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Jaeyel overthinks.
Not in the cute, romcom way where he just gets flustered.
No—he spirals. He second-guesses.
He worries he’s being too much, too clingy, too emotional, too slow, too him.
Again, Jaeyel overthinks. A lot.
Not lightly, not casually—but intensely, in a way he has learned to manage with deep breaths, matcha lattes, playlists labeled “Keep it together, Jaeyel”, and strategic avoidance of reflective surfaces.
It’s not that he wants to overthink. His brain simply takes everything and turns it into a group project due tomorrow—and he is the only one working on it.
Did I say something weird? Did I laugh too loud? Did I use the wrong emoji? Do they still like me? Do I still deserve them? Am I—?
His brain runs. Runs and runs and runs.
And Hani knows this.
Because Hani pays attention. Because Hani has always paid attention.
***************************************
It’s a soft, rainy Thursday when it happens again.
They’re in Hani’s apartment—the kind of place that smells like laundry, vanilla, and the faint citrus of Hani’s shampoo. The windows are fogged from the rain outside, and the room feels like a blanket pulled up to the chin.
Hani lies stretched across the couch, one arm under his head, scrolling through something casual on his phone. Beside him—well, not beside, technically—Jaeyel sits on the floor, back touching the side of the couch, knees drawn in, hands wrapped around a warm mug of matcha.
It’s his comfort drink. His reset button. His emotional support beverage.
He’s quiet, staring into it a little too long.
Hani doesn’t need to look to know.
“Baby,” he calls softly, voice warm like thick honey.
“…hmmm?”
“You’re overthinking again.”
Jaeyel bristles. “…I’m literally just sitting here.”
“Mhm. And thinking too much."
Jaeyel glares at the matcha in betrayal.
“I can’t believe I’m being bullied in my safe space.”
Hani laughs—the warm kind, the gentle kind, the kind that slips into Jaeyel’s chest and takes residence there. He reaches down, threading his fingers into Jaeyel’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Come up here,” Hani says.
And this is where it begins.
Because Jaeyel hears: Come cuddle with me.
But his brain translates it to: What if I’m heavy? What if I lie wrong? What if he gets uncomfortable and doesn’t say anything? What if I take up too much space? What if—
He hesitates.
Just a beat.
But Hani sees it. Hani always sees it.
So he simply reaches, hooks an arm around Jaeyel’s waist, and gently, easily pulls him up—settling him across his chest as if Jaeyel weighs nothing more than a thought he wants to hold.
“There,” Hani murmurs, kissing the top of his head. “Exactly where you fit.”
And Jaeyel melts—instantly, without defense.
It would be perfect if not for the thought... that familiar, sharp-edged whisper.
He’ll get tired of this. Of you. Of reassuring you.
“…d-do you ever get tired?” Jaeyel asks before he can stop himself. His voice is too small. Too raw.
Hani pauses for just a second—not out of frustration, but to look at him properly. To make sure he understands what he’s answering.
“No,” Hani says, without even a tremor of doubt. Then, gentler: “But whenever you worry that I will, please, tell me. Not your head. Me.”
Jaeyel’s breath stutters.
“But… I don’t want to be exhausting.”
Now Hani cups his face, warm hands, thumbs brushing slowly over cheeks that have held too many fears for too long.
“Jaeyelie,” he says softly. "Loving you isn’t exhausting. It’s easy. It’s breathing. It’s waking up and knowing exactly where I want to be. I want you. I chose you. I choose you.”
Jaeyel blinks, eyes shining. His throat tightens.
“But I ask for reassurance a lot…”
“Then I’ll give it a lot.”
“You’ll get tired of explaining.”
“Then I’ll overexplain,” Hani says firmly, forehead resting gently against his. “Every time. A hundred times. A thousand. However many you need.”
Jaeyel’s eyes went glossy.
“Hani…”
“Yes, baby?”
“You’re so… annoying.”
Hani grins. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately.” Jaeyel’s lip trembles—but Hani kisses it before the fear can speak again.
The kiss is slow .
Not urgent, not rushed—just soft.
Like quiet mornings.
Like “I’m here.”
Like “you don’t have to be afraid right now.”
Jaeyel’s fingers curl in Hani’s shirt.
“I love you,” he whispers, as if it’s fragile.
Hani smiles—warm as sunlight on skin.
“I love you,” he says back, louder, steadier, so the words have weight, so they can anchor instead of float away.
And then, Hani pulls him closer, arms snug around his waist, holding him like someone valuable, not breakable.
Jaeyel tucks his face into the crook of Hani’s neck as he feels the steady heartbeat beneath his ear. Warm. Real. Present.
They stay there.
Soft silence. Rain outside. Breathing synced. Matcha cooling beside them.
Hani’s fingers trace shapes on Jaeyel’s back —soothing, grounding, steady.
“You don’t have to believe me all at once,” Hani murmurs against his hair. "Just believe me now.”
Jaeyel nods—small, slow.
“…then I’ll try,” he whispers.
“That’s all I want.”
Hani kisses the top of his head.
Then his temple.
Then the corner of his mouth, a smile pressed into skin.
And Jaeyel...finally, finally relaxes.
***************************************
And when the rain stops, and the sun pushes through gray clouds, Jaeyel wakes still in Hani’s arms—held, wanted, loved.
Hani is tracing shapes on Jaeyel’s back. Jaeyel is half-asleep.
“You know I'll always love you, right?” Hani says softly.
Jaeyel doesn’t open his eyes—he just nods.
“Good,” Hani says, pressing a kiss behind his ear. "Because I plan to keep saying it. Every day. Every time you forget. Every time your head gets mean and too loud. I'll be louder."
Jaeyel smiles, small and soft and safe “Then… I’ll listen every time. I love you."
END~