Chapter Text
"You're gonna hurt yourself." Yeosang wraps arms around San's shoulders, hands sliding down his forearms to gently pry the knife out of his hold. He kisses under his ear when San complies, just because he can. "Watch the sauce?" San hums, turning to grab at his hips. The contact pushes warmth up his chest, into his face; his hands already know him well.
San crowds him against the counter, brimming with that petulant undertone he’s got down to an art, just a shadow of a pout to sweeten it all. “I’m not fine china, you know.”
That gets Yeosang chuckling, a little shy. He shrugs.
“I’m still learning how to do this. Sorry.”
Softness spreads across San’s face fast, so gently does he catch his eye. Leaning in, he presses hot lips to Yeosang’s cheek. “ Angel .” He whispers, conjuring violent, larger than life butterflies. It’s such a safe flavor of affection to stand under his gaze, feels like he’s got hands buried inside his body, like San holds his insides in place so he can rest for a moment. Yeosang breathes out, a charged thing. “You’re doing good. I just wanna be good to you too.”
He nods. “Okay.” This close, the food wafting can’t mask the crisp, fresh scent of San’s. He steals a quick kiss, somewhat aware that this need to taste him— to remind himself of how it feels when they meet in the middle— will settle at some point. “Take it easy on the knives, though.” He jokes, just to remember how good it sounds when San laughs.
Yeosang quickly comes to terms with the fact that he can’t blame Wooyoung and Seonghwa now; honeymoon phases do feel like some sort of drug.
After untangling himself from his grasp, he somewhat fixes San's poor mincing attempt, only marginally better himself, and as the ingredients go in the pan, San sets a timer on his phone, taking the opportunity to press play on a soft, sweet sounding playlist.
Yeosang laughs, fond to the marrow. San pulls him by the belt loops to dance. "Romantic much?"
He gets a kiss to his birthmark, arms guided to wrap over San's shoulders. "Just an excuse to hold you a bit."
Breathing in the gentle fresh scent, nose buried in his neck, Yeosang finds that San's love is a barrier of its own.
"You don't need those." He tells him. Goosebumps meet his arms when he combs through the short dark hair on his nape. "Not with me."
The air is light and cold outside the restaurant, surprisingly clear all things considered. It’s not quite night yet, but the twilight won’t last, he knows. He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of the streetlamps stark against a blue tinted world.
( just in case you don’t get here in time , he captions it when he sends it over to San.
thought you should see this :)
He doesn’t take long to reply.
whoa ! good thing you took it ! so pretty !
i’ll be there soon~
wait for me 😘 )
He smiles, a little warmer than before. San is kind of a cute guy.
"Sang-ah!" He turns to find a familiar smile, followed by an enthusiastic wave. Wooyoung runs up to smack an obnoxious kiss to his cheek, and he cringes, wiping it away.
"Gross." Seonghwa, to his boyfriend's dismay, snorts at the jab, getting a pinch to the side. Not much has changed, dynamic wise, but that he knows. "Hi, hyung. What are you two doing here?"
They raise their intertwined hands. "Date!"
"What about you, Yeosangie?" Seonghwa prods, ever so gentle. There's a sharp little glint to his eyes when he grins, though. "Don't tell me-"
"Traffic is really bad!” San blurts out as he reaches them, a little out of breath. Yeosang reaches a hand to steady him when he trips a bit. “I'm so sorry, angel… oh , hello."
And god, Wooyoung’s smile is so full of teeth. Had he known him any less, he’d be afraid of that look, because it very clearly means mischief.
"Nice to finally meet you! I'm Wooyoung."
"Oh!" And just like that, recognition flashes. In his defense, there’s not much Yeosang does that isn’t in Wooyoung and Seonghwa’s presence, so a lot of what he tells San is unavoidably entangled with his best friends’ antics. San grins, wide and friendly, and for some reason pride swells in his chest. "Yeah, great to finally meet you! You must be Seonghwa-ssi, then?"
"That's me." Seonghwa smiles, then sighs, looking over their heads to the sign in contemplation. "Guess we're having date nights in the same restaurant?"
Wooyoung lights up beside him, hanging off his arm. "Let's have a double date!"
"Jagi!" Seonghwa chastises with little heat. As Wooyoung pouts, he turns back to San. “Sorry.”
"No, he-" Yeosang looks between them, a little unsure. Then at San, whose hand is already in his, slipping in without his notice. He blinks, a little flustered, but then reminds himself. "San-ah, do you wanna meet my friends?"
