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As all good stories go, there’s meant to be a beginning, middle, and end. It’s what Sohee was taught when he was six years old, learning to write more than just his name. But when Chanyoung’s voice crackles through the phone, asking him to explain what happened, Sohee realizes he’s at a loss. Somehow, he’s found himself stuck in the middle of something—and he’s not even sure where it started.
Sure, he managed to escape a slightly tipsy game of Never Have I Ever at Sungchan and Wonbin’s apartment, fumbling out excuses like “I need to get home,” and “no, you don’t need to drive me, hyung,” but that couldn’t be the whole story. Something was missing, something just out of reach.
Now, standing outside as the cool air of late January seeps into his skin, it dawns on him that he didn’t quite think this through. He can’t drive—Sungchan picked him up. Booking an Uber meant admitting that he left in a hurry with no plan in mind. It’s humiliating to even consider even going back inside—he can’t, not after how quickly he ran out.
Sohee groans into the receiver, hoping Chanyoung will just get it. It's all he can do, really.
Luckily, he does. There’s a pause before Chanyoung sighs softly. “I’m coming to get you. Pretend I’m patting your head, at least until I get there.”
Sohee rolls his eyes. Freak.
But despite himself, he feels a little better, even as the fog of his breath floats in front of his face and his fingers start to go numb.
☆
sungchan hyung (23:22)
Sohee-yah
Did you make it home okay?
Let me take you next time
Please
I want to
sohee liked a message
☆
The game of Never Have I Ever is not something Sohee can just let go of. He thinks about it a lot, actually. And when he’s not thinking about it, he’s thinking about how much he’s thinking about it, so. Yeah.
Whenever he closes his eyes, the night unfolds vividly—too strong a memory to be blurred by the usual haze of beer. It always begins with Sungchan’s smooth voice, low and calculated.
“Never have I ever wanted to kiss someone in this room,” Sungchan says with a grin, his eyes darting between both Wonbin and Sohee, but lingering just a second too long on Sohee.
The playful laughter dies down—at least on Sohee’s part—leaving the room quieter. Sohee glances between the boys in front of him, expecting, and maybe even hoping either of them will laugh it off or make a joke. Instead, there’s an almost tangible pause.
Wonbin’s finger goes down first.
Then Sungchan's.
Sohee blinks, his breath hitching in his throat. He doesn’t know why his heart is suddenly threatening to beat out of his chest—why the air feels heavier, thick in a way that’s almost suffocating.
He’s probably overthinking it. Sungchan likes to mess with people; he’s known for that.
But that isn’t enough to explain the way Wonbin is looking at him, the way both of them are looking at him—leaving him feeling stripped bare by their eyes. It’s almost unsettling, but it’s also exciting, a thrill shooting through him and causing heat to spread low in his belly.
As Sohee looks between the two of them, it all begins to fall into place. Beneath the intensity in their eyes is expectation, subtle but there. They aren’t just looking at him; they’re waiting to see what he’ll do next, what decision he’ll make.
And then it hits him, slow at first, then all at once. They’re waiting for him to put his finger down.
He does, almost too quickly, without letting himself think about why.
When his finger falls, Sungchan glances at Wonbin. Wonbin looks at him right back, and suddenly, they’re both staring at him. But this time, they’re closing in on him—Wonbin first, Sungchan following his lead—their movements slow but deliberate. Like this was something they’ve planned. Sohee backs up instinctively, the headboard of Wonbin’s bed pressing into his back. Leaving him trapped.
Wonbin crawls across the bed in a way similar to a cat, his movements fluid and predatory, a small smile playing on his lips. Sohee can't breathe.
He lets Wonbin straddle him. Wonbin sinks into his lap, and Sohee wraps his arm around the small of his back. This isn’t the closest the two of them have been, Wonbin’s too clingy for that, but this is the first time with this intent, with Wonbin looking at Sohee like he wants to eat him alive.
“Do you want to kiss me, Lee Sohee?” Wonbin asks, the words coming out sultry and quiet, but Sohee still hears them because he’s attuned to any noise or movement either of them make.
“Yeah," Sohee replies. He thinks anyone would say the same.
The answer is enough for Wonbin to immediately dive in. He takes Sohee’s lower lip into his mouth, sucking and gnawing like he’s familiar with how Sohee kisses, familiar with how he likes it. It’s unbelievably good, and the heat in his belly burns hotter.
Sohee melts into the rhythm of the kiss, but as it continues, something inside him shifts.
His lips press more firmly against Wonbin’s, a newfound urgency driving him as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Wonbin gasps in surprise, the soft sound quickly swallowed by Sohee, who seizes control with a boldness he didn’t know he had in him. There’s a thrill in it—having Wonbin, usually so overbearing, follow his lead for once.
He can't help but savor it, snaking his hands to Wonbin’s neck, fingers curling in the soft hair at that nape. It makes Wonbin shiver and Sohee can feel it with his entire being.
Suddenly, Wonbin pulls back. His breath is uneven, his eyes dark. Sohee blinks in confusion as Wonbin quickly untangles himself, shifting off Sohee’s lap, leaving the warmth of him behind. The absence is too stark, almost jarring, but it doesn't stay that way for long.
Sungchan moves in, taking the space Wonbin once occupied with a steady, deliberate ease. It’s strange how easily Wonbin’s warmth is replaced by Sungchan’s presence—cooler, more controlled. The shift is dizzying, like flipping a switch, and Sohee can’t exactly keep up. His breath is caught somewhere in his throat, unmoving.
He doesn’t even have time to process it before Sungchan is close enough for him to feel the weight of his gaze. He cups Sohee’s jaw, tilting his face up, and Sohee’s breath catches. Sungchan’s so close he could breathe him in, if he wanted to.
"Sohee-yah," Sungchan says, his voice soft but commanding, fingers gentle against Sohee’s skin, though his eyes are anything but. They're sharp, unwavering, like they’re daring Sohee to look away, to refuse what's about to happen.
But Sohee doesn’t. He holds the gaze, frozen under the weight of Sungchan’s intensity.
Sungchan’s hands slide from Sohee’s jaw down to his waist, and without warning, he lifts Sohee effortlessly, pulling him into his lap. It's a different feeling than it was with Wonbin, the dynamic completely reversed, yet somehow it feels just as heady, just as dangerous.
They kiss, and where Wonbin was pliant, Sungchan is firm, unyielding. His kiss is more commanding, as if he's claiming something, claiming Sohee, and it sends a different kind of shock through him. The contrast between them leaves Sohee dazed—Wonbin’s lips soft and teasing, Sungchan’s possessive, demanding.
Sohee's hands grip the sheets beneath him, desperately scrambling for something to hold onto.
Sungchan. He's kissing Sungchan. Sohee's mind spins, caught in the sensation of being held, of Sungchan's hands steady holding his waist. His breath hitches, and all he can think, all he can feel, is Sungchan. Every brush of lips, every shift in their closeness pulls him deeper, anchoring him in the moment.
When they finally pull away, Sohee’s heart is thudding in his ears, drowning out the sound of his and Sungchan’s shallow breaths. The weight of what just happened crashes down on him all at once, too much, too fast.
He doesn't know what to do with himself, how to sit on Wonbin's bed, in Wonbin and Sungchan’s apartment, after doing a thing like this. His chest tightens with the weight of it all, and he decides he can’t stay here any longer.
With nerves wracking through his body, he says, “I have to go.” He can’t bring himself to look at either of them, afraid of what their expressions might show. Instead, his gaze darts anywhere else as he clambers off the bed, his movements awkward and stiff. The weight of their gazes presses down on him, almost enough to keep him in place, but not quite.
“I just… I need to go home.”
He cuts the memory there.
☆
“It’s complicated.”
That’s as much of an explanation that Sohee can muster when he meets Chanyoung for lunch. It’s been a few days since it happened, four to be exact, and he still can't make sense of how he feels. His emotions vary between desire and regret, and he's not sure what to do about it. It's frustrating. Not even the iced tea Chanyoung bought him can help.
Normally, in a situation like this, Sohee would turn to Wonbin—he always knew what to say, but this time, he couldn't. Not when it’s about him. Not when Sohee kissed him and his boyfriend, all in the span of a few minutes, right in front of each other. The thought makes his stomach churn, and he's not sure what that's all about.
Chanyoung frowns across the table, watching him intently, and Sohee’s reminded of their ride home the other day. Sohee didn't explain anything, rather just sat in silence with his head pressed to the window, and Chanyoung let him. He’s most likely expecting more, what they did talk about before was vague, but all Sohee can do is sigh.
“I don't know, Chanyoungie,” Sohee mutters, his voice low, like he's afraid someone might overhear him. Maybe he is. “I messed up.”
