𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗦 𝗕𝗘. seventeen things

sunday morning | shua

you've always secretly thought of joshua hong as perfect. logically, you know that humans are messy and imperfect despite however they might appear on the surface, but looking at joshua, you just can't see it.

maybe it's the rose tinted glasses of budding love painting him in a different light, but to you, joshua could never be anything but perfect.

it's a thought that often crosses your mind when you think about your boyfriend, and it's one that presents itself now, as he emerges from the bedroom and stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling sleepily at you.

his hair is fluffy and mussed up, his eyes and skin lit up golden by the sunlight, and when he mumbles out a quiet, "good morning, sweetheart," his voice is a little hoarse and sleepy, though it still has that honeyed quality to it that you've come to know and adore.

you're so lost in affection for him that it isn't until he sits down on the couch next to you that you realize you haven't replied. "good morning," you say quickly, still a little distracted by how pretty he looks. shua likes calling you 'pretty boy', but in your opinion, no one could ever, ever beat shua at being pretty. the word was made for him.

joshua smiles mischievously at you and pulls you onto his lap. his shirtless chest and arms are warm as they close around you. he buries his face into the crook of your neck and mumbles, "what were you thinking about that had you so lost in thought, hm?"

you glance up at him, taking in the warm tones of his skin, the rich brown hues of his eyes, the way the sunlight filtering in through the windows dances across the lines of his face. "you."

shua laughs, a little flustered, and takes your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours. "your flirting is too much for me, baby, i'm swooning."

the nickname is one shua often uses for you, but it still has you melting. you avert your eyes from his and glance instead at the soft material of his sweatpants. "you're one to talk."

joshua grins at that and relaxes into the couch, tightening his grip around you. when you try and get up he frowns and pulls you closer, whining, "no, stay. for a little longer, okay?"

"but shua, it's—"
"sunday morning!" then he adds, "time to relax and cuddle with me. if you try and move, i'll start singing—"

"please, no." you reply flatly. you love shua's voice, but you've gotten sick of hearing sunday morning. you've heard him sing it so many times you could sing it in your sleep. "shua, i have to get up."

"nooo," he whines playfully. "stay, and then i'll make us breakfast later."

you level him with a serious look. "pancakes?"

he nods back, equally serious. "pancakes. with syrup and fruit and everything."

"hmm." you tilt your head to the side playfully, as if considering the offer, even though you know that there's nothing you want more than to stay close to him for eternity. "...alright then."

shua smiles smugly and presses a kiss to your exposed neck. "you look good in my sweatshirt, by the way."you hadn't even noticed you'd worn his sweatshirt. maybe it had something to do with the uncomfortable restlessness and thoughts running through your head that caused you to wake up early. you'd grabbed his clothes to wear almost unconsciously, seeking comfort in the familiar softness, and the safe scent of joshua's clothes— sunlight and his strawberry shampoo.

"sorry," you start to reply, only for him to cut you off. "it's fine, love. like i said, you look good in it."

"thanks." then you smile at him. "you look good without it."

he gasps dramatically, looking down first at his shirtless chest, then at your playful smile. "y/n, i said i couldn't handle your flirting, are you trying to kill me?""but you're a bigger flirt," you counter. he hums and rests his chin on your shoulder. "only with you."

your gaze flickers up to meet his, and he leans in, lips slightly parted, his eyes shimmering with desire.

you angle your head up and press your lips to his, and his hand goes to rest against your back.

it's fine, you suppose. the pancakes can wait.