Archive of Our Own ^beta

Yeosang sinks into the couch with a quiet groan. From this exact spot on the end, elbow braced on the armrest and leaning slightly to the left, he has the perfect view of the stovetop. If it so happens that Wooyoung is currently swaying his hips to a song in his head while whisking together a concoction over a merry little flame, then so be it. He had promised to not spy on Wooyoung with shadows, but never promised he wouldn’t enjoy the sight of Wooyoung in far more mundane ways, like staring right at him.

Sighing, Yeosang lists a little further to the left, following Wooyoung with his eyes as he reaches to the side to grab a jar of something unidentifiable from this distance. He unscrews the top and sprinkles in a pinch of what is definitely a powder, then resumes his relentless stirring. Three revolutions clockwise, three revolutions counterclockwise, and then back again, at a slow steady pace. Yeosang has never been particularly skilled at potion making of any sort, enough so that Mingi has actually banned him from his workspace unless he promises not to touch anything.

It’s quite fortunate that Wooyoung seems to have a galactic-sized soft spot for Yeosang, or else he’d likely have been banned from the kitchen as well. 

“Are you gonna stare at me all afternoon, or actually come offer to help?” Wooyoung calls, the laugh evident in his tone and the way he tips his head a bit further over his shoulder. 

Sometimes, most times, merely the sight of Wooyoung in his comfort space steals Yeosang’s breath.

A warm blush creeps up Yeosang’s neck; he can feel the heat as it spreads across his skin. He’s glad Wooyoung (or San, or Yunho, or Jongho, or really any other member of the coven for that matter) isn’t looking at him, or he’d be teased mercilessly. Wooyoung wouldn’t spare him, but he’d tease Yeosang for being too easily embarrassed, too prone to blushing when called out. However, the others would smirk and nudge one another, San probably leering at Yeosang while doing that ridiculous eyebrow twitch up and down his forehead like he thinks he’s charming or something. Yeosang rolls his eyes just picturing how the entire scene would play out. 

Mingi would snort, Jongho would laugh, Hongjoong would shush them both while telling San to stop it, all in an exaggerated whisper that he believes is subtle. Yunho would smile encouragingly at Yeosang, while Seonghwa would press his lips together to hold back the lecture he’s already shared with Yeosang at least a dozen times since Wooyoung has returned to them. Just tell him, Seonghwa likes to say. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If you don’t tell him, he’ll never know.  

And that’s where Yeosang flounders, heart constantly flopping like a fish out of water whenever he’s in Wooyoung’s presence. Yeosang doesn’t like putting voice to his feelings ever, much less when it involves someone he cares so deeply about. Before Wooyoung’s curse, Yeosang had toyed with confessing his less than platonic feelings for his best friend. There had never been the perfect moment, that one glimmering moonlight and shooting stars moment for Yeosang to gather all of his courage and bare his heart to someone with the power to crush it. 

Wooyoung would never intentionally hurt him, Yeosang has always known that truth, but a rejection back then, before , would have put a nick in his heart that might always bleed. Now, after, the thought of losing Wooyoung in any way again might damage a part of Yeosang he couldn’t ever repair. The risk is too great for Seonghwa to understand, or he wouldn’t say those words so casually, like it’s something easy, something without risk. 

Yeosang swallows and gets up, quietly joining Wooyoung in the kitchen. If he were a braver person, he would slide right up behind him, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung and dancing along with him. He would rest his chin on Wooyoung’s shoulder, peeking into the pot before closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of simply holding onto Wooyoung. He would turn his head in towards Wooyoung’s throat, inhaling the sweet lemon scent that always seems to emanate from him, spun sugar citrus, before gently pressing his lips to warm skin and-

“Can you grab the coltsfoot for me?” Wooyoung interrupts Yeosang’s spiral, smiling at him while making his request. “I forgot to bring it over.”

“The dried stalks or the petal ash?” Yeosang asks as he walks to the giant potion cabinet to find the desired ingredient. He appreciates the aesthetic organization of Wooyoung’s kitchen, everything has its place. Rare items such as dryad tears and dawnstone are stored carefully, while common items like black sand and bone dust are replenished frequently.

Wooyoung gasps, which gets Yeosang’s attention. “You remember there are two different coltsfoot ingredients? That wasn’t some test or anything, I just asked and forgot to clarify.”

