Ours To Keep

by yunhwa

Summary:

Seonghwa moves into his usually-absent aunt's home while he attends college in Seoul, across the country from the rest of his family. The neighbors across the street notice that he's lonely.

Then they notice everything about him.

And then they make sure he's never lonely again.

Notes:

I'm not entirely sure how long I plan this to be, but hopefully not too long :P

Chapter 1: The First Stitch

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The taxi rolled to a stop in front of a sleek, modern home nestled on a quiet street just outside the city center. Seonghwa sat still for a moment in the backseat, clutching his phone with the front door code pulled up on the screen. Seoul buzzed faintly beyond the neighborhood, but here, it was calm—too calm.

He stepped out cautiously, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the polished concrete steps. The driver helped him unload: three oversized suitcases, a duffel bag with a broken zipper, and two carefully taped boxes. It looked like too much. It was too much.

Seonghwa stared up at the house. His aunt’s house—technically. His father’s sister, Park Yoona, a world-renowned art dealer who spent more time in museums across Europe than in her own living room. She wasn’t home. She rarely was. But she'd given him permission to stay while he completed school even when she was gone. Seonghwa didn’t know his aunt that well, just from a couple of visits when he was young and the occasional family gathering. Aunt Yoona definitely wasn’t a stranger, but Seonghwa has other family he’s closer with by a long shot. However, none of them live anywhere near Seoul.

"The program at Hongik University is one of the best in the country," she’d said. "It’ll be good for you, Seonghwa. A fresh start."

He believed her. Or at least he wanted to, especially since he had finally found his path later in life, after most of his friends, after getting his military service out of the way.

He climbed the steps and typed in the security code. The lock clicked open, smooth and quiet. He didn’t step inside just yet—just held the door ajar with his foot as he debated which suitcase to drag in first.

Across the street, two men stood on the porch of their home. Seonghwa didn’t notice them right away, too busy dragging his smallest suitcase over the threshold. But they noticed him. It was hard not to in a quiet neighborhood that rarely saw a new face.

Seonghwa moved carefully, shoulders tight with tension as he heaved another suitcase up the steps, trying not to let it scrape the trim.

"Hey!" A man called out cheerfully as he ran from across the street. "Need a hand?"

Seonghwa looked up, startled. His sweater sleeves slid down over his palms as he set down a box and gave a small, hesitant smile.

"Oh—I’m okay, but thank you."

"You sure? It looks like you’re about to dislocate something. We live across the street. I'm Mingi, and that's Yunho." Seonghwa looked over Mingi’s shoulder to see another man walking up. Not running across the street like Mingi had, but taking his time as if the entire world would wait for him.

Seonghwa bit his lip. His knees already ached. "I’m Seonghwa. My aunt—this is her house. She’s away right now."

Yunho had crossed the street by then too, silent but present, his broad frame cutting an impressive silhouette in the fading light.

"Nice to meet you. Seonghwa, was it?" Yunho said, voice low and even, and Seonghwa nodded, almost obediently.

Mingi grinned. "You don’t have to haul all this by yourself. We’re already here, and it’s not like we have pressing plans. Let us help."

With the three of them, the suitcases and boxes were inside in minutes. Seonghwa murmured thank-yous after each trip, his cheeks flushed a soft pink from exertion—or maybe from the attention. He wasn’t used to it. Not like this.

The house was gorgeous, just like the pictures. Cold, a little too clean, but the kind of place someone with expensive taste and little time would own. Seonghwa's things looked too small inside it. He looked too small inside of it. But Yunho and Mingi…somehow, they both seemed to fill up all of the empty spaces with their presence, their voices, their laughter.

"Starting school soon?" Mingi asked as they brought in the last box.

"Next week," Seonghwa nodded, brushing hair from his face. "I transferred here. The program at Hongsik is a better fit."

"Well then, let us be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood," Mingi said. "And the city. Any big plans for your first night here?"

Seonghwa shook his head. "I was just going to unpack a little. Maybe order food."

Mingi looked scandalized. "Absolutely not. You’re not eating alone your first night. Come over for dinner. Yunho makes a mean roast chicken."

Yunho glanced at Mingi, but didn’t protest.

Seonghwa blinked. "I don’t want to be a bother—"

"You’re not. Seriously. We insist."

His stomach betrayed him with a low, traitorous growl.

Mingi laughed. "That settles it. Come by around seven. I’ll come pick you up."

“Just know,” Yunho added casually, “Mingi is prompt. He will be here at seven. Not earlier, not later.” And for some reason, Seonghwa felt like he was being given very specific instructions to be ready then.

And just like that, they were gone.

Seonghwa stood in the doorway a moment longer, holding it open with one hand and listening to the sound of them walking away.

He had no idea who they were.

But somehow, he already felt lighter.

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and smiled.

The guest room his aunt had prepared was large and sparsely decorated—more like a luxury hotel than a lived-in home. The bedspread was a soft dove gray, the furniture sleek and minimal. But the moment he stepped into it, Seonghwa knew he’d have to make it feel like his own.

He began by unzipping his largest suitcase, tugging out bundles of clothes and hanging them neatly in the closet and folding them and putting them away in drawers. Then came the small things—the ones that mattered most. From the second box, he retrieved his collection of plushies, placing them gently on the bed: a bunny with floppy ears, a pink bear with a slightly lopsided smile, a chubby strawberry with embroidered eyes. Each one made the room feel a little less unfamiliar.

From a smaller pouch, he lined the window sill with tiny trinkets: a miniature perfume bottle filled with glittering resin, a tea tin shaped like a cat, a hand-painted wooden bunny from his mother. He carefully tucked a worn poetry collection into the bedside drawer—his favorite kind, full of simple poems about daily life and soft declarations of love and draped a lavender knit throw over the end of the bed.

By the time he was finished, the room didn’t feel so cold. Not his, exactly—but closer. Like a place that could become his.

He stood back, brushing imaginary dust from his sweater, and let out a quiet sigh. It wasn’t home yet. But it was a start.

By the time seven rolled around, Seonghwa had changed his sweater three times.

His nerves felt louder than the ticking clock above the stovetop, louder than the breeze whispering against the windows. It wasn’t that he was afraid—just unsure. He didn’t know Mingi or Yunho. They had been kind. That much was obvious. But kindness from strangers always made him wary. It felt like a borrowed coat on a cold day—comforting, but not quite his.

He settled on a pale blue knitted sweater, soft and oversized. It smelled like the laundry detergent his mother used to send him with during his first year of college, when he was still adjusting to dorm-life and dealing with separation anxiety from home, and that made it easier to breathe.

A soft knock pulled him out of his thoughts. When he opened the front door, Mingi stood there, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the collar of his black turtleneck curled just under his chin. His smile was bright and easy.

Right at seven, just like Yunho had said.

“Hey, Seonghwa. Ready?”

Seonghwa nodded, then hesitated. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” Mingi’s eyes crinkled as he stepped aside to let him lock the door. “Yunho’s already making too much food. He’s not good at ‘just enough.’”

They walked in the quiet together, the kind of neighborhood stillness that settled with the early evening—warm porch lights, the distant hum of traffic far enough to sound like wind. Mingi didn’t rush, and Seonghwa was grateful for that. He was still getting used to the rhythm of this place.

“I hope roast chicken’s okay,” Mingi said after a moment. “Yunho got excited when you agreed to come.”

Seonghwa blinked. “He did?”

“Mm-hm. He likes feeding people. Doesn’t say it, but it’s a love language for him.” He looked over, smiling again. “You’ll see.”

Their house was warm before Seonghwa even stepped inside—light spilling through the windows, the scent of garlic and rosemary trailing into the front walk. When Mingi opened the door, the scent wrapped around Seonghwa like a blanket.

Inside, everything was soft. Wooden floors, amber lighting, a big navy blue couch that looked like it had stories to tell. The place felt lived-in, not curated. It reminded him of a memory he hadn’t made yet.

Yunho stood in the kitchen in a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed as he spooned sauce over the sizzling chicken in the pan. He looked up when he heard the door, and something in his expression eased.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “We’re just about ready.”

“You have a beautiful home,” Seonghwa murmured, looking around like a curious owl, taking everything in with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” Yunho replied. “Make yourself comfortable. Plates are out, water’s cold, and if Mingi didn’t offer you a drink, he’s slacking.”

“I was just getting there,” Mingi laughed, heading to the fridge.

They gathered at the table after a few minutes, everything warm and fragrant, simple but rich. Seonghwa had forgotten what it felt like to sit across from people who looked at him when he spoke.

“So,” Mingi said as he passed the salad, “what are you studying?”

“Design theory. I was originally in textiles, but I transferred because this school has a better interdisciplinary program. I want to focus more on garment structure and adaptive fashion—how we wear things and why.”

Both men paused, clearly intrigued.

“That’s impressive,” Yunho said. “Are you starting in the fall semester?”

Seonghwa nodded. “Classes start next week.”

“Well,” Yunho said, “if our schedules ever match, I’m happy to drive you. I’m on campus most weekdays.”

“You teach?” Seonghwa asked.

“Literature.”

Mingi added, “He’s a sucker for long poems and tragic lovers.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Yunho said, though his mouth quirked into a smile. “But the offer stands. It’s no trouble.”

Seonghwa felt his chest bloom with something shy and grateful. “Thank you. That’s really kind.”

“You’ve had a long day,” Mingi said, nudging his plate. “Eat as much as you want. There’s always dessert.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Mingi winked.

And somehow, Seonghwa believed him.

He left their house with a full stomach and a pink bear-shaped box of leftover cake. Mingi walked him back, humming something gentle under his breath. At the door, Seonghwa thanked him again, cheeks warm.

“Anytime,” Mingi said. “Really.”

As Seonghwa stepped back into the house, the silence didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. The living room was still cold, but his chest was warm.

He looked down at the cake box in his hands and smiled.

Seonghwa placed the box carefully onto the middle shelf of the nearly empty fridge, nudging aside a half-full bottle of milk and a jar of blueberry jam that had likely been sitting there longer than it should’ve. The contrast made him pause—how full the table had been at dinner, how sparse things felt here.

He closed the fridge door gently and stood for a moment in the kitchen. The overhead light was too bright, too sterile. It hummed softly. He hadn’t realized how quiet the house was until now.

His footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway as he made his way to the guest room. He folded his sweater over the back of the desk chair, trading it for a soft robe he’d packed from home. Lavender, plush, worn thin at the cuffs.

The bathroom was just as spotless as the rest of the house. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror for longer than he meant to. He looked a little out of place here, like he hadn’t settled into his own outline yet. The kind of quiet that lingered behind the eyes when you were trying too hard to be fine.

Back in his room, he turned down the covers and curled up beneath them, tugging the lavender throw over his legs. He reached over to the nightstand for the little poetry book he’d unpacked earlier, fingers tracing the worn edges without moving it out of place.

His mind wandered—back to the kitchen table across the street, the soft clink of silverware and the low murmur of Mingi’s laughter. The steady, grounding presence of Yunho, so quiet but impossible to miss.

The way they looked at each other.

He’d noticed it more than once—how Mingi would lean in without needing a reason, how Yunho would soften just slightly when Mingi entered the room. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. But it was there. In the way they moved in sync, filled the space between them like water poured into a mold. Unspoken affection made visible in the smallest things.

Their house felt like love. Not just romantic love, but a kind of deep understanding. A steadiness Seonghwa had never really known. He didn’t feel envious of it. Not quite. But he admired it—deeply. Ached for it in a place rarely touched.

He let his eyes fall shut.

Maybe, he thought, some places feel like home long before you realize that’s what they are.

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The next morning, sunlight crept in through the half-drawn blinds, painting soft stripes across Seonghwa’s comforter and the plushies still curled up at the foot of his bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and shuffled into the kitchen, hair tousled, sweater sleeves dangling over his hands.

He was craving something simple—scrambled eggs with toast and maybe tea, if he could find where the tins were. The kitchen was still mostly unfamiliar, but the promise of a warm breakfast gave him direction.

Until he opened the fridge.

No eggs.

He stared into the barren shelf where they should’ve been, lips pursed. The little bear-shaped cake box sat cheerfully in the corner like it hadn’t noticed the tragedy. He closed the fridge door slowly.

It took him almost ten minutes to work up the nerve, standing in the living room holding an empty ceramic bowl, before he finally made his way across the street.

The early morning was still cool, but there was already a golden hue in the air, the kind that promised a clear day. He hesitated on their front step for only a moment before knocking twice.

Mingi answered, still in pajama pants and a loose tank top, his hair sticking up slightly at the crown. He blinked once, then lit up.

“Seonghwa! Good morning.”

“Hi,” Seonghwa said, cheeks already warm. “I… I was wondering if I could borrow a couple of eggs? I was going to make breakfast and I, um… didn’t realize I didn’t have any.”

Mingi grinned, stepping aside immediately. “Come in. And sure, take as many as you want. But we will be expecting those exact eggs back later.”

Seonghwa blinked. “…What?”

Mingi’s face was a mask of faux seriousness. “Return policy. Same eggs. Same shells. Preferably uncooked. You asked to borrow , after all.”

Seonghwa giggled despite himself, relaxing as he stepped inside. “I’ll do my best.”

Yunho was in the kitchen, already dressed in a soft navy sweater and stirring something on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder as Seonghwa entered.

“Morning,” he said warmly. “What’s going on?”

“I just came to borrow—to see if you wouldn’t mind parting indefinitely—with some eggs,” Seonghwa murmured, voice small.

Mingi leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Which has led us to a more important question—do you have anything else to eat at home?”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, paused, then offered a sheepish smile. “I was going to go shopping later…”

Yunho turned off the stove. “Change of plans. We’ll go now.”

“What? No, really, I can—”

“It’s not a favor,” Mingi said, already grabbing his keys. “It’s neighborly kidnapping. And if you’re lucky, maybe we’ll let you pick out cookies.”

Seonghwa blinked. “…Cookies?”

“Very important food group,” Yunho said with a straight face.

Half an hour later, Seonghwa stood in the grocery store between them, pushing a cart while Mingi debated the merits of strawberry versus blueberry yogurt and Yunho silently slipped extra packs of ramen and his favorite tea into the cart. Seonghwa tried to protest when they offered to pay, but Yunho only gave him a look that felt too gentle to refuse.

“Just keep Mingi company when I’m grading,” he said simply. “That’ll be more than enough.”

Mingi leaned closer. “And let us feed you sometimes. It makes us happy.”

Something bloomed in Seonghwa’s chest again. That quiet warmth. That sense of being wanted—not for anything, just as he was.

“Okay,” he said, voice small but sincere.

And when Mingi smiled at him like that was exactly the right answer, Seonghwa felt it again.

That he was inching toward something good.

The bags crinkled softly as Seonghwa opened the door, letting Mingi and Yunho follow him inside with the last of the groceries. The kitchen still felt strange to him, like walking into someone else’s life, but with their laughter and footsteps echoing through the open floor plan, it already felt less sterile. Less lonely.

“You really didn’t have to carry everything in,” Seonghwa said, trying to balance a carton of milk and a loaf of bread on the counter.

“But we did ,” Mingi grinned, bumping his hip gently against Seonghwa’s as he passed behind him. “So now we get first dibs on whatever you cook.”

Seonghwa laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “You really don’t want that.”

“I really do,” Mingi said, placing the eggs carefully into the fridge and eyeing him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Hwa.”

The nickname came out casually and it made Seonghwa’s ears turn pink.

Yunho, who had started taking ingredients back out of the bag with purpose, looked over his shoulder. “How about this—you help me cook, and we’ll count it as your first lesson.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Lesson?”

“You said you don’t cook much. I’ll show you something easy. Deal?”

Seonghwa nodded, his smile softening as he stepped closer.

Yunho washed his hands, rolling up his sleeves with quiet precision. “Let’s do pan-seared tofu rice bowls. Good protein, lots of flavor, no risk of starting a kitchen fire.”

Seonghwa giggled. “Perfect.”

They moved in easy rhythm—Yunho explaining as he sliced green onions and soaked the tofu in marinade, guiding Seonghwa’s hands when it came time to prepare the rice and season the vegetables. Seonghwa watched him closely, mimicking his movements with the careful attention of someone who wanted to get it right, who wanted to make someone proud.

“You’re good at this,” Seonghwa said quietly, brushing sesame oil along a pan like Yunho showed him.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Yunho replied, glancing at him. “You learn to cook when someone you care about eats like a raccoon.”

Mingi made an exaggerated gasp from where he was lounging against the counter. “I’m right here , Jeong Yunho.”

“You are,” Yunho said mildly.

Mingi pouted at Seonghwa, then brightened. “You like sweet stuff, don’t you?”

Seonghwa looked up, surprised. “How did you—?”

“Because you added, like, half the sugar jar to your tea last night alongside an entire slice of cake. And then, you took more cake home.”

Seonghwa blushed, but smiled. “I like things that taste soft.”

“That’s adorable,” Mingi said, leaning in slightly. “Do you like strawberries?”

“I love strawberries.”

“Oh no,” Yunho murmured, without looking up.

Mingi’s smile widened like a sunrise. “What I’m hearing is… I need to find you the perfect strawberry dessert. Something dangerously sweet. Like you.”

Seonghwa let out a surprised laugh, soft and musical, cheeks blooming pink. He didn’t know how to respond to that—at least not in words. So he ducked his head and stirred the pan, the edge of his smile still curling at the corners of his mouth.

By the time they sat down at the small table—three bowls, steam rising between them—Seonghwa felt lighter. Not like a guest. Maybe not even like someone new. Just… someone who belonged.

They talked while they ate, trading questions and stories like cards. Mingi asked about his favorite colors (lavender and soft blue), his comfort shows (he was embarrassed to admit it was animated cooking competitions), and whether he preferred plushies to throw pillows (he absolutely did). Yunho asked quieter things, sprinkled in between—what kind of music helped him study, whether he wrote poetry or just read it.

“I read it more,” Seonghwa admitted. “I like poems about small things. Ordinary love. Nothing too serious.”

“There’s power in small things,” Yunho said, and Seonghwa thought maybe he understood him more than most people ever had.

They stayed like that until the bowls were empty and the light outside had turned golden again, dappled and soft through the kitchen window.

When Seonghwa stood to rinse the dishes, Mingi joined him, shoulder brushing his.

“You’re easy to be around,” Mingi said, voice low, playful but honest.

Seonghwa looked up, startled. “You think so?”

Mingi met his eyes. “I know so.”

And in the reflection of the window glass, Seonghwa saw Yunho glance over—not jealous, not distant, just watching. Steady. Present.

It made something flutter in his chest he didn’t have the name for yet.

But whatever it was, it stayed with him long after they left.

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The day after, Seonghwa had finally settled in completely. All of his stuff had been unpacked, he’d explored the large home, gotten familiar with where things were in cabinets. Oftentimes, he found himself looking out one of the windows facing the street, his eyes landing on the home across the street— their home. He couldn’t help but feel the slight twinge of something unidentifiable at not being invited over today. Maybe it was that this home was empty, and he knew theirs not to be. Maybe it was the way silence settled here like dust—undisturbed, unmoved—while theirs seemed to hum with laughter and warmth.

But it didn’t just make him think about Mingi and Yunho’s home, it made him think about his own home. The small two bedroom he grew up in with his parents who would take him back in at any time.

And the day went on like that—soft, slow, a little hollow.

The evening settled like a blanket over the house, the kind of stillness that made every sound seem louder. Seonghwa sat cross-legged on his bed in his robe, his plushies nestled around him like sleepy sentinels. He’d showered, cleaned the kitchen after making the very same dish Yunho had taught him the day before, and tidied up his space—but the quiet was heavier tonight than it had been before.

He opened his phone, scrolling aimlessly at first. A few texts blinked back at him from his cousins, a “let me know how it goes!!” and a selfie of someone holding a bowl of tteokguk with the caption “we missed you today.” He smiled faintly, thumb hovering over the call button.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, he tapped the name at the top of his favorites list.

“Seonghwa?” came the voice on the other end—soft, warm, a little surprised.

“Hi, mom,” he said, curling deeper into the blanket. “Sorry for calling so late. I just—wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh, my love. Are you okay?”

He nodded instinctively, then remembered the call wasn’t video. “Yeah. Just... new bed, new house. You know how I get whenever I leave home.”

There was a pause, then laughter—gentle and fond. “I do. But you’re brave. And I’m proud of you.”

They talked for a while—about his new room, the two men across the street who insisted on feeding him, how he still didn’t know where the tea strainer was. On the other end of the line, his mother promised to visit as soon as she could, swore she’d bring homemade kimchi.

By the time the call ended, the ache in his chest had softened. Not gone, but no longer sharp. A different kind of quiet settled in its place—one that asked nothing of him but to exist.

He moved to the small desk by the window, the city lights twinkling faintly in the distance. There, in the drawer beside his poetry book, was a small linen-covered notebook he hadn’t touched in months.

Seonghwa opened it carefully.

He didn’t think he would write anything. Not really. He’d never considered himself a poet. But something in his chest felt too tender to keep to himself. And journaling, well…that had always felt too awkward. 

The words to himself had never felt meaningful.

He picked up his pen and began to write—not for perfection, not for rhythm or rhyme, but for relief. For softness.

Letting his guard down and getting his feelings out in a way that felt like it had substance. In a way that made him feel something other than longing.

He stared at the page for a long time.

And then he smiled.

Seonghwa didn’t go to sleep right away.

Even after he’d closed his notebook and tucked it back into the drawer, even after brushing his teeth a second time just for something to do—he lingered. His thoughts were soft but loud, the kind that padded across his chest and refused to settle. So he got up again, quietly, and shuffled over to the window.

The street was mostly dark. Quiet in the way only residential neighborhoods could be, with porch lights humming low and the occasional distant bark of a dog. But across the street, there was still light.

A single window glowed warmly from the house opposite his. Seonghwa leaned his forehead against the glass, arms loosely wrapped around a plushie—his bunny, the one with the floppy ears. He couldn’t make out much through the curtains, just the soft movement of someone passing through the kitchen. A silhouette. A faint shadow of domestic life.

He didn’t know which one it was. Yunho, maybe. Or Mingi. But it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t the company that made him feel less alone.

It was the proof of life. The gentle kind. The kind that made him feel tethered to something, even if only by a thread.

He stood there for a while, plushie pressed to his chest, watching nothing in particular. Just the way the light moved across the floorboards inside their home. Just the soft reminder that somewhere nearby, someone was still awake.

He pressed his fingers to the windowpane, just for a second.

And in that small, glowing square across the street, the world didn’t feel so big anymore.

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The next morning arrived slow and gray, the sky wrapped in a sleepy overcast that made everything feel still. Seonghwa stood in front of the mirror, one sweater half on, the other draped across the foot of the bed as he frowned at himself.

Classes hadn’t started yet—but orientation was tomorrow. He’d reviewed the schedule three times, walked the route to campus twice just in case Yunho changed his mind on giving him a ride…or forgot, and still, the nerves crawled steadily beneath his skin like a second pulse.

He pulled the sweater off again. Then put it back on. Then sat down on the bed, hands folded tightly between his knees.

He hadn’t started over in a long time. The last time had been university, back when he thought he’d chosen the right path. Before he paused everything for his enlistment, before the quiet days back home where he’d felt more lost than ever. Now, finally, he was here—but the what ifs returned like clockwork.

What if he didn’t fit in?

What if his work wasn’t good enough?

What if—

A knock at the door startled him upright.

He padded softly down the hallway, the familiar ache of nerves still tangled in his chest. When he opened it, Mingi stood there holding two paper bags that smelled faintly of soy sauce and something fried. Yunho stood just behind him, a reusable canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

“Lunch delivery,” Mingi announced, holding up the bag with a little wiggle.

Seonghwa blinked. “I didn’t… order anything.”

“Nope,” Mingi agreed. “But we thought you might forget to eat today. You had that look yesterday—like your brain was doing overtime.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but wonder when either of them would have seen him yesterday.

Yunho’s gaze softened as he stepped forward. “We figured it was a prepping-for-the-semester kind of morning.” Of course that would have been on the other man’s mind. He worked with students year-round as a professor, so of course he’d be thoughtful about the student’s perspective…and struggles.

Seonghwa looked at them, warmth blooming low in his chest the way it seemed to every time they were around. He stepped back without saying a word, letting them in.

They settled at the kitchen counter while Yunho unpacked the bags: dosirak boxes full of japchae, steamed dumplings, and fruit slices sealed into tiny containers. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comforting.

Seonghwa pulled three glasses from the cabinet, silently placing them on the table. Mingi grinned and made himself at home like it was second nature.

“How’s the prep going?” he asked between bites.

Seonghwa hesitated, then offered a small shrug. “I’ve packed my bag five times. I’ve changed outfits three times. And I’m pretty sure I’m already behind on reading even though classes haven’t started.”

“Sounds like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” Yunho said, smiling faintly. “And you look great in that sweater, for the record.”

Seonghwa blinked. He’d forgotten he hadn’t changed out of it.

Mingi leaned over and offered him a grape from his box like it was a peace offering. “You’re going to do fine. Better than fine. But until then—eat. Worrying is a full-time job, but lunch doesn’t wait.”

Seonghwa took the grape, cheeks warm. “Thank you. For this. For… coming over.”

“You’re easy to miss when you’re not around,” Mingi said lightly, but the sentiment settled deep. Seonghwa’s heart lurched, despite knowing that these two seemed to exude friendliness in every word, every action. Intentional. Still…

They didn’t stay long—just long enough to finish the food and tease Seonghwa about how color-coded his class schedule was. Just long enough to refill the room with that easy, unspoken warmth that always followed them like a shadow.

After they left, Seonghwa stood at the sink washing out the containers, a soft smile still playing on his lips.

It didn’t erase the nerves. But it softened them—like hands smoothing wrinkles from a sheet.

Like maybe this time, starting over wouldn’t feel quite so hard.

After the dishes were done and the kitchen was quiet again, Seonghwa wandered back into the living room, the light from the window catching the edge of the empty lunch boxes stacked neatly on the counter. Outside, the clouds had shifted, letting just a sliver of sun spill through—a soft warmth that stretched across the hardwood floor like an invitation.

He sat for a long while on the couch, his knees tucked to his chest, the scent of japchae still faint in the air. He thought about the way Mingi had knocked so confidently, like it was already routine, and how Yunho had remembered what sweater he’d worn the day before. It hadn’t been loud or overwhelming, just… steady, quiet care.

And in that stillness, Seonghwa realized something. This wasn’t just a place he was staying. Not anymore. These weren’t just kind neighbors. Not exactly. Something was unfolding here—slow, gentle, certain. Like the first lines of a poem he hadn’t yet finished writing.

Tomorrow would come. So would the nerves.

But today, he was full of good food, soft words, and something that felt a little like hope.

And that was enough.

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Chapter 2: A Thread Unraveled

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The first morning of orientation came too soon.

Seonghwa had barely slept, his mind turning itself inside out with lists and worries — would he find the right classroom, would he stand out too much, would his professors expect too much right away? By the time his alarm chimed softly on the nightstand, the sky was still the faintest shade of early blue.

He moved through his small routine on autopilot: shower, soft sweater, a dab of his favorite perfume at his wrists. Black Opium, sweet and warm just like he felt like he was with... 

He hovered in the kitchen for a moment, opening the fridge and staring blankly at the eggs he’d so shyly asked for from Mingi and Yunho. He wasn’t hungry. Not really. He was too riddled with nerves to really think about food. A symphony of things that could go wrong continued to plague his mind, taunting him. Telling him that everything up to this moment had been far too good to be true for things to go smoothly.

A knock at the door made him jump.

He cracked it open to see Yunho standing there, all calm lines and quiet presence, dressed neatly in a dark coat and scarf. In his hands, a small container balanced on top of a thermos.

“Good morning,” Yunho said, equipped with a smile that was far too bright this early, and his voice was soft in a way that made Seonghwa’s shoulders drop without him realizing. Seonghwa couldn’t push down the thought before it fully formed in his brain, that Mingi was truly one of the luckiest men in the world to wake up next to this . 

And yet, Yunho was pretty lucky himself. Mingi was no less attractive, kind, or appealing. 

“Morning…” Seonghwa stepped aside automatically, though Yunho didn’t come in.

“I told you I’d drive you,” Yunho reminded him with a curt raise of his brow. He held up the container when Seonghwa hesitated. “And Mingi told me to make sure you ate something on the way. He got up early to make this for you.”

Seonghwa had been too busy thinking about how lucky the older two men were to have each other, that it hadn’t occurred to him that he was lucky to have their attention to the point where Yunho would go to work early just to drive him. That MIngi would wake up early just to make him a small meal.

Inside was a small breakfast, fluffy rolled omelet, a few sweet strawberries tucked in a corner, and a packet of sauce neatly folded beside it.

Seonghwa stared at it, then at Yunho, and then back at it again. “He didn’t have to—”

“He wanted to,” Yunho interrupted, gentle but immovable. “And I’m not letting you go to orientation on an empty stomach. Come on.”

Seonghwa slipped on his shoes and grabbed the backpack he’d inventoried at least ten times between last night and this morning, and followed Yunho out into the crisp morning. The short walk to the car was quiet except for the faint hum of waking birds. Yunho opened the passenger door for him, waited for him to buckle in, then settled into the driver’s seat.

It should have felt awkward, but it didn’t. Yunho didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t fill the silence with small talk. He just drove, steady, warm, like a calm tide carrying Seonghwa forward whether he liked it or not.

Halfway down the tree-lined street, Yunho glanced over. “Eat,” he said, softer this time. “Please.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, cheeks pink as he pried open the lid and picked up the small fork tucked inside. The omelet was still warm, and the sweetness of the strawberries burst soft and bright on his tongue. 

It felt like more than breakfast. It felt like being seen. Cared for. Kept.

He ignored how compelled he had felt to follow Yunho’s instructions, even as he swallowed obediently, bite after bite.

When Yunho pulled into campus, easily finding a parking space amongst other professors in their private car park, Seonghwa felt braver than he had when he’d woken up.

“Text me when you’re done,” Yunho said, as if it were obvious, as Seonghwa gathered his bag and container. “I’ll wait for you.” 

“You really don’t have to—”

The corner of Yunho’s mouth quirked upwards, and something in his eyes went soft and sharp all at once. “I want to.”

Seonghwa stepped out of the car, the morning breeze tugging at his hair. He turned back once, hand clutching the little container to his chest like a secret.

“Thank you,” he paused, chewing on his lower lip as he leaned in. “Should I call you Professor?” 

Yunho let out a gentle laugh and shook his head, “We’re neighbors. Friends. And you’re not in my department anyways.” 

The younger man lingered for a moment as he studied Yunho. It was almost overwhelming how safe he felt around the both of them, even after only meeting a couple of days ago. He supposed, however, that it was good he found people that were willing to take him under his wing. 

“Thank you, Yunho.” 

“Anytime, Seonghwa,” Yunho said. And for the first time that morning, Seonghwa was able to take a deep and calm inhale. Today would be good to him. Things weren’t too good to be true, he was just finally on his path to success. To happiness. 

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Seonghwa’s first day of orientation passed in a gentle blur of new names, campus maps, and polite introductions that fizzled out as quickly as they started. He kept his head down, nodding along in group circles, his fingers absently playing with the zipper of his bag when he got too nervous to speak.

It was only halfway through his final info session that his phone buzzed in his pocket, a soft, subtle vibration that made his heart jump. He slipped it out when no one was looking.

[Mingi]
done yet?

Another buzz, two seconds later.

[Mingi]
i’m outside. don’t say no. get in my car pls.

Seonghwa’s lips twitched despite himself. He thumbed a reply before he could overthink it.

[Seonghwa]
Okay.

When he stepped outside the department’s main building, Mingi was leaning against his car, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, hands tucked into the pockets of a soft, oversized hoodie that made him look unfairly inviting. He waved Seonghwa over with an exaggerated flourish.

“You look exhausted,” Mingi said as soon as Seonghwa got close, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle in his sweater sleeve. “Come on. I’m stealing you.”

“You hinted at that,” Seonghwa teased back with a hint of a smile, “ Get in my car, please. It gives inexperienced kidnapper .” Mingi let out a roaring laugh as he placed an arm over Seonghwa’s shoulders.

“A fair evaluation.” 

“Where are we going?” Seonghwa asked, letting himself be guided to the passenger door.

“A bakery,” Mingi said, like it was obvious. “Yunho has lectures until late, so you’re mine until then. I’m not letting you eat campus convenience store bread for dinner and I’m not confident you won’t accidentally blow up your kitchen trying to make ice-cream.”

Inside the car, Mingi kept the conversation easy, humming along to the radio, glancing over every so often to check on him. The city blurred by, familiar but not. Softer through Mingi’s lens. They ended up in a cozy little café tucked on a side street Seonghwa didn’t know. It smelled like warm butter and sugar the moment they stepped inside.

Mingi ordered without hesitation, two cups of tea, a strawberries and cream pastry that made Seonghwa’s ears burn when Mingi insisted on it.

“Sweet for someone sweet,” Mingi teased as they slid into a booth near the window. “Eat.”

Seonghwa ducked his head but couldn’t fight the shy smile that tugged at his mouth. “You sound like Yunho.”

Mingi propped his chin on his palm, eyes sparkling. “Well, we’ve been together for a decade an a half. He’s rubbed off on me. I think you are, too.”

While they ate, they talked about small things, silly things. Mingi asked him what his favorite fabric was to work with, then promptly insisted on feeling the sleeve of Seonghwa’s sweater just to understand . He let his fingers linger a beat too long, brushing over Seonghwa’s wrist until Seonghwa’s breath caught, just for a second.

“You know,” Mingi said, tone light but eyes too focused to be casual, “I like how soft you are. It suits you.”

Seonghwa’s cheeks bloomed pink. “Soft?”

“Mhmm.” Mingi plucked a crumb from the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Easy to be around. Easy to want to be around.”

Seonghwa didn’t know what to say to that, so he just sipped his tea, heart fluttering behind his ribs. They lingered in that booth long after the cups had emptied, soft afternoon light pooling through the window, the world outside slipping quiet.

When Seonghwa’s phone buzzed again. 

[Yunho]
I’m done. Where are you?

Before Seonghwa could answer, Mingi gently took the phone from his hand, typing a reply himself.

[Seonghwa]
Coming.

He winked at Seonghwa, unbothered by Seonghwa’s startled squeak. “Come on, Bun. Let’s go get Yunho.”

And Seonghwa followed with warm cheeks, chest heavy, and soft all over.

If he didn’t think about the fact that Mingi had just called him Bun, then his heartbeat remained close to normal.

They parked a block from campus, the city winding down to its quieter afternoon lull. Mingi’s hand brushed Seonghwa’s shoulder lightly as they crossed the street together, a silent little stay close that Seonghwa found himself leaning into without thinking. When they stepped into the building’s side entrance, Yunho was already waiting in the small faculty lounge by the main hall, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a stack of well-worn papers tucked under one arm. His eyes lifted the moment he heard their voices.

Mingi’s hand fell away, but Seonghwa still felt the echo of it there, a warm spot that lingered like the campfire that had just been put out. Yet, on the contrary, there was a fire that was only beginning to bloom inside of him, one that would probably never be put out.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted, his voice low but unmistakably warm. He didn’t say it, but he looked at Seonghwa first, took him in head to toe, as if cataloging every sign that he was alright. Or maybe… better than alright.

Mingi grinned as he dropped his keys onto the small table, leaning into Yunho’s side without missing a beat and giving him a deep kiss. “I stole him. And your car.”

Yunho arched a brow, amusement flickering behind the calm. “So I see. And did he mind?”

Seonghwa shook his head, a shy laugh bubbling up before he could stop it. “Not at all.”.

Yunho stepped closer, close enough that Seonghwa had to tilt his head back to hold his gaze. “Orientation wasn’t too rough?”

“It was fine,” Seonghwa murmured, ducking his head only slightly. “Better, once Mingi kidnapped me.”

Mingi huffed out a laugh at that, draping an arm lazily across Yunho’s shoulder. “I fed him sugar. He’s half cake now.”

Seonghwa’s ears burned at that. He wasn’t used to being spoken about like that, like he was something to be spoiled. 

“But he was already so sweet,” Yunho said simply, letting his fingers brush the cuff of Seonghwa’s sweater as if to check he was real. “I’d rather you be full of cake than worry, though.”

“Careful,” Mingi teased Yunho, eyes bright. “You’re sounding soft.”

Yunho didn’t rise to it, he just looked at Seonghwa, steady and warm, his thumb brushing just barely over Seonghwa’s wrist where his sweater had slipped back.

“Good day?” Yunho asked, softer now.

Seonghwa’s chest fluttered. “Better than good.”

Mingi’s grin widened, and Yunho’s mouth quirked at the corner, like they were both in on something Seonghwa hadn’t quite named yet. Outside the lounge’s tall window, the sky had started to shift. Soft gold pooled through the branches, brushing over Yunho’s shoulder where Seonghwa’s eyes lingered.

It should have felt like too much. Too close. But Seonghwa felt steady between them, warm from the bakery sugar and the soft things they gave him without asking for anything in return.

Yunho shifted, papers still tucked under his arm. “Ready to go home?”

Home.

Seonghwa nodded, small but certain.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the car, the sun had started its slow dip behind the buildings, turning the city’s edges soft and gold. Mingi unlocked the car with a theatrical bow that made Seonghwa giggle under his breath before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Yunho took the back seat with Seonghwa this time, Mingi’s idea, though he said it so lightly that Seonghwa hadn’t questioned it at all. “You’re the precious cargo, let the professor guard you.”

Mingi caught Yunho’s eye in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the lot. There was an entire conversation there, something wordless and warm that Seonghwa pretended not to notice. The hum of the city blurred outside the window. Yunho’s thigh pressed warm and solid against Seonghwa’s, grounding him. A soft breath left his lungs when he felt Yunho shift just slightly closer, the older man’s shoulder brushing his hair as the car rocked gently over a bump.

“You can rest, you know,” Yunho murmured, voice pitched low for him alone. “You look like you’ve been awake for days.”

“I should stay awake,” Seonghwa protested weakly, though his eyelids already felt too heavy.

“You shouldn’t,” Yunho countered, and the quiet firmness made Seonghwa’s heart squeeze. A big hand cupped the back of his neck, thumb brushing the fine hair at the nape. Warm, careful, impossible to fight. “Just for a bit. We’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Seonghwa didn’t mean to lean in. Didn’t mean to sigh like that either, a small sound that Yunho felt against his shoulder more than he heard.

Up front, Mingi’s voice floated back, all teasing warmth. “Are you putting him to sleep back there, Yunho?”

“Mm,” Yunho hummed. “Trying.”

Mingi’s quiet laugh threaded through the soft music playing on the radio. “You’re good at that.”

“You calling me boring?” Yunho joked. 

“Only when you start discussing theology in ancient literature,” Mingi said amused, though it was obvious he meant every word. Yunho chuckled softly, not seeming to mind the playful jab at his profession.

Seonghwa drifted halfway under before he could think of anything to say, the city’s lights flickering behind his lashes, the scent of Yunho’s cologne mixing with the sweetness of Mingi’s pastry lingering on his breath.

Safe, he thought, as the world slipped soft and quiet around him.

Soft and kept. And safe.

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He didn’t remember falling asleep completely, just the steady thrum of Yunho’s voice close to his ear, the warmth of a big hand on the back of his neck, and the gentle rock of Mingi’s laugh drifting from the front seat. The next thing Seonghwa knew, he was warm. Too warm. But in a good way. He blinked slowly, lashes brushing against something soft. A pillow, not his own.

The room was familiar but blurred at the edges. He didn’t have to sit up to know where he was. He heard it first: Mingi humming under his breath, off-key on purpose, the low rumble of Yunho’s voice coming from the kitchen. The air smelled like garlic and something sweeter layered on top, maybe soy glaze, maybe ginger. Home-cooked in a way that was too rich for just two people.

Seonghwa pushed himself up on one elbow, fingers brushing the soft knit blanket tucked around his waist. His sweater had slipped off one shoulder, collar tugged loose by sleep and warmth. The low sounds of talking had stopped the moment he was upright, and it was as if he could feel the attention on him.

“Hey, you’re up.”

Mingi’s voice came from the kitchen doorway — he was barefoot, sleeves rolled, hair swept back from his forehead like he’d run damp fingers through it. He smiled when Seonghwa met his eyes, bright and pleased in a way that made Seonghwa’s chest squeeze.

“Sorry,” Seonghwa mumbled, cheeks warm. “I didn’t mean to—”

“To fall asleep?” Mingi teased. “In this house? Tragic crime, Bun. Truly unforgivable.” He padded over and tugged the blanket higher over Seonghwa’s legs like it hadn’t just been half on the floor. “Yunho’s making enough food for an army. You’re staying.”

Before Seonghwa could argue, Yunho appeared behind Mingi, sleeves pushed up, wooden spoon in one hand, mouth curved in that soft, secret smile he only seemed to wear around them.

“Do you like dumplings?” Yunho asked, like this was the only question that mattered right now.

Seonghwa nodded, too fast. “I love them.”

“Good,” Yunho murmured. “Then sit. And stay awake this time, you’ve slept enough for today.”

Mingi laughed, dropping onto the arm of the couch beside Seonghwa. “See? Professor’s orders.” He tapped Seonghwa’s knee, eyes bright. “We’ll feed you, then we’ll walk you home so you don’t drift off on the sidewalk.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, a sleepy laugh bubbling up as Mingi pushed a mug of warm tea into his hands a moment later. The mug wasn’t his; big, chipped at the rim, the painted design worn away by use. Like everything here, it felt kept . Soft at the edges.

He curled his fingers around it and breathed in the steam. And when he looked up, Yunho was watching him from the kitchen doorway. Not just looking at him, but seeing him, eyes soft but sharp in that way that made Seonghwa’s stomach flip.

Dinner was quiet, but filled with every bit of warmth that always seemed to exist in this home. They moved around him like gravity — passing Seonghwa plates first, asking if he wanted more before he finished. Mingi teased Yunho about using too much garlic, Yunho flicked water at him from the sink in retaliation.

By the time they were done, Seonghwa’s shoulders felt loose and heavy, sleepiness softened out by warmth, full belly, and the easy hush of their laughter folding over him like a blanket.

When Yunho tugged his coat onto his shoulders and Mingi looped an arm through his on the short walk back across the street, Seonghwa didn’t flinch at the closeness anymore. He leaned into it, let himself be bracketed between them under the streetlight glow.

Maybe he’d still feel shy in class tomorrow. Maybe he’d still worry about saying the wrong thing, doing too much, being too much. But here — between them — he was exactly enough.

They left him at his front door, lingering like they didn’t want to go. Yunho’s big hand warm on his shoulder, Mingi’s voice drifting low and playful, teasing him to text when you’re tucked in, or else . Seonghwa promised he would, cheeks pink under the porch light. He watched them step back across the street, their laughter trailing soft behind them, until the dark swallowed them whole.

Then he stepped inside, dropping his backpack by the door

The house was quiet; too big, too empty by design. But tonight it didn’t feel quite so cold around the edges. The kitchen was still spotless. The living room still echoed. But when he slipped off his coat, the scent of Yunho’s cooking still clung to the fibers. Mingi’s laugh still hummed in his ears.

He padded to his room, flicked on the small bedside lamp, and stood there for a moment in the hush of it all. His plushies were lined up neat against the pillows, his soft lavender throw folded carefully where he’d left it.

Before tonight, the quiet had felt like something that pressed down on him, pinning him in place. But now… it felt like a blanket instead. Something he could slip under and rest in.

He got through his nighttime routine, showering and skincare, thinking about the two men that were starting to possess most of his thoughts whether he willed it or not. Just a stone’s throw away. Right across the street. So close and yet…so far. When he tucked himself into bed, his thumbs hovered over the screen for a moment before they finally took over.

[Seonghwa]
I’m in bed. Thank you, both of you. Sleep well.

The reply came fast.

[Mingi]
Goodnight, Bun. Dream sweet.

Seonghwa’s chest fluttered at the nickname, warm all the way through as he curled up under the covers. The house stayed quiet. But this time, the quiet wasn’t empty.

This time, it felt like he wasn’t alone at all.

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The weekend arrived gentle and gray. A Saturday that tasted like late winter, the air was just sharp enough to nip at Seonghwa’s cheeks when he stepped outside.

He hadn’t meant to be seen this morning, just a quick dash to bring out the recycling bin, sweater sleeves tugged down over his palms, slippers scuffing the steps. But Yunho was already outside when he turned around, leaning against the open trunk of his car, coffee mug cradled in one hand, eyes soft when they landed on Seonghwa.

“You’re up early,” Yunho said, voice warm enough to make the cold feel irrelevant.

Seonghwa shrugged, cheeks blooming pink. “Couldn’t sleep in.”

Yunho studied him for a moment — really looked. Then he tilted his head toward the open trunk, “Come here for a second.”

Seonghwa padded across the street in his bunny slippers, the tips of the ears poking at his ankles, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it did around Yunho’s calm gravity. Inside the trunk were two bags of groceries, a bag of neatly folded laundry that didn’t look like Yunho’s, and a small, boxy package tied with twine.

Yunho reached for it, pressing it gently into Seonghwa’s hands.

“I noticed you didn’t have a proper kettle,” Yunho said. “So I got you one. Electric. Won’t burn the house down.” The funny thing was…Seonghwa was sure there was a kettle somewhere in the kitchen. He just hadn’t been able to find it yet. 

Seonghwa stared at it, the simple white box, the clean label — and then up at Yunho, throat tight with the smallness of the gesture, the bigness of what it meant.

“I can’t take this…” he started, but Yunho’s hand came up, two fingers resting against Seonghwa’s wrist to stop the words where they hovered.

“You can,” Yunho said simply. “And you will. You like tea. Now you can make it properly.”

Seonghwa’s fingers curled around the box like it was precious. Maybe it was. It felt that way. Like another quiet promise that he wouldn’t be allowed to slip through the cracks. Not here. Like…Yunho had sought out a reason to give him a gift, and bury it under the excuse of necessity. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, eyes cast downward but his heart beat so loud he was sure Yunho could hear it.

Yunho’s thumb brushed a line over the soft skin of Seonghwa’s wrist, almost absentminded. “Make some tonight. Bring me a cup when you do.”

Seonghwa looked up, startled, but Yunho’s mouth only curved at the edges. That soft, almost secret smile that Seonghwa was beginning to think might be a secret shared between the two of them. It reminded him of the stolen glances between Yunho and Mingi that made it obvious that there was…well, something.

“Okay,” Seonghwa said, the word tucked small in his throat but true all the same. “I will.”

Yunho just nodded, and Seonghwa knew that whether or not he’d truly meant his request, Seonghwa would be bringing over tea later that day. 

Seonghwa spent the rest of the day thinking about the kettle more than he should have, how the simple box sat on the counter as he wondered if it was something he really deserved. Though, Yunho had seemed rather adamant. By the time dusk crept in, spilling gold and then deepening into blue, he found himself fussing over which tea to make. He chose a soft chamomile blend in the end. Something gentle. Something safe. Something warm.

The kettle purred to life, a low hum that filled the empty kitchen with something like company. Somehow, he could feel their presence there, just from the electric kettle. He felt absolutely ridiculous for it. Seonghwa hovered while it boiled, tucking the sleeves of his soft sweater higher on his wrists. He counted out sugar the way he liked it — more than most would think reasonable — and stirred it in carefully, tasting it twice before he was satisfied.

When he finally poured the tea into a small thermos, something cute and pink that didn’t match this home at all, but suited him perfectly, he hesitated by the door, slippers already on his feet. It felt silly, this tiny errand. But Yunho had asked. And Seonghwa had said yes.

So he stepped out into the quiet. The night was just chilly enough to make him shiver a little, but the moment he knocked at Yunho and Mingi’s door, warmth bloomed up his chest.

The door swung open almost instantly; Mingi this time, barefoot and soft around the edges, his hair rumpled like he’d just come from the couch. He blinked down at Seonghwa, then his mouth curved into a slow, pleased grin.

“You really brought it,” Mingi said, voice low, warm with laughter as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Seonghwa ducked his head, cheeks warm. “Yunho told me to.”

“I know he did,” Mingi said, stepping aside so Seonghwa could slip inside. “And look at you, listening so well.”

The house smelled like clean laundry and something sweet, maybe leftover dessert from dinner, maybe just them. Yunho appeared in the hallway, sleeves pushed up, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked at Seonghwa, then at the thermos in his hands, and something in his expression softened even more than usual.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yunho said, but his voice was warm. He took the thermos carefully when Seonghwa offered it, thumb brushing over Seonghwa’s fingers for just a second longer than necessary. “But I’m glad you did.”

Mingi pressed in close behind Yunho’s shoulder, peeking around him to grin at Seonghwa. “You know,” he said, voice playful but eyes steady, “next weekend, Yunho’s off. I don’t have any shoots. We were going to do a lazy movie night, maybe order too much takeout. You should come.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Me?”

Yunho’s mouth twitched, soft and sure as he stepped just a little closer. “Yes, you. Who else would we mean?”

Seonghwa’s throat felt too tight to speak for a moment, so he just nodded. A small, sure motion that made Mingi’s grin widen, bright as a secret sunrise.

“It’s settled then,” Mingi said, leaning around Yunho to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek, the way he might kiss Seonghwa too if he let him. If he could even dare to think about such a thing. “You, us, movies, too much food. It’s practically domestic.”

Seonghwa laughed; soft, shy, but real. His chest felt light in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

“Okay,” he said, voice small but clear. “I’d like that.”

And when he slipped back into his home a few minutes later, the door closing soft behind him, he felt it — the warmth of them trailing after him like a promise, like a tether. Like something that might hold. He stood on the tips of his toes to peek through the little window on the door, watching Yunho and Mingi cross the street back to their house, ever insistent that they walk him home. 

Seonghwa didn’t bother turning on the big lights as he walked up to his room. The small lamp on his desk cast just enough of a glow to make the corners of the room feel soft. He tugged off his sweater, folded it over the back of his chair with careful hands, and slipped under the blankets, pulling his plushies close until they pressed warm against his chest.

On his nightstand, his well-loved poetry collection waited, the spine cracked, pages soft and worn in places where his fingertips had lingered too many times to count. He flipped it open, breath catching as the delicate lines spilled across the page like whispers.

The words on the page blurred the longer he read, love pressed into margins, soft verses that bled into his pulse until they tangled with the images slipping uninvited into his mind. Yunho’s voice, deep and steady, whispering praise against his ear. Mingi’s laughter pressed warm to his throat, mouth brushing lower and lower until the lines between the poem and his own want blurred to nothing.

His hand drifted again, fingertips ghosting over the bow of his lips, tracing where a kiss might land if he were brave enough to ask for it. The press of his own fingers made him shiver, a soft exhale slipping out when he let his touch drag down, skimming his neck, his chest, the soft line of his belly under the blanket.

He shouldn’t. It felt too bold, too much. But the ache curling warm and deep in his gut pushed him past that line before he could stop himself. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his sweats, breath catching in the hush of his room when his fingers brushed over the growing hardness there.

A quiet gasp spilled out, muffled behind his other palm. The plushies crowded around him like shy witnesses, but he didn’t dare push them away. It almost felt safer like this, with soft things pressed close while he rutted his hips up into his own hand, slow and careful, pretending it wasn’t just him. Pretending it was Yunho’s palm, the way he could hold him steady. Mingi’s teasing mouth at his throat, telling him good boy, pretty thing, our sweet one.

Heat pooled low and heavy, coiling tight in his belly when he let himself roll his hips a little harder, thumb brushing over the sensitive head with a shudder that made his lashes flutter. A tiny whimper slipped out before he could swallow it down, the sound embarrassing in the quiet, but so good he didn’t dare stop.

He rocked his hips up once, twice more, chasing that delicious edge where his thighs started to tremble. His free hand fisted tight in the sheets, hips lifting in little stuttered rolls as his wrist moved faster, slick sounds muffled under the blanket but loud enough to make his cheeks burn hot.

It didn’t take long, not when he let himself really think about them. The image of Yunho’s low voice telling him to be good, Mingi’s teasing laugh pressed warm to his skin, both of them telling him he was theirs to keep, theirs to touch; it pushed him over with a soft, bitten-off moan.

He spilled over his own fingers, hips jerking, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh as the heat finally crested and washed over him. His lashes fluttered, the last line of the poem half-whispered against his wrist like a prayer.

When he came down, chest still heaving soft and slow, he buried his face in the pillow, biting back a laugh that trembled with leftover sweetness and shame.

Ridiculous, he whispered into it, eyes closing. But he didn’t stop. He let himself imagine the warmth of their voices in his ear, the weight of their hands on his hips, the way they might praise him — keep him — ruin him sweet if he asked them to.

Sleep found him like that, his heart quick, belly warm, thighs pressed tight under the lavender throw, poetry half-open beside him and their names tucked somewhere soft in his mouth.

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Chapter 3: Hand Sewn Secret

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Monday morning came more quickly than Seonghwa expected, or liked. But it was also welcomed, because to his dissatisfaction, he didn’t see Yunho and Mingi again since he’d dropped off the thermos and was invited over for a movie. On top of that, it was the first real day back on campus after orientation, the first proper classes, the first day his new life at this school really began . He’d woken up early, washed his hair twice just because it felt like a ritual, fussed over which sweater to wear until he’d made a small mountain of rejects on the end of his bed.

By the time Yunho texted that he was outside, Seonghwa hadn’t even slipped his shoes on, bag half-packed and hair still damp at the ends.

[ Yunho ]
Morning, Bun. Out front when you’re ready.

Seonghwa’s fingers fumbled a reply as he peeked through the living room window. There he was, leaning casually against the hood of his car, a takeaway cup of something steaming balanced in his hand with another one settled right next to him on the hood. Calm. Effortless. Too much, this early.

Seonghwa bit back a small curse, grabbed the last of his things, and cracked open the front door just enough to peek his head out. “Um, Yunho?”

Yunho looked up immediately, a smile ghosting across his mouth when he saw Seonghwa’s flushed cheeks and mussed hair. “Hey. Running late?”

Seonghwa ducked his head, the tips of his ears warm. “A little. I just, I need like five more minutes. Do you… want to come in?”

It sounded too shy as soon as it left his mouth, but Yunho only nodded, pushing off the car with a small hum of sure that felt like warmth spilling into the early chill, grabbing the second cup before heading up to the house.

Inside, Yunho slipped his shoes off politely by the door while Seonghwa all but scurried up the stairs and down the hallway to gather the last few things he needed; his charger, his pen pouch, the scarf his mother had knitted him when he left home.

