BL series/films i've watched

Never Fair is a straightforward short-form BL drama centered on childhood friends reuniting as adults. Visually, it’s appealing, and the chemistry between the leads is definitely present. For a series of this length, it makes a strong first impression with its setup.

however, where it falls short is in its character dynamics and execution. one of the leads comes off as overly controlling and possessive, and the story doesn’t provide enough time or depth to explore or justify that behavior. additionally, the first kiss happening while one character is intoxicated felt uncomfortable and poorly handled. for a relationship that’s supposed to be rooted in history and trust, the moment lacked the necessary emotional grounding.

the love triangle subplot also didn’t land—there was very little chemistry between the characters involved, and the conflict felt forced rather than organic. while short dramas often face limitations, many recent k-bls have proven that it’s possible to deliver a tight, emotionally satisfying story in under 10 minutes per episode. this one just didn’t quite get there.

there’s clear potential in the premise, and the series isn’t without its enjoyable moments, but ultimately, it left little lasting impact. it's a decent filler watch if you're not expecting much, but sadly, pretty forgettable overall.

#216

love stayed longer than life allowed.

eternal yesterday is not about ghosts or miracles—it's about the unbearable gentleness of holding someone who is slipping away, slowly, lovingly, and completely. it is about youth wrapped in the warmth of first love, and the cold that follows after.

koichi and michan love each other with the quiet certainty only teenagers know—a kind of love untouched by shame, unafraid of truth. they fall not with fireworks, but with open palms and tender eyes. it's all so soft—until it begins to end.

koichi dies. and then he doesn't

he comes back, not fully alive, not fully gone—a miracle that feels more like a wound. he smiles, he talks, he stays. but with every passing day, the world forgets him. only michan remembers. only michan holds on.

and what is grief if not the act of remembering when no one else will?

there is something devastating in their devotion—not in tragedy, but in kindness. koichi loves michan enough to stay. michan loves koichi enough to let him go. this is a story where love is not proven by how long you hold on, but by how gently you release what was never yours to keep.

their story isn't fair. it isn't easy. but it's full of a kind of purity that hurts—the kind that only youth and first love can create. that ache of knowing you've found something real, and still having to say goodbye.

in the end, eternal yesterday is a love poem disguised as a ghost story. a soft ache that lingers in the chest. a reminder that sometimes love, no matter how brief or broken, is still real. still worth remembering.

they were just boys. but to each other, they were everything.

#276

“i realized this. please, just stay with me. i don't need a reason to be with you.”
“i said, i don't get it!”

let me hear it barefoot isn’t your typical love story. it’s not really about strangers becoming friends and falling in love—though on the surface, it might look like that. at its core, it’s something gentler, more tragic: a story about two people who know exactly what they want… and can’t bring themselves to accept it.

what broke me most was watching these two young men hurt each other—emotionally and physically—as if pain was the only way they could allow themselves to touch, to be close, without fully admitting how much they needed it. there’s something deeply painful about needing someone so badly, yet only knowing how to show it through roughhousing. 

yes, the second half falters a bit. and yes, the ending is hard to swallow. but in many ways, it’s the ending that feels most right. because as long as naomi can’t face his feelings, as long as he continues spiraling and running from himself, his relationship with maki is doomed to break apart. and i couldn't bear to see their friendship—their quiet moments, their shared dreams—reduced to something bitter and broken.

they deserved more. naomi deserved peace. maki deserved to feel secure, to stop worrying about being left behind. they both deserved a story that didn’t have to end this way.

but maybe, in a way, this was the only ending that could protect the love that did exist between them—from being twisted into resentment or regret. maybe preserving the memory was its own form of love.

