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“We’re out of detergent.”
San turns to where Yunho has been fumbling with the controls of their washing machine for the past five minutes and is now looking up at him with a despaired groan. San abandons the frozen corn dogs he’s been trying to fry on their stove and puts down the spatula. His eyes skim the long overdue shopping list stuck to their fridge with a magnet of Mount Fuji, indeed catching sight of the scribbled words ‘laundry detergent’ in Yunho’s sloppy handwriting.
“Want me to run down to the store?” he asks.
Yunho sighs. “What about your corn dogs?”
“Keep an eye on them for me?”
San can’t withhold a smile at the sight of Yunho’s apparent distress. He had been surprised when Yunho volunteered to do the laundry, a task he wholeheartedly despises. But now, watching his roommate crouch down before the machine after stuffing their combined collection of whites into the washing drum, endearingly sulky, he takes pity.
“Okay,” says Yunho, tipping forward to rest his forehead against the closed door of the washing machine. “Thanks, Sannie, you’re the best.”
San chuckles. It’s too easy to get into Yunho’s good graces sometimes.
“Be right back.” He takes a step forward and leans down to ruffle a hand through his roommate’s hair. Yunho’s eyes slip shut at the same time that his lips ease from a pout into a fully-fledged smile and it distresses San that he has to take a step back and let go.
His heart flutters all the way down to the convenience store on the ground floor of their building, the ghost of Yunho’s soft hair tickling his fingertips. When he returns with the detergent and Yunho’s favorite potato snack in hand, it’s only to stop him from further moping.
—
San has gone through a number of bi panics in his life, but none of them have felt quite as drastic as his crush on Yunho does.
As a matter of fact, San has discovered, pining for your popular, soft-hearted roommate shapes up to be a major inconvenience in life. At least it does to San, whose roommate happens to be the reincarnation of vibrant sunshine and who feels like he never quite stood a chance against Jeong Yunho.
San can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he had first started seeing Yunho as more than a friend, but he vaguely remembers a time when living with Yunho was easier. When things were different and his heart didn’t skip a beat whenever he was greeted by Yunho’s puffy eyes and tousled bed hair in the morning as he was trying (and failing) to cook them breakfast. Somewhere in the indistinct past San’s worries didn’t melt away whenever Yunho directed his impossibly wide smile at him or his eyes crinkled from laughter.
Even now, San wouldn’t want to share his space with anyone other than Yunho. They get along well as ever–Yunho knows San hates it when he doesn’t clean the stove after spilling his ramen, and in exchange Yunho always picks up an additional pack of San’s favorite chocolate milk whenever he drops by the convenience store downstairs (because he religiously forgets the cleaning, but never to make up for it)–and San couldn’t imagine a better roommate if he tried.
If it wasn’t for the pang in his heart whenever Yunho didn’t come home at night, living with Yunho would be everything San dreamed of. Because unfortunately, San’s massive crush on his roommate has inconveniently sharpened his senses to anything even remotely related to Yunho, so that sometimes their proximity appears to be more curse than blessing. San wishes he didn’t notice whenever Yunho ends up crashing at Mingi’s place instead of finding his way home into his own bed, or that he didn’t spot Yunho sneaking into their apartment in the mornings, wearing one of Mingi’s fuzzy sweaters.
It only reinforces the relief he feels over a judgment he and Yunho had passed after their freshman year. With the help of solid student jobs and parental support they had made the joint decision to move off campus and live in a flatshare not far from the main gates. Back then the younger version of himself had been clueless to the onslaught of feelings awaiting him in their new home. In hindsight, San sometimes reminisces the times when his introductory classes to college and losing his scrawny high school body had been his largest concerns in life. He’s not sure how he would have survived sharing their old double dorm room with Yunho under the new revelation of his feelings, with little to no privacy and their beds barely three meters apart.
Because while he treasures many things about his proximity to Yunho–the laughter they spill, the stories they tell, the moments they share in each others’ company–their memory leaves a bitter sweet taste on his tongue.
Because Yunho’s so close, but he’s never quite close enough, drifting just out of reach.
—
Yunho isn’t home when San wakes up for his morning class on Tuesday.
He pretends that his stomach doesn’t sink at the sight of Yunho’s open bedroom door when he scrambles past it to toast a couple slices of bread to take along for later. San knows Yunho’s schedule by heart, knows he doesn’t have classes before noon today, so there’s no reason for a late riser like him to get up and leave before San, and San vehemently tries not to think about what it means that Yunho didn’t come home last night.
He’s just finished stuffing his books and impromptu breakfast into his backpack and getting ready to leave, fumbling for his shoes, when there’s the sound of keys clattering against the lock. In the next moment the door swings open.
“Morning,” Yunho greets cheerfully as his eyes land on San kneeling before him. San will never understand how it is possible to radiate the amount of energy and joy that Yunho displays this early on in the day, but the familiar sight of Yunho’s warm smile does make him feel significantly more awake.
“Hey,” says San. He focuses his attention back on the laces of his shoes, battling with a square knot he hadn’t bothered to undo the night before. “Been at Mingi’s?”
“Yep.” Yunho stifles a yawn and kicks off his own shoes. “I missed curfew again. Just stopping by for my class notes.”
“Ah,” says San, toying with the shoe strings for a gratuitous amount of time just so he doesn’t have to look up at Yunho, lest he see the way his words make San’s heart drop into his stomach.
A couple of weeks ago, Yunho had stopped coming home every other night. By the time he told San where he was staying and whom he stayed with, San had already put two and two together.
“Well, I’ve got to go.” San has recovered his smile, finally finished with pretending, and reaches for his jacket by the door. “See you at lunch?”
“I’ll see you later, Sannie.” Yunho pats him on the back, shrugging off his own coat. “Have a nice class.”
Against his will, Yunho’s words stick with him through his lecture. Between deliberating Yunho’s nightly whereabouts in more detail and reminiscing over Yunho’s soft smile, San has difficulty focusing on the fundamentals of statistics and stochastic.
—
“Y’all should throw a party,” says Mingi in lieu of a greeting as San drops into the chair by his side. He puts down his tray, the bowl of soup almost spilling over when the strap of his backpack catches onto the back of his chair.
“Don’t listen to him,” Yunho intervenes before San has the time to say anything in return. “Mingi’s just looking for an excuse to get plastered.”
“Since when do you veto Mingi’s bad ideas?” San picks up his spoon, scooping a piece of tofu from his soup. “Besides, I think Mingi’s right.”
San finds it hard to muster the same kind of enthusiasm Yunho and Mingi hold for the type of college parties that leave him to regret most of his life choices the next day, even more so when he’s expected to act as co-host. Sue him, but there’s countless things he’d rather spend his Saturday afternoon doing than cleaning up the remnants of whatever shenanigans his and Yunho’s friends had gotten up to the night before, all while nursing his own hangover.
That is not to say that San doesn’t appreciate the party aspect of his college experience, especially when it means he’ll get to see Yunho glow under the dim lights of their living room, relishing in the freedom of drinking and socializing like the extrovert he is. San has quickly learned that the buzz of alcohol makes the feelings he harbors for his roommate appear less drastic. It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but when he’s dancing and the adrenaline runs through his veins, when the giddiness settles in his stomach, San finds that he feels the most carefree.
“I am?” asks Mingi. San laughs at the comical disbelief in Mingi’s voice, wide-eyed and skeptical. Mingi catches himself quickly upon realizing that San is siding with him, pointing an accusatory pair of chopsticks across the table. “That’s right, I am. When’s the bash, party boy?”
Yunho wipes away the splatters of soup aimed at his face and turns to San with a frown. “And since when do you enable Mingi and his bad ideas?”
San shrugs.
“We haven’t hosted a party in forever. Plus, getting plastered sounds almost heavenly right about now.”
Yunho sends him a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” San waves off his worry. Yunho doesn’t need to know he’s part of the reason San could use an alcohol-induced distraction. “Just classes kicking my ass. I swear, I thought it’d become easier after completing all mandatory coursework last year, but none of my electives are doing me much of a favor.”
“Alright.” Yunho gives him one last funny look before turning towards Mingi. “Well, if Sannie’s in, I’m in.”
“Great.” Mingi makes a face at Yunho that San has trouble deciphering.
He gets sidetracked when he catches a flash of familiar green sweater from the corner of his eyes and as they stray away from his friends, he spots Yeosang making his way over to them. San waves him over to sit in the spot beside Yunho, greeting him with wide twinkling eyes.
“Hey Sangie, Yunho and I are going to have a party!”
—
“So,” says Wooyoung, slamming down his book with so much force that San, along with multiple students sitting in their vicinity, flinches away from the noise. “Yeosang said you guys are throwing a party. Can I expect you to take the opportunity and do anything about that massive crush of yours?”
To Wooyoung’s credit, he has been quietly working on his economics assignment for the better part of two hours before deeming his brain in dire need of a break, apparently in the form of pestering San about his long ongoing Yunho-predicament. San slumps back in his chair with a sigh, waiting for the surrounding students to stop shooting daggers at Wooyoung and return to their own work.
“What, you mean like the countless other times I’ve made a move?” he asks dryly. “I’m amazed you still have faith in me.”
“San.” Wooyoung leans over the table the two of them currently occupy at the library, notes carelessly strewn across its surface and laptops placed atop. “My lovely, dearest San. I’m merely looking out for you and wondering how long you’re planning to torture yourself and everyone else, including me, your bestest friend, by not doing anything about your feelings for Yunho?”
“Shush, don’t speak his name. That man knows close to everyone in this school.” San glances sideways as if expecting Yunho, or anyone else for that matter, who could spy on them and report back to the very man on the receiving end of his pining.
“I can’t believe you’re insinuating Yunho may be the head of an undercover conspiracy or something of the sort, yet you’re still in love with him,” Wooyoung quips.
“Fuck you,” says San at the unprompted harsh admonition of his hopeless feelings. “I’m aware, but I didn’t need the reminder.”
Wooyoung releases a long drawn-out sigh.
