Double Helix

What impressed me most about Double Helix is that it refuses to define its characters by their lowest moments. In many dramas, one mistake becomes a permanent identity. Here, every character is allowed to be contradictory. They can be compassionate and selfish, courageous and afraid, deeply loving and deeply flawed, sometimes all within the same episode. That emotional honesty is what made the story feel so unforgettable.

The writing understands that people are constantly evolving. No decision exists in isolation, and no action appears without a history behind it. Rather than asking the audience to either condemn or forgive its characters, Double Helix asks us to recognize how easily fear, insecurity, grief, and love can become intertwined. It never excuses harmful choices, but it refuses to pretend those choices emerged from nowhere. That balance between accountability and empathy is one of the drama's greatest achievements.

What I admired most was the narrative's consistency. Every emotional turning point feels like a natural extension of the characters rather than an attempt to surprise the audience. Looking back, I realized that the story had quietly prepared me for almost every major development. The clues were always there, hidden in conversations, gestures, moments of hesitation, and the things left unsaid. The drama doesn't rely on dramatic revelations. It relies on careful observation.

I also appreciated how the series portrays love as something that demands understanding rather than certainty. Again and again, the characters believe they know what is best for each other, only to discover that assumptions can be just as damaging as indifference. The story suggests that genuine intimacy isn't about always having the right answers. It's about having the courage to listen, to question your own perspective, and to admit when you've been wrong.

Another strength is the emotional patience of the writing. The characters don't simply move from conflict to resolution. They carry the emotional weight of previous experiences into every new interaction, making every reconciliation feel earned. Trust isn't restored because the script says it should be. It's rebuilt through vulnerability, accountability, and repeated choices to do better. That gradual progression made the relationships feel incredibly real.

By the end, I wasn't left thinking about who had made the biggest mistakes. I was thinking about how difficult it is to outgrow the emotional habits we've relied on for years, and how love alone isn't enough unless it's accompanied by self-awareness and change. That's a much more interesting story than one built around heroes and villains.

For me, Double Helix succeeds because it believes people are more than the worst decisions they've made. It treats its characters with honesty instead of judgment, allowing them to fail, learn, and grow without ever simplifying who they are. That compassion, combined with its thoughtful writing and emotionally layered storytelling, is what makes this one of the most rewarding BL dramas I've watched.

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Some dramas entertain you while you're watching them. Double Helix continues to occupy your thoughts long after the final episode because it isn't simply telling a love story. It is examining how love survives when it collides with trauma, guilt, family expectations, and the countless invisible forces that shape who we become.

What impressed me most was the precision of its writing. Every scene serves a purpose, every conversation reveals another layer of its characters, and every decision carries consequences that ripple throughout the narrative. Nothing feels arbitrary. Looking back, I realized that the story had been quietly laying the emotional foundation for its biggest moments from the very beginning. Rather than relying on shocking twists, it builds tension through character psychology, making every emotional turning point feel both surprising and inevitable.

The drama's greatest achievement is its refusal to simplify people. Lu Feng and Cheng Yichen are not written as heroes or villains, nor are they reduced to victims of circumstance. They are deeply human. They make choices out of love that sometimes become acts of harm. They hurt each other without intending to, seek forgiveness without always deserving it, and struggle against emotional patterns they barely understand themselves. The series never asks us to excuse them. It asks us to understand them. That distinction is what gives the story such extraordinary emotional depth.

I also admired how the narrative treats trauma with remarkable honesty. Trauma is not romanticized, nor is it used as a convenient explanation for every mistake. Instead, it becomes part of the characters' emotional vocabulary, influencing how they communicate, how they interpret rejection, and how they express love. The result is a romance where emotional intimacy feels earned rather than assumed. Healing isn't presented as a single breakthrough but as a difficult process of confronting painful truths, accepting responsibility, and choosing vulnerability despite the risk of being hurt again.

What elevates Double Helix above many dramas in the genre is its trust in the audience. It never overexplains its themes or forces moral conclusions. It allows silence to speak, contradictions to exist, and uncomfortable questions to remain unanswered. Every episode invites reflection rather than passive consumption, rewarding viewers who pay attention to the smallest emotional details.

The performances bring this writing to life with remarkable restraint. So much of the story unfolds through lingering glances, hesitant pauses, and emotions left unspoken. The actors understand that some of the most powerful moments are the ones where words fail, allowing the characters' internal struggles to emerge naturally instead of theatrically.