“Sorry,” Seonghwa called from his room, voice muffled as he wrestled with his bag zipper. “I don’t usually run late, I promise—”

“It’s fine, Hwa,” Yunho’s voice drifted back, calm as ever. “Take your time.”

When Yunho’s footsteps padded closer, Seonghwa’s stomach flipped. He turned just in time to see Yunho lean in the open doorway, his broad shoulders framed by the soft morning light spilling through the window.

Yunho’s eyes flicked past him to the small, neat bed tucked in the corner, the window sill lined with tiny trinkets, and most noticeably, the row of plushies propped like sleepy sentinels against Seonghwa’s pillows.

Seonghwa felt his pulse jump straight to his throat. He couldn’t help the way his hands fluttered nervously over the bedspread, like he could hide them all with one sweep.

“I— it’s— I didn’t think— I mean, you don’t have to stand there—” he stammered, words tangled worse than the scarf half-tucked into his bag.

But Yunho only stepped inside, just enough to run his eyes gently over the space again. “It’s nice in here,” he said, soft and simple, like he really meant it. Like he was seeing Seonghwa in this tiny nest he’d made soft for himself.

His gaze landed on the plush bunny in the middle — the one with the floppy ear Seonghwa always tucked against his cheek when he needed to feel braver. Yunho’s mouth curved, the smallest smile that made Seonghwa’s knees want to give out.

“This one’s your favorite, isn’t it?” Yunho asked, voice low enough to feel like he was saying something taboo. He stepped closer, fingertips brushing the bunny’s ear where it drooped over the pillow.

Seonghwa’s whole body went warm. “Yeah,” he breathed, embarrassed at how small his voice came out. “Since I was little. I know it’s… childish.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked to his, steady and sure. “It’s you . That’s what makes it good.”

Seonghwa’s chest fluttered so hard he nearly dropped his bag. He couldn’t help it. His eyes fell to Yunho’s hand where it lingered near the plushie, fingers so big and careful. The same hand that had cupped the back of his neck in the car. The same hand he’d thought about, shamefully, just two nights ago.

When Yunho looked back at him, something in his gaze felt warm enough to sear. He reached out — slow, careful — and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Seonghwa’s ear. His fingertips grazed Seonghwa’s skin, soft but enough to make his breath catch.

“You’re perfect like this,” Yunho murmured, thumb brushing just once over the curve of Seonghwa’s jaw before he let his hand fall. Seonghwa swayed forward, just a little, like he might lean closer if Yunho didn’t move back. 

Seonghwa’s cheeks were still hot when he fumbled with his bag zipper, trying to look busy while Yunho’s presence lingered warm in the doorway. He could feel Yunho’s eyes on him — soft, steady, watching in that way that made Seonghwa’s chest feel too tight for his own ribs.

When he glanced up, Yunho’s gaze flicked to the damp ends of Seonghwa’s hair where they clung to the collar of his sweater. Yunho tilted his head just slightly, like he was considering something.

“Your hair’s still wet,” he said, his voice gentle but threaded with something that made Seonghwa’s breath catch. “You’ll catch a cold like that.”

Seonghwa tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, eyes dropping. “It’s fine… It’ll dry on its own.”

Yunho hummed, a quiet, thoughtful sound as he glanced around once and spotted the small hair dryer half-buried on Seonghwa’s desk, and plucked it up with an easy confidence that left Seonghwa frozen in place.

“Sit,” Yunho said simply, nodding toward the edge of the bed.

Seonghwa blinked. “I— it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

But Yunho was already plugging it in, testing the switch once before flicking his gaze back to Seonghwa.There was no room for argument in that softness.

“Sit, Hwa.”

So Seonghwa did, perched on the edge of the bed like he was bracing for something that would swallow him whole. He twisted the hem of his sleeve in his lap as Yunho stepped closer, the quiet whirr of the dryer filling the small space like a heartbeat.

“Relax,” Yunho murmured, so close now that Seonghwa could feel the brush of his knees against the blanket. Yunho’s free hand came up, fingers threading gently through the damp strands at the nape of Seonghwa’s neck. He tipped Seonghwa’s chin forward just enough, careful, steady, guiding him to rest easy.

The first warm breath of air washed over Seonghwa’s crown, fluttering softly at his scalp. He exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering as Yunho’s fingers combed through his hair in slow, unhurried passes.

“You’re always so tense,” Yunho said, almost more to himself than to Seonghwa. His fingertips brushed Seonghwa’s temple as he guided the dryer down, the warmth chasing the chill from Seonghwa’s skin. “Let me take care of you, just for a second.”

Seonghwa’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t find words for it, the way Yunho’s hand cradled the back of his head, how gentle his touch was, how the hum of the dryer mixed with the low lull of Yunho’s voice when he murmured good , almost done under his breath like praise.

At one point, Yunho’s thumb brushed behind his ear, a fleeting touch that made Seonghwa’s pulse stutter. He wondered — shamefully, deliciously — if Yunho could feel how warm his skin was. If Yunho could guess why his heart wouldn’t settle.

When Yunho finally shut off the dryer, the silence left in its wake felt so soft it might break if Seonghwa breathed too loud.

“Perfect,” Yunho murmured, ruffling the last of the dampness from Seonghwa’s fringe with his fingers. His hand lingered, fingertips brushing the side of Seonghwa’s jaw, the curve of his cheek, like he couldn’t quite make himself pull away.

“You always take care of me. The both of you,” Seonghwa whispered before he could stop himself. The confession slipped out small, but Yunho didn’t tease him for it.

Instead, Yunho’s mouth curled upwards, eyes warm enough to set every soft thing inside Seonghwa fluttering.

“Because you’re worth taking care of.”

And before Seonghwa could find it in himself to hide — to fold small like he always did — Yunho bent just enough to press his lips to the top of Seonghwa’s head, soft, fleeting, but real. So gentle it felt like he was being told the most important secret that he should cherish for a lifetime.

When Yunho finally stepped back, Seonghwa’s cheeks were pink and his hands trembled faintly where they fisted in his lap. The bunny on his pillow watched silently, as if it, too, knew a secret Seonghwa would never dare say out loud.

“You ready?” Yunho asked, voice gentle.

Seonghwa nodded, pulse racing, throat too tight for words. He grabbed his bag, cheeks burning, the warmth of Yunho’s touch lingering like an echo on his skin. When he followed Yunho out of his room, the little bunny watched them go, soft ear flopped over, guarding that very secret Seonghwa swore to never admit out loud of what had happened in this very room. 

The short walk down to the car felt longer than it was. Seonghwa’s skin still tingled where Yunho’s hands had been; warm in his hair, soft against his jaw, a kiss pressed to the crown of his head that hadn’t stopped echoing through his chest. He slipped his shoes on in the entryway, bag clutched tight to his front like it might hide how pink his cheeks still were. Yunho opened the door for him, let him step out first into the crisp morning air that felt far too cold for how warm Seonghwa was inside.

The car ride should have felt normal, but the moment Seonghwa slid into the passenger seat and Yunho handed him the to-go cup of something that smelled quite sweet, the memory hit him all over again. The last time he’d sat in here, Yunho’s voice soft in his ear telling him to rest, the steady press of Yunho’s thigh against his. The seat he’d drifted half-asleep in just behind him, warm and drowsy. The same seat he’d thought about just nights ago, alone under his covers, hand tucked shy between his thighs as he pretended it was Yunho’s or Mingi’s instead.

His thighs pressed together at the memory, a hot twist of embarrassment low in his belly. He forced his eyes down to his hands where they fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.

“You warm enough?” Yunho asked, voice gentle as he pulled away from the curb. His hand brushed close to Seonghwa’s knee when he shifted gears, and Seonghwa’s pulse jumped so high he almost squeaked.

“I’m fine,” Seonghwa managed, voice too soft, too small. He risked a glance, Yunho’s eyes were on the road, but his mouth curved like he could feel every shy thought Seonghwa tried to hide.

The city blurred by outside his window, winter pale and sleepy. Inside, the car felt too warm, every shift of Yunho’s hand on the wheel like a ghost over Seonghwa’s skin. He shouldn’t think about it, the weight of Yunho’s palm pressed low on his belly, the way it might feel if he let him slip even lower, whispering good boy, stay still, let me. He shouldn’t think about the way he’d muffled his own sounds in his pillow, soft whimpers that no one heard but him.

His thighs squeezed together again. He felt too hot for a cold Monday morning.

Yunho’s voice cut through it, warm and too close. “You’re quiet.”

Seonghwa startled. “Ah— sorry. Just… thinking.”

Yunho hummed, like he already knew. Like he could see straight through Seonghwa’s sweater and into the flicker of heat curling low in his stomach.

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” Yunho said. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel once, a small, absent rhythm that made Seonghwa watch the way they curled — big, careful hands. Hands he’d thought about too many times, too shamefully.

“You’re doing good, Hwa,” Yunho said softly, his voice dipping lower as they stopped at a light. “You know that, right?”

Seonghwa looked at him then, throat tight, the praise wrapping around him like a hand at his waist. He nodded once, lips parting, then pressed them together again when the words didn’t come. He didn’t trust them not to tremble.

Yunho’s mouth twitched, soft but knowing. The light turned green. His hand shifted to the gear stick, knuckles brushing Seonghwa’s knee — just once, just enough.

Seonghwa pressed his thighs together tighter, trying not to squirm.

He’d have to walk into class like this — soft, flustered, warm in places he shouldn’t be. And Yunho, calm and steady beside him, made it worse in the best way.

When they pulled up to the curb near Seonghwa’s building, Yunho put the car in park but didn’t turn to him right away. He let the quiet fill the small space, the hum of the engine, Seonghwa’s heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Text me when you’re done?” Yunho said at last, eyes warm when they finally met Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa’s voice almost stuck in his throat. “I will.”

Yunho gave Seonghwa a pointed smile, the kind that made Seonghwa wonder if he knew exactly what Seonghwa had done alone in the hush of his room. And worse, if Yunho liked it.

“Good boy,” Yunho teased lightly, so soft Seonghwa almost didn’t hear it. But he did. And it made the heat pool so deep it almost hurt.

Seonghwa stepped out of the car on shaky legs, bag clutched to his chest. He didn’t look back until he was halfway up the steps. But Yunho was still there, watching him through the windshield, steady and sure. Like he knew . Like he was patient enough to wait for every little secret Seonghwa might unravel for him.

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The rest of the week unfolded like a slow drip of warmth and mortification all tangled up together. Seonghwa went to campus every morning, and every morning, Yunho was there waiting to take him. Sometimes leaning against the car with a takeaway coffee, sometimes in the driver’s seat, the radio playing something soft and old. Always calm, always steady, which only made it worse when Seonghwa had to sit there with the ghost of that good boy still humming in his ears.

One morning, Yunho reached over at a stoplight and gently tugged at Seonghwa’s scarf where it had come loose, and re-tied it for him with those careful hands. The brush of knuckles under his chin, the soft command to “hold still, Hwa,” was enough to make Seonghwa’s throat go dry. Yunho’s thumb brushed under his jaw, right where the pulse fluttered embarrassingly quick, and Yunho looked at him, eyes soft but sharp in that way that said he knew .

Seonghwa spent half his first class that day staring down at his notes, the phantom weight of Yunho’s hand still tucked under his chin.

Another day, Yunho picked him up earlier than usual. A quiet “come on, you’re having breakfast with me” said so plainly Seonghwa couldn’t even pretend to argue. They sat in a tiny café just off campus, Seonghwa’s plate piled with toast and jam he hadn’t ordered for himself. Yunho buttered it for him without asking, and spread the jam in a slow circle while Seonghwa tried not to squirm on the wooden bench. Every brush of Yunho’s knuckles over his wrist when he handed him the plate made Seonghwa’s toes curl in his shoes.

“You need to eat more,” Yunho murmured, voice dipped low under the soft hum of morning chatter. “To keep you strong and sweet.”

Seonghwa nearly choked on the first bite.

He tried so hard to be normal about it all — to act like he wasn’t flushing bright pink every time Yunho leaned in a little too close, or when Yunho’s hand lingered on the small of his back as they walked across the quad. But Yunho didn’t make it easy. He seemed to enjoy the way Seonghwa’s ears turned red, how his fingers tugged shyly at his sleeve when Yunho’s presence pressed in warm and careful. Seonghwa was falling apart at the seams, and it was all for Yunho’s personal amusement.

By the time Friday rolled around, Seonghwa felt soft all over, stretched thin in the best way now that he was warm in the spaces he used to hold tight and small. He barely had to say a word anymore for Yunho to know when he needed his coffee sweetened just a bit more, or when to walk him to the door instead of just the gate.

And then, finally, the movie night.

Saturday came draped in the soft hush of a late winter evening. Seonghwa stood at their door with a tote bag tucked shy against his side, filled with snacks he wasn’t sure were good enough. He’d changed his sweater three times, checked his hair twice as much. But when Mingi flung the door open, barefoot and grinning wide, all Seonghwa’s worries fizzled into something warm and sweet at the edges.

“You’re early!” Mingi teased, voice bright as he tugged Seonghwa inside by the wrist. The warmth hit him all at once; the smell of popcorn, the low hum of Yunho’s voice from the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Mingi scolded gently when Seonghwa sheepishly held up the tote. He plucked it from his hands anyway, peeking inside with a pleased sound. “You’re too sweet. You know that?”

Before Seonghwa could answer, Yunho appeared behind Mingi, sleeves rolled up again like he’d just finished fussing in the kitchen. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped forward, brushing Seonghwa’s hair behind his ear in that easy way that made Seonghwa’s knees want to fold.

“Hi, Bun,” Yunho murmured. He pressed something soft into Seonghwa’s other hand — a small gift bag overflowing with pink tissue paper that crinkled whenever it was jostled around. “Open it.”

Seonghwa blinked down at it, fingers trembling as he peeked inside. And there it was: a plush bunny, new and impossibly soft, with long floppy ears and a tiny ribbon around its neck.

“For your bed,” Mingi said from behind him, voice low but so pleased . “So your old one doesn’t get lonely.”

Seonghwa’s throat went tight. He nearly hid his face in the bunny’s fur right then and there, but Yunho’s hand settled warm at his waist, Mingi’s laugh rumbling low behind him. 

“He told you?” Seonghwa said with a strangled whine. 

 

“Of course I did,” Yunho gave a gentle laugh as he pulled away the now empty gift bag and placed it on the countertop. “It was too endearing, I couldn’t possibly keep it to myself.” Seonghwa’s cheeks grew more red at Yunho’s words. He didn’t just feel seen in that moment, he felt like he was being analyzed at a microscopic level by two hot scientists that seemed to love to shower him with gifts and food. 

“It’s very cute, Hwa,” Mingi promised with his unfairly deep voice, “Everything about you is.” 

The two of them bracketed him soft and close as they led him to the couch; Mingi tugging him down first, Yunho settling on his other side, the bunny cradled in Seonghwa’s lap with his fingers curled into it as if he were holding on to his last shred of sanity. 

The movie flickered soft and golden across the living room walls, sound turned low enough that Seonghwa could hear the rustle of blankets, the hush of Yunho’s breath when he shifted behind him on the couch. Mingi had him tucked snug under his arm, Seonghwa’s head resting just shy of his shoulder, close enough that every time Mingi laughed at something on screen, Seonghwa could feel it low in his chest.

The new bunny sat safe in his lap, one of its floppy ears tucked under his palm like a little anchor. Mingi’s fingers drummed absentmindedly along Seonghwa’s upper arm, tracing the line of his sleeve, warm and thoughtless and so good it made Seonghwa’s toes curl in his socks.

Every so often, Yunho would lean in from the other side, a quiet question murmured just for him. “Need anything, Hwa?” or “Too warm?” The weight of Yunho’s hand on his knee, his thigh, drifting higher when Seonghwa’s breath caught. Always warm. Always so steady it made Seonghwa ache with something he didn’t dare name yet.

Mingi lifted the bowl of popcorn from where it sat wedged between them, shifting so Seonghwa pressed closer to Yunho’s side. “Open,” Mingi murmured when Seonghwa looked up at him, tone dipped soft and teasing.

Seonghwa blinked, cheeks pink under the low light. “What?”

“Your mouth, Bun,” Mingi chuckled, dipping two fingers into the bowl to pick out the perfect piece; the fluffiest, perfectly buttered kernel. He held it just at Seonghwa’s lips, eyes bright with something wicked and warm. “Be good.”

Seonghwa’s throat bobbed, but he did, parted his lips, and let Mingi press the popcorn against his tongue. Mingi’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth when he pulled back, smearing a little salt there just so he could swipe it away a beat later.

“Sweet thing,” Mingi hummed, his breath brushing Seonghwa’s ear as he leaned in. “Didn’t even think to bite me.”

Seonghwa let out a soft, helpless laugh, only for it to catch when Yunho’s palm slowly smoothed down his thigh under the blanket, stopping just above his knee. Yunho’s thumb drew careful circles, grounding, reminding. Seonghwa sucked in a quiet breath through his nose, trying not to squirm too visibly when Mingi dropped another piece of popcorn into his open palm.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Yunho rumbled, voice pitched low for only Mingi to hear, but Seonghwa felt it anyway, the warmth of it at his temple where Yunho’s lips brushed in passing. “He’s trying so hard to be good.”

Mingi grinned, bright and sharp and sweet all at once. “He is good,” he said, tugging Seonghwa closer into his side until Seonghwa’s nose brushed the curve of his throat. “Good and soft.”

Another piece of popcorn, another brush of Mingi’s thumb at the seam of Seonghwa’s mouth. Yunho’s hand flexed where it rested on his thigh, the edge of his thumb skimming over the fabric of his sweats.

“You like this, don’t you?” Mingi murmured — so quiet Seonghwa could pretend Yunho didn’t hear. “Letting us feed you.”

Seonghwa’s lashes fluttered, a soft sound catching in his throat before he bit it down. He nodded, just once, cheeks burning where they brushed Mingi’s jaw. He didn’t dare say it out loud.

The movie kept playing. The credits were a lifetime away, but Seonghwa hardly noticed the plot at all. Not when Yunho’s hand stayed warm and patient on his thigh, not when Mingi’s knuckles brushed his jaw just to feel the soft heat blooming there. Not when every handful of popcorn, every chocolate square Mingi pressed to his lips felt like a promise they’d unwrap him slow, sweet, and warm if he only asked them to.

But he didn’t ask. He just curled closer between them, bunny plushie hugged safe to his chest, letting them feed him, touch him, praise him soft under their breath until the hush of the movie carried him under.

When he woke again, it was to the low hush of Yunho’s voice near his ear, the soft weight of a blanket pulled snug around his shoulders. He was in one of their beds, most likely one of the guest rooms, the new bunny nestled against his chest, the smell of Mingi’s shampoo on the pillow. Safe, kept, tucked away like something precious.

He drifted back down before he could even think to thank them.

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The first thing Seonghwa noticed when he woke was the warmth, the kind that didn’t feel like his own bed, but not like a stranger’s, either. The guest room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something softer underneath it. Yunho’s cologne lingering on the spare blanket, maybe. Mingi’s warmth folded into the pillow he’d curled around sometime in the night.

The next thing he noticed was the smell; warm, rich, and so good it made his stomach give a quiet, pleading growl. Something savory with something sweet. He blinked slowly at the soft gray morning light spilling through the guest room curtains, plush bunny tucked safely at his chest where they’d let him keep it close.

For a moment, he stayed wrapped up, listening to the low, muffled sounds drifting up from downstairs. The clink of pans, the quiet hum of a voice — Mingi’s, maybe. Or Yunho’s. He couldn’t tell which when they both sounded like comfort.

Eventually, curiosity — and hunger — won out. He slipped out from under the covers, feet soft against the floorboards, bunny plushie left perched neatly on the pillow as if to guard the place he’d warmed overnight.

Seonghwa would be sure to come back for it before he went home.

The closer he got to the kitchen, the stronger the smell became. Soy and garlic, maybe, something sizzling. Seonghwa’s mouth watered embarrassingly fast. He padded closer, sweater sleeves tugged down over his hands, slippers whispering along the floor as he turned the corner.

And froze.

He meant to say something, maybe — a soft good morning perched shy on the tip of his tongue. But the words caught when he saw them.

Mingi was perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, knees braced wide around Yunho’s hips. One of Mingi’s hands fisted in Yunho’s sweater at the collar, the other tangled in the hair at the back of his neck as Yunho leaned in, mouth hot and claiming. Mingi was laughing into it, that soft, breathless kind of laugh that turned into a sigh when Yunho’s hands squeezed tighter at his hips.

It was… so much. So soft, but so intense all at once, the way Yunho pressed Mingi back just enough to mouth at the edge of his throat, how Mingi tugged him in closer, like there wasn’t enough space in the world to hold them both unless they poured into each other.

Seonghwa’s heart stuttered behind his ribs. He should’ve looked away. He should have tiptoed back upstairs before they noticed. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the way they touched, the easy heat, the softness folded into their hunger. The way it made something warm twist deep in his chest. A quiet ache, like he wanted it too. Wanted them. Wanted to be wanted like that.

In his flustered haze, Seonghwa stepped back a half-step too quickly. His hip knocked into the small wooden stool tucked under the kitchen island, sending it skidding an inch across the floor with a loud thunk.

Yunho stilled first, head turning just enough that Seonghwa saw the slow curl of a smile against Mingi’s jaw. Mingi’s lashes fluttered open, mouth parted, pupils blown wide before they both locked eyes on him.

“Well,” Yunho rumbled, his voice low and so warm it made Seonghwa’s pulse jump in his throat. “Looks like we have an audience.”

Seonghwa squeaked — an actual, humiliating squeak — and half-hid behind the door frame, face burning so hot it felt like his ears might catch fire. “I— I’m sorry—! I didn’t— I just— the smell— breakfast— I didn’t—”

Mingi laughed, breathless but so fond it made it worse, his voice curling warm and teasing through the air. “Good morning, Bun. Did we wake you up?”

Seonghwa squeaked again, which only made Mingi’s grin widen, delighted.

Yunho, still standing between Mingi’s knees, tipped his head just enough to meet Seonghwa’s wide eyes over Mingi’s shoulder. His mouth curled up slowly, soft but unmistakably wicked.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Yunho said, voice a command wrapped in velvet. “You can watch as much as you want. But you’re having breakfast first.”

“I have to finish making it,” Mingi added, hands on Yunho’s shoulders as he left a soft, plush kiss against the other’s lips and hopped down before returning to the stove. Yunho continued leaning against the counter, a playful smirk still on his face as Seonghwa stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. 

The large boba eyes of a cornered animal that could either run or attack. But it was Seonghwa, so most likely, he’d stand there with trembling knees and a silent prayer for sudden invisibility. 

“Want your turn next?” Yunho questioned, grin growing wider, earning yet another squeak from Seonghwa.

“I— “ Seonghwa’s eyes flickered to Mingi, unsure of what his reaction to such a joke would be. Yunho seemed to catch it immediately. 

“Mingi?” Yunho question, now capturing the other’s attention. He turned around, chopsticks in hand as he gave Yunho a questioning look. 

“Well don’t look at me,” Mingi said as he looked between the two of them, “Obviously I’m going to watch. Or give you your privacy. Whichever you’re comfortable with.” He held his hands up in surrender before turning around back to the stove. Seonghwa couldn’t tell if they were playing with him — though that should have been the obvious answer. They were together, a very loving couple. It didn’t make sense for them to…

“Ah, I think we broke him,” Yunho said.

 

“We can put him back together after we all eat,” Mingi said simply.

Yunho’s soft laugh rumbled warm and low, the sound skating down Seonghwa’s spine in a way that made his knees feel worse than useless. He lingered half-hidden behind the door frame, one sleeve tugged up to cover his mouth like it might hide the pink spilling across his cheeks.

“Come here, Hwa,” Yunho said again, his voice gentler this time, though the playful curl of it never faded. “Come on. Sit. Before Mingi burns the eggs.”

“I never burn the eggs!” Mingi called over his shoulder, mock scandal in his voice. But Seonghwa caught the small grin at the edge of his mouth, the soft flicker of his eyes toward Yunho — a look that said he lets him tease me like this . A look that made Seonghwa’s chest twist warm all over again.

Hesitantly, Seonghwa padded closer, bare feet whispering over the warm kitchen floor. He perched awkwardly on one of the stools, ducking his head when Yunho leaned closer to pluck a stray piece of lint from the shoulder of Seonghwa’s oversized sweater — a sweater Seonghwa was almost sure belonged to Yunho at this point. The shirt he’d worn over here still clung to his body underneath the sweater and he couldn’t help but wonder…would Yunho say anything if he just wore this home and never returned it? 

“Good boy,” Yunho murmured, so quietly Seonghwa almost thought he’d imagined it. But when he looked up, Yunho’s eyes were soft, warm with something deeper that made his belly twist low.

Slowly, Seonghwa was becoming aware that something was up. 

Mingi plated up breakfast; a small spread of marinated meat, fluffy eggs, golden toast, a bit of fresh fruit sliced and fanned out like a flower. The domesticity of it all made Seonghwa’s chest ache in that sweet, sore way he was still getting used to.

Mingi set the plate down in front of him, chopsticks balanced perfectly on the rim, then leaned over just enough to press a fleeting, warm kiss to Seonghwa’s temple — so casual, so sweet, Seonghwa’s fingers froze halfway to the plate.

“Eat up, Bun,” Mingi said, voice softer now, playful edge folded away into something that felt like a secret only they were allowed to share. “Or Yunho will find new ways to feed you himself.” 

And for a fleeting second, Seonghwa was tempted to play into that.

Yunho hummed behind him, low and amused as he leaned against the counter, eyes flicking over Seonghwa like he could see every thought spinning behind his wide eyes.

“You like watching, sweetheart?” Yunho teased, his tone gentle but edged in something that made Seonghwa’s stomach flutter. “Or do you like being watched more?”

Seonghwa’s chopsticks clattered softly against the plate as his hands fumbled. “I—I don’t— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Mingi cut in smoothly, rescuing him with a little tap to his wrist. “We like both. So eat, yeah? You did so well sleeping over. It’s the least we can do.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, cheeks burning bright as he lifted the first bite of eggs to his mouth. The warmth of it spread through him slowly and softly.

And when Yunho stepped closer to brush his knuckles under Seonghwa’s chin, tipping his face up just enough to steal a soft look — just a look — Seonghwa didn’t squeak this time.

He only looked back, soft eyes wide, plushie waiting upstairs, the smell of breakfast lingering sweet all around him. And he thought, Maybe this is what it feels like to be kept.

“Let us know if you want more,” Yunho said, sweeping his thumb over Seonghwa’s cheek before letting go and sitting down next to him as Mingi placed a plate in front of him as well. 

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By the time Seonghwa stepped back into his own house, the afternoon sun was slipping soft through the windows, catching on motes of dust in the quiet. His bag was slung lazily over one shoulder, but what he clutched close — buried against his chest like it was actually his child — was the new plushie.

Yunho’s sweater hung loose around him, sleeves swallowing his hands to the knuckles. It smelled like laundry soap and something underneath it that Seonghwa was sure he’d never find bottled anywhere but here — something that just was Yunho.

Mingi had tucked the plushie into his arms at the door before he’d left. “Something to keep you company,” he’d said with a grin, while Yunho had just leaned close enough to murmur, “So you don’t get lonely.”

As if he could, Seonghwa thought now, padding into his room and curling up right on the edge of his bed. He settled the plushie on his lap, fingers brushing over the impossibly soft fur. It was a little bunny, just like the one he’d clung to as a boy — except newer, softer, a little bigger. A gift. One he hadn’t dared ask for, but one that the two men seemed to love giving him.

He pressed his face to the plushie’s head for a moment, inhaling. It smelled like the warm, clean air of their home — like Mingi’s hands, Yunho’s quiet laugh. Like the hush of their couch at midnight when he’d fallen asleep with his head against Mingi’s arm, Yunho’s fingers brushing his hair back so gently it almost didn’t feel real.

He shouldn’t have looked closer. But his thumb brushed the seam under the bunny’s ear — and caught on something crisp, something that crinkled softly when he pressed.

Seonghwa’s heart jumped. He turned the plushie over carefully, fingers trembling as he found the small fold of paper tucked just under the stitching at the seam. A tiny, neat square, folded once, twice.

He unfolded it with shaking hands.

For our Bun.

That was all it said. Small, neat letters in Yunho’s careful handwriting — but he could see Mingi’s influence there too, the playful little heart drawn next to it, like a wink Seonghwa could feel on the inside of his ribs.

Our Bun. Not the Bun. Not a Bun. Our.

Seonghwa pressed the note to his chest, breath caught soft and sharp at the back of his throat. His cheeks burned all the way to the tips of his ears. The warmth coiled in his belly the same way it had when Yunho had tugged him closer by the jaw, when Mingi’s laugh had pressed against his temple, when they’d fed him popcorn by hand like he was something sweet enough to share.

He curled onto his side, knees tucked up, new plushie snug against his chest, the little note safe and warm between his palms. Yunho’s sweater bunched under his chin. He breathed in the ghost of them until his lashes fluttered heavy and the world slipped soft and quiet around him.

If he dreamed this time, he didn’t mind. He’d wake up wanting more.

Seonghwa tucked his nose into the plushie’s soft head, the worn edge of Yunho’s sweater sleeve brushing his cheek every time he shifted. The note pressed flat against his sternum, right where his heart kept tripping over itself.

He shouldn’t say it. Not out loud. Not to anyone — and certainly not to a stuffed bunny with button eyes. But the house was quiet, the dusk slipping soft through the curtains, and the warmth of them still wrapped around him like the warmest blanket that had ever hugged around his shoulders.

So he did it anyway.

“I want to be,” he whispered, voice so small it barely stirred the fur under his lips. “I want to be yours.”

He squeezed the plushie closer, as if it could carry the secret back to them — tucked behind a stitched ear, hidden in the seams the way the note had been. Our Bun. Theirs.

The little confession fluttered around the quiet room like a butterfly. He buried his smile against the plushie’s soft belly and let a nap find him there — warm, wanting, and maybe, just maybe, wanted too.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

 

Chapter 4: Thread by Thread

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Seonghwa nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone buzzed on the nightstand, still face down beside his pillow. He’d woken up early — far too early for a weekend — but he’d stayed curled under his blankets for an hour just replaying every soft, quiet moment that had carried him through the week. Yunho’s warm voice, Mingi’s teasing laugh, the way they’d both made him feel like something precious.

Another buzz. He fumbled for the phone, thumb brushing the screen to life.

[Mingi]
come outside bun 😘

[Mingi]
i’m parked

He sat up so fast his plushie tumbled from his lap to the floor. Mingi hadn’t said exactly what he’d planned for today when Seonghwa had called him, just “Wear something you like. You’re coming with me.” Seonghwa had asked where at least three times. Mingi had only chuckled from his end of the call.

His hands felt too fumbly for buttons but he managed a soft sweater, simple jeans, his hair fussed over just enough to look soft and a little tousled. He checked the mirror twice before grabbing his tiny shoulder bag and padding barefoot to the front door. Shoes on. His bunny keychain clipped to his bag, unsure of when he’d occurred it over the past couple of weeks, but sure that Yunho and/or Mingi had something to do with it.. One last deep breath to keep the nerves steady.

Mingi’s car was easy to spot — parked at the curb with the windows down. The music drifted softly along the crisp morning breeze. Mingi had one elbow hooked over the open window, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the sleepy sun. When he saw Seonghwa step out, he grinned wide enough to split the chill in half.

“There’s my best boy,” Mingi called, tapping the side of his door for Seonghwa to hurry up. “Come on, come on. You’re burning daylight.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, cheeks warm. He tugged his bag tighter over his shoulder and slipped into the passenger seat, the smell of Mingi’s cologne and the soft leather immediately swallowing him whole. And god, did the warmth of the car’s heat after escaping the winter fresh cold outside feel amazing.

“You didn’t tell me where we’re going,” Seonghwa murmured as he tugged the seatbelt into place. Mingi only hummed, shifting the car smoothly into drive.

“Didn’t need to,” Mingi said, tipping his sunglasses down to peek at him over the frames. “You trust me, right?”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, the simple question catching something soft behind his ribs. He nodded once, shy but certain. “I do.”

“Good,” Mingi grinned, one hand warm on the gear stick, the other tapping a little beat against the wheel as they coasted down the quiet street. “Then you’re gonna love it.”

The city blurred past, a soft hush of weekend quiet broken by the occasional honk, the rustle of early cafés pulling open their shutters. Seonghwa watched the light flicker against Mingi’s hair, the glint of his earrings, the easy shape of him when he was at the wheel — steady, bright, sure of where they were going even when Seonghwa wasn’t.

They pulled up to a low building tucked behind tall hedges, its big frosted windows catching the soft morning sun. Outside, a few staff milled about, a rack of dresses and pressed suits waiting by the studio door.

Mingi cut the engine and turned to Seonghwa with that same grin. “Come on. Welcome to my other church.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Church?”

Mingi barked a soft laugh, unbuckling his belt. “This is where the real worship happens.” He got out of the car before grabbing a large bag from his trunk and rounding the car to open Seonghwa’s door for him to step out. He tugged Seonghwa’s hand into his before he could overthink it, his palm warm and calloused from hours of camera work. He didn’t let go even when they stepped through the wide door, into a world Seonghwa had only seen through glossy pages and hazy dreams.

Inside, the studio bloomed bright with softboxes and big white backdrops. A stylist’s table overflowed with spools of thread and tiny, careful tools. Racks of fabric whispered when the breeze caught them. A model sat cross-legged in a makeup chair, a hairdresser pinning pearls along a sleek braid.

Mingi’s voice drifted low as he leaned in near Seonghwa’s ear. “Stay close, yeah? Don’t want you wandering off and getting claimed by someone else.”

Seonghwa flushed, breath catching. He clutched Mingi’s hand tighter, the hum of the studio folding around him like music.

This was where Mingi belonged. A camera slung easy around his neck, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, praise slipping soft and warm off his tongue as he greeted the designer waiting just beyond the lights.

Seonghwa ducked shyly when Mingi introduced him, “This is Hwa, my favorite muse in training.” The designer’s eyes flicked over him, kind and a little curious, but mostly uninterested. But the way Mingi’s hand stayed tight at the small of his back made something warm bloom anyway. Wanted. Tucked right where he belonged. Well, one of the places, anyways.

They barely had time to settle before the studio buzzed alive around them. Assistants flitted past with garment bags and steaming cups of coffee, the model’s soft chatter drifted from the makeup chair to the set, and the designer’s quiet directions wove through it all like silk thread pulling a vision together.

Seonghwa stood just off to the side, out of the way but close enough to feel the warm push and pull of it all. Mingi had pressed a takeaway cup into his hands at some point — something sweet and foamy that tasted like a small luxury — and told him, “Stay right here. Watch everything. I want you to see how it works, how I work. Okay, Bun?”

And then Mingi was gone — or rather, he was everywhere .

Seonghwa couldn’t take his eyes off him. One moment Mingi was crouched low by the model’s side, murmuring something that made her laugh, coaxing her posture into a softer curve of shoulder. The next, he was stepping back, camera raised, fingers adjusting dials and buttons like they were second nature. His voice — so deep and sweet and playful when he talked to Seonghwa — shifted into something bright and sure when he spoke to his crew.

“Light here. No, softer. Bring that silk board over — good. Okay, love, chin up for me, there you go, perfect. Beautiful. Hold, just like that.”

It didn’t feel bossy. It felt like magic. Like the quiet hum of his praise was the real thing shaping the final image, more than the lens, more than the fancy lights.

Seonghwa’s heart thudded in his chest every time Mingi glanced over and caught him staring, shooting him that same grin. The one that said look at me, look at what I’m making . And Seonghwa did. He did, until his coffee went lukewarm in his hands and he’d forgotten to drink half of it. He wanted to bottle this, the smell of fabric, the hush of zippers and delicate silk draped over careful shoulders, the soft click click click of Mingi’s camera shutter like a heartbeat steadying the whole room.

This was where he wanted to be. What all of the hard work in school was for. To be busy hemming a dress before a show, or helping put together a line or — if he could allow himself to dream big — the designer that was having their line shot for…well, Seonghwa wasn’t sure what this place was. There had been no signs and he hadn’t asked. 

When the final look was zipped up and the model turned to preen under the lights, Seonghwa found himself drifting closer, step by step until Mingi’s arm curled lazy around his waist, tugging him to his side as if he’d done it a hundred times before. It felt so easy and natural that it caught Seonghwa by surprise. 

“You see that?” Mingi murmured near his ear, the warmth of him pressed from shoulder to hip. “That’s what you’re gonna do one day. Bring something to life. Stitch dreams into seams. And when you have your brand, you’ll need to weave that into everything . How your models wear your clothes, how their hair and makeup is styled, their posture, how they pose, how they walk in them. Everything a model does represents the clothes and the designer. You’ll need to start thinking about that stuff when you start designing out in the real world.”

Seonghwa swallowed, throat tight. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re… really amazing.”

Mingi’s laugh rumbled low, soft just for him. “You’re biased.”

“I’m not,” Seonghwa shot back, cheeks pink. “I am…but I still mean it.”

Mingi didn’t argue, just tugged him closer for one heartbeat longer before pulling away to lift the camera again.

“Stay right here,” he said, the playful tilt back in his voice now. “And when we’re done, I’m stealing you for one last shot.”

Seonghwa didn’t know what he meant, but the warmth blooming throughout his body was full of curiosity and he couldn’t wait to find out.

By the time the main shoot wrapped, the studio felt softer somehow, stripped back to its bones, all the bright bustle traded for a hush that made every sound feel secret. The crew had melted away one by one, the designer lingering at the far end in quiet discussion with an assistant. Mingi’s camera clicked shut with a satisfying finality. He rolled his shoulders once, easing the strap from his neck, then turned to find Seonghwa waiting obediently by the backdrop, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

Mingi’s mouth curled up slowly at the corners, that same look that always made Seonghwa’s pulse flutter low in his belly. He padded closer, steps unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to stand this close, to tilt Seonghwa’s chin up with two fingers, to brush his thumb at the corner of his lip just because he could.

“You know,” Mingi murmured, voice pitched low so that only Seonghwa could hear him, “I think my favorite shot today still hasn’t happened yet.”

Seonghwa’s brows pinched. “What do you…”

Mingi only smiled, drifting away to the rack of designer pieces still hanging neatly on their polished hangers. His fingers traced the silks and soft velvets, eyes flicking to Seonghwa every so often as if he were picking a prize, not a shirt.

He turned back holding a slip of ivory silk, the buttons so tiny and delicate Seonghwa’s throat went dry just looking at them. Draped over Mingi’s arm, it looked like something softer than air — like something that shouldn’t belong to him, but to someone braver.

Mingi stepped back into Seonghwa’s space, close enough that Seonghwa caught the faint warmth of his cologne, something woodsy and warm that made the world tilt a little softer. It took him back to the comfort in the car, comfort on his couch, comfort at his dinner table.

“Put this on for me, Hwa,” he said, voice sweet but lined with that quiet, unmovable authority Seonghwa had learned not to question. “Please?”

The please did him in. Seonghwa’s breath caught, his eyes flickered to Mingi’s mouth — just for a second — before he nodded, shy but certain.

He slipped behind the screen, fingers clumsy at first on the buttons of his own sweater, the silk whispering cool across his shoulders as he tugged it on. When he turned to the mirror, something in his chest gave a soft, secret flutter. He looked... different. Softer. Brighter. Like the shy thing he’d always been and something bolder underneath it too. A version of himself that belonged in Mingi’s lens and hadn’t existed anywhere else.

When he stepped out, Mingi went still. His eyes skimmed him from head to toe like he was trying to memorize the way the silk dipped at his throat, clung to the line of his collarbones.

“Oh, baby ,” Mingi murmured, his grin blooming slow and bright. “Look at you.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, a soft laugh trembling out of him before he could catch it. But then — braver than he’d ever dared in the weeks before — he lifted his chin again, steady under Mingi’s warm gaze.

“Is it okay?” he asked, voice small but a little stronger underneath.

“It’s more than okay.” Mingi’s hand found his wrist, tugging him closer. He didn’t grab his camera right away, not yet. He just traced the edge of the silk at Seonghwa’s shoulder, fingers brushing soft against his throat like he was framing him for later.

“Trust me?” Mingi asked again, quiet but sure.

Seonghwa’s lashes fluttered. He nodded, repeating the same sentiment from earlier, but answering more quickly. “I do.”

This time, when Mingi picked up the lipstick, Seonghwa didn’t flinch. He parted his lips when Mingi nudged his chin up with the soft pad of his thumb. The first pass of color was a shock, cool at first, then warm when Mingi’s breath brushed close. The tube clicked shut, but Mingi didn’t step back. His thumb dragged carefully across Seonghwa’s lower lip, smearing the red just slightly.

“God, you don’t even know,” Mingi breathed. “You don’t even see it, do you?”

Seonghwa’s pulse fluttered under his skin. “See what?”

“How beautiful you look when you stop trying to hide,” he whispered, “You’re always beautiful, Bun. But when you step out of your shell like that, fuck . Nothing in this world could stop you. I don’t think anything in this world could stop me from getting to you, either.” 

Something in Seonghwa’s chest cracked open then — a soft bloom that made him feel braver than the hush around them. He leaned in just enough that Mingi’s grin faltered, replaced by something sharp and wanting. Seonghwa’s fingers found the front of Mingi’s shirt, curled there like a silent don’t move yet .

“Take the picture,” Seonghwa whispered, voice steadier than it had any right to be.

Mingi’s eyes darkened. “Yes, Bun.”

The first few shots felt like an inhale. The shutter click was steady, Mingi’s praise slipping through the silence with every angle — perfect, turn your chin, that’s it, let me see . With each flash, Seonghwa’s shoulders dropped a little more. The shy flick of his lashes turned to a slower blink, the soft part of his lips stayed open, red and smudged.

At one point, Mingi’s fingers slipped under his jaw, tilting his face up for the light. The touch lingered longer than necessary, thumb brushing the lipstick again. The next shot clicked right as Seonghwa exhaled a soft sound, part surprise, part want .

“You’re shining for me,” Mingi cood, voice low enough to catch at the back of Seonghwa’s neck like heat. “Look at you.”

Seonghwa did, straight into the lens, shoulders rolled back, mouth soft and red and a little ruined now, just like Mingi seemed to like it.

The camera slipped down then. Mingi tossed it gently onto the table behind him without looking away. His hands caught Seonghwa’s hips and tugged him in slowly until there was no space for shyness left. When he leaned in, Seonghwa met him halfway — bolder, braver, the press of his lips messy, lipstick smearing mercilessly across Mingi’s mouth.

Mingi laughed into it, a quiet, choked sound, one hand slipping up Seonghwa’s spine to cradle the back of his head.

“Fuck, Bun,” he breathed when he pulled back just an inch, eyes flicking down to Seonghwa’s swollen mouth. “You get more breathtaking by the second. So full of surprises.”

Seonghwa was breathing hard, but this time he didn’t shrink away. He chased Mingi’s mouth once more, a soft sound caught in his throat as Mingi caught him again — slower this time, deeper, the silk of the blouse caught soft between them.

If the designer hadn’t opened the door right then…well, who knows how long they’d have stayed tangled up like that. Seonghwa didn’t even have pulling away on his mind at the time, but the soft click of the studio door made Seonghwa jolt back like he’d been caught with his hand in the sweetest jar. Mingi’s grip lingered at his waist for half a second before he let go too, but not before his thumb dragged one last lazy circle under the hem of the silk blouse.

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat, lips parted and still kiss-slick, red smeared soft at the corner of Mingi’s mouth too.

“Well,” said a voice behind them — cool, dry, curious in that unbothered, cutting way only someone used to directing an entire room could pull off. The designer stepped inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his wide-leg trousers, expression caught somewhere between amused and interested as his eyes swept over them both.

Seonghwa’s fingers flew up to his mouth, thumb dragging clumsily at the lipstick smear that did nothing but push the color further over his cheek.

Mingi, on the other hand, didn’t even pretend to look sheepish. He only tilted his chin up, tongue darting out to catch the corner of his mouth as he flashed the designer that easy grin — one that said yeah, you caught me, but you won’t stay mad for long.

“Got carried away?” the designer asked, tone light but sharp enough that Seonghwa wanted to sink through the floor. He ducked his head, but the designer only stepped closer, gaze flicking from Seonghwa’s pink cheeks to the silk blouse, to the soft curve of his parted lips.

And then, with terrifying calm, he turned to Mingi. “You shot him?”

Mingi’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “Of course I did.”

The designer hummed, stepping around them to reach the camera still perched on the table nearby. He picked it up with long, careful fingers, flipping through the shots Mingi had left warm on the screen. The silence that followed stretched tight, every flick of his thumb through the photos was loud in Seonghwa’s head. He wanted to hide behind Mingi’s shoulder, but Mingi’s hand on his hip kept him rooted where he was.

A soft, thoughtful sound. The designer tipped the camera toward Seonghwa for a second — the screen bright with a frozen frame of him half-turned, lips parted, eyes shy but soft. 

“You did good,” the designer said, voice pitched almost too casual like he wasn’t slicing right through Seonghwa’s last shred of composure. “What’s your name again?”

Seonghwa startled. “I— Seonghwa.”

“Seonghwa,” the designer repeated, tasting the shape of it like it was already stitched onto fabric. His eyes flicked back to Mingi, one brow raised just slightly. “I want these. For the spread.”

Seonghwa’s heart nearly stopped. “Wait— what? Me? I’m not— I mean— I can’t—”

Mingi’s fingers squeezed at his hip, grounding. He leaned in enough for his breath to brush Seonghwa’s ear. “Shh. Breathe, Bun. You look too good not to share.”

“Most models dream of being in Vogue,” the designer tutted, “and you got in by luck.” 

“V… Vogue? ” Seonghwa’s jaw dropped, wondering if he was living his real life, or if this was a dream, or if somehow he’d ended up inside a Wattpad fic.

The designer only clicked the camera off, handing it back to Mingi without another word. His mouth curved — the faintest, most dangerous smile.

“Clean him up before you bring him by the office next week,” he said, eyes lingering just long enough on Seonghwa’s stained lips to make his knees nearly give out. “And Mingi-ah, next time, lock the door.”

And just like that, he was gone. The studio door clicked shut behind him, leaving the hush of the space to settle thick and electric around them again. Seonghwa turned, wide-eyed, to Mingi, who only barked out a low laugh, slipping the camera strap back over his neck.

“This happen a lot for you?” Seonghwa asked, a tease meant to lighten the tension in the room. Mingi smiled down at him and gave his waist a squeeze.

“First time. Yunho usually drags me into a closet or to the car if he can’t wait,” Mingi explains. 

And hearing Yunho’s name really dragged him back down to reality, because the last thing he would have ever wanted to do was betray Yunho’s trust. And for a second, he wasn’t sure what light he was seeing Mingi in. Unless, all of that playful teasing double-teaming they’d done on him…what if it wasn’t playful or a tease? 

What if…

“Guess my muse is official now,” he murmured, leaning in close enough to steal one more soft, lipstick-smudged kiss from Seonghwa’s mouth. “How’s it feel, Bun?”

Seonghwa’s pulse tripped over itself. His lips parted, breath still caught in the hush of everything that had just happened.

“Feels... real,” he whispered, voice small but shining with something braver underneath.

Mingi’s grin softened. “Good.”

He tucked a lock of Seonghwa’s hair behind his ear, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw before pulling back, just enough to tug him gently toward the door.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. And then I’m taking you home.”

The drive back felt softer than the ride there. Or maybe that was just Seonghwa, warm and weightless from the rush of it all, the studio lights still lingering behind his eyes. Mingi’s hand stayed draped over the console between them, palm up, fingers splayed in silent invitation. Seonghwa didn’t even think twice before curling his own trembling hand into Mingi’s, and let Mingi’s thumb stroke over the soft skin between his knuckles in lazy circles that made his chest flutter all over again.

Neither of them spoke at first. The city drifted by while quiet music played low through the speakers. Mingi hummed under his breath sometimes, other times he’d squeeze Seonghwa’s hand tighter when they hit a stoplight, like he needed to check and make sure he was still there. Seonghwa squeezed back every time.

He kept replaying it in his head; the hush of the studio, the warmth of Mingi’s touch, the click of the camera when Mingi coaxed him to look straight into the lens and not shy away. And then the designer’s voice.

I want these. For the spread.

His face. His lips. His mouth still tingled where Mingi had ruined him with a kiss. He should have felt proud, and part of him did. That part unfurled every time Mingi’s thumb swept over his skin like he was brushing dust off of a valuable item he’d found after years of it being lost. But underneath that glow, a low ache throbbed at the back of his ribs. A tiny pull that kept whispering, Yunho should know. Yunho, who always saw him first. Who dried his hair and tied his scarf and tucked warm words behind Seonghwa’s ear when he needed them most.

His lips parted once, like he’d say the soft confession stuck at the back of his throat then, but Mingi caught his eye at the light, mouth curved in that warm, wide grin that made Seonghwa want to stay soft and quiet a little longer.

“Don’t overthink it, Bun,” Mingi stated easily, squeezing his fingers one more time. “You were perfect today. So perfect I might just have to keep you as my little secret weapon.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, lips curling despite the knot in his chest. “Not much of a secret anymore.”

Mingi’s soft laugh rumbled under the hush of the music. “Mm. Maybe not. But you’re still ours first.”

Ours.  

The word fluttered around all warm and terrible in Seonghwa’s chest. He squeezed Mingi’s hand back so tight it made his knuckles ache.

When they pulled up to the driveway connected to Yunho and Mingi’s home, Seonghwa almost didn’t want to let go. Mingi leaned across the console and pressed his mouth softly to Seonghwa’s temple. “We’re home.” 

The effect those words had on Seonghwa were detrimental, to state something that was so simple but implied so much. He’d said it as if it were Seonghwa’s home too. In fact, Mingi didn’t even drop him off in front of his home like the two of them usually did. Like a silent invitation inside, until it wasn’t so silent anymore. Mingi got out of the car, walking around it to open Seonghwa’s door and help him out. 

“You’re joining us for dinner, yes?” 

“O-oh, well, sure! I didn’t know I was invited,” Seonghwa flushed, earning a boisterous laugh out of Mingi before he threw his arm over Seonghwa’s shoulder and pulled him towards the door. 

“Bun, you don’t need an invitation. Come over whenever you’d like. We always want you around,” he said casually as if he weren’t turning Seonghwa’s entire world upside down in the best way. But before he could walk inside the house, he stopped, which quickly got Mingi’s attention. “Everything okay?” he asked, brows dipping low as he examined Seonghwa. 

“I liked that you kissed me,” Seonghwa said, almost breathless. Mingi’s own shy smile grew on his face as if he weren’t expecting such a declaration. 

“That’s good,” Mingi said. 

“I don’t like the feeling I have, though,” Seonghwa frowned, and the confusion came back to Mingi’s face, “I don’t like feeling like I was doing something sneaky behind Yunho’s back. I—I can tell that there’s something going on when I’m around you both, but at the end of the day, you’re still together and I don’t want to do anything without having explicit permission to do it.” He looked into Mingi’s eyes, searching for…well, something. Judgement, understanding, anything . 

“Oh, Bun,” Mingi’s smile returned, and he pulled Seonghwa close. “Would you like to tell Yunho?” 

Seonghwa nodded his head, leaning into Mingi’s embrace. 

“Okay, then let’s do that first.” Mingi pulled away before clasping hands with Seonghwa and leading him inside the house. 

Inside, the house felt too warm for the winter air outside. The smell of something simmering on the stove drifted through the hall the second Mingi nudged the door open with his shoulder. He didn’t let Seonghwa step away — just kept his arm snug around him while steering him out of his shoes and deeper into the hush of their shared space. 

Your space, his brain whispered. Maybe. 

Maybe.

Yunho’s voice drifted from the kitchen, low and steady as ever, a quiet hum of domestic noise that made Seonghwa’s knees feel soft all over again. When Yunho turned, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his eyes flicked first to Mingi — then straight to Seonghwa. They lingered there, taking him in, from the faint pink at the tips of his ears to the soft swell of his mouth where Mingi’s kiss had already been half-wiped away.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yunho said without hesitation, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like the ache in Seonghwa’s chest didn’t exist at all. His eyes darted to Mingi for just a breath, and something passed silent between them, quick and warm. Mingi squeezed Seonghwa’s shoulder in answer.

Yunho’s eyes flicked back to Seonghwa then, steady and soft but sharper now too, like he could already feel the tremor of truth waiting behind Seonghwa’s parted lips.

“What’s wrong, Bun?” Yunho asked, voice so warm it nearly undid Seonghwa on the spot. He stepped forward, closing the small distance until Seonghwa could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint brush of his sleeve against Seonghwa’s knuckles where Mingi still held tight. Seonghwa’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He felt Mingi’s hand rub a gentle circle between his shoulder blades. Silent support to go on with what he wanted to say.

“I—” Seonghwa’s breath trembled out. He forced himself to meet Yunho’s eyes, the dark calm of them that always made him feel safe. Say it . “Mingi kissed me today. Well, no, we kissed each other.” He didn’t want to put the blame on Mingi for something he had shamelessly taken part in.

Yunho didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at Mingi. Didn’t even blink, really — just watched Seonghwa’s lips form the words like he was memorizing every syllable. “Did you want him to?” Yunho asked, and the softness in his voice nearly brought tears to Seonghwa’s eyes.

“Yes,” Seonghwa whispered. His fingers twisted in the hem of his sweater, the plush fabric of Yunho’s that he’d never given back. “I did. I liked it. But, I didn’t want to do it without you knowing. I don’t want—” He sucked in a breath, chest trembling. “I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want to keep secrets.”

Yunho’s mouth curved at the edges — not a smile, but something older, deeper. He reached out then, his warm palm cupping Seonghwa’s jaw the same way he always did when he needed Seonghwa to stay in a moment. His thumb brushed soft over Seonghwa’s cheek, catching the way his lashes fluttered down and up again.

“You’re not a secret, Hwa,” Yunho said, voice low but clear enough to make the air hum. His eyes flicked up to Mingi then — just for a heartbeat — and the grin Mingi gave back was all mischief and warmth. 

“And you never have to ask to tell the truth. Never.” Mingi added, his hand sliding down from Seonghwa’s shoulder to his waist, where he gave a soft squeeze.