“Are you ever going to tell him?”
San doesn’t really feel like unpacking all the thoughts he has started bottling up ever since Yunho stopped coming home to his own room each night. Then again, he’s known both himself and Wooyoung long enough to know that this very behavior can only result in him either retreating into his shell or exploding, with Wooyoung having to pay the price by either coaxing him out of solitude or suffering the blow.
Plus, San has been stuck in his own head about the Yunho-Mingi-hypothesis for so long, it feels kind of nice to be able to talk to someone about it. Maybe get a second opinion, to know he’s not tripping.
So, he relents.
“Not like I ever thought it was a good idea to tell him to begin with, but I really doubt that now’s the moment to make a move.”
“What do you mean? Why?” Wooyoung demands and leans over the table. San watches him plant both elbows over his notebook as he scoots closer and accepts the fact that he won’t be getting any more studying done until he lets Wooyoung in on every little detail. “Did something happen?”
“He hasn’t been home much,” San murmurs, playing with a loose corner in his notebook in an attempt to distract himself.
“What do you mean?” Wooyoung asks again.
“I think–” San pauses, swallows, exhales sharply to get the words across–the venomous thoughts plaguing his brain. “I think Yunho’s been hooking up with Mingi.”
“Wait.” Wooyoung stares at San, eyebrows raised. “Yunho and Mingi? What–Why the hell would you think that?”
“Like I said, he hasn’t been home much. Sleeps over at Mingi’s multiple times a week.” San tears the corner from his notebook and looks up with a sigh, meeting the skeptical eyes of his best friend. “He says he’s been missing curfew, but, you know, what else would they be doing to lose track of time this late at night?”
“I’ll admit that sounds hella sus,” agrees Wooyoung, forehead crinkled in grim concentration.
“But San, I really don’t think that’s what this is. No way in hell are Mingi and Yunho–” he pauses, lips twisted in thought.
San has to admit that it doesn’t seem likely.
If it wasn’t for Yunho’s mysterious disappearances at ass o’clock at night, he would have never thought it suspicious that their two friends were hanging out more so than usual. Yunho and Mingi are attached at the hip on a bad day, and while they’re no doubt handsy with each other, they’re handsy with San too. As are they with Wooyoung and with anyone else in their friend group for that matter, because that’s just who they are: two gangly, big babies full of love and affection for those they care for.
“Mingi and Yunho are, like, platonic soulmates.” Wooyoung says. San can tell he’s thinking out loud by the way he slips into rambling mode, but he doesn’t care to stop him. He’s curious to know what Wooyoung’s thoughts are on the matter and, to be fair, San himself is still none the wiser.
“Like you and me–except, I mean, I’m not saying I’d tap that, but if I wasn’t taken and the opportunity between us would arise…”
Wooyoung lets his words ring out in an open silence that he tries to fill by giving San a look heavy with meaning, dragging his eyes up San’s body in a way that makes him feel weirdly unsanitary.
“Please, stop talking.”
Clearly, San was wrong. This has been a mistake.
“I really could have lived the rest of my life without the mental picture.”
“Alright, alright, sorry.”
Wooyoung isn’t losing his shit-eating grin and San is sinking further into his seat, wishing he could take back the past fifteen minutes, or–even better–the past thirteen years of knowing Wooyoung.
“Okay look, even if they’re fucking, which I still don’t think they are,” Wooyoung begins again, waving off San’s yelp at his crude choice of words, “it’s not like they’re secretly dating. Mingi and Yunho are both really vocal about their feelings and dating life, not to mention that Mingi is shit at lying–they wouldn’t keep something this big from us if there was anything more to it, don’t you think?”
“Maybe they would, if it’s each other they’re seeing.”
San shrugs helplessly. Wooyoung does have a point, but San can’t shake off the thought that this is the one thing Mingi and Yunho wouldn’t tell them.
And that it would leave him sidelined and out of the picture, because San would never go up against Mingi, even if there was the smallest possibility that he stood a chance.
“No matter what their deal is, it’s Yunho and Mingi we’re talking about. I can’t get between them.”
San schools his expression into one of indifference, but he knows there’s no way Wooyoung is buying it. Thirteen years of friendship and all that jazz.
But San also knows that if he’s right about one thing, it’s that he can’t butt in and risk messing things up between their two friends. Because it’s always been like this: For as long as Yunho has been a part of his life, Mingi’s been there, too. They have come as a package deal, and while they were equally quick to wiggle their way into San’s heart and become an integral part of his inner circle, he’ll never be what they are to each other–platonically or otherwise.
“Do you want me to investigate?” Wooyoung asks seriously, tearing San from his thoughts.
“God, no.” San shakes his head vehemently.
“No offense, but you’re the least subtle person I know. I don’t need them to know I’ve caught on or, even worse, that I care.” San hesitates, then adds as an afterthought, “I’m also not really sure I wanna know.”
“Rude. But fine, I’ll lay low for the time being.” Wooyoung relents with a sigh of his own, clearly displeased with the outcome of their gossiping. “But I want you to know that I stick with my theory. Whatever it is these two are up to in the middle of the night–I doubt it involves the exchange of any bodily fluids.”
San gags as he turns back to his programming assignment, strong-willed to tune out any more of Wooyoung’s words that will have his imagination run wild in the worst possible ways.
—
“I think we’ve got enough beer.”
San narrows his eyes at the three twelve-packs they have stacked in their shopping cart before shifting them to where Yunho attempts piling another six-pack of lager on top of the sodas.
Yunho gives him a sheepish look, lips pursed into a full pout.
“But this brand is my favorite.”
And San is one weak man.
“Can’t have too much beer, I guess.” He shrugs, quickly averting his gaze from Yunho’s puppy eyes before he buckles and makes any more concessions to Yunho’s undoubtedly long list of necessities for the party.
“What a wise man you are, Sannie.”
He can’t help the way his stomach twists at the term of endearment, even if it’s not meant to feel all that different. Everyone calls him Sannie all the time yet when Yunho does it, San can’t help but feel special.
It’s cute, the way the two syllables roll off his tongue.
“What about the food?” Yunho asks as they stroll down the snack aisle. He pushes their cart in front of him, occasionally reaching out his long arms to grab something from one of the shelves. San is trailing behind, scrolling through the seemingly endless shopping list that has migrated to his notes app and trying not to notice the way Yunho looks particularly boyfriend today in his dark turtleneck and baggy jeans, arms working to carry canned goods and all of San’s favorite snacks that he’s snatching off the shelves. It’s so domestic that San needs to remind himself to look elsewhere, like the growing pile of groceries in their cart, to keep the fondness in his chest from spilling over and making a mess right here in the snack aisle.
“Are we sure we want to cook for eight people?”
San’s mind wanders to their stove, used solely to boil ramen and fry the occasional egg ever since they moved in well over a year ago. He knows his and Yunho’s culinary skills well enough to question whether christening it now with an extensive meal to feed their entire friend group is the best idea. He doesn’t think holding a party will fare well, if they trigger the fire alarm beforehand.
Then he realizes that he’s been nagging Yunho ever since they entered the store together, when all his roommate wanted to do was go a little overboard with their grocery run. It’s one of the many times San fears he can’t keep up with Yunho–that he’s stifling his outgoing enthusiasm, rather than endorsing his shining personality, like he should.
“I’m sorry I’m being such a buzzkill,” he says meekly, locking his phone and fixing his eyes on Yunho’s back.
“Stopping me from impulse buying half the snacks in this store isn’t being a buzzkill, Sannie.” Yunho spins on his heel, clutching a bag of rice cakes in his hand. “You just want to make sure we have a great party. And I know I’m only being partly helpful, but Seonghwa hyung promised to come over and help with cooking and Wooyoung promised us dessert.”
He skips over to squeeze San’s elbow in a manner that is meant to be reassuring but makes the hairs on San’s arm stand with thrilled attention and draws goosebumps to the surface of his skin.
“Okay,” San says quietly, his previous reservation gone with the wind–blown away by Yunho’s encouragement. “Thanks, Yun.”
—
The whole cooking endeavor passes by with fewer incidents than San had feared.
By the time Seonghwa knocks on their door, Yunho has coaxed San into wearing the matching aprons Wooyoung had jokingly gotten them as a housewarming gift last year, knowing they would rarely–if ever–come into use, and additionally tamper with the last of San’s sanity. Indeed, San has a hard time quenching the giddiness he’s overcome with seeing Yunho scurry around their kitchen with the comic doodle of a happy strip of bacon on his chest, excited to venture into the brand new world of home cooking. San’s apron is sporting a similarly happy sunny side-up egg wielding a spatula. It crinkles as he digs out the fresh groceries from their fridge to neatly stack alongside the kitchenette.
Seonghwa pointedly looks between their aprons after San ushers him into the kitchen, where Yunho is currently attempting to slice scallions into evenly sized pieces, lips tugged into a smile teetering between fond and amused.
“Cute.”
He barely has time to dump his bag on one of the kitchen chairs before rushing over to twist the knife out of Yunho’s hand, just as the blade slips and very nearly cuts into Yunho’s finger.
“Hands off the knives!” Seonghwa yells.
And that is that.
Yunho and San spend the remainder of meal-prepping time rinsing vegetables, stirring pots and taste testing Seonghwa’s homemade tteokbokki and galbi. Yeosang helps set up their couch table while Jongho cracks open the first pair of beers upon their arrival, making sure each of them is supplied with a cool can of pilsner. Wooyoung arrives fashionably late with a big box of home baked cinnamon-rollppang and a disgruntled Hongjoong, who he seems to have evicted from his studio under threat of force. The only one who turns up even more delayed is Mingi, who–to absolutely no one’s surprise–lost track of time at the store deliberating his choice of poison for the night.