The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the soft clinking of ice as Sohee stirs his tea. Chanyoung’s eyes sweep over Sohee’s face, as though searching for the right words, and how to say them. Finally, he does. “You know, it’d be great if I knew what exactly you messed up.”
He has a point. He's been very vague about all of it. It's for good reason, though.
Sohee sighs, pressing his lips together as he debates how much he wants to say. He knows Chanyoung won't press, won't make him say anything he doesn't want to, but he supposes there's no use in carrying this alone. It's eating him alive.
“Wonbin and Sungchan,” he starts, and there's no point in suspense, not really, so he just rips the bandaid off. “I kissed them both.”
Chanyoung blinks, clearly stunned. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first.
“Wait, both of them?” he finally says, his voice somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “Like… together? At the same time?”
Sohee nods.
Chanyoung’s eyes widen, a mix of excitement and concern flashing across his face. He leans in, lowering his voice to match Sohee’s.
“So what happened, exactly? How the hell did that even happen?” There’s a spark of interest in his eyes, but his tone holds something similar to caution, like he’s trying to make sense of whether Sohee’s okay with all of this—or if it’s weighing on him more than he’s letting on.
Sohee doesn't know. He doesn't know anything.
“It was just a game. We were drunk,” Sohee wasn't. He’d barely been tipsy—he knew exactly what he was doing and how he was doing it, but telling himself otherwise makes it easier to bear.
“It didn't mean anything.” Did it?
He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything.
☆
Sometimes, when Sohee allows himself to indulge, he thinks about Wonbin and Sungchan kissing him for a reason, with purpose. Maybe it wasn't just a game. Maybe they wanted it, wanted him.
Or maybe, they didn't. The latter’s probably true.
☆
Wonbin is Sohee’s closest friend. Maybe that’s where it all began—maybe that’s why he’s so twisted up about this.
They met in high school, Wonbin a year ahead of Sohee yet effortlessly pulling him into his orbit, into his space, like it was something he did without thinking. Sohee supposes it was, that it was just part of Wonbin's charm—the kind that made everyone want to be in his vicinity without having to work for it.
There’s just something so magnetic about him, something that draws people in. At least—that’s how it is, how it’s always been—for Sohee. He would do anything Wonbin asked, really, and it’s a fact that’s only grown more complicated as they’ve gotten older. Sometimes he wonders if Wonbin knows the effect he has on him, the way his words and actions seem to tug at Sohee in ways he can’t ignore.
Wonbin’s always been pretty to him—he’s not blind—but back then, it was more of an objective thought, something he noted and tucked away neatly. It was a fact, not a feeling. That’s what Sohee thought, at least. Now, he’s not entirely sure.
Things began to shift when Wonbin graduated high school. He went off to college, not far—still local—but even that short distance felt worlds away. Sohee stayed behind to finish his last year, yet something essential had changed between them; the proximity. It wasn’t the same anymore. And then, there was Jung Sungchan.
At first, it was harmless. Still is, technically—but, you know, semantics.
Anyway, Sungchan began as just a name Wonbin would casually drop into conversation—someone he'd met in one of his classes, Sohee could never remember which. At first, it was easy to ignore, just another acquaintance. But as the weeks passed, Sungchan’s name came up more often, each mention laced with a little more familiarity, a little more warmth. They became friends, then roommates, and Sohee didn’t have to be told what that meant. He just knew.
He could feel it in the way Wonbin spoke about Sungchan, each word holding a weight he’d never heard from Wonbin before. It was like watching a door slowly close, one he wasn’t sure he was meant to step through.
It was always Wonbin and Sungchan after that.
And Sohee didn’t mind. Really, he didn’t. He liked Sungchan, liked how happy Wonbin was around him, liked the way they seemed to fit together. He maybe even liked Sungchan's face, so it was good. It was fine.
But sometimes, when Sohee would visit, when it was the three of them and not just him and Wonbin like it used to be, he’d feel the tiniest pang of something—something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t jealousy, at least not in the way people usually mean. He wasn’t upset that Wonbin had found someone new. He was happy for him, genuinely.
It wasn't just Wonbin anymore. It was Wonbin and Sungchan . And that was okay. Sohee's gotten used to it.
Maybe. Sort of.
☆
wonbin hyung (18:58)
lee soheeee
are you free?
sohee (18:59)
lots of homework srry. talk later?
wonbin hyung (18:59)
:(
okay
☆
Sungchan is weird.
Sohee doesn’t mean it in a bad way—it’s more of a simple fact. Here’s a list of a few facts Sohee knows about Sungchan:
- He’s weird.
- He’s Wonbin’s boyfriend.
- He kissed Sohee—yeah, that part’s still hard to process.
The last one weighs heavy in his mind. It’s all Sohee can think about, and he doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.
The second one is also a simple fact, acknowledged but rarely dwelled upon. When Sohee hangs out with Wonbin, sometimes Sungchan will be there. It’s expected; Sohee’s used to it. Sometimes, he even looks forward to it.
But the first one—this one still catches him off guard sometimes.
Take now, for example. Sohee’s in the dining hall, minding his own business, eating lunch, when he gets that unsettling feeling of being watched. He’s about to take a sip of water when the hairs on his neck prickle, and he turns around—almost spilling his drink.
Sungchan, in all his 186-centimeter glory, is standing right behind him, gaze expectant. He's wearing a brown jacket that compliments him in ways Sohee doesn’t exactly want to think about—his broad shoulders filling out the fabric perfectly, the earthy tone making his eyes, his face, look sweeter and softer. Sohee’s pulse quickens. It always happens around Sungchan.
“Jesus Christ, hyung,” Sohee mutters, and Sungchan—and everyone else in the dining hall—is lucky that’s all he does.
“Sorry,” Sungchan replies, face sheepish.
Despite what he says, Sungchan doesn’t look sorry at all. He’s smiling in a way that suggests he’s more amused than anything. He raises his hand to wave lightly, then leans against the table like it’s natural for him to be here, talking to Sohee, like nothing happened. Sohee stares up at him, nervous and confused.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sungchan says with a slight grin that implies he absolutely did.
There’s no heat behind the scowl Sohee gives him as he gestures to the empty seat across from him. “If you’re here, sit down. Don’t lurk behind me like some kind of creep.”
Sungchan laughs, the sound light and easy as he occupies the seat, stretching his long legs under the table. While it’s somewhat strange to be alone with him, it's comforting too—memories of hanging out with him and Wonbin and their casual conversations over time filling the quiet. Wonbin initially acted as the glue, drawing the two of them together, but even without him, there’s a shared understanding between Sohee and Sungchan. It’s just quieter, less frequent. Sohee’s not entirely sure how to bridge the gap now, but he knows the space isn’t hostile, just unfamiliar.
“So,” Sungchan starts, drumming his fingers against the table. Sohee remembers them against his jaw, firm and steadying. He averts his eyes. “I wanted to see how you were doing, you know, after that night.”
Sohee trains his gaze onto the scraps of his meal on his plate. He can’t look at Sungchan.
“What about it?” He knows exactly what, though he can’t help but to dance around it.
Sungchan shifts. “Just thought you might want to talk about it.”
There’s something careful within the manner he speaks, like he’s navigating uncharted waters. It’s an unsurprising kindness, Sungchan has always been gentle, but it’s not enough to get Sohee to look at him. He taps his glass, an excuse for something to do with his hands.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” Sohee mumbles, the admission barely loud enough to be heard. He feels Sungchan’s gaze steady on him, unwavering.
“Why?”
Sohee doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn't know anything.
“It’s complicated.” There it is again. The words are quiet, evasive. But they’re all he can offer.
A silence settles in between the two of them, one that lasts longer than Sohee likes, so he looks up. Sungchan watches him for a beat, his lips twitching into a small, almost sad smile. “Complicated isn’t always a bad thing.”
Maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s another simple fact about Sungchan—truthful, honest. But Sohee can’t bring himself to agree. Complicated feels heavy, messy—and if Sohee were to continue to tug at it, it would all unravel. Still, he lets the words linger, much like the faint scent of cologne that clings to Sungchan’s hoodie.
“Maybe,” Sohee allows himself to say. It comes out soft, uncertain, and yeah, that’s exactly how Sohee feels.
Sungchan’s expression softens, and he leans forward like he’s about to say something more—maybe something reassuring or something Sohee doesn’t think he can handle right now. Before he can, Sohee clears his throat and forces a smile, pushing his chair back.
“I should get going,” he says, his voice more strained than he intends. “Got stuff to do.” He doesn’t, he’s finished all of his homework, but he needs to leave. Needs space.
