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Wooyoung's hair had gotten really long as of late. It was cute, Yeosang thought. It was longer than it had ever been, brushing the tops of his shoulders on the rare occasion when he wore it out of that stupid goddamn ponytail.
(Yeosang secretly didn't mind the ponytail, but he had a reputation to uphold and there was no way in hell he was letting his best friend know how endearing he found it when Wooyoung moved his head around and his ponytail flopped with him.)
The longer his hair grew, the more frequently Wooyoung started sporting a selection of hair ties on his wrist like they were fashion accessories. He’d started with black ones, but ever since he borrowed an orange scrunchie from one of the girls in their dance class, he'd taken to buying random colours and sizes and patterns and matching them to his outfits like he thought he was an Instagram influencer or something. The day Wooyoung came home to their apartment with a bag full of new clips, bows and scrunchies and a bright smile on his face was a day Yeosang's camera roll had engrained into its memory for the rest of his life.
At present, he'd been awoken from his afternoon nap when his roommate and life-long friend had returned home - quite loudly, as he tended to do. There was clattering from the other room and Wooyoung’s obnoxious playful singing voice carried down the corridor to the bedrooms. Yeosang groaned, half considering just shoving his head under his pillow and going back to sleep. Still, perhaps this mayhem was a blessing in disguise since he'd promised Wooyoung he'd cook dinner tonight and probably needed to get started if they wanted to eat at any reasonable time.
Yeosang rolled out of bed and shuffled out of the room and down the hallway from where Wooyoung's voice was coming. His friend was now in the kitchen, unpacking milk and vegetables from fabric shopping bags to put in the fridge. Yeosang's feet scuffed along the floor as he walked up behind him and moulded his body against the length of Wooyoung's back, arms wrapping around his waist and chin resting over his shoulder.
"Hi," Wooyoung said, smile evident in his tone of voice.
"Hi," Yeosang replied, voice scratchy with sleep. He cleared his throat and peered down at the food in Wooyoung's hands. "What have you got there?"
"Ingredients for dinner." He tilted his head gently to knock against Yeosang's temple, nuzzling him affectionately. "You said you'd cook so the least I could do was restock the pantry."
Yeosang's heart thumped in his chest. He hummed, leaning subconsciously into Wooyoung's touch. "How thoughtful of you. I guess that means you've made the decision for us on what we're eating then?"
Wooyoung chuckled, low and quiet. It was a drastic difference from his usual high-pitched laughter, the kind of soft amusement which was saved for Yeosang's ears only. It made him feel special, that he was privileged enough to see the Wooyoung underneath all that loud bravado, with his layers pulled back and his heart laid bare. Wooyoung had always been one to show his genuine feelings out in the open to everybody, his heart always on his sleeve, so it wasn't the sincerity of these moments that Yeosang treasured, but the gentleness. It made him want to reach up and pull the ribbon out of Wooyoung's hair so he could card his fingers through it, nails scratching his scalp until he hummed in innocent pleasure. Moments like these made Yeosang's chest fill with warmth and his stomach flip with giddy, joyous love.
He could never pinpoint when his feelings had crossed the line - he wasn't sure there had ever been one in the first place.
Wooyoung’s ideas about love and friendship had always blurred the lines between platonic and romantic, even more so when it came to Yeosang than anybody else. The way he turned in Yeosang’s arms to slot his face into the crook of his neck was something he’d been doing their whole lives. Part of Yeosang suspected that Wooyoung already knew, had already been showing Yeosang how his deep, complex feelings were reciprocated with every soft touch and lingering gaze, every hush of sweet, meaningless, pretty words mumbled against skin. It was simply how they were. Having Wooyoung by his side, curled in his arms on the couch, flush against his back on top of the bed – it was them, it always had been.
Wooyoung was the only person Yeosang had ever let this close to him, physically and emotionally, and he did not intend for anyone to replace that special place in his heart as long as he lived. Wooyoung had carved out a space just big enough for himself in Yeosang’s chest, settled in there, and it did not seem like he intended to move, either.
Inhaling a deep breath and letting it out as a rush of air, Wooyoung sighed. He hummed thoughtfully. “I could just eat you up for dinner, perhaps,” he mumbled into Yeosang’s skin, lips brushing right below his ear.
Yeosang shivered. “Who would brush your hair for you every night then, hm?” he teased.
Wooyoung made a contemplative noise. “I think I’d just tell Seonghwa-hyung that I had knots in my hair and he’d offer to move in just to keep me squeaky clean and presentable.”
Yeosang snorted, rubbing his cheek against the black part of Wooyoung’s two-toned hair. He must have switched his shampoo that morning. Maybe the old bottle ran out, he figured, because the soft smell of coconut that reached Yeosang’s nose when he inhaled was vastly different from the sweet, fruity scent that Wooyoung usually carried with him. He smelled like Yeosang. His heart thumped louder at that thought.