It’s as though he’s confessed his undying love, the way he looks impossibly brighter. Yeosang braces himself not for a rejection, but for a warmth he has yet to experience. "Sounds like a plan."
"Sangie and I met three years ago!" Wooyoung babblers on as they wait for the food to arrive. It’s a cute place, feels like they’re in a small Parisian town rather than the heart of Itaewon. It’s a good place to feel cozy in, he thinks. "He shared the last sandwich at the snack table at a shoot with me, even though he was really hungry. I obviously didn't know that, or I'd let him have it, but it was really sweet, I think. It was his first week working under Aurora, right Sang-ah? He was so cute!"
He chuckles, despite himself. San watches him from the corner of his eye with a tenderness he can’t address. "I wasn't that hungry." He pointedly corrects. "But yeah. He imprinted on me, or something. It’s like adopting a stray duckling."
As San laughs, he flinches to avoid the bread Wooyoung threatens to throw his way, wrist caught at the last moment by a fondly exasperated Seonghwa.
"No fighting on the table." He tells him, throwing a look Yeosang’s way, which, fair enough. "Sorry, San-ssi, we haven't heard much from you yet."
"Oh, don't worry about that!" San giggles, still terribly amused. His eyes are so big and full of attention, he notices. How cute. "Is there anything you'd like to know?"
"How did… I know you two weren't always on good terms." It’s gentle enough how he approaches the subject, but Yeosang’s stomach still drops a little. "When did that change?"
He’s always known the topic would come up at some point, so he’s not offended they’d ask; he’s afraid, though, that one of these days San is going to say it out loud and realize he’s just not worth that kind of effort. Among his irrational fears, he knows that one is the closest to reality.
San doesn’t seem fazed by the question, though he takes some time to think things through. Yeosang’s eyes never leave the smooth wood top of their table.
"The official answer is I was freaking out at Mist's show and he distracted me by being silly and cute." The smile in his voice fades slowly into something quieter, softer. "But I think the truth is a few weeks prior, when we argued at the studio."
A pair of feet land atop of his crossed ones. Although he isn’t sure whether they’re Wooyoung’s or Seonghwa’s, he appreciates the silent support, though perhaps this is just his actions bearing fruit, and it’s his time to take accountability. Still, San carries on.
"He was saying all these things, you know? And I was upset of course, but when it was over I could see he was hurting himself more than he ever hurt me." Even this far down the road, hearing him say it stings a great deal. Because it’s true. He was never good at bringing others down, but he’s had his whole life to learn how to drag himself through the dirt for things he couldn’t change. "It was so strange, because until that point I thought he was just some snobby pretty boy I had a crush on, but the more I looked, the more— I don't know, scared? He looked. I couldn't stop thinking about it, really. He was always terrified around me, and I didn’t want that."
Their food arrives then, not quite breaking the tension but allowing for a collective breath to be taken as they settle again.
Quietly, reaching out for San’s sleeve, Yeosang tries to right his wrongs again. "I'm sorry. I should’ve never taken it out on you."
A warm arm wraps around his shoulders, brings him closer so the kiss on his temple hits just that much harder. "I know, angel." San whispers, just shy of cooing. "It’s okay, I promise."
"I'm glad he met you." Wooyoung’s voice takes on a great deal of sweetness when he acknowledges it, gaze full of appreciation. It doesn’t last, but it’s intense enough he’ll never forget it was there. "You kinda dragged him towards reason, if that makes sense."
Yeosang chuckles a little, tension bleeding out. "Kicking and screaming."
Suddenly, a phone starts vibrating on the table. All attention turns to it at once. "Oh, mom's calling, I'll be right back." Wooyoung excuses himself with a raised finger, picking up on his way out.
"Tell her I said hi!" He calls out, just enough to be heard.
When he turns back, San has a smug little smile. "What?" He grins back, curious.
"Didn't know you were a mama's boy."
All the air in the room gets sucked out at once.
It’s not his fault, he tries to remind himself. It’s everyone’s first assumption, right? Innocent enough.
But louder than his reassurance, plays a familiar track. Like remembering an old song, the kind you can’t shake off for a long while each time you hear it around, dull amber eyes stare back at him through time.
The thing about thinking about it now, when he’s happy and he’s loved, is that it seems even worse in comparison.
He swallows the urge to get up and disappear. "I'm not."
