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San is doomed.
It's as simple as that. He's been preparing himself for it ever since Hongjoong texted at least five of their group chats with a request not to make plans for the upcoming days off.
He can hear his death sentence in the clinking of glass bottles being taken out of the bags and set on the floor, the emptiness of Yunho and Yeosang’s living room providing them with much needed space to have a group dinner, but leaving them with limited options for setting the table since there is no table to set to begin with.
San also fully understands how silly he is. It's just a dinner.
A group dinner.
With alcohol.
A lot of alcohol.
Yes, San's judgment can hardly be trusted on this one; he gets redder than Hongjoong's hair during the Wave era after simply looking at beer. But it's been five minutes since San entered the kitchen to unload the snacks he brought and distribute them among bowls and plates, and the bottle clinking still hasn't stopped.
Okay, he needs to put himself together. it's dinner with his beloved members. San has had tons of them throughout the years; there is nothing to be scared of. Wooyoung and Seonghwa cooked so much delicious, tasty, gorgeous, excellent, unbelievable, amazing food. So what if San has to drink while eating it, will get drunk super quick, and will either end up faceplanting on the floor or doing something embarrassingly stupid and faceplanting on the floor then? He'll be a loser anyway, might as well stop worrying and take those damn bowls to the living room.
So, yeah, San knows he's in trouble.
What he doesn't know is that he's absolutely fucked and not in a way that would make him pleasantly satisfied and his body tingling all over.
"Are we opening a liquor store?" he asks, and maybe his voice does tremble a bit. It's not like someone can hear it over all the clinking.
"Well, Hongjoong-hyung said, 'Make sure we’re prepared.' Dunno about you, but I'm not going to burst into 7/11 five minutes before they’re closed, absolutely shit-faced and frantically throwing every bottle I see in the cart," Yunho huffs, folding the shopping bag neatly and storing it away.
San giggles nervously, anxiety already slowly clawing up his throat, looks at the rows and rows of bottles lining up along the wall, and gulps. He sees beer, all kinds of soju, sake, and...is that rum? Oh, God, is that vodka?!
"Sannie, you're back!" Wooyoung yells, dropping two rolls of paper towels into Jongho's lap, and rushes towards San, grabbing him with cold hands. They smell of floral soap, a stark contrast to the smell of grilled meat and vegetables coming from his t-shirt.
"Nervous?" Wooyoung murmurs quietly and nuzzles into San's neck in silent support.
"A bit," San admits, relishing the warmth of his soulmate's body pressed to his.
"Everything will be fine, it's just dinner," Wooyoung whispers back, pressing a loud smooch to San's cheek.
Laughing as San winces and pointedly rubs his cheek, Wooyoung turns around, catching sight of the bottles' parade, and whistles appreciatively, "Oh, wow, are we waiting for Jacksong-hyung? So many bottles, set so prettily."
Yunho grants him an eye roll, but Wooyoung has already moved on, focusing on arranging food and snacks on the tablecloth that Seonghwa has spread over the floor to ensure, quote, "We get our deposit back".
"Okay, everyone, listen up," Hongjoong enters the room and clasps his hands with a loud smack.
"Eyes on you," Yunho says, stealing a french fry and getting his hand smacked by Seonghwa.
"Paying attention," Wooyoung adds without batting an eye, and both burst into giggles, high-fiving over Mingi's head.
"I don't see either your eyes or your attention," Hongjoong snarks back. "It may seem like an ordinary dinner, but we are actually rehearsing here."
"Yeah, rehearsing being drunk."
"One more word, and a case with the camera I know you know about will disappear from the list of your birthday presents," Hongjoong cocks his eyebrow as if daring Wooyoung to keep antagonizing him, but Wooyoung makes a zipping motion over his mouth and sits back on his heels like a very good boy.
With a satisfied nod, Hongjoong looks around the room, counting if everyone is present, "So, in case anyone forgot. We will soon shoot several Wanteez episodes, including the one where we’ll be free to drink on camera. The production team agreed that we'll keep cameras rolling as long as we can and edit something out only if absolutely necessary." Hongjoong pauses, letting his words sink in. "However, there will be a point when we will be too wasted, and not even editing will help us, so we need to know our limit, how being drunk and recorded will affect us, and so on. We don't want the staff to see something they’re not supposed to," another pause and a pointed look at Wooyoung, who has enough presence of mind to lower his gaze and look chastised. "Hence, today's dinner."
San looks at three cameras, already set on tripods and facing the improvised table, with a vague fear he hasn't felt since he was a trainee and had to learn to act normally despite cameras being shoved right into his face. He got used to it, even came to tease cameramen, but now he feels that old sense of being too exposed and unprotected.
"The footage won't make it to the production team if there’s something too revealing, but they specifically asked us to provide as much as possible to know what to expect and when to start winding down the shooting. So, we should behave naturally, but at least try to consider the consequences, okay?"
After getting seven nods varying in enthusiasm, Hongjoong looks at the liquor, waiting to be broken out.
"Huh, that's a lot of alcohol," he mumbles to himself, crouching over the assortment and checking a couple of labels critically, switching some of them to keep the level of alcohol consistently rising. San already feels slightly lightheaded.
Once satisfied, Hongjoong slides across the floor to the first camera, "Okay, so, I'm about to start rolling. Remember three rules: if I'm too wasted, Jongho is in charge, protect San at all costs, and we must have our deposit back."
At that, he clicks the buttons on the cameras one by one, and three red dots appear, indicating that they are on and rolling.
The feeling of wrongness from being filmed in their dorm in their time off knocks everyone sideways, but they quickly overcome it as they argue about seating arrangements. Of course, San rushes with lightning speed to plop down between Yeosang and Wooyoung, surrounding himself with the people he loves the most. Seonghwa starts filling everyone's plates with food, and Hongjoong distributes plastic cups because, of course, Yunho and Yeosang's dorm only has one and a half cups.
After some shuffling, switching, and a quick check from Hongjoong to ensure everyone can be seen on at least one camera, they can finally dig into the food.
"First rule of drinking," Yunho says, as he opens the first bottle of beer and starts pouring it into cups, "you must be eating."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Wooyoung nods, watching Yunho pass the cups down the line to their maknae and hyungs first.
"Can you eat and drink at the same time?" Mingi asks, sniffing at the beer and scrunching his nose.
"I think yes. If you want to choke and die," Yeosang replies way too seriously for such a rhetorical question and even more rhetorical answer.
Someone, most likely Hongjoong—San can't tell, his eyes are glued to Yeosang's face—groans loudly.
Wooyoung nudges San, getting his attention, and thrusts a cup in his hand with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"What?" San pouts. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you’re about to have the time of your life at my expense."
"Oh, but I will," Wooyoung cackles and jerks his chin at Yeosang. "Don't hog all the alcohol to yourself, pass it further."
San does as he's told, but not before pouting even harder at Wooyoung, although it does nothing but make him laugh even more.
They start off mildly: a couple of toasts, all while eating plenty, a lighthearted conversation. It's like any other dinner they have, really, just without managers. But there are eight of them; soon, they run out of beer, and Mingi and Yunho set the bottles of soju in a neat line across their makeshift table.
Wooyoung starts throwing in recommendations, expertly talking about flavors and aftertastes until Hongjoong asks him to shut up and not leave them unattended with a smile so dry that San automatically reaches out for water. To no one's surprise, Wooyoung immediately listens to Hongjoong, asking everyone sweetly which flavors they want, distributing bottles, taking away empty plates, and acting like he's a waiter in a tavern, taking care of patrons.
San tries to keep track of what's going on around him despite his cheeks already burning hot and his vision going a bit blurry around the edges, but it's difficult.
Looking at Yeosang, watching him trying to make a tornado in his soju bottle, is much easier. Yeosang looks so beautiful with his attention zeroed in on the bottle in front of him, face scrunched in concentration. Half detached from reality, San notices a crease forming between Yeosang's brows, and he itches to reach out and smooth it with the pads of his fingers.
San almost does that, his hand already lifted, when Mingi yelps, startling everyone around the table.
"Mingi-yah, I told you not to play with food," Seonghwa scolds him, carefully prying the bottle awkwardly clutched between Mingi and Yunho's hands. He must've been trying to make a tornado as well when the bottle almost slipped out of his hand.
"But soju’s not a food," San protests, looking at his glass dejectedly. It's still, unfortunately, half-full.
With a loud huff, Wooyoung turns to him, "Have you seen how many calories are in there?"
San absentmindedly goes to grab the bottle closest to him, but Hongjoong slaps his hand and glares at Wooyoung sternly, "Hey, can we please not talk about anything even remotely related to diets? I'm enjoying my life here."
