heeseung‎ ‎inhaled sharply at your counter argument, albeit fondly, at how adorably yet aggressively you’re trying to prove your point.

you switch to a better position on his couch— closer, making animated gestures with your hands and refusing to back down with faces inches apart.

“listen—”

“no, you listen,” you cut him off, effectively enough that he shuts up, completely, dazed simply from having you so close.

your laughter echoes like a timeless song, he can listen to it forever— not that he would ever admit it.

he doesn’t even realise when he inches in and you stop mid-sentence when you register what he’s doing.

silence— heavy, nervous.

he always knew you were pretty, but not pretty pretty. not this pretty. not pretty in a way that’s knocking the air out of his lungs.

especially not pretty in a way that is making him want to taste your lips— and he blinks at his crazy thoughts.

your eyes meet, and then his gaze drops to your lips, hand tightening slightly on your wrist.

you forget to breathe, he’s in a trance. your lips go dry and you lick them nervously, completely unaware of the way he’s freaking out because of that single move.

there’s a pause, too long, and then he pulls back first, clearing his throat. “uh— sorry. i forget what i was saying,”

so did you, and it all goes back to watching the movie again. neither of you bring it up again, but neither of you forget it.