#244

(full review)

this might not be a BL film many people want to watch, but to me, it’s one of the most honest and releast ones out there.

yes, it starts off with two deeply flawed characters: a serial adulterer who can’t be honest, and a man who blackmails his longtime crush into sleeping with him. it’s uncomfortable, morally grey, and messy—but that’s exactly what makes it compelling. beneath all that is a quiet story about growth, vulnerability, and learning how to love.

kyouichi is a selfish man who drifts through life, marrying because he thinks it’s just what he’s supposed to do. he’s never really considered his own emotions, let alone those of the people he’s hurt. imagase tells him, “you have a weakness for people who love you, but you don’t trust that love in the end.” he’s not a man you admire, but he is someone who learns, who changes, who begins to accept himself—not out of grand gestures, but through small, lived-in moments.

that’s what makes the ending hit so hard. kyouichi sitting on the barstool imagase always used while waiting for him. the ashtray imagase left—washed and placed back on the table instead of being thrown away. the tacky blue curtain replaced with a simple, white, transparent one. and his quiet, honest words: “i want to wait. by myself. i want to do what i can.”

it’s not romanticized. it’s not easy. bbut that’s love in its truest form—flawed, patient, and transformative.

“to truly love someone is for them to become your only exception.”
this film understands that—and doesn’t try to dress it up.

since i can't put multiple titles in a list, i used this one since i rewatch the show.

#298

time of fever is a tender, quietly devastating exploration of first love—the kind that exists at the intersection of queerness, youth, and trauma. it captures that specific ache of realizing what you feel is real, but knowing the world around you might not be ready for it. or worse: that you might not be. 

donghee and hotae are bound by a love they can’t name. not because it isn’t real, but because reality makes it too fragile to survive. their intimacy is rooted in childhood familiarity—slowly shifting into something more—but warped by fear, guilt, and the impossibility of safe love in a world that hasn’t made space for them.

“if i stop liking you, it’ll be better for everyone. but i just don’t know how to stop.”

this is where the film breaks you—not with grand confessions or betrayals, but with the quiet impossibility of stopping your heart from wanting. donghee carries his queerness like a wound already punished. his father's violence, the tenderness of hotae’s mother, the burden of gratitude—they all make his love feel like a betrayal, even when it's honest.

“can’t you just stay here? i won’t do anything. i’ll just stay by your side.” 

hotae, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to process what he feels—only that he doesn’t want to lose the person who’s always been his anchor. his plea to donghee to stay—not to act, just to exist beside him—is a cry from someone who hasn’t yet learned how to survive absence.

their relationship isn’t linear. it unfolds in glances and silences, in touches disguised as something else, in near-confessions buried beneath what’s “safe. it’s in these moments the film lives—in the ache of what could be, in the softness of what never fully becomes. 

time of fever doesn’t end with resolution. it doesn't promise healing but it does understands what it means to long, to hope, and to be shattered by first love. it lingers like a bruise—tender, bittersweet, unforgettable.

#200

"i've seen this gaze a lot somewhere. it's the way you look at someone you like. i like him."

what kept me watching was the chemistry between the leads—especially jinwoo, who not only looked great but played his role with just the right mix of charm and sincerity. the story itself is fairly simple, and while nothing groundbreaking happens, it does deliver on sweet moments and fluffy vibes.

one standout scene for me was when giseob finally realized he had feelings for jinwoo. it was like watching a cartoon character get hit with a love anvil—hilarious and adorable. i only wish he’d been the first to confess; it would've added more emotional payoff to his arc.

surprisingly, the second couple ended up stealing a lot of the emotional weight. their dynamic, shaped by social class differences and balgeum's insecurities, made their storyline a lot more layered. honestly, i wouldn’t have minded a second season just for them. the way their ending was wrapped up felt a little rushed and incomplete, and i think a bit more screen time could’ve done wonders.

kang hye jin was also a pleasant surprise. not only was she funny and confident, but she brought a refreshing presence to the story. lowkey wouldn’t mind a spin-off about her, either.

overall, "boys be brave!" is cute and watchable—especially if you’re looking for something that doesn’t ask for much emotional labor. it won’t change your life, but it might give you a few giggles and a couple of heart-flutters along the way.