Sungchan’s face falls briefly, the disappointment flashing before he smooths it over with a nod. The change would be unnoticeable if Sohee weren't watching him so closely. “Alright,” he says, his voice barely hiding his disappointment, and he offers Sohee a small, understanding smile. “See you around.”
Sohee stands up, shoulders tense, feeling the weight of what he can’t bring himself to say. “Yeah. See you, hyung.” He doesn’t look back as he walks away, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the guilt that’s sinking in, twisting his insides.
And as he exits the dining hall, he knows Sungchan’s still sitting there, probably watching him go. He’s sorry. He always is.
☆
Sohee’s been a bad friend. He knows this.
He’s been a bad friend to Wonbin, his replies sparse, his responses short and evasive. Every time his phone lights up with Wonbin’s name, a pang of guilt digs deeper into his chest. The phantom weight of Wonbin in his lap, his fingers in Wonbin’s hair, and the hunger in Wonbin’s lips against his all linger—so. There’s that.
Even now, he can still feel it—so clear, so tangible, it almost hurts. He feels guilty for avoiding him, but he feels something else, too—regret, desire, and emotions he can’t fully name.
He’s been a bad friend to Sungchan, too. Avoiding him is easier than it is with Wonbin; they’ve never talked as often, even before all this. But still, it’s been enough for Sungchan to notice. The sad smile that tugged at his lips when he saw Sohee in the dining hall said it all—he’s aware, and it hurts him, too.
It’s nobody’s fault but his. If he could, for just a second, stop thinking about the feel of Sungchan’s large, steady hands on his waist, then—he doesn’t know.
Honestly, Sohee hasn’t really let himself think too deeply about what this all means. He replays the memory sometimes, lets it flicker to life in his mind, but that’s as far as he’ll go. He won’t go further than that, won’t let himself linger on possibilities and what ifs anymore.
Maybe, he thinks, he’s afraid of what he’ll find if he does. Afraid he might ruin things, that he’ll wedge himself between them, complicating everything beyond repair. He wonders if he’s selfish for even feeling this way, if he’s somehow betraying them if he possibly wanted something more.
He doesn’t know. But he’s sorry.
Maybe he should text Wonbin, explain. He tries—thumbs hovering over the screen, a message half-typed before he stops himself, heart heavy with the weight of all he can’t say. He can’t do it, can’t bring himself to hit send.
He’s always sorry.
☆
When Sohee sees Sungchan again, anxious isn’t strong enough a word to describe how he feels. A weird feeling settles into his stomach, and his brain short-circuits, barely able to comprehend anything beyond the fact that Sungchan is walking toward him. Tall, calm, and beautiful—just as Sungchan always is.
Sohee tries to look away. Really, he does. But it’s impossible. Something about Sungchan pulls him in, the steady rhythm of his steps luring Sohee closer, even though he remains frozen. They haven’t talked since that day in the dining hall, and the conversation was cut short, thanks to Sohee. Despite that, here Sungchan is, as casual as ever, no trace of awkwardness in sight.
“Hey,” Sungchan greets lightly, as if everything's the same. “You headed to class?”
Sohee nods, his voice failing him. He should be grateful Sungchan isn’t pushing, but instead, there’s a tightness that sits in his chest.
Sungchan hums, then falls into step with Sohee. They walk together, Sungchan’s arm brushing against Sohee’s, and that slight contact makes his heart race. He wills himself not to visibly react.
Sohee glances at him. Sungchan’s profile is calm, almost comforting, but that ease only throws him off more. What if it didn’t mean anything? The kiss, the moment, the feelings—it’s easier to believe it didn’t matter to Sungchan. But the thought doesn’t bring the relief it should.
“You okay?” Sungchan asks suddenly.
Sohee blinks, startled. “Yeah, fine,” he mumbles, lying easily, though nothing feels fine.
Sungchan doesn’t push, but Sohee catches the way his eyes soften, like he’s seeing through the lie. It should make Sohee nervous, but it doesn’t. There’s comfort in knowing Sungchan notices. Sungchan always notices.
When they reach Sohee’s classroom, Sungchan stops, turning to him with a soft smile. “See you later?”
“Yeah.” Sohee forces a smile back, though his heart feels like it’s about to burst. Sungchan reaches for the handle and opens the door, holding it open for Sohee. Sohee quietly steps in.
Sungchan’s gaze lingers for a moment before he nods and walks away, leaving Sohee to walk to his seat, conflicted.
☆
Where Sungchan was forward and acted without shame, Wonbin is more subtle, more laid back. That, however, does not mean he won't bring it up. Because he will. And he does.
Sohee can’t shake the feeling that Wonbin and Sungchan have orchestrated this, ambushing him when he least expects it, because he's currently leaving class, preparing to walk back to his apartment when a voice stops him.
“Lee Sohee.”
Wonbin's voice is calm, gentle, even, but there's something about it that has Sohee grounded where he stands. There's no escaping it, no escaping Wonbin. Whatever he wants to say, it's happening, right now, right here.
Sohee takes a breath to steady himself, schooling his face into something neutral although he feels anything but, anxiety coursing through his blood and making him clam up. The second Sohee turns around to face him, his resolve shatters. Wonbin eyes are unreadable, a blend of softness and something sharp. Sohee can't decide if that makes it better or worse.
“Hey,” Sohee says, voice quiet, betraying how he feels. He knows Wonbin saw through him anyway, saw underneath the facade Sohee put on because he knows him. He knows Sohee.
Before responding, Wonbin reaches out, adjusting the scarf that hangs loosely around Sohee’s neck. A simple gesture. Sohee’s stomach feels weird.
Wonbin’s lips quirk up, but it’s not his usual, easygoing smile. There’s something behind it—perhaps a little frustration. Sohee doesn't blame him. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, straightforward as ever. “Or at least, you’ve been trying to.”
There it is. Yeah.
Sohee swallows, the sound audible to his own ears. He wonders if Wonbin can hear it, too. “I've just been… busy,” he lies, the excuse flimsy. He knows it’s not going to hold, not with Wonbin.
Wonbin takes a step closer, his eyes unwavering. “Busy? When have you ever been too busy for me?”
The weight of Wonbin’s words hit Sohee harder than he would like to admit. The simple question holds more truth than he’d like to face. When has he ever been too busy for Wonbin? Never, until now. And the truth, sharp and uncomfortable, settles heavy in his chest.
He gnaws at his lip. “I just… I don't know. I thought maybe some space might be good.”
Wonbin raises an eyebrow, the one with the scar, and Sohee wants to thumb at it. He doesn't. Instead, he grips his backpack strap.
“Space?” he repeats. “You think avoiding me and Sungchan without saying anything is the answer?”
Sohee doesn't know what the answer is. He doesn't know anything. He's sorry.
He can feel himself fold under the weight of Wonbin's gaze, and he hates how easily his composure crumbles when it comes to him. “I don't know,” he admits, and God, he sounds like he's going to cry. He can't afford that right now.
There’s a beat of silence before Wonbin speaks again, his voice softer. “Sohee, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. But we can’t keep going like this, with you pretending everything’s fine and then disappearing on us.”
Sohee’s throat tightens, a mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. He knows Wonbin’s right. He knows he’s been selfish, that he’s been unfair. But it’s hard to find the right words to explain why he’s been so distant, so avoidant.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sohee finally says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I want to forget it. I want things to go back to normal.” Half honest. Half not.
Wonbin’s gaze softens, and for a moment, Sohee thinks he might push, might press him to open up more. But instead, he just sighs, his expression shifting to something gentler, almost resigned. “Okay,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”
It's not. But it'll have to be.
☆
Being alone doesn't necessarily mean being lonely. For Sohee, it does. It's no one's fault but his own.
It's only dawning on him now how much of his time he spent with Wonbin and Sungchan, both together and alone. It always acted as a quiet truth, him being with them more often than not, but it's never been so strikingly clear.
He knows he should fix it. He knows. But acknowledging it doesn’t make that first step any easier. Sometimes, though, the only way to get through something like this is to act.
☆
Sohee missed spending time with Wonbin. He’s known it all along—the cavity left by Wonbin’s absence has always been there. But now, with Wonbin having taken the first step, the ball’s in his court. It’s time for him to do something about it.
He invites Wonbin over to his place, still not ready to step into Wonbin and Sungchan’s apartment—not yet. They all know why.
When Wonbin arrives and they settle into their usual routine—lying on Sohee’s bed, a movie playing on the laptop—Sohee tries to push down the nervous energy buzzing inside him. Normally, this is easy. Wonbin would pull him close, casually stroke his hair, and they’d melt into the comfortable silence, the familiarity of it all. But tonight, it feels different. Sohee knows exactly why.