Wooyoung sheepishly mumbles something to himself, and they move on, drinking some more. The alcohol is bitter on San's tongue, and he craves something sweet to fight the aftertaste, like rich chocolate that would melt on his lips. Or Yeosang's kisses. They are always so sweet; especially when bestowed upon San after a long wait.
Oh, how happy San is to be graced by Yeosang's presence. Right now, he's sitting beside San, their knees touching, Yeosang's elbow resting in San's lap for leverage when he goes to fish out a particularly crunchy piece of chicken from the plate closer to Yunho. But San would get it for him if asked; San would get him the entire plate and beg Wooyoung to make more or order delivery.... San would give Yeosang the moon, sun, and every single star if Yeosang asked.
But Yeosang is too shy and humble and kind to use his charms like that, and it makes San love him impossibly more.
A buzz in San's head slowly grows in volume and strength, overpowering even the chaos happening around him. San tries to pay attention, shaking his head to clear the fog a bit, but he gets only flashes instead of a full picture: Wooyoung and Yunho taking shots as if proving some unknown point, Mingi building a castle of chicken wings, Seonghwa and Hongjoong shamelessly making Jongho sing their favorite songs to them like he's a live music box.
Yeosang... San tries not to glance at him too often. His thoughts are already so embarrassing; if he keeps his eyes on Yeosang for more than a few seconds, he'll do something stupid, and everyone will tease him about it. Yeosang won't, though; he'll look at him with that soft understanding, but it's enough that San will know that he made a fool of himself in front of Yeosang.
Speaking of whom...
"Did something happen?" Yeosang sounds concerned as he taps San's knee lightly. Sluggishly, San follows the path from Yeosang's fingers, peeking out from under the oversized hoodie's sleeve—so cute!—up along the arm, shoulder, neck, to the chin—oh, he has a few crumbs and a dot of a sauce left in the corner of his lips, how sweet and cute—and finally to his eyes.
Mesmerized and lost in an already more than tipsy haze, San barely makes out Yeosang saying, "You haven't looked at me for a while."
Without a doubt, if San were less intoxicated, he'd die from the bubbling giddiness expanding in his chest until it burst open, all his love and adoration for Yeosang spilling out like water and flowers from a broken vase. San would commit this moment to his memory, maybe even try to sneakily type a note on his phone to add the date to his calendar later and celebrate it every year far from everyone's eyes.
But all he can do is shrug (at least he thinks he has) and make a noise halfway between "I'm fine" and "I'd die for your pinky finger."
"Guys, I think San is out," a pleasantly cool hand wraps around San's neck, sending shivers down his spine and clearing the haze enough for him to realize that, all of a sudden, there is so much commotion around him.
For him.
Another cold hand is plastered over his neck, and one more over his hand. A bottleneck touches his lips, and San obediently tilts his head back, letting water slide down his throat. A few droplets escape his mouth, but someone quickly dabs them away with a folded paper towel. Gentle fingers are carding through his hair, massaging San’s scalp lightly, there is some shuffling, the, "I'll bring more chicken, wait!" and then, "Hyung, come on, don't give up that easily."
Slowly, like a diver going up and breaking the surface of the water, San regains awareness of what's going on, his heart instantly swelling with love at seeing seven people watching him with the same amount of worry.
"Hey, San-ah, how are you feeling?" Hongjoong asks in full Captain mode despite splotches of blush on his cheeks and glassy eyes. Seonghwa is the one holding a water bottle to his lips and a paper towel under it. Yunho’s and Yeosang's hands are cooling him off, though San still feels as hot as a furnace right now. Mingi and Jongho are hovering, worried, and ready to bolt to the other side of the city if San says it will help. Wooyoung...
"Wooyoung-ah went to grab something for you to eat to slow down alcohol absorption," Seonghwa assures him, sounding just on the edge of slipping into satoori.
"San-ah, sweetheart, how are you feeling?" Hongjoong repeats very patiently, his eyes not leaving San's face.
"Thirsty. And too warm," San mumbles, his lips jutting out like he's a duckling.
Wordlessly, Mingi disappears into the kitchen, and Jongho opens the window, letting cool October air into the room.
"Great idea, it was kinda stuffy here," Hongjoong praises Jongho, patting his shoulder as their maknae takes back his seat.
Mingi returns with Wooyoung in tow, and after some rearranging and quick cleaning, San has a cup of ice cube-filled water and a pair of chopsticks for a plate full of chicken strips—still tasty even though they're cold.
San could cry because of how much he loves his friends, but the chicken is so good he loses track of thought after a single bite. The light chatter around him restarts as everyone slowly gets back to their seats, fine with no more toasts that require San's participation.
However, as much as San appreciates the feeling of chilly air against his still-overheated skin and how it brings back some clarity, he can't help but notice that others start slowly hunching into themselves or huddling together, more sober and therefore less warmed up by the alcohol. Especially Seonghwa, who opted for a sheer blouse that makes Hongjoong's eyes stop at him way more often and for far longer than usual but does nothing to protect him from rapidly losing warmth.
"Hey, Seonghwa-hyung, you’re cold," San murmurs, drawing the elder's attention. "We should close the window."
Seonghwa looks up from his plate, his eyes round and soft, as he tilts his head, "But what if you get nauseous again?"
"It's okay, hyung," San shakes his head, "As long as you don't get sick."
He says it with enough stubborn conviction that Seonghwa gets to his feet with a sigh and plants a kiss on top of San's head as he passes by him on his way to close the window.
"Wait, I have an idea," Yeosang jumps up and rushes to his room, leaving the space beside San achingly empty. It takes a couple of minutes, but he gets back with a portable fan, proudly showing it to San.
"Here, you can use it to cool off. I think I charged it the last time I used it during the jacket shooting," Yeosang says, offering San the fan. The gesture is sweet and most thoughtful, but it's a simple hand-held fan, and San's hands are full with a glass of water that he needs to stay hydrated and chopsticks to eat Wooyoung's delicious food.
Some of the torment must have shown on his face because Yeosang glances at San's hands and lets out a small 'oh' as if realizing San's predicament.
"It's okay, I’ll hold it for you," Yeosang says, switching the fan on and turning it towards San, instantly hitting him with a rush of cool air.
"And when he gets tired, I'll take his place," Wooyoung promises San, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek.
San is emotional and easy to impress on any regular day. With alcohol coursing through his body, he tears up instantly at the promise of being taken care of. Which makes everyone coo at him and, in turn, gets him even more sentimental.
Still, as much as San enjoys being pampered, he can't forget the reason they’re having this group dinner in the first place. So, once he feels like he's more or less in control of what he's saying, seeing, and doing, he suggests they continue with their "let's see how smashed we can become before the editors decide it's too much" agenda.
"Okay, I think we need to play some games," Hongjoong says while Wooyoung distributes the bottles again, and Seonghwa and Yunho take care of another round of empty plates and bowls of snacks. "And it absolutely cannot be mafia, I'm not going to explain two hours of missing footage and a dead body hidden in the fridge."
"Truth or dare!" Mingi requests loudly.
"With a twist!" Wooyoung gasps dramatically.
"What kind of twist are we talking about?" Jongho asks, looking up sharply, his hand hovering over a dark green bottle. "Are you going to dare us to kiss each other again?"
"Third time's the charm," Wooyoung giggles and ducks behind Yunho's broad frame when the look on Jongho's face comes one step closer to murderous. He quickly straightens up, though, too invested in pitching his idea to think about his safety, "I mean, we can play it in reverse? So that the other member chooses for you? Like, for example, Yunho asks me truth or dare, and I tell him dare, so now he has to come up with a dare for himself."
"That's dumb for so many reasons," Hongjoong groans, pinching his nose bridge, "and overcomplicated."
"No, it's not! Plus, if the truth or dare we choose isn’t entertaining enough, we have to take a shot as a punishment."
"And who will be the judge?" Seonghwa sounds mildly interested, and even without looking at Hongjoong, San knows they’re playing this weird game.
However, not wanting to aggravate their captain, Wooyoung hurries to claim that the decision on whether or not the truth or dare was good enough will be collective.
"Okay, we'll try," Hongjoong gives in, "but if we don't like it, you're drinking two shots."
"Yes, Captain!" Wooyoung salutes and straightens up on his heels. For a moment, San fears Wooyoung will choose him, but his soulmate thankfully turns to Yunho, "So, puppy."
"Yes, my sweet banshee," Yunho replies smoothly, even though his ears are blaring red. "What do you want from me?"
"Truth," Wooyoung requests after a short consideration.