Seonghwa’s lips parted. His chest felt so full it almost ached. He nodded, a tiny nod that made Yunho’s thumb swipe once more over his skin. “Good boy,” Yunho whispered, so soft Seonghwa felt it more than heard it. And for a moment, he thought — hoped — that Yunho might kiss him, too. 

“And in any case,” Yunho pulled back just enough, his thumb leaving a ghost of warmth on Seonghwa’s skin, his grin spreading wider across his mouth, “Mingi’s been wanting to kiss you really bad. We both have.”

His eyes dipped to Seonghwa’s mouth for just a heartbeat — enough to make Seonghwa’s breath hitch — before he flicked his gaze back up, dark and fond all at once. “Are you going to?” Seonghwa asked, his pupils going wide. He earned a little chuckle from Yunho as he went back to cooking. 

“I hope to,” Yunho says as he starts stirring whatever it is he’s making. “When the moment is special. You deserve something special.” 

“He’s not the kind of man to rush, Bun,” MIngi said lowly in Seonghwa’s ear, both hands now on his waist as he held him from behind.

“Especially not just because Mingi’s greedy.” Yunho teased.

Mingi let out a soft huff of laughter behind Seonghwa, squeezing his waist teasingly. “Hey—”

“You are greedy,” Yunho shot back, his tone warm and loving. Then it softened when his words aimed at Seonghwa. “And you don’t need to worry about secrets between us, sweetheart." He put his spatula down and turned back to Seonghwa, closing the distance before resting his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders. “We both want you, and we think that you want us, too.” 

Seonghwa’s throat went tight again, but not from nerves this time — just warmth. He nodded, so small but so sure, and for a moment, he thought Yunho might lean in again.

“Good boy,” Yunho praised once more, then gave Seonghwa’s jaw a final brush before stepping back, his hand drifting to Mingi’s shoulder like an anchor. “Now, come sit. Dinner’s almost done. And you better be hungry.”

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Chapter 5: Selvage Edge

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Time moved differently now. Weeks passed like petals pressed between the pages of Seonghwa’s planner — delicate, quiet, and full of soft moments that bloomed long after they were over. Mornings began with the sound of Yunho’s car in the driveway, the familiar chime of a text that always read:

[Yunho]
Out front, sweetheart. Mingi made you tea.

Sometimes Yunho would lean against the hood with a lopsided grin and a scarf thrown on half-heartedly — always one of Mingi’s. Sometimes he’d hold the thermos up with a raised brow like you better drink this or I’ll feed it to you myself.

On campus, Seonghwa stayed quiet, but not nearly as invisible as before. The professors had started to notice his sketches more. One even stopped to ask about his portfolio. And when Seonghwa flushed and stammered, Mingi — who had just so happened to visit that day — swooped in with a disarming grin and said, “It’s better than most first-year portfolios I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t say that he’d slipped a couple of Seonghwa’s best pieces into an industry contact’s inbox last weekend. Not yet. 

In the evenings, Seonghwa sat curled in Yunho’s oversized hoodie on the floor of their living room, his back to the couch while Mingi massaged his shoulders and helped him pick fabrics for a class assignment.

“This one,” Mingi would murmur near his ear, holding up a swatch of blush-colored silk. “Delicate but bold. It suits you.” He’d place it next to Seonghwa’s naturally sun-kissed skin and lean into him with that silly little grin. “This is the color you turn when we give you too much attention, Bun.” 

Seonghwa had to bury his face in the crook of his elbow after that one, which only made Yunho chuckle from the kitchen where he stirred something on the stove.

And there were always kisses.

Mingi kissed him at least once a day. Quick ones on the cheek when he dropped him off at class. Lazy ones at the studio when Seonghwa stopped by to bring him coffee. Once, when they were alone in Yunho and Mingi’s living room, Mingi had kissed him slow and deep against the bookshelf, both of them breathless and laughing after like they’d discovered a secret.

The next morning, Yunho brought him a smoothie in his favorite flavor and kissed the top of his head with a look that made Seonghwa's chest tighten. Like he knew. Like he was waiting for something.

And Seonghwa was waiting too.

He didn’t know what exactly — only that every moment with Yunho lingered just a little longer than it should. Every glance, every brush of fingers, every time Yunho helped him into his seat and let his hand rest a breath too long on Seonghwa’s waist.

It was slow and intentional. But god, it made him ache.

One Friday afternoon, Yunho had to stay late at the university for department meetings. He’d looked at Seonghwa apologetically, as if the idea of not getting to drive Seonghwa home, or spend that time together, was just as devastating to him as well. “I called Mingi. He should be here soon,” Yunho said as he sat down at his desk, Seonghwa lingering by, drawn into Yunho like a moth to a flame. As if on cue, his phone buzzed. 

[Mingi]
got you today, Bun 🖤

Seonghwa’s smile lit up, a natural reaction to both of the men who were becoming more than he could have hoped for…even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it was they were heading towards. He just knew he liked the way he felt under their gaze, how he could remain bracketed between them for the rest of his life. 

“You both are really getting along,” Yunho mentioned, a twinkle in his eye to help share his delight. Seonghwa swallowed the excitement growing in his throat. 

“I really like him,” Seonghwa said, feeling less of a need to contain his thoughts now. “I…really like both of you,” he said, face turning the same shade of that silk Mingi had held up to his skin just days ago. Yunho reached out to grab Seonghwa’s hand and smiled up at him. 

“We really like you, too,” Yunho returned sincerely. 

Seonghwa didn’t expect Mingi to pull up right outside the building where Yunho’s office was, but there he was — sunglasses on, music low, passenger door already open. He’d texted when he arrived, and Seonghwa barreled out of the building to find him there, and Seonghwa could help the way his heart pounded in his chest.

“Let’s go home,” Mingi said, and his smile was that kind of smile that made trouble taste like dessert.

Mingi didn’t take them straight home.

He took the long way — cutting through the quieter parts of the neighborhood, windows cracked enough to let in the breeze, one hand draped loose over the wheel, the other finding Seonghwa’s thigh like it belonged there. It wasn’t the first time. But something about today — the lazy drag of his thumb over denim, the glint in his eyes when he glanced sideways at Seonghwa — made it feel different.

“Yunho’s probably not gonna be home for another hour,” Mingi said casually, like that meant nothing. Like it wasn’t a door cracked open. “You wanna come in? Keep me company until dinner?”

Seonghwa nodded, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. Sure.” As if Seonghwa keeping him company hadn’t been the plan the entire time. 

Mingi smirked but said nothing more, only slipped his fingers between Seonghwa’s as he led him up the walkway and into the house, keys jingling softly in his pocket. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, something in the air shifted. Seonghwa felt the subtle gravity that always tugged him toward Mingi like a current. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t rushed. It was just inevitable, like the way the moon gravitates around the Earth. 

He toed off his shoes, sweater sleeves tugged nervously over his knuckles. “Want me to help with anything?” 

“Yeah,” Mingi said, already setting his keys down on the side table. His voice had dropped, just barely, but it went straight to Seonghwa’s spine. “You can sit your cute little ass on the couch and keep me company while I pretend to look at work emails and really just think about kissing you again.”

Seonghwa flushed immediately. “Mingi—”

“What?” Mingi asked, stepping in closer now, his hands sliding to Seonghwa’s hips. “You think I haven’t been thinking about it all day? Watching you sit on Yunho’s desk like a pretty little prize, all flushed and sweet? You know what that does to me?”

Seonghwa blinked up at him, breath stuttering. He meant to say something — maybe something coy, maybe something bold — but Mingi kissed him first.

Soft at first. Like asking for permission. But then Seonghwa leaned in, fingers curling in the front of Mingi’s jacket, and that’s when Mingi deepened it. Mouth parting, hand splaying across the small of Seonghwa’s back to pull him in tight. His other hand slid up into Seonghwa’s hair, not tugging, just holding, like he wanted to keep him right there.

Seonghwa made a sound — a quiet, surprised little thing — and it earned an immediate response from Mingi. He groaned into the kiss, stepping them back until Seonghwa’s knees bumped the edge of the couch.

Mingi turned them around before sitting down on the couch and looked up at Seonghwa with those lethal eyes. 

“Come here,” Mingi squeezed Seonghwa’s hips, reminding the younger of the grip that was still on them. “Let me kiss you properly.”

Seonghwa did.

He climbed into Mingi’s lap, straddling him slowly, deliberately. He didn’t rush. He just cupped Mingi’s jaw and kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Not that there was any rush; even when Yunho got home, there would be no need to pull away. In fact, Seonghwa had noticed it, the look of adoration on Yunho’s face when he saw Mingi doting over him, or saw them exchange any affection. Sometimes his fingers twitched, like he was itching to join. 

Seonghwa, who was already trembling a little from all the touch, let his hands find Mingi’s chest, fingers splaying wide, anchoring himself.

When Mingi rolled his hips up, slow and suggestive, Seonghwa gasped into his mouth.

“Still okay?” Mingi asked, nose brushing Seonghwa’s cheek.

“Yes,” Seonghwa breathed. “Just—don’t stop yet.”

Mingi didn’t stop. If anything, he pressed a little closer, letting his hands slide up under the hem of Seonghwa’s sweater — big, warm palms against his bare waist, thumbs brushing over soft skin in slow, lazy strokes.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered, mouth hovering close enough to graze but not touch. “All pink and breathless for me.”

Seonghwa whimpered, the kind of sound that made Mingi’s pupils darken. His thighs trembled a little where they straddled Mingi’s lap, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled in Mingi’s shirt and he kissed him again — harder this time, desperate to taste more of the warmth that made his knees weak.

Mingi’s hands were roaming now. One slid up his spine to cradle the back of his neck. The other traced the dip of his lower back, just low enough to make Seonghwa shiver. He felt drunk on it — on Mingi, on the week, on being wanted so thoroughly.

And then the phone rang.

It buzzed once, loud against the silence. Then again. Then again.

Mingi groaned, head falling back against the couch cushion with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Seonghwa giggled against his throat, breath still caught somewhere between dizzy and dazed. “You should answer it.”

“I’d rather die.”

But he fished his phone out anyway, thumb swiping across the screen. He didn’t even bother to sit up straight — just held the phone to his ear while Seonghwa stayed perched in his lap, still flushed and trembling slightly.

 

Mingi’s entire body language shifted when he looked at the caller ID, the slight annoyance from the interruption slipping away, and a small smile appearing instead before he answered it and placed the phone to his ear.

“Babe,” Mingi practically purred, voice low and still wrecked with heat. “Hi. Yeah. No, we’re home. He’s here with me. …What do we want for dinner?”

Seonghwa blinked down at him.

Mingi raised a brow. “You wanna order in or cook?” he mouthed.

Seonghwa, still breathless, whispered, “Let’s cook.”

Mingi grinned like the devil himself. “We’ll cook,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, I’ve got him. Don’t worry. See you soon, babe. I love you.”

He hung up, eyes snapping back to Seonghwa with a smirk. “Guess we’re cooking.”

“Are you going to let me get off your lap first?” Seonghwa asked, trying to keep his tone even despite the blush still painting his cheeks.

“Do I have to?” Mingi whined, but eventually helped guide Seonghwa to his feet, his fingers brushing all the way down his arms as he stood. He didn’t pull away for long. Not really.

They migrated to the kitchen half-stumbling, still giddy from the tension thrumming under their skin. Mingi found a recipe he liked and started pulling ingredients from the fridge while Seonghwa chopped vegetables — or tried to, anyway, when Mingi wasn’t wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing his neck between stir-frying vegetables.

By the time Yunho walked through the front door, the entire kitchen smelled like garlic and soy, and Seonghwa was backed up against the counter with Mingi bracketing him in and kissing him slow and sweet, fingers trailing down the curve of his waist like a man possessed.

Yunho paused at the doorway, leaned against the frame, and cleared his throat dramatically. “You know, when I asked what you two wanted for dinner, I didn’t expect the answer to be each other . ”

Mingi didn’t even pretend to look ashamed. He just grinned over his shoulder. “We’re multi-tasking.”

“You’re going to burn the rice,” Yunho teased.

Seonghwa squeaked and tried to push Mingi off him, cheeks flaming.

But Yunho was already walking over, rolling up his sleeves and sliding into place behind the pan. On his way, he stopped by the two and took a moment to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips before placing another one onto Yunho’s cheek. “Can’t leave you two alone for one hour.”

Mingi just laughed, tugging Seonghwa close again anyway.

“Like you’d do any better,” Mingi shot back. 

“We’re talking about you right now,” Yunho grinned as he looked at Mingi over his shoulder.

“Just wait, Bun,” Mingi sighed, wrapping his arms snug around Seonghwa’s shoulders, “You’ll be needing chapstick chronically because Yunho will kiss you raw every day. You should make him buy it for you.” 

Seonghwa flushed a deeper shade of red, something about Yunho kissing him causing something to coil tight and deep in his cut. He wanted it. He craved it. 

“Should I be scared?” Seonghwa asked, trying to sound playful, but it came out breathless instead. Mingi just chuckled and tightened his grip, his nose nudging Seonghwa’s temple.

“Terrified,” Yunho deadpanned, stirring the pan like he wasn’t watching every single twitch of Seonghwa’s expression. “I’m clingy and kissy and I always finish my leftovers.” Seonghwa’s shoulders went stiff at the last implication, and Mingi’s hands were there immediately, squeezing and smoothing them out.

“And he hoards the soft blankets,” Mingi added.

Yunho gave him a look. “That’s because you steal all the pillows.”

“Not true. Seonghwa is the pillow now.”

Seonghwa made a mortified noise and tried to squirm out of Mingi’s arms, but Mingi only laughed harder and held on tighter, swaying them gently side to side in the narrow space between the island and the fridge.

“Okay, okay,” Yunho relented, voice softer now as he turned off the burner and let the pan rest. “Let’s eat before this turns into a full custody battle over our Bun.”

Though it never truly felt like a battle. Nor did he feel like an object being shared and passed around. He simply felt wanted…by both of them. And there was never any of that awkward tension between them, nothing that hinted at jealousy or competition. The love Mingi and Yunho shared was palpable, and Seonghwa felt lucky to be able to witness it. 

They set the table together. Matching bowls, the simple plastic chopsticks that Yunho pulled when he was especially exhausted from work, and a half-wilted flower in the small vase at the center of the table that Mingi claimed added “character.” Mingi insisted on serving Seonghwa, piling his bowl high while Yunho topped off his tea.

The whole thing felt easy. Like this was how it was supposed to be. The three of them laughing over too much garlic, teasing Yunho about his apron (it had little puppies on it — a gift from Mingi), Seonghwa ducking his head when either of them looked at him too long. His chopsticks fumbled more than once when their knees bumped under the table, and Yunho, ever patient, just refilled his tea and smiled like he was the luckiest man alive to see Seonghwa here.

After dinner, Seonghwa insisted on helping clean up — which lasted all of five minutes before Yunho herded him gently to the couch with a “Go sit, sweetheart. Let me take care of this.”

Mingi joined him a moment later, pressing a leftover kiss to Seonghwa’s temple as he pulled a blanket over both of them. Yunho hummed quietly from the kitchen, hands in suds, voice drifting like a lullaby over the clink of plates and the low rumble of the dishwasher.

Seonghwa leaned into Mingi’s side and let his head fall against his shoulder. “You guys really do this every night?” he asked quietly, words muffled by the cotton of Mingi’s shirt.

“Mostly,” Mingi said, playing with the edge of Seonghwa’s sleeve. “Sometimes we make each other cry over sappy movies too.”

“And sometimes we eat too much cake and fall asleep on each other like human furniture,” Yunho called over from the sink.

“That too.”

Seonghwa smiled, the kind of smile that ached in his chest. Because for once, the ache wasn’t loneliness. It was gratitude. It was… too many soft things building inside him all at once — and no idea where to put them.

So he just whispered, “Thank you.”

Yunho turned from the kitchen and leaned his hip against the counter, drying his hands on a dish towel. “For what, sweetheart?”

Seonghwa looked up at them both with his heart in his throat and a blanket around his shoulders. He whispered, “For wanting me here.”

Mingi’s hand slipped into his again, gentle but sure.

Yunho’s smile was the softest it had been all night. “We always want you here.”

“The only thing that could possibly make our life better is sharing all of our moments with you,” Mingi added, leaning over to give Seonghwa a gentle kiss. 

When everything settled down, Mingi on one side watching his drama and Yunho on the other silently reading, Seonghwa stretched out his arms and let out a yawn. “Tired?” Yunho asked, setting down his book and turning his attention to Seonghwa, who just nodded in return. 

 

“Why don’t you—” Mingi started, but was cut off, presumably from a look that Yunho had given him. “Why don’t we walk you home,” he said instead. Seonghwa didn’t argue; he knew the drill by now. They’d never let him walk home alone, especially not at night. And, he liked the security they offered. The safety. 

“Don’t stay up too late, Bun,” Mingi said with a soft kiss to Seonghwa’s lips before turning to walk back to the house. Yunho lingered, hands in his pockets as he looked down at Seonghwa, almost as if he were waiting for something. 

“Thanks for walking me home,” Seonghwa said, and Yunho afforded him a tender smile. 

“Of course,” he said simply before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep well, Hwa.” Yunho turned and quickly caught up with Mingi. Seonghwa watched the way Yunho’s arm snaked around Mingi’s waist, how he pulled him close and didn’t let him go. Seonghwa’s own smile formed, feeling a pleasant warmth in his chest whenever he got to witness the way the two older men shared their love. 

When they walked up to their house, Seonghwa finally retreated before washing his day off in the shower and slipped into his bed, holding onto his favorite bunny as well as the one that had been gifted to him.

His phone buzzed in the quiet, making him jump.

He reached for it quickly, thumb brushing the screen to life.

[Yunho]
I’m stealing you tomorrow. Don’t make plans.

[Yunho]
Wear something comfy.

Seonghwa blinked. Read it twice. Then again.

His stomach did that stupid fluttering thing — the one that came with Yunho’s deeper smiles or the way his hand would linger at the small of Seonghwa’s back. He didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the message, a slow warmth spreading through his chest like tea on a cold day.

He texted back before he could overthink it.

[Seonghwa]
Is this a kidnapping or a date?

The typing dots appeared almost immediately.

[Yunho]
Yes.

[Yunho]
Now go to sleep, sweetheart. Big day tomorrow.

Seonghwa set the phone down on his chest, heart fluttering stupidly hard, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He could still feel the trace of Mingi’s kiss on his lips from earlier. Could still hear Yunho’s voice saying we always want you here.

He curled onto his side, plushies hugged to his chest, and smiled into the dark.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Seonghwa’s room looked like a tornado had hit it.

There were sweaters tossed across the bed, pants draped over the back of his chair, and at least three button-downs hanging from the closet door, rejected for being too formal, too plain, or too not what Yunho would like (a silly assumption indeed, as if Yunho wouldn’t like him in anything he wore). His heart had been racing since he woke up — far too early, of course — and the nerves had only gotten worse with every minute that passed.

He’d tried on five outfits. Maybe six. He’d lost count.

The last one, though — soft cream slacks, a pale pink knit top, and a delicate necklace Yunho had complimented before — felt right. Casual, but still soft enough to make him feel like something delicate. Worth dressing up for. He tugged a sweater over his shoulders just in case, and then paused at the mirror to smooth his hair for the fifth time.

His cheeks were already pink.

He wasn’t even sure why he felt so nervous. It wasn’t like this was the first time they’d gone out together. But something about today felt different. Like the whole week had been building to this. Like his heart knew something was about to shift.

The doorbell had startled him.

He scrambled to the window, nearly tripping over a pile of discarded jeans, and peeked through the curtains.

There he was. Yunho, who had taken a few steps back from the front door with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted back to soak up the sun. He looked...unfairly good. Effortless. The sleeves of his black sweater were pushed to his elbows, exposing strong forearms and the soft glint of the watch Seonghwa always liked. The moment he looked up and saw Seonghwa peeking out the window, he grinned.

Seonghwa rushed to grab his bag, stepping carefully over the war zone that had been his wardrobe and slipping on his shoes. He made it to the front door just as his phone buzzed again.

[ Yunho ]
You’re allowed to be excited to see me, you know. I won’t bite. 

[ Yunho ]
Unless you ask nicely.

Seonghwa made a wounded sound in the back of his throat and stuffed the phone into his bag as he yanked the door open.

Yunho was still leaning against the car when he stepped outside, but when he caught sight of Seonghwa, he stood up straight. His smile softened into something warmer — like looking at the sun without blinking.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply, without teasing or hesitation.

Seonghwa ducked his head, trying to hide the way his entire face heated up. “You said comfy.”

“And that’s what you are,” Yunho said, reaching over to open the passenger door for him. “Beautiful and comfy. Best combo.”

Seonghwa slid into the seat, his heart hammering so loud he was surprised Yunho couldn’t hear it. The door shut gently behind him, and Yunho jogged around to the driver’s side.

“So…” Seonghwa glanced sideways once they were on the road. “Where are we going?”

Yunho’s eyes flicked to him with a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”

“But I don’t like surprises,” Seonghwa lied, even though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

“You’ll like this one,” Yunho promised. His hand found Seonghwa’s across the console. “Trust me.”

Seonghwa’s fingers curled into his slowly, and he let out a soft breath.

“I do.”

The city slipped by outside the window, all glass and sun-drenched storefronts, until it thinned into wide roads and quiet hills. Yunho drove like he did everything else — relaxed, confident, one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around Seonghwa’s, thumb stroking soft over his knuckles in lazy arcs.

Seonghwa tried not to focus on the thumb. It wasn’t working.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Yunho said at one point, voice low and coaxing. “Are you nervous?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered over to him, then back out the window. “…Maybe.”

Yunho’s smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know,” Seonghwa whispered. “You just make it hard to think sometimes.”

“Oh?” Yunho turned slightly at the next red light, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is it the devastatingly good looks, or my incredible driving skills?”

“Neither,” Seonghwa said too quickly, and Yunho pretended to pout until Seonghwa laughed. “It’s more…you make me feel like something’s about to happen. Something I should be ready for.”

Yunho hummed, thoughtful. “And are you?”

Seonghwa hesitated. Then, “I think so.”

Yunho squeezed his hand. “Good. Because I’m not doing anything unless you want it, okay? This day’s about you.”

“Not about us?” Seonghwa asked, quiet.

Yunho looked over, eyes soft as candlelight, and gave Seonghwa’s hand another squeeze. “It’s about you and me.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the hum of the road and the low music Yunho always played — mellow jazz, a little retro synth, the kind of stuff that sounded like sunshine and warm kitchens and long looks across rooms.

After a while, Yunho said, “You know, Mingi almost asked if he could tag along.”

Seonghwa laughed, tension breaking a little in his chest. “Let me guess — you threatened to hide all of the pillows?”

“Please,” Yunho scoffed. “He knows better than to get in the way of my romantic master plan.”

“You have a plan ?” Seonghwa teased, raising a brow.

“Of course. Step one: kidnap you.” Yunho gestured toward the road dramatically. “Step two: charm your pants off.”

Seonghwa made a strangled sound and slapped his shoulder. “Yunho!”

He was still giggling when Yunho reached for the glove box at the next stoplight. “And step three…”

He pulled out something soft and plush and handed it over.

Seonghwa blinked down at it — a tiny white bunny plush with soft droopy ears and a stitched heart on its chest.

“You didn’t—”

“Gift shop later,” Yunho said, grinning. “But when I saw this earlier this week, it reminded me of you. So I grabbed it.”

Seonghwa’s voice caught in his throat. His fingers curled around the little plush instinctively, thumb brushing over the tiny heart. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Yunho said. “But I want to be ridiculous for you.”

Seonghwa looked out the window to hide the way his lips trembled around a smile, the plushie pressed to his chest. “I’m going to need to convince my aunt to give me a second room just for all of the stuffed bunnies you two get me.”

Outside, a hand-painted wooden sign passed in a blur: Botanical Garden — 1 km →

“I’m hoping for…a different solution. Depending.” Yunho said, and Seonghwa gave him a confused look at the cryptid statement. 

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa questioned, and Yunho replied with a kiss to the back of his hand. He didn’t press, knowing better than anything that Yunho was sealed tight when he wanted to keep something quiet. 

Maybe he could get it out of Mingi later. 

They pulled into the parking lot of the garden just as the sun reached its highest point, the air warm and sweet with the scent of something blooming. A few bees lazily drifted past the windshield as Yunho cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Seonghwa like he was something worth memorizing.

“You ready?” he asked, voice softer now — not teasing this time, but tender.

Seonghwa nodded, the plush still clutched to his chest. “Yeah. I think so.”

They stepped out into the sun, and the heat curled around them like silk. Yunho came around the car to walk beside him, hand brushing his lower back as they approached the gate, and Seonghwa leaned into the touch like it was second nature.

Inside the garden, it was like stepping into another world.

Vine-covered archways lined the gravel paths, delicate wooden signs pointing toward different groves — roses, orchids, succulents, shade plants. Birds chirped from somewhere overhead, and fountains murmured in the distance, spilling into shallow lily-filled ponds. Every inch of the place seemed soaked in green and gold.

“I used to come here when I needed to think,” Yunho said, nodding toward a tucked-away bench under a cherry tree. “I haven’t been in years.”

“It’s beautiful,” Seonghwa breathed. “I didn’t know something like this was here.”

Yunho glanced sideways at him. “Isn’t it funny how that happens?”

They walked slowly, no rush, just the occasional shoulder bump or shared glance when a flower looked particularly strange or beautiful. Yunho pointed out a purple-blooming vine that curled upward toward the sky, explaining that it only opened fully when the weather was just right. Seonghwa bent low to smell a bed of tiny white flowers and Yunho took a candid photo without asking, then showed him with a bashful shrug.

“It was a good moment,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Eventually, they wandered into the shade of a small tree-covered walkway, dappled sunlight flickering across their skin. Yunho’s fingers found Seonghwa’s again, just like they always did — easy and warm.

“This okay?” he asked, even now. Always checking.

“More than okay,” Seonghwa whispered. “This feels like…a dream.”

They lingered under the trees for a while, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves, the soft hush of footsteps on gravel, the occasional distant splash of a bird diving into water. Yunho squeezed Seonghwa’s hand gently, his thumb brushing lazy circles along the back of it, and Seonghwa leaned into him just a little more.

And then a drop of water landed on Seonghwa’s cheek.

He blinked up at the sky.

Yunho noticed the same thing a second later, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wait a second—” Another drop hit the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”

More drops followed, gentle at first, like the sky couldn’t decide whether it meant it. But within moments, the clouds had thickened into a soft gray smear overhead, and the rain turned steady — not heavy, not yet, but enough to mist their shoulders and dampen the path beneath their feet.

Yunho groaned, tipping his head back like he could scold the clouds into submission. “I swear it said clear all day.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help it — he giggled. Because of course Yunho had checked the weather forecast for today. Something overwhelming and tight bloomed in Seonghwa’s chest at Yunho’s confession.

The sound of thunder rolled faintly in the distance — far off still, but a quiet nudge to find cover. Yunho took Seonghwa’s hand again and tugged gently. “Come on. Let’s duck into the gift shop. Maybe the weather gods will show mercy by the time we’re done. I can’t believe this, a thunderstorm in March, is winter already over?”

They made it to the gift shop just as the rain picked up, fat droplets tapping across the garden’s greenhouse roof and leaves with gentle insistence. Yunho cursed under his breath and tugged Seonghwa inside by the hand, both of them half-laughing, half-drenched.

“I swear the forecast said clear skies,” Yunho grumbled, water dripping from his hair. “I checked three times.”

Seonghwa was still giggling, wiping his cheeks dry with the sleeves of his cardigan. “I don’t mind,” he said honestly. “It’s kind of romantic.”

Yunho looked over at him then, breath catching slightly at the way the rain had made Seonghwa’s lashes stick together, the flush of warmth still high in his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Yunho murmured. “It really is.”

The gift shop was small, tucked near the entrance, the glass fogged slightly from the sudden shift in temperature. Inside, it smelled like old wood, lavender sachets, and something sugary — maybe the wrapped candies by the register.

And plushies. Hundreds of them.

A full wall lined with soft creatures in flower-themed outfits, bees with little velvet wings, frogs in rain boots, bunnies with tiny teacups sewn to their paws. Seonghwa made a soft little sound — not quite a gasp, not quite a squeal — and Yunho grinned so wide his cheeks hurt.

“You’re going to want to take them all home, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa reached up to grab a plush that looked suspiciously like a tiny fox in a sunflower apron. “I’m being reasonable,” he said, clutching it close like it was sacred.

“That’s what hoarders say,” Yunho teased, stepping up beside him and grabbing a floppy bunny holding a raincloud. He turned it in his hands before holding it out. “This one looks like how I feel every time you say goodbye.”

Seonghwa blinked at him — lips parting, breath hitching. And then he laughed, ducking his head with an unhideable smile. “You’re so silly.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Yunho nudged him gently. “You’re smiling.”

Seonghwa softened, pulling the bunny from his hands and tucking it under one arm with the fox plush. “I’m getting both,” he said with quiet finality.

“And an umbrella,” Yunho added, reaching toward the stand near the counter where floral-patterned ones were stacked. He picked a pastel blue one with little white clouds on the fabric and nodded to himself. “This one’s got main character energy.”

“I think you just want to be seen holding a cute umbrella,” Seonghwa teased.

“Not true,” Yunho said, grabbing the umbrella and the plushies and heading toward the register. “I want you to be seen under it. With me.”

Seonghwa didn’t say anything right away, just stared at Yunho’s broad back, the way he fumbled with his wallet and tried to act like he wasn’t casually stealing every inch of Seonghwa’s heart, or at least the half of it that Mingi had left on purpose.

He followed after him quietly, hands warm from where they’d held all those soft things.

And then — umbrella in hand, plushies bagged, rain still misting outside the windows — Yunho turned to him with a small smile.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk. The path by the river’s always quiet after it rains.”

And just like that, Seonghwa nodded.

Because he wasn’t ready to go home yet, not when he got to experience this as his reality. 

The rain had softened to a mist by the time they reached the river path.

Yunho held the umbrella above both of them, though it tilted slightly toward Seonghwa more often than not. He didn’t mention it, but Seonghwa noticed. He noticed the way Yunho walked a little slower so their steps matched. The way his thumb brushed the inside of Seonghwa’s wrist where their hands hung close. The way the silence between them felt heavy in all the best ways — warm, waiting.

The path curved along the river’s edge, slick stones and pale grass catching the light. The clouds hung low now, soft and silver, like the whole world had been dimmed to a hush just for them.

“This is my favorite part,” Yunho said quietly, nodding ahead toward a cluster of cherry trees leaning out over the river. “They bloom early here, before anywhere else.”

Seonghwa glanced up, mouth parting at the sight of a few pale buds already curling open despite the chill in the air.

“They’re stubborn,” Yunho added. “Like you.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Me?”

Yunho smiled faintly. “You didn’t want to come to dinner, remember? You said something about intruding. Now you’re here holding plushies and walking under the same umbrella with me.”

“You kidnapped me,” Seonghwa reminded him softly, not even bothering to hide the fondness in his voice.

“You let me,” Yunho returned.

They paused near the trees, the river murmuring below, umbrella balanced between them.

Seonghwa turned toward him, the bunny plush’s bag swinging gently at his side. The mist made his hair frizz just slightly around the edges, lips soft with whatever gloss he’d dabbed on that morning, still caught between dewy and bitten.

“Yunho,” he said, almost breathless.

Yunho raised a questioning eyebrow as he looked down at Seonghwa with all of his attention. The same way he did each time, making Seonghwa feel so undeniably seen .

Seonghwa stepped in, close enough that the tips of their shoes touched.

And then he kissed him.

It was soft, at first — shy and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. But Yunho’s free hand found his waist immediately, and his lips parted just enough to let Seonghwa deeper, warmer, braver.

The umbrella tilted dangerously, forgotten, and rain danced along the back of Seonghwa’s neck.

Yunho kissed the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth like he never wanted to stop.

When they pulled apart, Seonghwa stayed close, his eyes fluttering open with a shaky breath.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he whispered.

Yunho just stared at him for a moment, like he was something rare and unreal. Then he leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you.”

The river rolled on beside them, quiet and steady.

The umbrella finally slipped, landing askew in the crook of Yunho’s elbow, forgotten completely now as Seonghwa leaned in again — just a little. Just enough to brush their lips together like a secret.

Yunho caught it.

Caught him .

Tilted his head and kissed Seonghwa slower this time, deeper. It wasn’t rushed or wild. It was reverent — like he was trying to memorize every curve of Seonghwa’s mouth, the way he sighed into it, the way his hands curled in Yunho’s coat like he didn’t want to let go.

And Yunho didn’t want to let go either.

He only broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “You’re really not a dream, are you?”

Seonghwa shook his head, eyes soft and wet from mist or maybe from the heat behind his lashes. “I’m here,” he said.

Yunho kissed his cheek. Then his jaw. Then the place just beneath his ear, where Seonghwa made a sound so quiet it might’ve been a whimper.

Yunho murmured, barely a breath, “I’m going to be so good to you, sweetheart.”

Seonghwa melted.

He didn’t say anything at first — just tipped forward and pressed another kiss to Yunho’s lips, then another, until they were swaying slightly under the umbrella, soaked in affection and rain. One of Yunho’s hands stayed anchored at Seonghwa’s waist, the other gripping onto the umbrella.

“You already are,” Seonghwa whispered into the corner of Yunho’s mouth.

Another kiss. Softer now. Lazy and full of everything they hadn’t said.

And when they finally pulled back, breathless and glowing, Yunho reached to adjust the umbrella above them again, shielding Seonghwa as best he could.

“Let’s go find somewhere dry,” he said with a grin, tucking the plush bag tighter under his arm. “Before I decide to kiss you in every puddle on the way to the car.”

Seonghwa laughed, heart light, cheeks warm. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Exactly.”

They turned back toward the path, steps slow, fingers tangled between them.

And just like the first time Seonghwa stepped into their home, or curled on their couch, or kissed Mingi in the hallway, this moment felt inevitable — like the kind of day you’d press between pages and revisit forever.

 

The rain had slowed by the time they reached the car, just a soft drizzle that speckled the windshield as Yunho pulled out of the lot. Seonghwa sat curled in his seat, still holding the gift shop plushies, cheeks flushed and damp hair curling slightly at the edges.

Neither of them spoke much.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward — just full. Full of everything they’d shared, of hands and mouths and whispered promises under the rain. Yunho glanced over at him once, then again, like he couldn’t help himself.

Seonghwa smiled without looking, like he could feel it.

“Did you have a good time?” Yunho asked eventually, voice quiet with something careful tucked behind it.

Seonghwa turned his head and met his gaze. “I had the best time.”

Yunho’s smile was slow and fond, and for a moment, Seonghwa wondered if he would pull the car over again. But he didn’t. He just reached over and laced their fingers together on the center console, holding them there the rest of the way.

When they pulled up outside Seonghwa’s place, the porch light had already flicked on. The rain was nothing more than mist now, clinging to the windshield.

Yunho didn’t turn off the engine, but he reached for the umbrella before stepping out and opening Seonghwa’s door and helping him step out of the car. 

“Ready to get rid of me already?” Seonghwa teased, feigning hurt feelings, “When you’re the one who stole me today.” Yunho reached up, squishing Seonghwa’s cheeks together as he looked down at him with sincerity. 

“If I don’t drop you off here and go home now, I can’t promise I’ll behave myself Bun. I need to be able to focus while I’m grading papers, as much as I want to drag you inside my house.” He leaned down and placed a kiss onto Seonghwa’s smooshed lips. Yunho let go and wrapped his arm around Seonghwa’s waist to lead him up to the front door. “You’ll be over again soon, and maybe then we won’t let you leave again,” he teased, placing a final kiss to his temple. 

“Thank you for today,” Seonghwa said, hand lingering on the door handle. 

“Thank you ,” Yunho said in return. 

“For what?” Seonghwa questioned. 

“Being so perfect.” 

 

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Notes:

Poor Hwa has no idea what he's getting into.

Chapter 6: Pressed Between Seams

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The sunlight was soft when Seonghwa stirred awake, pale and golden through the sheer curtains draped across his window. It touched his skin as if it were trying to wake him, gentle and unhurried, warming the sheets tangled around his legs.

He blinked slowly at the ceiling, still caught in that hazy place between dreaming and remembering.

Yunho’s lips.

The way the rain had kissed his neck just seconds before Yunho did.

The way Yunho had looked at him afterward — like he’d waited forever for that exact moment.

Seonghwa exhaled shakily and brought his hands up to cover his face. His palms were warm, like his body hadn’t stopped burning from all the kisses and smiles and soft, perfect words passed between them under that tiny umbrella. It felt surreal. Like something he should have to peel out of a dream journal.

Except it was real.

He rolled onto his side and hugged his plushies close — both the old, worn one and the new bunny holding the raincloud that still smelled faintly like Yunho’s cologne. His pajamas crinkled as he shifted — his favorite Pompompurin set, pale yellow with tiny pudding-shaped faces printed all over the short sleeves and matching shorts. Childish, maybe, but they made him feel soft and safe.

His heart ached in the most confusing way. Because it wasn’t just Yunho he was thinking about. It was Mingi, too — tall and beautiful, always quick with a compliment or a hand on his waist, his mouth warm and teasing whenever they kissed. There had been so many kisses lately. From both of them.

And somehow none of it felt like a mistake, or like it was wrong. They weren’t asking him to choose. They never pushed him to define it. It was like they just…wanted him. However he came. However he felt safe.

Still, his brain spun with the weight of it all.

What was this?

Was it dating? Was it a throuple? Was it the beginning of something serious, or were they just—?

His stomach twisted. He didn’t want to overthink it. But it was hard not to, when every touch made him feel like something delicate being threaded into place. When Yunho held his hand like he already knew where it belonged. When Mingi kissed him like he was memorizing the taste.

I want this, Seonghwa thought, arms tightening around the plushie. Even if I don’t know what it is yet…I want it.

He bit his lip and sighed, letting himself sink deeper into the pillow. The sunlight had reached the curve of his knees now, warming the plush cotton of his shorts. Outside, the street was quiet — no cars, no dogs, no noise at all.

Just stillness.

Until the doorbell rang.

Seonghwa blinked, startled. He scrambled to sit up, hair sticking up in too many directions, legs tangled in the blanket. He looked around, confused. It was too early for deliveries. Too late for a neighbor to be checking in.

And yet—

Ding-dong.

He padded toward the door, a little slow, a little unkempt, still in his cartoon-print pajamas. The bunny plush was clutched tight in one hand. He peeked through the peephole, then opened the door. Yunho was standing there with two coffees and a paper bag. Mingi was beside him in dark glasses and a hoodie, holding up a smoothie like a peace offering.

“Surprise,” Yunho said with that sleepy grin. “We brought breakfast.”

Seonghwa blinked at them in disbelief. “You two—why—”

“You didn’t answer your texts last night,” Mingi said. “We got worried. Figured we’d check in.”

Seonghwa flushed, his heart turning to syrup in his chest. “I…I fell asleep.”

“He didn’t send you any texts,” Yunho said. “We just missed you.”

Then his eyes dropped, trailing slowly down the length of Seonghwa’s pajamas.

“Pompompurin?” Yunho grinned wider. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Mingi whistled low. “I’m obsessed.”

Seonghwa nearly slammed the door shut out of embarrassment, but Yunho braced it gently with his knee.

“Let us in,” he said. “We’ve got egg sandwiches and nowhere else to be.”

Seonghwa stepped back to let them in, cheeks flushed and heart pounding like a cartoon character’s — all thudding chest and visible steam when Yunho brushed past him and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“You look adorable,” Yunho hummed lowly, like it was just for him.

Then Mingi followed with a cheeky grin and kissed the other side. “Deadly. Absolutely criminal.”

“I’m not even dressed yet,” Seonghwa whined, voice squeaky as he hugged his plush tighter to his chest. But he didn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t have if he tried.

“You are dressed,” Mingi said, dropping the smoothie onto the table with a wink. “Just not for the general public. Lucky for us, we’re not general.”

Seonghwa flailed briefly in the middle of his kitchen, then turned toward the cupboard with an embarrassed grumble. “Cups. We need cups. And maybe a paper bag to put over my head.”

“You’re not getting out of this,” Yunho teased, already unboxing the breakfast and setting it up with practiced ease. “You’re cute. That’s just the truth. Now sit before your smoothie melts.”

Still red in the face, Seonghwa lowered himself into one of the chairs at the table and watched them fall into rhythm. Mingi turned on his Bluetooth speaker to some mellow bossa nova playlist. Yunho pulled out extra napkins. It was his home, but somehow they made it feel more like home than it ever had. Then again, had there really been a moment here where Yunho and Mingi weren’t already infiltrating his life? His mind? Possibly his heart? 

Yunho handed Seonghwa a warm sandwich still wrapped in wax paper, then set his own down and slid into the seat next to him. Mingi sat across, long legs bumping gently under the table until all three of them were tucked in like something whole.

“Did you drink some warm tea before bed last night?” Yunho asked, and Seonghwa looked at him, mildly puzzled. 

“Well, yes, but how did you—”

“You get all sniffly the day after it rains a lot,” Yunho commented casually.

Seonghwa paused mid-chew. He hadn’t even realized they’d noticed that. He ducked his head, warmth spilling down to the pit of his stomach.

Mingi kicked him lightly under the table. “You’re doing that face again.”

“What face?”

“The I’m trying not to cry because someone was nice to me face.”

Seonghwa let out a wounded squeak. “I do not —!”

Yunho smirked and took another bite of his sandwich, brushing his knee against Seonghwa’s again. “You do.”

Mingi leaned in over the table with a grin, his chin resting in his hand. “You’re lucky we find it cute.”

“Unfair,” Seonghwa mumbled around a bite.

“Everything’s unfair when you’re that pretty in pudding pajamas,” Yunho murmured beside him.

Seonghwa pressed his face into his hands. “Can I eat in peace without being—”

“Kissed?” Mingi offered.

Seonghwa peeked through his fingers, one eye narrowed. “Bullied.”

Yunho shrugged with that soft look he always gave Seonghwa — like he was something to be treasured. Like something he did treasure. “We can do both.”

They ate slowly, laughter filling the tiny space between them. The air smelled like egg and coffee and sunlight on cotton sheets. Under the table, their knees kept brushing, small reminders of how close they’d grown, how easy it was to fall into sync.

The dishes didn’t stand a chance. Mingi loaded them into the sink with a loud declaration of “I’ll do these later,” while Yunho wiped down the table and turned the speaker off. Before Seonghwa could even think to protest, he was already being herded toward the couch — sandwich finished, smoothie half-drunk, blanket slung across his shoulders like a royal cape. Yunho and Mingi were merely just servants and this was his castle.

“What are we watching?” Yunho asked as he flopped onto the couch, legs wide and arms open like he was waiting for someone to fall into them.

“ Hwa’s choice,” Mingi said, already scrolling through Seonghwa’s queue on the TV like he lived there. “Something comfy. No crying.”

“I don’t—” Seonghwa began, but Mingi looked up at him with a grin.

“Yes, you do cry, and I like when you cry, but today I want to cuddle, not wipe your nose.”

Seonghwa made a noise that was somewhere between scandalized and flattered.

Eventually, they landed on one of Seonghwa’s old favorites — a lighthearted fantasy film with a sweeping score and charming characters who fell in love under starlight and magic curses. It was the kind of movie that made Seonghwa sigh even before the title card faded in.

He curled between them without even thinking. Mingi on his left, long and warm and already pulling the blanket tighter around them. Yunho on the right, steady and solid, his arm a reassuring weight behind Seonghwa’s back.

Halfway through the film, Mingi reached over and tapped Yunho’s leg. “Okay, you have to admit the prince is kind of hot.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “He looks like a sad candle.”

“I like sad candles,” Seonghwa offered quietly, blinking up at the screen.

Mingi leaned in and kissed the side of his head. “Of course you do.”

They went quiet again for a bit — save for a few shared glances, a moment where Seonghwa adjusted and ‘accidentally’ ended up with his head on Yunho’s shoulder, legs tangled over Mingi’s lap.

Yunho shifted to make more room for him. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa whispered. His voice was light and content, threaded with a sleepy kind of peace. “I think this is the most comfiest I’ve ever been.”

Mingi smiled against the rim of his to-go coffee cup. “Then maybe we should make it official.”

Seonghwa blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Yunho glanced down at him too, hand rubbing soft, absent-minded circles into Seonghwa’s arm. “We were thinking… we could take you out.”

“Like—”

“A real date,” Mingi said, voice gentler now. “All three of us. Just something fun. No pressure.”

“It’s not just because we kissed,” Yunho added quickly, sensing the hesitation fluttering behind Seonghwa’s eyes. “It’s because we care about you, and we like you. A lot. And we want to show that. Properly.”

“And not just separately,” Mingi added softly, “We both like you on our own, independently. But we like you together, too.” 

Seonghwa sat there for a long moment, the weight of it pressing sweet and heavy into his chest.

A date. With both of them.

Not a secret.

Just… three hearts choosing the same beat.

“I’d like that,” he said finally, voice barely a whisper. “I’d really like that.”

Mingi grinned, wide and boyish, and Yunho let out a breath like he hadn’t realized he was holding it.

“Good,” Yunho murmured, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s temple. “Then it’s a date. Next weekend, since Mingi will be gone for work for a week or two after.”

Seonghwa melted between them, blinking slowly at the screen while the credits rolled in gold. He ignored the oncoming sadness of Mingi not being around for a whole week, much less two of them.

The rest of the world could wait.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Seonghwa woke up before his alarm.

It wasn’t nerves, exactly. More like…a buzz beneath his skin, a fluttering warmth in his chest that had been building all week. His room was still dim, the early sun filtering through gauzy curtains, and for a moment he just lay there in his bed — blanket tangled around his legs, plushies cradled under his arms — and let himself remember.

The kisses.

Yunho in the rain, cupping his jaw like he was something delicate. Whispering I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you. Mingi pulling him close in the kitchen, kissing him like the world might stop if he didn’t. The way Yunho had walked in, smirking like they were the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

He wanted more.

He sat up slowly, blinking blearily at the mess he’d made last night trying to pick out an outfit. Half his closet was on the floor — hangers bent at odd angles, two pairs of shoes abandoned halfway through a mental debate. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Seonghwa snatched it up with a sleepy grin.

[Mingi]
we’re so excited to see u, bun.

He barely had time to reply to the newly created group chat before another text came through:

[Yunho]
Dress pretty, we’re taking lots of pictures.

Seonghwa’s face went warm. He flopped back on the bed, phone against his chest, breath caught between a laugh and a sigh. He didn’t know what this was. Not really. There hadn’t been any serious conversations yet. No definitions, no boundaries, no labels. Just stolen kisses and dinner together and Mingi’s fingers brushing his waist like he already knew the shape of Seonghwa’s body by heart.

But god — he wanted it .

He wanted their hands. Their laughter. Their warmth.

He wanted to learn how to be loved by both of them at once, how to love them both at once. For a moment, he didn’t even care about getting ahead of himself or that it was way too soon to talk about such trivial feelings of the heart such as love , especially when he didn’t know what he was to them. 

With newfound resolve, he sat up and got to work.

Seonghwa stood in front of his mirror, fingers nervously fussing with the hem of his soft pink sweater vest — the one with tiny embroidered daisies along the neckline. Underneath, he’d paired it with a crisp white button-up and tucked it all neatly into tailored cream slacks. It was preppy. Clean. A little delicate. And still unmistakably him. His favorite pair of white high-top Converse completed the look, scuffed just enough to remind him that things which were well loved didn’t always remain crisp and clean. 

He checked himself one last time and fixed a stray piece of hair, reapplied a bit of balm to his lips, and adjusted the fall of his collar. The butterflies in his stomach were full-blown now. Not panic, just the kind of fluttering that came with wanting. Wanting to be seen. Maybe even adored.

The doorbell rang.

Seonghwa let out a shaky laugh and grabbed his bag before heading to the door.

When he stepped out onto the front stoop, he stopped in his tracks, because there they were. Standing on his front porch like they’d walked straight out of a magazine ad for boyfriends who will ruin you gently. Yunho wore dark slacks and a dove-gray button-up tucked in just enough to show his waist, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair swept back in that effortless way that always made Seonghwa’s knees weak. Mingi, beside him, had gone for something a little more relaxed — a light blue open-collared shirt with his sleeves pushed high, some layered jewelry, and wide-legged trousers that flowed when he moved.

But it wasn’t the clothes that did it.

It was the way they looked at him.

Both of them stood up straighter when they saw him, faces lighting up in tandem. Yunho grinned like the sun was shining just for him, while Mingi let out a low whistle and shook his head with a grin.

“Are you trying to kill us, Bun?” Mingi said, walking up first to offer the flowers — a soft little bouquet of tulips and eucalyptus, tied with ribbon. “You’re so damn cute.” He leaned in, grasping Seonghwa’s chin tenderly before capturing his lips in a kiss that was swift and yet still managed to take Seonghwa’s breath away.

“You look beautiful,” Yunho added, quieter as he stepped close enough to kiss Seonghwa’s cheek, letting his fingers brush down the arm of his vest. “Is this new? It suits you.”

Seonghwa flushed furiously. “You guys are too much.”

“No such thing,” Mingi said, slinging an arm gently around his shoulder as he guided him toward the car.

When Yunho opened the passenger door with a flourish and a wink, Mingi made a little sigh and leaned in to kiss the side of Seonghwa’s head anyway before climbing into the back as if he was devastated to be separated.

As Yunho slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, Seonghwa clutched the bouquet in his lap, heart hammering in his chest. The car smelled like Mingi’s cologne and Yunho’s body wash and something soft and clean that reminded him of the way it felt to be between them on the couch, under a blanket, with nothing to worry about but whose turn it was to pick the movie.

Yunho glanced over at him with a soft smile. “You ready for the best day of your life, sweetheart?”

“I already feel like I’m in it,” Seonghwa whispered, too quiet for anyone to hear.

But Yunho’s fingers brushed his gently where he had them in his lap, just before intertwining them. The car fell into that same comfortable silence it always did with Yunho and Mingi. The one that established that they didn’t need to be talking or joking or…doing anything, really to enjoy their presence with one another. 

The gallery sat tucked into a side street just off the main downtown stretch, housed in a renovated greenhouse with sprawling vines pressed up against the windows and a mural of koi fish swimming across the facade. A small chalkboard sign outside read: 

Interactive Impressions – Touch. Create. Immerse.

Inside, the air was cool and perfumed with dried flowers and old wood. The lighting was soft, golden, casting dappled shadows on the concrete floor and making everything feel like it belonged in a dream.

Seonghwa had barely taken three steps inside before Mingi leaned in close and whispered, “Funny… I thought this was supposed to be an art exhibit. But all I’m seeing is you.”

Seonghwa flushed instantly, half-laughing as he swatted lightly at Mingi’s chest. “That was terrible.”

“Terribly accurate,” Yunho added from his other side, raising his phone and snapping a candid photo of Seonghwa mid-smile, the glow of the window at his back like a halo. “You look beautiful in this light.”

“You guys are going to run out of storage space on your phones at this rate,” Seonghwa murmured, trying not to squirm under their attention — but failing, because their attention didn’t make him nervous. Not anymore. Not with them. Instead, it gave him a plethora of other feelings that were starting to become a problem. 

“Good thing we pay for cloud backup,” Mingi said, snapping a photo from a different angle. “Say cheese.”

“I’m not—” Seonghwa started, but the camera clicked anyway, and Mingi grinned like he’d just caught a rare butterfly.

The exhibit started with a wall of textures; pieces of velvet and sandpaper, stone and mesh and glitter-glossed acrylics. Seonghwa traced his fingertips along each one with growing fascination, pausing to feel how the materials changed under pressure. Behind him, Yunho and Mingi murmured about the space, about the way light fell through an overhead prism to cast dancing colors on Seonghwa’s shoulders.

“You’re really in your element, huh?” Yunho asked, stepping up behind him. “You look so at home.”

“It’s nice to be somewhere that encourages touch,” Seonghwa said without thinking, then immediately regretted it. He felt Yunho go still for a beat — then chuckle, warm and low in his throat.

“Careful with lines like that, sweetheart,” Yunho murmured. “You’ll end up getting kissed in public.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Seonghwa whispered back before he could stop himself.

Yunho’s smile turned molten.

They moved from station to station — one where you could build your own sculpture with soft magnetic clay, another where colored sand poured through small funnels to create mandala-like designs. Mingi made something abstract and silly that he claimed was “conceptually bold,” while Yunho constructed a little heart with their three names carved into it using a blunt wooden stick.

Seonghwa ran his fingers over the edge of it like it might crumble if he wasn’t careful.

Everywhere they went, Yunho or Mingi had a camera or phone in hand. The clicks and shutter sounds were constant, a soft background chorus to the sound of low jazz playing from hidden speakers. Every time Seonghwa laughed, one of them captured it. Every time he tilted his head to observe a texture or let his fingers linger on something delicate, it was caught. And each time, he looked over to find them watching him like he was the masterpiece.

“You two are ridiculous,” he mumbled as Mingi knelt to take a photo of him crouched beside a glass sculpture that looked like a blooming flower.

“You look ridiculous,” Mingi teased. “Ridiculously cute.”

Seonghwa just shook his head — but he didn’t pull away. 

Not with them.

They stepped out of the immersive light installation and into a softly lit hallway lined with hanging origami birds, their shadows dancing on the floor like ripples in water. Seonghwa’s fingers were still wrapped in Yunho’s, warm and easy, while Mingi lingered just behind, one hand at the small of his back.

It wasn’t loud anymore. The museum had grown hushed, the kind of quiet that invited softness. Reverence.

“You’ve been glowing all day,” Yunho murmured, leaning close enough that Seonghwa could feel the words brush his ear. “If someone were to ask me what the most beautiful piece in this whole gallery was…” His eyes flicked down Seonghwa’s frame, hungry but fond. “I think I’d have to point at you.”

Seonghwa bit back a smile, cheeks blooming pink. “You’re just saying that because I wore something pastel.”

Mingi chuckled low behind them. “He’d say that even if you were in a trash bag, Bun.” He leaned forward, brushing Seonghwa’s other hand with his fingers until they intertwined. “But luckily for us, you have style. So now we’re just overwhelmed.”

They reached the end of the hall, and Mingi gently tugged him to a stop between two hanging curtains. Behind them was a softly glowing art piece — slow-moving projections on gossamer sheets, something about time and memory — but all Seonghwa could focus on was the feeling of their bodies hemming him in, one on either side.