“Why wouldn’t I remember?” Yeosang replies, hiding the hurt he’s sure is in his expression by crouching down to the lowest shelves in the cabinet. “I’ve helped you a lot, even back when we were on our own.”

There’s a drawn out silence, enough that Yeosang pokes his head back out from behind the door. Wooyoung’s stirring is listless as he hangs his head over the pot, posture hunched. 

“Wooyoung-ah,” murmurs Yeosang, itching to comfort him. The shadow of the last several years bores its way into the most benign moments, clouding them. His fingers twitch as he clenches them into fists against his thighs. Tendrils of black seep out from his fingertips, reaching out for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know, it’s stupid,” admits Wooyoung with a sigh. “It’s been years though, I was gone for so long and… I don’t know, I’m surprised sometimes at how easily everything came back for you all, how much I still fit. Everyone just made space for me.”

Yeosang stands up. “There was no space to make, we never forgot about you. We kept your space for you, we knew you would come back. We never would have forgotten you. How could we?”

“I know, it’s just-”

“No,” argues Yeosang, walking over to Wooyoung and putting his hand delicately on the other witch’s shoulder. Touch isn’t always the easiest display of affection for him, but at moments like these, it’s second nature. “Just nothing. We knew you were coming back. And if we hadn’t gotten you back by now, we’d still be waiting, certain you would come someday. We never stopped trying to figure out how to get you to come home.”

“Even you?” Wooyoung asks, voice pitched low, as though he almost wishes Yeosang won’t hear it. 

Yeosang squeezes Wooyoung’s shoulder, his hand trailing down down down until he grasps Wooyoung’s wrist. His fingers circle around the joint lightly, Wooyoung’s pulse humming beneath the pad of Yeonsang’s thumb. Shadows circle their feet, around and around them both, winding through their legs as if trying to hold them together. Yeosang can feel the cool press of comfort against his overheated skin. “Especially me. I wanted you back so badly I think I could have manifested it somehow, if you’d made me wait any longer.”

The last remark lands as intended, a smile brightening Wooyoung’s face, eyes first, then his mouth. He glances around the room as some of the light returns to it. “You missed your best friend?”

A sucker punch to Yeosang’s flimsy heart, no matter that it’s the truth. Yeosang longs for so much more. He swallows past his hopeless yearning and nods. “The best of the best. That’s you.”

A hiss from the iron grill as a droplet of moisture hits it, the potion threatening to boil over. “Ah! Wait, I can save this. Sang-ah, hurry, I need the ash.”

Yeosang laughs as he hustles back to the cabinet. Anything for Wooyoung.  

The moon shines overhead as Yeosang and Wooyoung wander the forest. San had left them shortly ago, taking his cooling spell with him, and now they are alone as they amble. He’d offered to spell them both, but maintaining two cooling bubbles is draining for him, especially the farther he gets away from the target, and neither Yeosang or Wooyoung wish to burden him. Yeosang dabs at his brow with mild regret. The evening is quite warm despite the late hour, insects chirping as if to attempt to dispel the day’s lingering heat from the air. The racing of his heart isn’t helping his sweat issue. 

“Do you want to go back?” Wooyoung peers at him, concern written over his face. He looks calm and cool, unbothered by either the temperature or anxiety. “You look miserable.”

“No,” counters Yeosang, determined to see this moment through. It’s already far later than he’d hope, San having been far too eager for a walk in the woods with them. 

Wooyoung waits for Yeosang to finish his thought, unaware that Yeosang can barely string two coherent ideas together in his head right now, as it’s a total jumble. He waves his hand at Yeosang, sending a subtle blow of cool air in his direction. “My charms aren’t as good as an earth elemental when it comes to outdoor comfort.”

Yeosang laughs, as he wipes his damp palms on the seat of his pants, and Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. They keep strolling. “And are you sure, Sang-ah? We can go get a nice cold drink or something.”

“You want to get a drink with me?” Yeosang trips over a root and only stays on his feet with Wooyoung’s quick grab at his elbow. He doesn’t even know what he just said.

“I mean, I guess?” Wooyoung chuckles, although he still seems concerned. “I can probably make you anything you want to drink, if you just tell me. Even something really crazy like… how about one of those tonics that turns into ice after you swallow it. I think I have bat drool and chokeberries, and let’s see, goose grass? Does that sound correct to you?”