By the time the credits rolled, I realized Double Helix had become something much larger than a romance. It is a meditation on emotional inheritance, on the ways love can heal and wound in equal measure, and on how breaking destructive cycles requires far more than good intentions. It asks difficult questions without pretending there are easy answers, and it treats both its characters and its audience with profound respect.

For me, that is the hallmark of exceptional storytelling. It doesn't simply make you feel. It makes you reflect. It lingers, invites reinterpretation, and grows richer with every conversation and every rewatch. Double Helix is one of those rare dramas that proves emotional complexity and compelling storytelling can coexist beautifully. A wholehearted 10/10.

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One of the reasons Double Helix left such a lasting impression on me is that it understands a simple but often overlooked truth: everyone believes they're doing the right thing.

No one wakes up intending to become the source of another person's pain. Every major decision in this drama is driven by love, fear, guilt, loyalty, or the desire to protect someone. Yet those same motivations often lead to heartbreak. That's what makes the story feel so painfully human. The conflict isn't created by evil intentions but by people whose emotional realities simply cannot coexist without causing damage.

The writing is incredibly disciplined in this regard. Instead of assigning clear moral roles, it allows every character to become both sympathetic and frustrating depending on whose perspective we're seeing. There were moments when I completely agreed with Lu Feng, only to later understand why Cheng Yichen saw the same situation so differently. Neither perspective erased the other. They simply existed side by side, making every conflict feel richer than a simple argument over who was right.

What impressed me most was the series' commitment to emotional cause and effect. Actions aren't treated as isolated incidents. Every decision leaves a residue that lingers throughout the narrative, shaping future conversations, changing relationships, and influencing the way characters perceive one another. The story understands that emotional consequences don't disappear when an episode ends, and that continuity gives the entire drama remarkable depth.

I also loved how restrained the storytelling is. The most memorable moments rarely come from dramatic confrontations. Instead, they emerge from hesitation, from conversations interrupted too soon, from glances that reveal more than dialogue ever could. The drama trusts silence as much as words, and that confidence allows the emotional weight of each scene to settle naturally.

Another aspect that stood out was its refusal to present healing as a reward. Healing is difficult because it demands accountability. It requires the characters to question beliefs they have carried for years and to admit that good intentions are not always enough. The series never suggests that love automatically fixes broken people. Instead, it argues that love only has a chance to flourish when people are willing to grow alongside it. I found that message surprisingly mature.

By the time I finished, I realized Double Helix wasn't asking me to choose a favorite character. It was asking me to recognize how easily any of us can become someone else's source of comfort and someone else's source of pain at the same time. That emotional complexity is what elevates the drama beyond a conventional romance.

For me, Double Helix is a story about perspective, accountability, and the quiet tragedy of people who genuinely care for one another but don't yet know how to express that care in healthy ways. It never settles for easy answers, and because of that, it feels honest from beginning to end. Thoughtfully written, emotionally resonant, and endlessly rewarding to reflect on, it's a 10/10 in every sense.

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I think the greatest compliment I can give Double Helix is that it never once treated its characters as pieces on a chessboard. Every decision they made felt like an extension of who they were, not simply where the plot needed them to go. That is an incredibly difficult balance to achieve, and it's the reason this story never stopped feeling authentic.

At its core, Double Helix is an exploration of how people love when they have never truly learned how to process pain. It argues that love is not enough on its own. Love filtered through fear becomes control. Love filtered through guilt becomes sacrifice. Love filtered through grief becomes silence. The brilliance of the writing lies in showing how the same emotion can manifest in completely different, and sometimes destructive, ways depending on the person carrying it.

What fascinated me most was how the narrative constantly challenged my certainty. There were moments when I sympathized deeply with Lu Feng, only to question him later. There were times I completely understood Cheng Yichen's choices, only to recognize the pain those choices inflicted on everyone around him. The story never invited me to pick a side. Instead, it asked me to understand how two people could love each other profoundly while simultaneously becoming the source of each other's greatest suffering.

The writing also deserves immense credit for its emotional restraint. Rather than explaining every feeling, it trusts gestures, pauses, and silence to communicate what words cannot. Some of the most devastating scenes aren't built around dramatic speeches but around everything the characters fail to say. That confidence in visual storytelling allows the audience to participate emotionally instead of simply observing from a distance.

