the first time sehun ever saw him, there was absolutely no spark—no fireworks bursting with color behind his eyes or love songs on repeat playing at the back of his mind.

chanyeol thinks he's too cool to be friends with someone as quiet as jongin, but for some reason, he keeps trying.

jongin will always find a reason to believe that maybe not now, but someday, he would tell chanyeol, and that alone motivates him to persist, to be sehun’s constant.

sehun doesn’t notice a lot of things.

baekhyun had insisted on playing a round (or two. or three. four?) of laser tag to celebrate the end of a nerve-wracking academic year.

they were two halves of a whole, attached to the hip by some unbreakable bond of friendship and budding bromance, as chanyeol liked to put it, because when kyungsoo passed the university of his choice, sehun made sure he did, too.

sehun gives one last look at his surroundings, foreign and familiar—he is terrified and uncertain of what’s to come. yet, as baekhyun talks in soft murmurs to ease him, he feels oddly safe.

what started out as a casual fling between teenagers led to a somewhat inevitable downturn of events. jinri called him one evening, sobbing uncontrollably through the static, 'i'm with child,' and sehun slumped to the floor of his dorm in utter disbelief.

‘i’m a dragonian—half human, half dragon,’ it gives a low chuckle, one that could pass as a low grumble between the lips, and nods towards his direction. a shiver runs down kyungsoo’s spine. ‘what’s your name, kid?’

sehun greets him with a hiccup, a sob threatening to break, but jongin doesn’t ask―doesn’t pester him with what’s wrong or don’t cry or it’s going to be okay because jongin isn’t ever sure if it really will be.

when the sun seeps through the window in a faint stream of light and sehun wakes up with baekhyun in his arms, he is awashed with calmness, warmth, and it doesn’t feel like waking up from a dream at all.

jongin hasn’t stopped smiling, not really. not when he’d been sole witness to a rather “adorable” fall by an equally cute stranger.

there is a hollow space in jongin’s chest where chanyeol used to be.

eight years and counting, and yet baekhyun feels like he’s seeing sehun for the first time every waking day, thoughts going haywire with every touch, every word spoken, every glance thrown his way, reducing baekhyun into a mess of feelings and oh sehun, like every fiber of his being is rooted in the way sehun hold him together.

if chanyeol was here, kyungsoo would know what to say.

jongin doesn’t tell chanyeol his days at the dance studio have become more dull―muted steps lost in the flurry of failed trials and mundane routines.

today is the day kim jongin will say yes.

sehun is beautiful, baekhyun thinks aloud, because the gentle pitter-pattering in his chest is enough to tell him so.

chanyeol is stuck with what to write for his next song and finds inspiration in all the wrong places.

jongin doesn't know whether to kiss chanyeol or bury him under all the snow.

there is something particularly different about today, because it's the first time sehun ever sees him, and he thinks the sun rose in those eyes.   based on disney's 'paperman' (the 2013 academy award winner for best animated short film)

‘i’ve been wanting to say something that’s been on my mind lately—four years to be exact. i meant to tell you sooner, but i lost track of time. it happens when you’re around.’

if chanyeol had all the time in the world, he would probably spend a third of it counting the number of times he’d actually daydreamed of waking up to sehun's disheveled hair and muffled 'good mornings'.

'c'mon, i'll shower with you,' sehun pulls baekhyun from the bed, catching him momentarily in his arms, baekhyun’s mumbled protests too weak for sehun to take to heart.

it was a sudden jolt in the chest, a momentary tug at the heartstring, that byun baekhyun knew he’d fallen deep into the confines of oh sehun’s charm. ‘junmyeon-hyung,’ he starts one evening, unsteady under the leader’s curious glance. ‘it’s sehun—it’s sehun.’