“We could stay like this all day,” Yunho said, brushing the hair back from Seonghwa’s forehead and letting his fingers linger on his temple. “Just watching you get soft under our hands.”

“I’m already soft,” Seonghwa whispered. “I’ve been soft since I met you.”

Mingi let out a low hum of pleasure at that, leaning in to press a kiss to the edge of Seonghwa’s jaw, slow and warm. Yunho kissed the corner of his mouth right after, like a matched pair.

It was no longer teasing. No longer casual. It was something gentler, something heavier.

“I want to kiss you again,” Yunho said, almost to himself. “But I don’t want to rush. I want to savor every second.”

Seonghwa swallowed hard, his pulse singing. “Then kiss me slowly.”

Yunho did.

It wasn’t desperate — not like the kisses in the kitchen, or the first stolen ones in the rain. This was different. Patient. Possessive. The kind of kiss that carved out space for something lasting. When they finally parted, Seonghwa felt dizzy in the best way, like he’d been dipped into something golden.

“We should go eat soon,” Mingi murmured, brushing his thumb over Seonghwa’s hand. “Then we can get to part of your date we’re most excited about.”

Seonghwa blinked at him. “There’s more?”

Yunho’s smile curled into his lips slowly. “You didn’t think we’d give you just art, did you?”

Mingi leaned in close again, lips brushing Seonghwa’s ear as he whispered, “There’s dessert. A surprise. And a place where you can sit in our laps without getting caught.”

Seonghwa laughed, breathless and bright. “Okay. Let’s go.”

And as they walked back through the museum — fingers laced, shoulders brushing, warmth radiating in every look — Seonghwa knew that now that he had this, he was afraid to know what it felt like to lose it. 

The restaurant Mingi had picked was tucked at the end of a quiet brick alley, its name carved elegantly into a wooden sign hung beneath a string of warm fairy lights. Inside, it smelled like rosemary and wine, the air thick with the clink of silverware and the low hum of a jazz trio playing in the corner.

Their table was already waiting — a private little booth near the back, half-hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines. The lighting was dim and golden, the kind that made everything look soft around the edges. A candle flickered in the center of the table, casting shadows that danced on the clean white tablecloth.

Yunho helped Seonghwa out of his coat like a gentleman, his fingers brushing the slope of his shoulder a second too long. Mingi guided Seonghwa into the booth with a wink and a smirk, murmuring something about being on his best behavior, but Seonghwa wasn’t sure how he’d manage when he was between Yunho and Mingi whose hands seemed to have a mind of their own tonight.

Seonghwa was still blushing when their waitress arrived.

She was friendly — a little too friendly. Her eyes lingered on Yunho a beat longer than necessary, her smile just a little more flirtatious when she turned to Mingi.

“And for you?” she asked, clearly unaware that the pretty boy in soft pastels seated between them was the sun they revolved around.

Seonghwa kept quiet and smiled politely. He wasn’t possessive — not really, especially when it didn’t feel like he had any place to be — but there was something oddly satisfying in the way Mingi’s hand slid under the table to squeeze his knee, grounding and sure. Yunho didn’t even glance at the waitress as he passed Seonghwa a piece of warm bread, his fingers brushing Seonghwa’s in that way he always did. Like he couldn’t help it.

They ordered wine — just a little — and shared dishes, leaning in close to let Seonghwa try bites off their forks. Mingi flicked crumbs off Seonghwa’s cheek with a smirk. Yunho poured him water before he could ask.

At one point, Yunho looked up, caught the soft way Seonghwa was watching them both, and smiled.

“You okay, Bun?”

Seonghwa nodded, his throat a little tight. “Just… wondering how I got this lucky.”

Mingi chuckled, reaching across the table to brush his fingers along the back of Seonghwa’s hand. “We were gonna say the same thing.”

The food came in waves — delicate plates arranged like artwork, each more colorful than the last. But none of it held Seonghwa’s attention the way the men on either side of him did.

Mingi sipped his wine and leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “So,” he drawled, tapping his fingers against the base of his glass. “Be honest — how many outfits did you try on before we showed up today?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes over the rim of his glass, but a smile tugged at his lips. “None of your business.”

“Oh, so at least six,” Yunho said smoothly, leaning on his elbow like he had all night to enjoy the view. “And I bet none of them compared to what you landed on. You look like…like something soft and sweet. Like the type of candy that needs to be unwrapped slowly so you don’t devour it all at once.”

Seonghwa’s fork faltered mid-bite. “Yunho,” he whispered, scandalized.

“What?” Yunho feigned innocence, stealing a piece of roasted carrot off Seonghwa’s plate. “I’m appreciating the effort. It’s a compliment.”

“You make everything sound like it belongs in the back room of a bookstore,” Seonghwa mumbled, but he was blushing furiously, and Mingi was no help at all — just grinning, his hand sliding back under the table to rest on Seonghwa’s thigh again — higher this time — giving soft squeezes, rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

“We can stop if you’re uncomfortable,” Mingi said, voice quieter now. “But I don’t want to tone it down if you’re enjoying it.”

Seonghwa blinked, heart stuttering. “I… I do enjoy it. I just—” He cut himself off with a breathy laugh. “I’m not used to being the center of attention like this.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Yunho said gently, his foot nudging Seonghwa under the table. “Because you are to us every time you’re around.”

“And even when you’re not,” Mingi added, “In fact, we’d love it if you were around us more.” 

Seonghwa glanced between them, his voice a little quieter. “You make it really hard to think straight when you say things like that.”

Mingi leaned in even closer, propping his chin on his hand as he looked at him. “That’s the idea, Bun.”

Their fingers tangled again under the table. A slow rub of thumbs. A promise in touch.

For a moment, all the noise of the restaurant fell away. Just candlelight, wine-dark glances, and the soft sound of a jazz saxophone somewhere in the background.

Seonghwa broke the silence first, his voice a shy murmur: “This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Yunho smiled slowly. “It’s not over yet.”

Mingi’s thumb traced a circle into Seonghwa’s thigh. “And if you let us, we’ll outdo it every single time.”

They lingered after the plates were cleared.

The restaurant had emptied out a bit, the low hum of conversation softening to the occasional clink of glass or muted laugh from a distant table. Their own corner felt tucked away, shrouded in golden light, and quiet enough to feel like the rest of the world had melted away.

“Was it okay?” Yunho asked softly, his voice made to match the hush of the room. “The food?”

Seonghwa nodded, eyes warm. “It was perfect. All of it.” He looked between them — at Yunho’s smile, just a little crooked at the corner, and Mingi’s relaxed sprawl next to him, one hand lazily tracing shapes on Seonghwa’s forearm. “You make everything feel like more than it is.”

Mingi chuckled. “We’re not even to the best part yet.”

Yunho raised a brow. “You’re going to give away the surprise.”

“I’m not saying what it is,” Mingi teased, brushing his fingers lightly along the cuff of Seonghwa’s sleeve. “Just that it’s good. And sweet. And probably going to make you cry.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the warmth spreading across his cheeks. “You’re both too kind to me. More than I could have ever asked for.”

Mingi leaned in. “You’re allowed to want things, Bun. We want you to.”

Seonghwa looked down for a moment, fingers brushing idly along the tablecloth. “I do,” he said quietly. “I want this.”

Yunho’s hand found his under the table again, firm and steady. “Then it’s yours. We’re yours.”

The check came soon after, slid silently onto the edge of the table. Yunho took care of it without hesitation while Mingi slipped Seonghwa’s jacket around his shoulders, fingers grazing his collarbone just a second longer than necessary.

As they stood to leave, Mingi leaned in close enough for his lips to skim Seonghwa’s ear. “You’re glowing again.”

Seonghwa smiled, soft and a little dazed, and Yunho held the door open with a hand on the small of his back.

The evening air had cooled, but the warmth between them hadn’t. The walk back to the car was unhurried — Yunho’s hand brushing against Seonghwa’s, Mingi gently bumping his shoulder and whispering something that made Seonghwa laugh too hard and cover his mouth.

When they got home, Yunho rushed inside ahead of everybody. Mingi, on the other hand, took his time getting Seonghwa out of the car and walking him up. The house was quiet when they stepped inside, and as Seonghwa took his shoes off by the door, he noticed a new pair of slippers — ones with bunny ears, just like the ones he had at home — waiting for him. 

“Is this my gift?” Seonghwa said as a grin lit up his face. Mingi chuckled as he leaned down and helped him guide his feet into the plushness of them. 

“No, but we wanted to have stuff for you when you’re here,” Mingi explained. Seonghwa’s hest warmed up as Mingi led him further into the house. Soft, golden light glowed from the sconces in the hallway, just enough to guide them in without chasing away the dreamy haze from dinner. The scent of vanilla and something faintly citrusy hung in the air — candles, Seonghwa realized, blinking slowly as Mingi led him towards the smell.

“We made something for dessert,” Mingi said, his voice light as he nudged Seonghwa’s elbow and guided him toward the kitchen. “And by we, I mean me. Yunho helped by licking the spoon.”

“It was quality control,” Yunho said, deadpan as he put the lighter away. Seonghwa realized he didn’t see any candles in here. “Someone had to make sure the ganache wasn’t poisoned.”

Seonghwa laughed softly, letting himself be ushered into the warm, familiar kitchen. On the counter was a small cake — delicate and dark, glossy with a ganache glaze and decorated with little piped rosettes and edible flowers.

“You made this?” he asked, awed.

Mingi grinned. “I like baking when I’m nervous.”

Yunho shot him a look. “You weren’t nervous.”

“Not about the cake.”

Seonghwa’s heart did that fluttering thing again — the one it did too often lately. The one that made him want to fold himself into their arms and never come out. Yunho took out a cake knife and began plating three pieces. 

“We’re going to eat this upstairs,” Yunho explained. 

“Upstairs?” Seonghwa asked, his head tilting to the side, “Why?” 

“You’ll see,” Mingi said, holding Seonghwa’s hand in one of his. Yunho grabbed the plated slices of cake and put them on a tray.

The upstairs loft was glowing.

Soft candlelight flickered from every corner — tall tapers in glass holders, little tea lights scattered across the ledge, their flames dancing like fireflies in the dim. This must have been what Yunho had ran inside to do. Outside the wide window, the night sky stretched ink-black and dotted with stars, distant and slow. Mingi and Yunho had arranged a nest of blankets and pillows right at the window’s edge — plush, overstuffed things in creams and dusty pastels, cozy enough that it felt like falling into a cloud.

Seonghwa let out a breathless little sound as Mingi  guided him up the last step and let go of his hand..

“This is…” he murmured, eyes wide as he took it all in. “You did all this?”

Mingi had moved quickly, and was already sitting cross-legged by the window, grinning. “Only the best for our Bun.”

Yunho caught up and tugged him closer with a hand at his waist, lips brushing his temple. “Come sit. We saved the best part of the night for last.”

Yunho had placed the tray beside a bottle of wine and linen napkins embroidered with tiny florals. Seonghwa noticed that Yunho had snuck a bowl of berries onto the tray, and it caught him off guard all over again how spoiled he truly was. Mingi opened the bottle of wine and poured three glasses before handed them out, and then passed Seonghwa a fork, tapping the side of his glass in a soft toast.

“To our first official date,” he said, eyes gleaming. “And to many more, we hope.” They clinked glasses before sipping from their flutes and turned to the cake that Mingi had made. Seonghwa took a bite of the cake and nearly moaned.

“Mingi,” he said, eyes closing briefly. “This is unreal.”

Mingi preened. “Say more.”

“It’s sweet but not too sweet,” Seonghwa continued, scooting in between them on the pillows. “The texture is perfect. Like a cloud that’s wet but not like…wet cotton candy or…like that.” He cleared his throat as his face began to burn. “If that makes sense.”

Yunho chuckled low in his throat. “Everything with you makes sense. Even when it doesn’t.”

They ate slowly, curled around one another, knees brushing. Yunho kept feeding Seonghwa little bites from his fork. Mingi fed him a berry with his fingers, laughing when juice dripped down Seonghwa’s chin, only to lean in and kiss it away.

The stars glittered above them, distant and soft.

When the last crumbs were gone and Seonghwa leaned back with a satisfied sigh, Yunho reached behind one of the pillows and pulled something out wrapped in pale brown paper and tied with soft blue ribbon.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched.

“What is this?”

“A present,” Yunho said softly, placing it in his lap. “We wanted you to have it.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Mingi interrupted, his voice unusually gentle. “Yunho heard you mention it once. I made some calls.”

“Bribed a guy in Paris,” Yunho added, smirking.

Seonghwa blinked at the package, heart already thudding. His fingers trembled slightly as he undid the ribbon and peeled back the paper — slow, cautious, like whatever was inside might break if he opened it too fast.

And then he saw it.

The cover alone made his heart stop.

It was an original issue of Creux , one of the most elusive editions — a winter print run from five years ago, discontinued mid-release due to a publishing fire. He’d been trying to find a copy ever since. It was the reason he’d started sketching.

His hands flew to his mouth. “No— no way.”

“It’s yours,” Mingi said softly. “We wanted you to have something that reminded you how brilliant you are.”

“I— I don’t even know what to—” Seonghwa looked up at them, lips trembling. “You remembered.”

“Of course we remembered,” Yunho said, reaching to brush a tear from under his eye. “We listen. We see you.”

“You matter to us,” Mingi added, his hand resting over Seonghwa’s on the magazine. “Not just when you’re sweet and cute and dressed up for dates. Always.”

The tears spilled over before Seonghwa could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” he laughed wetly. “This is just— this means so much to me. I don’t even know how to—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yunho said, pulling him in gently. “Just let us hold you.”

Seonghwa sank into his arms like he’d been waiting for it all night.

Yunho kissed his temple and held him close, while Mingi shifted behind him to rub slow circles into his back. The stars outside blinked on in silence. Candles flickered low. The whole world fell away until it was just the three of them.

After a while, Mingi brushed Seonghwa’s hair back from his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Still tense,” he murmured, fingers sliding lower along his spine. “We were supposed to help you relax tonight.”

Seonghwa let out a breathy little sound — not quite a whimper, but close.

Yunho nuzzled behind his ear. “Let us take care of you, pretty.”

Seonghwa nodded, heart fluttering.

And then Mingi was shifting behind him, whispering, “Lie back, baby. We’ll start slow.”

Seonghwa let them guide him down into the pillows — Mingi behind him, Yunho in front. The window glowed to his left, stars scattered across the sky like they’d been painted there just for him. A candle crackled nearby. The air was warm, scented faintly of vanilla and Mingi’s cologne.

“Let us know if anything feels too much,” Mingi murmured, settling in behind him on his knees, big hands already coasting up under the hem of Seonghwa’s sweater vest. “We just wanna make you feel good.”

“I trust you,” Seonghwa whispered, and that was all it took.

Mingi’s hands skimmed the soft fabric up over his head, leaving his button-up in place but undoing a few of the top buttons with careful fingers. Seonghwa sucked in a little breath as warm palms pressed flat to his back, beginning to knead in long, slow strokes — thumbs trailing down along the curve of his spine, then up toward his shoulders with increasing pressure.

“God,” Yunho whispered from in front of him, where he’d sat cross-legged, pulling Seonghwa’s legs gently over his lap. “Look at you.”

His hands rested just above Seonghwa’s knees, slow and steady. 

“You’re already melting,” Yunho added, a smile touching his voice. “And we’ve barely started.”

Seonghwa flushed, but he didn’t try to hide it. He leaned into the touch, eyelids fluttering closed.

“You said something earlier,” Mingi murmured near his ear, his breath warm on the shell of it as his thumbs pressed into a tight knot near the base of Seonghwa’s neck. “Back at the gallery.”

Seonghwa barely managed a hum of inquiry, already sinking.

“That you liked being somewhere that encouraged touch,” Mingi continued. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Yunho leaned in, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s clothed knee. “You’re here now,” he said softly. “You’re with us. And I want you to know — we encourage it too. Every kind of touch you need.”

Seonghwa let out a quiet sound that turned into a soft moan when Mingi’s hands found a particularly tight spot just above his hips, fingers working slow circles into the muscle. His shirt had ridden up a bit, revealing tanned skin and a sliver of his lower back.

“Tell us what you want,” Yunho said, voice lower now. His hands slid higher on Seonghwa’s thighs, warm and firm.

“I… I want to be touched,” Seonghwa admitted, voice trembling. “I want more.”

Yunho's eyes darkened, but his touch didn’t quicken. He leaned in to kiss Seonghwa’s knee again — then a little higher. Mingi’s hands drifted down from Seonghwa’s back to his waist, slow and reverent. His fingers found the buttons of Seonghwa’s shirt and slipped the rest open, baring his chest to the candlelight and the cool air. Seonghwa shivered — not from cold, but from the anticipation curling deep in his belly.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Mingi whispered, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Soft and trusting.”

Yunho’s hands drifted up to his hips, then slid under his shirt to brush the skin just beneath his ribs. “Can we touch you more, Bun?”

Seonghwa nodded, breathless. “Yes. Please.”

Yunho’s hands drifted higher beneath Seonghwa’s shirt, slow and steady, thumbs brushing along the edges of his ribs like he was learning the shape of him by touch alone.

Behind him, Mingi’s lips found the nape of his neck — a kiss so light it made Seonghwa gasp, followed by another just beneath his ear. His hands moved down to Seonghwa’s waist again, carefully slipping the hem of his undershirt free from where it had been tucked in.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” Mingi murmured.

Seonghwa let his arms be lifted without protest, and together, they pulled the last layer from him, leaving his pale chest bare to the warm golden candlelight.

“Fuck,” Yunho breathed, reverent. “You’re unreal.”

Seonghwa flushed but didn’t look away. Instead, his hands reached forward — trembling just slightly — and found the buttons on Yunho’s shirt. His fingers fumbled a little.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice soft.

Yunho nodded and leaned in, letting his forehead press gently against Seonghwa’s as he whispered, “Of course you can.” One by one, Seonghwa undid the buttons, his touch delicate, deliberate. When the fabric finally fell open, his eyes traced the planes of Yunho’s chest, the soft spread of muscle, the lines that dipped beneath his waistband.

Behind him, Mingi’s hands slid down to the front of his slacks, not opening them yet — just letting his fingers stroke lightly over the fabric, thumbs brushing teasingly over the buttons as he kissed his shoulder again.

“You’re already shaking,” Mingi murmured with a smile. “And we’ve barely touched you.”

Seonghwa’s hands moved back, blindly, and found Mingi’s thighs behind him. He leaned back slightly, tilting his head to catch Mingi’s jaw with his lips.

“Let me see you too,” he whispered.

Yunho groaned softly in front of him, watching as Seonghwa reached for Mingi’s shirt, pulling it from where it had been tucked in and dragging it slowly upward. Mingi chuckled, ducking his head so Seonghwa could pull it over and off.

Seonghwa’s hands lingered on the skin he revealed — smooth and warm and scattered with little freckles he hadn’t seen before. He pressed a kiss to Mingi’s collarbone in thanks, letting his lips linger.

When he turned back toward Yunho, he found the older man watching him with a look that was almost too much to bear — soft and intense, equal parts restraint and hunger.

“You don’t have to rush,” Yunho whispered. “We have time. All night, if you want.”

“I do want,” Seonghwa replied, his voice barely above a breath. “But not just to be touched. I want to touch you both. I want to give something back.”

“You are,” Mingi said from behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist now, bare chest flush against Seonghwa’s back. “You give us everything when you let us see you like this.”

Yunho cupped Seonghwa’s face in one hand and leaned in to kiss him again — slow and melting, lips brushing like they were exchanging something sacred. Mingi’s lips pressed to his neck in sync, their warmth surrounding him, their bodies gently guiding his own.

The night sky stretched wide beyond the window, a backdrop of stars and quiet city light. The candles flickered like little heartbeats.

Seonghwa let his hands roam — over Yunho’s chest, across Mingi’s hips. And their hands never stopped touching him in return, as if he were something holy, something tender, something theirs. Seonghwa’s breath caught when Yunho’s hands slid along his waist again, dipping low to begin easing his slacks open. Mingi’s mouth was still at his neck, peppering kisses like warm punctuation, while his hands stroked slowly across Seonghwa’s lower belly, the brush of knuckles teasing enough to make his legs tremble.

“Still okay?” Yunho asked, voice low, reverent.

Seonghwa nodded, lips parted. “Yes…I just…I can’t believe how good you make this feel.”

“You should always feel this good,” Yunho whispered, finally undoing the button and sliding his slacks down his thighs, leaving him in nothing but soft cotton briefs — already damp at the front.

Behind him, Mingi hummed and ran his palms back up, over Seonghwa’s stomach and chest, pausing to let his thumbs brush deliberately over both nipples.

Seonghwa gasped.

Yunho stilled, watching as Mingi’s fingers rolled and pinched them just slightly, enough to make Seonghwa arch between them, hips stuttering forward into Yunho’s thigh.

“You like that,” Mingi murmured against his ear. “Sensitive, aren’t you, Bun?”

Seonghwa whimpered. “I— I didn’t know— it’s never felt like this before.”

“That’s because no one’s ever loved on you right,” Yunho murmured, crawling closer to press a kiss to the other side of his neck. “Let us. Let us show you.”

Mingi’s hands continued to tease and twist gently, fingertips gliding around each nub before catching again. Yunho’s mouth found the curve of Seonghwa’s collarbone while his hands drifted down, cupping the back of his thighs.

“You’re already shaking,” Yunho said again, his voice awed.

Seonghwa, panting now, reached blindly for the buttons on Yunho’s slacks and pulled at them with trembling hands. “I want these off too.”

“Yeah?” Yunho helped him, letting the fabric slip from his waist. His boxers strained — a thick outline, swollen and hot — but he didn’t push for more. Not yet. He leaned back in, fingers joining Mingi’s now at Seonghwa’s chest, brushing their thumbs in sync over both aching nipples.

Seonghwa cried out, soft and desperate, gripping Mingi’s arms behind him like a lifeline.

“Good boy,” Mingi whispered. “So pretty like this. You take everything so sweetly.”

Yunho’s gaze was molten as he bent his head down and closed his mouth around one nipple — hot and wet and gently sucking. Mingi gave the other a flick with his tongue over Seonghwa’s shoulder.

The reaction was immediate — Seonghwa’s hips bucked, his body arching like a bow between them.

“More,” he gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Please… more.” Seonghwa’s plea wasn’t loud, but it was certainly heard. It vibrated between them, thick with want — with permission.

Yunho’s mouth lingered just a moment longer over his nipple, tongue circling slowly before pulling back with a wet sound. “We’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said gently, fingers brushing Seonghwa’s flushed chest. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

Mingi kissed behind Seonghwa’s ear again before pulling him up so MIngi could crawl out from underneath him, and guided him back onto the pillows. “C’mere. Let us lay you out all nice.” Seonghwa followed them easily, drunk on touch, on praise, on the feeling of being undressed with such worshipful hands. The low flicker of candlelight painted everything in gold — their silhouettes, the satin pillows, the sky beyond the window dotted with stars.

They helped him sink into the softness as Mingi worked his way down Seonghwa’s thighs again, tugging the briefs lower with careful hands.

The fabric stuck just slightly, damp where he was already leaking, and Yunho made a soft noise when it finally came free — a low, aching sound like reverence.

“So pretty,” Mingi whispered as he tossed the briefs aside, his eyes locked between Seonghwa’s legs. “Every part of you. God, Bun…”

Seonghwa blushed, already trembling, but didn’t shy away. He lifted his hips obediently, letting them position him just how they wanted — thighs gently parted, his flushed cock resting against his stomach, sticky at the tip.

And his nipples — still flushed and puckered from earlier attention — were begging for more.

Mingi settled beside him and leaned in again, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles over one nipple before flicking it with more intention. Yunho mirrored the motion on the other side, one large hand splayed across Seonghwa’s belly, holding him still.

“Sensitive little thing,” Yunho murmured against his skin.

“I c-can’t help it,” Seonghwa gasped, his thighs twitching. “It— it feels so good.”

Mingi slid lower, licking a line down Seonghwa’s chest to his belly, slow and deliberate. “You deserve to feel good. Especially here.”

Yunho gently turned Seonghwa’s face and kissed him slow and deep while Mingi sank lower between Seonghwa’s thighs, hands pressing them open. He mouthed along the inside of one thigh, letting his breath fan over Seonghwa’s cock before he kissed just beside it, soft and sweet.

Seonghwa whimpered into Yunho’s mouth.

“You want his mouth, sweetheart?” Yunho whispered, thumbing over his cheek. “You want to be our second dessert?”

Seonghwa nodded frantically, his voice trembling. “Yes— yes, please, I want—”

Mingi didn’t make him wait. His mouth enveloped the flushed head, warm and wet and perfect. He sucked gently, tongue swirling around the tip as Yunho held Seonghwa’s hands tightly in his own, keeping him grounded.

Seonghwa let out a high, breathless moan — body arching, chest flushed, nipples still aching as Yunho ducked down to mouth at them again while Mingi sucked him slowly.

“Too much?” Yunho murmured between kisses, teeth grazing lightly around Seonghwa’s sensitive peaks.

“No— no,” Seonghwa breathed, eyes wide and glossy. “Feels s-so good—”

Mingi hummed low around him like he was savoring a favorite treat, taking more of Seonghwa’s cock into his mouth, tongue dragging firm and slow along the underside. One of his hands slid up again to tease Seonghwa’s nipple while Yunho worked the other one.

“You taste so sweet,” Mingi complimented, voice husky and wet before sinking down again. Seonghwa could barely hold still. His thighs trembled. His nipples were sore and needy. His cock was throbbing in Mingi’s mouth, and Yunho’s voice was silk in his ear. He came with a cry that broke like sugar on his tongue — soft, sweet, and sticky. Mingi had swallowed most of it, licking him through every last spasm with slow, decadent strokes of his tongue while Yunho held him close, whispering gentle praises into his hair.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Yunho murmured, brushing his thumb over Seonghwa’s cheek as he helped him ride it out. “So beautiful when you let go.”

Seonghwa trembled between them, flushed to the tips of his ears, lips parted and damp. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, nipples still tingling from their attention, thighs still twitching slightly from the intensity of it all. Mingi kissed his hip bone and then dragged his mouth back up Seonghwa’s belly, licking a few stray droplets of cum from his skin. “Told you,” he said, eyes heavy-lidded, voice low. “You’re the best dessert we’ve ever had.”

Seonghwa let out a shaky laugh — but there was a different kind of tension blooming under his skin now. A hunger that hadn’t eased, even after he came. His body still pulsed with need, but this time it wasn’t just for pleasure — it was for them.

He wanted them.

Every part of them.

Before either man could shift away, Seonghwa reached out, hands steady despite how wrecked he felt, and placed one hand on Yunho’s thigh and the other on Mingi’s belt.

Yunho blinked at him, surprised. “Hwa—”

“I want to make you feel good,” Seonghwa whispered, already tugging gently at Mingi’s waistband. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Mingi let out a low groan, hips lifting slightly to help. “Fuck. Okay, Bun.”

Yunho sat up a little straighter, watching with reverence as Seonghwa knelt between them — his body still trembling but his hands no longer shy. He hooked his fingers into the band of Mingi’s slacks and eased them down, kissing just above the hem of his briefs. Mingi’s cock was hard and straining beneath the fabric, the outline thick and wet at the tip.

Seonghwa kissed along it through the cotton, slow and deliberate, then mouthed softly over the head.

“Jesus,” Mingi hissed, his voice cracking. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Seonghwa smiled and looked up at him, eyes gleaming with mischief and heat. “Isn’t that the point?”

He peeled Mingi’s briefs down slowly, revealing the flushed, heavy length beneath. Seonghwa wrapped his hand around the base, licking a long stripe up the shaft before kissing the head softly.

Yunho groaned behind him. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

Seonghwa turned, flushed and sweet, and reached for Yunho next.

“You too,” he said softly, fingers curling into the waistband of Yunho’s briefs. “I want both of you.”

Yunho’s eyes darkened, hips already lifting to help. “Oh, a greedy little thing, huh?” Yunho teased. Seonghwa dragged the briefs down, revealing Yunho’s thick cock — bigger than Mingi’s, flushed deep at the tip, already leaking precum down the length. Seonghwa whimpered at the sight of it, one hand wrapping gently around the base while the other stroked Mingi, working them both at once.

“You’re both so big,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “I want you in me. In my mouth. In my ass. I want to be filled.”

Yunho swore under his breath. “Hwa…”

“I mean it,” Seonghwa whispered, leaning in to kiss along Yunho’s shaft. “Use me. However you want. I want it everywhere.” He wasn’t even sure where this side of him had even come from. But after the way they’d touched him, made him feel safe and good, he felt confident. Comfortable to ask for what he wanted.

Mingi cupped the back of Seonghwa’s head and let out a groan. “You don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I do,” Seonghwa insisted, licking the head of Yunho’s cock before turning back to suck gently at Mingi’s. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

Yunho growled low, grabbing Seonghwa by the waist and pulling him closer. “Then let’s give you everything.”

Seonghwa whimpered as hands guided him back down into the nest of pillows, warm fingers spreading gently over his hips, his back, the backs of his thighs.

“Turn over, sweetheart,” Yunho murmured, voice thick with need. “Hands and knees for us.”

Seonghwa obeyed, breath catching as he shifted, presenting himself in the soft glow of candlelight — flushed and already dripping, hole fluttering slightly from earlier attention, thighs trembling with anticipation. He lowered his head slightly between his arms, arching just the tiniest bit as if offering himself up completely.

“God,” Mingi breathed behind him, running a palm down the length of Seonghwa’s back. “You’re perfect.”

“You okay, Bun?” Yunho asked from in front of him, already sitting down against the edge of the window seat, legs spread wide and cock standing flushed and ready against his stomach.

“I’m more than okay,” Seonghwa whispered, looking up at Yunho with eyes that shimmered in the candlelight. “Please…”

“Come here then,” Yunho said, voice low and coaxing.

Seonghwa crawled forward until he was nestled between Yunho’s thighs, one hand bracing against Yunho’s knee, the other curling gently around the base of his cock. He licked once — a slow, teasing stripe from base to tip — then wrapped his lips around the head, sinking down slowly until he felt Yunho twitch against his tongue.

Yunho groaned, head falling back. “Fuck, Hwa…”

Behind him, Mingi was already slicking up his cock, using the lube they’d tucked away in the corner in case they’d get to experience this moment. Seonghwa’s ass shifted with each motion of his mouth — bouncing slightly with every eager bob of his head — and Mingi swore under his breath.

“You’re dripping,” Mingi murmured, spreading Seonghwa open with one hand while he guided his cock to his entrance. “You want it that bad, huh?”

Seonghwa pulled off Yunho just long enough to moan, “Please, Mingi… put it in. I need it.”

Yunho cupped Seonghwa’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “You’re gonna be so full, sweetheart. Take your time.”

Then Mingi pressed forward slowly and steadily until the head of his cock breaching Seonghwa’s slick entrance with barely any resistance.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa gasped around Yunho’s cock, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch stole his breath. “So— so big—”

“You’re doing so well,” Mingi groaned, rocking his hips forward inch by inch. “Taking me so good. Just like that.”

Seonghwa whimpered, mouth wet and eager as he sucked Yunho back down — harder this time, like he needed something to ground him through the overwhelming fullness of Mingi slowly fucking into him from behind.

Yunho tangled a hand in his hair, gentle but firm. “That’s it, bun. So pretty like this.”

Mingi bottomed out with a grunt, hips flush to Seonghwa’s ass. He paused there for a second, just to feel the heat and tightness wrapped around him.

“You were made for this,” Mingi whispered, leaning forward to press kisses down Seonghwa’s spine. “Fucking made for us.”

Then he began to move.

Slow at first — savoring every inch of the drag — then faster as Seonghwa adjusted, letting out soft, desperate moans around Yunho’s cock. His fingers dug into Yunho’s thighs for balance, the pressure keeping him grounded as Mingi fucked him deeper, harder, each thrust jostling him forward just enough to make his mouth slip down even farther.

“Such a good boy,” Yunho murmured, hips twitching slightly with every suck. “So eager to be used.”

Seonghwa moaned around him, the vibration making Yunho curse and Mingi groan.

Their voices layered around him — praise and filth and love — until Seonghwa felt like he was unraveling from the inside out. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, not from pain, but from how good it felt to be filled, to be wanted like this. Cherished and ruined in the same breath.

Mingi reached forward, hand wrapping around Seonghwa’s neglected cock. “Gonna make you come again,” he whispered. “You gonna let us?”

Seonghwa nodded, desperate, mouth still full of Yunho’s cock.

“Good,” Yunho groaned. “Because I’m close, baby. Wanna come down your throat while Mingi fills you up.”

Seonghwa moaned helplessly, and that was all it took.

With a broken gasp, Yunho thrust one final time and spilled down Seonghwa’s throat, hips trembling as he held him there, whispering praises. Seonghwa swallowed around him, eyes fluttering, just as Mingi’s rhythm faltered behind him.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Mingi growled, slamming deep as he spilled inside, filling Seonghwa with thick heat.

Seonghwa came seconds later, untouched, his body going taut as pleasure cracked through him again — dizzy and sweet and overwhelming. He collapsed against Yunho’s thigh, shaking, breath catching in shallow gasps.

Yunho leaned down and cupped his face gently, brushing away a stray tear. “You were incredible, Bun.”

Mingi slid out slowly, come dripping down the inside of Seonghwa’s thighs as he leaned in to kiss the nape of his neck. “You’re unreal. Better than we’d ever dreamed of.”

And Seonghwa, wrecked and glowing, could only manage a trembling whisper.

“I’m yours.”

Seonghwa’s limbs trembled faintly, his body boneless and spent, flushed and streaked with sweat and pleasure. He let out a small sigh and slumped fully forward against Yunho’s chest, cheek resting over his heart.

Mingi pressed a lingering kiss to the small of his back. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Bun,” he murmured, fingers already brushing tenderly over Seonghwa’s thighs, careful not to over-touch where he’d just been filled.

Seonghwa let out a soft noise of protest. “Don’t wanna move yet.”

“I know, Bun,” Yunho soothed, running his palm slowly over Seonghwa’s hair. “But we’ve got you. We’ll take care of everything.”

Between the two of them, he barely had to lift a finger.

Yunho helped him stand on unsteady legs, holding him close while Mingi disappeared briefly into the ensuite bathroom. When he returned, it was with a basin of warm water and soft towels, already wrung out and steaming. He knelt beside them, gentle as he always was in the aftermath — wiping away the mess between Seonghwa’s legs, soothing over flushed skin with murmurs of praise and care.

“There we go,” Mingi whispered, kissing his hip as he worked. “Still so pretty like this. Even when you’re a little wrecked.”

Seonghwa flushed, blinking sleepily at him. “You guys are so nice to me…”

Yunho chuckled and tilted his chin up to kiss him. “We’re not being nice, Hwa. We’re just admiring you like you should be.”

Once Seonghwa was cleaned and dried, Mingi helped him into an oversized black t-shirt that definitely wasn’t his. It hung off his frame like a dress, swallowing his bare thighs and brushing just above his knees. Yunho slipped a pair of briefs onto him — just to keep him cozy — then lifted him effortlessly into his arms.

“You’re staying the night,” Yunho said with finality. “Non-negotiable.”

Seonghwa blinked up at him. “But—”

Mingi kissed his forehead as they padded down the hall. “No buts. Except yours, in our bed.”

That earned a flustered noise and a weak smack to Mingi’s chest, but he was grinning, and Yunho was holding him like he weighed nothing at all.

Their bedroom was huge — softly lit with lamps on either side of the bed, the sheets already turned down and the comforter fluffed. The mattress was wide enough to hold all three of them with room to spare. But as Yunho set Seonghwa down in the middle and Mingi climbed in beside him, there was no extra space left at all.

Not when they curled around him like he was something sacred.

Mingi on his right, chest pressed to Seonghwa’s back, one arm draped around his waist. Yunho on his left, nudging their foreheads together and brushing slow fingers over his cheek.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Seonghwa murmured, voice barely audible in the hush between them.

“You’re not,” Yunho whispered. “You’re home.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. Mingi kissed the back of his shoulder.

“Sleep, Hwa” Mingi said. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

And with both of them wrapped around him, steady and warm, Seonghwa closed his eyes and let himself believe it.

He fell asleep smiling, safe between the two men who touched him like he was made of stars.

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Notes:

casually fighting the urge to post every chapter i have written.

Chapter 7: Bias Cut

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Seonghwa woke slowly, like his body didn’t want to leave the dream.

The sheets were unfamiliar — heavier, smoother. They smelled faintly of something citrusy and clean, a blend of cologne and soft laundry musk that didn’t belong to him. He shifted slightly and felt warmth on both sides, heat that radiated steady and alive. A breath ghosted across the back of his neck, and another pressed against his bare shoulder.

Not a dream.

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the sunlight filtering in through sheer curtains that weren’t his, casting soft streaks of gold across the pale comforter pulled up around his waist. Everything was hushed and slow, like the morning itself was holding its breath.

It took him a second to piece it all together — the pillow beneath his head that still smelled faintly like Mingi’s hair product, the strong arm looped loosely over his middle, calloused fingers spread across the dip of his waist. The steady rise and fall of a chest pressed to his back. The weight of a leg tangled over his own.

Mingi.

Yunho.

Seonghwa’s lips parted on a quiet inhale, chest fluttering. He was in their bed.

Memories filtered in like sunlight through gauze. Candlelight. Dessert by the window. Fingers unbuttoning his shirt one by one. Mingi’s mouth between his legs. Yunho’s voice in his ear. Soft hands, hard bodies, his own cries swallowed up between kisses.

They’d touched him like he was their most prized possession. Worshipped him with hands and mouths and whispered promises. He’d given himself to them completely, trembling yet bold, eager and open. And they’d taken him apart with the kind of care that undid him even more than the pleasure.

And now… here he was.

Still between them.

Still wanted.

He exhaled shakily and turned his head slightly on the pillow. Mingi was closest, curled around him with his lips parted in sleep, a faint smile still playing on his mouth. His lashes fluttered with every breath. Yunho was behind him, pressed along the curve of Seonghwa’s back like he’d molded himself there in the night, face buried somewhere in Seonghwa’s hair, fingers twitching faintly where they rested on his waist.

It should’ve felt overwhelming. It should’ve sent his heart skittering in panic — too fast, too much, too soon.

But it didn’t.

He’d never been good at this part. The quiet aftermath. The lingering softness. He was used to things ending in confusion or distance or the slow fade-out of unanswered texts. But not this. Not being held like something worth keeping. Not being woken up by the press of a chest and the memory of someone worshiping him with their mouth. Seonghwa bit his lip, breath catching again — but this time with something like wonder.

He could get used to this.

And hopefully, he wouldn’t become terrified. Burdened with the fear once he got attached that there would be an inevitable goodbye because while he didn’t have a worry in the world when he was under their attention…his mind wandered when they weren’t around. How much of him did they want? Just something to have fun with and dote on until they were bored? Or something…more?

He turned a little more, nose brushing Mingi’s cheek. His skin was warm and soft. Seonghwa watched his lashes flutter, lips parted just slightly, breath slow and deep. His hair was a little messy, one arm curled lazily under the pillow, the other still draped across Seonghwa’s waist like he never wanted to let go.

Without really thinking, Seonghwa leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Mingi’s temple.

Just once.

Light. Gentle. Like a thank you he didn’t know how to say out loud.

Mingi’s brows twitched slightly, but he didn’t wake.

Seonghwa smiled faintly to himself and then slowly turned toward Yunho.

It took a little effort — untangling one leg and shifting enough to roll into his back. Yunho’s arm tightened for a moment instinctively like he didn’t want to lose contact, then relaxed again when Seonghwa moved into his space instead.

He was gorgeous like this.

Hair mussed. Mouth parted. One hand still resting on Seonghwa’s hip. He leaned in again, emboldened now, and brushed a kiss along Yunho’s jaw. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth.

Yunho stirred.

“Mmh…” he hummed, brows furrowing slightly. His eyes stayed closed, but his arm pulled Seonghwa in tighter. “You’re trouble,” he murmured, voice raspy and half-asleep.

Seonghwa froze for a second — then let out the softest laugh. “You weren’t even awake.”

Yunho cracked one eye open. “Didn’t have to be. You smell like you’re thinking something sweet and dirty.”

Before Seonghwa could answer, Mingi stirred too, groaning softly behind him. “What are you two doing without me?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “I can feel the horny in the air.”

“I was just—” Seonghwa started, but then Yunho tilted his head and kissed him full on the mouth. It was warm and slow, lazy in the best way. A morning kiss. A mine-now kiss. Seonghwa melted into it before he could stop himself, a quiet noise slipping out between them.

Mingi propped himself up on one elbow and reached over, brushing his fingers down Seonghwa’s spine. “God,” he whispered, “I love how soft you are in the morning.”

Seonghwa flushed, but the way both of them were looking at him — with heavy-lidded eyes and warm smiles — made him feel brave.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Yunho asked, nosing against his cheek.

“For last night. And…for everything.”

Yunho smiled into the next kiss. “You don’t have to thank us, sweetheart. Just let us keep touching you.”

Mingi leaned in next, capturing his mouth in another slow, indulgent kiss while Yunho’s hands roamed — up his back, down his sides, slipping beneath the covers to find bare skin.

Seonghwa gasped softly, tilting into the touch. “You’re not tired?”

“No,” Yunho murmured. “We’re starving.”

“You taste better than breakfast,” Mingi whispered against his neck, already nudging the blankets lower.

Seonghwa whimpered — caught in warmth, in lips, in hands — and the morning melted into something slower, deeper, messier. Seonghwa wasn’t sure how the blanket ended up halfway down his thighs, or when Mingi had shifted fully behind him and helped him out of his clothes, lips pressing slow kisses down the back of his neck. All he knew was that Yunho had moved lower, dragging the sheets down with him, settling between his legs. His hands splayed over Seonghwa’s thighs, fingers rubbing soft circles into his skin.

“You’re always so warm,” Yunho murmured, breath ghosting over Seonghwa’s lower stomach. “I swear, every time I touch you, it’s like you’re already halfway gone for us.”

“I am,” Seonghwa whispered, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “I always am.”

Yunho’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile, then lowered to kiss just above his navel — sweet at first, then open-mouthed, tongue dragging slowly across the soft dip of his stomach.

Behind him, Mingi slid his palm down Seonghwa’s back, thumb brushing over the dimples at the base of his spine before pushing further. He kissed the nape of Seonghwa’s neck, teeth just grazing. “Are you sore, Bun?”

“A little,” Seonghwa admitted, voice breathy. “But I like it.”

Mingi hummed his approval and trailed his hand between Seonghwa’s cheeks, fingers teasing the soft skin there. “We’ll be careful. Just want to make you feel good.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa whispered with all the trust in the world.

Yunho leaned in and kissed the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh, tongue flicking out to taste the skin before he dragged his mouth higher. “Let’s see how many ways we can make you melt this morning.”

He didn’t give him time to respond. Just dipped his head and licked a slow stripe up Seonghwa’s already half-hard cock.

Seonghwa’s hips bucked slightly, a choked moan slipping from his lips. “Yunho—fuck—”

“Shh,” Mingi murmured from behind, brushing hair out of his face and pressing kisses along his shoulder. “Just relax. Let us take care of you.”

Yunho sucked him into his mouth slowly, wet and warm, one hand pinning Seonghwa’s hip while the other slid lower to cup his balls, fingers gentle, coaxing. Mingi kissed down the line of his spine, licking softly as he went, then finally slipped one finger between his cheeks — slick with lube he must have grabbed from the drawer nearby, easing it in with practiced care.

Seonghwa moaned loudly this time, his body arching between them.

“So fucking tight,” Mingi whispered, voice thick with hunger. “Taking us so good.”

Yunho hummed around Seonghwa’s cock like he agreed, tongue swirling, lips sucking just hard enough to make Seonghwa’s thighs shake.

They worked him open together — Mingi’s fingers slick and slow, stretching him while Yunho worshipped him with his mouth, his cheeks hollowing, the occasional moan sending vibrations straight through Seonghwa’s core.

Seonghwa was trembling within minutes, toes curling against the sheets, one hand fisted in Yunho’s hair and the other reaching blindly behind to grasp Mingi’s thigh.

“I’m gonna—” he whimpered. “I’m already—please—”

“Let go,” Yunho murmured, voice thick and wrecked as he pulled off just enough to kiss the head of Seonghwa’s cock. “Come for us, sweetheart.”

And then Mingi crooked his fingers just right — and Seonghwa shattered.

He came hard, with a cry muffled against Mingi’s arm, Yunho’s lips brushing his shaft the whole way through, coaxing him down gently, lovingly.

His body collapsed forward, boneless and shaking, breath coming in broken pants.

“Good boy,” Mingi whispered, stroking his back. “That’s our good boy.”

“Still with us?” Yunho asked, grinning as he kissed his hip. “Or did we break your brain?”

Seonghwa let out a breathless laugh and peeked up at them through his lashes. “I’m never thinking straight around you two anyway.”

Mingi leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Then don’t think. Just feel.”

And with that, Seonghwa slowly pushed himself upright, reaching with trembling fingers for Mingi’s waistband. He’d been thoroughly nurtured by both of them, the fear of asking for what he wanted beginning to crumble and dissolve. He knew, after being in their care, that all he had to do was ask, and they’d both be obliging immediately. 

Seonghwa’s breath was still ragged, but his hands moved with purpose now. He turned toward Mingi, eyes dark and wet, mouth already parting like he needed him — like he couldn’t wait another second to taste the man who’d ruined him so gently the night before.

Mingi’s pants were already loose around his hips, briefs tented and damp at the tip, and Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. He pushed the fabric down, eyes fluttering at the sight of Mingi’s cock; thick, flushed, so beautiful it made his mouth water. Seonghwa leaned in, kissing just the base at first, lips pressing reverently against hot skin like he was bowing his head in prayer.

Behind him, Yunho chuckled low. “You always get so shy about taking, but when it’s giving?” He licked a firm stripe up Seonghwa’s hole, savoring the full-body shiver it caused. “Aren’t you the most precious thing?”

Seonghwa moaned, high and aching, the sound vibrating against Mingi’s cock as he finally took the head into his mouth.

Mingi hissed through his teeth. “Shit, Bun—just like that.”

Seonghwa sucked gently, teasing the tip with his tongue, one hand wrapping around the base while the other braced against Mingi’s hip. He closed his eyes and let himself fall into it, sinking lower, lips stretching wide as Mingi’s cock slid deeper into his mouth.

Yunho’s tongue was relentless behind him, licking and fucking with precision — soft circles, slow drags, wet pressure that made Seonghwa keen around Mingi’s cock. Every moan made his throat buzz, and every movement from Yunho only made him more desperate to please, to worship.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” Mingi said, brushing hair back from Seonghwa’s face so he could watch. “Pretty little mouth, all messy for me while Yunho eats your pussy like he hasn’t eaten all week.” 

“Mmmph—” Seonghwa’s reply was garbled, but earnest. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, determined to take more, to give everything he had.

Yunho pulled back briefly to press a kiss to the base of Seonghwa’s spine, voice low and full of pride. “You love being in the middle of us, don’t you, baby? One in your mouth, one on your ass. Stuffed full, used so well.”

Seonghwa nodded the best he could, thighs trembling as Yunho dove back in — hungrier now, tongue working with a rhythm that had his whole body tensing again.

Mingi groaned and rolled his hips slowly, fucking into Seonghwa’s mouth in shallow thrusts. “Gonna ruin you, Bun. Gonna paint that throat and watch you swallow.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Seonghwa’s eyes, but he kept going — jaw aching, lips stretched, moaning around Mingi’s cock like it fed him. Yunho slid a finger in beside his tongue, working him open again. Seonghwa’s hips rocked helplessly, caught in the devastating rhythm of it — his ass twitching, mouth full, heart pounding like a drumbeat for the two men wrecking him from both ends.

And he loved it. Fuck, he loved all of it.

Loved that Yunho couldn’t stop worshipping his ass with his tongue. Loved that Mingi was murmuring praise while fucking into his mouth like it was the only place he wanted to be. Loved how full he felt — with need, with cock, with adoration.

Mingi was getting close. Seonghwa could feel it in the way his hips trembled, in the way his cock throbbed heavier on Seonghwa’s tongue, in the soft curses spilling from his lips.

Still, Yunho stayed behind him, eating him out like he was starving, not letting up for a second. But now, his voice had gone softer — instructive, almost reverent.

“Not like that, sweetheart,” Yunho murmured. His hands slid up Seonghwa’s sides, then back down to rest on his hips. “Here—watch what happens when you stroke him just under the head. That ridge, right there.” Seonghwa whimpered, mouth still full, but followed Yunho’s gentle guidance. He adjusted his grip, stroking with one hand just where Yunho said — and Mingi let out a low, wrecked groan that went straight to Seonghwa’s cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Mingi gasped. “That—he’s got it. God, Bun, you feel so fucking good.”

“Now suck,” Yunho said softly. “Just the tip for a second. Right there.”

Seonghwa obeyed, and the sound Mingi made was broken.

“Sensitive,” Yunho whispered against Seonghwa’s back. “He’s sensitive right there. That’s when he starts to fall apart.”

Mingi’s head tilted back, hips stuttering as his fingers tangled in Seonghwa’s hair. “Shit, shit—baby, I’m gonna—”

Seonghwa moaned in encouragement, mouth and hand working in tandem, chasing every little tremble in Mingi’s voice.

And then Mingi was coming with a strangled cry, hips jerking forward as his cock pulsed on Seonghwa’s tongue. Seonghwa swallowed around it, not stopping until Mingi was twitching, oversensitive and panting, leaning heavily against the headboard.

“Jesus,” Mingi breathed, brushing hair back from Seonghwa’s flushed face. “You’re…fucking perfect.”

Before Seonghwa could recover, Yunho was pulling him up — hands strong on his waist, guiding him up onto all fours and then all the way upright until Seonghwa was kneeling, back pressed to Yunho’s chest.

“Your turn,” Yunho murmured, kissing along the side of Seonghwa’s neck, his cock thick and hard and pressing at Seonghwa’s entrance.

“Please,” Seonghwa gasped, his voice thin and needy.

Yunho slid in with one long, deep thrust, filling him slow but unrelenting. “God, you take it so well,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “So tight for us, so fucking sweet.”

Seonghwa gasped, head tipping back against Yunho’s shoulder. His whole body arched at the stretch, overwhelmed by the fullness, by the way Yunho’s cock curved just right inside him, dragging against every sensitive spot.

Then Mingi was in front of him again, already recovered, already leaning in. He cradled Seonghwa’s jaw and kissed him — slow and deep, tasting himself on Seonghwa’s tongue. His hands cupped Seonghwa’s cheeks, then slid down his chest, pinching at his nipples and pulling sweet whimpers from Seonghwa’s throat.

Yunho thrust into him from behind, strong and deep, grunting softly with every snap of his hips. His arm wrapped around Seonghwa’s waist, keeping him tight to his chest, while the other reached down to stroke Seonghwa’s cock.

“You feel so good,” Yunho growled. “So perfect between us. You’re ours, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa nodded frantically, mouth full of Mingi’s tongue, gasping around kisses.

“Say it,” Yunho demanded, voice thick.

“I’m yours,” Seonghwa cried. “I’m yours, I’m—”

He came with a full-body shudder, spilling between them in sticky, desperate pulses, his voice cracking as Mingi kissed him through it and Yunho fucked him harder, chasing his own end.

Seonghwa felt Yunho groan behind him, felt his hips stutter and cock pulse deep inside as he came, buried to the hilt, holding Seonghwa impossibly close.

The three of them collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, sweat-damp and panting, mouths still brushing and hands still exploring even as the pleasure slowly ebbed.

Seonghwa lay between them, boneless and trembling.

The bathroom was already warm when Mingi led Seonghwa in, steam curling softly at the corners of the mirror, thick and fragrant with the scent of eucalyptus and something sweeter — the body wash Yunho always used, tucked neatly beside Mingi’s scattered bottles on the tiled shelf.

“Let me get you cleaned up, Bun,” Mingi murmured, fingers brushing lightly across Seonghwa’s back. “You were perfect for us.”

Seonghwa just nodded, eyes heavy, skin still humming from everything that had happened. His body ached in the best possible way, spent and sated and still wanting more — not in a greedy way, but in a tender, reverent way. Like he didn’t want to stop being touched. Didn’t want to stop being cared for like this.

Mingi stepped under the spray first, pulling Seonghwa in with him. The water cascaded down their shoulders in soft sheets, gliding over flushed skin. Seonghwa let out a tiny sound and rested his forehead against Mingi’s chest. Mingi smiled and wrapped his arms around him, holding him there. They stayed like that for a long moment. No rush. Just heat and heartbeat.

“You okay?” Mingi asked eventually, brushing wet strands of hair out of Seonghwa’s face.

“I think I’m floating,” Seonghwa whispered.

Mingi laughed gently and kissed his forehead. “We’ll keep you grounded, baby. Promise.”

He reached for the soap, working it into a lather before beginning to wash Seonghwa’s body in slow, careful circles. His hands were steady and familiar, mapping out each line of Seonghwa’s back, down his arms, across the curve of his waist. He didn’t grope or tease — he worshipped. 

Seonghwa leaned into it, head tipping back as Mingi scrubbed tenderly at his neck and shoulders, then down across his chest, careful with the sore spots, even more careful with the parts of him still flushed and oversensitive.

“Turn for me,” Mingi said softly, and Seonghwa did, allowing Mingi to wash his back too — gentle strokes, down to the backs of his thighs.

When Mingi finished, Seonghwa reached for the shampoo and stood on his tiptoes to lather it through Mingi’s damp curls.

“You spoil me,” Mingi said, closing his eyes with a smile.

“Spoiling you back,” Seonghwa corrected. “Balance.”

Mingi hummed, leaning into the touch like a cat. “We’ll have to work very hard to outdo you.”

Seonghwa grinned softly and rinsed Mingi’s hair, fingers combing through it with care.

By the time they stepped out, the air beyond the bathroom smelled faintly of butter and toast and something sweet. Yunho’s voice floated in from the kitchen, low and melodic, humming along to some song on the speaker.

Mingi handed Seonghwa a soft towel — one of Yunho’s plush charcoal ones — and dried his hair for him, wrapping it up gently before toweling off the rest of his body.

When they were done, he kissed the side of Seonghwa’s face and whispered, “Come on. Our Yunho’s making breakfast. And you know how serious he gets about his pancakes.”