Another aspect I admired was the drama's respect for consequences. Nothing is conveniently forgotten. Every decision reshapes future interactions, and every emotional wound leaves a visible imprint on the relationships that follow. The past is never treated as a closed chapter but as something that quietly lives within the present. That continuity gives the narrative an extraordinary sense of realism.

What ultimately elevates Double Helix for me is that it refuses to offer comforting answers. It acknowledges that love alone cannot undo years of emotional conditioning, nor can a heartfelt apology erase the damage caused by fear and misunderstanding. Healing is presented not as a destination but as a conscious choice made over and over again, and that honesty makes the ending feel deeply earned.

By the final episode, I realized I wasn't remembering the story because of individual scenes or dramatic twists. I was remembering the questions it left me with. How much of who we become is shaped by the people who raised us? Can love survive if it isn't accompanied by emotional growth? Is understanding someone the same as forgiving them? Few dramas leave me reflecting on their themes long after they've ended, but Double Helix did exactly that.

For me, this is storytelling at its most thoughtful. It refuses simple morality, embraces emotional complexity, and trusts its audience enough to sit with uncomfortable truths. More than a romance, it's a deeply human story about the ways people carry their past into every relationship they build. It's rare to find a drama this emotionally intelligent, and that's why it's a 10/10 in my eyes.

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Double Helix succeeds because it understands one simple truth: the most compelling stories are never about what happens, but about why people make the choices they do.

On paper, the plot isn't particularly revolutionary. Love is tested by loss, misunderstandings, family expectations, and personal demons. What makes this drama exceptional is the execution. Instead of chasing plot twists, it dissects the psychology behind every decision with remarkable patience. Every conflict feels less like a scripted event and more like the inevitable collision of personalities shaped by years of emotional baggage.

What I admired most was how carefully the series builds its characters. Nobody exists as a narrative device. Every person carries their own fears, motivations, and contradictions, making even secondary characters feel like they have lives beyond the protagonists' story. The result is a world that feels inhabited rather than constructed.

Lu Feng and Cheng Yichen are written with an honesty that is surprisingly rare. Neither is idealized, and neither is condemned. They are allowed to make terrible decisions without becoming terrible people. One struggles with the fear of abandonment, the other with the burden of responsibility, and the tragedy of the story lies in how those fears constantly push them further apart even when their feelings remain unchanged.

What elevates the writing is its refusal to simplify emotional pain. Trauma isn't treated as a dramatic reveal or a convenient explanation. Instead, it's woven into the fabric of everyday interactions. It appears in the conversations that never happen, the apologies that arrive too late, the moments of hesitation, and the inability to believe that happiness can last. Those quieter details make the emotional journey feel profoundly authentic.

The storytelling also rewards patience. The further the narrative progresses, the more earlier scenes gain new meaning. Moments that seemed ordinary at first become emotionally devastating when viewed with the knowledge acquired later. It's the kind of writing that makes a rewatch feel almost like experiencing a different story, because your understanding of the characters has fundamentally changed.

Perhaps what moved me most was that Double Helix never asks whether love is strong enough to overcome everything. Instead, it asks whether people are willing to confront the parts of themselves that make love so difficult in the first place. That is a far more interesting question, and the drama explores it with honesty rather than easy optimism.

By the end, I wasn't impressed simply because the story made me cry. I was impressed because it made me think. It challenged my assumptions, changed my perspective on its characters more than once, and trusted me to live with ambiguity instead of offering simple answers.

For me, that's the mark of exceptional storytelling. A great drama entertains you while you're watching it. A truly outstanding one changes the way you understand its characters every time you reflect on it. Double Helix accomplished exactly that, making it one of the most emotionally intelligent and thoughtfully written BLs I've had the pleasure of watching. An unquestionable 10/10.

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What stayed with me after finishing Double Helix wasn't the heartbreak. It was the uncomfortable realization that good intentions can still leave lasting scars.

That's the idea that runs through the entire drama. Again and again, characters make decisions believing they're protecting the people they love. They hide the truth to spare someone pain. They shoulder burdens alone because they think sacrifice is kindness. They hold on too tightly out of fear of losing someone, or let go because they believe it's the only way to protect them. None of these choices come from cruelty. They come from love filtered through fear, and that's what makes the story so emotionally devastating.

I admired how the writing consistently separates intention from impact. The series never allows sincere motives to erase the consequences of harmful actions, but it also refuses to define people solely by the damage they've caused. That balance is incredibly difficult to achieve. Instead of asking us to decide who deserves blame, Double Helix asks us to consider how easily love can become distorted when people don't know how to communicate honestly or confront their own emotional wounds.

