Work Text:
“Hyung, what are you doing?”
San perks up, looking around the out-of-place furniture. “Building a fort.”
Jongho raises an eyebrow, the rest of his face unchanged. “Yeah, I can see that much. Why?”
“It’s for Wooyoung.”
When San offers no further explanation, Jongho nods to himself and makes his way back to his room.
San stands and admires his progress. He’s completely turned the sofa around, stripping it of its cushions that are now being used as floor pillows. He dragged the four counter-height chairs from the kitchen and lined them up so the back of the chairs are parallel to the back of the sofa, about three feet of space between them.
He drags his comforter down the hall, chucking it in the gap, a make-shift mattress of sorts. A soft, knitted blanket goes on top of that along with all the pillows he could pull from his and Wooyoung’s beds. There’s hardly any space for their actual bodies, but he thinks that’s fine, they just need enough room to sit and lie down.
He weaves a spare string of clear Christmas lights around the backs of the chairs and out of the nest, admiring the soft glow after plugging them in.
They’re due to be back any time now.
San finds two spare flat sheets in the hall closet, drapes one over the backs of the chairs and the sofa, the other over the TV—carefully—leaving an opening so they can get in and out. He sets a candle on the floor next to the makeshift door—he's not going to actually light it, he’ll just take the lid off and hope that will do the trick.
Jongho returns, stopping to inspect the blanket fort.
“It’s not much,” San says, hands on his hips. His voice gets a little quieter. “Do you think he’ll like it?”
Jongho looks at him with a small smile and nods. “He’ll love it.”
San could cry, which is a tad premature, considering he doesn’t know what’s wrong with Wooyoung to begin with. He’s worried, but he’s also strangely proud of his work. The whole concept is very romantic, which, sure, maybe isn’t always Wooyoung’s go-to, much more logical and planned, but San knows he’ll appreciate it.
The thing is, now that the living room is in complete disarray, San doesn’t have a place to sit while he waits. He sits on the kitchen counter for a bit, paces for a while, but ultimately ends up back in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with his back against the lower cabinets. He watches the clock on the stove.
Five minutes pass.
San pushes himself to his feet when he hears the clicks of the door lock.
Wooyoung, Yunho, and Yeosang pile into the room, completely lost in conversation, stopping in their tracks when they see the state of the living room. Wooyoung turns to San, eyes full of curiosity and confusion. “What’s all this?”
“It’s for you.”
Yunho and Yeosang excuse themselves, slipping away to their rooms.
Wooyoung’s brow furrows. “What do you mean for me?”
San takes a deep breath. “I know something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I did something—”
“You didn’t!” Wooyoung cuts him off. He brings both hands, still cold from being outside, to San’s cheeks and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I want to talk about what is wrong.”
“So you built a fort?”
“So I built a fort.”
Wooyoung chuckles, coming out more breathy than anything. “Can I shower first? I’m sticky.”
“Of course. Was practice good?”
Wooyoung nods. “I’ll meet you in there?” he asks, nodding toward the fort with an amused smile.
San kisses his forehead and nudges him away. “Don’t make fun of it.”
He laughs and disappears down the hall.
San pulls the sheet up just enough to slip inside and lets it fall back down behind him. The string lights put out a surprising amount of heat considering they’ve only been on for about twenty minutes, but it’s a nice warmth. It’s comfortable. He fiddles with his phone while he waits, hearing an occasional door open or close, some music coming from one of their rooms, and Yunho shouting over Valorant .
He sees Wooyoung’s feet before he sees the rest of him. The younger pulls the sheet back, peering into the fort, an unsure smile on his face. San puts his phone down, sits up, and smiles. “Come here,” he says.
“This feels a bit silly, Sannie,” Wooyoung says. He ducks down and crawls in anyway, sitting cross-legged across from him, hands in his lap. He looks around, a small smile creeping up on his face. “It is pretty, though.”
“You like it then?”
Wooyoung chuckles. “Yes, Sannie. It’s super cute.” He kisses San’s right cheek. “And thoughtful.” Left cheek. “But you know we don’t need all this to have a serious chat, right?”
“I know,” San says sheepishly. “I wanted to make you feel safe. Comfortable.”
“I appreciate it so much.”