Waving off the question, Yeosang resigns himself to looking increasingly more stupid. He swallows, unfortunately both dry and loud, and hopes it can’t be heard over the crickets. He stops walking, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Things brighten around them as Yeosang accidentally lures shadows closer, wrapping around them both like octopus tentacles. Wooyoung smiles when he notices, running his fingers familiarly along the closest one he can reach.

“What if what I want to drink is you?” Yeosang blurts out, closing his eyes in mortification as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

Wooyoung laughs, bright and airy. “What? I don’t know what that means, Sang-ah.”

Yeosang sighs and shakes his head, craning his neck to stare up at the moon. “What are we? Like, to each other? We’re not- not really friends.”

A frown knits Wooyoung’s eyebrows together and Yeosang instantly misses his amusement, his mirth. “What kind of thing is that to say?”

“I don’t know, forget it,” mutters Yeosang. This is all going upside down in record speed, and he doesn’t know how to set it right. Every word he utters seems to be the wrong one. As the thoughts travel in starts and stops down to his mouth, they skid off-course at the end of the run. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Wooyoung tries to tug one of Yeosang’s hands out of his pocket. Yeosang resists him, and maybe that’s the entire problem. The moon glistens up above them, white and pure from on high, however Yeosang feels as though he stumbles through pitch black darkness. “Are you saying we don’t matter?” 

“No, not ‘we’,” begins Yeosang, mind churning over how to respond. He needs to just be honest and straightforward.  Wooyoung lets go of Yeosang’s forearm and steps back, the ground crunching underneath his shoes. “Just… you- I mean, not you, but-”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrow, it’s a sharp arch and it looks like it could slice Yeosang in half if he makes a wrong move. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

Yeosang’s mind slows to sludge in the face of Wooyoung’s irritation. His throat is parched, and he would give anything to be sitting in Wooyoung’s kitchen drinking his sweet woodruff elixir to calm his mental turbulence. “I don’t- like- Wooyoung, you-”

Taking another step backwards, Wooyoung’s expression shifts into something far more wounded. “Kang Yeosang, what exactly are you trying to tell me right now? You don’t like me? I don’t know what that means. Why would you say that?”

It’s like cement has glued Yeosang’s lips together as neurons fire erratically in his brain, no direction, no aim. He shakes his head, shadows trying to cocoon around Wooyoung to say all the thousand things Yeosang can’t seem to speak into existence. Fear of losing Wooyoung consumes him into a frozen facsimile of himself. “We aren’t- we’re not…”

Wooyoung squints through the eddy of darkness around him, glaring at Yeosang. “Nice. Real nice. I thought- you know what, it doesn’t matter what I thought anymore. Thank the goddess I didn’t listen to Mingi and Yunho giving me advice about you. Even Jongho was wrong in what he saw.”

“Jongho is never wrong,” retorts Yeosang without even hesitating. When Jongho’s inner eye sees anything, he’s remarkably accurate, not simply in what presents itself to him, but in how he interprets it. Yeosang hasn’t heard anything from Jongho recently regarding visions, and he’s desperate to grasp what Wooyoung even means, but now isn’t the time. 

With a derisive click of his tongue, Wooyoung plants his hands on his hips, a fighting stance. “Yeah, well, I guess that isn’t true anymore.”

Yeosang shakes his head again, seemingly the only thing he can do. He doesn’t know what Wooyoung is even tying to say, but at least he’s capable of basic speech. Yeosang has heard this acid tone directed at others before, people who have hurt someone he loves and he lashes out in protection. It has never been directed at him before. 

“Is that all you can do? Shake your head like a fool?” Wooyoung’s eyes widen in shock, just for a moment, before narrowing back down as he continues his mild tirade. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. This? This doesn’t matter. Whatever.”

Wooyoung slaps the shadows away from himself, before striding away. The shadows recoil and disperse back into the trees, away from Yeosang. He tries to swallow, unease thick in his throat. He doesn’t want to go home yet, not with Wooyoung as upset with him as he is right now. He plops down onto the ground, fingers combing through the dirt, mind still tangled into a knot.

When a gentle knock sounds against his door, Yeosang groans and rolls over in bed. The door opens despite his lack of a response, and he just knows it’s Hongjoong based on the rhythm of his tentative footsteps against the floor. 

