Summary: OT4s reaction to you doing the “ seeing if he melts into the kiss “ trend.
You learn very quickly that Ohyul hates being perceived.
Which is exactly why this is funny.
He’s stretched out on the dorm couch like he pays rent, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other loosely holding his phone above his face. There’s music playing quietly from someone’s speaker, and the rest of the members are scattered around—some in the kitchen, some arguing over snacks, some just existing loudly.
Ohyul, however, is in his peace era.
You sit on the floor beside the couch, scrolling aimlessly until the TikTok pops up.
“Seeing if my boyfriend melts into the kiss.”
Ohyul hasn’t noticed yet.
You watch another video. Then another. All the same format—slow lean-in, teasing pause, soft kiss—and every single boyfriend absolutely folding.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling.
He hums. Doesn’t move his arm from his eyes.
“What would you do,” you ask carefully, “if I kissed you right now?”
You tilt your head. “Nothing?”
“Yeah,” he says confidently. “I’m not one of those guys.”
“You know,” he says, finally lowering his arm just enough to peek at you. “The dramatic ones.”
He watches you suspiciously now. “Why are you standing.”
“You just asked me a question and then stood up,” he says. “That’s a threat.”
You step closer to the couch. Slowly.
He sits up a little. “Hey.”
You don’t say anything. You just lean over him, hands planted on either side of his shoulders, trapping him in.
“Oh,” he laughs, already smiling. “You’re doing that thing.”
“That thing where you act like you’re about to do something but you don’t,” he says. “I know your tricks.”
He holds his ground. Barely.
“I’m not melting,” he says preemptively.
You pause just before your lips meet his.
He squints. “Why are you stopping.”
It’s quick. Soft. Barely a second.
You pull back immediately.
“That was literally nothing,” he says, smug. “See? Didn’t melt.”
You tilt your head. “You sure?”
You lean in again—but this time, instead of kissing him, you press your forehead to his.
His hands come up on instinct, gripping the sides of your hoodie.
He groans. “You’re so annoying.”
You grin. “Your hands are shaking.”
“They are,” you say. “Oh my god.”
He looks down at them, offended. “That’s crazy. Betrayal from my own body.”
You laugh and press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He sighs. Not dramatically. Not loudly.
“Okay,” he says. “That one was cheap.”
You smile. “Scoreboard says you’re losing.”
“There is no scoreboard.”
You poke his cheek. “You’re blushing.”
He slaps your hand away. “Stop looking at my face like that.”
“Like you’re proud of yourself,” he says. “I don’t like it.”
You lean in again, clearly enjoying this now.
He braces. You can literally see it—shoulders tensing, jaw setting.
Then: “You’re actually evil.”
You laugh and pull back just enough to see his face. His ears are pink. His mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to smile.
“That was a melt,” you say.
“That was not a melt,” he argues. “That was shock.”
You climb halfway onto the couch, knee beside his thigh.
“You’re smiling,” you say.
“I smile when I’m uncomfortable.”
“That is also not healthy.”
He suddenly reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you off balance just enough that you land against his chest.
Now he’s grinning. “My turn.”
You push at his shoulder. “Absolutely not.”
He dodges, laughing, and tries to poke your side. You squeal and shove him back.
“Fight me,” you challenge.
“I will,” he says, mock-serious.
You lean in like you’re going to kiss him again.
Instead, you peck his cheek.
He groans and drops his head onto your shoulder.
“Oh my god,” he mutters. “You keep sneaking them in.”
“This trend is rigged,” he says.
You wrap your arms loosely around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He doesn’t push you away.
“That one didn’t count,” he adds, quieter now.
“Because,” he says, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, “I wasn’t prepared.”
Your heart does that annoying little flip again.
You hide it by pressing a kiss under his jaw—light, quick.
He opens his mouth to argue, then stops.
He stares at the ceiling for a second, thinking.
“…Okay,” he admits. “Maybe a little.”
You grin. “Admitting it is the final stage.”
He nudges your forehead with his. “Don’t make it weird.”