Surrounded by their friends, good food and alcohol, San’s attempt at a distraction from his habitual hyper-focus on his roommate pays off in no time. Beer in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, it’s surprisingly easy for San to overlook the way Mingi shuffles up next to Yunho or how Yunho’s arm finds its way around Mingi’s waist even while they’re both in the midst of eating. What catches his attention instead is the way Hongjoong’s sour mood melts away at Jongho’s prodding to let him in on his newest project and how Yeosang tries to trick Wooyoung into believing he’s dropped something under the table so San can sneak a shot of Soju into his half-full beer glass.
The joyous anticipation escalates from there. The warm food and good company boost the spirit of the eight boys, who find themselves at the brink of elated tipsiness by the time the actual party rolls around. People begin to trickle in–most of them San knows, some of them he hopes Yunho does–and soon enough there’s Wooyoung’s playlist blasting from the speakers Mingi brought over and bottles popped open to celebrate.
San spends a solid hour floating from face to face, catching up with people and their lives, exchanging cheerful greetings, making new acquaintances with friends from Yunho’s circle and toasting to an evening away from the usual worries of college life.
He’s pleasantly buzzed when Wooyoung drags him to the middle of the room, Yeosang trapped in the vice grip of his other arm, and turns to his silly rendition of disco steps to the eighty’s song blasting from the speakers. San lets go, swirls around his friends, dipped in laughter, holding on tight to their sweaty hands. He spins and spins and spins until his eyes inevitably catch onto the one face he’d never miss and the world comes to halt.
Yunho’s smile is so wide it could give light to their entire apartment as he watches them, one arm loosely draped over Mingi, the other trying to drag Hongjoong in to dance with them.
San’s heart hammers in his chest.
He could blame it all on the dancing, the rush of endorphins in his veins, but San is long past the stage of denial.
In moments like these San falls a little more.
The trio around Yunho finds them in the middle of the living room, joining their uncoordinated swirling as the music switches to techno beats. San hasn’t had this much fun at a party in a while, he realizes, as Wooyoung presses against his back in a playful grind and Hongjoong breaks out an insane krumping routine. He’s dancing and laughing, taking the solo cup that Mingi hands to him in between songs and chugging back a big gulp, even as the drink leaves behind a burning trail on the way down.
They move together to the music until San finds himself in dire need of water and a break from the sheer amount of people in their living room, chancing an escape to the kitchen.
A minute later finds San perched on the kitchen counter, leaning over the sink to fill his glass with a chaser to follow the concoction mixed together by Mingi that can only be described as radically alcoholic. He’s going to need to stay hydrated if he wants to be semi-functioning come tomorrow and not end the party right here, right now.
He brings the glass to his lips when someone stumbles into the otherwise empty kitchen, most of the party crowd still gathered on the impromptu dance floor in their living space.
“Oh–”
It’s Yunho, who’s slipping into the kitchen. He looks beautiful; sexy and lean, even in the ugly, too-bright kitchen lights, as he pulls the door shut behind him. Like he isn’t in the midst of partying his brains out and aiming to steal away every last bit of San’s heart.
“Hey. Whatchu up to?”
Yunho can hold his alcohol significantly better than San, but San can still detect the way Yunho’s eyes stray between his own, a little unfocused, the way his words slur together ever so slightly and the joyous quirk of lips that gives away that Yunho is well on his way to inebriation. San spots the dark liquid sloshing around in his solo cup as Yunho crosses the room to join him by the sink, looking conspicuously similar to San’s previous drink.
“I’m staying hydrated.” San lifts the glass before his face, realizes that there’s no water left, and frowns at the empty cup like it’s personally offended him.
“You should try it,” he says as he fiddles with the tab for a refill of water, fingers slipping against the wet metal. “Otherwise you may meet an untimely death by alcohol poisoning. And the hands of Song Mingi.”
San’s joke rings hollow, stifled by a sinking feeling of guilt that weighs heavy in his chest. He doesn’t know when it has become like this, when the mere mention of Mingi’s name began sparking a feeling of discomfort and ugly jealousy somewhere beneath his breast bone. He wishes he had more control over his emotions. Luckily the feeling of shame is stronger than any spiteful thought sent the way of Mingi.
Lost in his own grim thoughts, San doesn’t notice the water spilling over the rim of his cup until it’s too late, running down the sides and wetting his fingers. He quickly turns off the tab, lifts the cup back to his mouth and turns back to his roommate.
Yunho’s still there, still watching San. Preoccupied by the messy onslaught of feelings and the task of garnering a refill, San hadn’t noticed him closing the distance. Yunho’s almost in his space now, taking advantage of San’s partial man-spread by stepping right in front of him. Even from this close, Yunho is still leaning forward, enough so San’s knees bump into his sides. One knee catches onto the hemline of his shirt, revealing a flash of skin right above Yunho’s jeans.
San is relieved when Yunho reaches forward, driving his gaze elsewhere and giving him an excuse not to stare at the sliver of tanned skin. He hopes Yunho can’t feel the electricity on his skin when he plucks the cup from San’s hand, his long slender fingers wrapping around the cool glass with ease. “In that case, do you mind sharing?”
San’s vision involuntarily gets stuck on Yunho’s throat as he chugs the drink of water; the expanse of his neck, the up-and-down movement of his Adam’s apple. Despite having had almost two cups of water, San feels his mouth run dry. He feels parched like he’s struggling through a desert, left with nothing but luke-warm backwash and Yunho is the mirage of an oasis, everything San desires to survive.
Yunho places the empty cup on the counter, but instead of withdrawing his hand it finds San, settling warm and heavy over his knee. San has difficulty focusing on anything other than the burning touch or the shimmering wet sheen that coats Yunho’s lips and that he wishes he could lick off. His taste buds cringe at the memory of Mingi’s cocktail creation, but he can’t help imagining how much better the sharp flavor would taste on Yunho’s tongue.
I want to kiss you, San thinks.
His head is swimming. Under the bright kitchen lights the reality blurs at the edges of his vision. It’s not the first time his mind wanders; not the first time he wonders what it would feel like to kiss Yunho, but now–fueled by the alcohol induced rush of adrenaline–it almost seems like a possibility. Like Yunho isn’t going to push him away and flee the apartment if San leans in for a taste of his lips.
Yunho’s hand moves to the inside of his leg and San wants to reach for him, wants to run his fingers over the soft edges of his face, hook a finger into his collar and tug him close, press his chest to Yunho’s until he can feel the hard planes of his body. He wants to thread his fingers through Yunho’s hair and pull until they both breathe the same air. He wants to take his hand and never let go.
I wish you would want me, too.
There’s a fire burning in the pit of San’s belly that he hasn’t felt in a while. San isn’t sure he’s ever yearned to touch Yunho as much as he does now, when they’re inches apart and San can smell the note of freesia on his perfume. Yunho is looking at him with an intensity he hasn’t seen before, fingertips following the inseam of San’s jeans. San almost wishes he could shrink under the weight of Yunho’s hooded eyes on him, but he wishes Yunho would reach out and touch him, really touch him, so much more. He wishes, Yunho would desire him too.
San reaches forward. His knuckles bump into something cold on their way to grab Yunho’s collar or bury his hand in Yunho’s dark locks, and in the next moment a shrill clattering sound breaks the silence as the water glass they’ve shared hits the floor and jumps into a million little pieces.
“Shit.”
Yunho reels back and the spell is broken.
In his daze, San has trouble wrapping his mind around the frustration of fucking up his maybe only chance of finally getting somewhere with Yunho. All that registers is that Yunho is gone and he is left wanting.
Then it clicks.
“Oh fuck,” San yelps, eyes darting down Yunho’s legs. “Are you okay?”
He makes to jump off the counter, but Yunho’s hand is back on his knee. The touch doesn’t hold the same tension that it did before, but it keeps San rooted in place, gaping down at the thousand bits of broken glass covering their kitchen floor.
“Stay there, you’re gonna get hurt,” says Yunho and crouches down, reaching under the sink to pull out their hand brush. “I’ve got this.”
San feels unexpectedly sober in Yunho’s presence after being snapped back to reality so violently, so he stays seated, watching Yunho scoop up pieces of glass before his legs.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, cheeks burning with shame over endangering Yunho and supplying them both with an unhealthy jump scare. For being his own worst enemy and wasting a prime opportunity to act on his feelings after finally, finally mustering some courage.
“Are you alright? Did any of the shards hit you?”
Yunho opens his mouth to answer, but just then the door swings open to reveal Seonghwa, a worried crease in his forehead.
“Everything alright in here?” he asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, no one’s hurt,” says Yunho from where he’s still bent at the knees and sweeping up glass.
“I dropped a glass,” adds San, eyes trained on Yunho’s back. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t know why he is apologizing to Seonghwa, who neither owns the glass nor was hurt in the process of San’s mindless reflex to touch Yunho. He does feel bad for making him worry though, and for making Yunho clean up his mess when he could be doing something much more fun instead. Making out with San, for example.
The words sit at the tip of his tongue but like so many times before, San swallows them down.
I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.
—
The rest of the party passes by in a blur.
After Yunho finishes sweeping the kitchen floor with the help of Seonghwa, who insists on wet wiping the entire room for extra safety, he allows for San to climb down from the kitchen counter.
(He offers San his hand and San, dizzy from his feelings and the alcohol, gratefully accepts it. He slots their fingers together and doesn’t let go until they’re outside in the living room. Even though San’s steps are wobbly and walking turns out to be more difficult when they’re so close they keep bumping into each other, Yunho doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the coddling.)
They eventually get separated when Jongho, the damn enabler, steals away Yunho for a game of beer pong. They face off against Chan and Siyeon and lose horribly despite their combined competitive spirits, which does nothing to dampen Yunho’s sunshine smile but almost sends Jongho into a fit.
San, positively drunk and increasingly sleepy, curls up near the rest of their friends in the meantime. Maybe it’s the adrenaline that is finally abating. Or maybe hopping off that counter has all but caused the alcohol to rush to his head in spite of the water that he was hoping would help him sober up. Either way, San is quick to crash once he’s separated from Yunho, latching onto the next friend he finds seated on their living room sofa, which just so happens to be Yeosang.