As he tucks his head into the crook of Wonbin's neck, something he's done countless times before, he can feel a shift. His skin tingles from where it makes contact with Wonbin's. The smell of Wonbin—faint hints of the soap he always uses and something that’s uniquely him—is suddenly all-consuming, overwhelming. He's never been so acutely aware of it before, never felt this strange, fluttering warmth beneath his ribs.
Wonbin, oblivious to Sohee’s inner turmoil, keeps one arm wrapped around him and runs his fingers through Sohee’s hair, the touch yet again familiar but suddenly electrifying. Sohee swallows, trying to calm himself, but every tiny movement—Wonbin’s hand brushing his scalp, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes—only heightens everything.
“Everything good?” Wonbin asks, voice soft but tinged with amusement. He probably thinks Sohee’s just getting sleepy, the way he usually does halfway through these movie nights.
Sohee nods quickly, too quickly, in an attempt to hide how flustered he actually feels. “Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbles, though his voice betrays him, a little too quiet, a little too tight.
Wonbin chuckles, either oblivious or kind enough not to point it out, as he tightens his hold on Sohee, pulling him even closer. "You’re cute," he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thumb tracing an idle pattern against Sohee’s shoulder.
This causes Sohee to flush even deeper, and he curses himself for it. He hopes Wonbin can't feel the unusual warmth radiating off of him.
He hopes. Desperately, he hopes.
As the movie continues to play, Sohee finds it hard to focus on anything else. He decides to close his eyes, let himself bask in the feeling, let himself get lost in the weight of Wonbin's arm around him. It’s selfish, he knows that—he’s always been selfish.
“Missed hanging out like this,” Wonbin murmurs, his voice lower now, soft in the way that makes Sohee’s stomach twist. “It’s been a while.”
Sohee swallows, his throat dry, and nods, not trusting himself to say much more. It's his fault, he knows, but Wonbin's kind enough to not mention it. Wonbin's always been kind to him.
“Yeah,” Sohee says, forcing his voice steady, “Me too.”
He can feel his heartbeat, loud in his ears, as Wonbin’s hand lingers on his shoulder, the warmth traveling to his bones. It’s a simple touch, innocent enough, but somehow it settles over him in ways he isn’t ready for. A quiet pulse of want thrums beneath his skin, telling him that maybe this isn’t simple at all.
Something whispers that this time, there’s no going back to simple. That maybe, with Wonbin’s hand brushing softly over his shoulder, he’s already crossed that line. He doesn’t know what to do about it. Not yet.
☆
Sohee has never felt so conflicted in his life. Everything feels wrong, yet the time slips by anyway. It’s never been forgiving.
☆
It’s almost seamless, hanging out with Wonbin and Sungchan again. Almost. There’s still the not so distant knowledge of what happened between the three of them, but none of them mention it, so. It’s good.
They’re at the park—Wonbin, Sungchan, and Sohee, naturally—settled on a picnic blanket near a tree whose branches stretch out wide, casting shadows over them. It looms above, its presence large and prominent, and maybe it’s metaphoric for something. Sohee doesn’t know.
It isn’t exactly picnic weather; the air around them is brisk, almost too crisp. But it’s the warmest day they’ve had in weeks, and Wonbin had insisted. Sohee, predictably, had agreed, because he’s not one to say no to him. Sungchan isn’t either.
Wonbin and Sungchan sit close together, practically on top of each other. The two of them are unit, one that fits naturally. Sohee watches them from his spot across the blanket, and although there isn’t much space between them, not physically, anyway, it feels as though there’s an invisible barrier, something keeping Sohee at arms length. He can’t help the pang in his chest, the quiet sense of being an outsider.
But then, Wonbin’s gaze shifts, his eyes brightening as they land on Sohee’s. Sohee feels like he’s been caught.
“Come over here,” he says softly, patting the barely there spot between him and Sungchan. His hand reaches out, gentle but insistent, lightly curling around Sohee’s wrist to pull him closer.
Sungchan moves over a little, making room, and Sohee settles between them, suddenly enveloped in warmth. He’s not quite sure what to do with himself, or his hands, so he rests them awkwardly in his lap. He doesn’t have long to feel self-conscious, though, because Sungchan’s already picking up a grape from their snack pile, holding it in front of Sohee’s mouth. A small smile settles on Sungchan’s face—soft, not unkind.
“Open up,” Sungchan says, his voice low, his tone playful yet strangely tender. Sohee hesitates, feeling a flush creep up his neck, but he parts his lips, leaning forward to take the bite. The grape is cool and sweet, a simple taste, yet it lingers.
The moment feels intimate. Maybe too intimate. Or maybe Sohee’s just making that up.
Sungchan watches him, eyes bright with a spark that leaves Sohee a little lightheaded, caught in the shared warmth of both of them. “Good?” Sungchan asks. It is, Sohee thinks, stealing a glance at him. The moment, and yeah—he guesses the grape, too.
Sohee nods, savoring the taste and the way his heart races, as he murmurs, “Yeah. Really good.”
☆
Wonbin calls Sohee a few hours later.
It’s a facetime call, it always is with Wonbin, because he claims he needs to see Sohee’s face as he talks to him, whatever that may mean.
Sohee answers on the first ring and is greeted by the sight of Wonbin’s grinning face, slightly dimmed by the glow of his bedroom lamp. He’s lounging in bed, black hair messy like he’s just woken up or just lazily enjoying the evening. Wonbin’s smile softens when Sohee’s face appears on the screen, like he’s happy to see him. God.
“You answered quickly,” Wonbin teases, propping himself up on one elbow, his cheek squishing as he does. “Miss me already?”
Sohee scoffs as he lays back against his pillows. “You didn’t give me any time to miss you, hyung.”
Wonbin laughs, a low, familiar sound that makes Sohee’s chest ache a little. He watches as Wonbin shifts, his face coming closer to the screen. His eyes are wide, dark, and the expression in them morphs into something more serious.
There’s a slight pause as Wonbin stares into the screen, and Sohee stares right back. He’s not quite sure what’s happening.
Finally, Wonbin speaks again. “Are you okay? You were kinda quiet. At the park, I mean.”
There it is again. That question.
Sohee tenses slightly, remembering the scene from earlier—sitting across from Wonbin and Sungchan on the picnic blanket, included but somehow left out, and he can’t help but think it’s what he deserves. He almost wedged his way between the two of them, and this is his karma.
“I’m fine, hyung,” Sohee lies, trying his best to sound casual. He forces a smile on his lips, but he’s worried it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think I was just cold. I guess I wasn’t really expecting a picnic in the middle of February.”
Wonbin’s eyebrows knit together, expression dripping with concern, and he sighs. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Sohee.”
There’s a beat of silence, the weight of what he’s saying sinking in. Sohee knows Wonbin well enough to understand what he means—that he’s always been able to read Sohee too easily. It’s not like he’s been hiding his feelings that well, anyway.
“I guess…” Sohee hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I just… I don’t really know where I fit in anymore. With you and Sungchan. I guess I never did. I’m always on the outside.” He finally says it, the words spilling out, almost surprising himself with the admission.
Wonbin blinks, his expression softening. “Sohee, you’re not on the outside. You never were.”
But Sohee shakes his head. “It feels like I am. You and Sungchan, you just… you two fit. And I don’t know where I’m supposed to be in all of that.”
Wonbin’s gaze turns gentle, and for a moment, the only sound is Wonbin’s noisy heater running in the background. Then, with a sigh, Wonbin says, “We don’t fit without you, Sohee.”
He doesn’t let himself think about what that means.
☆
Sohee's loved Wonbin all this time. No one told him.
It sounds silly, maybe, but he's never been good at recognizing these things. Wonbin has been in his life for five years, this steady, comforting presence, and somehow, his feelings have lingered quietly, unchanged, beneath the surface. He didn’t realize what it meant. But he knows now.
He's not quite sure what to do with it.
This isn’t like the crushes he used to get—fleeting and intense, fizzling out as quickly as they came. This feels different. Heavier. And maybe it’s because it’s Wonbin . Park Wonbin, who walked into his life when he was sixteen. Park Wonbin, who’s been the most constant thing in his life. Park Wonbin, who he kissed in front of his boyfriend.
You get the gist.
It’s complicated, something Sohee’s thought about ever since that night, but he’s beginning to think his dynamic with Wonbin has always been complicated, and he’s just now catching up.
He sighs. Five years of this. The thought that he might have loved Wonbin all along—without even realizing it—unsettles him in ways he’s unprepared for.
But he knows this isn’t fair to Wonbin, or to Sungchan. Because in one confusing, reckless night, he’d crossed lines that weren’t meant to be crossed. He wonders if he’s selfish for wanting to pretend it was all a mistake.
He knows he’s selfish for wanting Wonbin. He’s sorry. He always is.