Seonghwa laughed, eyes warm and glowing. “Lead the way.”

The smell hit Seonghwa first — warm vanilla and cinnamon, with a hint of butter browning in a pan. It wrapped around him like a blanket as he stepped out of the bathroom in Mingi’s oversized hoodie and a fresh pair of cotton shorts, towel still tucked loosely around his shoulders.

Yunho looked up from the kitchen just as they entered. He was barefoot, in a pair of dark joggers and a loose white t-shirt that clung a little too well to the lines of his chest and shoulders. “There you are,” he said, smiling like he hadn’t just flipped the perfect golden pancake. “Thought I was gonna have to come drag you two out.”

“You could’ve,” Mingi said, stretching like a cat before padding over to wrap his arms loosely around Yunho’s waist from behind. “We wouldn’t have minded.”

Yunho leaned back into him briefly, then looked toward Seonghwa again, his eyes softening. “You hungry, sweetheart?”

Seonghwa nodded shyly, clutching the ends of his towel in his hands. “Starving.”

“Good,” Yunho said, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it. “You’ll eat right here then. Sit, both of you.”

They settled on the couch and Yunho brought over three plates, placing Seonghwa’s in his lap with a little flourish. Sliced strawberries, whipped cream, and a drizzle of honey. The pancakes were still steaming.

“You didn’t have to make it so pretty,” Seonghwa murmured.

“But I wanted to,” Yunho said, sitting beside him and tucking a folded napkin into Seonghwa’s lap. “You deserve pretty things.”

Mingi curled up behind Seonghwa on the couch, wrapping both arms around his waist and nuzzling into the space between his shoulder and neck. “You smell like me,” he mumbled proudly.

“I’m wearing your hoodie,” Seonghwa reminded him with a laugh.

“Still counts.”

Seonghwa tried to pick up his fork, but Yunho stopped him gently, taking it instead and cutting a bite for him. “Let me,” he said, eyes warm.

Seonghwa hesitated for only a second before nodding, parting his lips obediently for the bite Yunho fed him. It melted on his tongue — soft and sweet and just a little crisp at the edges. He moaned softly in approval.

Mingi made a low sound behind him. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m just eating,” Seonghwa said through a laugh.

“Yeah, but you make it look like something sinful.”

Yunho grinned and fed him another bite, this one with a bit of strawberry on top. “You should see yourself right now.”

“What?” Seonghwa asked, mouth full.

“All flushed and cozy,” Yunho said, brushing a crumb from the corner of his lips with his thumb. “Utterly spoiled.”

“You’re making him shy,” Mingi whispered in his ear.

Seonghwa wiggled in embarrassment, but neither of them let him go. The warmth between them was palpable — in every laugh, every shared bite, every tiny glance. He felt… adored. They finished the pancakes slowly, taking turns feeding each other and stealing bits from one another’s plates. When Seonghwa tried to return the favor, Yunho opened obediently for every bite, while Mingi made a big show of groaning dramatically after every mouthful Seonghwa gave him.

“Ten out of ten,” he declared at one point. “Would be hand-fed by Bun again.”

When the plates were cleared — Yunho kissed his cheek and said he’d do the dishes later — they sank back into the couch together. Mingi tugged a thick blanket over the three of them and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he landed on a rerun of something animated and nostalgic.

Seonghwa didn’t even try to focus. His body was too content, his chest full of something that felt like sunlight. Yunho curled around him from the front this time, while Mingi stayed behind, arms tight around Seonghwa’s waist. Their hands roamed in quiet rhythm — not sexual, not urgent. Just touch. Thumb strokes on his thigh. Gentle fingertips along his ribs. A lazy kiss to his temple.

Seonghwa nestled closer between them, his legs tangled up with Yunho’s, one hand resting lightly over Mingi’s at his stomach.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in the morning,” he whispered.

“You deserve a hundred mornings like this,” Mingi replied against his neck.

Yunho kissed the tip of Seonghwa’s nose. “And we’ll give you every one.”

“Just a hundred?” Seonghwa questioned with a coy grin. He couldn’t help himself. 

“There’s our greedy boy,” Mingi chuckled. “As many mornings like this as you want.” 

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The week had unfolded in soft colors and gentle rhythms.

Seonghwa had gone back to classes with his heart full and his body still aching in the sweetest ways. Even the gray of campus buildings felt warmer somehow, softened by memories of being cradled between Yunho and Mingi in a bed too big for just two.

They hadn’t spent every night together — schedules were tricky, school was demanding — but their days still bent toward one another like sunflowers bent towards the sun. Mingi had picked him up after class twice already, his car always smelling like designer cologne and something floral. And Seonghwa had been clingy pending his upcoming trip out of the country. He wasn’t ready for goodbye, even if it was just for a short while. Yunho continued to drive him to school every day, taking his duty quite seriously.

But by Thursday, Seonghwa wanted more than texts and kisses stolen in parking lots.

So, with his last class cancelled and the afternoon still lazy with sunshine, he made his way across campus toward Yunho’s office — only to pause when he spotted someone familiar already heading inside.

Mingi.

Seonghwa ducked behind a column for a second, peeking around with a grin. Mingi had a bag of pastries in one hand and his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He didn’t even knock — just opened the door with a flourish and disappeared inside.

Seonghwa waited thirty seconds, then tiptoed over and knocked once.

Inside, he heard Yunho say, “Is that more food? Because I swear—”

The door creaked open before he could finish. Mingi’s grin was instantaneous. “Well, well,” he said, stepping aside. “Look who showed up to make our afternoon better.”

Yunho was already standing behind his desk, glasses hanging from one hand, an easy smile tugging at his mouth. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Seonghwa stepped in slowly, his bag sliding from his shoulder. “I was in the neighborhood…”

“You wore that just for us, didn’t you?” Mingi asked, eyes taking down his outfit — pale blue sweater vest, soft white shirt tucked into crisp slacks, lips just barely glossy. “God, I love when you get all preppy.”

Yunho’s eyes were just as hungry, just as warm. “He’s trying to kill us.”

“Is it working?” Seonghwa asked, voice shy but teasing as he stepped further inside and let the door shut softly behind him.

Yunho’s reply was immediate, low and firm. “Yes.”

Before he could say another word, Mingi had crossed the room and kissed him — slow and sweet at first, but quickly deepening. His hand cradled Seonghwa’s cheek while the other gently tugged at the edge of his tucked shirt. When they parted, Seonghwa barely had time to catch his breath before Yunho was there too, tilting his chin up and kissing him like he’d been thinking about it all day.

“We were supposed to be productive,” Yunho murmured against his lips.

“I’ll work harder later,” Seonghwa whispered. “Right now… I just want to feel you both.”

“You’ve been feeling us all week,” Mingi said as he pressed closer behind him, hands already skating along Seonghwa’s waist, just barely brushing beneath the hem of his sweater vest. “You’re getting greedier.”

“I’m allowed to be,” Seonghwa replied, feigning innocence with a flutter of his lashes. “You both spoil me.”

Yunho chuckled lowly. “That’s not a challenge you want to issue, Bun.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”

That earned him a sharp look — and a step closer from Yunho, his presence towering and controlled. “Is that what this is? You showing up dressed like a dream, batting your lashes, looking for trouble?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer at first. He just slowly leaned back into Mingi’s chest, hands slipping behind to tug Mingi’s wrists tighter around his waist. Then, with a sly glance toward Yunho, “Maybe I just wanted to see how much you’d let me get away with.”

Yunho’s expression darkened, desire sharpening into something more deliberate. “Then you’ve got my full attention.”

Mingi’s breath ghosted over Seonghwa’s ear. “You’re in trouble now,” he whispered with a grin, nuzzling his temple. “He’s been holding back for you.” It had been something Seonghwa could sense, the way Yunho never really lost control, but hadn’t quite taken full control either. His words were too soft, too kind, rarely ever matching the way he looked at Seonghwa. And while Seonghwa relished being the sweet thing that they cherished, he wanted them both for everything that they were.

“I know,” Seonghwa’s smile widened, sounding far too pleased. “But I want to see what happens when he doesn’t.”

That snapped something in Yunho.

He was moving before either of them could react, circling the desk and coming up behind Seonghwa with one hand in his hair and the other gripping his jaw just firm enough to make him still.

“You think you can walk in here looking like that and act like a little tease without consequences?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. “You think we won’t put you in your place just because we like to spoil you?”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, but no sound came out, not when Yunho’s thumb brushed over the glossed curve of his lower lip, smearing it just slightly.

Mingi eased back a step, letting Yunho take over, content to watch for now. His eyes were molten, hungry.

“Answer me,” Yunho said quietly, gaze burning into him.

Seonghwa finally breathed, “Put me in my place, Yuyu.”

Yunho’s eyes narrowed. “Strip. Slowly.”

Seonghwa blinked.

“What—here?”

Yunho gave a soft, dark laugh. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“He’s not shy,” Mingi offered from the side, settling into the guest chair like he was watching a show. “He just wants to be begged.”

“Do you?” Yunho asked, taking another step until their bodies nearly touched. “Want me to beg you to undress?”

Seonghwa swallowed thickly. “I want you to make me.”

That was all it took.

Yunho’s hand dropped to his sweater vest, gripping it in his fist as he spun Seonghwa toward the desk. He didn’t shove or mandhandle, his touch was still kind and caring, but he did lean in close, pressing Seonghwa forward until his hips bumped the edge and his palms flattened on the surface.

“You want to be a brat,” Yunho murmured against his neck, “then I’ll treat you like one.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. “Please.”

“I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“But you’re going to,” he whispered.

Yunho smiled — cruel and fond. “Mingi,” he said over his shoulder. “Lock the door.”

There was a soft click behind them.

“Good boy,” Yunho said, though it wasn’t clear who he was talking to — Mingi, or the one writhing against the desk with anticipation. Yunho’s tie came off in one smooth motion — silk whispering through the loops of his collar, the motion practiced and unhurried. He doubled it in his hands, testing the tension, then glanced down at Seonghwa.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

Seonghwa hesitated just long enough to earn a warning grip to the nape of his neck.

“Now.”

He obeyed slowly, wrists sliding behind him with a shiver. Yunho bound them deftly, the silk cinching snug but not too tight. Seonghwa let out a quiet breath, the feeling of being restrained sinking into his bones like heat.

“You always act like such a sweet thing,” Yunho murmured, tugging the tie to make sure it held. “But you want to know what it feels like to be treated like a plaything, don’t you?”

Seonghwa nodded, eyes fluttering.

“Use your words, Bun.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I want it.”

Mingi came up beside them again, dragging two fingers down the line of Seonghwa’s spine. “He’s already trembling.”

“Because he knows what’s coming,” Yunho said, pressing his mouth to Seonghwa’s temple.

They took their time undressing him — each button undone slowly, each layer peeled back. Yunho unfastened his belt and slacks while Mingi knelt to slide them down, mouthing at the inside of his thigh as he went.

By the time Seonghwa stood half-naked and flushed, his wrists bound, Yunho sat casually in his chair behind the desk — eyes dark, legs spread — and Mingi leaned back against the desk, toying with the waistband of Seonghwa’s briefs.

“Look at how hard he is already,” Mingi said with a smirk, dragging the fabric down just enough to expose the head of his cock, already leaking. “Desperate little thing.”

“Don’t let him come yet,” Yunho said, voice low and firm.

Seonghwa whimpered.

“Please—”

“Please what?” Yunho asked. “Please don’t edge you? Please don’t ruin your underwear with how much you’re dripping? Please don’t bend you over this desk and spank you for being such a cock-hungry brat?”

Seonghwa squirmed helplessly between them. “Please… touch me. I need it.”

Yunho stood again, circling around to stand behind him.

“You’ll get what we give you,” he said, one hand smoothing down Seonghwa’s back while the other gripped his bound wrists, guiding him to kneel between Mingi’s legs. “And you’ll say thank you every time.”

Mingi let out a soft groan, undoing his fly as Seonghwa sank to his knees. “Think he remembers how I like it?”

“He’ll show us,” Yunho said, hand resting heavily on the back of Seonghwa’s head. “Won’t you, Bun?”

Seonghwa nodded, then leaned in with lips parted, tongue shy at first — just a flick against the tip of Mingi’s cock — before he took more, slow and careful, letting Yunho guide the pace.

“That’s it,” Mingi whispered, cupping Seonghwa’s jaw, thumb smearing spit over his cheek. “Good fucking boy.” Yunho crouched beside them, watching every inch disappear into Seonghwa’s mouth. He reached between his legs, fingers stroking his cock in long, slow pulls — not giving him quite enough, not yet.

“Don’t come,” Yunho warned again. “Not until we say.”

Seonghwa moaned around Mingi’s length, hips jerking reflexively.

Mingi chuckled. “He’s shaking.”

“He wants to be used,” Yunho said. “Let’s not disappoint him.”

Seonghwa choked softly on Mingi’s cock as Yunho pushed his head lower, spit dripping down his chin as he tried to keep up. His wrists strained in the silk behind him, useless to stop the slow, torturous rhythm Yunho had set.

“That’s it,” Yunho said, voice like velvet and fire. “Take him deep. Be our good little mouth.”

Mingi’s hand threaded through Seonghwa’s hair, gentler but no less firm. “God, you’re so pretty like this,” he murmured. “You gonna let Mingi fuck you open next, Bun?”

Seonghwa moaned around him, the sound vibrating up Mingi’s cock and pulling a sharp groan from his throat.

But Yunho didn’t let him get lost in it. He dragged him back by his hair, saliva stretching between his lips and Mingi’s tip, leaving Seonghwa gasping — lips swollen, eyes wide.

“Not yet,” Yunho said, crouching behind him. “We’re not done playing with you.”

He spread Seonghwa’s knees wide on the hardwood floor, nudging them apart with his own. Then his hand slipped between his thighs, fingers finding his hole — wet already, needy and twitching from nothing but anticipation.

“Fuck,” Yunho murmured. “He’s clenching already.”

“I think he likes being watched,” Mingi said, brushing Seonghwa’s hair out of his face. “You’re performing, aren’t you, baby?”

Seonghwa’s voice trembled. “I want you both— please—”

“You’ll get us,” Yunho said. “But not until you earn it.”

Two slick fingers pushed in deep without warning, making Seonghwa cry out and collapse forward, cheek against Mingi’s thigh. Yunho curled them expertly, pressing into his prostate again and again until his cock was leaking onto the floor, untouched.

“Hyung— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Yunho said, kissing the back of his neck. “You’ll take everything we give you.”

“You’re gonna come so hard when we let you,” Mingi promised, hand stroking Seonghwa’s jaw as he looked down at him. “We’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Seonghwa whimpered.

“Good,” Yunho growled, withdrawing his fingers with a slick sound. “Because no one else is allowed to touch you.”

He undid his own slacks, cock hard and heavy against Seonghwa’s lower back. Mingi helped lift Seonghwa off the floor, hands steadying him, wrists still bound behind his back.

“Bend him over the desk,” Yunho said, voice tight with control.

Mingi obeyed, guiding Seonghwa up and over the polished wood, chest pressed flat, ass arched, mouth slack with anticipation. Mingi stayed in front of him, gently untying his wrists but keeping his hands flat against the surface.

“You can hold on now,” Mingi murmured, kissing his temple. “But only if you ask nicely.”

Seonghwa moaned softly. “Please. I need hyung inside me. I need to come.”

“You will,” Yunho promised. “But you’ll take me first.”

He lined up behind him and sank in with one slow, unrelenting thrust — the stretch dizzying, the sound obscene. Seonghwa’s mouth dropped open around a cry as Yunho bottomed out, hands locking onto his hips.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Yunho growled, holding him still. “Even after all that teasing.”

Mingi climbed onto the desk in front of him, half-kneeling so he could take Seonghwa’s mouth again, while one hand gripped his hair and the other stroked along his throat.

Between them, Seonghwa was nothing but trembling pleasure — full, stretched, aching, perfect .

Yunho began to thrust, slow and deep at first, grinding into his spot with cruel precision. Each stroke punched a moan out of Seonghwa’s mouth, which was quickly swallowed with Mingi’s cock.

“That’s it,” Mingi said, voice low and tender. “Take it, baby. You look so good like this, so messy.”

“You like being used?” Yunho asked, pace increasing. “You like getting fucked open in your hyung’s office with your mouth full and your hole dripping?”

Seonghwa couldn’t answer. He just sobbed around Mingi’s cock, body shaking with every thrust, desperate to come but denied it still.

Yunho reached under him, stroking his cock finally.

“Come for us,” he ordered. “Right now.”

Seonghwa came with a cry that was almost a scream — thick and hot between his belly and the desk, muscles clenching so tightly around Yunho that he nearly followed. Mingi pulled out just in time to watch Seonghwa’s face contort with bliss.

“God,” he whispered, “he’s perfect.”

Yunho groaned deep in his throat and slammed in once more before spilling inside him, holding him tight, hips flush to his ass, panting through clenched teeth.

They didn’t bother cleaning up first.

Not when Seonghwa was still trembling, still dripping, still aching . His legs had barely recovered when Yunho pulled him upright again — chest to chest, pressing soft kisses to his swollen lips while Mingi tugged him backward by the waist.

“Up here,” Mingi said, voice husky, sinking into the chair Yunho had vacated. “Come ride me, baby.”

Seonghwa climbed up with shaky limbs, thighs still slick, body pliant and flushed. Mingi helped guide him down — cock already hard again, greased with slick and spit and anticipation. Seonghwa moaned as the stretch returned, this one different; deeper from the angle, more overwhelming because of how raw he already felt.

“That’s it,” Mingi whispered, mouth at his throat. “Take it all. You’re so good like this, so fucking good.”

Seonghwa rocked his hips slowly at first, whining at how sensitive he was, how full.

Behind him, Yunho came up close again — eyes dragging down his spine, palms smoothing over his waist.

“You want more?” Yunho murmured. “Or are you all used up, little bun?”

Seonghwa looked over his shoulder, eyes shining. “I can take more.”

Mingi kissed his jaw. “He’s insatiable.”

“Good.” Yunho’s fingers slipped between Seonghwa’s cheeks again, pressing in beside Mingi’s cock — one, then two, spreading him open slowly, forcing his body to accommodate more.

Seonghwa gasped. “Fuck—”

“You’re so stretched,” Yunho growled softly, pressing his fingers deeper. “So full of us. What are you, baby?”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, breath catching, but no words came out — just a helpless little noise.

“You’re our bun,” Mingi said. “Our sweet little toy.”

“Our good pup,” Yunho added without thinking — voice low and possessive, the word sharp and warm like a collar slipping into place.

Seonghwa froze.

His body twitched in Mingi’s lap, a shiver running down his spine. His pupils blew wide. And when he moaned next, it was different — raw and broken and needy.

Yunho’s hand stilled.

“Oh,” Mingi murmured, his grin lazy and wicked. “You liked that.”

“I—” Seonghwa tried to recover, eyes darting down, thighs twitching.

“Say it,” Yunho said, slipping his fingers deeper again, coaxing a moan out of him. “Say what you are.”

“I’m—” Seonghwa whimpered. “I’m your pup.”

Mingi let out a quiet groan, gripping his waist harder. “Fuck, baby.”

“You like being our pup?” Yunho asked, voice silk-wrapped steel. “Getting fucked full and riding hyung while I stretch your sweet little hole even more?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa gasped. “Yes, I love it.”

“Then show us,” Yunho growled. “Ride him, pup. Make us proud.”

Seonghwa moved slow at first — up and down in Mingi’s lap, body slick and flushed and trembling — but quickly lost himself in it. Mingi let him take control, hands firm on his waist, letting him grind down as Yunho’s fingers slipped in and out alongside his cock, filthy and overwhelming.

“You’re gonna take us both next time,” Mingi whispered, lips at his ear. “You want that? Want both your hyungs inside you, filling you up like you’re nothing but a hole to fuck?”

Seonghwa choked on a moan. “Please— please, I want that.”

“Such a needy pup,” Yunho murmured, free hand stroking Seonghwa’s cock where it bounced between them. 

“I’m close,” Seonghwa whimpered. “I’m so close.”

“Don’t come yet,” Yunho said darkly.

“I can’t— I’ll—”

“Pup,” Yunho warned, fingers curling inside him. “ Don’t. ”

Seonghwa sobbed but obeyed, clinging to Mingi, mouth open, thighs shaking. It took everything in him to hold on, to take it, to be good .

“Now,” Yunho said finally, voice like thunder. “Come for us, pup. Now.”

And he did.

It ripped through him — body clenching, cock spilling hot between their chests, breath punched from his lungs as he cried out, shaking apart in Mingi’s arms. His hole clenched so tight that Mingi followed a beat later, groaning into his throat as he came deep inside him.

Yunho didn’t stop.

He kept his fingers moving, pressing everything deeper, smearing them both into Seonghwa’s overstimulated hole as he whimpered and twitched.

“Good pup,” Yunho whispered. “Our perfect, perfect pup.”

Seonghwa’s body finally went still, the trembling settling into quiet weight. He slumped against Mingi’s chest, completely flushed, face tucked under his jaw. His skin was slick with sweat, hair mussed, thighs sticky and sore — but his lips were curved into the faintest, sleepiest smile.

Yunho was the first to move.

He pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s shoulder, then another to the side of his neck, before pulling back and heading to the small bathroom connected to his office. Mingi didn’t speak, just held Seonghwa close and rubbed slow circles over his back, occasionally nuzzling into his temple.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured after a moment.

Seonghwa nodded, cheek still resting against Mingi’s shoulder. “Mmm… yeah. Really okay.”

“Good.” Mingi kissed his hair. “You were perfect.”

Yunho returned with warm, damp paper towels and a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” he said softly, brushing hair back from Seonghwa’s forehead. “Slowly.”

Seonghwa blinked up at him, dazed but obedient, letting Yunho hold the bottle while he sipped.

Then came the cleanup — gentle and unhurried.

Yunho crouched in front of him, using the towel to clean between his thighs with the care of someone handling something sacred. His voice stayed low, murmuring quiet praise as he worked: “You did so well,” “Such a good boy,” “We’re so proud of you.”

Mingi helped support him the whole time, rubbing his arms, massaging his thighs when they twitched.

When they were done, Yunho reached for his clothes.

“Arms up,” he said.

Seonghwa lifted them with effort, letting Yunho guide his shirt over his head, fingers moving carefully to straighten the collar and smooth down the sleeves. Mingi pulled his briefs back up, sliding his slacks gently over his hips, pausing to nuzzle his belly.

“You’re so warm,” Mingi whispered. “Still leaking.”

Seonghwa blushed.

Yunho leaned in, kissed his cheek. “We’ll get you in the shower soon. But first…”

“Dinner,” Mingi finished. “You’ve earned something amazing.”

Seonghwa perked up, blinking sleepily. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want,” Yunho said. “Somewhere cozy. With good food and low lighting so you can fall asleep at the table if you want to.”

Mingi grinned. “We’ll feed you dessert with a spoon.”

“And maybe sneak you bites between kisses,” Yunho added.

Seonghwa looked between them, flushed and still a little dazed, but glowing.

“You guys are so…”

“Obsessed with you?” Mingi teased, helping him stand.

“Absolutely,” Yunho said.

Seonghwa reached out for both of them, tugging them close until they were all wrapped up again in a quiet, slow hug — a moment of stillness before stepping back into the world. He didn’t speak again until they were walking out of the office, Yunho locking the door behind them, Mingi’s hand in his and a soft smile on his lips.

“Pup,” Seonghwa murmured, just loud enough for them to hear.

They both turned.

“…I think I like it.”

Yunho smiled.

“Oh, we know.”

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Chapter 8: Even Stitching

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of trees, casting shifting patterns of light across the path as Yunho and Seonghwa strolled slowly through the park. The air was warm but not heavy, touched with a breeze that ruffled the leaves and tugged at the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt.

He sipped from a smoothie in one hand — strawberry and something floral, pale pink in a clear cup — while the other swung loosely at his side.

Or at least, it had tried to swing.

Yunho had taken hold of it five minutes ago and hadn’t let go since.

His fingers were laced through Seonghwa’s, his grip loose but persistent, like letting go would cost him something. Every few steps, he’d bump their shoulders together or tug their joined hands up so he could press a kiss to the back of Seonghwa’s knuckles, or lean in too close just to breathe in the scent of his shampoo.

“You’re clingy today,” Seonghwa said around the straw, not unkindly — just amused.

“Can you blame me?” Yunho grinned, wide and unrepentant. “I have the sweetest bun all to myself. And you look so cute.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes but blushed anyway. “You picked this outfit.”

“Exactly,” Yunho said, tugging him a little closer. “And I think I did a great job.”

Seonghwa shook his head with a quiet laugh. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m obsessed with you,” Yunho shot back, mock-affronted. “You’re lucky I haven’t dragged you into those bushes yet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Yunho paused. “You’re right. The bugs are probably terrible.” Then, softer, closer to his ear: “But I’ve thought about it.”

Seonghwa choked a little on his smoothie.

Yunho just smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world, like trailing his hand over Seonghwa’s lower back as they walked was a reflex, like staring at his profile while he sipped from his straw was a privilege he didn’t take for granted.

They reached the edge of the path near a duck pond, where sunlight scattered over the surface in glinting shards. Seonghwa sat on the edge of a bench and Yunho followed, immediately pulling his arm around Seonghwa’s shoulders.

“You miss Mingi,” Seonghwa said softly, more a statement than a question.

Yunho nodded after a beat, gaze fixed on the water. “Yeah. I do.”

Seonghwa leaned his head lightly against Yunho’s shoulder. “Me too.”

“He’ll be back before we know it,” Yunho reassured him, squeezing harder. “He’s doing great work, being super important with his camera. Plus, he left me in the care of the best company.” He leaned down, pressing another kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. 

Seonghwa ducked his head at the compliment, cheeks still tinged with pink from the earlier teasing. “You’re lucky I like you,” he murmured again, voice a little softer this time.

Yunho leaned back slightly to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Smile for me, then. I want to remember this.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Yunho confirmed. “Before your smoothie’s gone. You’re glowing, and your mouth’s all pink, and I need proof I went on a walk with the prettiest boy in town.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes — but he posed anyway, tilting his head just slightly and raising the cup back to his lips. The wind caught his hair at just the right moment, and the sunlight made the tips of his lashes gleam. He peeked at Yunho from behind the straw and gave a teasing little half-smile.

Yunho groaned behind the camera. “That’s illegal.”

“You told me to smile.”

“Yeah, and now I’m going to jail.”

He snapped a few shots anyway, then lowered the phone and looked at him with eyes like molten honey. “My turn. Come take some.”

Seonghwa took the phone as Yunho leaned back on the bench, one arm stretched along the backrest, legs parted, head tilted like he belonged in a cologne ad. His dark shirt was slightly wrinkled from the way he’d curled around Seonghwa during their walk, but his smile was all ease and mischief.

“Flirtier,” Seonghwa prompted, angling the camera.

“I’m already being emotionally inappropriate in public,” Yunho said. “How much flirtier do you want?”

“Pretend you’re trying to get laid.”

Yunho’s brows lifted. “Sweetheart. I am .”

Seonghwa laughed, trying not to shake the phone. “More smolder. Less giggling.”

Yunho bit his lip and lowered his chin just slightly — eyes lidded, mouth barely parted.

Seonghwa felt his pulse flutter.

He took three pictures and nearly forgot to breathe on the last one.

Then Yunho reached for him, tugging him down into his lap like Seonghwa was his to throw around like a rag doll. And Seonghwa was so small compared to him that basically…he was.

“Selfie,” he said. “C’mere.”

They tucked together like puzzle pieces, Seonghwa leaning slightly against Yunho’s chest, both of them half in the frame. Yunho pressed a kiss to his cheek mid-shot. In the second photo, Seonghwa was laughing. In the third, Yunho’s eyes were locked on Seonghwa’s lips.

When Seonghwa scrolled back through the photos, his chest squeezed.

He didn’t say anything — just quietly saved a few to his favorites before handing the phone back.

Yunho studied him for a moment, smile gone soft and private. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, voice low. “Just… full.”

“Of smoothie?”

Seonghwa smiled, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Of you.”

Yunho blinked.

Then his fingers found Seonghwa’s again, tighter this time. Yunho was still looking at him when Seonghwa turned his head again, their noses nearly brushing.

“Say it again,” Yunho murmured.

Seonghwa blinked. “Say what?”

“That you like me.” His smile was soft but a little lopsided now, like it was trying not to tremble. “I want to hear it again.”

Seonghwa bit his lip, then leaned in so their foreheads touched. “I like you, Yunho.”

A quiet breath left Yunho’s chest.

“Do you know how lucky I feel?” he whispered.

Seonghwa huffed a laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him. “You say that like I’m some impossible prize.”

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. “You are.”

He said it with such conviction that Seonghwa blinked, startled.

“I mean it,” Yunho said, threading his fingers tighter through Seonghwa’s. “You’re more than Mingi and I could have ever imagined. We were already so happy together, it was hard to believe that we could deserve more.”

“Yunho—”

“You don’t even realize, do you?” Yunho’s voice was low, reverent. “You could’ve chosen anyone. But you opened up to us. And now you let me touch you like this, look at you like this—and you still smile like I’m doing you a favor.”

Seonghwa didn’t know what to say. His smoothie was forgotten in his lap. The only thing he could focus on was the look in Yunho’s eyes — gentle and awe-struck and completely undone .

“We talk about it, you know,” Yunho said, quieter now. “Me and Mingi.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Talk about…?”

“You,” he whispered. “How we found you. How we found you. It feels impossible sometimes. Like you got dropped into our lives wrapped in ribbon and softness and all this sunshine we didn’t even know we needed but couldn’t live without.”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, eyes suddenly wet.

Yunho cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing the corners of his cheeks.

“You’re a treasure, Hwa. And we know it. We really, really do.”

For a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but Yunho’s voice and his hands and the warmth of being seen so fully it hurt.

And then Yunho leaned in — slow and certain — and kissed him like he’d just come home. Seonghwa melted into it, fingers curling against Yunho’s chest, his heart thudding like it didn’t know how else to say thank you.

They were in no rush to leave the park, too drunk in each other’s presence. But when they did decide to go, Yunho kept his hand in Seonghwa’s the whole walk back to the car, kissed his knuckles at stoplights, teased him until Seonghwa swatted his chest and laughed through a blush. By the time they pulled up in front of Seonghwa’s house, the late afternoon sun had softened to gold, low and syrupy. Yunho killed the engine but didn’t move to get out.

“I’ve got a quick faculty thing,” he murmured, leaning over the console. “It’ll only be like an hour. Maybe two, if people get long-winded.”

Seonghwa nodded, already reaching for the door handle. “Okay. I’ll work on my design project while you’re gone.”

But Yunho didn’t let him go that easily.

He caught Seonghwa’s wrist gently, pulling him back in, and kissed him — slow and heavy, with more heat than he probably intended to let show. It started soft, but somewhere between the second and third kiss, it turned hungry. A hand on Seonghwa’s cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. Another on the back of his neck, thumb pressing lightly at the hinge of his jaw.

By the time Yunho pulled back, Seonghwa was flushed and dazed, lips a little pinker than before.

“You’re too good at that,” Seonghwa whispered, voice a little shaky.

Yunho grinned and brushed one last kiss to his cheek. “You bring it out of me.”

He got out and came around to open the door properly for Seonghwa — one hand helping him out, the other sliding around his waist to walk him to the porch. He didn’t stop kissing him. One on the temple. One behind his ear. One pressed to the tip of his nose.

When they reached the top step, Yunho turned him gently to face the door.

“Go inside,” he said, voice low and fond. “Work on your designs. Drink some water. I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“I already miss you.”

Yunho let out a quiet noise — something between a groan and a sigh — and squeezed his waist. “Don’t say that while I still have the ability to throw you over my shoulder.”

Seonghwa giggled, ducking his head, then turned to unlock the door.

When he looked back, Yunho was halfway down the steps.

“I mean it,” Yunho called softly. “Drink water.”

Then he was gone.

Inside, Seonghwa set his things down slowly, his body still humming with warmth. He toed off his shoes, poured a glass of water just to be obedient, then padded into his room with the soft thump of socks on hardwood. The light through his window was perfect — golden and low, spilling across his desk like a painting. He pulled out his sketchbook, slipped into the large hoodie he stole from Mingi before he left for Italy, and got to work.

The hum of creativity settled into his bones, pencil strokes and color swatches laid out like offerings on his bed. He got so lost in it that he didn’t hear the FaceTime call at first. It took two buzzes before he blinked, reached for his phone, and saw the name light up on screen.

Mingi 💘 Calling…

He answered on the third ring, smiling before the image even loaded.

Mingi was lounging on a hotel bed, shirtless and slightly damp, hair tousled from what was probably his shower to get the day started.. His chain glinted against his collarbone. “Bun,” he greeted, voice low and warm. “Miss me yet?”

Seonghwa melted immediately, and thought back to the conversation he had with Mingi. Where he confessed that they talked about Seonghwa, and his heart clenched. 

“I always miss you.”

Mingi’s grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Seonghwa shifted back against the pillows, angling the phone so Mingi could see his face and the sketchbook resting in his lap.

“You look cozy,” Mingi said immediately, eyes flicking down.

“I was working,” Seonghwa replied, drawing the phone back slightly to show the mess of swatches and fabric scraps across the bed. “You interrupted me.”

“You love when I interrupt you.”

Seonghwa tried not to smile. “Maybe.”

Mingi’s voice dropped a little, coaxing. “Are you wearing my hoodie?”

Seonghwa looked down. The soft, oversized cotton hung off his shoulder, one collarbone just barely exposed. He tugged it up half-heartedly, but Mingi had already seen.

“Fuck, Bun,” Mingi murmured, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re really trying to kill me while I’m halfway across the world?”

“I wasn’t trying,” Seonghwa muttered, but he was pink again, just like Yunho had left him. “You left it out at your house. I missed you. It also missed you. We decided to bond over missing you.”

Mingi softened immediately. “I miss you too,” he said, no teasing this time. “So much. It’s stupid how empty it feels not to be able to touch you.”

Seonghwa swallowed, biting at his bottom lip. “It’s only been three days.”

“Exactly,” Mingi said. “And I’m already losing my mind.”

There was a beat of quiet between them — not awkward, just heavy. Present.

Then Seonghwa glanced down at his sketchbook again and shifted the camera. “Want to see what I was working on?”

Mingi perked up. “Are you kidding? Always.”

Seonghwa turned the phone toward his pages, flipping slowly. The designs were delicate and dreamy — soft lines and rich textures, asymmetry in places that made the eye linger. Mingi’s voice stayed quiet as he looked, but when Seonghwa reached a sketch that featured a flowing longline vest over sheer trousers, Mingi interrupted with a low whistle.

“Is that one for you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Seonghwa said, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “If I can get the fit right.”

Mingi grinned, propping himself on one elbow. “You’d destroy me if you wore that.”

“You say that about everything I wear.”

“Because everything you wear looks like it’s bad for my health,” Mingi replied smoothly. “Especially when you’re wearing it in my hoodie in bed. Looking like you just got kissed stupid.”

Seonghwa froze.

Mingi blinked. Then his grin turned wicked .

“…I was with Yunho.”

Seonghwa tried to act unbothered, flipping to the next page. “He dropped me off.”

“Uh huh.”

“And went to a meeting.”

“Sure.”

Seonghwa pouted. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I know exactly what you look like when you’ve been kissed until you can’t walk straight.” Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Is your lip a little swollen?”

“Stop.”

“You like it when we break you a little, don’t you?”

Seonghwa squirmed. “You’re not allowed to say that while you’re shirtless and far away.”

Mingi laughed, all warmth. “Then let me say something else.”

Seonghwa looked up.

“You looked really happy just now,” Mingi said. “When you were showing me your sketches. When you were talking about Yunho. You were glowing.”

Seonghwa’s throat tightened.

“And I want you to know,” Mingi continued, “that you don’t ever have to feel guilty about that. Not with us. If Yunho makes you smile like that, lean into it. Take everything you want.” Mingi’s voice stayed in that soft register — the one he only ever used when it was late, or when he missed someone too much to cover it up. “I want you to feel that freedom with us, Hwa,” he said. “No guilt. No second-guessing. Just… take what you need. We want to be yours.”

Seonghwa didn’t speak for a moment.

Then, finally, he whispered, “Okay.”

Mingi smiled — slow and real. “Good.”

There was a pause. Seonghwa let out a breath and tilted the phone to rest more comfortably on his thigh. Mingi’s image stayed bright in the frame, lazy and beautiful in the hotel’s warm light.

“Will you show me more of your designs tomorrow?” Mingi asked.

“Of course,” Seonghwa said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again. “Only if you keep sending me shirtless mirror selfies.”

“Deal.”

Mingi yawned then, stretching out on the bed with a dramatic groan. “I need to finish getting ready before I’m needed. You gonna be okay without me?”

“I’ll try to survive,” Seonghwa said solemnly.

“You’re such a little brat.”

“Your brat.”

“Correct.”

Seonghwa smiled as Mingi blew him a kiss through the screen and ended the call.

He set his phone aside and sat in the quiet for a moment, just breathing, heart full and warm in his chest.

Then he turned back to his project.

The silence helped him focus — just the sound of pencil on paper, the occasional hum of passing cars outside. He filled in some color blocks, edited a few hem lengths, and pulled out a swatch of pearly iridescent fabric that shimmered faintly in the fading light. It would be perfect as an underlayer. Something soft and luminous.

He was so focused he didn’t notice how long had passed — until the sun had dipped lower behind the trees and shadows began to stretch across the room.

His stomach growled.

With a soft sigh, he set his sketchbook aside and padded into the kitchen, tugging Mingi’s hoodie down a little over his shorts. He opened the cabinet above the counter and pulled down his favorite mug — a pale, mint-colored one with a tiny bunny etched on the side — and turned to fill the electric kettle Yunho had gifted him.

He touched the base fondly before flipping it on.

While it heated, he grabbed a granola bar and some dried mango slices, arranging them on a little plate like he was prepping for a guest, not just himself. He picked out a chamomile-lavender tea — the one he always saved for when he needed comfort — and set the sachet in the mug just as the kettle beeped.

Everything felt quiet and still and safe.

Seonghwa carried the mug and snack back to the living room, curling into the couch and letting the warmth of the tea bloom through his hands.

He didn’t expect the knock on the door. It was firm. Not urgent, but not casual either.

His heart skipped.

The knock came again — a little heavier this time.

Seonghwa blinked and set his tea down carefully on the coffee table. He padded to the door, tugging Mingi’s hoodie a little closer around his frame as he peeked through the small window.

Yunho, just as he thought.

His hair was tousled, shirt half-tucked, breath just visible in the cooler evening air. He looked… wrecked. Not badly. Just undone — like he’d barely made it out of the meeting before something inside him snapped.

Seonghwa opened the door slowly.

“Yunho?”

Yunho didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at him.

Then his eyes swept downward — over the hoodie that swallowed him up, over his bare legs and socked feet, and back up again to meet his gaze.

“Hi,” Yunho said, voice a little rough. “I—sorry. I needed to see you.”

“You just left.”

“I know.” Yunho stepped closer. “But I kept thinking about you. And then I couldn’t think about anything else. And then I… couldn’t stay away.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught.

Yunho reached out slowly, brushing his fingers over the sleeve of the hoodie.

“You’re wearing his hoodie,” he murmured.

Seonghwa nodded. “It’s comfy.”

“It is,” Yunho agreed. “But I want to ruin it.”

Seonghwa flushed from head to toe. “You’re not even going to come inside first?”

“Not unless you ask me to.”

There was a flicker of hesitation — not from fear, but from surprise. From how quickly things shifted. And then Seonghwa stepped aside, heart stuttering in his chest.

Yunho moved past him slowly, like a storm on legs. He didn’t take off his shoes. Didn’t ask where to sit. He turned the moment the door clicked shut and pressed Seonghwa gently back against it, one hand bracing near his head, the other sliding around his waist.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“You were gone for a couple of hours.”

“I know,” Yunho said, leaning in. “And every second felt too long.”

His mouth brushed Seonghwa’s jaw, then lower — soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of his neck, where his pulse skipped. Seonghwa reached up instinctively to grab his shoulders.

“Yunho—wait—my tea—”

“It’ll stay warm.”

“But I was gonna—”

“I’ll make you more later.”

Seonghwa whined, half-heartedly, and Yunho growled low in his throat.

“You smell like him,” Yunho murmured, nuzzling the collar of the hoodie. “But you taste like me. Don’t you?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer — couldn’t, not with Yunho kissing down the side of his neck like that, with one hand slipping under the oversized hem to skim over his bare thigh.

“I want you upstairs,” Yunho whispered. “Now.”

“But you—”

Yunho didn’t let him finish.

He bent and lifted Seonghwa suddenly with a fluid movement, tossing him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing at all. Seonghwa let out a yelp and smacked at his back, but Yunho just chuckled, carrying him like treasure up the stairs.

“I could walk, you know.”

“I didn’t trust myself not to drag you halfway up by your hoodie.”

Seonghwa huffed, dangling over his shoulder. “You’re insane.”

“Only for you.”

When they reached his room, Yunho set him down gently by the bed. His hands were already on the hem of the hoodie when Seonghwa held up a finger.

“Wait.”

Yunho froze. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” Seonghwa turned towards his pillows. His plushies — the little ones that usually watched over him at night — stared back with shiny black eyes. He reached out quickly and turned them all to face the pillows.

Yunho blinked. Then he smiled, warm and helpless.

“Too shy to let them see?”

“They’re innocent,” Senoghwa explained, earning an adoring look from Yunho. Then, gently, he reached for the hem of the hoodie again.

Seonghwa’s hands shot out. “Wait.”

Yunho stilled. “Hwa.”

“Is this okay? For us to…without Mingi?” He questioned. This was still new to Seonghwa, navigating this undefined relationship with two men who were already together. He didn’t know what was allowed and what wasn’t. A look of understanding took over Yunho’s face. 

“Would you like to call him and ask?”

He thought about it for a moment — Mingi should still be free. Seonghwa reached for his phone on the nightstand, thumbs fumbling slightly as he tapped into their group thread and hit the video call icon.

Yunho stayed close but didn’t crowd him — one hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of his back, the other resting loosely at his waist.

It rang once.

Then twice.

Then Mingi’s face appeared — soft and flushed, backlit by the warm glow of his hotel room.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice already warm. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight.”

Seonghwa hesitated, eyes flicking to Yunho, then back to the screen. “I… wanted to ask you something.”

Mingi immediately straightened, his teasing expression fading into something more open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Seonghwa said quickly. “I just… Yunho’s here. And we were— I mean, he came back after his meeting and…” His voice trailed off.

Mingi’s brows lifted slightly, catching on. “You were about to do something?”

Seonghwa flushed and nodded.

“But you weren’t sure if you should,” Mingi said gently.

Seonghwa glanced down at the hem of the hoodie, fingers tightening slightly. “I didn’t want to cross any lines.”

There was a pause. Then Mingi smiled — not teasing this time, but so sincere it made Seonghwa’s chest ache.

“There are no lines, Bun. Not with this.”

“You’re allowed to want us when we’re not both there,” Yunho added quietly beside him. “You don’t need permission to feel close to one of us. We trust you. And we want you to trust yourself.”

Seonghwa looked back at the screen. “So… it’s okay?”

“It’s better than okay,” Mingi said. “It means you feel safe enough to want us. That’s all we’ve ever wanted in return.”

Yunho leaned closer, resting his chin lightly on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to reach for us. However you need. Whenever you need.”

Seonghwa’s breath shook slightly, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

“I just didn’t want it to feel like I was keeping something from you,” he said to Mingi, voice small.

Mingi’s voice softened. “Sweetheart, if I could be there, I would be. But knowing you’re being held, being kissed, being loved on while I’m gone? That makes me feel closer to you. Not left out.”

Seonghwa’s throat tightened. “You want to stay on the call?”

Mingi’s gaze darkened just slightly — not with jealousy, but with hunger. With affection. “If you’ll let me.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly, then passed the phone to Yunho, who angled it carefully on the nightstand. Mingi’s image remained framed perfectly — watching with quiet reverence.

Yunho turned back to him, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“Still want this?” he murmured.

Seonghwa nodded again. “I always want you.”

And this time, when Yunho lifted the hoodie over his head, Seonghwa didn’t stop him. Yunho’s hands moved slowly, reverently, pushing the hoodie up inch by inch. His fingers brushed over Seonghwa’s ribs, his sides, the soft dip of his waist.

“Arms up,” he whispered.

Seonghwa obeyed, skin prickling as the fabric was lifted away and tossed aside. He stood there bare-chested in the golden hush of his room, lit only by the lamp on his nightstand and Mingi’s gaze through the screen.

Yunho let out a soft breath. “God, Bun…”

On the phone, Mingi groaned low. “Look at him. All soft and twitchy.”

Seonghwa flushed darker, but his breathing had picked up — short, fluttery. He looked between the two of them and bit his lip. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“You make it too easy,” Yunho murmured, hands dragging down his torso now, thumbs grazing over his nipples. Seonghwa arched with a soft whimper. Yunho dropped to his knees in front of him without another word. He curled his fingers in the waistband of Seonghwa’s shorts and dragged them down slowly, watching the fabric catch on his thighs, his knees, until he was left in nothing but little pink briefs.

Yunho looked at him like he was edible.

Yunho pressed a kiss to his hipbone, then nuzzled softly along the band of his underwear. “What’s this? Already hard for us?”

Seonghwa whined, hands gripping Yunho’s shoulders to steady himself.

Yunho looked up, eyes dark and slow. “On the bed, Bun. Lay down for me.”

He obeyed, climbing back onto the sheets, breath shallow as his legs parted and he lay back into the pillows and pile of plushies. Mingi's image on the phone watched every movement with silent hunger, one hand already stroking slowly out of frame.

Yunho crawled up over him, mouth finding his chest again. He licked over one nipple before closing his lips around it, sucking until Seonghwa’s hips lifted from the bed with a cry.

“That’s it,” Mingi praised, voice low and smooth. “Let him taste you. You’re so good when you give in.”

Seonghwa’s hands flew to Yunho’s hair, tugging lightly — not to stop him, but to anchor himself. He was already leaking, a damp spot growing at the front of his briefs, his thighs twitching open further with each kiss.

Yunho kissed down his stomach, mouthing over his navel, his hip, the inside of his thigh.

Then, with a wicked smile, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and dragged his underwear down, exposing the pretty little cock that was already flushed and twitching for attention.

Yunho leaned down and kissed the head softly. “Think he’s ready?”

“Check him,” Mingi murmured. “Stretch him open slowly. You know how tight he gets.”

Yunho sat up slightly and reached into his jacket pocket for a small bottle of lube (because of course he came prepared) before coating his fingers carefully. Seonghwa bit his lip, watching Yunho’s slick fingers disappear between his thighs. The first touch was gentle, ghosting over his rim until he shivered.

“Relax, Bun,” Yunho whispered, pressing his palm to Seonghwa’s inner thigh. “I’ve got you.”

Then he slid one finger in, slow and steady.

Seonghwa gasped, hips shifting.

“That’s it,” Mingi breathed. “You’re so good, baby. Let Yunho make it better.”

Yunho worked him open gradually — one finger, then two — curling them inside him until Seonghwa was panting and grinding down. His thighs trembled, spread wide and slicked with lube, his cock twitching against his stomach.

“You’re drooling,” Yunho murmured, leaning down to lap at his hole while his fingers kept moving. “So wet for us.”

Seonghwa’s head tipped back, a long, broken moan leaving his throat.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please—Yunho—”

Yunho kissed up his thigh again and reached for his own pants, groaning as he freed himself — thick, heavy, flushed deep at the tip.

“Gonna fill you now,” he said softly. “Stretch you all the way. You want that, Bun?”

Seonghwa nodded desperately, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Yes. Please. I need you.”

Yunho leaned down and kissed him slowly, guiding his cock to Seonghwa’s hole.

Mingi’s voice was low and shaky from the phone. “Fuck him, baby. I want to see how full he gets.”

Yunho pushed in — inch by throbbing inch — until Seonghwa cried out and clawed at his shoulders.

“You’re taking me so well,” Yunho praised, kissing his temple. “Look at you. So pretty. So full.”

When he bottomed out, he stayed there — just letting Seonghwa feel it, letting Mingi watch him stretch wide around the cock they both loved so much.

“You feel him, Bun?” Mingi asked.

“Yes—oh my god—yes—”

“Good boy.”

Yunho began to move, slow and deep, rocking into him like worship.

Yunho took him like that, slow and intimate, with Mingi watching and whispering praise and filthy encouragement. Yunho held Seonghwa down gently, whispering how perfect he was, how lucky they were to have him. How he could take it all.

When Seonghwa came, it was with Yunho’s hand around his cock, milked until he was shaking and spilling across his chest. Yunho followed soon after, pulling out just enough to finish across Seonghwa’s stomach and thighs — a warm mess between them.

He kissed his cheek.

Mingi groaned on the phone. “I’m booking an earlier flight.”

Seonghwa was still trembling when Yunho disappeared to get a towel and came back before wiping gently at his stomach and thighs.

“Hey,” Mingi murmured through the phone, his voice warm despite the slight pixelation. “You okay, Bun?”

Seonghwa turned toward the sound, flushed and dazed, his lips parted. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Better than okay.”

“Good.” Mingi smiled softly, the kind of smile that tugged behind the eyes. “That was beautiful to watch. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for staying,” Seonghwa replied, blinking slowly. “It felt like you were here.”

Mingi’s smile faltered, only slightly. “Not the same, but…” He sighed. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Yunho added, voice still husky but tender.

Mingi laughed. “You’d better.”

They lingered a few moments more — little nothings, soft goodbyes, sleepy smiles — before the call ended. The room felt quieter after, but not empty. Just full of breath and afterglow and affection.

Seonghwa closed his eyes for a moment.

Then Yunho kissed his forehead. “C’mon. Bath time.”

The water was already running when Yunho carried him into the bathroom, one arm under his knees, the other cradling his back. Seonghwa clung loosely to his neck, eyes heavy-lidded and body pliant. The tub filled with warm, lavender-scented water. He set Seonghwa down gently, helping him ease into the water before joining him. The tub was wide enough to fit them both, and Yunho pulled Seonghwa into his lap, arms wrapping around him from behind.

“Too much?” he asked, voice low against Seonghwa’s temple.

“No,” Seonghwa murmured. “Just enough.”

They stayed like that for a while — Yunho’s hands skimming lazily across his arms, his stomach, his thighs. Then Yunho reached for the bottle of shampoo perched on the side of the tub.

“Let me?” he asked.

Seonghwa nodded and tilted his head back.

Yunho washed his hair with the kind of care that made Seonghwa feel like glass — fingers gentle, massaging through his scalp, tilting his head to rinse without letting water get in his eyes. He conditioned next, smoothing the product through every strand before rinsing again. After, he cupped warm water in his palms and gently poured it over Seonghwa’s shoulders, down his back, across his chest.

He didn't speak unless it was to check in — a soft, “Still good?” or a “Want me to wash here too?” And Seonghwa, eyes fluttering closed, only nodded.

When they finally got out, Yunho wrapped him in a towel and dried him off with slow, careful movements. He helped him into fresh underwear and the t-shirt Seonghwa had made off with weeks ago from the first time he’d spent the night at their house — soft and oversized, hanging past Seonghwa’s thighs — before slipping into a pair of sweats himself, one of the only things Seonghwa had that could cover most of his long legs.

By the time Seonghwa padded into the living room, Yunho was already scrolling through a delivery app on his phone.

“Craving anything?”

Seonghwa blinked sleepily. “Something cheesy.”

Yunho grinned. “Same.”

He ordered from their favorite local Italian place — a creamy truffle pasta and garlic knots with extra marinara — and set the phone aside before settling beside Seonghwa on the couch.

“Blanket?” Yunho asked.

Seonghwa nodded.

Yunho tugged the knit throw from the back of the couch and draped it over both of them. Seonghwa curled up beneath Yunho’s arm, tucking his head against his chest while a soft indie film played in the background — neither of them really watching, just basking in the closeness.

Somewhere between the third garlic knot and the second act of the movie, Seonghwa’s head slipped further down Yunho’s chest, his breathing evening out.

And just like that, Seonghwa was asleep.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

 

Chapter 9: Seam Allowance

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The morning light crept in slowly, pooling across the living room in long, warm stripes. The TV was still quietly murmuring in the background, the remote somewhere between couch cushions, forgotten. A blanket lay tangled around their legs. Yunho's arm was draped loosely over Seonghwa’s waist, his palm warm beneath the hem of the hoodie.

Seonghwa stirred first, nose scrunching as he burrowed deeper into Yunho’s chest.

Yunho, still half-asleep, hummed and pressed a lazy kiss to the top of Seonghwa’s head. His voice was rough with sleep, low and unguarded.

“Mm... morning, Bun.”

Seonghwa smiled against him. “Is it?”

“Light says so.” Yunho shifted just slightly, sliding one of his thighs between Seonghwa’s. The friction made them both exhale. “Feels too good to move.”

Seonghwa blushed but didn’t pull away. His hips rocked forward, just a little. Enough to feel the press of Yunho beneath the fabric of his sweats.

“Mmph—” Yunho chuckled, still half-asleep. “Careful.”

“You’re the one grinding,” Seonghwa whispered.

“I’m dreaming,” Yunho defended, eyes still closed. “This doesn’t count.”

Seonghwa giggled and leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw — soft and slow, just a brush of lips that made Yunho’s breath catch. He tilted his head, giving Seonghwa better access, one hand lazily stroking down his spine beneath the shirt.

Another kiss. Then another. And another, this one a little messier, right at the corner of Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho turned fully toward him, eyes finally opening. He cupped Seonghwa’s face and kissed him properly — slow and deep, tasting like sleep and mint and something that made Seonghwa’s toes curl.

“Morning kisses,” Yunho whispered. “Best invention ever.”

They kissed again, longer this time. Seonghwa shifted in his lap, hips brushing Yunho’s again, and Yunho groaned softly against his lips.

“I really—” Kiss. “—need you—” Kiss. “—to stop doing that or I’m never—”

A sharp voice shattered the moment like a dropped glass.

“Seonghwa.”

They both froze.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened. Yunho’s hand went still on the small of his back.

“What the hell is this?”

Seonghwa slowly turned his head.