“Can you do it now?” Wooyoung’s quiet, gentle, for-Yeosang’s-ears-only-voice whispered against his neck.
Allowing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment and bask in the wave of love radiating off of Wooyoung, Yeosang nodded. “Of course, sweetheart,” he whispered back.
Wooyoung stepped back from Yeosang’s embrace, putting just enough space between them to take his hand, linking their fingers together easily. He walked them over to the couch and sat with his back against Yeosang’s front, legs crossed. He let Yeosang’s nimble, gentle fingers find the butterfly clip in his hair, carefully remove it and place it on the coffee table. Next, the white ribbon with silver trim which held half of his hair in a ponytail. Yeosang tugged lightly until the strands of hair fell free, framing Wooyoung’s face like curtains. He added it to the pile on the table and settled back into the couch.
Beginning at Wooyoung’s wrist, Yeosang slid one hand up his arm, trailing his fingertips along his sweater sleeve, over his shoulder and up the back of his neck. Goosebumps appeared under his light touch, the soft catch of Wooyoung’s breath loud beside Yeosang’s ear. His fingers carded through his hair at last, pulling his hand back and watching the sections of hair fall through the gaps between them. He repeated the action, and again. Wooyoung melted into his embrace and hummed, content.
The weight of him against Yeosang’s body was comforting and warm. It was familiar. Yeosang basked in the feeling. He scratched lightly at Wooyoung’s scalp, lips twitching into a fond smile when he squirmed pleasantly in his arms.
“You like that?” he murmured.
Wooyoung hummed in affirmation. “Again, please.”
Yeosang obliged easily. “I have to make dinner,” he mused after a moment.
Wooyoung was quiet for such a length of time, save for his occasional hum that reminded Yeosang of a cat purring when content, that he almost thought he’d fallen asleep or didn’t hear him. Yeosang’s hands worked together to tangle three strands of hair together in a loose braid. He tucked it behind Wooyoung’s ear and moved to the other side of his head.
“I already said I was going to have you for dinner, Sangie,” Wooyoung mumbled eventually, and Yeosang huffed out an amused breath of laughter.
“Right, I forgot.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Wooyoung’s temple.
“You’d taste sweet,” Wooyoung continued after another moment. “Do that again, please.”
Again, Yeosang did not question him. He pressed his lips to the side of Wooyoung’s face, a little lower, this time against his cheekbone. “Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
Wooyoung hummed once more, shifting to turn around and face Yeosang. His eyes were warm, fond, with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Yeosang’s eyes softened and his heart melted even more.
Wooyoung’s eyes darted down to Yeosang’s parted lips. “Again,” he whispered, as if speaking louder would break the trance over them.
And Yeosang could never say no to Wooyoung.
He leaned in and slotted their lips together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
As they kissed, Wooyoung sighed into his mouth and tilted his head, parted his lips and let out another soft, happy noise. Yeosang couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips, which caused Wooyoung to pull back. His pink mouth, now glistening, looked irresistible even as he frowned.
“What? Why are you smiling like that?”
A giggle bubbled out of Yeosang’s chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as he cupped Wooyoung’s face. “I absolutely adore you, Wooyoung,” he whispered. His eyes were wet, and the words began to tumble out without thinking. “I never want a day to go by where we aren’t together.”
“Sangie, that hasn’t happened since the moment we met, what makes you think it’ll–”
Yeosang kissed him again, effectively shutting him up. “I want to wake up by your side every morning,” he continued, pulling back just enough to brush his nose against Wooyoung’s. “I want to spend every night memorising the curves and grooves of your body. I never want to forget what you taste like. I want to braid your hair and buy you new scrunchies and watch your stunning, expressive eyes light up every time we walk past an accessories store for the rest of my life.”
Wooyoung’s eyes were wet now, too. He nodded, eyes flickering down to Yeosang’s mouth again. “I love you, too,” he whispered into the space between them.
Yeosang let himself be pushed against the back of the couch until he had a lap full of Wooyoung kissing him, hands holding the back of his neck as he licked his way into Yeosang’s mouth. Yeosang slipped an arm around his waist, the other hand retreating to its familiar place in his hair, brushing through soft, clean strands of blonde and black. Wooyoung’s mouth was warm, familiar in a way that felt like Yeosang was coming home, not kissing him for the third time in his life. Everything with Wooyoung had always felt easy.
“Also,” Wooyoung pulled back to say, “I was correct. You do taste sweet.” His eyes crinkling with warmth and fondness that tempted to make Yeosang’s heart burst. “Although, I’m not sure you want to wake up with me every morning because I wake up at six to go jogging with Jongho, and you like to sleep for half the day, so–”
Yeosang pressed his mouth to Wooyoung’s and carded his fingers through his soft hair again. And again.
And again.
And again for each following day, forever.