☆
It makes sense for Sohee to see Wonbin and Sungchan around campus—the three of them attend the same school, after all—but he can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips when he sees them in the library.
He’s currently at a table with Chanyoung, the two of them sitting side-by-side since they’re working on a group assignment.
He tries to focus on the work in front of him, but he can’t help it when his gaze keeps drifting back to where Wonbin and Sungchan are sitting. They're close, heads bent together over an open book, their hushed voices and occasional laughs breaking the usual library quiet.
Chanyoung nudges him. "You're staring."
Sohee flushes, snapping his attention back to their assignment. "I’m not," he mumbles, but the heat in his cheeks betrays him.
Chanyoung raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief clear in his eyes. He doesn’t bother entertaining the statement. He rolls his eyes.
Sohee tries to busy himself with his notes, but it’s impossible when he’s painfully aware of Wonbin and Sungchan, where they’re sitting, and what they’re doing. His eyes trail back up, and he watches as Sungchan leans back in his chair, stretching his arms. He must feel Sohee’s eyes on him, because he looks up and catches his gaze.
Sohee quickly darts his eyes away, then looks back at him. Sungchan raises a hand in a small wave, his expression unreadable but unmistakably directed at him. Sohee’s pulse stumbles, and he gives a quick, awkward nod before looking down, his fingers gripping his pen a little too tightly.
“This is starting to get sad, Sohee,” Chanyoung says bluntly. Sohee ignores him.
If he ends up subconsciously writing his, Wonbin’s, and Sungchan’s names in his notebook over and over, then, well, that's nobody’s business but his.
☆
chanyoungie (20:59)
how are your boyfriends
sohee (21:00)
what are you talking about?
chanyoungie (21:00)
jesus christ dude
☆
It’s late.
The only light at this hour comes from the street lamps, casting a soft, yellow glow over the parking lot outside Sohee’s apartment. He’s never noticed the way they hum, a faint buzzing under the stillness, but he does now, standing here, hesitating, staring at Sungchan’s car parked just a few feet away. He shifts his weight, glancing back at the glowing screen of his phone.
A message from Sungchan: “I’m outside.”
Sohee knows he should feel irritated or at the least confused, but instead, he finds himself pulling on a hoodie, slipping out of his apartment, and crossing the lot. The world is quiet, almost dreamlike, as he reaches for the car door handle to let himself in.
Sungchan sits in the driver's seat, his frame sprawled comfortably, the seat pushed back to make room for his long legs. Outside, moths dance under the streetlights, drawn to the glow, but the only light in the car comes from the dashboard, casting soft shadows over Sungchan’s face.
His gaze is distant, lingering on nothing in particular—maybe the trees in the distance, maybe the dark parking lot. But as soon as Sohee slips into the passenger seat, Sungchan’s eyes snap to him, sharp and intent.
“So,” Sungchan says, breaking the quiet atmosphere. “I thought you might've been asleep by now.”
Sohee huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at the statement. “You know I don't sleep much.” His voice is softer than he intends. They both know it’s true; sleep has eluded him lately, leaving his mind restless, tangled.
Sungchan’s gaze lingers on him, a little too long, a little too intense. “I know.”
Sohee shifts under the weight of it, unsure how to break the silence that’s grown thick between them. “So… why’d you come?”
Sungchan’s lips twitch, like he’s caught off guard. “I don’t know. Just… wanted to see you, I guess.”
Oh. Sohee doesn't know what to say to that. The admission is honest and straightforward, something Sungchan’s always been to a fault. Sohee nods, lifting his finger to his mouth, ready to gnaw at it, but Sungchan gently pulls his hand down.
Sungchan’s hand lingers on his for a second—warm and engulfing—and Sohee can’t speak, even if he wanted to. He stares at where Sungchan’s hand covers his, hoping he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t know why.
Sungchan breaks the silence, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna get dinner tomorrow?”
Sohee shrugs, looking out the window. There’s nothing out there, just the empty parking lot dotted with parked cars, and he strains his eyes to make out the logos on each one. Something to do, something to look at. “Yeah, dinner’s fine. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Sungchan teases. “That’s dangerous.”
Sohee’s blood runs cold, a stark contrast to the heat that envelops his hand. There’s an underlying meaning somewhere in there, but he won’t let himself delve into it. Not here, not now.
“Oh,” he says instead, because it’s all he can do.
Silence settles between the two of them once again, thick and almost tangible. Sohee glances out the window, his reflection looking back at him, then back at Sungchan, who's watching him intently. He wants to ask something, Sohee can tell, and Sohee feels his heartbeat pick up in anticipation of whatever the question may be.
“So…” Sungchan finally starts, his voice low, hesitant. “Who’s that guy you’ve been hanging out with?”
Sohee blinks, confused. “What guy?”
“You know,” Sungchan shifts slightly in his seat, his tone casual, though his eyes betray him. His hands settle on the steering wheel, leaving Sohee missing his touch. “Tall, brown hair. I’ve seen him with you sometimes. At school.”
“Oh,” Sohee realizes, trying to suppress his smile. “Chanyoungie?”
Sungchan raises an eyebrow. “Chanyoung…ie?” His voice lingers over the nickname, like it’s foreign on his tongue, a little sharp around the edges. He tightens his grip.
“Yeah,” Sohee says gently, somewhat amused by Sungchan’s demeanor. “He’s my friend. We study together sometimes, grab food, things like that.”
“Oh,” Sungchan says, the tension in his shoulders draining just slightly. His grip on the steering wheel loosens, and he looks anywhere but at Sohee. “That’s all?”
“Yeah,” Sohee says again, and this time, he can’t help the little smirk that creeps onto his lips. “Why? You jealous?”
Sungchan freezes, his entire body tensing. Sohee’s smile fades instantly as he realizes what he’s just said—what he’s just implied. His body tenses, too.
Bad question. He knows that. “You don't have to answer that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.”
Sungchan turns, finally meeting his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, something unreadable simmering just beneath the surface. “Sohee-yah…”
The single word comes out low, almost a warning. Sungchan leans in slightly, and Sohee feels the space between them shrink, his back pressing against the door as Sungchan crowds him, close enough that he can feel his breath, close enough that the tension feels thick and unbreakable.
“Sungchan hyung,” Sohee starts, but the words die in his throat. He's unsure if he wants to close the distance between the two of them or get out of the car and run away. Maybe both. He doesn't know.
Sungchan’s eyes flicker to his lips for just a moment, and that’s all it takes. The air in the car becomes thicker, and Sohee knows he isn't imagining the tension between the two of them. He knows what Sungchan is silently asking, and what Sungchan wants.
Sohee won’t. He can’t. But he learns something as he stares back into Sungchan’s eyes, his own breath coming a little faster, his heart pounding harder in his chest.
☆
When Sohee first met Sungchan, he was fully prepared to hate him. It was a secret he kept close, something only Chanyoung knew. He had his reasons, really, even if they weren’t entirely rational. Here was this random guy, swooping in and capturing Wonbin’s attention, and Sohee braced himself to resent him for it.
But when they finally met, he couldn’t. Sungchan was sweet—not only to Wonbin but to Sohee, too. He was also beautiful, with kind eyes that made it impossible for Sohee to hold a grudge. He couldn’t hate someone like that.
Sohee would then find Sungchan going out of his way to do little things for him to show him he cares, to make him feel included. When Sungchan would get a hot chocolate for Wonbin, he’d also show up with a matcha latte for Sohee. He somehow got it perfect every time—just the right amount of sweetness, the way Sohee liked it. He never made a big deal out of it, either—simply handing Sohee the drink with a small smile.
Sungchan would always remember Sohee’s favorite snacks, buying them before he came over, even keeping some stored away in the pantry for him. He’d save him a spot on the couch, and always made sure he had space on the couch, even squeezing in beside him when there wasn’t enough room.
Sohee’s defenses began to slip, though there weren’t really any in the first place. Sungchan worked his way into his life seamlessly and Sohee found he didn’t mind it—couldn’t, even if he’d tried.
It was the little things, really. Like how Sungchan would call him ‘Sohee-yah,’ his voice so full of warmth that it made Sohee’s chest ache. It wasn't fair how nice Sungchan was, acting like they always knew each other.
Sohee supposes he was fucked from the start.
☆
To love Park Wonbin is to love Jung Sungchan. Sohee’s learned this. He knows this now.
There’s no Wonbin without Sungchan, not really—and no Sungchan without Wonbin.
In a way, Sohee realizes, he’s seen the love they share reflected in their eyes—and in his own. Every lingering glance, every soft touch between them, has shown him what he’s been too afraid to admit. He understands why Wonbin loves Sungchan—the way he’s calm and steady. He sees why Sungchan loves Wonbin—the spark in his eyes, the gentle warmth of his presence. And now, with jarring clarity, Sohee knows why he loves them both.
