped your hands over your mouth, then started bouncing where you sat, fists clenching and unclenching in wild, giddy excitement.

Chan watched the bird for maybe two seconds — then he turned to watch you instead. Like he couldn’t imagine a view better than the way you lit up.

And honestly, maybe he was right.

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