“Sang-ah, aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” Hongjoong murmurs, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. It’s dark in Yeosang’s bedroom, despite that it’s the start of the afternoon. Yeosang is currently using his shadows to block out all light into his room. It’s a testament to how often Hongjoong has had to do this for him, although it’s been awhile, that he knows exactly how to find his way through the room without stumbling. 

Yeosang sniffs, miserable, hollow. “I called in. Chief said to take the day.”

Hongjoong hums in understanding. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself if you need a break. Is that what this is? A break? Or is something else going on?”

Using silence as an answer, Yeosang simply rolls over to stare at Hongjoong. 

“Can I get in?” 

When Yeosang wordlessly scoots back to make room, Hongjoong slips under the sheets. On another day, Yeosang might gripe about outside clothes in his bed, but today is not that day. 

“Sang-ah, what can I do to help you?”

Yeosang is infinitely grateful that Hongjoong is so compassionate, and gives him ample space to consider his response. The words come easier when he’s not nervous or rushed. Talking is far less troublesome when there’s nothing on the line. Idly, he wonders if spirits find Hongjoong this comforting too; he’s certain they do, which is why they call for him so often, sensing a patient, receptive presence. “Wooyoung is upset with me. He thinks I don’t like him.”

Hongjoong tilts his head, the pillow crinkling at the movement. “How would Wooyoung possibly get that idea?”

“I pretty much told him that,” admits Yeosang, shame burning in his cheeks. He closes his eyes. 

“How did that happen?” Hongjoong asks, tone soft, soothing. 

Yeosang shrugs although he doesn’t think Hongjoong can see him. “I took him on a walk. It was a full moon and I thought it would be romantic to confess under a full moon. Yunho always says full moons are the nights for the things you want the most to be manifested into reality.”

Hongjoong waits, giving Yeosang time to finish explaining, to finish organizing his thoughts. Not for the first time, Yeosang is indescribably grateful he and Wooyoung found these witches, formed this coven; it is a gift to be part of a family so experienced in communicating with him, even when he’s struggling to express himself. 

“San walked with us for a while, which was nice, but as soon as he left, all I could think about was how I was about to mess up everything. And then somehow that’s what I did.”

A sharp intake of air. “You confessed and Wooyoung rejected you?”

Yeosang reaches out, laying a cool palm on Hongjoong’s warm forearm. “No, I somehow ended up telling him I didn’t like him. Don’t get mad at Wooyoung, it was my fault.”

“So you’re moping in here because Wooyoung misunderstood something you were trying to say?” Hongjoong presses, and like a fresh bruise, it aches, right under Yeosang’s ribs.

“You make it sound silly,” moans Yeosang, calling over the shadows from the window and trying to smother himself with them instead. Hongjoong ignores them and he lays his palm on Yeosang’s forehead. “No, stop. Don’t try and read me, hyung.”

“Just looking for your inner wisdom, Sang-ah. You must have some in there somewhere,” jokes Hongjoong, removing his hand and flopping onto his back. “Why don’t you come out of your bedroom and eat something, drink something. It’s not good for you to be in here all day, by yourself.”

“Wooyoung is in the kitchen,” pouts Yeosang, feeling childish and only caring a little about acting juvenile. 

Hongjoong snorts, although makes no move to get up. Part of Yeosang wants to stay in his bedroom and continue to wallow, certain that Hongjoong will simply stay by his side and make sure he doesn’t wither away. That alone inspires him to get out of his bed. “He isn’t in the kitchen actually, and hasn’t been all morning. He isn’t even in the house, that’s why I came to check on you.”

“I wish I knew where he was,” whines Yeosang, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His chest hurts, in a far different way than when Wooyoung was cursed. That had felt like a hole through the very center of him, a fundamental piece of his life missing. This is more like a deep cut, one that bleeds and needs stitches, able to be healed, he just has to make it happen. 

“He’s at the shop, one of hyung’s birds told me,” replies Hongjoong, shoving at Yeosang’s shoulder to get him out of bed faster. “Why don’t you go eat something then head over there. Fix whatever the hell went wrong.”

Yeosang spins around, pinning Hongjoong with hopeful eyes. “Do you think I can fix this?”

Snorting, Hongjoong rolls his eyes, fond. “The fact you think there’s anything to fix is ridiculous. It’s you, it’s Wooyoung.”

“No, that’s why it’s scary,” counters Yeosang, tugging a clean t-shirt over his head, shoving his arms through the holes where sleeves should be. “There’s a lot to lose.”