The thought scares him. He doesn’t belong in their world, doesn’t fit between them in the same effortless way. It feels like there isn’t any room for three. And yet, his heart aches for them all the same, even if he can’t imagine where he could ever stand.
But wanting doesn’t make it any easier.
To love them both is to stand at the edges, watching them fit together in a way he never will. It’s beautiful and painful at the same time. If it were only Wonbin, or only Sungchan, it might be simpler—but they’re a single unit, two halves of a whole he can’t touch.
Sohee allows himself to ache for what he knows he can’t have. He’ll stay where he belongs, watching their love from a distance, taking what he can: Sungchan’s easy smiles, Wonbin’s soft glances. It’s not everything, never will be, but maybe it can be enough.
☆
It doesn’t make things any better, trying to write Wonbin and Sungchan off as something he can’t touch. Foolishly, he thought it would help him get over them, and eventually, things might go back to the way they were. But it’s only made everything worse.
It deepens the ache in his chest whenever he hears the word “baby” fall so easily off Sungchan’s lips, aimed at Wonbin with that familiar fond tone that Sohee has no right to envy. The ache intensifies when he sees how Wonbin clings to Sungchan as if he might cease to exist if he doesn’t, curling into his side with an intent he’ll never have with Sohee.
No matter how hard he tries to act like all of this is okay, he finds himself drawn to them even more, as if the very act of pushing the thoughts away has made his longing stronger. And while they don’t speak about it anymore—out of respect for Sohee’s own wishes—it leaves an emptiness in him he can hardly bear.
He wants them. He does.
Sohee sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches them from across the room, trying to distract himself from the sound of their laughter, their closeness. It gnaws at him. A part of him aches, not just to stand there as a friend but to be with them in a way that’s deeper, more intimate.
It’s a burden that sits heavily in Sohee’s heart, one he couldn't push away if he tried.
He knows he’s being selfish, that he's disrupting their dynamic, their happiness. Yet, he can’t help but feel a pang of longing, a desire to be more than just a friend. He wants to be a part of their world, not just an observer.
He wants them. He does.
☆
Sohee wants to kiss them again. It's starting to become distracting.
He sits at his desk, the soft glow of his laptop illuminating his face. The cursor blinks on the document he’s on, but no matter how hard he tries to focus, his thoughts keep drifting. He can’t stop thinking about that night—Wonbin’s lips against his, teasing yet pliant, followed by Sungchan’s, controlled and certain. His fingers tighten around his notebook, and his breath catches for a moment.
God.
Despite replaying the memory for the hundredth time, it never loses its intensity. The feeling he gets is always the same—his pulse races, heat floods through him.
His leg bounces under the desk and the cool steel from his notebook presses into his palm as he clutches it even tighter. It's worse this time—he can’t sit still, his thoughts spiraling as he gets more worked up. The urge to feel their lips on his again gnaws at him, sharp and insistent.
If he could only just—
His phone begins to buzz, pulling him out of his reverie.
wonbin hyung (19:31)
*image*
us
sohee’s the one in the middle
sungchan hyung (19:31)
Ikr
The image shows three cats laying together. The cat in the middle's eyes are closed, content with the other cats draped around it protectively.
Sohee doesn't know what he means. He simply thumbs up the message.
☆
Everything Sohee knows about love:
- To open up is to be vulnerable. It’s handing over a part of himself he can’t get back.
- Love has a way of complicating things that should be simple.
- It’s easy to mistake closeness for something deeper, but hard to know when it’s real.
- Wonbin and Sungchan love each other. They don't love him.
☆
Sohee doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts.
It happens when he can’t sleep, which has been more nights than not, and all his thoughts seem to do is give him anxiety. They keep him wide awake, tightening around him until the restlessness turns to dread, and then he's stuck, wallowing. It’s an endless cycle, a trap of his own making, and no matter how many times he tells himself to stop, he can’t seem to turn his mind off.
It’s somewhere between the aching hours of two and three in the morning when he finally gives in. He reaches for his phone, the light stinging his eyes as he unlocks it and scrolls through his contacts. One name stands out—someone who's acted as a lifeline throughout all of this.
“Sohee?”
The line connects, and as soon as Sohee hears Chanyoung’s voice, he feels like he can finally breathe, even if just a little. “Chanyoung, I… I need to talk,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. It’s pathetic.
“What’s wrong?” Chanyoung’s tone sharpens with concern. “You sound upset.”
He is.
Sohee takes a moment to gather his thoughts, leaning against the wall. “It’s about Wonbin and Sungchan.” The names spill out of his mouth like a confession, heavy with the weight of everything he's been carrying.
“Okay…” Chanyoung prompts gently. “What about them?”
He climbs out of bed, his feet touching the cool floor of his room. The sensation is enough to coax what he wants to say out of him.
“I want both of them,” Sohee admits, and though his heart races, it feels good to finally say it out loud. “But I don't know if I can have them. It's all so much.” The words rush out quicker than he can stop them, and he winces as he hears his voice crack. He shouldn't be crying over this. He can't be.
"Sohee, hey, it’s okay,” Chanyoung says softly, the concern in his voice deepening. “You can let it out. This is a lot. You don’t have to hold it all in, not anymore.”
Sohee wipes at his eyes, frustrated with himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. “I just— I feel like such an idiot. I’ve tried so hard not to feel this way, but it’s like… I can’t help it. I see them together, and I can't help but feel like I’m missing something I didn’t even realize I wanted.”
He presses his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. The surface is hard and sturdy beneath him. “It’s not just that I want them, Chanyoung. I care about them so much, I love them, and it’s scary, because… what if this means nothing to them? What if I’m just imagining it?”
Chanyoung is quiet for a moment, and Sohee can hear him exhale on the other side. “You’re not imagining it,” he finally says. “You’ve known Wonbin for years. Sungchan, too. If anyone understands what’s going on between you three, it’s you.”
“But it’s different with me,” Sohee mutters. “Wonbin and Sungchan, they just… fit. They always have. I’m scared of being the odd one out.”
“Sohee, that’s not true,” Chanyoung argues gently. “They’re your friends. They wouldn’t let you feel this way if they knew, if you told them how much this means to you. You’re not going to ruin anything by being honest. If anything, keeping quiet is what’s eating you up.”
Sohee presses his forehead into his knees, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I know you can,” Chanyoung says firmly, his tone filled with quiet support. “You’ve been holding all of this in for so long, Sohee. Don’t you think it’s time that you give yourself a break? Even if it’s just telling them how you feel, no expectations.”
Sohee’s breath shudders. “But what if they don’t want that with me? What if they’re happy with just the two of them, and I’m— I’m just there?”
“Then you’ll know,” Chanyoung says, his voice steady, reassuring. “And yeah, I know that’s terrifying. But at least you won’t keep tearing yourself apart thinking about the unknown. You deserve better than to be stuck in limbo like this.”
Sohee closes his eyes, his grip tightening around his phone. “You say it like it's easy.”
“It’s not,” Chanyoung admits. “But you’ve got more courage than you think. And no matter what happens, you’ll still have me, that won’t change. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
The warmth in Chanyoung’s words gives Sohee something to hold onto. He breathes in, shakily but deeper this time, and nods, even though Chanyoung can’t see it. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” Chanyoung says softly. “Take your time. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
☆
Wonbin and Sungchan. And Sohee. Maybe.
Wonbin and Sungchan and Sohee. All three of them, together.
Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.
☆
As the three of them eat lunch together in the dining hall, Sohee wants to tell them.
The bustling noise around them fades into the background as his gaze flickers between Wonbin and Sungchan. Wonbin’s head rests on Sungchan’s shoulder, peaceful, as if the world around them doesn’t exist.
For them, maybe it doesn’t. The easy way they fit together makes Sohee’s chest tighten with longing. He’s right here, sitting across from them, but it feels like he’s separated by something invisible yet impenetrable.
Sohee wishes to be a part of it. He could just open his mouth, right then and there, and tell them. It could be easy. They look so happy—maybe they wouldn’t mind if he confessed. Maybe they’d even welcome it.
Sungchan glances up from his phone, locking eyes with Sohee. His smile is soft, like he knows something Sohee doesn’t, and for a brief second, hope flares in Sohee’s chest.
But the words stick in his throat, too heavy to push out. He can’t do it. Not yet. Sohee drops his gaze to his untouched food, his stomach twisting with regret. He waits for another day.
☆
As they walk through the city fair together with Wonbin’s hand held tightly in Sungchan’s, Sohee wants to tell them.