He almost feels bad for Yeosang, who’s not nearly as touchy as most of their friend group and doesn’t always appreciate the amount of physical touch San bestows on his loved ones. But Yeosang circles his arm around San and lets him rest his head on his shoulder, so San’s will to fight sleepiness soon lulls away in the comfort of his friend’s embrace. He engages in semi-conscious conversation whenever he drifts out of sleep or whenever someone gently shakes him awake to bid their goodbyes and pat his shoulder, until someone rustles him from Yeosang’s side. His friend’s body is replaced by another, larger one, and even for San’s dozy brain it doesn’t take much to recognize who has joined him on the sofa.
“Hey, Sannie.” Yunho’s hand is in his hair and San all but turns into mush under those gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. ‘M good. Just a bit sleepy,” San says without bothering to open his eyes and attempt to look awake.
“Hm, I can see that.” Yunho’s quiet laugh rings in his ear like music, sending a ripple of pleasant warmth down his back. He doesn’t move to withdraw his fingers though, so San doesn’t care to argue back.
“People are leaving. Let’s get you to bed in a bit, hm?” says Yunho, but San wants nothing more than to stay by his side and listen to the hushed timbre of his voice.
“In a bit,” he murmurs, curling his hand into Yunho’s shirt in case he begins trying to dislodge San from his side. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“I did.” Yunho squeezes San closer. “It was nice having people over and letting go of all that lab work for a bit. I love seeing everyone so happy.”
Of course you do, San thinks, you epitome of a kind-hearted soul.
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself, too,” Yunho comments.
“I was,” San agrees. “I’m really happy.”
“Good.” Yunho’s lips brush over his hair and make it impossible for San to stop smiling. They stay like this for a while, curled up in each other, luring San into a false sense of security that Yunho may have succumbed to sleep. No matter how appealing the idea of sleeping in his own bed sounds, he’s not sure he can muster the energy to extract himself from Yunho’s embrace and stand up.
“You know, I think we’re going to need to set up the couch and maybe sacrifice one of our beds,” Yunho mumbles into his hair.
San knows Yunho is right when he finally forces his eyes open. The living room around them is mostly empty, safe for Seonghwa and Jongho, who collect trash into a giant white plastic bag, Hongjoong, who is perched between Wooyoung’s legs on the floor and looking ready to doze off any second and Yeosang, fast asleep to Yunho’s other side. Living on campus and having missed curfew, Seonghwa had been planning to sleep over from the get go, but by the looks of it neither Hongjoong nor Yeosang plan to move anywhere anytime soon. Which means Wooyoung, who had plans to sleep over at Hongjoong’s studio apartment, is stuck with them, too.
“Yeah, you’re right.” San turns his head into Yunho’s neck in hopes to escape the reality of needing to move from his position of comfort for a little longer. Next to him, he can hear Yunho laugh.
“Want me to carry you?” he asks.
Yes. I want you to never let me go.
San fears his dismissal doesn’t sound very convincing when he says: “I’m good. I’ll go brush my teeth.”
He closes his eyes for another blissful moment spent in Yunho’s arms and finally sits up with a sigh.
“Let’s go.”
Together they set up the sofa bed, move Hongjoong out of the way and rustle Yeosang from sleep, so he can wiggle out of his pants and crash on the sofa. Jongho waves them good-bye once he and Seonghwa deem the apartment clean enough, escaping through the front door while Seonghwa plummets onto the couch next to Yeosang.
Rejuvenated from moving around and attempting to live up to his role as co-host, San sips another glass of water and is in the middle of brushing his teeth when Wooyoung ambushes him in the bathroom, winding both arms around his middle.
“Joong and I are crashing in your bed,” he informs San as he hooks his chin over his shoulder.
“M’kay.” San mumbles out around the foam of toothpaste. He looks up when his best friend doesn’t let go right away and is met with Wooyoung’s cheeky grin in the mirror. “What? No smooching in my bed, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”
Wooyoung ignores him. “I hope you’re okay sharing a bed with Yunho.”
San almost swallows the entire mouthful of toothpaste. He somehow had failed to connect the dots on that particular turn of events and the matter of fact that Yunho’s bed really is the only place for him to crash now that their sofa and his own bed are occupied for the night.
“Oh,” he says with all the eloquence he can muster, leaning down to spit out in the sink and dragging Wooyoung, who’s still tightly wound around his middle, forward with him.
“Yeah, cool, that’s fine,” he adds once he’s rinsed his mouth and wrung his wet fingers around Wooyoung’s wrists. Wooyoung manages to look both smug and apologetic at the same time, but San knows the current sleeping arrangement doesn’t really allow for another option outside of him sleeping in Yunho’s bed.
How bad could it be, San thinks.
It’s not like he has a problem with the overall concept of sharing a bed. It’s not rare for him to end up in Wooyoung’s or even Seonghwa’s bed after the occasional late night out. It’s far from the first time that Yunho and him share a bed, even–though it is the first time ever since moving out of their dorm room. Which means, it is also the first time they share a bed since San has come to terms with how deep-rooted his feelings for Yunho sit.
He’ll just have to suck it up, he reckons.
“No smooching in Yunho’s bed either,” Wooyoung quips ever so helpfully. He’s lucky that San is in no physical condition to throttle him this late into the night.
After he eventually manages to get rid of Wooyoung (by dragging him out of the bathroom and dumping him in his own bed next to Wooyoung’s already sleeping boyfriend), San drags his footsteps over to Yunho’s room, rasping his knuckles against the halfway opened door.
Yunho spins around with a spare blanket in his arms. His face lights up with a smile when he sees San and motions to where he’s pushed his own blanket towards one side of the bed and made room for a second person.
“Are you okay with sharing?” he asks. It’s not like San really has a choice in the first place, but he doesn’t want Yunho to think he has a problem with sleeping next to him either, not when the truth couldn’t lie further away.
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I don’t mind.”
“Cool.” Yunho looks relieved and San longs to touch him, fueled by many of the same feelings that he felt hours before in the kitchen, when loving Yunho didn’t feel as dangerous.
“Do you want to borrow something for the night?” asks Yunho, gesturing towards his dresser. San belatedly notices that he’s forgotten to grab a shirt from his own room after discarding Wooyoung in his bed. He can’t remember the last time he’s even slept in a shirt, but the offer to wear one of Yunho’s soft t-shirts to bed is too tempting to resist.
“Please.”
Yunho takes a solid minute to find a shirt for him to wear, passing it over for San to change into while he takes his turn getting ready for bed and disappears towards the bathroom.
With the rest of the apartment now basking in silence, San changes into the shirt Yunho picked out for him. It’s one of his favorites, he duly notices, an oversized piece with a single subline spelled out across the front, big enough that it falls low over his waist despite the way it stretches across his shoulders.
San is comfortably snuggled up in their blankets when Yunho returns from the bathroom. His yelp is loud and high-pitched as Yunho unceremoniously drops down on top to wrestle him for his blanket, his stomach a mixture of butterflies and aching laughter. It doesn’t take long for San to surrender under Yunho’s weight and the fingers attacking his sides.
Minutes later they lay side by side, sleep threatening to pull San under.
“‘Night, Yun.” San yawns.
He falls asleep facing Yunho, a whispered “Sweet dreams, Sannie” carrying him to sleep.
—
It dawns on San that he’s not in his room when he wakes up from golden rays of sunlight shining on his face, blinking into curtainless windows and the thin blinds struggling to keep out daylight. One of the windows is cracked half open to allow the sounds from the street below to filter into the otherwise silent room. It must be the mixture of light and noise that rustled him from sleep, unusually loud compared to his own bedroom that is facing into a quiet side alley.
His one open eye strays across the sparse wall decorations, the Spiderman figurine that’s standing next to Widowmaker atop an old-fashioned cabinet. He’d recognize that ragged thing anywhere after cramming it into their building’s two-person elevator and carrying it all the way to their new apartment with Yunho, his roommate’s advantage in height making the whole ordeal all the more challenging.
He remembers then that he’s in Yunho’s room–in Yunho’s bed, to be precise. It all comes back to him; the party, their kitchen encounter, how he ended up sleeping next to Yunho.
Something swirls in San’s stomach at the memories from yesterday. For a moment he suspects it might be a symptom of last night’s aftermath, but his tongue doesn’t feel hangover-fuzzy and his head is surprisingly clear. Once again it may just be Yunho causing his body to act out of the ordinary.
He blinks his second eye open against the sunlight, lids heavy. A grumble sounds from somewhere behind him. It nearly gets muffled by the outside noise, far away and muted, like Yunho is facing away from him.
“Yun?”
Something shifts behind San and suddenly Yunho’s voice sounds closer.
“Morning, sunshine.”
His voice is so close, in fact, that San can feel it on his skin. He jerks away from the ticklish sensation in reflex despite the desire bubbling in his veins.
Yunho laughs. A puff of hot air fans over his nape and San shudders. He itches to lean back, to keep Yunho close for as long as time allows.
“You’re so sensitive,” Yunho teases.
A large hand settles over his stomach, Yunho’s arm resting heavy across his side, and San is helpless to the automatic reactions of his body. To the way his muscles tense under Yunho’s palm and his breath comes to a halt.
The next time Yunho speaks, it’s not only the exhale of words San can feel against his neck. Yunho’s lips touch his skin, move down the length of his back. Suddenly, San’s not so sure he’s not caught up in an illusive dream.
“San,” says Yunho. His breath feels hot on San’s skin, but not nearly as hot as the all-consuming fire that’s burning inside him, spreading from his heart and licking into his limbs. San never feels entirely sane when his name rolls off Yunho’s tongue but the sound of Yunho’s voice now, rough from sleep and so dangerously close, makes San’s toes curl. “Is this okay?”
San wants to ask what’s gotten into him, but he’s too scared to voice his question at the risk that Yunho may stop trailing kisses up the notches in his spine and put an abrupt end to San’s fantasy come to life.
“Tell me to stop, if this isn’t what you want.” Yunho withdraws his mouth as he talks, giving San space to consider what he wants; letting him know it’s okay to back out. “If I’m going too far.”