There, just inside the doorway, stood Seonghwa’s aunt — suitcase still by her side, trench coat slung over one arm, sunglasses perched in her hair. Her expression was unreadable. Sharp. Cold. Like she was already calculating just how bad this looked.

Seonghwa scrambled up, tugging the hem of the shirt down instinctively, as if it might somehow erase the last few minutes. Yunho straightened too, but slower, more measured. His face was composed — polite but unreadable.

“Hi,” Seonghwa said, voice too high. “You’re… back.”

“I wasn’t expecting to come home to this,” Yoona replied coolly, her gaze shifting to Yunho. “Or to him .”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, but Yoona didn’t wait.

“Is this the man from across the street?” she asked. “The professor?”

Yunho stood now, a quiet strength in his posture, like a protective wall forming in front of Seonghwa. “Yes, ma’am. Jeong Yunho.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And how long has this been going on?”

Seonghwa’s heart pounded. “It’s not— I mean, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Really?” Yoona said sharply. “Because it looks like you’re sleeping with a man nearly ten years older than you on my couch. While you’re supposed to be focusing on school .”

“Yoona—”

“Does he even know how young you are?” she snapped. “Do you know what people will say if they find out about this?”

Yunho spoke calmly, but firmly. “With all due respect, I care about Seonghwa very much. This isn’t something careless.”

“Careless is exactly what it is,” Yoona replied, crossing her arms. “You’re not a student, and he’s not some fling. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

Yunho’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t raise his voice. “I am. I’ve never touched Seonghwa without his permission. And I won’t stand here and let you talk to him like he’s some naïve child. He’s in his mid-twenties, a grown man.”

Yoona’s expression faltered for a second — not with guilt, but with surprise. She clearly wasn’t used to being challenged.

Seonghwa stepped forward, still flushed, but more composed now. “Please don’t talk to him like that. Or to me.”

“Seonghwa—”

“I’m not a kid,” he said. “And I’m not stupid. I care about him. And Mingi. They’ve both been… kind to me. I’m not asking for your approval, but please don’t talk to me like that.”

The silence was loud.

Yoona gave one final look between them before lifting her bag.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said coldly. “We’ll talk later.”

Then she turned and walked toward the guest bedroom, heels clicking with every step.

As soon as the door closed, Seonghwa slumped back onto the couch, breathing hard.

Yunho sat beside him, hand brushing over his thigh. “You okay?”

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “That was awful.”

“You handled it,” Yunho said. “Better than I did.”

Seonghwa leaned into him. “You didn’t leave.”

“I never will.”

Seonghwa’s head fell into his hands as Yunho began to rub his back. He really hadn’t thought this through. So wrapped up in how happy he was that he didn’t even think about how unconventional the entire relationship was. Being queer in this country was already taboo, but three men together? What had he expected? 

“What if she kicks me out?” he whined, and Yunho hugged him closer. 

“Don’t start trying to act funny, now,” Yunho said, resting a cheek on top of Seonghwa’s head, “You know we have more than enough room for you. Come on, let’s get dressed and get out for a bit. Maybe it will be good to clear our heads.” 

Seonghwa nodded and let Yunho guide him through everything. 

The front door clicked softly behind them when they left.

Seonghwa didn’t speak for the first few blocks. He just sat in the passenger seat of Yunho’s car, hands curled in his lap, watching the familiar streets blur past the window. His hoodie sleeves were pulled down over his palms, and his lip was pink from worrying it between his teeth.

Yunho didn’t press him, just rested one hand on the wheel, the other reaching across the console to hold Seonghwa’s gently.

They drove for a while — past the sleepy edges of the neighborhood, into older parts of town where the houses leaned a little more and the trees grew taller.

Eventually, Yunho pulled into the gravel lot of a little café tucked behind a nursery. The sign out front read Fern & Fig , hand-painted in curling script. Ivy trailed down the front awning, and birdsong filtered in from the fenced garden out back.

“I thought this might be quiet enough,” Yunho said softly, thumb brushing over Seonghwa’s knuckles. “They have good tea. And really embarrassing pastries with too much icing.”

Seonghwa let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “Sounds perfect.”

They sat on the back patio, beneath hanging lights and the gentle rustle of potted lemon trees. Yunho ordered them a pot of green plum tea and two of the ridiculous pastries — one shaped like a sleeping cat, the other a swan.

Seonghwa only managed a few bites at first. But when Yunho leaned over and brushed frosting off his cheek with a thumb, something in him cracked — the tension began to bleed out slowly.

“You okay?” Yunho asked, voice low.

“I think I’m still embarrassed,” Seonghwa admitted. “But mostly I just feel… heavy.”

“Understandable.”

Seonghwa looked up. “I didn’t think it would feel like that .”

“Getting caught rarely feels good,” Yunho said gently. “But I think you handled it with grace.”

“I almost cried.”

“You’re allowed to cry.”

Seonghwa went quiet again.

Yunho filled the silence with comfort — pouring tea, offering bites, telling him softly about a book he’d just finished, until Seonghwa’s shoulders dropped a little more. The sun filtered through the trees above them, dappling his lashes and the bridge of his nose. Yunho thought he looked like a painting.

Eventually, Seonghwa reached for his phone.

“Mingi’s probably awake by now.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Think he can handle the drama?”

“He lives for drama,” Seonghwa muttered, already opening FaceTime.

The screen rang three times before Mingi’s face filled it — tousled hair, sleep-soft eyes, shirtless in a tangle of hotel sheets.

“Well, well,” Mingi croaked. “Look at my two beautiful disasters. You look emotionally wrecked. Did I miss something?”

Seonghwa smiled for the first time in an hour. “Yoona came home.”

Mingi blinked. “Shit.”

“Walked in on us kissing,” Yunho added.

Mingi winced. “Double shit.”

Seonghwa leaned his chin on Yunho’s shoulder and told him the whole story. Mingi didn’t interrupt, just listened, eyes slowly sharpening as the details came out. When Seonghwa finished, there was a long pause.

Then Mingi exhaled. “You okay, Bun?”

“I will be.”

“You sure?”

Seonghwa nodded. “It sucked. But Yunho stood up for me, and he stayed.”

Yunho smiled quietly beside him, brushing a hand over Seonghwa’s thigh beneath the table, “And he stood up for himself, too,” he added gently.

“I’m proud of you,” Mingi said, voice warm. “But if she gives you shit again, tell her I’ll come back with a PowerPoint presentation on how much we adore you.”

Seonghwa giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.”

When the call ended, Yunho watched Seonghwa for a moment. “Do you want to come home with me tonight? Just to get some space?”

Seonghwa looked down at his tea. Thought for a long moment.

“I want to go back,” he said finally. “I want to talk to her.”

Yunho’s brows knit together. “Are you sure?”

Seonghwa nodded. “I need to. She’s still my family. And she doesn’t know everything. Maybe she’ll listen.”

Yunho’s hand found his again. “You’re brave, you know that?”

Seonghwa smiled faintly. “Not really. I just don’t want to hide with you. I like how you guys walk around with me on your arm like I’m your prized possession. I want to be able to do the same. Plus, we promised. No secrets.” 

“No secrets,” Yunho agreed, kissing the back of Seonghwa’s hand.

The drive back was quieter than before, but not tense. Just soft — the kind of quiet that came from knowing something hard was waiting, but not letting it ruin what came before. Seonghwa’s hand stayed in Yunho’s the whole time, fingers laced, resting on the console between them.

When they pulled up in front of the house, Yunho didn’t put the car in park right away. He sat there with the engine humming, eyes forward for a long moment before finally glancing over.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Seonghwa looked down at their hands. “I’m not.”

Yunho’s thumb brushed over his knuckles again. “I mean it. I’ll stay parked out here the whole time if you want me to. Or come in with you. Or take you home and make pasta until she cools off. Just say the word.”

Seonghwa smiled, eyes still lowered. “You always say the right things.”

“That’s because I’ve got the right person to say them to.”

Seonghwa laughed quietly, then turned toward him in the seat. “Thank you. For not making me feel like a burden.”

“Impossible,” Yunho said. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever stumbled into, besides Mingi. Almost twenty years later and I still can’t believe he gave me a chance.”

“I want you two to tell me one day about how you met and fell in love,” Seonghwa said softly, fingers leaning against the door handle. 

“Of course,” Yunho obliged, leaning out to cup Seonghwa’s cheek and rub his cheek softly with his thumb. A beat passed and Seonghwa leaned forward to kiss him softly and full of all the things he felt in his chest but didn’t dare speak out loud.

When they parted, Seonghwa pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m going to be okay.”

“I know,” Yunho whispered. “But I’ll be waiting. Just in case.”

Another kiss. One more squeeze of his hand. And then Seonghwa stepped out of the car, hoodie sleeves still covering his hands, but his chin lifted a little higher now.

Yunho watched him until he disappeared through the front door. 

For a moment, Seonghwa just stood in the entryway, listening.

The house was quiet — not frozen, just… cautious. He could hear the faint hum of the fridge from the kitchen, the creak of a floorboard overhead, the gentle thump of footsteps crossing the hall, followed by the sound of a suitcase zipper and the muffled clink of hangers in a closet.

Yoona was unpacking.

She wasn’t waiting in the living room, arms crossed, ready to pounce. That alone was a small mercy. It meant he had a moment to breathe — to straighten the hem of his hoodie, to step out of his shoes quietly and pad into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped it slowly, feeling it slide cool and clean down his throat.

His hands trembled just a little.

Not from fear, exactly. Just from the weight of it all — the words he wanted to say, the years between them, the quiet thread of hope that she might still see him as someone worth listening to. He took his time finishing the water. Set the glass gently in the sink. Then reached up to smooth his hair back, tugging his sleeves down a little lower over his hands.

He still wore Mingi’s hoodie, and the scent alone reminded him that he was just standing up for himself. He was standing up for something that he wanted.

One more breath. Then another.

And then, finally, he turned toward the stairs.

The stairs creaked under his feet, each step measured and quiet. The closer he got to Yoona’s room, the heavier everything felt — the memory of her voice cutting across the living room, the way she’d looked at him like a stranger. Like someone who had disappointed her. He reached the door and paused just outside, knuckles hovering near the wood.

It was slightly ajar. Inside, Yoona was unpacking — her coat hung neatly on the closet door, a half-empty suitcase resting on the bed. She was folding clothes with clinical precision, movements sharp and clean.

“Can I come in?” Seonghwa asked softly.

Yoona didn’t look up. “You live here, too.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was too full of things unsaid.

Then Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk.”

Yoona’s hands paused over a blouse. Slowly, she turned to face him, arms crossing over her chest. “I’m listening.”

“I know this morning was… shocking.” His voice was steady, even as his fingers tugged at his sleeves. “But I need you to know it’s not what you think.”

She arched a brow. “You mean you’re not sleeping with my thirty-something neighbor who just so happens to be your professor? And…and his partner?”

“He’s not my professor,” Seonghwa said quietly. “And I’m not a child.”

“You’re young.”

“I’m grown,” he replied, firmer now. “I pay my own tuition. I handle my own schedule. I cook, I clean, I’m responsible. You trusted me to live here alone. Why is this different?”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Yoona said, her voice tight. “Because this—this relationship—could ruin things for you. People talk, Seonghwa. Fast and loud and cruel.”

“I know how people talk,” he said, softer this time. “I’ve heard it my whole life. But I’ve also heard worse things from people who were supposed to care about me.”

Yoona flinched at that — the bare truth of it.

Seonghwa pressed on. “Yunho and Mingi care about me. Genuinely. They’ve never asked me to be anything I’m not. They don’t hide me, or treat me like I’m temporary. They support me. They respect me. And this morning, when you talked about it like it was a mistake—Yunho stood up for me.”

Yoona’s expression shifted, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

“I’m not asking you to understand everything,” Seonghwa said. “But I am asking you not to treat me like I don’t know what I want. I’ve never been clearer.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Is this serious?”

“I hope it is,” he said without hesitation. “They make me feel so…wanted. I don’t need anybody to take care of me, but they do it anyway because they want to. They support me and my dreams, and make every moment so meaningful.” 

Yoona pursed her lips as she regarded him. 

“Are you happy?” 

Seonghwa nodded easily, not having to think twice about it. 

“And your parents?” 

That was something that Seonghwa hadn’t thought about. So happy in his little bubble that he hadn’t even considered how to tell them. 

“I’ll tell them when I’m ready,” Seonghwa said, “Either they support it or they don’t. My dating life is my business, and nobody gets to influence that.” 

Yoona sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, her gaze softening in a way that reminded Seonghwa—painfully—of how she used to look at him when he was younger.

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly,” she said finally.

“I do,” Seonghwa replied. “And I didn’t expect you to get it overnight. But I need you to trust me.”

Yoona looked at him for a long moment, then gave a quiet sigh. “You’re right. You’re not a child anymore. I shouldn’t have talked to you like one.”

Seonghwa blinked, surprised by the admission.

She stood, walking slowly toward him, her arms crossed—not with judgment, but with unease she was trying to work through. “You say they take care of you. That they make you feel seen. That matters to me more than what it looks like from the outside.”

“They do,” Seonghwa said gently. “They really do.”

Yoona gave a tight nod. “Then… I’ll try. I can’t promise I’ll understand everything, but if they make you this happy—and if they really care about you—then I’ll try not to stand in the way.”

Relief crashed through him like a wave. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’ve known you since you were born. I helped your parents take care of you and watched you grow into who you are and after all these years, I don’t want a strain between us,” she added. “So I’m trusting you. And them.”

Seonghwa stepped forward slowly and hugged her, arms wrapping gently around her shoulders. When she went back to unpacking, Seonghwa retreated to his own room and pulled out his phone.

[Hwa]
It went okay.
She’s not thrilled, but she said she’ll try.
She knows you both care about me.

A moment passed.

Then his phone buzzed.

[Mingi]
Trying is good. That’s enough for now. We’re proud of you, Bun.

[Yunho]
More than proud. 

The praise made him feel warm, but the weight of the conversation was starting to creep up on him. He needed safety and comfort, and the place he’d find that in the most was across the street. He quickly packed up an overnight bag, grabbing one of his plushies before stopping by Yoona’s room and letting her know he’d be gone tonight. He nearly ran across the street, strands of hair flowing behind him before he walked up the path to Yunho and Mingi’s home—his home too, in all the ways that mattered—and let himself in.

Seonghwa slipped out of his shoes and padded down the hallway, his overnight bag slung over one shoulder, plushie tucked beneath his arm. He found Yunho in the kitchen, standing at the counter in sweats and a faded university hoodie, barefoot, hair a little messy from where he’d run his hands through it too many times. He was quietly humming something — soft and familiar — as he packed what seemed to be leftovers from his lunch into Tupperware and wiped down the counters.

He didn’t hear Seonghwa until he cleared his throat, just barely, and turned around.

For a second, he just stared — like Seonghwa wasn’t real.

Then his whole face broke into a smile.

“Bun,” he said, voice quiet with surprise and thick with affection. “Let yourself in?”

Seonghwa shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t want to be alone.” He didn’t bother acknowledging the fact that it was the first time he’d ever just…walked in without an invitation. 

Yunho crossed the kitchen in three long strides and pulled him into his arms without another word. Seonghwa melted into him, forehead pressed to Yunho’s collarbone, hands fisting lightly in the back of his hoodie.

“You can always come here,” Yunho murmured, kissing the side of his head. “No matter what.”

Seonghwa nodded into his chest. “I told her I was staying the night. I just needed…”

“Yeah,” Yunho said, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you.”

They stood there for a long moment, held in the glow of the kitchen lights, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound between them.

Eventually, Yunho pulled back just enough to cup his face. “Have you had lunch yet? I made too much. I’m used to making food for more people than just myself.”

“Only if you eat with me.”

Yunho grinned. “That can be arranged. Mingi says I have a second stomach hidden somewhere.”

Lunch was warm and quiet. Seonghwa picked at his food a little at first, but the more Yunho coaxed him — teasing bites and soft smiles — the more he eased into it. By the time they were scraping the last bits from their plates, the tension in Seonghwa’s shoulders had started to dissolve. Yunho rinsed the dishes, and Seonghwa dried. It was an unspoken rhythm today, a shared quiet, broken only by the occasional bump of their hips or the playful flick of water off Yunho’s fingers.

Afterward, Yunho tugged him toward the couch with a “Come here, baby,” already setting up the TV.

“Are you seriously about to make me watch cartoons?” Seonghwa asked as if watching cartoons with both Yunho and Mingi wasn’t a favorite pastime, letting himself be pulled down onto the cushions.

“Yes,” Yunho said, flopping beside him and pulling him into his side. “But the good kind. The weird nostalgic ones Mingi and I watched as kids. You’re gonna love it.”

Blankets were pulled over laps. Seonghwa ended up sprawled half across Yunho’s chest, legs tangled, fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie.

They watched two episodes — maybe three — before Seonghwa’s eyelids started drooping. Yunho didn’t move, just tightened his arm around him and brushed lazy kisses into his hair.

Eventually, Yunho reached over the side of the couch and grabbed his Switch. “Here. Wanna try something?”

Seonghwa blinked up at him. “What is it?”

“Animal Crossing,” Yunho said, smiling. “It’s dumb and cute and relaxing. I think you’d like it.”

He handed it over and guided Seonghwa through the opening scenes — making a character, naming his island, picking fruit trees. Within twenty minutes, Seonghwa was fully curled up under the blanket with the Switch in his hands, mumbling “just one more” every time Yunho teased him about getting attached.

Yunho didn’t mind. He just watched him, eyes soft and half-lidded, content to spend the entire afternoon like this.

The sun had dipped low, casting golden light across the living room, warm and soft against the blanket still tucked around Seonghwa’s legs. He was curled into the corner of the couch, Yunho stretched out beside him, arm lazily draped over the back of the cushions. The Switch rested on Seonghwa’s stomach now, his villager peacefully fishing on the beach while soft game music played.

Yunho reached over to brush his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair just as Seonghwa’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Mingi 💘 Calling…

Seonghwa perked up instantly. He swiped to answer and was greeted by Mingi’s face in the sunny glow of his hotel room.

“Well, well,” Mingi said, propping his chin on his hand. “Look at you, all cozy. You two been cuddling without me?”

Seonghwa smiled, shy but warm. “Maybe.”

Yunho leaned in slightly so Mingi could see them both. “We had lunch. Watched cartoons. He got sucked into Animal Crossing.”

Mingi groaned dramatically. “Not you corrupting my innocent bun with your cozy pixel farming.”

“He’s not innocent,” Yunho said without missing a beat, and Seonghwa nearly choked on his own breath.

“Excuse me?” Seonghwa laughed, smacking Yunho lightly on the thigh.

“I’ve been inside your butt for pleasurable reasons,” Yunho added, teasingly tugging the fabric of Seonghwa’s hoodie up, “Not innocent.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “God, you’re so lucky I’m not there. I’d have you under me in two minutes, looking like that.”

“Mingi,” Seonghwa whined, pink blooming on his cheeks.

Yunho just grinned, proud of the blush he helped deepen.

Mingi’s voice dropped a little. “I think we need to invest in a collar and leash. Something cute. Maybe pink.” A pause. “Would you wear it for me, pup?”

Seonghwa froze.

His eyes flicked between Yunho and the phone. “You—what—”

Mingi laughed. “Oh? You like that?”

“I didn’t say that,” Seonghwa stammered, pressing the heel of his hand to his cheek.

“But you didn’t not like it,” Yunho mused, clearly enjoying the way Seonghwa’s thighs pressed tighter together under the blanket.

Mingi leaned in closer to the camera, voice smooth and slow. “We’re just teasing. Unless you want it.”

Seonghwa ducked his head, but not before they both caught the flash of something in his eyes — interest, curiosity, maybe even longing.

“Noted,” Mingi murmured, pleased. “We’ll table that for when I’m home.”

“Which better be soon,” Seonghwa mumbled, still flushed.

Mingi grinned. “Counting the days, pup.”

Mingi didn’t stop smiling. “God, I miss the two of you. My inbox is full of boring shoots and brand emails, and meanwhile, you’re just… curled up together like a romance novel. You even got the lighting right. Where’s my dramatic wind machine and violins?”

“You’re the one who left us,” Yunho said with a smirk, trailing his fingers down Seonghwa’s arm slowly, almost absentminded.

“Temporarily,” Mingi replied. “But you’re keeping my pup warm, so I’ll forgive you.”

Seonghwa shifted under the blanket again, legs curling a little tighter, thighs pressing together.

“Mmm, he likes that, Min,” Yunho lulled teasingly. 

“He’s making that face he does when he tries to act unaffected but it’s obvious he is.” Mingi added.

“You two are the worst,” Seonghwa muttered, visibly flustered.

Mingi grinned like a devil. “Tell me again what you’re wearing right now?”

“Stop—”

“Isn’t that my hoodie?” Mingi pressed, eyes narrowing playfully. “Like the perfect little pup waiting for his owners to come home.”

Seonghwa turned beet red and launched a pillow off the couch in the direction of the phone in Yunho’s hand, even though it barely thudded off the floor.

Yunho was fully laughing now. “He’s gonna combust.”

Mingi’s voice softened slightly, warmth still behind every tease. “I miss you, Bun. Be good for Yunho, okay?”

“I will,” Seonghwa mumbled, half-buried in Yunho’s chest.

“Good boy. I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.”

“Mingi-yah,” Yunho purred as he put the screen on himself, “Make sure you’re eating proper meals,” he instructed, the look on his face soft and…so in love. Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

“I miss your cooking,” Mingi complained, “But I’ll be good.” 

“Good. I love you,” Yunho said warmly. 

“I love you, too, jagiya.” 

The call ended with a quiet beep, and Yunho set the phone aside without a word. He received no time to prepare himself before Seonghwa shifted in his lap — slow and deliberate, the blanket falling further down his thighs.

Yunho raised a brow. “What are you—”

“You both suck,” Seonghwa grumbled, crawling closer, straddling Yunho’s lap. “You did that on purpose.”

Yunho’s hands found his waist instinctively. “You’re the one squirming like you want something.”

Seonghwa leaned in, nose brushing Yunho’s. “I always want something.”

Yunho’s voice dropped. “Oh yeah?”

Seonghwa nodded, then kissed him — slow and needy, all plush lips and soft gasps, hands tangling in Yunho’s hoodie. He pressed in harder, grinding down gently in Yunho’s lap until they both exhaled.

Yunho cupped the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, the warmth between them simmering.

When Seonghwa finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, he whispered, “I want more.”

Yunho licked his lips, eyes darkening. “We’re not gonna make it off this couch, are we?”

“Nope,” Seonghwa said, already kissing down his jaw. The heat between them simmered long after the call ended — Seonghwa curled in Yunho’s lap, lips swollen, fingers tangled in the hem of Yunho’s shirt like he wasn’t capable of letting go.

Eventually, Yunho coaxed him upright with a kiss to the cheek. “If we don’t eat now, I’m going to have to explain to Mingi why his bun passed out from hunger in the living room.”

Seonghwa giggled, still dazed, and let himself be pulled to the kitchen where Yunho had made something quick but still tasted perfect. They moved through the evening slowly with dimmed lights and a lo-fi playlist humming in the background. Seonghwa helped fold the throw blankets back onto the couch and fed the fish in Mingi’s decorative tank, murmuring greetings to each one like they’d missed him too.

By the time the clock ticked past ten, they both stood in the hallway, brushing their teeth side by side. Yunho wore plaid pajama pants and no shirt, his hair messy and damp from a quick rinse in the shower. Seonghwa was in one of Mingi’s oversized sleep shirts, his legs bare and toothbrush hanging lazily from his lips.

Without a word, Yunho opened the bathroom drawer and shifted a few things around — making space.

Seonghwa blinked.

Then Yunho pulled out a new toothbrush, one still in the package.

“It’s yours if you want it,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a small earthquake of meaning. “We figured you’d need one sooner or later.”

Seonghwa took it with both hands, heart fluttering. He unwrapped it, ran it under the tap, and set it beside Yunho and Mingi’s — three brushes lined up in a porcelain cup. Neat. Easy. Right.

When he looked up, Yunho was already watching him in the mirror.

“It looks good there,” Yunho said quietly.

Seonghwa nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

Later, when they curled up in bed — the same bed Seonghwa had only shared a few times before — Yunho reached for him without hesitation. One arm tucked behind Seonghwa’s head, the other draped across his waist. He held him close as the playlist shifted to something softer, the night settling around them like a blanket.

Seonghwa buried his nose in Yunho’s shoulder, the scent familiar, grounding. He thought of the toothbrush. The drawer space. The way Yunho’s touch never strayed far.

Nights at home would never be enough after this.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

Chapter 10: Fastened

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The late morning light filtered lazily through the curtains while the TV was on low, playing some slice-of-life anime Seonghwa had put on but long since stopped paying attention to. He was curled up sideways on the couch with his legs draped over Yunho’s lap, his head resting on the armrest, a pillow tucked under it. One of Yunho’s sweatshirts hung off his shoulder — the same one he’d slept in the past two nights.

It had been three days since the confrontation with Yoona.

Three days of slow mornings and late lunches. Of sharing space like it was second nature. Of waking up tangled together and brushing teeth side by side. Of Seonghwa leaving little trails of himself throughout the house — his socks under the coffee table, his sketchbook spread across the dining room, his extra plushie now permanently nested among Yunho and Mingi’s pillows.

Yunho’s hand was resting on his shin, thumb brushing absentminded circles over the fabric of his sweats. Every so often, he’d look over and smile, like he still couldn’t quite believe Seonghwa was here — in his home, on his couch, relaxed enough to drift in and out of light naps while the sunlight pooled around them.

“I should be working,” Seonghwa murmured without opening his eyes.

“You should be resting,” Yunho countered. “You’ve earned it.”

Seonghwa peeked at him through one eye. “You’re enabling my laziness.”

“I’m cherishing it,” Yunho said simply, fingers sliding higher to rub gently over the curve of Seonghwa’s knee. “You don’t let yourself rest often enough.”

They fell into silence again, comfortable and slow, the kind of silence that only grows between people who’ve shared more than just a bed.

Seonghwa yawned. “You know, I could get used to this.”

Yunho glanced down at him, something soft blooming behind his eyes. “You already have.”

Before Seonghwa could answer, the front door lock clicked.

Both of them sat up — Yunho more quickly than Seonghwa, who blinked blearily as the door swung open.

A suitcase rolled in first, followed by the man who’d been missing for far too long.

“Hey,” Mingi said casually, a duffle slung over one shoulder and sunglasses perched in his hair. His hoodie was wrinkled from travel, his smile wide and immediate. “Surprise.”

 

Mingi barely got the door closed before Seonghwa launched off the couch.

He was across the room in a flash, barefoot and glowing, and Mingi barely had time to drop his duffle before Seonghwa collided with him full force — arms around his neck, legs around his waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“Whoa—!” Mingi laughed, staggering slightly under the weight but catching him easily. “You missed me or something?”

“I hate you,” Seonghwa mumbled into his collarbone, clinging tighter.

Mingi grinned and held him close, one hand under Seonghwa’s thigh, the other smoothing up his back. “That’s not what it sounds like.”

“I missed you so bad,” Seonghwa admitted in a rush, pulling back just enough to kiss Mingi’s cheek, his jaw, his lips — over and over again.

“Okay, okay,” Mingi laughed, breath catching at the flurry of affection. “I’m here, Bun. I’m here.”

Yunho joined them seconds later, one hand resting on the small of Seonghwa’s back where he was still clinging to Mingi like a koala. He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to Mingi’s lips — not rushed or greedy, just full of warmth and welcome.

“Missed you,” Yunho muttered against him.

“Missed you too,” Mingi replied, a little dazed, his arms still wrapped around Seonghwa. “God, I missed both of you.”

Then Yunho pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s temple, Mingi kissed Yunho’s jaw, Seonghwa kissed Mingi again — a tangled little cyclone of affection and touches between people who’d missed being together quite a lot.

Seonghwa remained wrapped around him, arms and legs stubbornly clamped down, even as Mingi laughed and tried to shift his bag out from under his feet.

“Bun, I need to breathe,” Mingi wheezed. “You’re cutting off circulation to my soul.”

“No,” Seonghwa said, squeezing tighter. “You left for too long. This is what you deserve.”

“I was gone for a week and a half!”

“Exactly.”

Yunho chuckled and leaned in to kiss Mingi again. “Just admit it. You like coming home to this.”

“I do,” Mingi confessed, nuzzling his face into Seonghwa’s neck. “I really, really do.”

Yunho rubbed Seonghwa’s back with one hand and held onto Mingi’s hip with the other. “Let’s get your stuff in and make tea. You’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day.”

“Damn right,” Mingi said, finally setting Seonghwa down just enough to pull him into a proper hug. “You think I flew halfway across the world just to not be held by you guys?”

“Okay but like,” Seonghwa said, tipping his head back, “you still owe me like thirty kisses minimum. That was the deal.”

Mingi’s brows lifted. “Minimum?”

Yunho looked between them. “Better get started.”

They migrated to the living room, tea brewing in the background and Mingi’s suitcase half-unpacked by the door, forgotten for now.

Seonghwa didn’t let go of him for a long time — not when they sat, not when Yunho curled up on his other side. He stayed curled up to Mingi, legs straddling his waist as he slumped forward against his body and rested his head in the crook of Mingi’s neck. He was like an oversized lap dog that didn’t realize he was too big, but Mingi just held him there, hands rubbing mindlessly along Seonghwa’s back and Yunho curled up to his side, hand resting on Mingi’s thigh. 

Mingi told them stories between sips of tea — fashion shows in Florence, models who showed up drunk, one particularly cursed dinner with an investor who tried to pitch a line of edible handbags. Seonghwa giggled through it all, sometimes hiding his face in Mingi’s shoulder when he laughed too hard.

Yunho leaned in every now and then to steal sips from Mingi’s mug and listen with a quiet smile, brushing his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair absentmindedly.

“Okay, okay,” Mingi said finally, resting his empty mug on the coffee table. “Enough about me. What’ve you two been doing while I was gone?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Being responsible. Cooking meals. Resting. Bonding.”

“Sleeping in my spot,” Mingi teased, poking Seonghwa’s side.

Seonghwa grinned. “You were gone. Someone had to keep your pillow warm.”

Mingi began to press kisses to Seonghwa’s cheeks and then to his forehead. “It’s a big bed, Bun. There’s room for three people to have spots in it.” Seonghwa’s heart stuttered at the implication of that little sentence. “But since you did such a good job, I should start making good on my payment.” 

Reeling his head back, Seonghwa gave him a silly little grin. “Thirty kisses, plus interest.”

“Plus interest?” Mingi questioned, pretending to be shocked. Offended, even. 

“Well of course,” Seonghwa puckered up his lips to make a point.

Mingi didn’t hesitate.

The first kiss was soft. The second was longer. By the fifth, Seonghwa’s fingers were tangled in his hair, making little content noises every time their mouths met. Yunho watched for a few seconds, then leaned in to kiss both of them in turn — mouths sweet from tea, warm from laughter.

“I missed you both so much,” Mingi whispered against Seonghwa’s lips. “You have no idea.”

“You better not leave for that long again,” Seonghwa whispered, voice catching slightly.

Mingi pulled him in tighter. “Next time I’ll just take you with me.” 

“Promise?” Seonghwa questioned.

“I promise,” Mingi smiled before leaning in for another kiss as Yunho sat there, his arm resting on the back of the couch as he watched with adoration. 

Mingi didn’t pull back after the tenth kiss — just lingered, mouths brushing together between half-laughs and soft sighs. His hands had found their way under the hem of Seonghwa’s hoodie, palms warm and steady against his waist. Seonghwa’s legs still straddled him, hips shifting instinctively closer with each breath.

“You feel different,” Mingi murmured, eyes half-lidded as he looked at him.

“Different how?” Seonghwa whispered.

“More relaxed. Like your body trusts me more now.” He glanced at Yunho. “Like both of you have settled into something deeper.”

Yunho’s smile was slow, knowing. “Maybe we did.”

Mingi leaned in again, kissing Seonghwa deeper now, his tongue brushing along the seam of his lips before slipping inside. Seonghwa gasped into it, his fingers tightening in Mingi’s shirt as he melted forward. Yunho shifted beside them, letting his hand slide up Mingi’s thigh, then higher — a soft squeeze of his hip, then his waist, then brushing under the hem of his top. “You want us, baby?” he asked, voice low.

Mingi groaned faintly, lips still against Seonghwa’s. “I’ve wanted you both since the moment I left. Been thinking about it the whole trip.”

“Yeah?” Seonghwa asked, voice small and breathy, cheeks flushed. “What were you thinking about?”

Mingi pulled back just enough to look at him properly — hair mussed from all the kisses, lips pink and swollen, eyes wide and already half-lost in the moment. “Thought about you riding my thigh. Thought about how you sound when you whimper for it. Thought about Yunho’s hands all over me while you watched. Thought about being in you while Yunho filled me up.”

Seonghwa shivered visibly in his lap.

Yunho leaned in to kiss the edge of Mingi’s jaw. “You want that now, jagiya?”

“I want all of it,” Mingi whispered. “I want to touch. I want to be touched. I want to feel like I’m home again.”

“You are home,” Yunho said, his mouth ghosting along Mingi’s neck. “Let us show you.”

Seonghwa kissed him again, slower now, deeper — his hips grinding just barely where he straddled Mingi’s lap. Mingi let out a low sound, gripping Seonghwa’s hips with both hands and guiding the movement, coaxing more pressure.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re already so worked up.”

Seonghwa just nodded, forehead pressed to Mingi’s. “I missed you so much.”

“Come here,” Yunho said, already rising from the couch and offering them both his hands. “Let’s go to bed.”

But Mingi shook his head. “Here. Just this once. Don’t wanna move yet. I wanna feel you both right here.”

Yunho didn’t argue.

He dropped to his knees in between Mingi’s legs, arms reaching around Seonghwa’s to drag his palms up his thighs until he reached the soft bulge in his sweats, already straining. “You’re so needy today,” he murmured, nosing gently at the fabric, mouthing over the shape of him through the cotton.

Mingi moaned softly, watching as Seonghwa arched into it, hand still fisted in Mingi’s hair. 

“He’s been like this for days,” Yunho added. 

Seonghwa whimpered at the attention. “I wasn’t that needy,” he pouted, “I’m just used to having two of you, and you had to take care of me all by yourself.”

“Is our Bun talking back?” Mingi asked with mischief in his eyes, “Yunho-ah, what have you been doing with him? He’s lost his manners.” 

 

“Mmm, guess we’ll just have to help him find them.” Yunho said as he ran his nose along the length of Seonghwa’s covered spine. 

“Yunho—take his pants off. I need to see him.”

Yunho did so without hesitation, helping Seonghwa stand up and tugging his pants down just far enough to reveal Seonghwa’s flushed cock, already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a hand around it and bent to press a kiss just beneath the head, making Seonghwa’s hips twitch.

“You’re perfect,” Yunho cooed.

“Keep going,” Mingi said, voice shaking. “Don’t stop touching him.”

Yunho didn’t. He kissed and licked and stroked slowly, deliberately, keeping eye contact with Mingi as he worshipped Seonghwa between them.

“Take your top off,” Mingi said to Seonghwa, voice going rougher. “I want skin.”

Seonghwa obeyed — arms trembling slightly as he stripped off the hoodie and dropped it to the floor.

Then Mingi tugged him forward and kissed him again, bare chests pressed together, while Yunho mouthed at his cock and slowly stroked him.

“Can I come like this?” Seonghwa gasped. “Please—just like this—”

“Yes, baby,” Mingi said, one hand in his hair, the other cradling his waist. “Come for us. Let go.”

And Seonghwa did — spilling over Yunho’s fingers with a cry, body shaking from the force of it, buried in Mingi’s arms.

Mingi held him through it all.

And when he finally stilled, he slumped forward into Mingi’s arms with a whimper. “I’m not done,” Mingi whispered into his hair. “I missed you too much.”

Yunho looked up at him, eyes blown wide. “Well of course. We have a bit of time to make up for.”

Mingi’s back hit the couch cushions, lips red and chest heaving as he stared up at Yunho, who was now on his knees between his legs, shirts all peeled off and tossed aside. Seonghwa was still panting softly, straddling Mingi’s waist with a dazed, flushed look — like his whole body had been rewired and only Yunho and Mingi had the instructions.

“You ready to be filled, jagiya?” Yunho asked, voice low and commanding now, palm stroking up Mingi’s chest and brushing over his nipples, just to watch him shiver. “You want to feel me split you open?”

Mingi let out a shaky breath. “God, yes.”

“Good.” Yunho leaned forward, catching his mouth in a kiss that was anything but sweet — tongue firm, hand sliding into his pants and palming his ass to squeeze. “Get these off. I want you bare.”

Mingi obeyed without hesitation, lifting his hips so Yunho could drag the pants down and off, leaving him naked on the couch. Seonghwa watched, wide-eyed, as Yunho reached up to hook a finger under his own waistband and drop his sweats too — revealing his thick cock, already flushed and heavy, tip glistening with need.

Seonghwa whimpered. He always forgot how big they both were until he saw them again, and now, Yunho looked impossibly broad — shoulders wide, muscles flexing as he stroked himself with one hand, the other bracing against Mingi’s thigh.

“You wanna ride him, pup?” Yunho asked, glancing at Seonghwa with that dangerous softness in his eyes — the one that turned his whole body pliant. “Wanna sit on his cock while I fuck him underneath you?”

Seonghwa nodded so quickly it made Mingi laugh breathlessly.

“Come here then,” Yunho said, grabbing his hips to help guide him into place. “Let’s put you right where you belong.”

Mingi sat up a little, curling a hand around Seonghwa’s thigh as Yunho lined him up. Seonghwa sank down slowly, trembling, lips parted around a soft gasp as Mingi’s cock pressed up inside him. Yunho kept his hand steady at the base, watching him with reverent eyes.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Take him. You look so pretty when you open up like that.”

Seonghwa whimpered, thighs shaking as he finally seated himself fully — hands braced on Mingi’s shoulders, chest heaving, eyes already hazy.

“You’re so tight,” Mingi gasped, head dropping back. “Fuck, I missed this.”

Yunho reached up and twisted one of Seonghwa’s nipples between his fingers, watching the way he bucked in response. “You gonna be good for us this time? Or are we gonna have to keep teaching you?”

“I’ll be good,” Seonghwa whispered. “I promise.”

“Oh, you’ll feel me,” Yunho said darkly, then slicked his cock with the cum still on his hand — Seonghwa’s release from earlier — and lined himself up behind Mingi. “Let’s see how much he can take.”

He pushed in slowly, thick and unrelenting, and Mingi cursed low under his breath, gripping Seonghwa tighter.

“Fuck—Yunho—” he moaned. “You’re so—so fucking deep—”

“I know.” Yunho leaned forward and sank to the hilt, groaning against the heat of him. “You’re gonna take it all, jagi. And our pup’s gonna bounce on your cock while you do.”

Seonghwa gasped, hips twitching. “Please—please touch me—”

“Shhh,” Yunho soothed, fingers rimming along Seonghwa’s already stretched hole. “You get what we give you, pup. Just take what you’re given.”

“Yes, hyungie,” he breathed.

Mingi moaned at the sound, and Yunho started to move.

The rhythm was slow at first — Yunho pulling back and rocking forward, grinding into Mingi with each thrust, making him rut up into Seonghwa’s tight heat from below. Seonghwa bounced softly with it, fingers clutching Mingi’s shoulders, body caught between both of theirs like the sweetest reward.

Yunho leaned in to bite at Seonghwa’s shoulder, panting against his skin. “Look at our lucky Mingi-yah. Bet you can feel all of us, huh, baby?”

“All of it,” Mingi groaned, head falling forward. “I can feel everything.”

Seonghwa moaned above them, so overwhelmed he could barely speak.

“Tell me who you belong to, pup,” Yunho demanded, twisting his nipple again just hard enough to sting.

“You and Mingi,” he whimpered. “I’m yours. I’m always yours.”

“That’s right.” Mingi leaned up to kiss him again, tongue slow and filthy. “Our sweet little pup. So good for us.”

Yunho’s rhythm sped up, hips slapping into Mingi’s with increasing force, making them both grunt with every push. Seonghwa was gasping above them, riding the motion, utterly lost in the sensation — in the fullness, the heat, the pressure.

“I’m close,” he choked out. “Please, please—”

Yunho’s fingers began to push into Seonghwa’s already filled hole again. First one, then two. Mingi let out a broken moan as Seonghwa continued to get tighter from the tension of being filled more and more. It was as if Yunho was trying to train his body to take something even bigger. 

“Fuck, gonna—” Mingi groaned out while Seonghwa’s body began to tense. 

“Put another one in,” Seonghwa begged, and Yunho was quick to oblige, slipping a third finger in. “Can I—” 

“Come with us, Bun,” Yunho demanded as he crooked his fingers just right and slammed into Mingi at the same time. Seonghwa could feel the warmth flood him as Mingi released. He could feel the trembling in Yunho’s hands as he worked through his own orgasm.

Seonghwa’s body seized, back arching as he spilled over Mingi’s with a cry, tears springing to his eyes from how intense it was. They collapsed together — a tangle of sweat and come and satisfied gasps, hands running over each other’s skin, lips brushing wherever they could reach.

The room was quiet again, save for the occasional exhale or the hum of the TV still playing in the background. Mingi’s hand was splayed across Seonghwa’s back, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns over damp skin. Yunho was curled behind them both now, his palm resting possessively over Seonghwa’s hip, his nose pressed between Mingi’s shoulder blades.

For a while, they just breathed.

It was Mingi who broke the silence first, his voice warm and amused. “Okay. That was worth the jet lag.”

Seonghwa let out a small whimper of a laugh, completely boneless where he was draped across both of them. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“You’ll live,” Yunho mumbled into Mingi’s back. “Barely.”

They eventually peeled themselves apart enough to clean up — a few lazy swipes with tissues, soft grumbles about moving, and a round of kisses that turned giggly when Seonghwa tried to walk and his knees nearly gave out.

Yunho caught him easily. “You good, Bun?”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa muttered, hiding his face in Yunho’s chest.

“Very convincing.”

Mingi disappeared for a few minutes to grab them all water, and when he returned, he was already tugging on clean sweats. “Gonna go unpack a bit,” he said, brushing Seonghwa’s hair back gently. “Otherwise I’ll forget everything I brought.”

“You sure you don’t want help?” Yunho asked, reaching for his own shirt.

“Nah. Just talk to me while I do it.” He bent to kiss Yunho’s cheek, then Seonghwa’s. “I like having you close.”

They migrated to the bedroom in stages — Seonghwa perched on the edge of the bed with his knees hugged to his chest, wearing one of Yunho’s shirts again, and Yunho stretched out beside him with his head on a pillow, eyes following Mingi’s every move.

Mingi pulled open his suitcase and began sorting out his things — chargers, gifts, crumpled shirts, a few new sketchbooks, and a couple of wrapped boxes that were promptly placed in Mingi’s sock drawer. 

“What were those?” Seonghwa questioned without shame, and Yunho chuckled beside him. 

“You’ll see,” Mingi said, breezing over it like it wasn’t a big deal. 

“Mingi always brings back gifts,” Yunho explained, hand grazing over Seonghwa’s thigh as if he were in a trance, “And he’s very romantic with them. And if you try to sneak a glance at them he’ll make sure you suffer non-stop inconveniences for the next week.”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed with a sly smile, “So be patient.” 

“I”m patient,” Seonghwa shot back, “Though, I’m not sure what gift could be better than you being home.” It had stopped Mingi right in his tracks, and he blinked at Seonghwa a couple of times before slinking towards the bed and climbing in it, determined to cuddle up with the both of them. 

“Wow, we really got lucky with you, huh?” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek and then the corner of his lips. 

“He surprises me every time I see him,” Yunho added, “You’ve been such a gift to us, Seonghwa. You have no idea.” 

Seonghwa looked between them, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted like he wasn’t sure how to hold the weight of such affection all at once. Mingi ran his knuckles softly down his cheek, and Yunho’s hand never left his thigh.

“You don’t have to know,” Mingi said, voice low and steady. “Just stay. Let us keep showing you.”

Seonghwa nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

Mingi tucked himself beside him, pulling Seonghwa into his arms until they were chest-to-chest, and Yunho shifted closer behind, spooning into Seonghwa’s back. It was a perfect little stack — warm, safe, complete.

Seonghwa exhaled slowly and let himself melt between them, face buried in Mingi’s neck, Yunho’s arm curled around his waist. Home was feeling a lot less like a place, or a house, but more like the two warm bodies that crowded him and held him like he was something to be cherished; something loved and wanted. It was undeniable, the way his heart ached so wonderfully with just the thought of the two men. The way it soared when he was being nurtured in their care. He grabbed Yunho’s hand that wrapped around his waist, locking their fingers together and he wrapped both of their arms around Mingi’s waist and burrowed in further as if he were truly a pet bunny.

And despite the fact that he was held so intently, he could still feel himself beginning to fall.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The restaurant sat tucked at the end of a quiet street, its glowing windows dappled with shadows of leaves that swayed in the evening breeze. Lanterns hung above the terrace, golden and low, casting a soft halo over the small private table by the railing — set for three.

Seonghwa had never been anywhere quite like it.

The view overlooked the river, glittering under the last blush of sunset. A string quartet played somewhere inside, their notes floating through the air like the petals of the flower that Mingi had tucked behind Seonghwa’s ear the moment he saw him.

“You look beautiful, Bun,” Mingi had whispered then, eyes full of warmth, “Like a dream come true.”

And now, Seonghwa sat between them at the table, dressed in soft pastels and spring linen, with Yunho’s hand resting gently on his knee beneath the tablecloth. Mingi poured them each a glass of something sparkling, a blush-pink rosé that matched the way Seonghwa’s cheeks looked every time he caught them staring at him too long.

Dinner was slow, and something more luxurious than Seonghwa was used to. He’d never been spoiled like this, or brought along. And with Yunho and Mingi, it was clear there was no expectation. Financially, he couldn’t match this, and physically — well, he felt like he had all of the control there. They shared bites, fed each other little forkfuls of delicate dishes, giggled over small jokes. Yunho reached for Seonghwa’s hand more than once, and Mingi leaned in close every time Seonghwa laughed, like he couldn’t bear to be too far from it.

And then, when dessert was cleared and the last sip of wine was gone, Mingi reached into the small satchel he carried around like a purse and placed three wrapped boxes on the table between them. Seonghwa could recognize them as the ones Mingi hid in the dresser when he was unpacking.

“Oh,” Seonghwa said softly, straightening in surprise. “You brought them here?”

“Of course,” Mingi said. “I wanted it to feel special.”

“Everything you do is special,” Seonghwa said with a matter of fact.

“Well, I have special people to do things for,” Mingi answered. “Now, this one’s Yunho’s.”

Yunho opened his with a crooked grin — careful fingers peeling the ribbon away to reveal a velvet box. Inside, a watch nestled in black satin; sleek and classic. The band was espresso-brown leather, the face a polished gunmetal with a faint celestial etching at its edge.

Seonghwa gasped softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of him,” Mingi said, gaze lingering on Yunho. “Quiet, dependable, always ticking away behind the scenes, keeping everything steady.”

Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He simply leaned in, kissed Mingi slowly and with much gratitude, whispering a quiet, “Thank you, jagi.”

The next box was for Seonghwa.

He opened it with trembling fingers, breath catching as the lid lifted.

Inside sat a necklace — delicate silver with a tiny heart-shaped charm, its center a pressed pink flower sealed under glass. It gleamed in the dim candlelight, catching on every soft turn of his wrist.

“It reminded me of your beautiful heart,” Mingi said, watching him closely. 

Seonghwa blinked fast, eyes going watery. “I don’t know if I can accept this,” he choked, “This looks so expensive Mingi, and I—”

“It’s okay,” Yunho quickly interjected as Mingi placed a grounding hand on his knee. “You don’t have to worry about the cost of anything. And one of our love languages is gift giving. Let us spoil you the way we spoil each other, Bun.” 

“It would make me really happy if you would accept it,” Mingi said softly, lips grazing Seonghwa’s cheek in that way that made it hard to think.The only thing on his mind was that he did want to make Yunho and Mingi happy. 

“You guys are going to make me cry in the middle of a restaurant,” Seonghwa whined.

“Then let me put it on before you do,” Mingi smiled, rising slightly to clasp it around his neck. “There.”

Seonghwa touched the charm lightly with his fingers. “It’s perfect.”

But Mingi didn’t sit back down right away.

He lingered, eyes dropping to the third box. This one was larger and more square. Wrapped in soft pink paper with a white ribbon.

“This one’s for all of us,” he said, voice quieter now. 

Seonghwa tilted his head.

Mingi placed the box into his hands, brushing his fingers over his knuckles. “It’s okay if it’s too much. You don’t have to want it. But… Yunho and I talked, and we thought—well. Just open it.”

Yunho reached for Seonghwa’s other hand beneath the table and gave it a squeeze.

Seonghwa opened the box slowly — and then went still.

Inside lay a pale pink collar, the leather buttery soft with silver hardware that glinted in the candlelight. A small heart-shaped tag was affixed at the front.

Ours.

Beneath it, coiled neatly, was a matching leash.

For a long moment, no one said anything.

Mingi cleared his throat. “We were thinking about ways to show you how deeply we care for you. How much we want to take care of you. It’s not about ownership. Not really. It’s about trust. About you choosing to let us care for you in this way, if you ever wanted to.”

Yunho leaned closer. “If you don’t like it, we can return it. Or keep it hidden away. We’ll never expect it. We just thought… it might be something you’d feel beautiful in.”

Seonghwa looked down at the collar, recalling the conversation where a collar and leash had first come up, then up at both of them. They were nervous. That much was obvious. Like they were waiting for rejection. Like they’d offered something too fragile and too honest and were bracing for the sting of refusal.

But Seonghwa smiled — slow, sure, radiant.

“I want it,” he said.

Yunho blinked. “You do?”

“I want to wear it,” Seonghwa said, stronger now. “For you. For both of you. I do trust you both, and I do feel safe. It already feels like I’m yours, and I want to be.”

Mingi’s mouth parted slightly, like he didn’t know what to say.

Yunho exhaled and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s temple. “Baby…”

Seonghwa turned the collar over in his hands again, then looked up at them — face glowing with something almost reverent.

“Can I wear it when we get home?”

Mingi choked on a breath. “Shit, Hwa. Yes. Yes, of course.”

The ride home was quiet in the sweetest way — full of small smiles and stolen glances, Seonghwa holding the soft pink box in his lap like it was precious. He hadn’t let go of it once. His thumb brushed over the ribbon tied neatly across the top, as if still grounding himself in the fact that it was real — that they had given it to him, not as a joke or a whim, but as something sacred.

Yunho drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting over Seonghwa’s, warm and steady.

When they stepped inside the house, shoes kicked off and the city lights left behind, the silence settled again — not heavy, not expectant, just soft. Gentle. Mingi placed his hand on Seonghwa’s lower back as they walked down the hallway together, guiding him toward the bedroom without a word.

The box was still in his hands when they stepped inside.

Yunho turned on a single lamp by the bed, casting the room in warm, golden light. The blankets were rumpled from earlier, but the bed was made — inviting and safe. Seonghwa turned toward them slowly, nerves and anticipation crackling just beneath the surface.

“Can I put it on?” he asked softly, holding the box a little tighter.

Mingi reached up to cup his face, brushing his thumb beneath Seonghwa’s eye. “Only if you still want to.”

“I do,” he said, voice steady despite the tremble in his chest. “I want to wear it here first. Just for you. Where it’s quiet. Where it’s… ours.”

Yunho stepped behind him, his presence a low hum of comfort as he kissed the side of Seonghwa’s neck. “Let us take care of you, baby.”

Seonghwa nodded, lifting the lid carefully. Inside, the collar gleamed in the low light. Yunho’s fingers reached out to trace it reverently before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s temple. “Sit for us?”

He did.

Seonghwa sat on the edge of the bed, breath shallow as Mingi knelt in front of him, lifting the collar gently from the box.

“Lean forward, Bun,” Mingi said, voice hushed. “I want to fasten it myself.”

Seonghwa obeyed, heart racing, breath caught somewhere in his throat as Mingi reached around and secured the collar in place — slow, careful, fingers grazing the back of his neck as the buckle slid closed. The tag settled softly over Seonghwa’s collarbone, a small weight that felt far more significant than its size.

“There,” Mingi whispered, his hands lingering on Seonghwa’s shoulders. “You’re stunning.”

Yunho’s hands slid down Seonghwa’s sides, warm through his shirt. “You look like ours,” he murmured. “You feel like ours.”

“I am,” Seonghwa breathed, looking up at them through his lashes. “I want to be.”

“Then let us show you,” Mingi said, leaning in.

The kiss was slow, worshipful. Yunho pressed in from behind, his hand cradling Seonghwa’s waist while Mingi kissed him deeper, the leash still untouched in its box. 

Mingi’s fingers tangled in Seonghwa’s hair as he kissed him harder, deeper, tongue sweeping in to claim. His other hand gripped Seonghwa’s jaw, holding him steady like he owned the kiss — like he owned him. Yunho pressed in from behind, his hand already sliding under Seonghwa’s shirt, palms broad and firm against his ribs.

“This shirt,” Yunho said, voice quiet but rough. “Off. Now.”

Seonghwa scrambled to obey, breath stuttering as he peeled it off, the collar remaining at his throat. It had been so natural how Seonghwa wanted to do as he was told, be it Yunho or Mingi that was giving the command. They did so much for him, ensured he was taken care of and happy, that it was instinct to listen and do as he was told. It only made it easier with how much trust and confidence he had in both men. 

Yunho’s eyes swept over him with something close to hunger. “Fuck. Look at you, baby. So small in our bed, so pretty in that collar. I don’t even know if I want to lay here and cherish you or ruin you.”

“You look like a present,” Mingi added, gaze darkening. “Our pretty little pup. All dressed up and ready to be unwrapped.”

Seonghwa whimpered, arousal surging at the words, at the way they towered over him — both of them so much broader, stronger. Yunho’s hand dwarfed his side when he pressed it flat against him, fingers spanning his waist like he was nothing.

“You like that, don’t you?” Yunho cooed, leaning in to kiss under Seonghwa’s jaw. “You like being our little thing to play with. Our tiny, perfect toy.”

“Y-yes,” Seonghwa gasped, his head falling back. “I love it.”

“Then lie back and let us remind you what it feels like to be owned by us,” Mingi said, already tugging at his pants. “Legs open, pup. We want to see all of you.”