#112

i didn’t expect kieta hatsukoi to win me over the way it did. at first glance, the premise suggests just another high school bl based on a misunderstanding—but what unfolds is a tender, thoughtful exploration of first love, friendship, and empathy.

the heart of the story lies in how the characters care for one another. aoki, while comically expressive at times, becomes endearing as his sincerity shines through. ida may seem emotionally distant at first, but his careful, quiet way of processing his feelings adds depth to his character. their chemistry is subtle and believable, rooted in the uncertainty and hesitation of teenage love.

what truly stood out was how emotionally intelligent the show is. each character is trying—imperfectly but earnestly—to protect the people they care about. aoki hides hashimoto’s crush to avoid hurting her. hashimoto worries about unintentionally causing aoki pain. ida doesn’t rush into anything because he wants to be sure of himself before making promises. their missteps aren’t treated as drama for the sake of drama—they’re just part of learning to love and be loved.

episode 8 in particular handles a homophobic moment from a student teacher with quiet care. rather than turning it into a dramatic confrontation or brushing it aside, the series acknowledges the hurt caused by casual prejudice and allows the scene to speak for itself. it was a surprisingly grounded moment that added emotional weight without disrupting the show’s tone.

my love mix-up! doesn’t aim to be groundbreaking, but it offers something rare: a story about young people figuring things out with kindness. it imagines a world where queerness is met not with hostility but with empathy, and where growing up doesn’t mean giving up on tenderness. sweet, warm, and refreshingly sincere—this was a joy to watch.

#58

one room angel isn’t a love story in the traditional sense. it’s a quiet, haunting exploration of grief, loneliness, and the fragile ways we begin to find meaning again. if you’re expecting a typical bl romance, this won’t be it. but if you’re open to something more subtle, more emotionally resonant, then this little drama might stay with you longer than you expect.

kouki is a man who’s already given up on life—disconnected, angry, stuck in a one-room flat where nothing seems to change. but after a violent encounter, he wakes up to find an angel in his apartment. an angel who’s lost his memory, has a sharp tongue, and absolutely refuses to leave. what follows is less about plot and more about presence—two people slowly learning how to exist in the same space, confronting their pain, and gently reshaping each other’s lives.

there’s no romantic tension or physical intimacy between the two, and that’s what makes it so moving. the bond they form is built on care, on emotional honesty, on simply being there for one another in a world that often isn’t. and while there’s a significant age gap and an otherworldly element to their connection, the drama doesn’t romanticize or force anything—it lets the tenderness speak for itself.

episode 5 will likely break your heart, but in the best way. the reveal of takashi’s past, the way his presence gives kouki a reason to try again, and the symbolism of that final feather—it’s bittersweet, but hopeful. in the end, one room angel reminds us that sometimes, the person who saves us isn’t a lover, but someone who simply sees us when we’ve stopped seeing ourselves.

#41

"i wonder, how is it that others get the value for expressing their feelings? this deep feeling which i cannot reveal...will it disappear one day?"  

just from the title and synopsis, it was clear i cannot reach you would lean heavily on miscommunication—and that gave me pause. i’ve only recently started exploring bl dramas, and many fall back on that trope in ways that frustrate more than they move. unfortunately, that trend didn’t shift much here.

to be fair, the misunderstandings in the beginning made sense. yamato and kakeru’s bond runs deep, and the fear of losing that connection—especially for yamato, who realized his feelings first—made their emotional hesitations believable. at first, the push-and-pull was even a little endearing. but as the show went on, the repeated interruptions, unspoken feelings, and painful misfires started to wear me down. it was disheartening to watch them unintentionally hurt each other again and again.

still, i stayed. mostly thanks to mikoto and hisaka, who became the much-needed emotional bridge between the leads. and i’m glad i did, because seeing them finally reach each other in the end felt like a quiet victory—for them, and for me.

the story itself isn’t groundbreaking—just another childhood-best-friends-to-lovers slow burn. but what makes it stand out is what it doesn’t include: no toxic love triangles, no villainized female characters, no messy family conflict. instead, it’s a tender story about the longing, fear, and quiet ache of first love. and sometimes, that’s enough.