It lands like a hand grenade. The dead quiet doesn’t help, and Seonghwa, poor Seonghwa who’s gone through this years ago and didn’t have anyone to soften Yeosang’s horrible reactions every time he remembers, pulls the attention away before San can ask. Because he can’t. Not yet, at least.
"Oh, San-ssi! You worked with YSL last season, right?" Just casual enough, he asks. Yeosang is choked up with gratitude. "How was it?"
The dinner ends a little stiffly, Wooyoung catching on his overwhelm and taking upon himself to entertain. It’s fine, he tells himself, there’s got to be room for the things he can’t help if he’s meant to get over it. Like Wooyoung himself says, there’s no way out of heartbreak but through it.
"Sorry if I said something out of line."
But that doesn’t mean he’s ready for any of this.
He hums, eyes on the passenger window. There’s not a lot he sees, though the city is alive. "It's okay, don't worry about it."
"Is your mom…"
It hurts. God, it hurts so sharp still, and it’s been years. He tenses every muscle in his body to keep from reacting like he feels he will tonight.
"San-ah." He hates how cold it sounds, no bite, no warmth, no nothing. But he won’t cry in San’s car tonight.
Yeosang is thankful that he doesn’t press. It tears him apart not telling him, but he doesn't think he could articulate much, caught off guard as he is.
San parks in front of his apartment complex, and they stay in silence for a second. It helps a little, but not enough that he wants to stay.
"I’m sorry." He doesn’t look at him, perhaps too afraid of his reaction, but Yeosang can tell he’s hurt. He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches over the console, cupping his cheek.
There’s a million questions all over San’s face when he looks at him, and he just can’t stand them; pressing a slow kiss to his lips, he hopes at least he’ll have time to answer them someday.
"Don’t sleep too late." He whispers. That’s the best he can give. “Good night, San-ah.”
Yeosang spends the next week with only work as company. He tries not to feel too guilty about it, but it’s not very effective.
Seollal approaches with a biting chill, as always.
Wooyoung leaves for Ilsan a whole week prior, dragging Seonghwa with him to meet his folks. He promises to bring his mom's food, and Yeosang knows that's as close to a needless apology as anything else. It’s a big family, he gets it.
There's not much to do but cook himself a comforting meal and watch movies snacking on dumplings until it's time to sleep, and that, in some way, is already enough on its own. He's got an apartment now, actual money to eat whatever he wants. It's better than… well.
San shows up unannounced at three in the morning of New Year's Eve, bundled tight and red nosed. The sight almost knocks Yeosang off his feet.
"San-ah, what…?" He blinks, fixing his bed head. San told him the day before he's going home. "Did you forget anyth—"
"Come home with me."
Yeosang feels like throwing up all over his feet suddenly, such is the force of the question. It hits him on the ribs, crashes through bone and flesh and endless fluttering butterflies. To San, he's probably standing wide eyed on his doorway, speechless; to himself, he's broken into, guts splattered on the ground. He's just shy of see through, hollowed out.
"I don't know why you never like to talk about your family and it's okay that you don't, to me." He says, earnestness bleeding all over his words. How is he so good? Yeosang muses breathlessly, how is he so full of life? "But if— if you want to have my family for the holidays, even if yours is unreplaceable, I think you should come home with me."
And then the sun hits.
It's warm on his gaping wounds, makes it seem as though he's emitting his own light. Yeosang swallows the tears, the sobs, breathes deep once, then again.
He's terrified, there's no way around it. He braces for the end of the world.
"Right now?"
San smiles, then nods.
"Right now."
Yeosang awakens to San still driving, the sun having just begun to rise on the side of his face he can't see. It contours his profile, gentle while the air is crispest. When he realizes Yeosang is awake, he reaches out to rub his thigh, squeezing for comfort.
There's no music playing, no loud sounds of traffic anymore. They must be close to San's hometown, with the way the sleek buildings dwindle into older, smaller ones, interspersed by houses and neverending frozen fields. It’s as though they’ve left the world in some way.
"I got some snacks in the glove box, if you want."
He nods, pulls out a protein bar. The car heater is running pleasantly high, making it easier to enjoy the frigid landscape rushing by. Chewing slowly, Yeosang watches it, and San.
"I never met my dad." Is what comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t fight it. "Don't know his name, what he looks like. Just know that he got my mom pregnant and she was kicked out of my grandparents' house for it."