The character writing is exceptional because everyone feels like the protagonist of their own story. Every decision makes sense from the perspective of the person making it, even when the audience can clearly see the heartbreak it will cause. That dramatic irony creates a quiet tension throughout the series. You're constantly hoping the characters will recognize what the audience already has, yet you understand why they can't.

Another strength is the drama's faith in subtle storytelling. It doesn't rely on endless exposition or exaggerated confrontations to explain its themes. Often, the most revealing moments come from a pause in conversation, a look that lingers a little too long, or a silence that says everything words cannot. Those understated scenes are where the emotional truth of the story lives.

What elevates Double Helix above many romances is that it never treats love as a solution. Love is present from the beginning. The real challenge is whether the characters can become emotionally mature enough to express that love without allowing fear, pride, guilt, or insecurity to shape every decision. That distinction transforms the series into something much deeper than a conventional romance.

By the final episode, I wasn't thinking about which moments were the saddest. I was thinking about how many tragedies begin not because people stop loving each other, but because they never learn how to love in ways that allow the other person to feel safe, heard, and understood. That's an incredibly human observation, and Double Helix explores it with remarkable compassion and intelligence.

For me, this drama succeeds because it understands that the deepest emotional conflicts aren't created by a lack of love. They're created by the distance between what we mean to do and what our actions actually communicate. Few dramas explore that space with such nuance, and even fewer leave me reflecting on it long after the credits have rolled. Double Helix is thoughtful, emotionally fearless, and beautifully written. A deserved 10/10.

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One of the most remarkable things about Double Helix is that it never treats trauma as a plot device. It treats trauma as inheritance. Every character carries emotional wounds that didn't begin with them, and the story constantly asks whether it's possible to love someone without passing those wounds on.

What impressed me most was the way the narrative builds its conflicts. Nothing happens in isolation. The choices made during the first half of the series continue to ripple through the second half, not because the plot demands it, but because people cannot simply discard years of fear, guilt, and emotional conditioning. The story understands that consequences don't end when an event is over. They become part of a person's identity, influencing every decision that follows.

Lu Feng and Cheng Yichen are fascinating because neither is written as a moral centre. They are both victims of circumstances larger than themselves, yet they also become architects of each other's suffering. Lu Feng repeatedly mistakes control for devotion because losing Yichen once convinces him that love must be protected at any cost. Yichen, on the other hand, mistakes self-denial for responsibility, believing that sacrificing himself is the only way to preserve peace. Their flaws don't cancel out their love, but they constantly reshape it into something painful.

The drama deserves immense credit for refusing to romanticize these behaviours. It doesn't celebrate possessiveness, emotional repression, or self-sacrifice. Instead, it asks us to examine how those behaviours develop and why people struggle to escape them. That distinction is what makes Double Helix feel psychologically honest rather than merely melodramatic.

My only real criticism is that the story occasionally becomes too attached to its own emotional suffering. There are points where another misunderstanding or another painful separation doesn't deepen the themes any further because the audience already understands the characters' motivations. Those moments slow the narrative without significantly enriching it. Ironically, the drama's quiet scenes, where characters are forced to confront themselves rather than each other, are often its strongest.

I also wish the ending had given greater attention to rebuilding trust. The series spends so much time meticulously showing how trust is broken, how fear takes root, and how trauma reshapes relationships that I expected the final episodes to dedicate the same level of care to healing. The conclusion is emotionally satisfying, but it feels slightly compressed compared to the emotional journey that precedes it.

Despite these criticisms, Double Helix succeeds because it never underestimates its audience. It trusts viewers to empathize without excusing, to criticize without condemning, and to recognize that love is not inherently redemptive. Love can heal, but only when people are willing to confront the parts of themselves that keep hurting the people they cherish.

For me, that's what makes this drama so memorable. It's not simply about two people trying to find their way back to each other. It's about two people learning that love, by itself, is never enough. Without accountability, communication, and the courage to break old patterns, love simply repeats the same cycle in a different form. That's a powerful message, and one that stayed with me long after the final episode. It's not quite flawless, but it's easily one of the most thought-provoking BLs I've seen, earning a solid 10/10.

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The older I get, the more I appreciate stories that trust their audience. Double Helix is one of those rare dramas that never feels the need to overexplain itself. It doesn't tell you what to think about its characters, nor does it conveniently separate them into heroes and villains. Instead, it presents deeply imperfect people and quietly asks you to observe them, understand them, and decide for yourself.