"I have so many feet photos on my phone that when one of the managers saw the album once, he thought I had a secret account on FeetFinder," Yunho replies without missing a beat.
"No way!" Wooyoung yelps, shocked, his mouth rounded in a perfect 'o'.
"Have texts from him to prove it. Want to look into my chat with the manager?" Yunho pulls the phone out of his pocket and theatrically starts scrolling through it. He looks so cool and sure about it.
"Okay, okay, I trust you," Wooyoung waves him off, taking a quick shot of soju. Like each of them, he knows that some conversations with managers should remain private.
“Great, so-” With a smirk that looks scary and weirdly hot on him, Yunho turns bodily towards Mingi, a request on his lips, but Mingi beats him to it, gulping down his drink so hastily he nearly chokes on it.
For a second, everyone is too stunned to speak, watching Yunho’s face morphing into betrayal, and Mingi wincing as the alcohol burns his throat.
“You didn’t even give me a chance,” Yunho mumbles, quite sad.
“Yeah, hyung, tell him!” Wooyoung joins, looking at their captain expectantly, angry that Yunho escaped a chance to be forced to take a shot so easily.
He chose the wrong hyung, though, as Hongjoong grins widely, “Sorry, you didn't mention any rules against taking the punishment first.”
“I wasn't about to take any risks, Yunho-yah,” Mingi mumbles bashfully, "Not with the devil sitting on your left shoulder."
The devil in question, Wooyoung, of course, gasps dramatically, but unintentionally takes in too much air and promptly chokes on it.
San can’t come up with anything better than to slap Wooyoung’s back a few times, but his aim is slightly off, so some of the slaps are feather-light and others are so forceful that Wooyoung almost tumbles over the table.
Yunho joins San’s effort, accompanied by Yeosang’s wryly amused comment, “Wooyoung-ah, they’re beating you up.”
Wooyoung looks like he’s gotten the same idea and starts battling San’s and Yunho’s hands off, trying to croak something out.
“Okay, okay, stop bullying him,” Hongjoong interferes placatingly, and then adds so quietly that San thinks he misheard him, “that’s my job.”
It takes a few minutes and a glass of water for Wooyoung to calm down, time San spends zoning out and drilling holes in the floor with his eyes.
“Hey,” Yeosang’s angelic voice pulls him back to the present, and San doesn’t even have to make a conscious effort, his head tilts towards Yeosang’s voice of its own volition. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, my love,” San exhales, his lips spreading in such a wide smile his cheeks hurt.
Yeosang frowns, oh no, and glances to where Hongjoong is sitting, using the lull in the game to discuss with Jongho which bottle to open next.
However, his Captain’s sense must've been triggered, since he looks away from the bottle in Jongho’s hands and leans over the table, his eyes checking San, "How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” San whines, embarrassed to be babied.
Hongjoong purses his lips and smiles wickedly, “If you say so. I wanted to ask Yeosang to take care of you if you felt nauseous or too tired.”
It's a dirty move. Generally, San doesn’t like to strain other members with his problems, and they should have fun without holding back and checking on him frequently, but then, when else can he get Yeosang doting on him?
“I may have a bit of a headache,” San murmurs sheepishly. He isn’t lying; it’s just that the pressure in his temples is barely noticeable, and he lived through much worse while on promotion or tour.
Hongjoong looks at Yeosang, a corner of his mouth twitching.
“How lucky it is that I have cold hands today,” Yeosang chirps way too enthusiastically for someone who’s almost one full bottle of soju in, puts the hand fan aside, and brings his blissfully cold, magnificently soft, purely magical fingers to San’s temples, applying slight pressure in circular motions.
San loses himself to the feeling, so when he finally starts paying attention again, it’s Hongjoong who's pouring his heart out.
“… I would never have come so far without you. So, here, without any cameras and scripts. I love you, and I need all of you in my life.”
“That was awful of you! We’re supposed to be having fun, not crying buckets,” Wooyoung whines from behind the cover of his palms. San blinks, confused. Is he… is he crying? Or blushing? But then Wooyoung throws a dirty look at Hongjoong, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, “I vote for drinking as a punishment!”
Hongjoong splutters, looking at Wooyoung like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Indeed, how dare you sour the mood,” Yunho nods along, “Remember, one of the rules of our dinners is to have fun.”
Yeosang's body silently shakes in a stiff laugh, and even Jongho snickers into his fist. Revenge has been served.
"I will never be nice to you again. Ever," Hongjoong grumbles but obediently empties his glass, scrunching his face and reaching for a chicken wing.
Yeosang takes his fingers off San’s temples, which is understandable, he needs to eat and drink, but the absence of his angelic touch makes San slightly grumpy.
“You didn’t even pull the hyung card,” San mumbles, looking at Hongjoong accusingly. “Do you need liquid courage to talk to Seonghwa-hyung?”
Alcohol makes his words slurred and jumbled, but they all have years of experience understanding each other no matter the setting—silent and dark dorm rooms demanding the softest whispers, or stadiums where the crowds’ deafening screams require lip reading. San’s words invoke a loud response, varying from a pronounced “Damn” from Mingi, to a delighted cackle from Wooyoung, to a breathless chuckle from Yeosang.
The soft laugh is the only thing San pays attention to, feeling proud for entertaining his angel.
The glare San gets from Hongjoong could have burned him to the ground if San wasn't too drunk to fully realize what’s going on.
“Fuck all of you,” Hongjoong grumbles but still turns to Seonghwa. Even though he looks like he'd rather bolt out of the room.
Maybe San is imagining things, his drunk brain lagging, but it takes almost a full minute for Hongjoong to get a grip, look Seonghwa in the eyes, and say, "Dare" with a voice that has no right to sound so gentle.
"Oh," Seonghwa exhales softly. He's sitting half-turned away from San, so it's hard to tell what emotion flashes across his face, but he sounds... disappointed?
"Well, dare..." Seonghwa glances around the room, skipping meeting anyone's eyes. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, nervous. The strand is too short, so it stubbornly falls back, brushing against his cheek. Seonghwa tries a few more times, his gestures becoming more and more irritated, and San, not for the first time, wishes Seonghwa didn't cut his hair. He'd look so good with the tips of his hair reaching his shoulders.
"Uhm, okay, I..." Seonghwa trails off, and it's clear that Hongjoong is one heartbeat away from taking his request back, but Seonghwa doesn't let him, his voice tender and fragile as he says, "I will try to wear more feminine clothes in public."
Hongjoong blinks, stunned, his face going slack, just as Mingi and Yunho exchange amused glances. Wooyoung inhales loudly, and San swears he can feel the rising scream reverberating through his friend’s chest, but one glance from Hongjoong, and he swallows it, gulping loudly and stuffing his mouth with whatever his chopsticks can reach.
"Okay," Hongjoong says, looking back at Seonghwa, and San is physically ill from how much emotion shines in their Captain's eyes as he wordlessly takes a glass of soju to his lips.
"That’s so romantic," Yeosang sighs and then puts his chin on San's shoulders, slotting it there as if San's body were made to be a tool to prop up his chin.
"Romantic?" Mingi asks, doubtful.
"Yeah. Didn't Seonghwa-hyung express that he struggles with matching his looks and style with what he wants to wear? And now he’s promised Hongjoong-hyung to try harder, overcome his fears, and become more confident. He might've done it when you encouraged him to refresh his wardrobe or when Wooyoung and Sannie took him shopping, but he decided to give this promise to Hongjoong-hyung. It's very sweet."
"I’m sweet to you all the time, and you don't appreciate it," San whines. And he doesn't even exaggerate much.
He is sweet to Yeosang, he's the sweetest. If Yeosang wants abura soba in the morning, San will find the best spot and pay extra for early delivery, so San can put it beside Yeosang's bed. He wouldn’t have to take a single step to reach his food once he woke up. And if Yeosang truly wants everyone to call him a doberman, San will personally text and call every fan to ensure they call Yeosang whatever he wishes. If Yeosang wants, San will put on a Hehetmon costume and attend every fan-sign event simply to hear his laugh. If Yeosang asks for the moon, San will force himself to text Elon Musk—that guy has something to do with space, right?
And if Yeosang needs, San will give away every line in every song, he won't open his mouth even once during their performances. He will step aside for Yeosang to shine, he will set himself aflame to warm him up, he will...
"San, hey, are you with us?" Seonghwa's voice gently lures San back from the intricate labyrinths of the possibilities his brain came up with to make Yeosang happy.
San blinks owlishly and sways to the side, but Wooyoung catches him, pressing a palm against his forehead, "You’re burning up again."