There’s this immense need to scream whenever he talks about it. It’s not something he thinks he can indulge in, and perhaps that’s why it’s there in the first place, but it takes too much of his throat, this itch to hoarse it to death. Maybe, if he screams enough, he’ll let all the staleness inside out for good, and he’ll be free.
He takes another bite of the bar, to keep San’s eyes busy, to keep himself moving, to keep it so heartbreak isn’t all that he is at once.
"She never hit me, but I could tell she saw me as someone who made her struggle."
A pause. San nods.
"Is she still…"
Yeosang huffs a bitter laugh. "I don't know. She left when I got into college." He doesn’t look at him when he says it. It still sounds like it’s his fault. The bite hits his tongue like ash. "Just got home from class one day and she was gone with all her stuff. I guess she felt like she'd sacrificed enough for my sake."
And the worst part is that he still thinks she had mercy for him; had she left any earlier, who knows where he’d be today. He just had to drop out of school and get a job.
He just had to move on, alone, while sure he was never wanted.
"I'm sorry."
Yeosang kind of wishes he’d say something stupid. If he’d told him all about how he should be grateful, how she’s still his mom, then he wouldn’t have to face that something bad happened to him. But he doesn’t, and something has.
San abruptly pulls over on the side of the road. He turns to him, head resting on his seat. There’s something in his eye, and while he knows it’s not pity, there’s a similar softness somewhere.
"It's fine." He settles on saying. Don’t make a fuss, he begs, don’t allow me to feel this. His eyes burn when he blinks. "I hope she's happy without me."
San sees right through him.
"No you don't."
A tear slides into the corner of his smile. His chuckle stumbles into a sob.
"No I don't."
"Mom, dad!" San calls out into the house as they take off their shoes. "I brought someone!"
"My San-ah!" His mother yells back from the kitchen. "Come on in, baby!"
It's a cozy house. The floor is tiled and the wooden furniture is dark and red. There are pictures on the walls; some of San, some of his sister, some of a sweet looking couple Yeosang assumes are his parents. Gripping the back of San's shirt, he follows him into the home, suddenly nervous.
There's something about meeting another family, a fear that there's something in him he won't be able to hide from older, wiser eyes. That they'll know, somehow, that he didn't come from a good batch, though he believes that less and less each passing day.
San's mother looks a lot like him, the thick dark hair and the gently mischievous eyes immediately recognizable. She watches him bow with a wide smile, before rushing him into her arms.
"It's good to meet ya, son!" She pulls back, looking at him. "Ah, you must be Yeosangie."
He blinks. "Yes ma'am. But how…"
"Sani talks more about you than himself these days” Her tone is full of warmth, though her son seems not too fond of it. Mrs. Choi smooths down his hair with a proud smile. "So handsome. My son has good taste."
Yeosang can feel himself going red. With everything that’s happened, he has completely forgotten what it means to be here.
San comes to step between them. "Mom!"
"Alright, alright!" She concedes. "You two go get changed and come help with the food. Your sister should be here soon."
San pulls him by the wrist, grabbing their bags still by the entryway to drag him into one of the rooms down the hallway.
When the door closes behind them, Yeosang turns to watch him.
There's not a lot in the room to distract him from San's quiet rummaging in his bag, the bed made and the small dresser free of clutter on the top. San, on the other hand, gets redder the longer he stares, endlessly skimming through the stuff he packed with no rhyme or reason.
"San-ah."
"I didn’t exactly plan this…" He gives up on the front, dropping the shirt he's holding onto the bed with a sigh. "I originally figured that by the time you met my parents we'd already be dating for a while."
Heat surges so fast he’s glad for the longer hair that hides his ears.
"Oh."
"I'm sorry. I kept thinking of you staying alone during Seollal and— "
"We're dating?" He breathes out, mouth ahead of mind. "Like. Like calling each other boyfriend dating?"
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it; they act like a couple often, but he’s never been completely sure of the exact terms before, content to have him and scared to misread the situation.
Though… Well, now that he thinks about it, it’s quite a silly doubt, as much as he’s inexperienced in this aspect. They must’ve been boyfriends for months now.
San’s entire face crumbles for a second. "Do you not want to be?"
Yeosang is on him fast, kissing the apprehension away and his sudden, startled joy in. He’s just won the lottery, it feels.
"I do!" He holds onto his face, eyes wide in earnest. "I'm sorry! I do, so much , I swear! I just wasn't sure if I was right to assume or—well, it doesn't matter. I want it. Us ."