From the kitchen, someone yells, “WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO CLOSE.”
Ohyul tightens one arm around your waist immediately.
“Mind your business,” he calls back.
You laugh and kiss his cheek again.
This time, he doesn’t even pretend to resist.
So honestly, the fact that you even think you can sneak this past him is bold.
He’s sitting at the small dining table in the dorm, chair tilted back slightly, one foot hooked around the leg like he’s daring gravity to test him. His phone is in his hand, thumbs flying as he texts—probably one of the members even though they’re literally in the next room.
You’re across from him, pretending to be invested in a bag of snacks that is very much empty.
You’re actually watching him.
You saw the trend earlier.
You haven’t said anything since.
That alone has him suspicious.
“You’re quiet,” Ryul says without looking up.
You blink. “Am I not allowed to be?”
“No,” he says immediately. “Not like that.”
He finally looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Like you’re plotting.”
You smile. “I would never.”
He scoffs. “That’s crazy because you absolutely would.”
He straightens in his chair instantly. “Why are you standing.”
“You stretched like ten minutes ago.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
You walk over to him slowly, stopping right between his knees. He leans back just a little, hands gripping the edge of the chair.
“You’re too close,” he says.
He laughs once, short and disbelieving. “You came over here on purpose. What are you doing?”
Not kissing yet. Just enough for him to feel it.
“…Why are you leaning like that,” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing but guarded.
You tilt your head. “What?”
“You’re doing the slow thing,” he says. “I don’t like the slow thing.”
“You never complained before.”
“That’s different,” he says. “That was intentional.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “…Okay I don’t like that you’re winning.”
You grin and finally press a quick kiss to his lips—barely even there—then pull back immediately.
“That wasn’t a real kiss,” he says, already smug. “You’re trying to rage bait me.”
“Yes,” he says. “And it didn’t work.”
The way his leg unhooks from the chair.
The way his hands slide from the edge of the seat to your waist without him even realizing.
“You’re gripping me,” you point out.
He glances down too. Pauses.
“…Okay that doesn’t count.”
You lean in again—but instead of kissing him, you stop just short.
“Oh my god,” he laughs, tilting his head back. “Why are you hovering?”
“Testing something,” you say sweetly.
“You’re so annoying,” he says, but he’s smiling now. “I’m not melting.”
You finally kiss him again—another quick peck—and then immediately poke his shoulder.
“HEY,” he protests. “What was that for?”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
You step back, hands raised. “You’re still upright. Looks like you passed.”
He squints. “Passed what?”
He narrows his eyes further. “You’re lying.”
He stands up suddenly, closing the distance again.
“Okay,” he says. “My turn.”
“For whatever game you’re playing.”
You barely have time to react before he leans in—but instead of kissing you, he bumps your nose lightly with his.
You laugh. “Oh that’s weak.”
“Oh really?” he says. “You laughed.”
“You’re soft,” he says confidently. “I win.”
You grab the front of his hoodie and tug him down just enough to land another quick kiss—this time on his cheek.
He exhales slowly and drops his forehead onto your shoulder like the fight just left him.
“…You’re cheating,” he mumbles.
“You keep sneaking them in.”
“That’s literally the point of the trend.”
He lifts his head. “Trend?”
“Okay,” you admit. “Yes. It’s a TikTok thing.”
“I knew it,” he says. “You’re trying to see if I melt.”
He scoffs. “I am not melting.”
He braces this time—shoulders tense, jaw set.
You kiss his jaw quickly and pull back.
Not dramatic. Not annoyed.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
He clicks his tongue. “I relaxed.”
“No it’s not,” he argues. “Melting is like—dramatic. I’m just… settling.”
You step closer again, arms sliding loosely around his waist.
He immediately wraps one arm around your back.
“See,” you say. “Clingy.”
“You pulled me in,” you point out.
You kiss his chin lightly.
He exhales again, this time resting his cheek against the top of your head.
“…Okay,” he mutters. “This trend is unfair.”
You grin against his hoodie. “So you admit it?”