He moves his hand–presumably to remove it, but San’s body shudders so violently under the loss of touch that Yunho’s fingers bump against his hip bone. His little finger hooks into the elastic of San’s briefs and although he is quick to retract his hand it’s enough to leave a sharp trail of anticipation on San’s skin.
“Sorry,” says Yunho in a hushed voice, lower than San has ever heard before. It’s the last straw.
There’s very little space between them after Yunho has stopped peppering kisses up his spine and San uses all of it to wiggle free and turn around in Yunho’s arms. Face-to-face, he finishes what he couldn’t do the night before: He grabs Yunho and kisses him, two fistfuls of hair to pull him as close as he can.
Yunho lifts his head just enough so he can kiss back, slot their lips together firmly and cradle San’s jaw. His hand bunches into San’s shirt to pull him closer but he hovers over San, careful not to overstep. And yet–it’s a greedy kiss, teasing the seam of San’s lips. It’s not quite what San expected, the mixture of passion and morning breath, but it’s everything he desires.
Kissing Yunho feels marvelous but San’s neck is cranked at an awkward angle, his nape soon aching from stiffness. He fumbles for purchase on Yunho’s shoulders and climbs over his long legs until Yunho lies before him. His fingers tangle in San’s hair as he complies to his prodding, letting him straddle his waist and bend down to connect their mouths. San’s back relaxes under the pleasant stretch. Yunho’s skin feels hot where he gets his hands on it, grazing fingers over his arm, his face, the side of his neck.
They kiss like this until it’s Yunho, who curls his hands around San’s naked thighs, hauling himself upright with a firm hold on San’s legs. San can no longer hold back the whine sitting at the tip of his tongue when he lands right in Yunho’s lap, faces aligned. He winds his arms around Yunho’s neck and leans in to press their lips together for another spree of needy kisses. It’s less rushed than before, but no less exciting without having to fear waking up from a blissful dream. He slots his fingers under Yunho’s chin and presses their lips together, leaving kiss after kiss after kiss on Yunho’s lips.
He knows he’s being greedy, but like this, all-consumed by Yunho, he can’t help but take all that he is willing to give, still his hunger for love with the physical affection handed to him on a silver platter.
The sounds of their kissing fill the room. Yunho’s tongue swipes across his lips and San grants him access with little hesitance. Flashes from last night re-enter his memory, taking him back to the longing he felt when Yunho was standing centimeters away from him and he never thought this possible. In spite of all previous poignancy, it doesn’t compare to now. Just like San had feared; now that he’s had a taste of Yunho, he can no longer seem to get enough.
All the pent up longing spills over.
He wants Yunho so much, it hurts.
Yunho seems content with his lap full of San, fingers roaming up his legs and over his shirt, pushing up fabric and moving beneath. His hands draw goosebumps where they touch San’s skin. He is convinced Yunho’s fingers will leave imprints all along his sides, the thrill of excitement hotly bubbling under the surface. Yunho’s hands are big and warm and everywhere, feeling down his back, across the muscles in his stomach, all the way up to his chest. San liquefies under his touch, melts away like a burning candle, scorching hot and mushy like wax.
“San.”
Yunho’s voice sounds strangled as he pulls away. San all but jumps at the opportunity to occupy his mouth otherwise and latch onto Yunho’s neck, lips pressing on firm skin.
“San, what do you want?”
“Yunho–”
San wants so much. He wants to taste Yunho on his tongue, wants to know what it’s like to be enveloped by his heat, how it would feel to have him between his thighs. San wants everything, but this may be his only chance, so he banishes the greed to the back of his head and tries to make up his mind.
“I–”
They’re so close. The insides of San’s thighs press against Yunho’s, their chests aligned. He can feel the matching beat of Yunho’s heart and Yunho’s higher body temperature spread under his own skin. San didn’t think he’d ever be this close to Yunho, to the point where they couldn’t possibly be closer, no matter how hard they tried. They’re as close as it gets and still San can’t help but think that it’s not enough. Not unless–
“Inside.“
San’s lips reach Yunho’s ear. He marvels at the tremor working down the line of Yunho’s spine, realizing that Yunho is no less affected by him than San is.
“Want you to fuck me, Yunho.”
Yunho reaches around him and San realizes with awe how Yunho’s hands fit perfectly around his ass. He pulls and San whines, dizzy from desire, chasing the bounds of pleasure Yunho’s well-placed touches elicit. Yunho’s fingers press between his cheeks and haul him in, hips rolling into San’s. Yunho’s hands move down his thighs just as San’s head tips back, mouth opening to let out a strangled sound of pleasure.
“You like that?” asks Yunho with a raspy laugh, like he fully knows the answer.
“Yeah, god–” San doesn’t believe in any deity but he thinks Yunho very nearly makes him ascend to heaven. San is no stranger to sex, but he’s never been this enamored with an intimate partner and the difference is ineffable. Who would have known it could feel this incredible to be with the person you love? To have emotions bleed into the physical pleasure and make everything feel mind-blowingly good?
“Feels so good.”
Yunho nips at his bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth before pressing a wet kiss to San’s chin. “What else do you like?”
He begins to grind his hips up in one slow circle that all but robs San of his last bit of sanity. San noses along Yunho’s cheek, trails open-mouthed kisses up his temple. He laments when he feels Yunho move away, watching him fumble with the drawer of his bedside table from the corner of his eyes, yanking it open and digging through a few items before tossing two of them on the mattress beside them. San keeps his arm hooked around Yunho’s neck and finds the hem of his tank top with the other as he focuses his attention away from the square packet and bottled lube, back to the man whose lap he still occupies.
“I like when you pull my hair, when you talk to me, just–no–no degradation, please, or I’ll cry. I like being touched and tossed around a little and I really–really like kisses in case you haven’t caught on.”
“Got it.” Yunho chuckles, taking his time to kiss the words off San’s lips, pressing his mouth to the corner of San’s just right off his dimple, before he begins rattling off his own list.
“I feel the best when I can make you feel good, too. I don’t mind talking, but I’m not one for the dirty words. Please don’t ‘daddy’ me out of nowhere. And if you want me to shut up just kiss my neck or lick my ear and I’ll be putty in your arms.”
San is almost certain Yunho can’t be real, considerate and set on pleasing even when San is practically making himself at home in his lap. Yunho’s hands stray beneath his briefs, caressing his fingers up and down San’s thighs.
San decides then that it’s time to test some of Yunho’s turn-ons. He hooks his fingers beneath Yunho’s jaw and tips his head so he can reach behind his ear, drag his teeth across the skin just below his hairline. It’s fascinating to experience Yunho’s physical reaction to the touch, fingernails viscerally pressing into San’s skin. San swipes his tongue across Yunho’s lobe and pulls back to watch his head fall back further, eyes screwed shut as his hands still against San’s naked skin, side-tracked by the new focal point of pleasure.
He is certain this view will stay etched to his mind for the unforeseeable future; Yunho nearly falling apart before him, looking like he dropped down from the sky. Judging from the way he burns, San doesn’t think he fares much differently.
He leans down to litter a few kisses over Yunho’s long neck. Yunho’s hands are back on him, pushing up his shirt and disposing of the fabric with an urgency that wasn’t there before. Yunho’s hands are on his chest, on his back, and San still can’t get enough.
When Yunho’s fingers dive beneath his briefs a second time, it’s with a new objective. The bottle of lube lies next to them uncapped as Yunho’s hands pull down his waistband and slip between his cheeks, pulling at the flesh and pressing inside.
It’s so good that the pleasure begins blurring San’s perception until it’s hard to seize everything that is happening at once. All he knows is that Yunho’s long fingers reach all the right spots, that his touch is everywhere, caressing San’s skin and picking him apart.
Yunho pulls him closer and pushes him on his back, settling between his open knees. His hands hold San’s face still so he can capture his mouth in a kiss so delicate it starkly contrasts with the way San can feel him press against his thigh, hot and heavy. His pulse picks up knowing he is about to have sex with the man–delirious from the heaps of fantastic foreplay foreboding this very development.
Yunho reaches between them, presses into him, replaces his fingers with a careful push. San lies on his back, filled with the man he’s so wholly in love with. Yunho’s hand is in his hair, tugging hard until all that San sees is stars.
“Kiss me, Yunho.”
San can barely hear himself as Yunho’s fingers find his sides, caressing down his hips in gentle strokes.
“Please kiss me.”
Ringing thin in his own ears, his voice seems loud enough for Yunho to hear. His hands frame San’s cheeks, brushing hair away from San’s face, holding him delicately despite the fire sizzling between them, kissing him. His lips have turned drier over the course of their time spent making out. Now a little chapped, San finds Yunho’s kisses to be just as marvelous, intense and kind and so very Yunho.
He reaches around Yunho’s thigh, curling his fingers into flesh. He pulls him closer with each jerk of their hips, soundlessly gasping for breath as blissful gratification rushes through his body, blood pumping in his ears.
Yunho seems to have taken a liking to his neck freckles, trailing their path with his fingers before curling around his nape. San hates being loud, doesn’t like the sound of his own voice when it’s rising in pitch and leaving no doubt to what is happening, but when Yunho’s fingers are followed by teeth, he can’t fully choke down a groan of pleasure.
“You sound amazing,” Yunho says breathlessly, pressing a soft, messy kiss against San’s lips. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to keep it down. Unless you want our entire friend group to never let us live this down.”
Yunho doesn’t sound reprimanding or the least bit remorseful, but San knows that he’s right. For as much as the theory of someone falling witness to their shenanigans may sound appealing, the reality terrifies San.
The image of Wooyoung crosses his mind and San shudders in horror, clamping his mouth shut.
Yunho pulls back enough so he can look at San, a tender smile teasing his lips.
“You look so good, Sannie.”
Yunho watches San with so much fondness, his mind decides to take the image and run, clinging to the picture of Yunho’s soft eyes and scrunched up cheeks that are directed at him only.