And ah, that smile. Yeosang is faced with the reality he might just be in love. San kisses him, deep and slow and like he just wants to make sure he’s really there. So good, his sun. He melts.
“San-ah! I got you a new— ”
They pull away like repelling each other. Mr. Choi stands by the door, eyes wide, then laughs, and Yeosang wishes for a trap door to open under his feet.
“You kids can’t be left alone, can you!”
It’s going to be a long holiday.
He spends the whole afternoon in the kitchen, a different auntie ‘ ooh ing and ‘ ahhi ng over his shoulder as he stuffs dumplings and is mercifully fed little bites of whatever San’s mother is currently cooking by an excited Mr. Choi. San is out with his sister to get booze and some other snacks while her little ones rest from the trip, but Yeosang doesn’t feel left behind at all. It’s a strange feeling, to belong in this way.
“You’re a fast learner!” One of the aunties, a tiny woman with a familiar pair of dimples, pats his shoulder as she gathers the plate of freshly finished dumplings, sliding a plate of pork filling onto the counter by his elbow. “Are you married, sweetheart?”
San’s mother shares a secret smile with him from across the room. His shoulders draw up when he turns back to closing the dough around the meat.
“Ah, no ma'am, not yet.” He chuckles, she coos.
“Poor thing. You’ll make someone very happy someday, son, don’t worry.”
The sound of the front door unlocking, then. Satoori heavy banter spills inside the house, but the people inside don’t seem to mind.
“I’ve been telling you unnie!” Another auntie jumps in. “Such a handsome young man! How many children are you having, dear?”
He hums. There’s something he’s never had to think about before, convinced as he was he’d die alone in a ditch somewhere. The snort at his dramatics bleeds into the sudden mischief at seeing San’s figure walk through the threshold, busy putting away his winter paraphernalia.
“San-ah!” He calls out.
“Yeah?”
“How many kids do you want?”
“Two, I think— wait, what?! ”
Yeosang doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes so wide in his life, nor a face so white, then red, in rapid succession.
The colors in the room push past oversaturation when San’s parents let out a full, bellied laugh. He smiles, despite himself.
“What’s… what’s going on?”
“Marry him!” His mother wheezes out. “You better marry him!”
“Oh, Mrs. Choi.”
She’s draping the blanket over his shoulders before he can tell her not to worry, taking a seat beside him to watch the snowfall outside. It's this tenderness, something he on occasion experiences with Wooyoung's mother when she comes around to visit, that he used to dream about, as a kid, watching TV and wanting to ask why his mom never cared for him with that warmth, but knowing better.
“Here, have some.” Mrs. Choi pulls out a peeled tangerine, splitting the fruit into a pair of segments. Yeosang takes it with utmost care. It's sweet.
“Thank you.” He tells her. “Thank you for taking me in so suddenly, too.”
She dismisses it with a hand. “Don’t worry about that, honey. Are you feeling well?”
Better than I ever thought I'd be, he thinks. But that's not why he's left San's arms and bed in the middle of the night.
“Yes, sorry, I just…” He sighs, pushes a tangerine segment in his mouth. “Your son has given me so much, sometimes I wonder if I, you know, fall short.”
“Ah.” It comes with a nod. There's recognition there, perhaps from things he doesn't know yet, but it makes him feel understood. “Sani doesn’t know how to care halfway, does he?”
Yeosang chuckles, fond. “No, he doesn’t.” He tells her. She, along with his father, was one of the reasons San is who he is now. He can't thank her enough. “You raised him well, ma’am.”
“You flatter me.” She giggles. “As a mom, having you around my son makes me rest easier; I know you’re taking good care of him when I can’t.”
It's more the other way around, he wants to say, but instead settles for reassurance, perhaps a promise.
“I will do my best. Always.”
“And that’s enough for us.”
They eat in silence for a bit, the knot in Yeosang's throat easing up slowly. A hand squeezes at his shoulder, and he looks up at Mrs. Choi, to her wise eyes that tell him he's not bad from the bad things that happened to him.
“I don’t know why you’re not with your family this new year, but know you’re always welcome in ours.”
He's glad for the near darkness, hopes she won't notice his tears despite it.
“I’ve never— there’s this part of me that still thinks we get what we get in life because we deserve it.” He whispers. “That those who don’t, like— like me, don’t get blessings like these for too long.”
“Come here, dear.” The next thing he knows, he's held in arms that can only belong to a mother, clinging to her cardigan like he's a little boy again. “You’re too young for all this pain. I’m glad you found us so we can care for you, too.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much, ma’am.”