Then tightens his arm around you just a little.
“…Fine,” he says. “Maybe I melt. But only with you.”
Your chest does that dumb, warm flip.
From the hallway, someone yells, “WHY ARE YOU TWO GLUED TO EACH OTHER AGAIN?”
Ryul doesn’t even look up.
He nudges your shoulder with his chin and says, “Don’t care.”
You laugh and sneak one more soft kiss under his jaw.
Woojin doesn’t even pretend.
You’re sitting at the dorm table, legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone while chaos happens around you—someone yelling from the kitchen, someone else practicing choreo in the mirror for no reason. Woojin is beside you, chin resting in his palm, watching you instead of whatever is on his phone.
You blink. “You’re not gonna deny it?”
You squint at him. “That’s suspicious.”
He smiles, soft and easy. “I like looking at you.”
You groan. “You’re actually unbearable.”
“Correct,” he says. “And yet.”
You shake your head, laughing, and look back down at your phone—just in time to see the TikTok trend pop up.
Seeing if my boyfriend melts into the kiss.
You glance at Woojin slowly.
He’s already watching you again.
“Nothing,” you say, too innocently.
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a lie.”
He immediately reaches out and hooks a finger around your sleeve. “Where are you going.”
“I stood up,” you say. “Relax.”
“I don’t like when you move without explaining,” he says calmly.
“Whipped,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
You laugh and step closer to him, standing between his knees. He looks up at you, completely unguarded, hands already settling on your hips like that’s where they live.
“You gonna do the thing?” he asks.
“The slow lean,” he says. “Everyone’s been doing it.”
You freeze. “You’ve seen the trend?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s cute.”
You narrow your eyes. “You were just gonna let me try it.”
“Absolutely,” he says. “I’m curious.”
“You’re not even nervous?”
He shrugs. “I already know the outcome.”
He smiles wider. “I melt. Instantly.”
That makes you laugh so hard you almost forget what you were doing.
“You’re not supposed to admit that.”
“Why not?” he says. “It’s true.”
You lean down anyway—slow, teasing, hovering just close enough for him to feel your breath.
His shoulders drop, hands warm and steady on your waist, eyes softening like he’s already home.
“You see?” he says quietly. “Look at me. Gone.”
You kiss him—but it’s quick. A soft peck. You pull back immediately.
“Yup,” he says. “That did it.”
“That’s it?” you tease. “No denial? No ‘I didn’t melt’?”
He shakes his head. “Why would I lie?”
You poke his cheek. “You didn’t even try to resist.”
“I don’t want to,” he says simply.
Your heart does that stupid thing again.
You hide it by kissing his nose.
He smiles so hard his eyes almost disappear.
“Wow,” he says. “Another one.”
“Of course,” he says. “I treasure these.”
You lean in again, slower this time, stopping just before your lips meet.
He tilts his head up instinctively, following you.
“You stopped,” he murmurs.
“You’re supposed to wait.”
“I am waiting,” he says. “Patiently.”
You laugh and finally give him another quick kiss—this one on the corner of his mouth.
He exhales, content, and rests his forehead against your chest.
“See?” he says. “Melted.”
“That was barely anything.”
“And yet,” he says, arms sliding fully around your waist, pulling you close, “I’m gone.”
You thread your fingers through his hair lightly.
“Extremely,” he says. “You’re my favorite person.”
From across the room, Ryul yells, “WHY ARE YOU TWO ALWAYS TOUCHING.”
Woojin doesn’t even look up.
“Because I’m lowkey whipped” he calls back easily.
“…At least you’re honest,” Louis mutters.
You laugh and try to pull back, but Woojin keeps you right where you are.
“Wait,” he says. “One more.”
“You leaned earlier,” he says. “My turn.”
He leans in—not slow, not teasing—just bumps his forehead against yours gently.
Then he kisses your cheek.
You gasp dramatically. “HEY.”
“You did,” he says confidently. “Your shoulders dropped.”
You kiss him again—another light peck—and this time you’re the one who lingers just a second longer.