"No, you hot."
Wooyoung laughs, but it quickly dies down. There is a sound of commotion, and then a wonderfully cool towel is pressed to his nape.
"Here," Yunho's voice comes from somewhere above San.
Distantly, San hears the sound of a window being opened again, the cool autumn air brushing against his skin, meeting water droplets escaped from a poorly wrung-out towel, now sliding down his back. Yunho must have been in a hurry.
Someone nudges a glass against his lips, and San moans (completely unintentionally) when the cool liquid slowly trickles down his throat. Someone's fingers carefully wipe the droplets off, and more cold hands are on his cheeks.
"Maybe we should let him take a nap?" Seonghwa sounds worried, and San wants to tell him not to, but his tongue is heavy, and words have given up on him.
"Won't it make it worse, Jongho-yah?" Hongjoong also sounds troubled and the last thing San wants is to bother their Captain.
"Why do you ask me, do I look like an expert in drinking?"
"You’re the only one who's steady on hands."
"Hands?"
"You get it," Hongjoong grumbles, and San giggles. Or thinks he giggles. He can hardly tell where his limbs are right now.
"He can get worse if put horizontally, so he's better to lean onto something. Or someone."
"Done," Yeosang says quickly, and San thinks he feels his body being maneuvered. He definitely whines when the suddenly too-cold towel slides off his nape and ends up plastered between his spine and the tank top he wears. Yeosang's laugh, so lovely, like a bird chirping in the early morning in May, rings right beside San's ear, so temptingly close.
That's when San realizes he's sitting resting against someone's chest. No. Not someone's. Yeosang's.
Nothing, not a single rehearsal, promotion era, performance, or decision in his life has ever been as difficult as opening his eyes right now. But San must see for himself what it looks like to sit pressed against Yeosang, to be enveloped in his body, to be surrounded by him, willingly, without time ticking by quickly.
It takes all the willpower he has, but San opens his eyes. He's still facing the table, so the first thing he sees is Wooyoung and Seonghwa tidying up. Mingi is checking his phone, and Jongho and Yunho are nowhere in sight. Hongjoong... San frowns, his eyes slowly dragging across the room, searching for his hyung until he finds him, furiously typing something, biting his lips and slouching over the phone, bending in half. Is he working even now?
"How many bottles were we in?" Hongjoong asks, looking up.
"Three, I think," Seonghwa looks back at the row of the bottles they set earlier. It grew quite smaller in size.
"Each?" Hongjoong clarifies and, as Seonghwa hums affirmatively, types something into his phone.
"S takin' nots?" San mumbles, wincing. His tongue feels too heavy and big to fit in his mouth all of a sudden.
"Are you with us again?" Yeosang asks quickly, shifting, his knee sliding away from where it was bracketing San's thigh. No, it's not what he wanted, please, don't leave. Perhaps he said it out loud. Or Yeosang has read his mind, which is slightly concerning—sometimes San's thoughts stray away, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself too much. But, no matter what happened, Yeosang stills, chuckling.
"I'm here," he assures San, a smile prominent in his voice. It's a wonder how a human being can talk with a smile interlacing his every word. But then, Yeosang is not a human. He is an angel.
"Cold," San whines, hoping it will nudge Yeosang to wrap around him tighter. He's not lying; he does feel colder, a towel no longer pressed against his skin, but his body still shivering slightly.
"Hyungs," Yeosang calls, amused, "Sannie is cold."
"Do you have–" Even before Seonghwa finishes his sentence, Wooyoung wordlessly gets up and marches into Yeosang's room, returning with a soft blanket. He crouches over San and tucks him in. Fortunately, Yeosang not only doesn't let go of San but actually snuggles closer. Arguably, it may be to keep the blanket wrapped around San securely, but a man can dream, and San dreams about Yeosang simply wanting to be closer to him.
"How are you, Sannie?" Wooyoung asks, not a trace of his usual tease in his words, and runs a hand through San's hair, trailing his fingers along San's temple, cheek, and to his jawline, cupping it tenderly.
"M fine," San mumbles. He feels apologetic, hogging all the attention to himself. Even Mingi, although still on his phone, looks like he's paying attention to the conversation. "M not a baby."
"Sure you’re not," Wooyoung hums, kissing his cheek. It's delicate and tender. His breath smells like soju and spices, and San winces, burrowing his nose in the blanket to evade the strong scent. Wooyoung laughs at him but obediently pulls away, getting back on his feet and tidying up.
The entry door lock chirps, and soon after, Jongho enters the living room, putting a bag from the pharmacy on the floor and shedding his jacket.
"I bought everything," Jongho mentions just as Hongjoong dives into the bag, pulling out various blister packs and bottles of pills.
With heavy-lidded eyes, San watches Seonghwa take them all from Hongjoong and sort them out on the floor, reading the instructions carefully.
"So, I've read that taking some sorbent can help even now," Mingi says, putting his phone aside.
Seonghwa nods at that and pushes one of the blisters forward, "Sannie, love, do you have a headache? Nausea? Stomach ache?"
San obediently listens to his body, and so far, he can only feel a slight nausea. Though now that he pays attention to it, it's definitely not light, rolling up and up his throat. He can almost taste the bile at the back of his tongue.
"I think I—"
Horrified, San hurriedly clamps a hand over his mouth, scrambling up and narrowly avoiding getting tangled in the blanket. Immediately, Jongho and Mingi are by his side, ushering him toward the bathroom.
The excruciatingly long minutes San spends bent over the white ceramic bowl are not his proudest memory, especially with Mingi and Jongho's hands on him, rubbing soothing circles over his back.
Eventually, San sends them away. The bathroom feels cramped with the three of them in it. It's not like he's in mortal danger: he pukes, rinses his mouth, straightens up, feels the bile rise again, and hurries back to bend over the toilet bowl. Flush, rinse, repeat.
However, miraculously, it does help. When San exits the bathroom, his steps are much steadier, and the room doesn't spin around him. He can even process everything that's happening much faster.
"Oh, great, glad you’re alive," Yunho greets him. They have more food set on the table, steam coiling over it, and a delicious aroma wafting across the room. Suddenly, San is hungry.
"How do you feel?" Hongjoong asks, eyeing him critically.
"Much better, honestly," San murmurs, squirming under attention. His cheeks grow hotter with every second, and only the fact he's sure that the bathroom door was firmly closed and the cameras didn't pick up any noises stops him from begging Hongjoong on his knees to delete the footage.
"That's good," Hongjoong nods, "Let us know right away if it changes."
"Come here, Sannie," Yeosang says, patting a place beside him, and San has to physically stop himself from running toward Yeosang. Not because he's ashamed; at this point, everyone, even those who have barely heard about them, knows how much he loves Yeosang. He doesn't want to slip up and break something accidentally.
"Here," Wooyoung puts a glass of water and several pills in front of him once San wiggles onto his place, slotting back between him and Yeosang, "That's something to absorb alcohol, help with headache, and soothe your stomach. Mingi’s read everything, these pills can be mixed and should help."
"Thank you, Mangi," San says earnestly and swallows the first pill, washing it down with water.
"Yeah, we should take something absorbing before we’re about to drink during the actual shooting," Hongjoong mumbles to himself, typing something on his phone.
"No talking about work, please," Wooyoung whines.
"Okay, okay," Hongjoong caves in and pointedly puts his phone aside. "Where were we at?"
"Drink up, pour more!" Wooyoung announces, breaking out a bottle cheerfully. Yunho starts dancing at once, humming along to the demo and the lyrics draft they got a few days ago.
Fortunately, either the pills, the visit to Yunho and Yeosang's bathroom, or both, have worked some magic, and San shortly feels much better. So much so that he tentatively slides his empty glass forward when Jongho goes through the pouring round.
"Are you sure, hyung?" Jongho eyes the bottle in his hands warily, "It's on the stronger side."
"I don't want to miss out," San pouts.
"I think we should have something with a lesser percentage of the alcohol left," Seonghwa says, nodding at the line of the bottles waiting for their turn.
"But it must be the same percentage as he drank before, you can't go lower," Mingi reminds them, straightening up and looking alarmed.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just," Jongho looks around, his cheeks adorably pinkish, "I don't remember what we drank previously."
Everyone, including San, glances over the room only to belatedly realize that it's as clean as it can be with eight of them being several hours into the gathering. Slowly, everyone's eyes end up on Seonghwa, who ducks his head low, mumbling more to the sleeves of his blouse than the members, "I might've thrown them out after sweeping the floors."