“Call me mom. You’re family.”
They visit the cemetery early in the morning, before the rest of the family, the winds biting and the sky heavy with snowfall outside.
It's the quietest he's ever seen San, dark eyes steady but with little depth. The pictures stare back at him, gentle eyes and happy smiles that bring Yeosang no nostalgia, no grief.
He doesn't know what San feels like, doesn't pretend to. Instead, he places himself beside him, just close enough to remind him he's not alone, although he guesses it must feel like it.
They don't speak for a long time, neither dares to move. He knows, at least, that there's no rushing something like this.
At last, San reaches out for his hand, fingers interlocking on instinct. "I thought I would miss them less since I came here last year, but I guess I just grew around it."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
He hums. "It's just a loss because I was loved." A sad smile. "Come on, let's go home."
The more Yeosang lives, the more he understands that being loved is a skill of its own.
San looks like a prince all in blue, he thinks. Yeosang, in his old pink hanbok, watches as he plays with his sister’s little ones, how they all look just as full of sun as he is. This is how it should’ve been, isn’t it? Yes, but it hurts less, now.
He’s been allowed time to bask, too.
They get back at the end of a surprisingly calm Seollal, bellies full and trunk even fuller.
As San drives, Yeosang watches, curled on the passenger seat. He’s not stupid to deny he’s in love with him, not in face of all he feels at the mere sight.
It’s strange to be so near someone he hasn’t slept with, to see him as so much when he hasn’t eaten through the softness Yeosang can’t hide in bed. When he tells himself he wants him, it’s a full body thing.
They don’t talk as they head to San’s, Byeol greeting them at the door with a happy, shivering tail. She's been watched over by a neighbor, but he still worried for her. He unceremoniously picks her up, kisses her darling little face for a moment or two.
They take off their heavy clothes, put away the food, then climb into San’s bed for a well deserved rest, Byeol curled in the crook of his neck.
It’s good, a sleep so deep that coming back feels like he’s been inside out his whole life. He wakes to San’s steady heart under his cheek, a warm hand between his shoulder blades, his furry friend long gone. San smells of pine needles, of crisp morning air with a lemony undertone. It wraps around his senses slowly, bleeds through the gaps in his muscles and gets him a little drunk in love.
He's not going away, is he?
No, no he's not. Yeosang knows, because as soon as his boyfriend stirs awake, he brings him closer, arms tight like touching isn't enough. He's quite familiar with the feeling, so he lets himself be pulled into him, hands slipping under his shirt, up his back.
"It's my new favorite thing," He mumbles against his hair. "Waking up to you."
Yeosang giggles, nuzzling up towards his neck and settling with a kiss. "Let's do it often, then."
Going through their morning routines side by side is a quiet kind of peace, with San offering him a matching animal headband when they wash their faces and pulling him into an impromptu shower when they don't feel like it's enough.
It's a little strange when they haven't seen each other naked before, but it's nothing a little fight to stand under the hot water doesn't dispel.
San washes his hair, the lemony smell of his shampoo quickly becoming one of his favorite scents, rinsing off with a gentle combing of fingers. As he waits to rinse the conditioner, he turns San by the shoulders to wash up his hair, getting a cracking giggle in return.
"We should've put on some music." He sighs.
"Like what?"
"I don't know." The words come slightly slurred under his ministrations, and Yeosang wonders for a moment if San is aware he's starting to lean back into him. Either way, how cute. "What would you like?"
Maybe the intimacy is affecting him more than he thinks, because he replies without much thought. "There's one song that comes to mind, but…"
"Sing it to me."
"Me?!" He laughs. "I don't sing!"
"Just a little bit." San whines, but stays still while he carefully rinses his hair. "I wanna hear you."
It's embarrassing. He can feel his heart picking up at the thought. But San isn't looking at him, and standing in the shower like this feels like a parallel dimension where all he knows is safety, warmth, love. He opens his mouth, and the melody comes to him, clumsy and true.
" Wise men say ," Yeosang tentatively whispers against the skin of his shoulder, pressing a kiss there. The notes rumble in his chest. " Only fools rush in ."
" But I can't help ," He applies conditioner to distract from the swelling feelings, combing it gently through every lock. " Falling in love with you. "
"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?" Grateful that San keeps still, allows for him to give his quiet, shy loving, he pulls him closer and backwards under the showerhead. "If I can't help…"
But then, another voice joins, just as shy, just as clumsy. San pulls his hand to kiss its heel, full of feeling.