“There is no universe or reality where you and Wooyoung aren’t something special, whether that’s best friends or something else.” Hongjoong stops at the door, glancing back at Yeosang. “Wear those jeans with the white streaks, the ones that make you look tall and match the sleeveless tank you just threw on. If you’re gonna show off your arms, you might as well show off your ass as well. Really make him notice you.”

“It’s an apology not a seduction.”

“Not with that attitude it’s not. Honestly, this is why you can’t have nice things.”

Yeosang flings a ball of shadows at Hongjoong, who manages to dart out the door just in time to avoid it. They slam into the hallway wall and slither back where they belong. Yeosang hears Hongjoong’s cackles all the way down the stairs. 

Yeosang walks to Wonderland, yearning to clear his head more than the ease of portaling to the shop. He pushes open the door, mollified when Seonghwa lights up upon seeing him. 

Seonghwa waves at him with one ringed hand and two lacy wings, and points to the outdoor section of the store.  It’s a greenhouse, San’s ultimate baby, and both Wooyoung and Mingi’s favorite place to gather ingredients. Yeosang is tempted to spy first, but Seonghwa would think it pathetic and he wouldn’t fool Wooyoung anyway, who is always the most adept at spotting Yeosang’s shadows. He hovers at the threshold when he hears voices drifting through the greenery, keeping a firm rein on his magic.

“-it was like he was trying to let me down easy and didn’t know how to do it, I felt like a giant loser.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just struggling to say what he wanted to say?” 

Yeosang hears Yunho’s calm voice, and even though the words aren’t for him, he settles at the relaxed tone. Despite that, his heart leaps into his throat as he waits for Wooyoung’s response. 

“I didn’t really give him a chance to explain himself,” mutters Wooyoung, sheepish. Yeosang can picture him practically scuffing his toe against the ground. “I just blew up at him and stormed off. Left him all alone in the middle of the night to walk home by himself. Like a jackass.”

Yeosang can hear the smile in Yunho’s reply. “You’re not a jackass. It sounds like you both could have acted more rationally, but you both feel very strongly and it’s been a tough few years. Maybe next time you can take the lead, give him a chance to play off you instead.”

“If he even wants to talk to me ever again.” Wooyoung sounds like a kicked puppy, and Yeosang just wants to hug him.

“Yeosang, please come out now so Wooyoung knows you want to talk to him again! I can’t keep going around in circles.” Yunho calls over to him, laughter on the edges of his words.

Yeosang shuffles into view, pleased to see Wooyoung light up at the mere sight of him. He smiles, and Wooyoung grins right back at him. His insides melt, warm gooey honey in his veins. He feels shy for no reason, after all he’s known Wooyoung for years, the longest out of them all. Wooyoung isn’t wrong whenever he points out their relationship; they are best friends, Yeosang just desperately wants more.

Wooyoung bites his bottom lip, and Yeosang stares at how his teeth sink into the flesh of it. He wants to kiss Wooyoung, wonders how he tastes. Thinks of the fresh burst citrus of him and thinks he might taste like juicy oranges, sugar on his tongue, but with the sharp tang of something more heady and floral like rambutan. Maybe even spicy, cayenne or chilli, after all it’s Wooyoung and-

“Yeosang.” Wooyoung’s voice is low, like he’s nervous about how Yeosang will react. He’s tentative and Yeosang loathes it. 

“I like you, Wooyoung-ah. Like, really really like you.” Yeosang is entirely calm. This is the easiest thing he’s ever done, tell Wooyoung how he feels about him. He doesn’t even understand how he worked himself up so much over it. This is Wooyoung, and even if he’s not into Yeosang the same way, they will be just fine. They’re Wooyoung and Yeosang, not two halves of a whole, because they’re both complete people already, but two pillars holding up the same house. 

“Sang-ah.”

“No let me get this out, I should have told you so long ago,” says Yeosang, stepping closer to Wooyoung. He itches to reach out and touch Wooyoung. His fingers twitch at his sides. Wooyoung takes the matter into his own hands, literally, grasping Yeosang’s hands and rubbing his thumbs over Yeosang’s knuckles, slow, soothing. 

“Wooyoung, you’re so incredible. You’re the most amazing friend, but I think you’d be pretty amazing as more than that too.” Yeosang falters, too far in to stop now. He’s already in the deep end. He inhales, the savoury scent of the plants a balm to his mind, his heart. “I want to kiss you all the time.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want to kiss me all the time?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” complains Yeosang, his cheeks dangerously warm already. He tries wiggling his hands, but Wooyoung clutches him more tightly. 