What impressed me most was the drama's emotional restraint. It understands that the most devastating moments aren't always the loudest ones. Some of the most powerful scenes are built around hesitation, silence, and everything the characters fail to say. The writing recognizes that people often communicate through avoidance as much as through confession, and that subtlety gives the relationships an authenticity that many romances struggle to achieve.

The narrative is equally impressive in the way it treats consequences. Every emotional wound continues to exist long after the scene in which it was created. The characters don't simply move on because the plot requires them to. They carry regret into future conversations, allow fear to influence future decisions, and unintentionally recreate the very patterns they're trying to escape. Watching those cycles unfold felt less like watching fiction and more like observing real human behaviour.

I also admired how the series never mistakes complexity for chaos. Every difficult decision has a clear emotional foundation. Even when I disagreed with a character, I could trace their reasoning back through everything the story had already shown me. That's a sign of disciplined writing. The drama never sacrifices psychological consistency for dramatic impact, and because of that, every major turning point feels earned.

Perhaps my favourite aspect of Double Helix is that it doesn't present love as the destination. Love exists from the very beginning. The real journey is whether these characters can become emotionally capable of sustaining it. That subtle shift transforms the series from a conventional romance into a thoughtful exploration of emotional growth, accountability, and the lasting influence of the past.

By the final episode, I wasn't left thinking about who was right or wrong. I was thinking about how easily fear disguises itself as protection, how silence can become its own form of harm, and how genuine love demands not only devotion but also self-awareness. Very few dramas leave me reflecting on their ideas instead of just remembering their scenes.

For me, Double Helix is proof that compelling storytelling doesn't require constant twists or exaggerated melodrama. It requires characters who feel real enough that their choices linger in your mind long after the story ends. This is a drama that respects both its characters and its audience, and that's why it stands out as one of the finest BLs I've watched. A wholehearted 10/10.

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The more I thought about Double Helix after finishing it, the more I realized this was never a story about love winning against all odds. It was a story about how people make impossible choices when every option carries consequences.

What makes the writing so compelling is that it never relies on simplistic morality. Every major character believes they are protecting something important, whether it's family, love, dignity, or survival. The tragedy is that protecting one thing almost always means sacrificing another. No one walks away unscathed, and that moral tension is what gives the story its emotional weight.

I especially appreciated how the drama resists the temptation to create a "perfect victim" or a "perfect villain." Lu Feng's love is sincere, but sincerity doesn't erase the damage caused by his need for control. Cheng Yichen's kindness is genuine, but his constant self-sacrifice often becomes another form of avoidance, allowing circumstances to dictate his life instead of confronting them directly. The brilliance of the writing lies in recognizing that both men contribute to the collapse of their relationship in different ways, even if their actions are never equally harmful.

The family dynamics deserve just as much credit as the romance. Parents in Double Helix are not simply obstacles placed in the protagonists' path. They represent inherited expectations, emotional debt, and generational trauma. Many of the characters aren't just fighting each other, they're fighting versions of themselves that were shaped long before they ever fell in love. That gives the conflict a depth that extends beyond the central relationship.

If I had one criticism, it's that the drama occasionally relies too heavily on emotional escalation. Some confrontations feel as though they're designed to increase the characters' suffering rather than reveal something fundamentally new about them. The story is at its strongest when it trusts silence, subtle performances, and internal conflict. Those quieter moments often communicate more than the louder emotional outbursts.

I also felt the latter part of the series could have benefited from slightly tighter pacing. The emotional destination is satisfying, but a few story beats linger longer than necessary, while the final process of reconciliation feels comparatively brief. Considering how much care the writers devoted to depicting fractured trust, I wanted to spend more time watching that trust being rebuilt.

Even with those flaws, Double Helix accomplishes something I rarely see in romance dramas. It doesn't ask whether love is powerful. It asks whether love is enough when two people are carrying years of unresolved pain, guilt, and emotional conditioning. Its answer is refreshingly honest: love matters, but without growth, accountability, and change, love alone cannot save a relationship.

That honesty is why this drama resonated with me. It challenged me to look beyond individual actions and examine the emotional histories that shaped them, without ever confusing understanding with forgiveness. It's not a flawless drama, but it is a remarkably thoughtful one.