"Falling in love with you. "
It's not a full song; he doesn't think he'd be able to go on for long. It's also extremely cheesy, he knows, though not enough he regrets it.
San turns to kiss him, eager and deep but slow. When Yeosang touches him, the way his palm immediately hits flesh echoes everywhere— he slides hands up his sides, over his pecs; there's nothing like this, nothing like this.
They melt under the water, chests flush and breaths mixing when they part to breathe.
"You go ahead." San says against his mouth, seemingly unable to keep from lightly biting at his lower lip. Yeosang groans. "I'm gonna take a little longer."
It's like all air leaves him at once, the feeling of San's semi on his thigh. He crumbles forward, kissing him to soothe his want.
"Fuck, San-ah."
"It'll be worth it." His voice is full of strain when he says it. "Go."
Yeosang fixes them breakfast, distracted as he finds himself. He knows what San is up to, has spent plenty of time on the other side of the door, but the thought settles over him like a monsoon.
It's like remembering his own name; his entire body feels restless with the perspective, the anticipation. He wants him half to death, wants to eat at his desire, be eclipsed by it.
"Didn't think we'd be doing much eating, to be honest." The cheeky tone reaches across the room like hands. He looks up from the leftovers from new years, to San in a simple gray t-shirt and hopefully some underwear underneath. He'd fuck him on just about any surface right now.
Yeosang can't escape the gooseflesh, worsened by his own lack of a shirt. San notices his eyes on him, smiling a little bashful when he comes to his arms, like the full force of his desire is hard to take all at once.
He catches him by the jaw, body tightening in restraint. "You eat well, so I can eat well. Capisce ?"
San breathes out in a hiss. "Yes. Jesus christ ."
He grins.
"C'mon, jagiya."
They eat in airtight silence, just shy of rushed. There's some kind of battle of wills as they put things away, go to brush their teeth. Yeosang coos at Byeol's excitement when San shakes the food container to call for her, probably sunbathing on the balcony.
Then, a hand on his wrist. It's not tight, nor does it tug, but it still manages to convey such need; his focus narrows fast, going up hand and arm and shoulder and neck. San's eyes are a little dazed.
In a second, he's got San in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and mouth hot on his. He's not sure who's lost the game, but it doesn't really matter.
He blindly guides them towards the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him, San hitting the mattress with a grunt. He climbs over his hips, pulling San's shirt over his head.
There's a moment where he stops, watching San as he blushes and pants under him; it's not enough, to look, but he just can't seem to take his eyes off of him. With a certain reverence, he brings a palm to his chest, then another.
"Beautiful." He breathes. San stares up at him, mouth agape, eyes brighter than stars. "So beautiful, San-ah."
He squeezes the muscle gently, brushes fingers over the aroused nipples; as his lips find the freckles over his neck and chest, San's breath runs shallower.
The rush melts away as he kisses up the line of his shoulder, over his ear and through the expanse of his cheek, stealing a languid, deep kiss that brings out San's first little sound. Goosebumps follow the trajectory of it down Yeosang's spine; he pulls away with an echoing smack, and lowers his head back to take a tan nipple in his mouth, sucking softly.
For some reason, San's hands go up, towards the headboard, balling and releasing as if tied in place, and it pushes his chest further into his mouth. The aftertaste of his skin is sweet, he learns, pulling back with a wet pop.
As he licks a line between his pecs, his hands pull down his underwear, just enough to pull out San's flushed cock. He doesn't stroke it, instead running his hand back up, over his stomach and back to his chest.
When he looks back at San's face, it's as though he's halfway melted through the linens, panting lightly out of his open mouth. He moves up and kisses him again, but this time along with a slow grind down over his cock, swallowing the dazed moan against his mouth.
"Fuck." San whispers, pupils blown dark. His hips buck up, and he gasps at the stronger contact, trying it over and over again.
When they part, Yeosang's eyes fall onto the condom and lube bottle on the bedside table. He grins nosing at a flushed cheek.
"Was that always there or were you expecting to get lucky today?"
San pouts, hits him on the arm before covering his face. "Don't be mean."
"Sorry, jagiya." He whispers against his mouth, ignoring San's needy noise to reach over for the supplies. "Let me make it up to you."
