Came for SurfJava, stayed for their storyline — skipped the rest
I'll be upfront: I watched this almost entirely for SurfJava. After Love Me If You Swear I just wanted to see them together again, and from what I understand this is actually the series where they started as a pairing — which made it feel like essential viewing. I skipped the second couple almost entirely and followed only their storyline, so take my perspective on the overall series with that in mind.What I genuinely liked about their arc is the honesty of it. Friends falling for each other and then discovering that wanting a relationship and being good at one are two very different things — that felt real to me. But it also quietly broke my heart a little to watch them not be good for each other in those early stages, risking a friendship that clearly mattered for something neither of them quite knew how to handle yet.
The ending is sweet, and I was glad to get it. It just felt slightly rushed to me personally — like the writing suddenly remembered it needed to wrap up and squeezed the resolution into less space than it deserved. A little more room to breathe at the end would have gone a long way.
Still, SurfJava delivered. That's what I came for.
Playful, original, and completely at ease with itself
This one caught me off guard in the best way. Two rival gangs, a superstitious vow, and both leaders ending up on the same nine-temple merit-making journey with no choice but to figure each other out along the way — it's an oddly specific premise that the series commits to fully, and it's better for it.SurfJava are genuinely sweet together, and what I appreciated most personally is how unforced the whole thing feels. The humour lands without trying too hard, the silliness never tips into something that made me cringe, and the dynamic between the two reminded me a little of War of the Buttons — that kind of playful, slightly chaotic energy that somehow manages to be completely charming. It's the kind of lightness that's actually difficult to pull off without it feeling hollow.
I also found myself enjoying the glimpses of everyday Thailand woven into the temple tour storyline — the way those spaces work, what that kind of journey actually looks like. It gave the series a texture that I didn't expect and genuinely appreciated.
The show knows exactly what it is and never pretends otherwise. For me personally, that self-awareness is what makes it so easy to like.
The series that opened the door — I'm just not sure it holds up the same way anymore
This was one of my entry points into BL — manga first, then the animated version, and then the genuine surprise of discovering a live action adaptation existed. SeoHam and JaeChan carry it well, and the rivals-to-lovers dynamic actually works: a rule-obsessed computer science student and a charismatic design star who collide by accident and can't quite untangle themselves from each other afterwards. It's still sweet, and I mean that sincerely.What I notice more now, watching it with different eyes, are the lines along the lines of I'm not gay, I don't like men, I just want you. I understand the context. I know what queerness looks like in Korea and I'm not asking a BL series to carry the weight of political commentary. But when a show touches that territory, I personally find myself wanting either genuine engagement with it or none at all. The half-distancing — acknowledging the feeling while quietly disclaiming the identity — is something I've grown less patient with the more BL I've watched.
I think I need to rewatch it. I came to it early, before I had much of a reference point, and I'm genuinely curious whether it still lands the same way now that I do. The fondness is still there. The questions are just louder than they used to be.
WilliamEst carry it — and I'd watch them in anything
I'll start where my attention kept going: WilliamEst. Not just in the series, but in everything around it — live shows, behind the scenes moments, the way they exist together on and off camera. There's a young-love energy between them that I don't think you can manufacture, and whether that's fanservice or something more genuine doesn't really change how it reads. It's there, and it's sweet.The backstory also adds something for me personally. Est is a professional swimmer, William is an idol in Thai pop group Lyken — and somehow they end up as the leads in a BL series together. I find that kind of accidental pairing genuinely charming.
I believe them as a couple and I'd go back for them without hesitation. Where the series itself loses me a little is in how it handles the dynamic between the characters. Po has relationship experience — with a man — while Thame has none, yet Thame is consistently the one driving things forward. That imbalance felt slightly off to me, not wrong exactly, but like the series didn't fully explore what that gap between them could have offered. The overall tone also skews younger and more naive than I personally needed it to.
Still, WilliamEst make it worth it. And I'm genuinely excited to see what they do next together.
Darker than expected, better than expected — and Yoon Ji-sung deserves his flowers
I came in cautious. The source material had already put me through it — a toxic dynamic between two people who call themselves cousins without actually being related is complicated territory, and I wasn't sure the series would handle it in a way I could get behind.
It surprised me. What clicked for me personally was the moment I genuinely believed that the taboo element was something one of them actively wants — a conscious tension he seeks out rather than stumbles into. That reframing changed everything about how I read the dynamic, and I don't think I expected to feel that way going in.
What the series does really well is the aftermath. The one who was the problem in the relationship falling apart when it ends, recognising what he did wrong and actually doing the work — that arc from emotionally closed off and performatively masculine to flustered, uncertain, and learning how to communicate is exactly the kind of character development I find deeply satisfying to watch.