It’s March now, the weather slightly warmer than the last time they were outside together, but not by much. The cold clings to Sohee as he trails behind the two of them, on the outside of the bubble of warmth they’ve created.
A lump rises inside his throat. He could say it now, here among the bright lights and joy, and maybe they’d let him in. He wouldn’t have to bury his hands inside his pockets, instead he could feel the warmth of their hands, too. Maybe.
“Cold?” Sungchan’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Sohee blinks, startled. Sungchan is looking back at him with a raised brow, a knowing expression already on his face.
“No, I’m fine,” Sohee lies through his teeth, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, hoping the small tremor in his voice goes unnoticed.
But Sungchan isn’t convinced. “C’mere,” he says firmly, already stepping closer. He wraps his arm around Sohee’s shoulders, pulling him into the warmth of his side. The heat catches Sohee off guard, seeping through his layers of cold. Wonbin loops his arm through Sohee’s other side, cocooning him between the two of them.
He can't do it. Not yet. He lets himself be surrounded by their warmth and waits for another day.
☆
As he lies awake at night looking at pictures he’s taken of Wonbin and Sungchan—both together and separate—Sohee wants to tell them.
A heavy sense of longing washes over him as he scrolls through his camera roll. Sohee didn't realize how many pictures he had of the two of them, but he supposes it’s only natural, capturing moments he can't let go of. Wonbin, with his nose scrunched up, the way it usually is when he’s mid-laugh, and Sungchan, eyes crinkled with a fondness Sohee wishes would be directed towards him, too.
It could be. Maybe. He just has to tell them how he feels, what he wants.
He can do it. He waits for another day.
☆
Sohee’s cornered. It’s not a new feeling. Not here, at least. He’s currently standing at Wonbin and Sungchan’s apartment door, heart pounding against his ribs, wondering why he thought this was a good idea. He put himself in this situation, willingly—no one forced him to be here.
It wasn’t planned, not at first. He was wandering through the city, hoping to clear his mind, when his feet started pulling him toward Wonbin and Sungchan’s apartment, like muscle memory leading him home.
He hadn’t even texted them. Letting them know he was coming would have only given him time to second-guess, to lose his nerve entirely. But now, with his hand halfway to knocking, it hits him: this was reckless. Impulsive. He feels the panic creep in, but he can’t back out now.
When Wonbin opens the door and pulls him in, Sohee feels like a deer in headlights. Wonbin’s wearing ill-fitting pajamas—probably Sungchan’s—and Sohee can’t help but stare, his gaze lingering on the loose neckline slipping off one shoulder. It’s endearing and Sohee desperately wants.
Wonbin’s voice pulls him back to the present. “Sohee? Are you okay?”
Sohee blinks, realizing he’s been standing by the door longer than necessary. He hasn’t moved since stepping in.
Wonbin’s eyes are soft, concerned, and Sungchan, who was leaning back on the couch, sits up a little straighter, sensing the tension in the room, the tension in Sohee. Sohee takes a step back, just in case.
“Yeah, I—“ Sohee clears his throat, to get the words out clearly, or using it as an excuse to prolong them, he’s unsure. He shifts his weight from his left foot to the right. “I just need to talk to you guys about something. It’s important.”
There’s a pause, only for a moment, before Wonbin and Sungchan exchange glances, as though they already know what Sohee’s going to say, as though they’ve been anticipating it. It makes Sohee more nervous.
“Of course,” Sungchan says gently. Maybe he senses the emotions coursing through Sohee. He’s always been attentive. “Come sit.”
Sohee moves to the couch, his movements slow and careful. He can feel the weight of their eyes on him as he sits down. The air between feels thick and suffocating, Sohee can feel it on his shoulders, and he struggles to find the right words. His heart pounds loudly in his chest, drowning out any coherent thought he might have had.
Wonbin sits next to him on the couch, and here he is again, in the middle and cornered. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches Sohee intently. "You can tell me anything. Sungchan, too."
Sohee swallows hard, twisting his hands nervously in his lap, desperate for something to do with them. “I know. I just…” He glances to his left at Sungchan, then to his right at Wonbin, feeling the weight of their presence on either side of him. They’re so close, and yet he feels the distance—how easily they fit together, and how he’s unsure of his place between them. It makes his throat tighten. “I don’t want to mess things up.”
A frown forms on Sungchan's lips as he leans closer. "What do you mean? You're not going to mess anything up."
Sohee shakes his head, the sting of tears building behind his eyes, and he knows he’s about to break. "You don't know that. What if what I'm going to say changes everything? I don't want you guys to not be in my life. I can't." He's not making any sense, the words tumbling out in a desperate mess, but he can’t stop them. His heart is too full, too heavy with everything he's been holding back.
Wonbin reaches out, placing a hand on Sohee’s arm. His touch is grounding, but it also burns, making Sohee’s heart ache even more. “Hey, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. You’re not losing us.”
Sohee takes a deep breath, feeling the tension coil tighter in his chest. "I... I love you. Both of you," he says, his voice trembling as the weight of the words settles between them. "I've been in love with both of you for a while now, I think, but I only just realized it. And it's been eating at me. I didn’t know if I could say anything. I didn’t know—don’t know—if I fit with the two of you. I don’t know anything."
Silence follows his confession. He doesn't dare look up from where his gaze sits in his lap, afraid to be faced with rejection.
Wonbin’s hand squeezes his arm, and Sungchan breaks the silence. “Sohee,” he says, his voice gentle, careful. “You’ve always had a place with us.”
So he’s heard. Wonbin said something similar a while ago, We don’t fit without you, Sohee, but Sohee doesn’t know if it means what he wants it to. What he needs it to.
He slowly lifts his gaze, eyes pleading. For what, he doesn’t know, but he can only hope they just get it. When he locks eyes with Sungchan, his expression is soft, but there’s no pity in it. Only understanding.
“We didn’t bring it up again because you asked us not to,” Sungchan continues, glancing at Wonbin. “But I’ve always wanted to know how you felt. Wonbin has too. We’ve been waiting for you to talk to us.”
Wonbin nods, his thumb brushing over Sohee’s arm in a soothing motion. “You don’t have to be scared of losing us. We want you to be a part of this, Sohee.”
Sohee stares at them, his chest tightening with disbelief. “You really mean that?”
Wonbin smiles, his hand moving to cup Sohee’s cheek. He thumbs at it for a second before squishing it, like he can't help himself. “Of course I do. I’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”
Sungchan shifts closer, his leg pressing lightly against Sohee’s. “We love you, Sohee. There’s always been room for the three of us.”
The weight that had been crushing Sohee’s chest slowly begins to lift. Tears slip down his cheeks, but this time, they’re not from fear or confusion. He lets out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the relief flooding through him.
“I thought I was imagining it,” Sohee admits, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t want to hope for something that wasn’t there.”
“It’s been there the whole time,” Wonbin says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Sohee’s forehead. “I love you. You just needed to trust us.”
Sungchan gently wraps an arm around Sohee’s shoulders, drawing him into his warmth. He presses his lips to Sohee’s hair, whispering, “I love you.”
Sohee lets himself melt into his embrace, allowing himself to believe it. The uncertainty that has haunted him for so long finally begins to fade, replaced by the steady, undeniable truth that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.
Wonbin leans onto Sohee's lap, his warm weight a comfort. Sohee threads his fingers through Wonbin’s soft hair, feeling the strands slide between his fingers like silk.
“Can I ask you something? Either of you,” Sohee says before he can stop himself.
“Hm?” Sungchan hums, a lazy smile on his lips. Sohee can feel it, that familiar warmth spreading through him. He likes it a lot.
“When you guys kissed me that day, what was that about?” He's interrupted the peaceful silence, he knows, but the question weighs heavily in his mind. Has been for a while.
Wonbin and Sungchan exchange a look, the kind that holds a silent conversation Sohee isn’t quite privy to, though it makes him feel more curious—and a little nervous.
Finally, Sungchan chuckles softly, the sound a low rumble that makes Sohee's heart beat just a tad faster. “Well,” he starts, looking at Wonbin as if to ask for permission. Wonbin nods, giving Sungchan a small smile. “It wasn't planned. We’ve been wanting you to know how we felt and I guess it was kind of a way of testing the waters. I thought if I showed you, maybe it’d be easier for you to figure out what you wanted, too. Wonbin went along with it.”
“Oh.” Sohee really needs to work on his vocabulary.
Sungchan laughs again. “It was impulsive, I know, but it was honest. I don’t regret it, Sohee. I hope you don’t either.”
Sohee doesn’t, not anymore. Initially, he was torn between feelings of desire and regret, but that was only because he was convinced he wedged himself in the middle of something he had no business with. He realizes now that it's not true.
He’s wanted. They want him.