#24

i had a great time with the first few episodes of sing my crush. the visuals were beautiful, the chemistry between the leads felt natural, and the soundtrack choices really elevated the mood. everything about it gave off the impression of a light, easy, feel-good drama—and for a while, that’s exactly what it was.

as the story progressed, though, the plot began to lose some of its strength. once the conflict kicked in, i found myself getting increasingly frustrated with the characters’ behavior. the back and forth, the drawn-out misunderstandings—it became a cycle that tested my patience. there were several moments when i genuinely considered dropping it, but somehow, the drama kept pulling me back in. moments like the boxing scene reminded me why i started watching in the first place.

what ultimately saved it for me were the leads themselves. despite the weak plot, they were endearing and had a dynamic that was hard to resist. even when the narrative relied heavily on the miscommunication trope, their charm kept me invested.

overall, sing my crush is a drama with a lot of heart but not a lot of plot. it’s best approached as a comfort show—something to watch when you're in the mood for soft glances, playful banter, and a romance that, while rocky, still manages to land on its feet. if you don’t mind the emotional whiplash, there’s something genuinely sweet waiting at the end.

#99

i was hesitant to start Behind Cut after seeing the low reviews, but the premise intrigued me enough to give it a shot. unfortunately, most of the negative feedback turned out to be accurate. the story felt incredibly rushed—so much so that it was hard to get emotionally invested or even root for any of the characters.

there were plot points that were barely explained or completely skipped over, and while short episode durations are common in k-bls, some series still manage to deliver a solid plot and well-written dialogue within that limit. this one, though, felt lazy in its execution, which was a shame because the setup had potential. the leads actually had decent chemistry, but the writing and editing gave them nothing to work with.

i even tried the movie version, hoping it might offer more depth or a better edit, but it was essentially the same. nothing stood out—no memorable scenes or emotional payoff.

that said, there was one line that stayed with me:
“i live my life harder than anybody but i got this feeling that i'm the only one who's lost. everybody else is naturally going somewhere but i seem to be stopped by a traffic light that's never going to turn green.”
i really related to that moment, and in a show that didn’t leave much impact, it was the one piece of writing that felt honest and real.

overall, Behind Cut had potential but ultimately didn’t deliver. if you’re looking for a short bl with substance, there are better options out there.

#27

"i hope you will use me as much as you can. im prepared to be used by you." 
"but, im not going to use you. im going to love you instead. i just want to love you"

i didn’t expect to love unintentional love story as much as i did. i went in blind, without reading the synopsis or checking reviews—and in hindsight, i’m glad. seeing the negative comments afterward, i realized they might have discouraged me from watching what turned out to be a quiet little gem.

yes, it’s slow-paced and fairly predictable, but that simplicity is exactly what makes it work. the story takes its time, and in doing so, allows the characters’ relationship to grow naturally. there’s no love at first sight here—just a gradual unfolding of connection, built on small moments and mutual care. the filmography plays a big part in capturing that tenderness, with soft visuals and careful scene-setting that match the tone beautifully.

i admit, wonyoung’s initial motive—approaching taejoon under false pretenses—was off-putting. i usually struggle with storylines involving deception. but over time, the sincerity of his feelings won me over, and i appreciated how the show let that transformation unfold slowly and earnestly.

all of the characters were easy to like, and their chemistry—especially between the main leads—felt genuine. the second couple had great potential too, though i was disappointed that their story wasn’t explored further. (fingers crossed for a spin-off.) the cozy atmosphere, from the adjacent shop locations to the relaxed pacing, gave the show a slice-of-life charm. even the soundtrack felt thoughtfully placed—lyrics aligning with key moments and understated hugs carrying emotional weight.

in the end, unintentional love story reminded me of the feeling i had watching run on: calm, emotional, and quietly immersive. it may not be groundbreaking, but it’s honest and full of heart—and sometimes, that’s more than enough.

#7

after watching two emotionally heavy dramas back-to-back, cherry magic! was the perfect palate cleanser. it’s a heartfelt, lighthearted bl romcom that uses its fantasy premise (gaining mind-reading powers after turning 30 and remaining a virgin) in a surprisingly grounded and meaningful way.

what really worked here was the main couple. adachi, the timid and self-doubting office worker, is instantly likable, while kurosawa, the outgoing office star secretly in love with him, is just as charming. their chemistry is natural, and it’s easy to root for them. i was also surprised to learn kurosawa’s actor played karube in alice in borderland—he pulled off both roles so well.