And then there's Yoon Ji-sung. Former leader of Wanna One, shaped by an industry that simultaneously sexualises male closeness and treats homosexuality as something to hide — choosing to lead a BL series that doesn't shy away from explicit content feels significant to me personally, whatever his own reasons were. I find that kind of choice worth acknowledging.
The origin story alone deserves applause — the rest is a bonus
Before I even get to the series itself: two wealthy Chinese twin sisters who are omegaverse fans decided to just make the thing themselves. And then it became the first Chinese omegaverse BL production ever, won awards, and apparently surprised everyone including people who should have known better than to underestimate obsessive fans with resources. I find that genuinely delightful, and it earns the series a certain amount of goodwill from me before a single episode plays.As for the show — I believe the pairing. The dynamic between someone consumed by obsession and someone fundamentally untamable works for me, and the chemistry has enough pull that I'd go back for them. What doesn't quite deliver for me personally are the intimate scenes, which feel like they fall slightly short of what the premise promises. For a genre that runs on physical tension, that's a noticeable gap.
It's also unhinged in the way omegaverse tends to be, and I mean that descriptively rather than critically. I've read stronger material in the genre, but I'm not complaining. The fact that this exists at all — produced in China, no less — still feels like a small miracle worth celebrating.
Quiet tension that almost sticks the landing
Short but not without substance — that's how I'd describe this one. The premise drew me in: two roommates, one hiding his identity, one who sees through it immediately and uses that knowledge to start a silent power struggle that gradually becomes something else entirely. There's a restraint to the early episodes that I genuinely appreciated, and the pair work well together. The intimate scenes deliver too.What tripped it up for me personally was the shift towards the end. Ha Jin's sudden departure and the very public confession felt out of place in a story that had been living in quiet, understated moments up until that point. It's not that the conflict itself is wrong, it just landed with a different energy than everything that came before it — and that disconnect left me with mixed feelings overall.
I liked the pair, the setup, and a lot of what came in between. I'm just not sure I'd go back for it. A series that gets more right than wrong, but doesn't quite pull everything together in the end.
The dynamic works — the series around it less so
There's something genuinely appealing about the pairing here. A painfully shy ex-gymnastics star and a campus heartthrob with an unexpectedly gentle side beneath the cool exterior — I bought into that dynamic, and the chemistry between them felt real enough to keep me watching.The series itself though never quite matched what the pair offered. It drifts more than it pulls, and I kept waiting for something to click into place that never really did. Not in a frustrating way, more in a quietly underwhelming one. By the end, little had stayed with me, and I don't think I'd go back for the couple alone.
It's one of those cases where the premise reads better than it plays out. The ingredients suggest something with more momentum than what actually lands on screen. Worth a watch if you're drawn to the leads, but I wouldn't go in with high expectations for the story.
No grand gestures needed — just two people and the tension between them
This one got to me quietly. No big dramatic moments, no elaborate intimate scenes — just glances, small gestures, and a pull between two people that I felt without being able to fully explain. A disciplined stuntman and an idol actor who pursues him in exactly the way Jae Yeon can't stand — and somehow, maybe because of that, it works completely.What I'm left with is mostly the ache of wanting more. I wanted to see how the relationship develops, what their everyday looks like, honestly just more scenes of these two existing in the same space together. That's not a complaint about what the series is — it's more of a compliment to what it managed to build in such a short time.
It's warm and sweet and over too quickly, and that bittersweet feeling of not getting enough is probably the most accurate review I can give it. A series that left me genuinely fond rather than just satisfied — which, for something this short, is no small thing.
A princess diaries fantasy with potential it never fully reaches
I'll start with what I genuinely enjoyed: the world-building has real charm. Five regions, a reluctant crown prince who wants nothing to do with the throne, a bodyguard bound by generations of duty — there's something almost Princess Diaries meets fantasy about it, and the setup reminded me a little of Harry Potter in how it structures its factions. I was into it.What frustrated me personally was how little the characters lived up to that premise. NuNew has moments where he genuinely shines — there's a sassiness and screen presence there that I loved. But too often he slips into damsel-in-distress territory, and that's a trope I find genuinely difficult to watch. A crown prince with that kind of defiant energy could have been so much more than someone who falls apart without his bodyguard nearby.
Zee, on the other hand, felt almost too committed to being unreadable. I get the concept — a man shaped entirely by duty and distance — but in practice it drained the romantic scenes of oxygen for me. The intimate moments especially suffered for it.
There's a better version of this show somewhere in the premise. I just don't think we quite got it.
