#my 4am self wrote this very prettily i think

[hannie-dul-set]

BFF PRO MAX — choi beomgyu.

p — CHOI BEOMGYU x gn! reader. g — fluff, suggestive. w — making out, spicy mmmm. 582 words.

note — wrote this in a trance at 4am the other day and i'm p sure it's still coherent. anyway i love beomie. i am in love with him. i am in—

choi beomgyu is convinced that there are tiny magnets dotted all over your palms and his because every time he’s within arms reach, you clasp your fingers around his like it’s your very ritualistic greeting. sometimes, it’s just your pinkies curled around each other’s when you’re nearing your apartment every time he walks you home. at times, you’re holding his hand whole, clammy and sweaty after hours of monopolizing his touch.

nevertheless, you’re always holding them— one by one, both at the same time. it raises questions from the rest of your friends: “are you two a thing now?” and your reply would always be “no! gyu and i are just good friends!” in the same cadence, same timbre, and it’s etched itself into a special corner in beomgyu’s head. a reminder. a warning.

choi beomgyu is also convinced that you wear sleeping potions instead of perfume. because whenever you cage him in your arms, no matter the time and place, he finds himself sinking into your sweet, dizzying scent and his eyelids grow heavy, taking in the magic you exude. he’d fall right asleep if you’re on the scratchy couch of his apartment, the television a mindless hum in the background as his consciousness slips away.

but of course, he can’t just fall asleep when you’re holding him at the cafeteria. your friends would jest and tell you two to quit the pda, but you’d tell them “we’re just friends! right gyu?” how can it be pda when you’re not a couple? 

most of the time, choi beomgyu would agree with you, laughing off their insinuations and brushing away the danger they carry. you’re right. you two have been friends for ten, fifteen years and the touches you exchange, the warmth you share, is simply because you’re both so, so close with each other that it can’t be mistaken as anything but platonic.

friends can call each other first thing in the morning. friends can greet each other goodnight and sleep tight. friends can wake up in each other’s bed’s the next say— the both of you would always need to explain that nothing but sleep happened.

however this time, choi beomgyu starts to question the friendliness of your exchanges. especially when you’re groaning his name into his mouth, pitch black, at the mcdonald’s parking lot near your apartment.

“gyu—”

it’s still the same name you call him, the same name you’ve been calling him since your parents forced a playdate on you at five years old. but the breathlessness of it is new, the desperation is foreign, and the desire to hear it over and over again in its addicting difference runs down his spine in a cold shudder.

“maybe we should— mph!”

it’s still the same hand he’s always held, the same curve and bend of your fingers, but you’ve never squeezed it so tightly before, never with your nails digging into the skin of his knuckles with each creak and squeak of the leather of his backseat.

“please—”

it’s still the same scent he’s been drowning in, the same spell casted when he’s holding you and vice versa, but instead of lulling asleep he’s now wide awake, alive and ravenous, burying his nose into your neck with a sweet inhale as he paints kisses on your collarbone and leaves marks on your skin.

choi beomgyu is convinced that this isn’t something that “just friends” do. but maybe, maybe you two are just really, really, really close best friends.

BFF PRO MAX. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.