i appreciated how adachi doesn’t freak out or mistreat kurosawa after learning about his feelings. instead, he takes care not to hurt him and genuinely tries to understand what he wants and feels. kurosawa, in turn, never pressures adachi and gives him space, which made their slow-burn romance even more satisfying. watching adachi grow more confident over time—especially as he hears kurosawa’s kind thoughts—was honestly so heartwarming.

the fantasy element could’ve felt gimmicky, but it didn’t. it was used thoughtfully, never taking away from the emotional moments. on the downside, i wasn’t invested in the second couple. their story felt rushed and lacked the same emotional weight, so i ended up skipping their scenes. fujisaki, though, was a standout. i really related to her and thought she was one of the best characters outside of the main pair.

overall, this is a sweet, wholesome show that’s easy to recommend—especially for first-time bl viewers. the valentine’s day special was a great way to wrap things up. i’m not rushing into the movie sequel, but i’ll definitely check it out eventually.

"i wanted to find my own universe. in my once dark heart, i now have one little star shining so bright. i have found my universe with all our stories."

i wasn’t prepared for how raw and painful this was going to be. where the first season felt warm, light, and sweet, this one was heavier, more complicated, and emotionally devastating in all the ways that made it feel real.

first, seojoon. watching him this season genuinely hurt. he was someone who gave so much love so willingly, even though he never really had it growing up. seeing him come back over and over again—hoping, enduring, trying—only to be met with coldness from the one person he loved most… it was heartbreaking. i wanted to reach into the screen and hug him. or yell some sense into him. either way, he deserved so much better than what he got.

jiwoo was harder to understand. i could sympathize with his fear, his inner struggles, and how being overwhelmed can lead to pushing others away. those feelings were valid. but the way he chose to act on them—the way he intentionally hurt seojoon just to create distance—was cruel, especially because we saw in season one how deeply he used to care. seeing that warmth vanish into avoidance and rejection made his actions feel almost unforgivable. he feared being abandoned, but in doing so, he pushed away the very person who stayed.

i don’t fully agree with the show’s take that one person needs to give more to make a relationship work. but i did appreciate its message that love isn’t about perfection—it’s about understanding, adapting, and learning to be vulnerable. about choosing someone even when it’s hard.

as much as i loved the sweetness of season one, i think i loved season two even more for its depth. it was messy and painful, but it showed growth. it made me feel, it made me reflect, and most of all—it made me care.

#38

"however hard i think, i can't manage. when i think i'll be without you, my heart breaks. i really don't want to end it like this. jiwoo, if it's too much, i'll come to you"

to my star begins quietly, with a mismatched pair who don’t immediately spark romance — in fact, their early chemistry feels more like potential friends than lovers. but that’s what makes the slow-burn nature of their relationship all the more rewarding. as the episodes unfold, what starts as unlikely cohabitation softens into something deeply felt and emotionally intimate.

jiwoo, stoic and guarded, doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. but the show reveals his tenderness through small, careful moments — the way he protects seojoon’s location from an eager reporter, or how he gets visibly upset when his coworker handles glasses carelessly, knowing the sound triggers seojoon’s anxiety. these details quietly build the foundation of his care long before he admits it to himself.

seojoon, on the other hand, is magnetic from the start. charming, flamboyant, but never overbearing — he becomes the emotional pulse of the series. his presence fills every scene with warmth and lightness, providing the exact contrast needed to draw jiwoo out of his shell. without him, the story could’ve easily drifted into familiar territory. instead, he anchors it with heart.

even when conflict hits — when misunderstandings and fear push the two apart — the show doesn’t lean into melodrama. instead, it stays grounded in emotional honesty. and through it all, their care for one another never disappears.

to my star doesn’t reinvent the genre. there are no grand twists or dramatic declarations. but it doesn’t need them. what it offers is sincerity — a love story built on quiet gestures, emotional healing, and the slow but steady realization that sometimes, just choosing to stay is enough.