The illusion of love weaves through San’s synapses. He is too weak fighting the fantasy when Yunho rocks into him and the pleasure fortifies, banning all logical thought from his dazzled brain.
“So, so pretty, baby.”
Yunho’s fingers intertwine with San’s above their heads, bringing one pair of hands between their faces. Yunho’s lips brush over his knuckles while he talks, showers San in compliments and affection and it’s too much.
San’s heart spills over. The words fall from his lips before he can hold them back, his arms holding on tight, fingers pressing Yunho closer.
“You’re beautiful, Yunho.”
Yunho’s hand squeezes his fingers with the same softness San can see take over his face as he leans down to scatter a few more tender kisses along the line of San’s jaw. His body rocks back and forth on the mattress, guided by Yunho on top of him.
San can feel his stomach twisting when Yunho reaches between them, wrapping his fingers around San’s leaking cock. His hands grapple for something–the blanket, the bed sheets, Yunho–anything to hold onto and keep him grounded.
It still feels unreal, even when Yunho makes him shake from pleasure, hips pressing against San’s, his aching cock pressed between their bodies, Yunho fisting at the head.
His orgasm shakes him as he comes with Yunho still inside of him, holding his hand, kissing his lips, catching him as he drifts off to sleep.
—
The second time San wakes up, he no longer has trouble pinpointing his whereabouts. The morning’s events sit at the forefront of his mind–how could they not, when he lies stark naked in his roommate’s bed and his entire being has been craving Yunho for a large chunk of his adult life?
When he rolls over onto Yunho’s side of the bed, the empty mattress feels warm to his touch. Through the closed bedroom door, San can faintly hear someone rummaging around their apartment. He feels the ghost of Yunho’s embrace on his skin as he pokes through Yunho’s dresser to steal a second shirt and a pair of stretchy gym shorts that hang low on his hips when he puts them on.
Yeosang and Seonghwa lie passed out on the living room couch, Yeosang’s face buried somewhere in Seonghwa’s elbow, as San walks past them. The door to his own bedroom is closed shut, the only sign of life the patter of footsteps from the other room.
The water from the night before seems to have worked wonders, because San feels less like someone stomped on his brain while on his way to the kitchen, where he locates the noise. Or maybe that’s the convenient byproduct from engaging in a sexy sunrise surprise with his crush.
When San rounds the corner, he comes face to face with said crush. Yunho looks up when San approaches from the door, his eyes lighting up with a smile.
“Hey,” says Yunho, placing the container of orange juice and the glass he had been sipping from on the counter and reaching for San.
“Hey,” answers San and takes Yunho’s hand in his, walking straight into his open arms. “Slept well?”
“Phenomenal.” Yunho spins them around. He closes one hand around the back of San’s thigh, hiking it up against his side and using his arm strength to hitch him up on the counter.
They end up in much of the same position as the night before at the party except this time they do kiss. San can feel the kitchen work top beneath his thighs and Yunho between his knees as he slips his fingers through Yunho’s belt loops. He slots their hips together, tugging him into a kiss much sweeter than any of the ones before, one that makes the butterflies in his belly swirl.
Yunho tastes like orange juice and the sun when San’s lips part against his, like a mellow summer morning. His hands are in San’s hair, at the waistband of his shorts, and San melts against him once again.
I could get used to this, San thinks.
A door flies shut and Yunho jumps. He’s out of San’s space before San has time to stop him and the next thing he sees is Hongjoong and Wooyoung standing in the door to their kitchen, blinking into the daylight.
“Morning you two,” Wooyoung chirps as he wanders past Yunho and takes the abandoned carton of orange juice to fill two empty glasses. San is relieved that they’re both in Yunho’s comfortable home wear, because dressed only in sweats and t-shirts, the bed hair they’re sporting can much more easily be attributed to the consequences of a sleep-filled night rather than the desperate wandering of hands.
“Uhm.” Yunho clears his throat, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Maybe San was wrong and Yunho is the least subtle person he knows, because there is no way Wooyoung and Hongjoong do not read between the lines of his nervous fidgeting and wide eyes. The giddiness he had been feeling fizzles out, leaving no trace behind.
“I’m gonna go make sure Mingi’s still alive after yesterday.”
The words feel like a punch to the gut. They shouldn’t–San knows they shouldn’t, but his thoughts have long stopped being rational about the whole ordeal.
Yunho’s slept with San and now he’s taking the first opportunity to escape to Mingi’s side.
San doesn’t know what that means; all he knows is that it stings. Twists his heart and makes his chest ache with remorse.
He doesn’t say anything as Yunho steps away from him, out of his reach. He doesn’t say anything as Yunho escapes to his bedroom to get dressed or as he leaves their apartment with a swift goodbye aimed in the general direction of San and their friends.
All he does is hop off the counter and turn on their coffee machine so his hands have something to do once Yunho disappears from sight and his steps ring out in the hallway. He is thankful for the noisy way it rattles to life and fills the unbearable silence as he busies himself with grinding coffee beans, refilling the water tank and steaming milk until he hears the lock snap into place behind Yunho.
Wooyoung clears his throat. San winces. He had sort of forgotten that he and Hongjoong had remained unmoving behind him, waiting for Yunho to leave.
“Are you okay?”
He isn’t.
San is a mess of feelings and he doesn’t know what hurts most–the shame of allowing for hope, the disappointment of an unchanging reality, or the bitter pain of remaining second choice. Above everything lies the daunting realization that this is it. San took his chance and all it did was chase Yunho away.
This is what heartbreak feels like.
“Not really.”
It’s too early in the morning to cry. San doesn’t let the tears fall, but he can’t swallow them down either. They sit right behind his eyes, waiting to spill over their kitchen floor and make a mess with the uncontrollable onrush of his feelings.
He doesn’t know what to say to carry on the conversation, to possibly steer it away from Yunho-related topics of discussion, when he knows Wooyoung will see right through him. He doesn’t know how to voice any of his inner turmoil without breaking down right here in the kitchen either.
“We broke the no-smooching rule.”
The sentence hangs in the painful silence between them.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” asks Wooyoung eventually.
The question jars on San’s nerves. It reminds him how easy things could be. That they aren’t right now.
“We fucked, Wooyoung.” San’s voice rises as he talks, foregoing any of his usual mortification whenever San’s horny appetite for his roommate becomes a topic of discussion, because suddenly his hackles are rising and his sorrow translates into something else.
He doesn’t want to be here, answering Wooyoung’s questions. He doesn’t feel like facing his own shortcomings and fuck ups when Yunho just walked out on him and all San wants to do is hide in bed and wallow in self-pity for the rest of the day. Voicing the truth out loud hurts even more than keeping it locked up inside, especially when he’s confronted with his best friend’s pity and his brain synapses have turned into a burning fuse.
“It could be a good thing, if only the two of you weren’t so dense,” Wooyoung amends and San detonates.
“Well, I’m sorry not everyone’s got their shit together and is happily in love like you are,” he spits. The regret follows instantly, but it feels good to channel his sadness into something other than the wetness behind his eyes. It gives him a feeling of control, even when directed at the wrong person. “Because last I saw, Yunho fled the kitchen to fuck off to Mingi’s when you guys walked in on us.”
San’s voice is high in pitch but it’s strangled, losing in anger and volume as he runs out of steam. He doesn’t think he can keep his facade from cracking much longer before he needs to face his broken heart.
He expects Wooyoung to grow angry in return, steels himself for a fight. It’s how they work when either side lashes out at the other–anger flaring hot and fast only for it to burn out just as quickly. San is so prepared for an argument that he doesn’t know what to do when the argument doesn’t come. His shoulders slump and he feels fragile, vulnerable, his defense mechanism all but withering under the lack of antagonism.
“Sannie, we just want you to be happy.”
Wooyoung looks at him like Yunho personally curated a Hozier playlist for his own suffering. He steps forward and San doesn’t bother resisting, allowing himself to fall and sink into his best friend’s arms. A tear rolls down his cheek and he knows that it’s too late. There’s no stopping the onslaught of hurt feelings.
“You, and Yunho too,” adds Hongjoong from beside them. He had been a silent bystander throughout the two best friends’ quarrel, but now he steps forward to wind his arm around San’s middle and lean into their hug. It’s a little embarrassing, breaking down in front of his best friend’s boyfriend like this, but Hongjoong’s empathy overwhelms him. He hiccups.
“I know, I’m sorry.” San turns his head to hide his face against Hongjoong’s shoulder, sad and embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to lash out, I just–I fucked up.”
“You don’t know that.” Wooyoung’s voice is quiet but firm. He squeezes San closer, misplacing a kiss against his temple. “I mean it in the least unkind way possible when I say that you two are the most inept people I know at communicating feelings. But that doesn’t have to mean that they don’t align.”
The words are harsh, but this time they don’t aggravate San. Instead, he recognizes them for what they are. An uncomely truth; one that he wishes was different but needs to accept nonetheless, if he wants to keep moving forward and grapple with his own frailty. The fear of rejection and the terror of fessing up to feelings may shape a reality for not only him, but for Yunho as well. And while anxiety is nothing to be changed overnight, it’s something he’ll have to work on and beat one step at time.
Wooyoung’s words are not a promise, not even an answer to solving the inevitable riddle of how San is supposed to face Yunho the next time he sees him, but they’re a glimmer of hope. Because if Wooyoung is right about their inability to talk feelings, he may be right about the rest, too. Maybe he and Yunho are both scared of the same hypothetical.
“Okay.” San’s voice shakes badly enough that he decides to stop talking for the time being. Instead, he allows himself to bask in the comfort of his friends’ embrace for a little longer, taking full advantage of Hongjoong’s rare display of physical affection by latching onto his side until Seonghwa and Yeosang rouse from the sofa and join them in the kitchen.
Thankfully, neither of them comment on the impromptu group hug, Yunho’s absence, or San’s red rimmed eyes as the three friends break apart. Wooyoung takes one look at Yeosang’s pale complexion and Seonghwa’s entire disgruntled appearance and suggests a lazy afternoon to binge bad movies that, predictably, no one objects to.