"Behold, the one time we can tell Seonghwa-hyung he shouldn't have done cleaning," Yunho snickers. Cackling, Wooyoung claps his back a few times and trudges to the kitchen. A few moments later, a telltale sound of empty bottles clinking can be heard, and then a loud, "Thirteen percent!"
"Thanks!" Jongho throws back, rummaging through the remaining bottles before finding the right one. He opens it easily, pouring it so skilfully that not a single drop lands outside the glass.
"Wah," San exhales, amazed. Jongho rolls his eyes but not without gaining a darker shade of pink across his cheeks, then moves on to pour Yeosang whatever he’s offered the others.
The evening gets back to pleasant, albeit at times loud conversations. Cameras are long forgotten, as they laugh, tease, and indeed, drink up and pour more. Although San is very careful, taking the tiniest sips of his drink—a peach-flavored soju that doesn't make him scrunch his face as if he accidentally ate half a lemon. The second round of his battle with alcohol proceeds more smoothly, with no sudden drops out of reality or zoning out so hard the members have to physically shake him.
Still, a couple of hours later, give or take, San starts to feel exhaustion nestling deep in his limbs. Sitting on the hard floor takes its toll on his muscles, and judging by how the others are slouching and slumping, he's not the only one. Mingi is lying in the bowl of Yunho's legs, his head resting against Yunho's chest and knees pulled close to his. Jongho rests his back against the wall, sitting in a way that allows him to keep an eye on every hyung. Even Seonghwa carefully leans towards Hongjoong. It’s obvious even to San that Seonghwa doesn't seek leverage, only the touch itself, but either Hongjoong is drunk enough that he doesn't notice it, or he's fine with using the same excuse. And, honestly, San doesn't know which is worse
Wooyoung alternates between propping himself up on San's knee and all but draping himself over Mingi, his gestures getting more agitated as his glass keeps getting re-emptied.
As for Yeosang, he’s also sitting with his back pressed to the wall. Since he has to support both his and San’s weight.
Regretfully, the exact moment when his body slumped against Yeosang has escaped San. One moment he’s been doing his best to sit upright on his heels, the next one he’s been already curled on Yeosang’s chest. San can only hope Yeosang doesn’t mind. He’s lying very still, scared to take a breath that’s even a tad too deep so that he doesn’t trouble Yeosang with his existence.
"Hey," Yeosang's quiet voice, so close to San's ear, his warm breath fanning against San's flushed skin, his hands squeezing San's midsection, and oh god, when did he manage to wind his hands around San's torso?
"Are you comfortable?" Yeosang asks, and San's body instinctively jerks to pull away and stop bothering Yeosang because how dares he assume that— "Hey, hey, it's okay, I didn't mean it like that."
He sounds sincere enough for San to reluctantly sink back into what might be a genuinely welcome embrace.
"So, Sannie, are you comfortable? Or should we move so you can lie down more cozily?"
The suggestion and the number of possibilities it introduces to San's brain, already operating at barely half its capacity, is overwhelming. Lying in Yeosang's lap? To once again have the rarest opportunity to gently snatch Yeosang's hand and put it on his head, hoping Yeosang would indulge him with some head scratches? Combing his fingers through San's hair?
San firmly keeps the door to other possibilities closed. He does not, can not think about turning around and burrowing his face in Yeosang's belly, resting his cheek, his mouth so close to...
No. Stop it, San. Don't you dare.
He must've spaced out again because the next thing he knows, there are fingers pressed against his chin, tilting his head up oh so delicately. Yeosang's face suddenly occupies San's entire vision. He should say something, reply to the question, stop making a fool of himself, but he's lost in Yeosang's eyes, so deep, like a neverending cosmos, holding entire galaxies in them.
"I love you," San exhales with the determination of a true believer sending his prayer to God because what else can he say? How can he not say that he loves Yeosang for it being such a vital, encompassing, consuming part of him?
For a moment that lasts hours, there is no one else in the entire world but them. San doesn't hear the cooing coming from Wooyoung’s side. He doesn't think about how vulnerable he feels, pinned under Yeosang's gaze like a butterfly on an entomologist's table, yet at the same time, secure, ready to let go and fall into the welcoming darkness of Yeosang’s eyes.
San doesn't notice the moment when his limbs start living their own life, making their own decisions for themselves, but suddenly, his hand is reaching up, drumming a jagged rhythm against the column of Yeosang's throat, caressing the soft skin behind his ear to bury his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Yeosang's neck, urging him to bend lower, lower, so low that they share a breath.
Please, don't pull away, San begs with his eyes.
But this is as far as he allows himself to go. Even drunk and lost in the ocean of his love for Yeosang that threatens to overflow his heart on the best of days, he will not steal what's not given freely. They are alone here, with no roles to play, no one to entertain but themselves. If Yeosang doesn't want to grant him a kiss, San will not burden him with his desires.
So he lets his grip loosen, and his hand slides off Yeosang's neck.
However, it seems like Yeosang has other plans. In a quick, almost imperceptible motion, he snatches San's wrist in a firm but not overly restrictive grasp. And brings it back to his nape.
San's breath hitches. He parts his lips to say something, anything, but Yeosang doesn't let him. He moves lower, cutting what very little of the distance remained between them, and kisses him softly.
Yeosang.
Kisses.
San.
It's not San who chases him, who fights tooth and nail for the right to have his lips blessed with the opportunity to brush against any part of Yeosang he manages to catch quick enough to leave an imprint of his touch there.
It's Yeosang. Yeosang covered the remaining distance, took the last step, and willingly kissed San, his lips were on San's, for a fraction of a second nothing was between them, absolutely nothing, they were joined in the tightest, most intimate sense possible, they were together.
It makes... so much, yet not enough sense for San.
Maybe he imagined it? Maybe it's all only a dream, and he's slumped on a floor or worse, still bent over the toilet bowl, his cheek squished against the white ceramic? What if he wakes up any second and his hands are empty, a few centimeters that always feel like entire continents separating him from Yeosang? What if—
"San-ah, please, breathe," the voice, Yeosang's voice, reaches him. San loves this voice so much, it cuts through the haze that stuffs San's head like cotton
Wasn't he breathing? San blinks, trying to take stock of his body, and, yes, his lungs are burning, like they don't have enough air in them, also, why does he have so many hands? Oh, they aren't his.
"Sannie, love," Yeosang calls him, so softly, so sweetly, so lovingly, "do you want to go to bed?"
San... considers it. It's a slow process. He is tired, and it's obvious that no matter how much he wants to join the fun, he's too drunk and exhausted for that. But going to bed means leaving Yeosang's side. It means detaching himself from Yeosang; it means feeling cold and alone. And what if he and Yunho say San should go back to his room? San could sleep on the floor, covered only with a thin blanket, hell, a dish towel would do, but his members won't allow that, so most likely, they’ll ask him to take those hundreds of steps separating their flats and get back to his room. It will feel so lonely. So abandoned.
San doesn't want that, so he makes a noise that sounds pitifully protesting and presses himself against Yeosang as if trying to merge their bodies into one.
"Not wanna be alone," he mumbles under his breath, words barely making any sound.
Still, Yeosang hears him.
"He doesn't want to feel alone," he informs everyone cheerfully.
"Oh, no, the man is lonely, quick, seven rounds of cuddles," Wooyoung yells and then throws himself over San, who lets out a quiet "oof" as the body lands on top of him.
"Cuddle pile? I want in!" Mingi scrambles to his feet but sways dangerously, preferring to cover the rest of the distance crawling on all fours.
"Let the puppy in first!" Yunho laughs, lunging forward, tripping over Mingi, and tumbling onto the floor with a heavy thud. Neither seems to notice it, playfully wrestling for the right to reach San first. Seonghwa stands up next, surprisingly steady, and takes a few steps toward San but then looks back, furrowing his eyebrows as he sees Hongjoong and Jongho still sitting.
"You," Seonghwa extends his hand, pointing at Jongho and then Hongjoong, "go."
"Wow, so bossy," Wooyoung giggles, snuggling closer to San and nuzzling into his neck.
San hums affirmatively, watching his friends, his family, gather around him in a tight-knit group.
They used to gather like this when they were trainees and shortly after debut, when the world outside their tiny dorm seemed so vast, so dangerous. Without anyone to turn to, to rely on, they had only each other, but, at times, simple words of comfort were not enough, and they moved the furniture around until they had room for the eight of them to huddle on the floor, limbs entwined like the infinity symbol, with them not knowing where one ended and another started.
Now, years, oh god, literally years later, they rarely do so. The world is smaller nowadays, they’ve traveled across it several times, and it feels less dangerous now that they know their worth, their strengths, and their weaknesses. They aren't defenseless anymore, and even if they aren't all-powerful, they’re capable of standing their ground now.