PoohPavel carry it — the story is just along for the ride
Racing circuits and omegaverse elements are not a combination you'd expect to work, and yet somehow the setting holds up — mostly because PoohPavel make it easy to stay. Their chemistry is strong, the intimate scenes land, and you believe the connection between them. When the pairing is this watchable, a lot gets forgiven.The story is another matter. Part one has a certain charm to it — an unconventional deal, a racing dream, an unlikely dynamic between Charlie and Babe. Part two expands into conspiracy territory with returning villains and hidden powers, but none of it left a particularly sharp impression. It's the kind of plot that's easy enough to follow while watching and equally easy to let go of afterwards.
Pooh's character also tests your patience at times — if you've seen him in other roles, you'll know what you're signing up for. But if PoohPavel are your reason for watching, they deliver. Just don't expect the narrative to keep up with them.
Sweet, tender, and handled with a care I didn't expect
I could have watched these two for a lot longer than the series allowed. That's probably the most honest thing I can say about it.What stayed with me most wasn't the romance itself — though the chemistry between the leads is genuinely lovely — but how the series treats Shao Peng's deafness. Not as tragedy, not as a plot device to generate sympathy, but as something that simply belongs to him. The frustration of job searching, the optimistic front that masks real uncertainty — it's handled with a specificity that felt respectful to me personally, even as someone who can't fully assess how accurate it is to lived experience. The fact that this story exists and was told this way matters.
My one personal gripe is the mafia backdrop surrounding Zi Xiang. It could have been almost anything else and the story would have worked just as well — probably better, honestly, since that element always felt slightly out of place against the quieter emotional register of everything else. Fortunately it never takes over, and what the series is actually about — two people, their warmth, the way they move around each other — remains front and center throughout.
Sometimes the story around the couple is the weakest part, and the couple is more than enough. This is one of those times.
Wes Anderson made a BL series in southern China and nobody told me
That's not literally what happened, but it's the closest I can get to describing what this series felt like to watch. The colours, the framing, the unhurried way it moves through lychee orchards and starlit nights and two people slowly finding their way toward something neither of them has words for yet — it has a visual and emotional language that feels genuinely cinematic rather than televisual. I caught myself pausing it more than once just to sit with a single frame.What the series captures so well for me is the specific texture of first feelings — the kind that are all possibility and vulnerability, that exist in shared art and quiet proximity before they become anything nameable. Young love at its most unguarded.
And then the crack appears. The moment where the real world remembers it exists, where a summer has to reckon with what it actually was and what it can be beyond itself. That shift is handled with a restraint that I found genuinely affecting — it doesn't overdramatise, it just lets the weight land.
This is not a typical BL series. It's closer to a small film that happens to also be a love story, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment. One of the most visually and emotionally complete things I've watched in this genre.
Charming, but Over Before It Truly Begins
There's something genuinely sweet about the setup here. A misunderstood first love that fell apart under unfortunate circumstances, seven years of distance, and then a job interview — for a dating simulation game, of all things — that puts them back in the same room. That kind of quiet narrative irony works for me, and the series has its heart in exactly the right place.The problem is purely one of space. Ten to fifteen minutes per episode, eight episodes total — by the time I'd settled in it was already ending. There's a version of this story that has room to breathe, to let the reunion develop with the weight it deserves, to give the characters time to actually process what seeing each other again means. This version doesn't quite have that luxury, and it shows.
I don't think that's a failure of writing or performance — what's there is warm and handled well. It's more that the format works against the emotional ambitions of the story. Some narratives need more than two hours to land properly, and second-chance romance is almost always one of them.
Left me wanting more in the most literal sense possible. Which is either a compliment or a frustration depending on how you look at it — for me personally, it was a little of both.
A Beautiful Escape with a Heartfelt Romance
The setting alone got me. A small island off Taipei, surfer-hippie atmosphere, a family ice cream shop, a father's airbnb — the kind of place my mind drifts to when I think about disappearing somewhere and starting over. The series understood exactly what it had in that location and used it well.What makes it genuinely strong for me are the characters. Everyone here was given room to actually be someone — layered, contradictory, real in the way people are real — and because of that you understand the pull between them without being told to feel it. The intimate scenes landed harder than I expected, warm and familiar in a way that suggested two people who actually like each other. That's rarer than it should be.
My personal sticking point is with the wish as a narrative engine. It drew me in at the start and I appreciated what it made possible — there's a conversation between a son and his father at a fish market that I found quietly beautiful. But somewhere along the way it started to feel more like a constraint than a gift, and there were moments where my patience with it frayed. For me it would have worked better treated like a fever dream that shakes something loose rather than the central mechanism driving everything forward.
A little Groundhog Day, a little Taiwanese indie film, and a lot of genuine warmth. The heart of it is real.