San spends the rest of the Saturday sandwiched between Wooyoung and Seonghwa, giving into the hangover craving for greasy food that sets in sometime in the evening. When his friends leave late at night, San accompanies them downstairs to clear out the empty bottles from the night before and the trash from their takeout, before finally curling up in his own bed, cold and empty without anyone else beside him.
Yunho doesn’t come home.
—
“I need to tell you something.”
San breathes out the words before he can back out, trying and failing to keep his eyes trained on Mingi, his courage quick to crack. “And you may be angry with me afterwards. But it’s important that you know.”
It’s been a week since the party when San meets Mingi at the café they usually frequent together with Yunho. A week of walking on eggshells and coming to terms with the awkward silence filling their apartment. San hasn’t actively gone out of his way to avoid Yunho, he swears he hasn’t, but he hasn’t necessarily tried to prolong the time spent at their apartment either.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this little of his own roommate. Yunho had spent even fewer nights at home than he did the weeks prior and San had hung out more at the library or Wooyoung’s place than his own.
When Yunho didn’t show up for dance practice on Thursday, San knew for certain that the feigned ignorance was mutual.
Three semesters ago, Yunho had spent months coaxing San into joining the dance team. And although he’d started out a bloody beginner and still can’t compete with Yunho’s mental receptiveness and quick grasp on new choreographies or Mingi’s skills at freestyling, he had wholeheartedly thrown himself into the task, combining the passion for his newfound hobby with work and dedication until he could not only keep up with the rest of the team, but take on his own role in pushing them forward.
Yunho had been elated to watch him flourish, gloating to their friends like a proud parent sending their child off to preschool for the first time. San doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the heartiness in Yunho’s smile as he watched him dance for the first time. Out of Yunho’s many shades of happiness this one remains one of his favorites, spur-of-the-moment and intimate, so full of fondness that San all but tumbled into a whirlwind of feelings for the man offering to massage his sore ankles.
At the beginning of their fourth year, Yunho had been elected dance captain. San doesn’t remember Yunho ever missing a single practice, so the fact that he skipped this one speaks volumes.
Yunho’s absence had left behind a notable gap not only in the team’s dance formations, but in the lack of skilled advice during reruns of eight-counts, the absence of cheers during run-throughs and humorous quips throughout water breaks.
San had been set on steering clear of Mingi too, quickly escaping the practice room before his friend had the chance to walk over and strike up a conversation. He had hoped to flee the shame and guilt, not having to face his friend’s bemusement, but ended up feeling miserable all the same as he sped down the sidewalk. When the gloomy feeling didn’t wear off by the time he lay in bed that night, trying to blast away his thoughts with loud music on his earphones, he knew that he could no longer sit idle.
It’s been a whole week of trying to act normal around Mingi and Yunho but San still feels out of place. He doesn’t have the courage to talk to Yunho, but the guilt about what happened between them has been eating him up for days, so he figures Mingi is a good place to start.
“Okay.” Mingi puts down his tooth-achingly sweet frappuccino, looking increasingly concerned at the stern tone of San’s voice. “What is it?”
“Yunho and I–we had a thing.” San stumbles over his words more so than he articulates them. His fingers find the coffee cup sleeve of his own moccachino, freeing it from the cup and tearing a rip into its side. When Mingi doesn’t answer, just looks at him in bewilderment, San feels the need to elaborate. “Like, we hooked up.”
“O–kay?” Mingi’s eyebrows pinch together, wrinkling his forehead as he drags out the letter “o” like he doesn’t quite understand where San’s train of thought is taking them. San wonders whether Mingi feels some of the fury San had feared he would but is simply too stunned by the confession to yell at him. Except Mingi seems more at a loss at San’s words than surprised at the information itself. “That’s cool?”
His words hold more bafflement than the firm wrath or disappointment San steeled himself for. His surprise at the lack of backlash must mirror on his face, because Mingi looks just as confused as San feels when he continues talking.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really sure what sort of answer you were expecting from me.” Mingi’s frown deepens. “And why you would think I’d feel angry with you?”
“It doesn’t bother you?” San is so perplexed, he stops the nervous fiddling of his hands.
“But I thought since Yunho and you–” He lets his answer ring out unfinished, trying to convey the significance behind his words with a meaningful gesture towards Mingi.
“What are you talking about?” asks Mingi, now looking more disturbed than puzzled. “Look, Yunho’s my best friend, my lab partner in crime, my gaming buddy and I adore the man to bits, but if you’re implying what I think you are implying–ew, San.”
Suddenly, San dares to hope.
“Are you meaning to tell me,” he says, desperately clutching onto the strings of reality Mingi is offering to him, “all this time, when he stayed over at your place, you guys weren’t, like, doing stuff?”
“Uh,” says Mingi, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Only if by ‘stuff’ you mean slaughtering mutants and building shelter. Sons of the Forest came out a couple months ago and our lab reports kept piling up, so we figured combining our usual study sessions with some survival-horror for stress relief would be a good idea. Except we kind of lost track of time, like, every night.”
“Oh my god,” San whimpers.
“Wait,” Mingi asks, one brow raised in suspicion, “what exactly did you think Yunho and I were doing?”
“I–” San’s voice gets stuck in his throat. His mind is racing with the newfound information and he wonders where his thoughts have taken a wrong turn and landed on a conclusion that apparently is so very far from the truth. But Yunho hadn’t come home on multiple nights a week only to turn up the next morning in his clothes from the day prior and with the sheepish explanation that he’d missed the time before they locked down the university dorms for curfew–so really, what was San supposed to think?
“You’re not messing around?” he asks, voice small. He feels even more out of place asking the question now that he knows the answer–his face burning with the sheer embarrassment from the reality he’s put together in his head.
“Jesus, no,” Mingi says. True to his previous level of indignation, his lips are turned down in horror. “No offense, because apparently you don’t seem to share the same sentiment, but I’d rather not have Yunho’s naked ass anywhere near me.”
“That’s–good.” San swallows. “That’s great, actually. Phew, dodged a bullet there.”
Mingi looks at him with something akin to pity that makes San’s belly rumble with discomfort, sensing what is about to come. He wonders, once again, what he has gotten himself into running his mouth like this.
“San,” Mingi begins, taking a long sip through the straw of his drink. “Yunho told me what happened.”
“What?” San’s brain continues to stall, trying to catch up with the concept that Yunho and Mingi apparently aren’t an item.
“The day after your guys’ party, remember?” Mingi continues. He sounds much less confused now, but no less exasperated. “He came by my place with soup around noon to check whether I had made it home in time the night before. At first I thought he was just trying to nurse both our hangovers, but then he began rambling about you–and what had happened between you guys–and, god, you better believe the alcohol got nothing on the headache he gave me. That absolute idiot.”
“What did he say?” San’s blood runs cold. Of all the scenarios that have run through his head over the past week, none of them had involved Mingi knowing about Yunho and him. With the knowledge creeping in that San had been so very wrong about the nature of their nightly hangouts, it’s beginning to make sense that Yunho would turn to Mingi to confide in.
“That he didn’t know what to do or how to act around you. He didn’t know what to say or whether you guys were even on the same page. He was lowkey panicking. I told him to go home, talk it out, but that dumbass insisted on staying.”
That’s why Yunho never came home that night. With all that Yunho has told him, San is beginning to fear what other knowledge Mingi might hold.
“He said he’d give you some space, but I think he was just scared.”
“Oh,” San says, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know, I thought–”
“He’s an idiot,” Mingi repeats and lifts his hand to nudge San’s chin with a gentle smile. “Because he’s scared of losing you. And I know that he started whatever this is,” he vaguely gestures into San’s direction, “but San, you guys have to talk about this.”
“I’m scared too,” San admits in a low whisper. He is still holding onto his drink that’s beginning to cool down in the clutch of his hands. His throat closes up as he does his best to swallow down the emotions. “Yunho is right, what if we’re not on the same page?”
“But what if you are?” asks Mingi. He takes another sip and places down his drink, leaning forward to look straight at San.
“He’s important to you, isn’t he?”
“Of course.” San doesn’t bother hiding the truth any longer. Mingi probably knows how he feels about his best friend already, it must be written all over his face. “Of course he is important to me.”
“You’re very important to him, too.”
And isn’t that all the reassurance San needs?
“No matter what happens, I know that you’re not going to lose each other. Not like this.”
Yunho is already avoiding him like the plague, and while San can’t bear the thought of possibly losing him for good, Mingi is right. Yunho would never cut ties with San over something he can’t control, no matter how difficult it may be to work through their feelings. Yunho loves San, in one way or another, and he isn’t going to let anything get in between that.
But what if you are?
Mingi’s words ring in his ears.
San misses Yunho. And he knows there is only one way to go about fixing that.
—
It’s Yunho who corners him in their kitchen two days later. Somehow, San reminisces, it’s become quite the popular place for most of their recent encounters.
After listening to Mingi talk some sense into him the other day, San had left the café feeling determined to confront Yunho. His motivation to take his roommate to task on his sudden disappearances had quickly fizzled out when he had arrived to an empty apartment, Yunho nowhere in sight. He is all the more surprised to see Yunho now; after San has come home from his last class of the day, preparing to whip up a meager supper and unsuspecting of Yunho’s rare presence in their apartment.
“I’m not sleeping with Mingi.”
San almost laughs at the opening Yunho decides to take. It’s blunt as much as it addresses the very reason for San regularly fleeing their apartment over the past week, cutting right to the chase. What it doesn’t do is explain why Yunho has been steering clear of San almost as rigidly.
“I know,” says San. “He told me.”
Yunho stands between him and the door to the living room, arms crossed before his chest. San closes the fridge without having made up his mind on dinner, so he can better focus on deciphering the closed off expression on Yunho’s face. Yunho is wearing the shirt he had lent to San on the night before their matutinal encounter, looking so beautiful that San’s fingers itch to touch him. He doesn’t think he could have gone much longer without talking to his roommate, when he misses him this much already.