#26

there are shows that entertain you, and then there are shows that haunt you. the eighth sense is the latter, it didn't just tell a story—it became one i lived in, one i'm still trying to climb out of. it's a soft, aching, intimate look at youth, mental health, and the quiet desperation of wanting to belong somewhere...or to someone.

set in the backdrop of college life and the ever-present ocean, the story follows jihyun—a gentle soul trying to find his place—and jaehyun, who carries invisible wounds under a calm exterior. their connection is immediate but careful, filled with unspoken understanding. it's not just love—it's recognition. the kind that says, i see the parts of you no one else does.

what makes this drama so deeply affecting isn't just the romance. it's the way it handles mental health with honesty and care. grief, depression, dissociation—they're not plot devices, they're lived experiences. there's a scene so raw it left me breathless—not because it was shocking, but because it felt true.

and then there's sea. always there. calling. a place of escape, of danger, of healing. the metaphor is never forced—it just lingers, like grief.

the eighth sense is about being young and lost and trying your hardest to be okay. it's about how connection can save you and terrify you at the same time. about how love doesn't fix, but maybe it holds you while you find your way back.

i finished it and felt hollow in the best, worst way. like something had shifted in me. i haven't moved on. i'm not sure i want to. some stories leave a mark—and this one carved itself into me.

#63

unfortunately, this one just didn’t work for me. i’m all for a good slow burn and mutual pining, but something about this drama tested my patience more than my heart. the premise had potential, but the execution was frustrating — too much dragging, not enough payoff. i found myself skipping through large chunks because it felt like the story was going nowhere. sure, there were a few things i liked, but they weren't enough to outweigh how bored (and annoyed) i was. with a better pace and sharper writing, this could’ve been something great. sadly, it just fell flat.

#54

had potential, but missed the mark

i really wanted to like this one. the setup was promising and the main leads clearly had great chemistry, both on and off screen. visually, it looked good, and there were moments where you could see the potential peeking through. but unfortunately, the story lacked depth and focus.

the flashbacks were often placed awkwardly, sometimes inserted between scenes that had no narrative connection. several characters felt underdeveloped, and a number of plot points were either rushed or left completely unexplained. instead of spending time building the main relationship, the show introduced unnecessary subplots that didn’t add anything meaningful and just took away from what should’ve been the heart of the story.

this could’ve been great with a tighter script and better pacing. i really hope the leads get cast together again in the future — that kind of natural chemistry deserves a better-written love story.

#5

“a simple dish, not too spicy — just right (until ep 7 added chili flakes for no reason)”

"i enjoy cooking for you. i cook for you because you like my food. it makes me happy too."

bon appétit surprised me in a good way. while it's not a standout in terms of story or structure, it has something undeniably comforting — especially in how it uses food as a love language. the cooking scenes reminded me of little forest and recipe for farewell — gentle, meditative, and filled with intention. there’s something tender about watching someone cook for the person they care about, and the show really leaned into that quiet intimacy.

i also enjoyed the dynamic between the main leads. their chemistry was subtle but sincere, and the series did a good job showing their relationship unfold through shared meals and small moments. yoonsoo’s inner monologues, especially when cooking, added emotional texture, and the food metaphors worked well more often than not.

that said, the pacing felt uneven. for a drama that thrived in its slow, slice-of-life rhythm, episode 7 suddenly tossing in dramatic conflict felt unnecessary and jarring. i actually skipped through parts of it — it just didn’t land. the show seemed to reach for more emotional weight than it was built to carry.

still, bon appétit doesn’t ask for too much. it’s light, easy to digest, and occasionally heartfelt. not groundbreaking, but not regrettable either. just a sweet little show about food, connection, and quiet care — and sometimes, that’s enough.

#46

normally i’d nope out the moment a plot leans too hard on misunderstandings—but this one got me. maybe it was the shorter runtime. maybe it was the ridiculously good chemistry between the leads. or maybe it was just the way it balanced frustration with affection so well that even when i was sighing at the back-and-forth, i was still rooting for them.

dohyun and dong wook feel like two people who were always meant to orbit each other—quietly, clumsily, and with just enough tension to keep things interesting. and that line—“i woke up from a good sleep and was glad it was you i saw”—yeah, that one got me good.

shoutout to the real hero: the best friend. if he hadn’t stepped in, dong wook might’ve fumbled dohyun for good. if he ever gets his own story, i’m absolutely tuning in. the man deserves it.

still, for a short series, it had its charm. not perfect, but sweet and easy to binge — and definitely not a bad place to start if you're dipping your toes into the world of BL dramas.