Still, buried under the warmth of so many bodies, surrounded by love, for the shortest moment, San sees their old selves. The scrawny boys, not men. And to them, as if trying to transcend time itself, San whispers, "I love you."
"We love you, too," Seonghwa whispers, his hand cupping San's cheek. He's joined by a chorus of affirmative hums, murmurs, and a quick peck from Wooyoung landing somewhere on San's jaw.
This…this is nice. This is how San is ready to spend his entire life ahead, surrounded by his dearest people.
No one says anything for some time. The moment feels too precious, too vulnerable to break it.
Yet, they are, well, them, and even drunk and sentimental, they remain true to themselves.
"Are we going to address the fact that Yeosang kissed San?" Jongho asks ever-so dryly, and in the relative silence composed of their breathing and the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, his words break the atmosphere like a boulder breaks a lake's surface on a calm day.
"Should we?" Hongjoong asks, raising his eyebrow at Jongho.
"I don't know," Jongho shrugs, which works only because he's "outside" the pile, and his shoulders are free of anyone's limbs. "Seems like something worth discussing."
It makes San tense even though he knows he has nothing to worry about; Jongho didn't mean it like "that." Like it was something that should be put on full stop. But talking about it right now... San doubts it's a good idea.
"Are you envious?" Wooyoung, like the true soulmate he is, feels San's hesitance and diverts the attention. "Do you want to be kissed too?"
Jongho sputters, his cheeks going flame-red almost instantly, and San can't help but squeak, watching Jongho ducking his head, mumbling something to himself.
"Killing maknae with kisses! Go, go, go!" Yunho commands, and lunches forward first, even though he's separated from Jongho by a tight knot of Mingi’s, Seonghwa’s, and Hongjoong's bodies. Yunho is tall, and it's to his advantage, but Jongho is quick-thinking and hard to reach, so he easily avoids Yunho's grabby hands by detaching himself from the pile and crawling backward.
"Oh, no, man overboard," Yeosang comments as Yunho untangles himself and attempts another catch-and-kiss on Jongho.
"No kisses in front of the camera! Only behind!" Hongjoong commands without lifting a finger to stop them. On the contrary, he occupies a spot previously taken by Yunho, making himself comfortable between San and Mingi and resting his head on top of San's knee.
"You said you would be watching the footage first," Seonghwa points out, glancing worriedly at where Jongho has retreated too close to the row of glass bottles.
"And I'm shit at editing, and never in my life will I trust Wooyoung with that. Do you want to explain to managers why half of us will be covered in hickeys by the end of the footage and why half of it will be cut abruptly?"
"Half of us covered in hickeys, you say?" As always, Wooyoung takes only what he wants from the entire conversation. "Have someone in mind?"
Hongjoong opens his mouth to rebuke the claim but closes it promptly with a tired sigh. San understands. Arguing with Wooyoung can be so taxing.
"We are all more than slightly drunk," Hongjoong says after a while, rubbing his face and smoothing his hair back (completely missing two pairs of eyes fixated on his every movement, no matter how minuscule it is). They are so funny, San decides, playing with Yeosang's fingers. In the meantime, Hongjoong is still trying to prove his point, "Look at Jongho."
As if bespelled, all six of them turn to the pair. The fight ended with an obvious winner—Yunho—besting Jongho, pinning him to the floor, and administering his punishment in the form of cuddles. And even though Jongho scrunches his face like he'd rather be the first one to put his makeup on for the next month of promotions, he clearly doesn't make any attempts to escape.
"Yunho!" Mingi gasps so dramatically that even Wooyoung startles. "I thought you had a crush on me?"
“I didn’t!” Yunho flashes them a grin from where he's lying on top of their maknae.
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt," Wooyoung can't help but comment.
“That phrase doesn't even make sense, and I didn’t have a crush on Mingi! How can you have a crush on your husband?"
That earns him a round of groans and a barely heard, "Please, not again."
Chuckling, Yunho adds, totally unbothered, "Besides, you know I had a crush on Hongjoong-hyung only!”
“That's fair," Mingi nods thoughtfully, settling back in the pile, not paying flabbergasted Hongjoong any mind.
Their captain, who looks like he was told he needed to finish all his demos by tomorrow sharp, keeps blinking, confused. “Wait, wait, what?”
The Cheshire-like smile on Wooyoung's face doesn't do a thing to placate Hongjoong, especially when he turns to Mingi, asking sweetly, “Anyways, Mangi-yah, could you pass me the last meat-bun?"
“How is it fair that you discuss another's love life publicly, but when I want to learn more about mine, apparently, I'm shushed?”
San has to turn away and bury his face in Wooyoung's hair to quiet his giggling.
“Hongjoong-hyung," Yeosang, ever calm, says then, "I hate to break it to you years later, but everyone had a crush on you at some point. That's not something new.”
“Can confirm,” San chirps, sneaking a glance in time to see Hongjoong's cheeks blooming the prettiest shade of pink.
Even more shocked than before, Hongjoong physically sways back, his movements jerky as he looks at Seonghwa. For help? To confirm that he had a crush on him as well? San can't tell. But whatever Hongjoong sees on Seonghwa's face makes him mumble something about getting water and jump to his feet, retreating with his fluffy squirrel tail between his legs.
"Coward," Wooyoung sighs affectionately and pats Seonghwa's shoulder.
San snorts, shifting restlessly. No matter how much he loathes the thought of moving and disrupting the peace that’s settled over their cuddle pile, his muscles are insistently calling for his attention, cutting through a drunken and sleepy haze that keeps the edges of his vision fuzzy.
Carefully and slowly, San tries to sprawl out his numb limbs, but, of course, it sets off everyone.
"How are you feeling?" Seonghwa asks worriedly, massaging the leg that San stuck out.
"Tired." Getting just the one word out is a chore for San.
"No wonder, it's almost midnight," Seonghwa says, checking the time on a phone that’s lying closest to him.
"Is it?” Hongjoong sounds bemused. “Damn, it's late. We should get back to our dorms, make use of the rest of the day off we’ve left." San wants to protest, to keep his members close and Yeosang even closer for a little longer. But they’re too old for sleepovers, and the floor of Yunho and Yeosang's flat is hard and unforgiving. He will have to let them go. Stand up. Attempt to help clean up. Attempt is a keyword because he will either make it worse or Seonghwa will forbid him from assisting them.
And then San will have to walk down a long and dark corridor leading to the elevators. Focus on blurry buttons in front of him, and try not to lean on Seonghwa very much since Mingi will most likely stay behind. And try to get some restful sleep on his bed that will feel too big under the cold bedcover lacking the warmth and softness of Yeosang's skin.
It sounds like torture, one San has to endure every single night with rare exceptions.
"Hey, Sannie, don't get lost on me again," Yeosang whispers in his ear, laughing when he feels San shivering; he can't not feel it, their bodies are pressed so close. For now.
"Get up, come on," Wooyoung stands up first, although he needs a few seconds to ensure he stays in an upright position before he bends and carefully wraps his hands around San, tugging him up with a little help from Yeosang.
Slowly, all eight of them work through the mess in the living room. Surprisingly, Seonghwa allows San to join, but only as a bag holder. San takes the task very seriously, and none of the bags with trash slip out of his grip.
"Hyungs?" Yunho calls, getting to the cameras.
"What is it?" Hongjoong's head pops from the bathroom, and Seonghwa looks up from a broom.
"Don't want to disappoint you, but the cameras are like... dead-dead."
Hongjoong lets out a sigh so exhausted San is physically worried for him, but he remains standing straight with the bag still clutched in his hands.
"Just... just put them on the table, I'll check them once I'm sober."
"Does that mean we can get back to kissing now?" Yeosang asks in his most innocent voice, and San fears his heart will burst out of his chest. Even though it's obviously a joke.
Finally, the living room looks spotless, at least to San's eyes. Seonghwa doesn't seem that impressed, but then, he doesn't have his favorite lint roller with him (or perhaps he does but is too drunk to remember it). In any case, with the mess out of the way, they don't have a reason to stay and start quietly shuffling towards the exit one by one.
San makes a motion to join the members—the trash bags are taken from him and placed near the door securely to be disposed of later—but he's stopped by Yeosang.
"Where are you going?" he asks, acting very confused.
"Um, home?" San replies despite the word 'home' tasting like a lie on his tongue.
"I thought you'd stay."
Oh, San wishes he could. He'd gladly stay and keep Yeosang company, hear him gushing over another character he got in the game, watch him play, or listen to him breathing, his face slack and even more innocent in his sleep. However, San doesn't want to overstay his welcome.