Settling under his legs after freeing himself from his sweats, Yeosang yanks San up by the hips, giggling when he yelps in surprise. Like this, he can't miss how he clenches and twitches in anticipation; he pulls him a little further to press a little kiss on the underside of his balls before setting him back, the sweet sound of San moaning sweeter than anything else.
"It's okay if you cum now." He nuzzles his thigh, lubing up his fingers. San shakes his head.
"Want you, though." He whines. "You gotta fuck— ah , fuck me."
Trying to hold the fondness from overflowing through his eyes, he nods a promise.
Yeosang takes his sweet time fingering San open, unrushed in finding where his sweet spot is and how hard or soft he likes it. More than a couple times, a trembling hand grabs at his wrist, San willing an orgasm away with a lip bitten raw and a drooling, twitching cock curving towards his belly.
"Think you're ready?" He asks, three fingers comfortably in. San nods, face flushed and dark hair sticking to his forehead. There's something better in that sight than any magazine cover he's ever seen, but then again, Yeosang is just a fool in love.
San readjusts as Yeosang undresses and rolls on the condom, legs falling open to welcome him. After settling against him, close to melting into each other, he slowly pushes in, watching San's face contort in pleasure. He can't deny it feels unlike anything he's ever felt, perhaps due to the unspeakable feelings attached to it all.
"San-ah," He calls softly when he bottoms out, nosing the cliff of his jaw. So bright, so beautiful, his sun. "I love you."
Wide, glossed eyes regard him with utter surprise. He should know this by now, but Yeosang is happy to remind him.
"Yeah?" He croaks, voice already wobbling. A small smile tugs at his lips, but it curls a little at the emotion.
He breathes out. "Yeah."
"That's—" He sniffles, covers his face. "That is the worst time to tell me that. I'm gonna cry all my sexy away."
Yeosang laughs, full and dumb in love, toppling over San to smother him with kisses.
"Not a moment goes by that you're not sexy, jagi."
"Fuck, I love you." He whines, arms winding around Yeosang's shoulders and pulling him closer. "So fucking much."
Another sniffle. They fall quiet for a long moment, closer than ever. Yeosang sighs, content.
"Please don't go soft." San whispers. "I still— I still want…"
Biting back a laugh, Yeosang nods as solemnly as he can, canting his hips a little when San goes to argue and watching how his frown immediately melts.
"More," He gasps, tongue lolling out for a moment before he remembers himself.
And suddenly all the laughing mood vanishes.
"Hot," Yeosang licks at his lips, properly enticed. He tentatively rolls his hips, mind going fuzzy around the edges when a tongue meets his own, along a drawn out, filthy moan. "Fuck, just like that, jagiya. Take it for me."
"Yes, ah , Sang-ah—" The whines hit his mouth like sweetness, breathy and desperate and burning with want. He angles his hips just right. "Don't stop. Don't stop— fuck !"
It takes time for San to get vocal, he notices. While he barely made a sound when they started, now his thrusts punch out decadent little mewls every time. He's so hot, Yeosang often isn't sure how to cope with it.
He pulls back, sitting up on the mattress, hands finding San's narrow waist with an underlying sense of possession he's never felt before. While San might not be his, he handles him like he is.
His hips gain strength with the new position, each movement deeper and more powerful. He pulls San's legs up to rest on his shoulders; he feels so good in so many different ways it's impossible to articulate.
"I'm close," San warns, eyes pressing shut for a moment, but only a moment. Yeosang reaches for his cock, bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts, and strokes it with a similar speed. "I'm gonna—fuck, kiss me, please, I—"
Yeosang reaches him almost too late; San messily kisses him as he cums between their bodies, fresh tears slipping through his fluttering eyelids.
It doesn't take long for Yeosang to follow, the clenching around himself sending him tumbling closer to the edge. He thrusts for a few more moments, a little off rhythm, before stilling deep inside with a long, airy moan and a curse.
Uncaring for the mess, he slumps down onto San, panting and feeling like a proper livewire.
"Nothing has the right to feel this good." He grunts, much to San's amusement.
"I'm—"
San is cut off by the sound of scratching at the door. Then, an offended meow. Yeosang giggles against his neck.
"Just a moment, honey!" He calls out, getting a miffed little mrrp in reply. He smacks a kiss to San's sweaty cheek, moving to get up. "C'mon, let's clean up."
A gentle grip on his wrist pulls his attention away. "Hey," San whispers. His eyes are all molasses-like, slow blinking and sweet. "I love you."
He smiles.
"I love you too."