Seonghwa obeyed, heart pounding, face flushed. Yunho helped him ease out of the rest of his clothes, revealing trembling thighs, flushed skin, and a cock already dripping.

“God, he’s leaking and we haven’t even touched him properly yet,” Mingi groaned, running a hand down his chest. “You really are a desperate little thing, huh?”

“Wait until we stretch him,” Yunho said, kneeling on the bed. “His body is so small, so tight. Bet it’s been thinking about us all week — clenching around nothing.”

Mingi grabbed Seonghwa’s knees and pushed them up, spreading him open shamelessly. “Look at that hole. Fuck, Hwa. You want us to ruin you, don’t you?”

“Please,” Seonghwa whispered, wrecked already. “Please, I want your hands — your cocks — I want everything.”

“Patience,” Yunho growled. “We’ll fill you, pup. But first, we get to enjoy you.”

He bent to mouth at Seonghwa’s chest, tongue flicking over one nipple while Mingi took the other between his fingers and pinched. Seonghwa arched off the bed with a cry.

“So sensitive,” Mingi said, twisting until Seonghwa gasped. “You’ve been so needy lately. You need to be touched all the time, don’t you?”

“Are you in heat, baby?’ Mingi added.

Seonghwa nodded helplessly.

“Use your words,” Yunho said, biting gently at his collarbone.

“Yes—yes, I’m in heat. I need you. I need your hands. I want to be full. Please—please, I need to be stretched—”

“You want to be bred, pup?” Mingi questioned, and Seonghwa nodded frantically.

“You’ll take us both, sweetheart,” Yunho promised, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’ll fuck you full until you can’t move. You’ll come so many times you won’t be able to move.

“And you’ll wear that collar the whole time,” Mingi added, running a hand between Seonghwa’s legs. “Pretty little pup with your pretty little cunt, stuffed full of our come.”

“Whose pup are you?” Yunho asked.

“Yours,” Seonghwa sobbed. “Yours. I’m yours.”

They didn’t rush. Yunho knelt between Seonghwa’s legs, tongue teasing his hole, while Mingi kissed him senseless and kept his nipples aching and peaked. Seonghwa writhed between them, trembling, crying out with every flick of Yunho’s tongue, every pinch of Mingi’s fingers.

“You’re already shaking,” Yunho said, pulling back, his lips slick. “And we haven’t even put a finger in yet.”

“Stretch him,” Mingi ordered. “Make him ready.”

Yunho pushed one thick finger in slowly, savoring the gasp Seonghwa gave. “You always forget how big I am, don’t you? How full you get when I’m buried in you.”

Seonghwa nodded, panting. “You’re both so big—I can barely take you—”

“But you do ,” Mingi said, rubbing circles into Seonghwa’s inner thigh. “You take it so well, pup. You were made for this. Made for us.”

“Think you’re ready to come on my fingers?” Yunho asked, adding another finger and curling them just right. “Or do you want to wait until we fuck you together?”

Seonghwa whimpered, caught in the tension between craving and obedience.

“Answer him,” Mingi said, voice stern.

“I want to wait,” Seonghwa gasped. “I want to come when I’m full.”

“Good boy,” Yunho growled. “Then let’s make you ache for it. Turn around,” Yunho ordered, voice a low rumble against Seonghwa’s inner thigh. “Hands on the pillows. Ass up.”

Seonghwa scrambled to obey, dizzy with want. He arched into the position instinctively, back curved, thighs spread, face flushed where he pressed into the pillows.

“Good pup,” Mingi praised, brushing hair from Seonghwa’s cheek. “So eager to be used.”

Seonghwa whimpered, hips twitching as Yunho settled behind him, large hands spreading him open with ease. He leaned in and spit, letting it drip down to Seonghwa’s hole before sliding two fingers inside without warning. They moved with practiced rhythm now, scissoring and curling, thumb pressing down just above his rim as if he could control every clench, every gasp.

“Fuck, baby, you’re tight,” Yunho growled. “Your hole’s sucking me in like it’s starving. You miss my cock that bad?”

Seonghwa could barely speak, burying his face deeper into the pillows. “Y-yes—God, Yunho—need it so bad.”

“Not yet,” Mingi said, his voice thick with desire as he stood at the edge of the bed, stroking himself slowly, reaching over to hand Yunho their bottle of lube. “But you can still be useful.”

Seonghwa blinked up at him, glassy-eyed, lips already parted when Mingi stepped forward, dragging his cock along Seonghwa’s bottom lip.

“You’re gonna take me in your mouth while Yunho works that sweet little hole open,” Mingi murmured, thumb stroking over Seonghwa’s cheek. “Can you do that, pup? Can you be good for both of us?”

Seonghwa nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he opened wide, tongue out in invitation.

“Fuck,” Mingi hissed, guiding himself in slowly — thick and hot and pulsing against Seonghwa’s tongue. “So fucking pretty with your mouth full.”

Yunho’s fingers didn’t let up. He pushed deeper, spreading Seonghwa wide as Mingi sank inch by inch between his lips. Seonghwa choked around it, then moaned — the vibration making Mingi’s hips jolt.

“That’s it, baby,” Yunho crooned from behind, thumb brushing over the base of Seonghwa’s spine. “Take his cock. Let me see how messy you can get while I ruin this tight little hole.”

He added a third finger — the stretch enough to make Seonghwa’s knees tremble, even as his mouth stayed open, obedient and dripping. Mingi started to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, one hand wrapped around the back of Seonghwa’s head to hold him steady.

“I can’t believe you’re real, Hwa,” Mingi said, eyes blown wide, panting. “Fuck—this mouth—this body—”

Seonghwa cried out around Mingi’s cock, saliva dripping from the corners of his lips, his hips rocking back against Yunho’s hand like he couldn’t get enough. He was squirming, overwhelmed, stretched open and stuffed full — exactly where he wanted to be.

“Look at him,” Yunho murmured. “Drooling all over you and clenching around me like he’s about to come.”

“Don’t let him,” Mingi said through gritted teeth, fucking Seonghwa’s mouth harder now. “Make him wait. He’ll take both of us first. Then he can come.”

Yunho pulled his fingers out with a wet noise and smacked Seonghwa’s ass once, just enough to make him jolt. “You heard him, pup. No coming until we say.”

Seonghwa moaned around Mingi’s cock in agreement — helpless and happy to obey.

“God,” Mingi groaned, pulling out slowly with a slick pop, his cock flushed and shining from Seonghwa’s mouth. “Such a mess already. And we’ve barely started.”

Seonghwa gasped as he caught his breath, lips swollen, drool slick on his chin. He was shaking from arousal, from being filled and handled and praised. Yunho’s hand stayed firm on his lower back, guiding his hips back up when they wobbled.

“You’re not done,” Yunho murmured, fingers gliding down the wet seam of Seonghwa’s thighs. “Not even close.”

He leaned in, tongue licking a stripe up Seonghwa’s hole, just to make him shudder. Then two fingers pushed back in — too easily now, the stretch familiar but still overwhelming — and Yunho began to finger him again with practiced precision.

“Y-Yunho,” Seonghwa whimpered, legs shaking. “It’s too much—”

“You can take it,” Yunho said firmly, curling his fingers against that spot that made Seonghwa sob. “You’re built to take it.”

“And you look so fucking good doing it,” Mingi added, brushing Seonghwa’s hair back and watching his lashes flutter. “You like being used like this, huh? Like a perfect little toy.”

“Y-Yes,” Seonghwa gasped, moaning as Yunho added his thumb to rub lazy, tormenting circles around his entrance. “Please—please—feels so good—”

“You gonna come just from fingers again?” Yunho teased, sliding in a third and fucking him deeper, faster. “You’re dripping, pup. You’re so full and you’re still hungry.”

Mingi leaned down and licked into his open mouth, their tongues tangling briefly before he pulled back to press kisses all over Seonghwa’s flushed face. “You want to come? Is that it? Think you deserve it yet?”

Seonghwa could barely form words, hips rocking desperately back and forth, caught between Yunho’s relentless fingers and the dizzying sweetness of Mingi’s mouth. He shook his head, breath hitching. “N-No—please, I want to, but I’ll be good—just—don’t stop—”

“Good boy,” Yunho praised, fucking him harder with his fingers now, thumb teasing his rim while the other hand gripped his hip tight. “Let us take what we want. Let us play with our pup.”

Seonghwa keened as his cock throbbed, untouched and flushed dark with need, smearing precum against the sheets below him.

Mingi’s hand replaced his mouth, holding Seonghwa’s chin up to keep him from hiding. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you fall apart.”

Yunho added more pressure, crooking his fingers again until Seonghwa jerked like a live wire. His knees buckled and he cried out, teetering on the edge — not allowed to fall.

“Yunho—please—please—I’m so close—”

“Not yet,” Yunho said darkly, slowing his pace just to tease. “You’ll come when you’re riding me. You’re gonna earn it.”

Mingi reached down and stroked Seonghwa’s cock once — tight, slow, purposeful. “You gonna be a good pup and hold it for us? Can you do that?”

“I— yes—” Seonghwa whimpered, face wrecked, trembling as Yunho’s fingers pulled out with a wet pop.

“Good,” Yunho said, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. “Then come sit on my cock and show us how desperate you are.” Yunho laid back against the bed, legs spread, cock heavy against his abdomen and flushed an angry red. He was still fully dressed from the waist up — shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed to the elbows, his chest rising and falling like he’d been holding back every second just for this.

“C’mere, pup,” he said, patting his thigh. “Climb on and show us how ready you are.”

Seonghwa obeyed on shaky legs. His thighs trembled as he crawled over Yunho, straddling those broad hips, hands braced against the firmness of his chest. Yunho looked so big beneath him — all muscle and control, his hands gripping Seonghwa’s hips like they were molded for him.

“Take your time,” Yunho sai, one hand sliding down to guide the thick head of his cock to Seonghwa’s entrance. “Let me see you sink down on it.”

Seonghwa whimpered as he lined himself up, already shaking from how stretched he’d been, from the tease of being denied release. He sank down slowly, jaw slack as inch after inch of Yunho filled him — the stretch so wide it bordered on unbearable.

“Fuuuck,” Mingi groaned from beside them, watching the way Seonghwa’s mouth dropped open, how Yunho’s fingers flexed with restraint.

“You feel that?” Yunho’s voice was tight. “That’s how full you get for us. Look at you — barely taking me and already trembling.”

“I love it,” Seonghwa gasped, rocking forward just slightly, both hands pressed flat to Yunho’s chest now. “I love how big you are.”

Mingi slid up behind him, kissing the back of his shoulder, then his spine, then whispering against his ear. “Let me join.”

Yunho nodded wordlessly, mouth already parted as Mingi shifted to climb the bed, swinging a leg over Yunho’s chest and straddling him in the opposite direction. His ass hovered over Yunho’s mouth, already slick and pink with arousal.

“Fuck,” Yunho hissed, breath hot against him. “Sit.”

And Mingi did — slowly, teasingly, sinking back onto Yunho’s tongue with a groan that echoed deep in his chest. Yunho’s hands immediately grabbed his thighs, pulling him open further, devouring him like he’d starved.

Seonghwa’s head dropped forward as Mingi leaned into him, their bodies meeting again like magnets. Mingi’s hand threaded through Seonghwa’s hair and tugged just enough to tilt his face up.

Then they were kissing — open-mouthed and desperate, Mingi moaning into it every time Yunho’s tongue pushed deeper. Seonghwa whimpered into the kiss, hips grinding down onto Yunho’s cock in slow, rocking movements, his hole already fluttering from overstimulation.

“Feel good, baby?” Mingi murmured against his lips. “Fucked open and filled up and kissed at the same time?”

Seonghwa nodded, breathless. “So good… I’m gonna lose it…”

“No you’re not,” Yunho growled beneath them, voice muffled. “Not yet.”

Mingi’s hand slid down Seonghwa’s chest, tweaking one nipple until he gasped and arched. “Not until we say so, pup. You’re doing so well. You’re so fucking pretty when you suffer.” He leaned forward to claim Seonghwa’s mouth all over as his hand slid down Seonghwa’s body and towards his entrance. Seonghwa whimpered as he felt Mingi’s fingers probing at his stretched out rim, coated with lube and already so tight. Slowly, he began to add fingers until three were sunk in as far as they could go. 

Seonghwa panted against his mouth, hips beginning to rock faster as he chased for the high he wasn’t given permission to have yet. 

“You like that?” Mingi whispered against his mouth, “We’re training you to take us both at once. Gonna fuck you at the same time, soon, pup.” Seonghwa sobbed into Mingi’s mouth, the mix of Yunho’s thick cock inside him and Mingi’s fingers stretching him impossibly wide sending him spiraling. His thighs trembled, his whole body caught between submission and need.

“I—please,” he whimpered. “I can’t—I’m—”

“You can,” Yunho said, voice low and commanding from beneath Mingi’s body. “You will.”

Mingi licked into Seonghwa’s mouth again, twisting his fingers cruelly just enough to make him jerk. “That’s it. Let us break you open, pup. Let us see how much you can take.”

He pressed deeper, curling the pads of his fingers just right, and Seonghwa shattered with a cry. His hands clawed at Yunho’s chest, hips rutting desperately, slick dripping down his thighs as he sobbed through the orgasm he’d been holding back for what felt like hours.

Yunho moaned under them, hips bucking slightly from the way Seonghwa clamped around him. “Fuck—he’s so tight when he comes.”

“Still not done,” Mingi growled, pulling his fingers free and wrapping one hand firmly around Seonghwa’s throat — not squeezing, just holding. “Look at you. Messy and twitching. You’re gonna keep going since you didn’t follow directions.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were glassy, lips red and wet from kissing, from begging. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” Yunho said again, his grip on Seonghwa’s hips tightening as he began to thrust up into him, slow but hard, dragging gasps from Seonghwa’s throat with each movement. “You’re made for this. Made to take us. Made to wear that pretty collar while we fuck you open.”

Mingi leaned down, licking at the tag that rested over Seonghwa’s chest. “Ours.”

“Ours,” Yunho echoed, snapping his hips up harder.

Seonghwa cried out again, hands gripping the sheets now, trying to find something—anything—to anchor himself. But it was useless. There was no grounding when both of them were devouring him in sync, when Yunho’s cock was hitting that spot with every thrust and Mingi’s fingers were teasing his nipples mercilessly.

“I’m gonna—” Seonghwa choked out, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. “Please—”

“Let go,” Mingi whispered against his lips. “Be a good pup and come again for us.”

And Seonghwa did.

His whole body locked, cunt clenching around Yunho with a strangled moan that barely sounded human, stars bursting behind his eyes as he came untouched — overstimulated and fucked raw with pleasure. He collapsed forward into Mingi’s arms, shuddering violently, his voice cracked and broken from how hard he was crying.

Yunho kept fucking up into him through it — slow, deep thrusts that made Seonghwa tremble with aftershocks, hands clutching Mingi’s shoulders for dear life. His cries had quieted into whimpers, soft and breathless, his face buried in Mingi’s neck.

“Shhh, baby,” Mingi murmured, kissing the damp edge of Seonghwa’s hairline. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Mingi helped left Seonghwa off Yunho’s cock before Yunho gently pulled out, cock glistening, his breath ragged. Mingi carefully climbed off of Yunho, collecting Seonghwa into his arms as he laid back. Yunho sat up, leaning back against his heels as he watched the way Mingi held their pup so gently — the soft murmur of praises, the way Seonghwa clung like he’d never been loved like this before.

“My turn,” Mingi said after a beat, voice low and rough as he looked up at Yunho. “Come take me.”

Yunho’s eyes darkened. He reached for Mingi’s hips without a word, hauling him down flat onto the mattress and sliding between his thighs. Seonghwa stayed curled beside him, flushed and still panting, but he reached for Mingi anyway — kissing along his jaw, mouthing at his throat, running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

“I wanna feel you,” Seonghwa whispered, hand wrapping around Mingi’s cock, stroking him as Yunho slicked and opened him up before pushing inside.

“Fuck—” Mingi’s head fell back as Yunho sunk in deep, slowly, fully, hands gripping his waist like he couldn’t get close enough. “Yunho…”

“You’re so tight,” Yunho growled, his control barely holding. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Mingi gasped, arching. “So fucking much.”

Seonghwa kissed his cheek, his temple, then claimed his mouth again — slow and messy and hot, all while his hand kept stroking Mingi’s cock, coaxing moans from him with every pump. Yunho found a rhythm, deep and devastating, his hips snapping forward with thick, wet sounds that filled the room.

“You look so good like this,” Seonghwa murmured between kisses. “So full. So fucked.”

Mingi’s fingers curled into Seonghwa’s collar, pulling him close so he could kiss him more deeply. His deep moans vibrated through his chest and his body began to tremble in the way that Seonghwa could start identifying now — he was close.

Yunho’s thrusts grew harder, deeper, sweat dripping from his brow as he rutted into him with precision. “Come with me,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Wanna feel you.”

Seonghwa leaned in and whispered, “Let go for us, hyungie. Come.”

That did it.

Mingi came with a shout, cock spurting over Seonghwa’s hand and his own stomach as his body clenched around Yunho. Yunho followed right after, slamming in deep and spilling inside with a strangled moan, collapsing forward over Mingi as he shook from the force of it.

The only sounds left were gasping breaths, soft kisses, and Seonghwa’s quiet laugh as he pressed his cheek to Mingi’s chest and let them all melt together.

It took a while before anyone moved.

Their bodies were heavy, hearts still thudding with the aftershock of everything they’d just shared. But eventually, Yunho stirred first, rising on shaky limbs to brush his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair and press a kiss to Mingi’s temple.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

They helped each other up slowly, legs wobbly, bodies sore but warm. Mingi guided Seonghwa to the bathroom first, holding him close as he leaned against his side. Yunho followed, running the water in the shower until it turned warm and inviting. No one spoke much — not because they didn’t want to, but because everything that needed to be said had already passed between them in touches and moans and whispered praise.

In the shower, Seonghwa leaned against Yunho’s chest while Mingi lathered shampoo into his hair with tender fingers. Yunho stood behind, arms around Seonghwa’s waist, swaying slightly as if to keep him grounded. When they switched, Yunho knelt slightly to help wash the slick and sweat from between Seonghwa’s thighs, murmuring soft apologies every time he flinched from the sensitivity.

They rinsed, then moved together to the bath.

The tub was already filling, warm and lavender-scented from a bath soak Yunho always seemed to have stocked. Mingi climbed in first, stretching out and opening his arms. Seonghwa climbed in next, curling against his chest, and Yunho last — spooning in from behind and wrapping them all together in a slow, sleepy embrace.

“I could fall asleep in here,” Seonghwa whispered.

“You can,” Mingi replied, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ve got you.”

After the bath, Yunho helped towel them off one at a time while Mingi fetched fresh pajamas from the dresser. Seonghwa’s hair was damp and messy, but he didn’t seem to care — not when Yunho gently ran a brush through the tangles, or when Mingi rubbed a little lotion into his thighs to help soothe the redness from where he'd been spread open for so long.

They took turns brushing their teeth — Seonghwa sitting on the closed toilet lid while Yunho and Mingi leaned over the sink, bumping shoulders and smiling through foamy toothpaste. By the time they got into bed, the sheets were fresh and the air smelled faintly like lavender and shampoo.

Seonghwa settled between them, sandwiched in warmth — one of Yunho’s hands wrapped around his waist, Mingi’s palm spread low over his belly. The soft pink collar still circled his throat, glinting faintly under the glow of the bedside lamp.

He sighed as his eyes fluttered shut.

It felt as if it wasn’t long ago that Seonghwa laid in his own bed, thinking about these two very men. Wondering what it would be like to fall asleep with them. To go through life together. Even if this wasn’t life in its fullest, it sure felt that way. At least, Seonghwa’s life felt full. 

Even when he’d have to step out of this dream and back into his reality. 

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Chapter 11: Threadline Tension

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The light filtering through the bedroom curtains was pale but loud enough to announce that the day was starting. The curtains filtered it out just enough to ensure the comfort of a soft and lazy morning, but the light was still persistent nonetheless.

Seonghwa stirred first.

He blinked slowly, nestled between the two bodies that flanked him like safety. Yunho was curled behind him, one arm slung possessively around his waist just as it had been when they’d fallen asleep, warm breath ghosting along the nape of his neck. Mingi lay in front of him, flat on his back, sheets pooled low across his hips, his lips slightly parted in sleep.

They were still tangled from the night before — the collar still loosely fastened around Seonghwa’s throat, a physical echo of everything they’d done. Everything they’d become through actions and gifts alone. He exhaled slowly, blinking through the remnants of sleep, but his thighs were already pressing together, heart already thumping in his chest.

Need burned quietly beneath his skin. A slow ache. A soft whimper stuck behind his tongue.

He wanted.

Carefully, gently, Seonghwa slipped from Yunho’s grip and rolled onto his stomach. His fingers danced over Mingi’s waist, and he pressed a kiss there — just above the sheet line — barely more than a graze of lips. Then another. Then one lower.

Mingi shifted his legs and murmured something, but his breathing quickly fell back into its soft and easy rhythm that promised he wasn’t awake just yet.

Seonghwa smiled to himself.

He ducked beneath the blanket, the cotton canopy muffling the morning world. The scent of skin and sweat still lingered from the night before, warm and grounding. He moved slowly, lazily, sliding between Mingi’s legs and nuzzling the crease of his thigh with the tip of his nose. Then, just beneath — a string of kisses, soft and fluttering, like a bunny sniffing around a field it had already claimed.

He licked the seam of Mingi’s inner thigh, left a kiss on his hip bone, another against his soft length.

It still shocked Seonghwa just how perfect both Mingi and Yunho were. Their bodies were otherworldly, but who they were was really what left him in awe. So notably kind and caring—to him at least—that Seonghwa truly believed he may never want for anything ever again. Not as long as the two would have him.

Seonghwa purred softly and let his lips part. His tongue flicked gently over the head of Mingi’s cock — once, then twice. He watched it twitch before it began to swell. Encouraged, he took the head into his mouth and sucked slowly, deliberately, sinking down inch by inch until it began to thicken against his tongue.

Mingi sighed above the blanket, though still not awake.

Seonghwa pressed deeper, lips flush to his base now, cheeks hollowing as he began to work in slow, needy pulls, moaning faintly at the taste, at the feel, at the weight of it all. His fingers gripped Mingi’s thighs, nails dimpling into skin, and he let himself settle into it — the rhythm, the quiet, the growing ache between his own legs.

He pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, tasting himself on Mingi’s cock, the head slick and warm between his lips. Mingi’s shaft was already glistening with precome, and he could feel his own pulse humming low in his core.

He pressed his cheek against Mingi’s inner thigh, voice a hushed murmur. “So fucking beautiful…”

Finally emerging from the sheets after giving Mingi’s cockhead one last kiss, Seonghwa found one of the lube bottles nestled inside the bedside table drawer and helped himself by crawling on top of Mingi, straddling his waist as he leaned forward with lube glistened fingers to reach back and start opening himself up. Slipping in two fingers by now had been nothing—not when he was now used to taking Yunho and Mingi’s size in addition to fingers. Still, the slide of his digits was welcome, a promise of the fullness he was about to experience.

Soft moans drifted through the room, and he eventually dipped his head down to nose along Mingi’s clavicle before pressing sweet kisses there. When he was ready, he positioned himself carefully over Mingi’s cock, fingertips pressing into Mingi’s lower abs for balance. Slowly, he sank down. The first inch felt like coming home: warm, full, impossibly good. Mingi groaned in his sleep, fingers twitching as a crease appeared in between his eyebrows. Seonghwa wrapped his hands around Mingi’s thighs and began to move—gentle at first, a soft rocking that let his body adjust.

When he felt Mingi’s length bottom out inside him, he paused, burrowing his head into Mingi’s neck. Then he sat up and let go, bouncing down in slow strokes, hips rolling to find the perfect angle.

The collar at his throat felt heavy and right, a reminder of the promise sealed between them.

Seonghwa leaned forward and kissed Mingi’s collarbone, then trailed up to brush his lips over Mingi’s jaw. Warmth spread through him as he rode, breath quickening with each glide of flesh against flesh. He glanced back to the headboard where Yunho still slept—unaware, trusting. That trust steadied him, fueled him.

Faster now, Seonghwa picked up speed, riding Mingi with purpose. His knees gripped Mingi’s sides, the movement more urgent. Mingi’s hips twitched in response as he let out another moan, hands finding Seonghwa’s thighs and gently crawling up to his waist. 

Seonghwa felt the ache in his own center build, the coil tightening. 

“What’s this, Bun?” Mingi asked, his voice gravely, breathy with moans as Seonghwa continued to take and take and take. His hips started rolling underneath Seonghwa, thrusting up to meet his Bun’s needs. When the tension peaked, Seonghwa cried out Mingi’s name into the quiet room, his body trembling as he came all over Mingi’s stomach and chest. Waves of pleasure rolled through him, and he collapsed forward, arms wrapping around Mingi’s torso to catch himself.

“Needed you,” Seonghwa said, his chest heaving as he rested atop Mingi. It earned him a small chuckle and a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Mmm, I think you should need me more often,” Mingi said before he began rolling his hips, “Definitely love waking up like this.” Seonghwa whimpered softly as Mingi’s cock throbbed inside him again, still fully hard, still demanding more. “I’m not done with you yet,” Mingi murmured, voice thick with sleep and arousal as he shifted Seonghwa back up, guiding his hips with large, steady hands. “You’re already so wet for me. Let me fuck you properly.”

Seonghwa nodded, lips brushing Mingi’s throat. “Please…”

Mingi sat up just enough to brace his back against the headboard, curling one arm securely around Seonghwa’s waist. The other hand gripped under his thigh as he began to fuck up into him, each thrust slow but deep, grinding just right against every tender spot inside. Seonghwa cried out, muffled against Mingi’s skin, his whole body tightening again far too soon.

“Thought you already came,” Mingi teased softly. “But you’re already fluttering around me like you’re gonna do it again. You just can’t help it, can you?”

Seonghwa could only whine in response, clinging harder as Mingi began thrusting faster, deeper, hips snapping up into him with each roll. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as slick heat built between their bodies, and Seonghwa’s thighs started trembling again.

Behind them, the sheets shifted.

Yunho stirred, blinking slowly awake, eyes still hazy with sleep until they settled on the sight in front of him: Seonghwa in Mingi’s lap, flushed and trembling, tears clinging to his lashes as Mingi fucked up into him from below. His mouth fell open in a quiet gasp, but his eyes were full of admiration. A sleepy smile tugged at his lips, full of fondness and arousal.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

Seonghwa turned his head, panting. “Yunho…”

“Mmm,” Yunho hummed, propping himself up on one elbow. “You two are really something to wake up to.”

Mingi chuckled, sweat shining on his chest and shoulders as he kept his rhythm steady. “He was needy. Woke me up like this.”

“Of course he did.” Yunho’s gaze dropped to the slick slide of Seonghwa’s body moving on Mingi’s cock, and he exhaled slowly. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, Bun.”

Seonghwa’s whole body flushed deeper under the praise. “Feels so good,” he whimpered. “So full…”

“You gonna come for us again?” Yunho asked gently, dragging a hand down Seonghwa’s back. “Let hyung fuck you dumb first thing in the morning?”

Mingi’s hips snapped harder at that, his own breath catching. “Yunho…”

Seonghwa nodded desperately, fingers gripping Mingi’s arms. “So close—please, please, I need—”

Mingi grunted, hand coming up to grip Seonghwa’s jaw. “Come for us, Bun.”

And with a broken sob, Seonghwa did—shuddering violently, cock untouched, clenching so tight around Mingi that it dragged him over the edge with a deep, guttural moan. Mingi’s thrusts stuttered as he spilled inside him, arms wrapped tight around Seonghwa’s back, pulling him down, holding him through it.

Yunho moved closer, hand sliding up to cradle Seonghwa’s face as he watched the aftershocks roll through him.

“Good boy,” Yunho whispered, brushing his thumb under Seonghwa’s eye where another tear had slipped free. “You did so well.”

Mingi kissed Seonghwa’s temple. “The best.”

Seonghwa could barely catch his breath, but he smiled — dazed, wrecked, and completely adored.

“Now,” Yunho said softly, leaning in closer, “Let’s get our Bun cleaned up.”

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The campus buzzed with the low-grade anxiety that always settled in just before finals, students rushing across the green with portfolios clutched tight and coffee cups half-drained. But Seonghwa moved through it like sunlight.

He stepped out of Yunho’s car with a little hop, canvas tote slung over one shoulder, his arms full of sketchbooks and garment bags. His hair was swept back with the breeze, his skin radiant in the golden morning light. He wore pale trousers and a fitted white tee under one of Yunho’s blazers, sleeves rolled, collar popped just enough to make it fashionable. The silver necklace with the pressed flower charm caught the light at his throat. 

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Yunho asked, stepping out to round the car.

Seonghwa turned, already smiling. “Mhm. Sketchbooks, mockups, lunch you packed me, kiss on the cheek—check, check, check.”

Yunho laughed, slipping a hand beneath the tote to ease the weight. “You’re glowing, Bun.”

“I feel like I am,” Seonghwa admitted, and then: “It’s weird. I used to get nervous showing my work. Now I walk into that classroom and it feels like I belong there.”

“You do belong there,” Yunho said, voice low and warm. “And anyone who sees your work knows it.”

They paused outside the design building. Seonghwa shifted his weight, eyes flickering over Yunho’s face. His lashes were soft and low, but his smile was all spark.

“Thanks for driving me. I like having you here. Makes me feel like I’ve already won.”

Yunho leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You have. Now go knock them dead.”

Seonghwa slipped inside moments later, light on his feet. Yunho lingered at the front steps, watching through the tall glass doors as Seonghwa entered the studio. A few classmates greeted him immediately, two girls rushing over to peer into his sketchbook. Professor Cho passed by and patted his shoulder with a grin. The classroom buzzed around him like he was its pulse.

Now that the semester was already over, Seonghwa knew he’d truly have to move out of his comfort zone and try to stay in touch with his classmates. Most of them would share future classes with him, all on the same road to graduation from this point. But he wanted to fully submerge himself into these connections and make friends. Hang out outside of class, if he were able to detach himself from the two men he hated being without. 

He hadn’t told anybody about the photoshoot yet. That he was—allegedly—going to be in one of the upcoming issues. He’d been floored when the company requested his payment details, the fact that he’d get paid to be in one of the most popular magazines in the world completely beyond him. He didn’t want to jinx it, but he also didn’t want to be seen any differently. He just wanted to be a student that still had much to learn. 

Though, he was grateful for the opportunities that were falling in his lap. Well, not falling, but strategically being placed there by a certain somebody . 

He bit back a smile as he unzipped his portfolio, spreading out his final mockups across his desk.

Across the room, one of his classmates gasped. “Wait—wait, is this really you?”

Seonghwa looked up.

Minji was holding her phone, her eyes wide. She turned it around to show him the screen — a blurry scan of a behind-the-scenes photo. He could recognize the soft set, the dark backdrop. And himself — seated cross-legged on a stool, head tipped back, mouth parted slightly, collarbone on display, all pale limbs and fabric draped like water.

The red lipstick spread across his face, courtesy of Mingi.

“I thought this was just a model with the same face as you,” she whispered. “But it is you, isn’t it?”

Seonghwa froze, blood rushing to his ears.

“Is that for Vogue?” another student whispered, sliding into the conversation. “Someone on Insta said this is the spring preview. Their fashion spread.”

Minji lowered her phone, eyes wide with something like reverence. “Seonghwa… that’s insane. You look like—like you belong on that page.”

Seonghwa swallowed. “It’s not confirmed yet,” he said quietly. “They were doing some test shots. That’s all.”

“Don’t be modest,” another voice chimed in, half-laughing. “That’s not a test photo. That’s editorial. You look expensive .”

The word rang in his head.

He didn’t know what to say — part of him still hadn’t believed it was real, even when Yunho had printed the confirmation email and taped it to the fridge next to one of Mingi’s love notes. He’d wanted to keep it private. To just be Seonghwa — student, hopeful designer, friend.

But now the ripple had started, and he had to choose how to carry it.

“I’m still learning,” Seonghwa said finally, soft but firm. “This is all new to me.”

Minji’s expression softened. “Well, whatever you’re doing—keep going. You’re kind of making the rest of us feel like we’ve gotta step it up.”

A couple of classmates chuckled. One gave him a playful wink.

And Seonghwa, for once, didn’t shrink under the attention.

He smiled instead. Bright and a little shy. “Thanks.”

He turned back to his work, heart pounding, hands steady — and tried not to think about how Yunho and Mingi were going to tease him when they found out he was accidentally going viral.

The sun was still high in the sky by the time Seonghwa stepped out of the building, his tote a little lighter and his shoulders more relaxed. The buzz of the day still lingered in the air — classmates chatting in clusters, someone playing guitar near the quad, the smell of street food wafting from the corner cart.

But Seonghwa’s eyes found Yunho immediately.

He was leaned up against his car, sleeves rolled, sunglasses perched in his hair and a to-go hot chocolate in hand. The late afternoon light lit him up like a painting — all warm edges and cool posture, his body uncrossing the moment he spotted Seonghwa coming down the steps.

“There’s my star,” Yunho said, holding out the cup like a prize. “How’d it go?”

Seonghwa walked right into his arms for a quick hug before taking the cup. “It was good,” he said softly. “Someone found one of the Vogue photos. I think… people are starting to find out.”

Yunho’s brows raised slightly, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. “Already?”

Seonghwa nodded, sipping the drink. “Minji showed me on her phone. She was really sweet about it. They all were.”

“I’m not surprised,” Yunho murmured. “You’re glowing, Bun. They’d be fools not to notice.”

Seonghwa smiled shyly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“I’d never leave without you.”

Yunho opened the passenger door for him, placing a guiding hand at the small of his back as Seonghwa slipped inside. The ride started off quiet, the hum of the city washing over them as the car pulled away from campus.

But a few blocks in, Seonghwa shifted in his seat. “I think I want to go home tonight.”

Yunho glanced over. “Home, home?” It did something funny to Seonghwa’s heart that Yunho had to double-check that home didn’t mean the house he shared with Mingi. That there could be a reality where that was truly Seonghwa’s home, too, even if it technically wasn’t.

Seonghwa nodded. “Just for tonight. I need to check in with Yoona. She’s packing for another trip and she’s been texting me all day about missing toothpaste and whether or not she should pack heels.” He gave a fond little huff. “And I think… I need to see her. We haven’t had much time together lately.”

Yunho reached for his hand across the console, interlacing their fingers. “Of course. Do you want me to drop you off?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay.”

“Anything’s okay,” Yunho said. “We’ll miss you tonight, but I know Mingi’ll find a way to sneak a FaceTime call in before bed.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “He’ll call just to make sure I’m using my nighttime serum.”

“And we’ll both want a picture,” Yunho added. 

Seonghwa flushed, ducking his head. “I’ll send something.”

They reached the familiar curb outside Yoona’s house not long after. When Yunho stopped the car by the curb, he didn’t get out. He didn’t even let go of Seonghwa’s hand…not yet. 

“Hwa, you have your passport, right?” Yunho asked. 

“Yeah, why?” Seonghwa immediately perked up, though he knew just from the way Yunho grinned over at him that he wasn’t getting any answers. 

“Tell Yoona we said hi,” he reached over and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “And don’t be afraid to call or come over if you miss us.”

Seonghwa nodded, touched. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Count on it.”

Seonghwa stepped out, waving once before heading up the walk, heart impossibly full.

Inside, Yoona’s voice called from the kitchen, pots clinking and music playing softly under the hum of domestic chaos. “Is that you, Hwa?” her voice rang over the quiet music. “Please tell me you brought toothpaste.”

Seonghwa grinned as he slipped out of his shoes and padded toward the kitchen. “I brought me, which is better.”

Yoona popped her head around the corner, her hair twisted into a loose bun and a pair of reading glasses perched low on her nose. She wore a linen set, sleeves rolled and an apron dusted in flour. “Depends,” she said, waving a wooden spoon. “Can I use you to brush my teeth?”

“I’m multi-talented, but no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He stepped into the kitchen and immediately wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his cheek to her shoulder. “Missed you,” he said softly.

“I missed you too,” she hummed, setting the spoon down to rest her hands over his. “You smell like fancy men’s cologne and hair pomade.”

“Yunho dropped me off.”

She hummed, pleased but unsurprised, and turned to face him. “And how are they? Still treating you like spun gold?”

“Better than,” he said, flushing a little. “They’re good to me, Yoona. I… I’ve never felt so—wanted, I guess. Or safe.”

Her expression softened. She reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “You’ve always been easy to love, Seonghwa. You’re just finally with people who know how.” It had caught Seonghwa off guard how quickly Yoona had ended up warming up to Yunho and Mingi. All it had taken was a smaller dinner at home to see the way the two men catered to Seonghwa who—quite literally—did not ever need to lift a finger.

Seonghwa blinked fast, throat tight. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She stepped back and turned down the burner on the stove. “Now come keep me company while I figure out if I can pack this coconut curry in Tupperware for the plane.”

Seonghwa hopped up on the counter, just like he used to when he was younger. “Where to this time?”

“Malaysia,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Two weeks of exhibits, a lot of interested buyers, and very overwhelmed artists.”

“Do you need help packing?”

“I do, but not yet. I’m pretending I don’t have to go until tomorrow morning.”

He smiled, watching as she moved around the kitchen — soft and competent, the woman who’d helped raised him with just the right mix of love and mischief.

“How’s school?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“It’s… really good,” he said, and the warmth in his voice surprised even him. “I feel like I’m finally doing what I’m supposed to.”

Yoona stopped stirring. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, Hwa. Belonging. Wherever you find it — at school, in yourself, or between two infuriatingly handsome men.”

He laughed, ducking his head.

“So…” she added, “am I allowed to know why your classmate Minji followed me on Instagram and commented ‘auntie, your nephew is going to be famous’ with three fire emojis?”

Seonghwa groaned. “I’ll explain while we eat.”

Yoona slid a plate of coconut curry across the counter toward Seonghwa and settled onto the stool beside him with her own bowl. She was already watching him with one brow arched, spoon poised like a weapon. “So. Vogue. Fire emojis. Minji.”

Seonghwa winced and stirred his rice. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he admitted. “Not really. Just Minji, because she sort of found a post about it.”

Yoona blinked. “A post?’

He swallowed a bite and set his spoon down, fingers nervously tapping the rim of the bowl. “A behind-the-scenes type of post. I was there with Mingi while he was working and after the shoot, he wanted to shoot me. So he dressed me up and took photos. The designer walked in and…they loved it. They wanted to use them.” 

Yoona’s spoon clattered to her plate. “ You’re going to be in Vogue? ”

Seonghwa flushed so deeply he had to look down. “It’s… probably going to be a spread in the back half, not like a cover or anything.”

“You’re still going to be in Vogue. International Vogue, or—?”

“Korea,” he mumbled, and then added quickly, “They’re paying me.”

“You’re being paid to be gorgeous in a global fashion magazine and you didn’t think to tell me? ”

“I didn’t want to jinx it!” he said, laughing as she reached over to smack his arm, her smile wide with pride. “And I didn’t want people to treat me differently at school. I’m still just… me.”

Yoona stared at him for a moment, her eyes glassy but fierce. “No. You’re you, Seonghwa. You’re the boy who used to glue rhinestones to my heels when I wasn’t looking. Who learned to hand-stitch hems before he could parallel park. And now you’re the man who’s somehow found love, confidence, and a byline in fucking Vogue. ”

He ducked his head, throat tight.

“You’re still grounded,” she added with a wink. “But you’re also a star.”

He let out a breathy laugh, covering his eyes with one hand. “You’re not going to frame the spread when it comes out, are you?”

“Oh, absolutely. Right over the fireplace. Laminated. Maybe wallpaper.”

“Yoona—”

“I’m ordering two copies. One for the coffee table and one for emergencies.”

Seonghwa wiped at his eyes and laughed until his stomach hurt. “It’s not even out yet,” he said, voice soft.

“I don’t care. I already know you look beautiful in every single shot.”

He quieted, the weight of her love curling warm in his chest. “Thank you.”

She reached across the counter, threading their fingers together. “You’ve worked so hard. Don’t ever feel like you have to hide your shine just to make other people comfortable.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m learning that. I really am.”

After dinner had been cleaned up, the house had gone quiet.

The distant sound of Yoona rinsing dishes in the kitchen faded into silence, followed by the soft click of her bedroom door down the hall. Outside Seonghwa’s window, the trees whispered in the evening wind, their shadows swaying across his old desk and the shelf of books he’d forgotten still lived here.

He was in his room again — the room that once held every version of himself before Yunho and Mingi. The bed was familiar, a little too soft, the comforter still inviting. He sat on the edge of it now in a pair of sleep shorts and one of Mingi’s oversized tees, warm from a shower, hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck.

He thought about his collar, the one still at Yunho and Mingi’s place.

He stretched his legs and toed at the floor, thumb swiping across the screen of his phone, hesitating over the group chat named home ♡. The most recent messages were from earlier — a picture of the dinner Mingi had made, and a string of emojis from Yunho reacting with flames and a dramatic skull.

Seonghwa smiled faintly, then tucked himself under the covers and dimmed the lamp beside the bed. He curled on his side, the soft cotton sheets cool against his bare legs, and stared at the blinking cursor in the message field.

He missed them.

But not just the warmth of their hands or the comfort of their voices — he missed the way they made everything feel manageable. Like even on hard days, or boring days, or days when he doubted himself, he could come home and find the rhythm of their hearts beside his.

His fingers finally moved.

[Seonghwa]
i miss you both so much tonight

The message sent. A beat passed.

[Seonghwa]
it’s too quiet here

He hesitated, then:

[Seonghwa]
i wore mingi’s shirt to bed
and yunho’s cologne is still on his sweater.

His heart fluttered as the typing bubble appeared.

[Yunho]
We miss you too, Bun.
Mingi’s already pouting into his pillow
I’m cuddling him to make him feel better
But you know that you can come over whenever you want to. 

[Mingi]
he’s lying
he’s the one pouting
i’m just sad because i can’t kiss your forehead goodnight

Seonghwa laughed softly into the dark, his eyes stinging as warmth rose in his chest.

[Seonghwa]
if i facetime you will you both kiss the screen
and tell me i’m cute

[Yunho]
we’ll do more than that if you ask nicely

[Mingi]
you better be under the covers. no cheating.

Seonghwa blushed. He pulled the blanket higher, nuzzled into his pillow, and hit the video call button with trembling fingers and a full heart. Seonghwa pressed the call button and curled deeper into the blankets, the soft rustle of cotton echoing in his ears as the screen lit up with movement.

Mingi’s face appeared first, dimly lit in the low glow of their bedroom lamp. His hair was fluffy from his earlier shower, clearly air dried, falling into his eyes. “Bun,” he whispered, smiling so wide it showed every dimple. “You look cozy.”

“Too cozy,” Yunho added, appearing behind him shirtless, towel draped around his neck. “We’re getting jealous.”

Seonghwa smiled, flushed. “I told you. I miss you.”

“We miss you more,” Mingi said, shifting the phone so they were both in frame — Yunho sitting behind him against the headboard, long legs spread wide with Mingi settled between them.

Seonghwa could see the stretch of Yunho’s thighs under the soft pajama pants, the way his arm casually rested over Mingi’s waist. They both looked undone in the loveliest way — flushed from shower steam, skin damp and glowing, their bodies close like they couldn’t stop touching.

Mingi’s fingers reached toward the camera. “Wish we could feel how soft your skin is right now,” he purred. “Bet it smells like your pretty body wash.”

“It does,” Seonghwa admitted, bashful. 

Yunho exhaled deeply, eyes hooded. “You really want us to lose our minds tonight, don’t you?”

Seonghwa shifted under the covers, biting his lip. “I just want to feel close.”

“You are close,” Mingi whispered. “Always.”

There was a pause, heavy with something unsaid. The air between them vibrated with possibility.

Then Yunho tilted Mingi’s chin toward him and kissed him.

It was soft at first — slow, deep, a warm press of lips that made Mingi melt into it, one hand braced on Yunho’s thigh. Yunho kissed him like he had all the time in the world. And Seonghwa watched, heartbeat fluttering, mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the screen.

“Do you want us to keep going?” Mingi asked, lips already kiss-bruised, pupils wide.

Seonghwa nodded. “Please.”

Yunho’s hand slid up Mingi’s chest beneath his loose shirt, pushing it higher to expose his toned stomach. “You sure, baby?” Yunho asked, voice low. “You want to see how we make love when we miss you?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa breathed. “I want to see everything.”

That was all they needed.

Mingi shifted to straddle Yunho’s lap, their lips crashing again as Yunho pulled the shirt over Mingi’s head and tossed it aside. The phone, still propped near the edge of the bed, captured every slow motion — Yunho’s hands skating over Mingi’s back, Mingi’s hips rolling down against the growing bulge in Yunho’s pants, the soft moans between kisses.

Seonghwa’s fingers curled tighter around his blanket. He could feel it everywhere — the heat, the pulse, the longing.

“I’m gonna ride him, Bun,” Mingi said breathlessly, breaking the kiss to look at the camera. “You want to watch me take it slow?”

Seonghwa nodded, eyes wide, already panting. “Please, hyung…”

Yunho reached for the lube on the nightstand, slicking his fingers before guiding Mingi down onto his back across the bed. Mingi helped, rolling his hips up to slide his pants off, baring himself completely for both of them.

Yunho moved over him like he was worshipping him — kissing down his throat, over his chest, sucking softly at each nipple until Mingi whined and arched up. Then Yunho kissed lower, nuzzling the curve of Mingi’s hip, teasing kisses down the inside of his thigh while Mingi’s cock twitched against his belly.

Seonghwa whimpered quietly, hand slipping down beneath the blanket to grip the front of his sleep shorts.

“I want you to come while watching us,” Yunho said, voice thick. “No touching yourself until we do.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, but he nodded obediently. “Okay.”

Yunho moved back up, kissing Mingi as he pushed in slowly — inch by inch — until Mingi’s back arched and a strangled sound left his throat.

“Fuck, Yunho…”

They moved together like tide and shore — slow, rolling, deliberate. Each thrust was deep and full of longing, Mingi’s legs wrapped around Yunho’s waist, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other reached for the camera, bringing it closer to his face.

“I want you to see what I look like when he makes me come,” Mingi whispered, lips slick, eyes wild. “I want you to know how loved I am.”

Seonghwa’s whole body trembled under the blankets, his eyes glossy with need.

“Please—” he begged, not even sure what for anymore.

“We’re close,” Yunho gritted, hips slamming faster now. “Wanna come with me, baby?”

Mingi nodded desperately. “Yes—yes—fuck, please.”

Seonghwa watched it all — the way Yunho bit down on Mingi’s shoulder as he came with a guttural sound, the way Mingi shook apart beneath him, cock untouched, just from being filled and loved so deeply.

The moans, the shivers, the heat radiating off the screen.

And still, Seonghwa hadn’t touched himself.

The screen went a little shaky as Mingi repositioned it. Yunho kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and whispered something soft in his ear.

Then Yunho looked straight into the camera.

“Touch yourself now, baby. Come for us.”

Seonghwa didn’t need to be told twice.

Seonghwa’s hand trembled as he slipped it into his shorts, cock already hard and aching from the restraint. He barely touched himself—just one slow stroke from base to tip—and he moaned loud enough to startle himself, curling tighter under the blankets.

“You’re so good for us,” Mingi whispered from the screen, hair damp with sweat, chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He was lying in Yunho’s arms now, head resting on his chest while Yunho petted his hair with gentle fingers. “We’re so proud of you, Bun.”

“Touch yourself the way you like it,” Yunho said, voice still thick with release. “We want to see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

Seonghwa whimpered again, back arching slightly as he began to stroke faster, thumb swiping over the head. His eyes stayed locked on the screen—the way Yunho’s hand never stopped soothing Mingi, how Mingi’s legs were still tangled around Yunho’s hips, their bodies so close and warm. Like home.

Seonghwa’s home.

“I’m close,” he whispered. “Can I—can I come?”

Yunho leaned toward the screen, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Come for us, baby,” he murmured. “Show us what we do to you.”

“Let us see it,” Mingi added. “Let us watch you feel loved.”

It didn’t take more than that.

Seonghwa cried out, back curling as his orgasm crashed through him, long and intense and overwhelming. His hand kept stroking as he spilled over his fingers, hips twitching, breath catching in his throat. He shuddered hard, tears pricking his eyes from the sheer force of it—how good it felt, how much he felt for them, how badly he wanted to be back in their arms.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Yunho said, watching him closely. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Seonghwa nodded, even as his body continued to tremble. He wiped his hand on a tissue from the nightstand and curled back under the covers, breath still hitching, face flushed and damp with sweat and something tender.

“You’re so good,” Yunho said softly. “So fucking good for us.”

“Sleep now,” Mingi said. “We’ll be here in the morning.”

Seonghwa nodded, tucking the phone against the pillow beside him. The last thing he saw before sleep tugged at his lashes was Mingi nestling closer into Yunho’s chest, Yunho pressing a kiss into his curls, the soft blur of love painted across the screen like a dream.

And even alone in his bed, Seonghwa didn’t feel lonely at all.

🐰⋆｡˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚｡⋆🐰

The morning passed gently, the kind of soft, slow Saturday that made everything feel like it could stretch on forever. Yoona was bustling around the house with her suitcase half-zipped and an iced coffee in hand, wearing a long cardigan over her travel clothes and mumbling to herself about charger cords and whether she had packed too many shoes.

Seonghwa helped where he could—zipping her case, grabbing the last-minute hairbrush from the bathroom counter, hugging her from behind in the kitchen while she double-checked her boarding pass on her phone.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you properly all week,” she said as they stood together by the front door.

“I know,” he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I missed you.”

Yoona turned and held his face in her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks like she used to when he was a boy. “You’re glowing, you know that? Really.”

Seonghwa flushed but smiled, reaching up to squeeze her wrists. “Thanks, Yoona. Be safe, okay? Text me when you land.”

“You better answer when I do,” she teased, pulling him into a tight hug. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try.”

She kissed the side of his head and pulled her suitcase out to the car. A cab was picking her up, and within minutes, Seonghwa was standing on the front steps, watching the car disappear down the street. The house behind him already felt quieter. Emptier. Not lonely, but… no longer the place he wanted to sleep tonight.

He went back inside and climbed the stairs to his room. His overnight bag was already half-packed simply from never unpacking it completely, but this time, he reached for the larger duffel in the closet. He filled it slowly—extra clothes, toiletries, a couple more plushies, his sketchpad.His pressed-flower necklace stayed around his neck.

He stood at the foot of the bed once everything was zipped. Looked around the room that was supposed to be his, the walls still soft and familiar. The one he rarely slept in.

Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the light.

The front door creaked open with the late-morning light behind it, the weight of Seonghwa’s duffel slung over his shoulder and his heart already racing just from the familiar scent of coffee, clean wood, and them.

He didn’t even get a chance to call out.

“There you are,” Yunho’s voice floated in from the living room—lazy and warm, like sunshine on bare skin. A second later, Mingi popped around the corner, his socked feet sliding a little across the hardwood as he practically bounced into the entryway.

“Hi, baby,” Mingi grinned, arms already open.

Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. He dropped the bag beside the door and walked straight into Mingi’s arms, letting himself be pulled in tight. Mingi kissed his temple, his cheek, the edge of his jaw.

“Missed you,” Seonghwa mumbled into the fabric of his sweater.

“You were gone for two nights,” Mingi teased, swaying him a little. “But yeah. Same.”

Yunho appeared next, barefoot and sleepy-eyed in a soft henley and joggers. He cupped Seonghwa’s face with both hands and leaned in to kiss him properly — slow and full of relief. His thumb brushed over the apple of Seonghwa’s cheek.

“Welcome home, Bun.”

That did something to him, to his chest.

He smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second, and then bent to grab his bag. “Gimme five minutes. I’ll meet you both downstairs.”

“Are you taking your time or putting something on for us?” Mingi asked, eyes glittering.

Seonghwa just raised a brow and said nothing as he padded upstairs.

The bedroom was exactly as he remembered it. Sheets slightly rumpled, pillows fluffed, the air tinged with familiar cologne and the faint scent of skin. The collar sat on the nightstand in the little velvet-lined box, coiled and waiting.

He knelt beside the bed, brushing his fingers across the soft pink leather. His heart ached sweetly at the sight of it, at the way this space felt like something that belonged to all three of them now. Not just a sleepover. Not temporary. 

Permanence.

He picked it up and fastened it around his throat with practiced fingers, the gentle click of the buckle sending a ripple of warmth through him.

When he returned downstairs, Mingi was sprawled on the couch with Yunho’s feet in his lap, a lazy drama playing on the television that neither seemed fully invested in. But the second Seonghwa walked in — barefoot, relaxed, that collar glinting in the soft light — they both looked up like the sun had entered the room.

Mingi whistled low. “Well, fuck. You trying to kill us today?”

Seonghwa just smiled and curled up beside them, sinking into the quiet rhythm of their lazy Saturday. Fingers laced with Yunho’s, head on Mingi’s shoulder, warm and wanted and home.

Home.

The day passed in slow-motion comfort — late brunch on the patio, warm sunlight striping across bare arms and the backs of necks, the soft click of chopsticks and laughter echoing between them. Mingi played a playlist that wandered through lo-fi and jazz, and Yunho kept sneaking pieces of melon onto Seonghwa’s plate every time he looked away.

They stayed curled together on the couch for most of the afternoon, sharing lazy kisses between sips of tea, their legs tangled in a comfortable sprawl. Mingi took a short nap with his face tucked into Seonghwa’s lap, and Yunho dozed with his head back and a book resting open against his chest. It was everything Seonghwa had missed, everything he’d wanted—and yet…

By late afternoon, he was starting to squirm.

Not obviously. Not at first. It began with a few long, dramatic sighs, the kind that were just a little too loud to be natural.

Mingi cracked one eye open. “You dying over there, Bun?”

“No,” Seonghwa replied, voice airy and far too innocent. “Just… bored.”

Yunho looked over the edge of his book. “Bored? You’re the one who asked for a lazy day. Specifically. I can pull up the text message.”

“I didn’t think lazy meant ‘ignored,’” Seonghwa mumbled, shifting so that his collar peeked out from under the collar of his oversized shirt — clearly a silent invitation, though neither of them moved.