The kiss he got is still burning on his lips, and the faster he can get back to the safety of his room, the quicker he can commit the feeling to memory.
"I'm sorry, I'm not the best company right now," and it pains San to admit it, "I'm too sleepy. Tomorrow we can–"
"Sannie," Yeosang interrupts him softly but firmly. "I meant staying in my room tonight. And sleeping in my bed."
San...
San.exe stops working, blue screen of death, system shutdown, urgent repair of his brain functions needed. He hasn't heard that right, has he? It's exhaustion and beer, and soju, and whatever else he has drunk, teaming up against him, digging up his deep-buried desires and dragging them into the spotlight, Yeosang couldn't...
However, the longer it takes San to get his shit together and agree to spend a night in bed with the love of his soul, the more fidgety Yeosang looks, the easy-going smile slipping off his lips and giving place to a worried curl.
"If you don't want–"
"I do!" San hurries to assure him quite loudly. Someone snickers behind his back, the sound followed by a loud smack and a quiet 'ouch, hyung.' San doesn't pay them much mind, his brain desperately scrambling to catch up, the blue screen quickly fading into a red alert message and blaring lights. "I–I'd like to stay if you want me to. I don’t insist or anything, don’t force yourself, please, and even–”
"Sannie," Wooyoung groans, sighing tiredly. Despite everything urging him not to look away from Yeosang, lest the illusion (because that's what it must be, an illusion, a utopia; real Yeosang wouldn't want to keep him around after such a long and exhausting day) break, San turns around, mustering up his best pout, to make Wooyoung feel ashamed of his lack of support, but Hongjoong beats him to it, practically pushing Wooyoung out of the flat despite his muffled protests.
"Good night, sleep tight, safe, and consensual," Hongjoong throws offhandedly and locks the door behind himself, leaving San and Yeosang to stand in the corridor.
"Come on, you need to take your makeup off," Yeosang says, taking San's hand and leading them to the bathroom. Mingi and Yunho are nowhere in sight, most likely already in Yunho's room.
San almost expects Yeosang to gesture at whatever bottles he can use and leave him be, but instead, Yeosang urges him to stand with the small of his back resting against the countertop before rummaging in the cabinet over the sink for makeup wipes.
He must be worried I'll lose my balance and fall, San assumes, ready to lift his hand and take the wipes from Yeosang, but he's proved wrong for the nth time that night when Yeosang takes one out of the package, then cups San's face and starts gently wiping the makeup off.
Their faces are close again, bringing back the sense of falling into the ocean. Yeosang hadn’t turned on the main light, opting for a few smaller lamps they’d installed along the edges of the mirror. So San can see Yeosang in all his angelic glory.
"Why would you even wear makeup," Yeosang mutters. It sounds more like a rhetorical question, but San can hardly imagine a time when he would ignore any question coming from Yeosang.
"I wanted to doll up," San mumbles, his lips jutting out in a pout.
"For whom?"
"For you, obviously," San admits way too readily. His tomorrow version will be mortified by everything he has said and done. His current version leans into the touch, enjoying every second of it.
Once done, Yeosang puts aside the used wipes and proceeds to open some bottles, soaking cotton pads and gently wiping San's face until all he can smell is something floral. San doesn't mind, he doesn't even follow Yeosang's movements (he tries, at first, but his eyes start hurting way too quickly). He lets his eyelids drop closed, succumbing to the gentle feeling of the tender touch, the repetitive motion, and how much care there is in every brush of the cotton pad against his skin.
San doesn't see what Yeosang takes next, only hears a pop of a cap being opened and a hiss of something being sprayed.
But then Yeosang's fingers, cool and slightly wet, start massaging something fresh-smelling into his skin, his motions soothing and circular, as they were taught when they just started dabbling in skincare. If San was a cat, he'd be purring senseless by now, but all his pathetic human throat can produce is moans, and, well, San doesn't want to make it weird, so he swallows any noise threatening to escape his lips.
For a moment, the motions halt, and San's face is squished between Yeosang's hands, now warmed up after rubbing what feels like tonic into his skin.
"Don't open your eyes, Sannie, okay?" Yeosang asks, his voice low, his breath fanning against San's cheek.
San will do whatever Yeosang asks, always, no matter what is requested of him, so he nods and stays still, his eyes closed firmly.
And then he feels the soft touch of lips pressed against his forehead, the kiss—the kiss—lasting for the longest few seconds of San's life.
The temptation to open his eyes to make sure that he's not dreaming, it's real, Yeosang is kissing him, it is happening again, and how lucky he is today, really, is strong, but San promised, and he'd rather spend a month away from the gym than break his promise to Yeosang, so he remains frozen in place, barely breathing, waiting for what comes next.
"Relax, Sannie," Yeosang's sweet laugh echoes against the tile walls. He doesn't tell him he can open his eyes, though. So San doesn't.
Another bottle is unscrewed, cool, sticky droplets landing on San's forehead, still burning from Yeosang's kiss, and cheeks.
San is glad Wooyoung is not here, he'd read San's thoughts so easily and make a highly inappropriate joke that would make San redder than his hair once was. Selfishly, arrogantly, so unlike him, San is glad it's only the two of them right now in this bathroom.
Without saying anything, Yeosang moves on to massaging the serum, at least San assumes that's what it is, into San's face. His touches are still gentle, the motions soothing, hypnotizing San, making him feel floaty.
The second kiss is as unexpected as it is eagerly awaited. San shivers ever so slightly at the feeling of hot, chapped lips pressed against the thin skin of his closed right eyelid.
One more bottle is taken off the shelf and uncapped. The smell hitting San's nose is familiar, though, so he knows right away that it's a face cream. They bought it together the last time they went shopping in Japan. They were trying different face creams, and, as it usually happens, it somehow evolved into a play fight, which resulted in San not only testing but also tasting it. It wasn't that bad, which might or might not have been a decisive factor in Yeosang buying it because, quote, "If I ever accidentally lick my face, I want it to at least taste good."
The third kiss is anticipated. And maybe his fidgeting betrays San, and Yeosang decides to tease him, but he spends ages rubbing the cream into San's cheeks, squishing them and laughing at his protesting whines. But once Yeosang does kiss San's left eyelid, it feels like a reward, like he’s suddenly won a gold medal, like he's back on stage again, and, this time, they’re announced winners, and Yeosang hands them the trophy, smiling so preciously, so radiantly.
But the rush of the win is quickly damped by Yeosang's whisper, "You can open your eyes now."
San almost refuses to do so. When he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to get used to light again, the moment between them will break, disappear in wisps of smoke and mirrors, and all San will have left will be hazy memories.
Still, he obeys. Yeosang is putting all the bottles and packages back where they belong, and glancing at him softly. "You can clean your teeth and take a shower if you want. I'll go change the bedding now."
"Okay," San nods, already reaching to open the drawer under the sink, where they keep spare toothbrushes.
He also takes Yeosang up on his other offer and hops in the shower to wash off sweat and a mixture of smells and drinks that seem to cling to his skin even after he takes off his clothes and puts them in the laundry basket. In two months or so, they'll get back to him after cycling through the members.
San cleans himself quickly, trying to keep his face away from the water spray, not wanting to let Yeosang's hard work go to waste. After changing into a spare set of clothes they also keep in their bathrooms, he walks on tiptoes to Yeosang's room, using walls to keep him upright and avoid missing his turn or bumping into something.
He opens the door slowly, hoping Yeosang is already in bed and San can lie down at the very edge and disappear first thing in the morning so that Yeosang can have much-needed rest.
However, Yeosang seems to be waiting for him, sitting on the bed, cross-legged, blankets pooling around him. He's playing something, his thumbs tapping furiously at the screen of the phone that looks so tiny in his hands, his big, perfect hands, and with the lights on, San can see the lines of veins going from Yeosang's knuckles, along the arm and up, until they disappear under the wide sleeve of his oversized t-shirt.
It feels almost like a ritual already, to reaffirm his grip over his thoughts, stop his imagination, his yearning from going too far. But the temptation is still there, like embers under his skin, itching and ready to burst into all-consuming flames at any moment.
"I thought you'd be out already," San says awkwardly, flicking on the switch on Yeosang's red desk lamp.
"Needed to check in so that my guild doesn't kick me out," Yeosang replies without looking away from the screen.
"Aren't you the leader of the guild?" San asks as he perches himself at the foot of the bed. He's unsure because, at times, Yeosang can play several games at once.
"Yeah, but they can always vote to kick me out."