“Okay, good. I just had to make sure you knew,” says Yunho. He takes a step back to rest against the kitchen counter, shoulders sagging with the flattened tension.
“Why?” asks San. He feels the need to elaborate when Yunho blinks at him, lips moving like he means to talk without finding the words. Why are you coming to me now? Why did you run off last week? Disordered questions swirl in his head, so he tries to pick one that may get him to the root of all this. “Why did you want me to know?”
“Because I’m not one for casual flings. I don’t care much for casual dating or hookups, and that means–” Yunho swallows, staring so intently that San isn’t sure he really sees him. A sign of nerves, as San has learned long ago: Yunho steeling himself for the things he is about to say by keeping his gaze unwavering, focusing less on the person he’s staring through and more on the words he is scared to voice. “It means that I don’t want you to think I’m seeing anyone else.”
San’s heart falters before it picks up at double the speed, beating violently against his ribcage as if wanting to close the distance to Yunho. His hopeful thoughts hold a vice-grip on the promise swinging in Yunho’s words. He follows his heart and takes a step forward, reaches out a hand. Waiting for Yunho to make the first move is so much easier than confessing first, but he knows what it’s like. He knows of the inhibitions and fears preventing words from being said, so he takes Yunho’s hand, hoping to ease the jitters San can feel prickling under the surface of his own skin.
“It means that I love you, San.”
A rogue wave of fondness pours down on San, soaks him to the bone in relief and drenches him in delight. The onslaught of emotions that had been weighing down on him for days metamorphoses–fear and guilt exploding into love and blissful happiness. Yunho loves him and San is over the moon.
He tugs Yunho forward by the hand he’s been holding, presses a palm to the side of his face.
“That’s nice,” he says. “I’ve loved you for a while now.”
San leans up on his toes and kisses Yunho, slow and careful like none of their previous kisses have been, like he has wanted to in countless of fantastical moments of daydreaming. He kisses Yunho just like he treasures him, winding an arm around his middle to hug him close. This time, Yunho doesn’t taste like sunny mornings, he tastes like home.
Yunho holds San tightly, laughing against his lips, brushing his thumb under San’s chin as they break apart. San wishes they could keep kissing forever, spend the day attached to each other and ignore anything beyond the fond feelings they share, but he knows there are still things left to talk about.
“Mingi said you were panicking last week.” San pulls Yunho in closer as he speaks, apprehensive to let him go and have Yunho slip away from the more discomforting part of the talk looming above their linked bodies. To his relief, Yunho only burrows into him further, resting his forehead against San’s. He shuts his eyes and lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh that causes San to curl his fingers into Yunho’s shirt and hold on tighter.
“I was,” Yunho agrees, taking deep inhales of air that fan across San’s face with every next exhale. “I’ve never fallen in love with someone so important to me before.”
San runs his thumbs along Yunho’s sides in comfort, encouraging him to talk.
“It felt incredible, predictable in a way–like I should have seen it coming–but it was scary, too. There was so much on the line, if things didn’t go well.”
He sighs, tracing San’s arm with one hand and twining their fingers together.
“I’m really sorry for how I handled it, when something finally happened between us. For scramming and hiding away this whole week just so I didn’t have to face–whatever there was to face. Imminent rejection, maybe. The loss of the most important person in my life, although I know it was silly of me to think you would ever push me away for the way I felt. But fears are–”
He pauses. His breath has fractionally quickened and San takes the opportunity to press a kiss to Yunho’s cheek and frame his face with one hand. He waits for Yunho to open his eyes and look at him before he speaks.
“Irrational, I know. It’s okay.” He smiles. “I’ve shared many of the same fears and I’m sorry, too. I’ve never been good with expressing romantic feelings or letting myself be vulnerable, so I never planned on telling you to begin with. But I couldn’t say no to you either, not when everything with you feels so–so wonderful, and then you ran off to Mingi and–”
He cringes now, thinking back to the conclusion he’d drawn so quickly, the weeks of theorizing a conspiracy between Mingi and Yunho. It’s as funny as it is mortifying in retrospect.
“I can’t believe you thought I was hooking up with Mingi.”
Yunho snorts.
This time it’s San’s turn to burrow into him, muffling an embarrassed whine into Yunho’s shoulder.
“In my defense, you kept talking about ‘losing track of time’. How could I have known you nerds were staying up gaming into the late hours of the night? And you kept showing up in Mingi’s clothes–”
“We wear the same size!” Yunho frees one hand to hold up in defense.
“Every sane person would have thought you guys were hooking up,” San argues. He looks up at Yunho with a dejected pout. “And I may have gotten into my head about it.”
Yunho’s smile is so fond when he leans down to kiss San, it whisks away every last bit of apprehension.
—
San doesn’t know if dating his roommate is a great idea, but it does come with plenty of benefits. With all the suffering him and Yunho have put each other through, he feels like they deserve to enjoy their honeymoon phase to the fullest.
It’s not like everything changes overnight–Yunho still complains when San takes too long in the shower and San still overwaters Yunho’s plants out of good will to keep them alive and fed. They still combine their limited abilities to cook dinner and pick shitty movies to watch together on their living room couch.
But now, when they curl up together, San doesn’t need to worry about holding Yunho a little too long, a little too tight, a little too intimately. Not when Yunho’s arm is there first, wrapping around San to accommodate his body, snuggling up against San’s back and hooking his chin over one shoulder to watch the trashy visual effects unfolding on the screen before them.
Some of their old routines have adjusted to their newly unfiltered relationship, some new routines sprout in the smallest of details.
On the first weekday after having come to terms with their feelings, Yunho comes home from his lab to shower San with kisses. They no longer sleep in separate beds, turning to Yunho’s bed most nights because it’s a little more merciful on Yunho’s back and because he has two blankets to share instead of one, whereas San turns out to be a terrible blanket hogger.
On the first combined outing with their friends, no one seems the least bit surprised except for Jongho, who has somehow missed any and all clues San (and Yunho) have apparently dropped over the past years of their combined friendship, and acts highly offended upon finding out he was the only one left in the dark. San can’t really blame him, when he thinks back to the entire last two years of him being hyperfocused on Yunho and still missing the hints.
Wooyoung jumps straight into a tirade, congratulating them on finally “getting their shit together,” despaired and genuinely happy. Seonghwa bestows upon them his most heart-warming motherly smile and Mingi wraps an arm around each of them, fondly bumping their heads together. Between Yunho’s warm presence by his side and the many cordial smiles of their friends, San doesn’t think he could feel any happier.
—
It’s a Sunday two months into their joint chapter as boyfriends, and as so often they find themselves side by side in their kitchen, meal-prepping for the upcoming week.
The sun is shining through the dirty window, the tiny specks of clean glass breaking the light so it falls on Yunho’s face. It paints shadows along the line of his cheekbones in fascinating ways, sidetracking San from his own task of peeling a disagreeable amount of vegetables. Watching Yunho rinse rice at their sink and admiring the beauty in his boyfriend’s features–the caramel tone to his skin in the afternoon light–quickly turns out to be a much more joyful task.
“Hey,” says San, interrupting Yunho’s absent-minded humming to the song playing from their portable speaker. Yunho looks up and meets his eyes, fingers continuing to stir the rice and water.
“Hm?” he says, blinking at San. San’s heart clenches with affection at the sight of his sleepy boyfriend, worn down by exams and deadlines that have made their second month of dating quite the hustle.
“Feeling okay?” San asks, placing down the peeler in favor of closing the distance to his boyfriend and winding an arm around his middle. Yunho doesn’t hesitate to lean into him, dropping his head to rest against San’s shoulder. It’s not an angle that looks comfortable, but with Yunho’s warmth draped across one side, San isn’t about to complain.
“Yeah,” answers Yunho through a yawn that he barely tries to stifle with his fist. “I’m just tired. I think my degree is out to kill me. I know my biomath professor certainly is. But I’m really happy.”
“Hm, good,” says San, sneaking a few fingertips beneath Yunho’s sweater. He hides his face in Yunho’s hair, taking audibly deep inhales of air. Yunho’s familiar scent clings to most of the place and their furniture, but nothing smells quite as nice as Yunho himself does, warm and familiar. It manages to calm down San’s heart rate in a second. “I’m really happy, too.”
Yunho’s hands have become idle in the pot, water dripping down his fingers. He reaches for the towel hanging next to the sink, rustling San in the process, who grouches in protest at the loss of his personal heater. Yunho chuckles at that, turning around in San’s arms while drying off his fingers. “What’s got you so pouty?”
“I just miss you!” San can’t help the whiny undertone to his voice, not when he’s been robbed off too many Yunho-hours this week. You’d think living together would provide them with ample opportunities to spend time with each other, but almost none of their schedules had aligned this week in addition to Yunho being swamped with extra lab work.
“We’ve spent the entire day together,” Yunho points out, but he looks more fond than irritated by San’s pouty demand for attention. “Plus, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere today, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, the floor under San’s feet disappears. He lets out a yelp, arms flying to wrap around Yunho’s neck as he’s being lifted off the ground and into his boyfriend’s arms. San is by no means the same scrawny boy from back when he first met Yunho, long having shaped up to fill in his shoulders and grow some muscles in his biceps, but Yunho’s got a good ten centimeters on him and still has no problem hiking him up into his arms.
He remembers the many times Yunho had quite literally swept him off his feet back when he was just a skinny kid from a small town, and remembers the heat rushing into his cheeks from the realization of their close proximity.
Except not only is he more built now, he can simply lean down and kiss Yunho as he carries him off to their living room, dinner forgotten for the time being.
So he does. He cradles Yunho’s face between his hands and leans down to kiss him silly.
Yunho has made the long wait they spent pining for each other worthwhile by being everything and more than he ever dared imagine in a boyfriend.
San may not be able to judge whether dating his roommate is a great idea, but dating Yunho certainly has turned out to be the best idea he’s had so far.