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” San asks slowly, not wanting to push too much.
He nods, looking down, playing with his fingers. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Of course.”
Wooyoung’s shoulders heave, and his voice is thick in the way that it only gets when he’s about to cry. He takes a deep breath. “How did you know I was upset?” he asks quietly. “I tried so hard to keep it to myself.”
“Baby,” San sighs softly. He laces their fingers together. “I know you. Any time I’ve touch you on camera over the past few days, you tense up. If I did something to upset you, I need to know. I need to know so I don’t do it again.”
Wooyoung shakes his head quickly. “I already told you. You didn’t do anything.”
San brings both hands up to his cheeks, cupping each cheek. “Then what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” His mouth twists to the side.
“Sure you do.” San uncrosses his legs and opens his arms. Wooyoung goes instantly, arms looping around his waist, head against his chest. His freshly-dyed black hair smells like apples, still slightly damp from his shower. “You’re safe. Let your worries out of your beautiful head.”
He breathes him in, presses a kiss to the top of his head, and they exist. For just a few moments, everything is still, the warm glow of the fairy lights and mixed textures of the blankets forming a perfect bubble around them. It’s just for them.
It’s quiet until Wooyoung chokes out a soft sob into the thin material of San’s shirt.
“Woo,” San whispers.
“How do you do it?” He sounds broken.
San strokes his hair, fingers getting caught on loose knots here and there. “Do what?”
“You mean so much to me.” He scoffs a laugh, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I want everyone to know. I want to be able to show you how much I love you whenever I want. I don’t want to do it on their terms anymore.”
“What do you mean?” San asks.
“They can’t just pick and choose when we love each other.” His voice is sharp, frustration taking over. “Why can’t they just let us be and stop treating our relationship like it’s a pretend little narrative to hook people in.” More tears stream down his face.
San wipes them away, hand lingering on his face for a second. “Hey.” He shakes his head. “ You know that nothing about us is pretend, yeah?”
He sniffles. “I know. I’m...so tired. I’m tired of always worrying about being too much . We’re either too obvious or look like we’re fighting. You touch me too much, or I don’t give enough back.” He pauses, fingers running back and forth over San’s thigh, where his tattoo is hidden by his joggers. “How do you not get tired?”
San swallows the ever-growing lump in his throat, feels tears pooling at his lower lash line. “I’m tired too.” He blinks them away, hoping Wooyoung can’t hear how shaky his voice sounds. “I cling to the moments where we walk the line of being too us.”
Wooyoung looks up at him. “Like what?”
He smiles. “Like getting to tweet about you on your birthday. Or when you talk about me on private message.” He thinks. “Skirting around pronouns when someone asks me about my ideal type, knowing that there are people who notice it.”
“I want to be able to say it.” He wipes his cheeks, streaked with half-dried tears. “You’re my ideal type.”
“I do, too. But you know why we can’t.” He hauls Wooyoung up on his lap so he can see his face. “If it were just the two of us, it’d be different. We could say fuck it , come out, and if the company had anything to say about it, we’d leave. You’d be someone’s favorite dance teacher. I’d do, well, I’d do something, and we’d live normal lives.”
The younger’s eyes light up just a bit for a second.
San continues, “But it’s not just us.”
The light fades, eyes dropping to the floor again.
“We’ve got six other people who rely on us. When I’m feeling tired and want to give it all up so I can kiss you and love you how I do when we’re here, I think of Seonghwa and Hongjoong-hyung. Yunho and Mingi. What would Yeosang do without either of us at this point?” San scoffs, but he’s not upset. “I think the only one who would really be okay would be Jongho. And even though he’d be okay, he’d miss how annoying we are behind the scenes.” San shakes his head. “I think about you too.”
Wooyoung scrunches his face. San takes both his hands, linking their fingers together.
“You were born to be on stage.”
Wooyoung's face softens, chin trembling again. “I was born to be with you.”
San leans forward until their lips meet softly. “We are where we’re meant to be. It’s hard, but it’s worth it to be together, yeah?”
“Of course.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you did something wrong.”
San takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it until their eyes meet. “It’s okay. Please just talk to me next time. I’m happy to build a fort for you, but maybe I can be less anxious about it next time.”
“We can build it together next time.”