He can’t help the tears that begin to fall down his face again, not really. This is all overwhelming, all too much, in the best possible way.
Wonbin rises from Sohee’s lap and brings his hands to cradle his face. He presses his lips to the wetness of Sohee’s cheek, and the gesture is so sweet it only makes Sohee cry harder.
He feels so vulnerable, exposed, but there's some comfort in it, being able to lay out his emotions, raw and bare, in front of Wonbin and Sungchan. They hold Sohee as he cries, whispering soft assurances that they love him, always have, always will.
He’s wanted. They want him.
Sohee eventually falls asleep to the feeling of Sungchan behind him, warm and sturdy, while Wonbin places a kiss to each of his moles.
☆
sohee (15:06)
my boyfriends are alright btw
chanyoungie (15:06)
what the actual fuck sohee
call me???
☆
Sohee’s learned a lot these past few weeks. Here’s a list:
- This is as new to Wonbin and Sungchan as it is to him. It should’ve been obvious, but Sohee was too focused on feeling like the outsider, the one who had to catch up.
- Wonbin’s always liked Sohee. Since high school. And Sungchan knew this.
- Sungchan wasn’t jealous. Over time, he developed feelings for Sohee, too.
- Wonbin and Sungchan talk. A lot. About everything. Even the messy, complicated stuff.
- Sohee’s not a third wheel. He’s not just an addition to whatever Wonbin and Sungchan have. He’s part of something new, something the three of them are building together.
Maybe it's a little silly, keeping track of all this, but it helps Sohee organize his thoughts. He needs to remind himself of these things, especially when the doubts creep in. It’s easy to slip back into that feeling of being an outsider, to wonder if he’s intruding on something that doesn’t fully belong to him. But this list—this list proves that it does.
He belongs. He always has.
☆
Sohee’s also learned a lot about what he likes.
He likes the way Wonbin’s lips feel on his, the way each press makes a shiver run down his spine. He kisses softly at first, gentle, but as soon as Sohee responds—pressing back, parting his lips—Wonbin deepens it. His hand comes up to cup Sohee’s cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over his skin while his tongue slips into Sohee’s mouth, slow and teasing.
The warmth of it lingers even when Wonbin finally pulls away, leaving Sohee wanting to beg for more.
But then, Sungchan’s mouth is on his, rougher, more demanding, drawing Sohee deeper into the haze of it. His heart races as he leans into the kiss, feeling caught between them in the best way. The intensity of Sungchan’s kiss leaves him breathless, and when Sungchan pulls back, Wonbin is watching with a smirk. “You like that, huh?” Sungchan teases, brushing his thumb over Sohee’s kiss-swollen lips.
Sohee nods, his eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah,” he whispers, voice low and heavy with want.
Sungchan presses his thumb into Sohee’s mouth, resting it on his tongue, and Sohee swirls his tongue around it, sucking gently. He opens his eyes, looking up at Sungchan with a hint of defiance and satisfaction. Sungchan’s breath hitches, and Sohee feels a rush of pleasure in seeing him affected.
He likes this , Sohee realizes, savoring the feel of Sungchan’s thumb, thick and warm. He wonders what it would feel like if it were his cock instead.
After a moment, Sungchan pulls his thumb out, and Sohee feels the loss instantly. But before he can protest, Sungchan curls his fingers around the back of Wonbin’s neck, pulling him close, and in one swift motion, their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. It’s not the first time Sohee’s seen them kiss, but it’s the first time he’s seen them like this—so raw, so close, the intensity radiating off them.
Wonbin’s fingers twist in Sungchan’s hair, tugging as their lips move together, hungry and unapologetic. The sound of their breathless, desperate kisses fills the room, making Sohee’s pulse quicken as he watches, captivated.
Then, as they pull back, Wonbin turns his attention to Sohee’s neck. He teases with gentle nips, soothing each mark with his tongue, and Sohee feels himself sinking into the warmth of it, practically melting. He hasn’t seen the evidence yet, but he’s sure his neck must be covered in purple bruises. He can’t bring himself to care; he likes the way each press of Wonbin’s lips leaves a tingling sensation that makes him crave even more. There’s something intoxicating about being marked, carrying a piece of Wonbin on his skin.
Sungchan watches them, seated against the headboard with a gleam in his eyes. He’s mostly quiet, letting Wonbin have his fun, but Sohee feels the weight of his gaze like a heat under his skin, making his heart race even faster, knowing Sungchan’s just waiting for his turn.
When Wonbin finally pulls back, Sungchan shifts closer, brushing his calloused fingers along Sohee’s jaw, tilting his head to the side with quiet command. “My turn,” he murmurs, before leaning in to claim the other side of Sohee’s neck.
Where Wonbin likes to tease, Sungchan is relentless, choosing a spot and not letting up, sucking until the skin is flushed and tender. Sohee’s breath stutters, his hand gripping the sheets, overwhelmed by the intensity of Sungchan’s mouth on him. His mind feels hazy, body warm and thrumming, marked by both of them, their evidence scattered across his skin.
Sungchan releases his neck, leaving it sensitive in the best way, and trails his mouth lower, pressing kisses over Sohee’s collarbone and down his chest. His shirt is pushed up, and Sungchan’s mouth quickly follows, leaving a trail of hot kisses down his stomach. When his mouth latches just above Sohee’s navel—somewhere Sohee didn’t know he was sensitive but definitely knows now—Sohee whines, back arching as Sungchan sucks harder. “You’re so pretty, baby,” Sungchan murmurs against his skin.
"The prettiest," Wonbin agrees, reaching over to brush Sohee’s hair back from his forehead. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he says, leaning close and ghosting his lips over Sohee’s. “How long I’ve wanted you like this.” Sohee responds, pressing into Wonbin, and Wonbin deepens the kiss, drawing Sohee close. Sohee melts into it, his head spinning, lost in the feel of Wonbin's touch, every inch of him craving more.
When Wonbin finally pulls away, Sohee’s eyes flutter open, and he’s met with the full weight of both their gazes—Sungchan's dark, intense, and hungry, while Wonbin's holds a soft, steady warmth that leaves Sohee feeling open and vulnerable. Sungchan shifts closer, his fingers tracing a slow line over Sohee’s collarbone, while Wonbin’s hand slides lower, resting on his hip with a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re even prettier like this,” Sungchan murmurs, his voice low, laced with a possessive tone. His eyes flick to Wonbin, who nods with a knowing smile tugging at his lips, the two of them communicating without words.
Sohee’s breath catches, his gaze flickering between them, every nerve in his body alive because of their touch. The air hums, thick with anticipation, want , and as Sungchan’s lips find the sensitive skin just below his ear, Wonbin’s hand trails down, grounding him.
They exchange a look over Sohee, and he feels himself sink deeper in the moment, aware of their intentions without them being explicitly stated. Every inch of him aches for what’s to come.
☆
When Sohee meets Chanyoung at the campus café, he barely has time to sit down before Chanyoung’s eyes narrow, honing in on Sohee’s turtleneck suspiciously. “That's not…”
“What’s not?” he asks, feigning ignorance, though he knows exactly what.
“When have you ever worn turtlenecks?” Chanyoung presses, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair with a smug grin. Sohee (jokingly…) hopes he falls backwards.
He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar. “It’s been really cold lately,” he says, attempting a casual tone, though he can feel the heat rising in his face, settling stubbornly on his cheeks.
“It’s spring, Sohee,” Chanyoung says matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow as if he’s caught Sohee in the middle of some elaborate scheme.
Sohee groans inwardly. Okay. Well. “Shut up,” he mumbles, wrapping his hands around his cup of matcha and taking a long, slow sip, hoping to hide the red clinging to his cheeks.
He doubts it works, but to his relief, Chanyoung just lets out a soft chuckle and seems to take mercy on him, relenting. “Fine,” he says with a shrug, letting the subject drop. He pauses for a moment, watching Sohee quietly, then adds, “You know… you look happy.”
Sohee supposes he is, yeah. It's the happiest he's been in a while.
“Maybe,” he begins to say, but this time, he allows himself more, allows himself to see beyond all the doubt and finally accept the truth that's been in front of him all along; Wonbin and Sungchan love him.
“Yeah, I am,” he says, almost surprised at how natural it feels to admit.
Wonbin and Sungchan and Sohee. Wonbin, Sungchan, and Sohee. Wonbin, Sungchan, Sohee. Yeah. Yes.
☆
Everything Sohee know's about love—revised:
- Vulnerability does’t mean losing himself; it means being seen.
- Complicated isn’t always a bad thing. Sungchan taught him this.
- His connection with Wonbin and Sungchan is genuine.
- Wonbin and Sungchan don’t just love each other—they love him, too.