“Yeah,” he says. “There it is.”
“My favorite thing,” he says softly. “You.”
You groan and hide your face in his shoulder. “You’re so whipped it’s embarrassing.”
He tightens his hold just a little.
“Good,” he says. “I hope everyone knows.”
From the kitchen: “WE KNOW.”
Woojin laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
He stayed melted the whole time.
You find out about the trend on accident.
You’re sprawled across the dorm couch, half-listening to whatever argument is happening in the kitchen—something about instant ramen etiquette—when a TikTok pops up on your phone.
“Seeing if my boyfriend melts into the kiss.”
Louis is sitting on the floor a few feet away, back against the couch, gaming console in his hands. He’s focused, tongue poking slightly into his cheek, fully locked in. Comfortable. Unaware.
You slide off the couch quietly and hover behind him.
“Why are you looming?” he asks without looking up.
“I’m not looming,” you say. “I’m… existing.”
You step closer and nudge his shoulder with your knee. He finally looks up at you, eyebrow raised.
You shrug. “Can’t I just hang out with my boyfriend?”
He narrows his eyes. “You only talk like that when you’re about to do something weird.”
“I am extremely correct,” he says, setting the controller down. “What’s up?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you bend down just slightly so your faces are close.
“You—” he laughs nervously and leans back a little. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
You tilt your head. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to bite me.”
He scoffs. “You’re so fake.”
You lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips—barely a second—then pull back immediately.
“That was nothing,” he says, smug now. “I didn’t melt.”
You bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Didn’t you?”
You lean in again, slower this time—but instead of kissing him, you stop just short.
Louis groans and drops his head back against the couch.
“Oh my god,” he laughs. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” you ask sweetly.
“Hovering,” he says. “It’s evil.”
You finally kiss him again—another quick peck—then pull back and flick his forehead.
“OW,” he yelps. “Why would you do that?”
He stares at you. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smiles despite himself. “Unfortunately.”
You try again—this time you grab his cheeks gently, squishing them just enough to annoy him before landing another kiss.
“HEY,” he protests, laughing. “You’re literally harassing me.”
“You’re smiling,” you point out.
“I smile when I’m stressed.”
“I don’t think that’s healthy king.”
He reaches up suddenly and pokes your side.
You squeak and swat his hand. “Oh no you don’t.”
You push his shoulder lightly, and he pretends to dramatically lose balance, falling sideways with an exaggerated groan.
“Assault,” he says. “I’ll be reporting this.”
“You started it,” you argue, climbing halfway over him to pin him down. “Admit it.”
“Never,” he says, trying—and failing—to look serious. “You’ll never break me.”
You lean down like you’re going to kiss him again.
He braces. You can tell. His hands already come up to your waist.
Instead, you boop his nose.
“That’s one,” you say proudly.
“One melt,” you say. “You laughed.”
He gasps. “You’re making up rules.”
You grin. “That’s how trends work.”
He reaches up and pulls you down into another kiss—still short, still playful—but this time you’re the one caught off guard.
When you pull back, he’s smirking.
“See?” he says. “You melted.”
“You absolutely did,” he says. “Your shoulders dropped.”
You blink. “You’re analyzing my posture now?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m very invested.”
You lean your forehead against his. “Admit it. You’re losing.”
He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Maybe. A little.”
He shrugs, arms sliding loosely around your back. “You’re just… annoying in a way I like.”
Your heart does a stupid little flip.
You hide it by kissing his cheek quickly.
“…Okay that one was uncalled for,” he says quietly.
“That one almost got me.”
He laughs under his breath and squeezes you closer—not tight, just comfortable. Familiar.
“I don’t melt,” he says. “I just… soften.”
“That’s literally the same thing.”
“No,” he insists. “Melting sounds dramatic.”
From the kitchen, Ohyul yells, “WHY ARE YOU BOTH SO QUIET NOW?”
He just nudges you with his nose and whispers, “Don’t put this on TikTok.”
He groans—but he’s smiling, arms still around you.
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