He sat up straighter a second later, stretching his arms above his head until his shirt rode up just enough to show skin. Mingi didn’t bite. He simply yawned and reached for his phone as the other two men shared a look.

“Hmph,” Seonghwa huffed.

Still nothing.

Fine. He upped the ante.

He stood up slowly and made a little show of wandering toward the kitchen, swaying just slightly with every step, the hem of his shorts barely covering anything. “Guess I’ll go find someone else to play with,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“You’re welcome to go play with the dishes,” Yunho said mildly.

That earned him a sharp little glare.

“Oh my god,” Mingi muttered, chuckling. “He’s being bratty.”

“I am not!” Seonghwa turned, pouting in full effect now. “You two haven’t even touched me all day.”

“We cuddled with you for four hours,” Yunho pointed out, stretching his legs out a bit. “Fed you. Let you pick the music.”

“That doesn’t count,” Seonghwa said. “That’s normal stuff.”

Mingi stood up slowly, stretching like a cat. “Okay, then what does count, huh?”

Seonghwa’s lashes lowered. “When you spoil me.”

Mingi exchanged a look with Yunho, who shut his book calmly and set it aside.

“Oh,” Yunho said. “So we’ve created a monster.”

“No,” Seonghwa said, already backing up a step, though his grin betrayed him. “You told me I was allowed to have whatever I wanted. I just know what I want.”

“And clearly doesn’t like being told to wait for it,” Mingi said, circling around the couch now, slow and easy.

Yunho stood as well, fixing Seonghwa with a dark, amused look. “You really think you get to act up and not face the consequences?”

Seonghwa bit his lip, clearly thrilled. “Maybe.”

They moved in unison, cornering him by the counter — Mingi behind him now, hands slipping around his waist, and Yunho in front, arms folded.

“I think it’s time we remind you,” Yunho stated darkly, “who you belong to.”

“And how good you have it,” Mingi added, pressing a kiss just behind his ear.

“If our pup wants all of our attention, we’ll be sure to give it to him,” Yunho promised.

“Upstairs. Now,” Yunho said, his voice low and final.

Seonghwa barely hesitated, the thrill flashing hot down his spine. He turned to go, but not before Mingi delivered a sharp, playful smack to his ass that made him yelp and scurry faster.

“Crawl, pup,” Yunho added.

Seonghwa dropped to his hands and knees immediately, his ass swaying as he padded up the steps, heart pounding with anticipation. Behind him, he could hear Yunho and Mingi murmuring, the sound of a drawer opening, soft footfalls as they followed.

By the time he reached the bedroom, he was already squirming.

Mingi was first through the door, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his eyes gleaming. He reached for Seonghwa instantly, guiding him up onto the bed. “Stay on your knees,” he instructed. “Hands on your thighs.”

Seonghwa obeyed, thighs twitching beneath him as Yunho entered behind them — calm, collected, and holding the pink leash in his hand. 

“Look at you,” Yunho murmured. “So desperate to be used. You want us to touch you, but you act out when we don’t hand it to you.”

“I wasn’t—” Seonghwa started, but the words fizzled the moment Yunho raised a brow.

“Don’t lie,” Mingi said, running his hand down Seonghwa’s chest. “You’re needy. You’re our pup, and you hate not being the center of our world.”

Seonghwa whimpered, spine arching.

“Which is why you’re going to be patient now,” Yunho said, stepping behind him and fastening the leash to Seonghwa’s collar. “No coming until we say. Understood?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa breathed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good pup.”

Mingi moved in front of him, one hand cradling his jaw while the other began to toy with his nipples, teasing them through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Let’s see how long you last,” he simpered, brushing his thumbs in slow circles, then rolling the buds between finger and thumb until Seonghwa gasped and swayed.

Yunho tugged on the leash gently from behind. “Sit back on your heels.”

Seonghwa obeyed, hands still resting on his thighs, his mouth slack as Mingi pushed his shirt up and fully exposed his chest. The cool air hit his wet nipples, already red and stiff from attention.

“Sensitive today,” Mingi noted with a smirk. “Even better.”

He bent down and took one into his mouth, sucking gently while Yunho’s hands came to rest on Seonghwa’s hips, guiding him into stillness. Mingi’s tongue flicked wickedly, lips wet and deliberate, while his fingers pinched and teased the other side until Seonghwa was gasping through his teeth.

“Color?” Yunho asked, his voice low against Seonghwa’s ear. It had been their first time using the color system that Mingi and Yunho had introduced him to. They said they didn’t ever want Seonghwa to be uncomfortable, and it was just a way to check in with him. 

“Green,” Seonghwa moaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Oh, we’re not stopping,” Yunho promised. “You wanted to be the center of attention — now you’ll get it.”

Yunho’s hand slid down between Seonghwa’s thighs, cupping him through his shorts. “Already leaking. Pathetic.”

“I c-can’t help it—” Seonghwa stammered as tears began to build up from the sensations.

“Shh,” Mingi whispered, switching nipples now, dragging his teeth just enough to sting. “You can take it. You’ve taken so much already, haven’t you? Our perfect pup.”

Seonghwa trembled, head falling back as Yunho tugged the shorts down and exposed him fully. His cock was flushed, already dripping, the tip twitching in the cool air.

“No touching yourself,” Yunho warned. “We’ll decide when you get to come.”

Seonghwa whined at the loss of contact, only to cry out when Mingi blew gently over his spit-slick nipples.

“Sensitive,” Mingi teased again. “I think we should edge him. Keep him squirming until he begs properly. Teach him to ask for what he wants.”

“Agreed,” Yunho said, pulling on the leash until Seonghwa tipped forward. “Lay him back. Let’s start properly.”

Mingi reached for Seonghwa first, helping him lower onto the pillows while Yunho settled on the edge of the bed, leash still in hand. He wrapped it once around his palm, keeping it short and taut — not pulling, just a constant presence, a subtle reminder.

“Open your legs for us, pup,” Yunho said.

Seonghwa obeyed instantly, thighs falling open with a soft thud, flushed all the way down to his chest. His cock stood proud against his stomach, glistening and leaking, the need written across every trembling line of his body.

“Good boy,” Mingi murmured, leaning over him. “But don’t think we’re going to give you what you want just yet.”

He lowered his head and gave a slow, wet lick up the underside of Seonghwa’s cock — just one — before pulling back and blowing cool air across the head. Seonghwa twitched, hips bucking, a gasp tearing from his throat.

“Ah-ah,” Yunho said firmly, pulling gently on the leash. “No moving unless we tell you.”

“I— I’m trying—”

“Try harder,” Mingi said, smirking against his thigh. “You wanted our attention, remember?”

He dipped back down, lips brushing over the sensitive tip before he kissed just beside it — not on it — then lower, over Seonghwa’s balls, licking one into his mouth and sucking softly until Seonghwa was squirming again.

“Still moving,” Yunho said calmly. “Guess we’ll need to start over.”

Seonghwa whimpered, hands clenching in the sheets. “Please—please, I’m sorry—”

“You’re not sorry yet,” Yunho said, shifting to kneel beside his head. “Mingi, hold him down.”

Mingi braced one hand against Seonghwa’s hip, keeping him still with firm pressure while the other continued to tease — soft licks, wet kisses, never quite giving him what he needed.

Yunho leaned in, threading his fingers gently through Seonghwa’s hair. “You look so pretty like this,” he murmured. “All pink and swollen, aching and empty. Don’t you dare come.”

“I won’t,” Seonghwa panted. “I promise, I’ll be good.”

“Then prove it.” Yunho shifted until he was straddling Seonghwa’s chest, lowering himself just enough that Seonghwa could see the thick bulge pressing against his pants. “You’ll get to taste us if you can hold it.”

Mingi took Seonghwa’s cock into his mouth all at once — no warning — sucking hard while his hand massaged his balls, firm and slow. Seonghwa cried out, head thrown back, legs trembling beneath the weight of the command not to come.

“Stay still,” Yunho ordered, pressing down lightly on his chest. “Don’t move, don’t buck, don’t come.”

Seonghwa whimpered again, eyes glassy. “Please—please, Mingi—ah, fuck—”

Mingi popped off with a wet sound and grinned up at him. “Not yet, pup.”

He spit into his hand and started stroking Seonghwa again — fast, then slow, squeezing near the base just before he reached the edge. Seonghwa keened, whole body shaking.

“Not yet,” Yunho repeated, thumb brushing over Seonghwa’s parted lips. “Look at you. So good. So desperate. But we’re in charge, remember?”

Seonghwa nodded frantically. “Yes, sir. Yours—please—”

“That’s better,” Yunho said, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand. “You can take one more, can’t you?”

Mingi ducked back down, sucking just the head now — tongue flicking, pressure light and fast. He used both hands to hold Seonghwa down when his hips started twitching again.

“Hold it,” Yunho said.

Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back. He was whimpering openly now, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, his cock pulsing with need, but every time he got close—

Mingi pulled back.

Yunho’s voice reminded him: “Not yet.”

His thighs shook violently, sweat collecting at his temples, the collar tight around his throat and the leash coiled in Yunho’s fist, grounding him in their hands.

“You’re doing so well,” Yunho said, softening just a bit. “We’re so proud of you.”

Mingi pressed a kiss to his thigh. “We’ll let you come, pup. But only when we say so.”

Seonghwa sobbed, nodding, already begging without words — eyes wide and glazed, body taut with need, completely unraveled under their praise and denial. Tears traveled down his face as his entire body continued to tremble. 

Every nerve in his body vibrated. 

He fucking loved it. 

“Up,” Yunho said quietly, giving the leash a soft tug.

Seonghwa blinked through the haze, his lips kiss-swollen and cheeks flushed, body slick with sweat and trembling from denial. “Wha—”

“Up, pup,” Yunho repeated, a touch firmer now.

Mingi gently kissed the tip of Seonghwa’s cock one last time before releasing his hold and easing him up with strong hands under his arms. The air felt sharp against his skin as he was guided down to the floor, leash still looped in Yunho’s hand as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed after Mingi helped him out of his pants.

Yunho’s legs parted wide.

His cock sat heavy against his thigh, flushed and leaking, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with restraint. He tugged again, leading Seonghwa forward until he knelt between his thighs.

“There,” Yunho murmured. “Nice and pretty where you belong.”

Behind him, Mingi settled on his knees too — one hand resting possessively on Seonghwa’s ass. “Been wanting to see you like this,” he said, brushing soft kisses down the dip of Seonghwa’s spine. “Falling apart for us from both ends again.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth for Yunho without being asked, taking him in with reverence. Yunho exhaled a low groan, hand settling in his hair as he guided him slowly, just enough to feel the warm slick slide of Seonghwa’s mouth before pulling back.

“That’s it,” Yunho murmured. “Slow, pup. Use your tongue.”

Mingi’s hands spread him open with quiet command. “Gonna get you ready, baby. You’re gonna take us both tonight.”

Seonghwa moaned around Yunho’s cock — the sound garbled and wet — as Mingi leaned in and licked a broad stripe between his cheeks. His whole body jolted.

He hadn’t expected Mingi’s mouth to be this gentle, this precise .

“Good boy,” Mingi purred, flattening his tongue and circling his rim. “Already twitching for me.”

Yunho gently rocked into his mouth, not pushing, just feeding Seonghwa more inch by inch. The leash remained taut between them, a reminder of control. Seonghwa drooled as he sucked, the heat of Yunho’s praise above and the wet flick of Mingi’s tongue below building to an unbearable crescendo.

Mingi began to press a finger inside — slicked and patient — and then another, his other hand resting warm and steady on Seonghwa’s back as he worked him open.

“You’re sucking me like you want it,” Yunho rasped, watching the way Seonghwa’s lashes fluttered. “But your cunt’s clenching like you’re about to come.”

“No he’s not,” Mingi murmured from behind, sliding in a third finger now, curling it just so. “Not unless we say so.”

Seonghwa whimpered around Yunho’s cock, thighs trembling, his hips rocking back against Mingi’s hand in helpless little stutters.

“That’s it,” Yunho growled, tipping his head back as Seonghwa swallowed him deep. “Take care of me while he ruins you.”

“I want him so ready,” Mingi said, his voice gone low and wrecked. “So soft and open I can fuck him beside you.”

Yunho looked down and stroked Seonghwa’s cheek with his thumb. “You hear that, pup? You’re going to take both of us.”

Seonghwa nodded, eyes wide and desperate as he sucked harder, arousal dripping down his thighs now, more whines breaking in his throat every time Mingi’s fingers curved deep and slow. He was trembling, coming undone from both ends.

“Don’t come yet,” Yunho warned gently. “You haven’t earned it.”

“Not yet,” Mingi echoed, his teeth grazing over one cheek before his fingers twisted, pushing in deeper. “But soon. We’re gonna fill you up together.”

Seonghwa gasped around Yunho’s cock, sobbing now as Mingi’s hand never stopped, as Yunho’s grip tightened in his hair.

“Gonna stuff you full,” Yunho whispered, pulling back slightly. “And when we’re satisfied, then we’ll let you come.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched sharply when Yunho pulled him back by the leash.

“Enough for now,” Yunho said, his voice a low rasp. “I want you somewhere else.”

His cock slipped free of Seonghwa’s mouth with a soft, wet sound. Seonghwa whimpered at the loss, but let himself be moved — pliant and eager — as Yunho guided him up by the leash and leaned in to kiss him, deep and slow, tasting himself on his tongue.

Behind him, Mingi’s fingers didn’t stop.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” Mingi murmured against Seonghwa’s spine, now using four fingers in slow, deliberate circles. “You think you can take both of us, pup?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa gasped, dazed, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed. “I can—I want to—”

“Wanting isn’t the same as earning,” Yunho explained, guiding him by the waist and pulling him into his lap. He shifted until he was flat against the bed again, legs spread wide.

“Come here.”

Seonghwa obeyed, straddling him on shaky thighs, knees sinking into the mattress on either side. Yunho was throbbing, the heat from his dick radiating, thick and flushed and leaking between them, and the heat of him made Seonghwa clench around Mingi’s fingers instinctively.

“Easy,” Yunho said, his hands guiding Seonghwa’s hips. “You’ll take it slow.”

“You’ll sit down nice and slow on hyung’s cock,” Mingi added, voice low and dark as he curled his fingers again. “And I’ll keep you open while you do.”

Seonghwa let out a high, desperate sound at that — his body already trembling from the relentless teasing, from how fucking full he still felt without ever being allowed to come.

“Please…” he breathed, sinking down just a little, the thick head of Yunho’s cock nudging against his entrance. Mingi’s hand never left him, fingers still pressing deep, the added stretch making his thighs quake.

“You feel that?” Yunho whispered, his lips grazing Seonghwa’s collarbone. “That’s just me. And you’re still not even ready for both.”

Seonghwa nodded desperately, mouth open in a moan as he pressed down further — inch by inch, slow and steady — until Yunho was inside, thick and pulsing.

The stretch made him lightheaded. His walls fluttered around both of them — Yunho inside, Mingi’s fingers still spreading him open wider.

“Good pup,” Yunho whispered, one hand moving to tug the leash just so. “Just like that.”

“Fuck, look at you,” Mingi said, curling his fingers again and groaning when Seonghwa clenched hard. “You’re already shaking. And we haven’t even started.”

“I—I want—” Seonghwa sobbed, grinding slowly down against Yunho’s lap, his head tipping back against Yunho’s shoulder. “Need more, please—please, I’ll be good—”

“You’ll wait ,” Yunho said, firm now. “Until you’ve taken everything we give you.”

Mingi leaned forward and bit softly at Seonghwa’s shoulder before replacing his mouth with another kiss. “We’re gonna ruin you,” he whispered. “So good you’ll cry. So deep you’ll forget what it feels like to not be full.”

Seonghwa moaned again, broken and raw, his voice dissolving into whimpers as Mingi’s fingers began to move again — slow and deliberate — right alongside Yunho’s cock, teasing him wider with every motion.

The room was full of slick, wet sounds and stuttered breath. Yunho tilted his hips just slightly, his cock nudging that perfect spot as Mingi’s fingers twisted and stretched around it.

Seonghwa’s thighs shook violently.

“Not yet,” Yunho warned, biting down on his ear. “You don’t get to fall apart. Not until we say.”

Mingi’s voice was silk and smoke behind him. “But we’ll get you there. Dumb and dripping full of us.”

Seonghwa nodded desperately, tears beading at the corners of his eyes as he rocked forward again, filled so deeply that every nerve was alight.

He’d never been more desperate in his life.

“Look at you,” Mingi murmured, lips brushing the shell of Seonghwa’s ear as he eased his fingers free, slick and glistening. “You’re shaking so much. Gonna fall apart already, pup?”

“I c-can take it,” Seonghwa whimpered, clinging to Yunho’s shoulders as he tried to breathe through the fullness of Yunho’s cock buried so deep inside him.

“Oh, we know you can,” Yunho said, fingers gripping his waist tight. “But we want to hear you beg for it. Look me in the eye and ask.”

Seonghwa’s lashes fluttered as he tilted his head, trying to focus through the tears welling up in his eyes. “Please—please let me have both of you. I need to feel it. I want to be ruined—please, please—”

“Fuck,” Yunho groaned, clearly affected by the desperation in his voice. “Did you hear that, Mingi?”

Mingi knelt behind him on the bed now, one large palm smoothing down the curve of Seonghwa’s back, fingers dipping between his cheeks again to rub slow, steady circles around his already-stretched rim.

“Yeah,” Mingi said. “He’s ready for us.”

“Then let’s do it right,” Yunho said, tilting Seonghwa forward by the leash. “Come on, pup. Hands on the headboard.”

Seonghwa obeyed shakily, shifting forward on all fours while Yunho leaned back against the pillows again, still buried inside him from below. The new angle made him moan — deeper now, so deep it knocked the breath from his lungs.

His arms trembled as he gripped the headboard.

“Good boy,” Mingi purred behind him, guiding his hips into the perfect position. “Keep that pretty little back arched. Just like that.”

Seonghwa sobbed softly, the shame and arousal tangled tight in his chest.

“You see that, baby?” Yunho said, voice gravel and silk. “You’re gorgeous like this. Stuffed full of me. And you’re about to feel even more.”

Mingi leaned in, lining himself up behind him. His cock slid along the curve of Seonghwa’s ass, already slick with lube. The weight of him made Seonghwa shudder.

“Don’t hold back,” Yunho told Mingi, watching every twitch in Seonghwa’s body. “He wants this. He begged for this.”

Mingi kissed Seonghwa’s back once — reverent. “Tell me to give it to you, pup.”

“Please, Mingi,” Seonghwa gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Please fuck me—want to feel both of you—wanna be full, please—”

Mingi didn’t make him wait any longer.

He pressed forward slowly, carefully, pushing just the thick head of his cock inside. Seonghwa screamed — his voice cracking as the second stretch hit, overwhelming and brutal and blissful.

“ There it is,” Yunho growled, one hand moving to stroke Seonghwa’s neglected cock. “Feel that, baby? Feel what it means to be ours ?”

“So tight,” Mingi groaned behind him, pressing deeper, sliding in with painstaking slowness. “So fucking perfect.”

Seonghwa’s arms gave out halfway through. His chest collapsed to Yunho’s, forehead pressed into Yunho’s neck as he took it — the stretch, the weight, the impossible fullness of two cocks inside him.

“You’re doing so well,” Yunho whispered, carding a hand through his hair. “Almost there. Just a little more. Let him in.”

Seonghwa sobbed, nodding, fingers digging into the sheets as Mingi finally bottomed out. Their cocks pressed together inside him, the heat unbearable, the pressure insane. He could feel every inch, every twitch.

“That’s it,” Mingi breathed, panting now. “You’ve got us both.”

“Color?” Yunho asked softly, the question delivered in something much more gentle than anything else.

“Green,” Seonghwa whimpered out. 

The room spun. Seonghwa was full in every sense of the word — mind, body, soul. His hole was stretched to the limit, stuffed with both of them, and yet his body still begged for more.

“Such a good pup,” Yunho whispered. “Taking us like you were made for the two of us.”

“I—oh fuck, please —” Seonghwa moaned, trembling like a leaf.

“We haven’t even started moving yet,” Mingi said, voice full of dark promise. “And already you’re losing it.”

Yunho’s voice was low in his ear. “You’re not gonna walk after this.”

“Hope you don’t have class tomorrow,” Mingi added with a grin, hips shifting experimentally.

Seonghwa screamed again — and they hadn’t even fucked him yet.

They didn’t move at first.

Just the weight of it — both cocks seated fully inside, stretching him, pulsing with heat and promise — was enough to unravel Seonghwa from the inside out. His body shook, locked in a tremble, his voice reduced to broken whimpers as he buried his face in Yunho’s neck, jaw slack with the effort of staying conscious.

“Just like that,” Yunho whispered, cupping his chin and guiding him to look up. “Let us see you. Let us feel you.”

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Mingi murmured behind him, hands splayed over Seonghwa’s hips. “So soft. So open. You’re perfect like this.”

The first movement was slow — Mingi rocking his hips back just slightly, then pressing forward again, careful not to lose the angle. Yunho adjusted as well, lifting one leg to plant a foot flat on the bed, giving Seonghwa a better angle to grind down on.

That was all it took.

Seonghwa cried out, body clenching instinctively around them both, the dual sensation enough to punch the breath from his lungs.

“Shh, you’ve got it,” Yunho soothed, thumb brushing over Seonghwa’s cheek. “Take it slow. Let us fill you just right.”

Mingi leaned down, his chest pressed to Seonghwa’s back as he moved in tandem with Yunho — slow thrusts, deep and rolling, forcing Seonghwa to feel every stroke, every shift of friction and fullness as they began to fuck him in sync.

“There you go,” Mingi growled, dragging his cock out halfway before pushing back in. “Such a good little pup. So needy for us. Can’t go a whole day without cock, huh?”

Seonghwa whimpered, his arms trembling, legs already weak from the unrelenting pressure.

“I c-can’t—” he gasped. “It’s too much—”

“It’s not,” Yunho said, gripping his thighs and pulling him forward just a bit more. “You asked for this. You begged to be filled like this, remember?”

“Yunho—Mingi—oh fuck—please—please—”

“Please what ?” Mingi teased, voice hot against the nape of his neck. “Please more? Please harder? Or please don’t stop?”

Seonghwa couldn’t answer. Not with the way their cocks were moving now — slow and deep , brushing every nerve, stretching him further with every grind. The leash around his neck tightened as Yunho tugged gently, pulling his head back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Yunho whispered, eyes dark with adoration and heat. “Completely stuffed. Ruined. Ours.”

“Ours,” Mingi echoed, fucking into him a little harder now. “Say it, pup.”

“Y-Yours,” Seonghwa sobbed. “Yours—yours— yours —!”

“That’s right,” Yunho praised, stroking a hand down his chest and tweaking one swollen nipple. “You belong to us.”

Mingi slid a hand around to stroke Seonghwa’s cock, still hard and leaking despite everything. “And we’re gonna prove it. Gonna fuck you so full, there won’t be room for anything else.”

“Gonna fill you,” Yunho said, hips snapping up harder now. “Come inside you until you’re dripping for days. You want that, baby?”

“Yes!” Seonghwa cried. “Yes—please—please—I need it, I need it —”

“Then take it,” Mingi growled, snapping his hips faster.

“Take all of it,” Yunho echoed, pulling him down hard.

They began to move faster — not brutal yet, but no longer holding back. Just pure rhythm, a perfect duet of heat and stretch and filthy slick sounds. Seonghwa's head fell forward again, face buried in Yunho’s neck as his body was pushed to the limit, walls fluttering around both of them, begging for more.

“You’re gonna come like this,” Mingi whispered, his mouth hot on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “You’re gonna come while we’re still inside you. Without even being touched.”

“Like the perfect little cockdrunk pup you are,” Yunho said with a wicked grin.

Seonghwa moaned, the pleasure beginning to tip toward unbearable again.

“Fuck— fuck —I’m close,” Yunho hissed, pulling Seonghwa down hard one more time, buried to the hilt. “You’re so tight around both of us, baby, so fucking good.”

“I’m gonna come,” Mingi growled against his back, his thrusts growing erratic now. “I’m gonna fill you up, pup. Just like you wanted.”

Seonghwa couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe — his voice reduced to gasps and sobs, his body trembling from the fullness, the stretch, the heat. He was floating, dizzy and wrecked, his arms no longer holding him up.

“Come inside me—please—” he managed, head tipping back against Mingi’s shoulder. “I want it—I want all of it—”

And he got it.

Mingi let out a raw, feral moan as he spilled deep inside, hips pressed tight, cock twitching against the inner walls of Seonghwa’s already wrecked hole. Yunho wasn’t far behind — just a few more brutal thrusts, then a strangled groan as he pushed up hard, pressing Seonghwa between them and coming deep.

Warmth bloomed inside him. Both of them. So full it leaked down his thighs. Seonghwa trembled violently, teetering right on the edge — needing just one touch, just a brush—

But instead, Yunho’s strong arms caught him, holding him in place, cock still buried deep.

“Don’t move,” Yunho said, voice wrecked but firm. “Don’t you dare come yet.”

Seonghwa let out a sob, hips stuttering.

Mingi chuckled darkly, his lips brushing Seonghwa’s ear. “You thought we were going to let you finish just like that ? No, pup. Not yet.”

“Not until you earn it,” Yunho added, slowly pulling out — a slick, hot mess left behind as he helped lower Seonghwa to the edge of the bed, kneeling between his own legs now. “Hands behind your back.”

“W-What—?”

“Now.”

Seonghwa obeyed, arms trembling behind him as Mingi moved in front of him and tilted his chin up.

“You want to come?” Mingi asked sweetly.

“Yes—please—”

“Then show us how much you need it.”

Yunho reached forward, guiding Seonghwa’s knees apart again. “Show us how pathetic and pretty you can be for us. Use your thighs. Ride that edge yourself.”

He grabbed Seonghwa’s leaking cock and gave it a rough stroke — once — before letting go.

Seonghwa nearly collapsed.

“No hands,” Mingi warned, sitting beside him now, watching with sharp eyes. “If you touch yourself, we’ll start all over.”

Seonghwa sobbed, desperation making his head spin. But he obeyed. He began to move — rocking his hips, rutting into the space between his thighs, the friction nowhere near enough but just enough to tease. His body was slick with sweat and cum, his hole dripping, stretched wide and still twitching with aftershocks from being stuffed so full.

Yunho sat back, stroking his own cock lazily now, admiring the view. “Look at you. Making such a mess. So needy.”

“Such a good pup,” Mingi murmured. “You’re gonna come from this? Just from humping like a little slut?”

Seonghwa moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His hips moved faster, thighs clenched tight, trembling.

“Ask for it,” Yunho commanded. “Beg like the desperate little thing you are.”

“Please— please , I need it—let me come, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—just let me—”

“Now,” Mingi growled. “Come now, pup.”

And Seonghwa broke .

His whole body arched, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as he came in thick, messy spurts between his thighs, body convulsing from the effort. His chest heaved, eyes wide and glassy, face flushed and utterly wrecked.

Yunho was on him in a second, gathering him close.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered, kissing his damp hair. “That’s it. You did so well.”

Mingi reached for a warm cloth from the bedside table, already cleaning him gently. “You took both of us like a champ. Fucking perfect , Hwa.”

Seonghwa let himself be held, curled between them, feeling way too much all at once. The tears came steadily at first, but not long after, Seonghwa was sobbing into Yunho’s chest as Mingi stroked his back and removed his collar. They were patient, petting him as he came down from all of his emotions. 

“Was that too much, Bun?” Yunho asked once Seonghwa was just a sniffly puddle of goo. Seonghwa shook his head, curling closer into Yunho’s warmth.

“It was a lot, but it wasn’t too much,” he said as Mingi wiped his tears away. “I liked it a lot. I’ve never felt so much at one time.

Yunho and Mingi smiled at each other, relief riddled in there once Seonghwa had assured them both he was fine. 

“I think our bun has earned a bath, a massage, and dessert,” Mingi said, pressing tender kisses on Seonghwa's forehead. Seonghwa, however, hummed in satisfaction as he held onto Mingi’s finger with his full hand, ready to be guided through whatever nighttime routine the older two would set for them tonight. 

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Chapter 12: The Cut of Home

Summary:

My semester started so *insert awkward face* slower updates.

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”Italy!?” Seonghwa screeched with dread, his toast dropping unceremoniously from his hand, causing a crime against the perfect sunny-side-up eggs that Yunho had made for him despite swearing up and down he didn’t know how to. Breakfast was quickly forgotten as Mingi explained his upcoming work trip, another one that would last for weeks — longer than his trip to Paris. 

He was quickly finding that it was a double edged sword, being so besotted with two men. Being with one or the other was easily good enough; they were both enough for him by themselves. But Seonghwa had been spoiled rotten by both Mingi and Yunho, and his greed told him that he wanted them both all the time. 

Seonghwa loved Yunho’s quiet dominance and gentle care. He was always so laser focused on making sure both him and Mingi were well taken care of. And Mingi…he had such a care-free element to him despite caring so deeply, always knowing how to make Seonghwa smile instantly. Yunho was the fire in his gut, while Mingi was the butterflies in his stomach. But together, they both occupied the space in his heart and made it beat. 

Next to him, Yunho bit back a grin — or at least attempted to. When that didn’t work, he hid his mouth behind his hand as Mingi still got the puppy-dog eyes of betrayal. 

“Just for a few weeks. A big client wants me to shoot a campaign out there.” Mingi explained, seemingly unbothered that Seonghwa felt like his life was over. He would, of course, cherish more bonding time with Yunho…but he wanted Mingi there. He wanted to bond with him, too. To build a deeper connection with him. 

Unless it was all in his head, and that’s not what either of them were looking for. 

But in that case, they should have been more careful before creating the monster that was their Bun. 

This was entirely their fault. 

“Italy,” Seonghwa echoed, soft and almost wistful. “That’s… amazing, Mingi. Really.” His voice cracked at the edges, and Mingi noticed — Mingi always noticed.

The taller man moved around the counter, standing behind Seonghwa to wrap his arms around him from behind, chin resting on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured. “Don’t look so sad, Bun. You’re coming with me.”

Seonghwa froze for a second, turning his head just enough to see Mingi’s grin out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“You heard me.” Mingi pressed a quick kiss against his temple. “It’s after your semester ends. You’ll be free. I already checked the dates.”

The spoon clattered softly as Seonghwa let it fall back into the bowl. “You— you really want me to come with you?”

“Want you to? Bun, I need you there. Italy’s beautiful, but I don’t want to be wandering the streets of Florence without you. I didn’t even want to leave my hotel in Paris knowing Yunho got to hole up with you here and have you all to himself.” He began to press kisses on Seonghwa's head, and he suddenly giddy as he looked over at Yunho. 

“You’re coming too, right? Do you think we can imitate the Lady and the Tramp pasta scene between the three of us at the same time?” Seonghwa’s excitement began to bubble up. Yunho’s smile became a little somber, and that same sense of dread began to set in. 

“I have work even when the semester ends for the students,” he explained, and the pout quickly formed on Seonghwa’s face. “But you’ll have a lot of fun with Mingi. He deserves to have you to himself for a little bit,” he said, rubbing Seonghwa’s arm and leaning to kiss the side of his head. 

“Yeah, but…” Seonghwa’s lower lip jutted out as his frown deepened, “I want to have you both. I have two hands and they both need to be held while walking through Florence,” he whined, lifting his hands pathetically, and as if on cue, both Mingi and Yunho each grabbed a hand. With Yunho’s free hand, he reached out and plucked Seonghwa’s bottom lip with his fingers. 

“You really like us both that much, huh?” he asked with a soft smile. When Seonghwa nodded his head, Yunho shared a look with Mingi that he couldn’t decipher. “We like you, too, Hwa. One day, we’ll vacation together. The three of us.” 

“If I can afford that,” Seonghwa snorted, and then something heavy settled on his chest. “Actually…I don’t think I can afford this one. I’m just a student and…I probably couldn’t afford the trip to the airport.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yunho said, mirroring Seonghwa with his own frown, “It’s all covered by the company hiring Mingi. Plus, we’d cover you if it meant taking you with us.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to—” 

“You didn’t,” Mingi said in his ear, pressing another kiss to it. “And in any case, you are making money from your Magazine debut.” Seonghwa lit up at that, a big, stupid grin on his face. 

“That’s right! I’m a famous vogue model now!” He slapped his hand down on the counter, “I should bring a disguise in case my fans try to stalk me.” Mingi threw his head back and laughed as Yunho gave him his smile of adoration. 

Mingi reached over Seonghwa to steal a piece of toast that hadn’t met its untimely demise in the yolk disaster, still chuckling. “Your fans will have to fight me and Yunho first.”

“Exactly,” Yunho agreed easily, finally taking a bite of his own eggs. “No one’s touching our Bun.”

The word our lingered in the air, thick and sweet like honey, and Seonghwa’s chest tightened. He felt himself glowing under it, cheeks heating even as he tried to roll his eyes.

“You two act like I’d have a fan club.”

“You will,” Mingi said without hesitation, tugging him back against his chest. “And I’ll personally design the merch.”

Seonghwa huffed, trying not to smile, but Yunho caught the curve of it and leaned in to press a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth. The simple touch, so easy and natural, made him melt against both of them.

For a moment, it was quiet — only the clinking of utensils and the hum of the morning. But Seonghwa’s earlier words still hung in the air: I want to have you both.

Yunho squeezed his hand again, grounding him. “You’ll have us, Hwa,” he said softly, probably not realizing that he was making a promise that Seonghwa would most certainly hold him to. His eyes met Mingi’s across Seonghwa’s shoulder, sharing something unspoken — and though Seonghwa didn’t know what, he felt it settle deep in his chest.

“Promise?” he whispered, almost afraid to hope too much.

“Promise,” they answered together, Yunho with quiet certainty, Mingi with a grin pressed against his cheek.

Mingi still had his arms wrapped loosely around Seonghwa when Yunho stood, grabbing a paper towel to salvage the crime scene on Seonghwa’s plate. “Tragic,” Yunho said solemnly, scooping up the fallen toast and sliding it onto the counter with practiced patience. “My perfect sunny-side-up eggs, destroyed in the line of duty.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help it — he laughed. A real laugh, bright and unrestrained, the kind that made his stomach ache just a little. He leaned back against Mingi’s chest, tilting his head so Mingi could press another kiss into his hair.

“After I put in all that effort to make them just the way you wanted,” Yunho teased, side-eyeing him as he wiped down the counter.

“Didn’t you tell me that you don’t really like eggs that much?” Mingi questioned, the same mischievous tone in his words. 

“You don’t like eggs?” Yunho gasped, scandalized. 

“I like your eggs,” Seonghwa corrected quickly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He realized how that sounded and flushed scarlet, burying his face against Mingi’s arm.

Mingi barked a laugh, shaking with amusement. “You’re adorable, Bun. Should we let him live that down, jagiya?”

“Absolutely not,” Yunho said smoothly, a wicked grin curling at his mouth.

Seonghwa groaned. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t,” Yunho countered easily, slipping the cleaned plate back in front of him and sitting down again. His hand brushed Seonghwa’s knee under the table, casual but deliberate.

And no — Seonghwa didn’t. Not even close. If anything, the problem was the exact opposite. He was becoming too used to this: mornings filled with Yunho’s careful attention and Mingi’s effortless warmth, laughter spilling across a sunlit kitchen like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.

He picked at his toast, watching Mingi sneak a piece of fruit from his plate without asking while Yunho pretended not to notice, only to sneak one right back from Mingi’s plate. It should have been annoying — maybe even exhausting — but instead, something deep inside him softened.

When looking from the outside, they weren’t perfect. Yunho was too serious sometimes, Mingi too reckless. But together, they fit around him so easily it felt like they’d been designed for this, for him. They were perfect to Seonghwa, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose the careful guard he’d always kept around his heart.

Mingi nudged him suddenly. “Hey, don’t zone out on me, famous model. Your adoring public demands your attention.”

Seonghwa snorted, shoving him weakly. “My adoring public apparently has no respect for personal space.”

“When have you ever wanted personal space in this house?” Mingi asked, and even though Seonghwa opened his mouth to reply, no words came out. Fuck, they were right. 

Mingi grinned at Seonghwa’s silence, clearly pleased with himself, and tugged him closer as he sat in his stool until Seonghwa was practically perched in his lap. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured smugly, resting his chin on Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Careful,” Yunho warned lightly, though the corners of his mouth curved in amusement. “You’re going to drop him and then I’ll have two breakfast disasters to clean up.”

Seonghwa swatted at Yunho half-heartedly, but Yunho only caught his wrist, leaning forward to press a kiss to the inside of it before letting go. The simple brush of his lips made Seonghwa’s chest ache in the sweetest way.

“Don’t worry,” Mingi said, squeezing Seonghwa closer. “I’ve got him.”

“Mm.” Yunho’s gaze lingered a little longer than it needed to, soft and steady. “I know you do.”

The air felt charged in a way Seonghwa couldn’t name — light, playful, but threaded with something deeper. He curled his fingers into Mingi’s sleeve, letting himself sink into the warmth of them both.

If mornings like this were all he ever had, Seonghwa thought, he might not miss anything else.

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The hum of the aircon filled the room, mingling with the faint spice of Yunho’s cologne and the warmth of late spring sun filtering through the blinds. Seonghwa sat sideways in the guest chair, legs tucked under him, pretending to skim the gold-embossed lettering on the worn book in his lap. In truth, his attention was fixed on Yunho — on the neat way he scrawled notes in the margins of student essays, on the curve of his fingers around the pen, on the way his glasses slid just low enough that Seonghwa had to fight the ridiculous urge to reach out and push them up.

It was the last week of the semester, and outside these walls, the campus buzzed with frantic energy — deadlines, group projects, the last push before freedom. But here in Yunho’s office, everything was still. Warm. Just them.

When Yunho glanced up, his eyes softened instantly. “You’re quiet,” he murmured, setting his pen aside.

“I like watching you work,” Seonghwa admitted before he could think better of it. “You get this look—” he waved vaguely toward Yunho’s face “—like nothing else in the world exists.”

A slow smile tugged at Yunho’s mouth. “You still exist. Makes it hard to focus.”

The words hit deep, like a stone dropped into still water, and Seonghwa glanced away quickly, fingers worrying the zipper of his hoodie. “That’s cheesy,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Yunho said, leaning back in his chair and adjusting his glasses, “but you like when all the attention’s on you.”

He did. God help him, he liked it too much — especially when it came from Yunho. It was different from Mingi’s attention, which was playful, teasing, and filled with light. Yunho’s gaze was weightier. Focused. Like he was looking straight through Seonghwa and into the places he didn’t even show himself in the mirror.

Yunho gestured toward the stack of books on the desk. “I pulled some I thought you’d like, since you enjoyed the last poem I read you.”

The gesture was small, but it caught him off guard — Yunho had thought of him. Taken the time. Just like Mingi setting aside his favorite pastry for Seonghwa without asking, or sending him stupid selfies when they were apart. They both had ways of making him feel seen without having to say the words.

He reached for the top book, feeling the soft wear of the leather cover under his fingertips. “What is it?”

“Collected Italian sonnets,” Yunho said. “Read the one marked with the ribbon.”

Seonghwa opened it and read aloud, his voice low in the quiet room. By the time he reached the final line — and in your eyes, I find my only country — his throat felt tight.

When he looked up, Yunho wasn’t looking at the book. He was looking at him — not like a professor watching a student, but like someone memorizing a face they didn’t want to forget.

“That’s how I feel when you’re here,” Yunho said quietly.

Something lodged in Seonghwa’s chest, sharp and sweet all at once. He thought of Mingi in Paris, sending him photos of cobblestone streets and sunsets with captions that said wish you were here . He thought of how much he wanted to be everywhere with both of them.

Instead of answering, he slid off the chair and perched on the edge of Yunho’s desk, close enough that their knees brushed. “You’re going to make me think you’re flirting with me.”

Yunho’s smile was faint but certain. “And what if I am?”

Seonghwa didn’t have time to answer before Yunho’s hand slid to the back of his neck, drawing him forward. The kiss was slow at first — testing, deliberate — but it carried that same weight as Yunho’s gaze, that same unshakable focus. Seonghwa’s fingers found the solid breadth of his shoulders, holding on as heat unfurled low in his stomach.

The desk edge pressed into the backs of his thighs, but he leaned in anyway, chasing the steady pull of Yunho’s mouth. Mingi’s smile flickered through his mind, unbidden — how easy it was to imagine the three of them tangled together like this, warmth and closeness and more than he’d ever thought he could want.

Yunho’s teeth grazed his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make Seonghwa’s breath hitch. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you in here,” Yunho murmured against his mouth.

Seonghwa’s pulse skipped. “Then don’t.”

Yunho didn’t.

The kiss deepened, his hands bracketing Seonghwa’s hips to draw him closer, until there was no space left to fill. Outside, footsteps passed in the hall, but the sound barely registered. Here, there was only Yunho’s steady heat, the faint rasp of his stubble against Seonghwa’s skin, the dizzying realization that he could get used to this — to them .

Yunho didn’t just kiss him again — he pulled him. A firm, unyielding grip at Seonghwa’s waist lifted him easily until he was straddling Yunho’s lap, knees braced against either side of the chair. The sudden shift stole a breathless laugh from Seonghwa, swallowed instantly by Yunho’s mouth on his.

The book slid from Seonghwa’s hand to the desk with a soft thud, forgotten as Yunho’s palms pressed up the length of his thighs, fingers curling in possessive sweeps. It wasn’t hurried — not exactly — but it had a contained heat to it, the kind that made Seonghwa feel like Yunho could hold him here for hours without ever letting him go.

The thought made something twist in his chest. He liked this too much. Liked the way Yunho’s hands anchored him, liked the way every shift of his hips dragged a quiet sound from Yunho’s throat.

And yet, even in this, Mingi’s presence lingered in the edges of his thoughts. The warmth in Yunho’s hands reminded him of how Mingi’s touch could be all-consuming in its own way — lighter, teasing, but no less grounding. He wanted both of them. He wanted this same closeness with Mingi, the same stolen, breathless moments, the same heat.

Yunho pulled back just far enough for their breaths to mingle, his forehead resting against Seonghwa’s. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, voice roughened, his thumbs sweeping slow, deliberate circles against Seonghwa’s hips.

Seonghwa swallowed, his own breath shaky. “Maybe I do.”

The smallest smirk tugged at Yunho’s lips. “Dangerous.”

And then his mouth was back on Seonghwa’s, hungrier now, his hands sliding higher, palms flattening against Seonghwa’s back to press him in. The desk chair creaked faintly under them, a reminder of where they were, but neither moved to stop.

Seonghwa’s fingers curled into Yunho’s hair, tugging just enough to feel the soft gasp that broke the kiss for half a heartbeat. He wanted to memorize this — the way Yunho’s mouth felt against his, the weight of him, the way he kissed like he wasn’t afraid to be caught.

If anyone walked in, they’d have questions. But in that moment, Seonghwa couldn’t have cared less. Because all he could think about was how much he wanted more — from Yunho, from Mingi, from the three of them together. And how terrifyingly easy it would be to give himself to them completely.

Yunho’s kiss turned harder, his grip shifting from Seonghwa’s waist to the underside of his thighs, lifting him effortlessly and setting him fully onto the desk. The book slid to the floor without either of them noticing. The solid press of Yunho’s body between his knees made Seonghwa’s head spin. Yunho’s hands were everywhere — smoothing up his ribs, down his hips, back to his thighs again, thumbs pressing in just enough to make him gasp.

“You’re… gonna mess up your papers,” Seonghwa mumbled, though the words were broken by a soft whimper when Yunho’s fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“So?,” Yunho murmured against his mouth. “I’m too busy to care.”

He kissed him again, slow only for the first few seconds before deepening it, his tongue sliding in, tasting, claiming. Seonghwa’s fingers curled into Yunho’s shirt, tugging until it came loose from where it was tucked, palms flattening against the warm muscle underneath.

When Yunho’s hand slipped past the hem of his hoodie, Seonghwa’s breath hitched sharply. The rough pads of his fingers skimmed the bare skin of his stomach before sliding lower, cupping him through the thin fabric of his underwear.

“Yunho—” Seonghwa’s voice cracked, heat shooting down his spine.

“Yes?,” Yunho murmured, his lips brushing along Seonghwa’s jaw, down the sensitive skin just below his ear.

Seonghwa didn’t say anything.

Instead, he tilted his head back, giving him more space, his chest heaving as Yunho’s hand worked him with steady, confident strokes. Each pass of his palm over the growing wet spot in his underwear made him shiver.

And somewhere in that dizzy haze, Mingi flickered through his mind again — how he might smirk seeing this, how he’d touch him differently, tease instead of devour. The thought made Seonghwa’s hips jerk into Yunho’s hand, a strangled sound escaping his throat.

“You’re thinking about him too, aren’t you?” Yunho said lowly, like he’d plucked the thought straight from his head.

Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open, breath stuttering. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Yunho soothed, pressing his mouth to Seonghwa’s again. “I think about him when I touch you too.”

The words made Seonghwa tremble. Yunho didn’t stop — he slid his hand under the waistband, wrapping around him fully, skin to skin. The heat of it, the slow squeeze, made his vision blur at the edges. “I think about what he’d do if he were here, too. The way he looks at you, the way he doesn’t hold back like I do. Seeing you both together is almost as good as getting you both to myself.” 

The words sent a tremor through him, something raw and dizzying coiling low in his stomach. Yunho’s kiss lingered for one more heartbeat before Seonghwa pulled back, searching Yunho’s face.

“Then let me…” His voice was quieter now, almost unsure, but his hands were already moving to Yunho’s thighs.

Yunho’s gaze sharpened, heat flaring there, but he didn’t stop him. He sat down and leaned back in his chair as Seonghwa slid down off the desk, the slow drag of his palms trailing from Yunho’s chest, past his stomach, to rest against the spread of his legs.

“You don’t have to,” Yunho said, though his voice was already fraying.

“I want to,” Seonghwa replied simply, his fingers already working open the belt and zipper. He eased Yunho free, feeling the heavy weight of him in his hand, the heat that made his pulse skip. “You should know just how much I want to, by now.” 

Yunho’s breath hitched when Seonghwa leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the head, tasting him before taking him in, slow and steady. The quiet groan that slipped from Yunho’s throat had Seonghwa’s toes curling inside his shoes.

It was heady, intoxicating — the way Yunho’s hand settled on the back of his neck, not forcing, just holding him there. Every low sound Yunho made seemed to travel straight through Seonghwa, winding him tighter.

And Mingi was there too, in the back of his mind — Mingi watching, Mingi smirking, Mingi kneeling beside him with a hand in Yunho’s hair. The thought sent a jolt through him, his thighs tensing.

He sank deeper, letting his tongue trace along the underside, swirling around the head on the way back up. Yunho’s hips shifted, just a fraction, and Seonghwa welcomed it, letting him set the rhythm.

“God, Hwa…” Yunho’s voice was rough now, his thumb stroking over the soft skin at Seonghwa’s nape. “You’re… so fucking good.”

The praise burned through him, white-hot. He didn’t even realize his own arousal had built to the edge until the ache in his stomach sharpened, the pulse between his legs demanding release. But instead of seeking out his own pleasure, all he wanted to do was keep taking Yunho, deeper, hungrier, chasing the quiet thrill of knowing Yunho was coming undone because of him.

When Yunho’s release hit, hot and sudden, Seonghwa swallowed without breaking rhythm — and the shock of it, the sound of Yunho’s groan above him, tipped him over the edge too. His own orgasm tore through him, untouched, his body shaking as the taste of Yunho lingered on his tongue.

Yunho’s hand stayed at his neck, holding him steady until the tremors eased. “You…” Yunho’s voice was still ragged, his other hand brushing gently through Seonghwa’s hair, “…are going to be the death of me.”

Seonghwa just rested there for a moment, catching his breath, before letting his forehead rest against Yunho’s thigh — warm, sated, and painfully aware that part of him still wished Mingi had been here to see all of it.

 

Yunho didn’t let him stay on the floor for long. His hand slid from Seonghwa’s neck to his jaw, tilting his head up with a gentleness that contrasted so sharply with the intensity from moments ago.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Seonghwa let Yunho help him to his feet, his legs trembling just enough to make Yunho steady him with an arm around his waist. The chair creaked softly as Yunho guided him to sit in it, swapping places so he could crouch in front of him.

“You okay?” Yunho asked, already tugging the hem of Seonghwa’s hoodie back into place and smoothing a palm over his thigh.

Seonghwa nodded, though his pulse was still racing. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

That earned him the faintest smile, the kind that softened Yunho’s whole face. “Good wow?”

Seonghwa’s lips curved, small but sure. “Good wow.”

Yunho reached for a bottle of water from his desk and pressed it into Seonghwa’s hand, his thumb lingering against the back of it for a second longer than necessary. “Drink. You look flushed.”

Seonghwa took a sip, the coolness soothing his throat, and watched Yunho quietly as he fastened his own belt again. There was something so unfair about the way Yunho could go from completely wrecking him to looking perfectly composed in a heartbeat. And yet, the softness in his gaze gave him away — like he was still seeing every second of what just happened.

“I keep thinking,” Seonghwa said slowly, “how much I want him here when we…” His voice trailed, but Yunho didn’t make him finish.

“I know,” Yunho said simply, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Seonghwa’s knees. “Me too.”

That admission settled in Seonghwa’s chest like something heavy but warm. He imagined Mingi’s laughter bouncing off these walls, the weight of two sets of hands on him instead of one. The thought made him ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with wanting.

Yunho brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, his knuckles skimming lightly over his skin. “Let’s get home to him before I decide to keep you here all afternoon.”

Seonghwa laughed under his breath, but he didn’t move right away. He stayed in Yunho’s chair for another moment, drinking in the way this felt — the quiet hum of the aircon, the lingering taste of Yunho on his tongue, and the unshakable sense that he was in trouble. The kind you didn’t want to be saved from.

Yunho insisted on driving him back, ignoring Seonghwa’s half-hearted protest that he could just take the bus, as if that would ever be an option. As if Seonghwa had ridden public transportation once since Yunho and Mingi had taken him in. But sometimes, he couldn’t help but push their buttons just for a reaction. 

Seonghwa never knew how much he could want to be taken care of.

“Don’t make me throw in over my lap in the back seat,” Yunho said, unlocking the car. “You’re coming home with me. Mingi misses you. I’ll miss you. Then we’ll have to sneak into your house and into your bed..”

Home.

He said it so easily, like it was a settled fact that Seonghwa’s place was wherever they were.

It wasn’t the first time either of them had done it — Mingi had said it that morning when they left for campus ( Don’t forget, you’re coming home for dinner tonight ), and Yunho had said it last week when Seonghwa stayed over ( Your toothbrush is in the bathroom, Bun, you’ll be fine ). It was becoming a pattern. A thrilling and scary one.

He tried not to think too much about it on the ride over, but every quiet look Yunho sent him from behind the wheel made it harder to keep that distance.

When they pulled into the driveway, Mingi’s car was already there. Yunho’s mouth curved faintly. “He must’ve wrapped up early.”

The moment they stepped inside, Mingi appeared from the kitchen, still in his work clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His face lit up the second he saw them.

“Bun!” Mingi’s grin was wide, warm, and before Seonghwa could even put his bag down, Mingi had wrapped him up in a hug — tight enough that Seonghwa felt it in his ribs.

Seonghwa melted instantly, looping his arms around Mingi’s waist. “You smell like coffee.”

“Guilty.” Mingi pulled back just enough to press a quick kiss to his temple, then glanced past him to Yunho. “You bring him straight here?”

“Of course,” Yunho said, setting his keys on the counter like he owned the place — because he did. “Where else would I take him?”

There it was again. Here was the default. Here was where they wanted him.

He tried to play it cool, but his chest felt tight in the best way. And maybe that was the problem — maybe he was already too used to this. The easy assumption that he’d be here, that there’d be a place for him at their table, on their couch, between them in bed.

Mingi pulled him toward the couch without letting go of his hand. “Sit with me for a bit before dinner.”

Seonghwa didn’t protest — didn’t want to. He sat pressed into Mingi’s side, letting his head fall against his shoulder. Yunho joined them a minute later, settling on his other side and draping an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly over Seonghwa’s neck.

He should’ve felt crowded, sandwiched between them like this. Instead, it felt… right. Like the space was made for him.

If he wasn’t careful, he thought, he was going to forget that this wasn’t his life. Not really. Not in the same context that Yunho and Mingi had a life together.

But with Mingi’s warmth on one side, Yunho’s steady presence on the other, and both of them so close he could breathe them in, Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to care about being careful. Not when it felt this good to stop guarding his heart and just… be.

Mingi didn’t let him go for long. Even when he finally stood to head into the kitchen, he tugged Seonghwa along by the hand like it wasn’t even a question that he’d follow.

“Dinner’s basically ready,” Mingi said, steering him toward the stove. “I made that pasta you liked last time.”

“You mean the one I liked so much I forgot to save you leftovers?” Seonghwa teased, but his smile gave him away.

“Exactly that one,” Mingi grinned, bumping his shoulder as he reached past him for the wooden spoon.

Yunho came in a moment later, rolling up his sleeves and moving automatically to set the table. Watching them together like this made something twist in Seonghwa’s chest. They moved around each other so easily, and somehow, they’d let him slot right into that rhythm without hesitation.

Dinner was easy — warm food, warmer conversation, Mingi’s laugh filling the space and Yunho’s quiet interjections grounding it. Seonghwa ate slower than usual, partly because Mingi kept stealing bites from his plate, partly because Yunho kept refilling his glass of water every time he set it down half-empty.

When they finally migrated to the couch again, Seonghwa didn’t even try to find his own space. He curled up against Mingi, legs tucked under him, his head pillowed on Mingi’s thigh. Yunho sat at the far end, one arm resting on the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing lazily over Seonghwa’s ankle where it rested against the cushion.

“You’re clingy tonight,” Mingi teased, twirling a piece of Seonghwa’s hair between his fingers.

“I’m always clingy,” Seonghwa muttered, eyes half-lidded. “You just pretend to be surprised so you can point it out like it's a bad thing.” The pout that ended up on his face was accidental, and a display of how sleepy he was.

Mingi’s grin softened. “Not a bad thing.”

Yunho’s low hum of agreement came from the other side. “Never a bad thing.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes fully, letting their voices wash over him. He thought about the last week of the semester, about Italy, about how many nights like this he might get before everything changed. He thought about how much he wanted them — not just the heat and the thrill, but the steady hum of their presence in his life.

He was in trouble. 

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