“So do it,” challenges Wooyoung, a smug smirk on his face. “Don’t just say it, do it.”

“Why me?” 

“Because I want you to, Sang-ah. I think about it all the time too, but I think you’re the brave one between us.”

“You think about me?” Yeosang shouldn’t feel this incredulous, and the birds fluttering in his ribcage batter his fragile bones. They are wild with anticipation, excitement. 

Wooyoung clicks his tongue and shifts his focus to the sky, but he’s so soft, Yeosang’s heart is dripping with cotton candy sweetness. “Tch, how are you still talking?”

Glancing up, finally noticing how dark it is in a room which should be bathed in sunlight in the afternoon, Yeosang gasps. As far as he can see, glittering stars blanket the night sky. Yunho has quietly disappeared at some point, and left behind a picturesque nightscape of shimmering jewels, winking down at the two of them. Wooyoung’s eyes reflect the sheer magnitude of the beautiful setting, as he gazes upon it, transfixed by the sight.

Yeosang swears the entire greenhouse holds its breath, every plant watching, every flower turned towards them. The leaves tremble, the fruit hangs heavy, or perhaps that’s just Yeosang’s own anticipation skewing his perception. 

Why is he still standing here?

With reckless enthusiasm, Yeosang surges forward, grasping Wooyoung’s wrists as he closes the distance between them. Wooyoung’s head snaps back down. Instead of closing his eyes, Wooyoung watches him, and Yeosang is so endeared he could burst. Yeosang hasn’t kissed many people before, has never been very interested in anyone, but still wanted to gain some experience. It had only ever been purely physical, nothing exciting, almost like some rote exercise - place mouth here, angle head there, close eyes and move accordingly. Other people have described it as fireworks, butterflies, the swooping freefall of a portal trip but without the nausea. Yeosang kisses Wooyoung and feels none of that.  

Kissing Wooyoung feels like coming home. 

Except to the best home Yeosang could ever imagine; it is unimaginable that he could conjure up anything better than this.

Wooyoung responds to Yeosang the way he does anything, with playful enthusiasm and equal vigor. He leans into Yeosang, grabbing eagerly for his waist, which isn’t a place on his body where Yeosang possesses much confidence. And yet, when Wooyoung grips him there, it feels right. He barely refrains from whimpering into Wooyoung’s mouth, although maybe a pleased sound does escape him, as Wooyoung’s hold tightens, sure, certain. 

Yeosang’s hands trail lightly up Wooyoung’s arms to clutch at his shoulders, then slip around to the back of Wooyoung’s neck, holding him close. Their mouths move together in sync, slotting together perfectly against each other. He swallows down every noise Wooyoung makes and runs his tongue along Wooyoung’s plush bottom lip to elicit more. 

Drawing back, chest heaving against Yeosang’s own, Wooyoung gazes at him, his eyes deeper than normal, as though they’ve been consumed by Yeosang’s darkness. He’s still near enough that Yeosang keeps his hands on his neck, fingers casually playing with Wooyoung’s hair. Wooyoung licks his lips and Yeosang pays careful attention, eyes only darting up when Wooyoung clears his throat with a laugh. “So.”

“Yeah,” agrees Yeosang with a nod. He’d probably agree with anything Wooyoung suggests right about now. His head is full of fluffy clouds and he can feel the shadows swirl around him in contentment, out of his control. He tugs on them, making sure they circle them both.  

One soft, steady hand cups Yeosang’s cheek and draws him in until their faces are mere breaths apart. He wonders if Wooyoung can feel the heat radiating off his skin, or the pounding of his heart that thunders in his ears. Fingers on his jaw gently angle his head, while Wooyoung dips back in and flutters his molasses eyes closed. Yeosang tangles his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling lightly and then releasing, enjoying how it makes Wooyoung melt into him even further. 

Yeosang’s tongue runs along the seam of Wooyoung’s lips, and Wooyoung meets him step for step. They tease one another, keeping things light for now, simply enjoying each other, and the enjoyment that comes from kissing for the first time. Yeosang feels himself start to giggle, and he tries to choke it back down to not ruin the moment.

Wooyoung must sense his mirth, because he laughs in response as he pulls away, eyes dancing. “What?” 