San hums, belatedly realizing he doesn't know where his phone is. He's not overly worried—it must definitely be somewhere in the flat, and they have a day off tomorrow, or is it today already—so he's not needed anywhere. But not having a phone to himself means not having anything to distract him.
So San's eyes stray back to Yeosang, caressing his face through the distance separating them. He could do this all night or at least until sleep claimed him, which shouldn't take long, not with how heavy his eyelids feel.
"And done," Yeosang chirps, smiling gleefully, and puts the phone onto the shelf at the head of the bed, beside the assortment of half-finished packs of vitamins, empty water bottles, and a stack of textbooks. No wonder Yeosang rarely does lives while showing his room.
"You can lie down, I'll go to the bathroom real quick." Yeosang stands with a stretch, and within seconds, disappears behind the door.
San knows that as soon as his head touches a pillow, he'll be out, so he stands up instead and starts walking back and forth. Yeosang's room is smaller than his, so the walk ends up pretty short, but San doesn't want to risk going to the corridor. He straightens the bottles on the shelves, mindlessly reorganizes the worksheets left after their latest Japanese lesson, and tugs a blanket, half-on and half-off the bed, back in place.
But the minutes tick by, and Yeosang hasn't come back yet, so San sighs heavily and climbs onto the bed, carefully arranging himself to take up as little space as possible, sticking to the edge of the bed. He chooses the thinnest blanket for himself, knowing how cold Yeosang can get at night, and checks the pillows before putting the fluffiest one on Yeosang's side.
By the time Yeosang is finally back, San has managed to bang his head against the headboard twice and have four or five of those flash dreams that last for a second but leave you reeling as if you spent years immersed in them. In fact, Yeosang enters the room just as San nods off, his head bending forward so fast his chin jams into his sternum, jolting him back awake.
Chuckling softly, Yeosang clicks off the overhead light and crawls towards San on his knees, the sight making him wide awake all of a sudden.
"Why are you so far away?" Yeosang asks quietly, clearly referring to San being on the verge of falling off the bed.
"Don't wanna make you uncomfortable," San is very aware that he sounds childish.
Yeosang sighs, frowning slightly, and then wraps his hand around San's wrist, tugging him insistently until San has no other choice but to awkwardly fall to the side, sprawling on the bed diagonally.
They try to arrange themselves then, with San being uncooperative because God forbid he oversteps the imaginary boundaries he has set for himself to behave around Yeosang, and Yeosang being more and more done with his antics.
At some point, Yeosang resorts to simply rolling San to lie parallel to the bed and not across it, and for that, he takes San’s hands hostage. The brush of their skin sends a subtle shiver down San's spine, but then Yeosang freezes in place, tilting his head as the pressure of his fingers against San's hands becomes stronger.
"Your knuckles are cracked and rough," Yeosang murmurs.
"Ah, it must be because of the cold air."
Yeosang hums under his breath and reaches for a hand cream on the shelf. He unscrews the cap, puts a generous coat on the outer side of San's hands, and then proceeds to rub the cream into his skin, paying utmost attention to his knuckles and rough patches.
San’s breath hitches in his throat. Even though the desk lamp gives barely enough light for him to see the outline of Yeosang's features, it does not hide the sensation of Yeosang's touch, the loving care that seeps into every pore of San's skin, until there is nothing left in him except love for Yeosang.
And then, as if it's his sole purpose today, to make San suffer, to make his heart constrict in his chest, push against his ribcage, fluttering from the onslaught of emotions and feelings, Yeosang takes San's hands and brings them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each one. The touch burns San like a searing brand, imprinting on his soul, forever binding him to Yeosang until death keeps them apart.
However, San knows himself. He's stubborn. He'll find Yeosang in the next life, no matter who or where he is or how long it takes.
"Let's get some sleep, Sannie," Yeosang says softly, taking away the lotion and lying down. For a moment, San falters, unsure of his place. Should he scoot back to the edge of the bed after their playful fight, or remain by Yeosang's side?
Yeosang makes the decision for him, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing on it firmly until San concedes and lies down. Then, in an impressive showcase of his strength, Yeosang wraps his hand around San's waist and yanks him closer, forcing their bodies to lie flush against each other.
San's cheeks are burning like furnaces when he realizes how intimately close they are, from head to toe.
And Yeosang doesn't move his hand away, letting it rest on San's back.
San stops breathing. He simply can't process it.
"Sannie, breathe in, breathe out," Yeosang's whisper, his voice deep from sleepiness, almost makes San whimper.
"I'm sorry, I just..."
How can San put the jumble of his emotions and thoughts into something that Yeosang can understand? Into something that won't make him think how weak and pathetic San must be?
But then Yeosang's hand travels to San's cheek, cupping it gently, as he shifts even closer, their lips barely a hair’s width apart.
"You can tell me. What’s got you worried?" The raspy softness of his voice, the assurance so prominent in it, the way San's very soul feels like the safest place for him to be is in Yeosang's embrace... All that, combined with the lingering effects of the alcohol and tiredness, makes San's resolve crack just enough for the waters of his insecurities to find their way through the dam he's been building for so long.
"Why do I feel like today is my birthday?" San asks.
The question might have been playful as if San was teasing Yeosang. But there is a heavy ring to it, something raw and vulnerable nested between the jagged edges of the words. "Everyone took care of me today, and you were so gentle and attentive to me. But why?"
It takes a moment for Yeosang to exhale, "Oh, Sannie." His lips barely brush against San's as he whispers, "Because we love you, silly. And we like taking care of you."
San can get that. Others wanting to indulge him, thinking he deserves that. San rarely lets his members do so, feeling inadequate and not wanting to slack off, but still. Understandable. But Yeosang staying so close to him for so long, following his whims, blessing him with his presence, his kisses?
In the relative darkness of the night, San allows himself to be weak. Just this once.
"But why don't you let me get this close to you all the time?" San can't help but ask, the dam breaking, his emotions out of control.
Why don't you let me get closer? Why do you run from me even when the cameras aren't pointed at us, why do I sometimes feel like the rift between us is so wide, I can't get to you no matter how hard I try?
Yeosang doesn't answer right away, but his thumb keeps caressing San's cheek, groundingly, as he mulls over his response.
"Sometimes I forget how differently we feel," Yeosang quietly replies. "I'm sorry, I don't always notice when you genuinely need me."
"I always need you," San argues hotly. "I love you, and I always want you right by my side. As long as you want it, too."
"I do. Trust me, I do," Yeosang smiles into San's lips. "I promise I'll try to show it more, not just when you’re adorably drunk and vulnerable."
"I'm not weak," San points out, just in case.
"No, you’re not. But taking care of you feels like the greatest privilege, one you rarely give me. Or us, for that matter." Yeosang chuckles, his laughter low and warm.
San grumbles under his breath, suddenly unsure what to say next. With the words spilled like water from a broken cup, he feels strangely empty and lost, uncertain how to continue the conversation and whether he needs to do it at all.
He knows Yeosang loves him, that's one of the two truths that are sacred to him: the members are his second family, and the feeling is mutual, and he loves Yeosang and is loved in return.
But the scrawny boy with crescent eyes and a heart too big for this world is still hidden deep in his chest, protected by the layers San built over his inner self, and he longs for reassurance, for someone to reach out to him first.
"Please... Don't push me away," San begs.
"From now on, never, I promise," Yeosang says, so serious.
And then he seals the promise with a kiss to San's lips, feather-soft and heavily loving.
"Now, sleep. I’ll guard your dreams." Yeosang shifts so that his entire body embraces and surrounds San.
San is teetering on the edge of a dream when the door opens slowly, revealing Yunho.
"Pills for headache, nausea, and anything else a hangover can cause," he whispers, leaving a blister pack and a bottle of water on the table.
"Thank you," Yeosang says, and San also hums something affectionate.
Suddenly, a thought that has been brewing at the back of San’s mind since that truth or dare game, pops up in his head, insistent.
“Hey, Yunho-yah, you lied about those photos, right?”
It takes a moment for Yunho to get what San is talking about, but once he does, he laughs good-heartedly, wordlessly admitting his fault.
“How despicable of you, to lie to trick Wooyoung into drinking,” Yeosang huffs.
San thinks he hears something like, “Look who’s talking,” but he can’t be sure he heard Yunho right over the sound of the door being closed.
Cozy silence settles in the room again, getting them back to the verge of falling asleep.
"I want to see your face first thing in the morning," San mumbles, his words barely separated.
"And you will." Yeosang's embrace gets even tighter, but San doesn't mind, enjoying the physical reminder of how close they are, making him believe that miraculously, impossibly, Yeosang is truly his.