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wow good drama

Okay, I just finished watching the whole thing, and honestly, I really liked it. It lived up to the synopsis and context—and even exceeded my expectations. It really surprised me; it’s been a long time since I watched a dark romance like this, especially one involving a homophobic family. Also, a special shout-out to the OSTs—they are so good! The lead actors are excellent; their acting is top-notch, and their crying scenes are incredibly convincing. I’m not a huge fan of the supporting characters—like his brother and the other guy, I don't know, I just didn't care for them much—but otherwise, I really enjoyed the drama. It’s definitely one of the BLs that has left the biggest mark on me over the last two years. The story is impactful in both good and bad ways—what an emotional rollercoaster! I’m speechless; I’m genuinely impressed by the story and how they managed to adapt so much material into just 12 episodes.

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The greatest strength of Double Helix isn't its romance, nor is it its tragedy. It's how relentlessly compelling the narrative is. Every episode feels like another piece of a psychological puzzle, gradually revealing why these characters make choices that are simultaneously heartbreaking, frustrating, and completely believable.

What makes the story so captivating is its understanding that conflict doesn't need artificial villains. The central obstacle isn't a single person or event, but the accumulation of years of trauma, family expectations, guilt, and unresolved grief. Every revelation reframes what came before. Scenes that initially appear straightforward gain entirely new meaning once the audience understands the emotional history behind them. The drama constantly invites you to reassess your judgments, making it almost impossible to stop watching.

I also admired how the story respects cause and consequence. Nothing exists purely for shock value. Every decision leaves emotional residue that carries into subsequent episodes, influencing future relationships and altering the characters' perceptions of themselves and each other. The narrative never resets after a dramatic moment. Instead, it allows every wound to remain visible, creating a story where actions genuinely matter.

Another reason the drama remained so engaging is that it never treats its characters as static. Their personalities evolve in response to what they've experienced, not because the plot requires them to. The people we meet in the opening episodes are fundamentally different from those we encounter by the end, yet those transformations feel earned rather than imposed. Watching those gradual psychological shifts was, for me, one of the most rewarding aspects of the series.

That said, the story occasionally becomes a victim of its own ambition. Because it explores its themes with such emotional intensity, certain conflicts extend longer than necessary. There were moments where another misunderstanding or another painful confrontation added less to the characters than a quieter moment of introspection might have. A slightly tighter narrative would have made the emotional crescendos even more impactful.

I also felt the final stretch could have slowed down just a little. The series spends so much time carefully constructing emotional fractures that I wanted the same level of attention devoted to rebuilding them. The conclusion is satisfying, but I was left wanting a deeper exploration of what healing actually looks like after everything these characters endured.

Even so, Double Helix is one of those rare stories that never lost my curiosity. Every episode gave me another reason to keep watching, not because of cliffhangers or plot twists, but because I genuinely wanted to understand these characters. Their motivations, contradictions, and emotional evolution became the mystery I was trying to solve.

To me, that's the hallmark of exceptional storytelling. A compelling narrative isn't one that constantly surprises you. It's one that makes every choice feel inevitable in hindsight while still leaving you desperate to know what comes next. Double Helix achieves exactly that. Despite a few pacing issues, its emotional intelligence, layered characterization, and remarkably cohesive narrative make it one of the most absorbing dramas I've watched this year.

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What I liked:
1. Amazing acting and resemblance of bipolar disorder and PTSD
2. The realistic time span
3. Character development and an actual difference between the mains' personalities from past to now
4. ML finally getting a psychiatrist was the perfect ending plus the mother dying is like a weight dropping from the shoulder
5. Actual realistic regret that the watcher can *feel* from ML plus the director not adding SPECIFIC scenes from the novel to the drama (iykyk)


What I didn't like:
1. MC not getting a psychiatrist as well even thought it was too obvious that he has PTSD even without it being mentioned
2. The homophobic mother (not related to story), cause personally I hate all homophobic parents who make their children reach peak mental illness because of their homophobia, but without the mother (in the story here), the story wouldn't have even developed
3. Another personal hatred not related to the story: ML thinking since his father died and him being a lil sad bout it but not for long until he prioritizes MC means that MC "must" do the same and prioritize him over his parents. ML already had a bad relationship with his parents meanwhile MC had a normal, cozy, loving family. He can't just hate his family and let go of them in a second.
4. Would've liked just a little more screen time for the second couple
5. The brother trying to bring MC back to being "normal" and then a little after he gets a boyfriend

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