Yeosang shakes his head, certainly a dopey smile on his face, as his hands finally drop from around Wooyoung. “I don’t even know, I’m just happy, I think.”

“That’s good, Sang-ah. You should always be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

Cheeks blooming pink like wild dahlias, Wooyoung blinks at Yeosang, seemingly overwhelmed. He tips his head to the side, throwing his hands over his face. 

Yeosang runs a hand through Wooyoung’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead, watching the strands flutter back into place. “Why are you hiding?”

Whining, Wooyoung peeks out at him. “You make me happy too. I’m really happy. I thought about confessing to you so many times, back before, you know, but then after.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yeosang is absurdly relieved Wooyoung has felt the exact same the entire time. It may have taken them months, years, to finally get here, to a place of open honesty regarding burgeoning emotion, but yet again, they had been in it together without even realizing it.

“I was always waiting for the perfect time,” admits Wooyoung. One corner of his mouth twists up in a rueful smile. “Any time would have been perfect.”

Yeosang hums and nods. 

“You know, you came downstairs the morning after I was back, looking all rumpled and soft and warm, I wanted to drag you right back upstairs, take you right back to bed and cuddle the shit out of you.” Wooyoung is still flushed. 

Yeosang snorts. “You wanted to take me to bed and cuddle me? That’s all you could think of?”

Laughter erupts out of Wooyoung, breaking whatever shyness had overtaken him. “Listen, you don’t want to hear everything I would do if we had a bed right now.”

“I mean, there are flower beds-”

“Yeosang, hyungs are literally right on the other side of a glass wall. I’m surprised we didn’t hear them cheering when we finally kissed.”

Head whipping around, Yeosang tries to squint into the shop, but Yunho’s artificial night sky is impenetrable. He groans. “Do you think they were watching? Nevermind, don’t answer that, Seonghwa definitely was watching. He’s been trying to get me to tell you how I feel for so long now. I think he’s entirely fed up with me.”

Wooyoung barks out another laugh. “No trust me, Yunho is worse. He is completely done with me too, so is Mingi. Actually, so is San, but that might not have anything to do with you, you know.”

“Oh I know,” agrees Yeosang, already curling into a ball at the inevitable jocularity this new facet of their relationship will bring to the family. “So not to belabor a point here, but I feel like our collective idiocy warrants it, we are a thing, yes?”

“Yes, Yeosang, we are ‘a thing’, although I’d love to be something more than a thing. Can I call you a boyfriend? Partner? Can I use a cute term like cutie pie? sweetie pie? puppy?”

It’s Yeosang’s turn to blush again. “You want to call me pet names already?”

“Of course I do, darling.” Wooyoung purrs, stroking down Yeosang’s arm with exaggerated swagger. “My love.”

Yeosang balks and Wooyoung gapes at him, hands waving it off like he’s cleansing an aura. “It’s just a phrase, I’m only teasing.”

“But I do love you already,” argues Yeosang with a shrug. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s the love that you meant. I’m surely already halfway there.”

“I might be more than halfway,” confesses Wooyoung with a sheepish smile.  "And I'm sorry for calling you a fool when we fought, and making fun of you not speaking. I'm just... I'm sorry. It was uncalled for and rude."

“It's okay,” answers Yeosang, sincerely. Wooyoung begins to protest, and Yeosang holds out his open arms, which Wooyoung tumbles into like he belongs there (Yeosang already believes he does, never wants to let go). They hold each other for an inhale, an exhale, as easy as breathing. "I know you didn't mean it, and we've been through too much together for me to hold onto something like that. You requested that I let go of beating myself up over the curse, then I'm going to ask the same of you now."

Yeosang can’t wait to go back into Wonderland, holding hands with Wooyoung for Seonghwa and Yunho to see. He can’t wait to go home, their precious Utopia, holding hands for everyone to see. Yeosang can’t wait to go on a date with Wooyoung, snuggle with Wooyoung, talk about everything and nothing with Wooyoung. Yeosang can’t wait to kiss Wooyoung again, pull him into bed and tangle every part of them until they can't tell who is who. 

Yeosang can’t wait to do anything with Wooyoung, anything at all. Together. 

Yeosang holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers. The shadows dance cheerfully around Wooyoung. “Ready to go?”

“With you?” Wooyoung grins as he clasps Yeosang’s out stretched hand. “Anywhere.”