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It takes five minutes for Jongho to form a big, fat crush on Kang Yeosang.
San is the one who introduces him to Jongho, if you could consider texting your baby cousin that a friend called Yeosang would be dropping by your shared off-campus apartment to pick up some project materials you’re too lazy to return and grab yourself as an ‘introduction’.
Jongho’s only half-awake when he reads the text, still groggy from a late night of League with Yunho. At some point, he ends up dozing off while seated on the toilet, which is the only reason why he doesn’t hear the first few times the doorbell rings.
“Shit,” Jongho mutters under his breath, scrambling to wash his hands as he calls out towards the door. “Coming, sorry!”
The doorbell stops ringing after that, which Jongho can only hope means that Yeosang—or whoever else it might be—heard him.
When he opens the door, it’s to the sight of the prettiest man Jongho has ever had the pleasure to set his eyes on. The stranger is tall, roughly the same height as himself but where Jongho is broad and muscular, the man is sinewy and slender, the slimness of his silhouette accentuated by the long beige coat that hangs effortlessly over his body. Dark crimson hair, partially hidden beneath a white, fluffy beanie, falls in soft waves, perfectly framing his sharp, high cheekbones and the chiseled curve of his jaw, painting a striking contrast against pale, flawless skin and bright, almond eyes. His features are distinctive, yet perfectly balanced, creating a face that seems carved from marble.
A stray thought pops into Jongho’s head—surely he now owes some random museum out there an entry fee for laying his undeserving eyes on this walking statue of a man, right?
“Uh,” Jongho says in greeting, eloquent as ever.
The man raises a hand in a small wave. “Hello.”
Jongho’s attention flickers to the quirky, bemused smile that tugs at the other man’s plush lips.
“Hi,” Jongho swallows hard, suddenly feeling parched. “You must be Jongho. I’m Yeosang.”
Yeosang freezes, his lashes fluttering as he blinks rapidly. It takes Jongho an embarrassing long second to realise his mistake.
“I mean—oh my god—you’re Yeosang, I’m—” Jongho exhales forcefully, pressing a hand against his face. When he finally regains sufficient composure to meet Yeosang’s amused gaze, it’s with a sheepish grin. “I’m really sleep-deprived. Sorry about this—I’m Jongho. San’s cousin.”
A soft chuckle leaves Yeosang’s lips, light and airy, like tinkling of bells in spring. “No worries—San did warn me something like this might happen. But yes, I’m Yeosang.”
Jongho shuffles to the side, holding the door open. “Please, come in. I’ll get you the stuff hyung asked for, so feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Before disappearing into San’s room, he pokes his head into the living room. “Would you like something to drink, Yeosang-ssi?”
Yeosang shakes his head from where he’s crouched in front of a cabinet, peering interestedly at some of the photos that decorate the shelves. “It’s alright, Jongho-ssi. I have classes after this, so I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“Call me Jongho, please. It’s weird to have one of hyung’s friends address me so formally.” Jongho frowns, discomfort flitting over his face.
“Alright,” Yeosang acquiesces easily, “Feel free to drop the honorifics with me as well, Jongho-ah.”
Warmth, soft and suffusive, blooms in the centre of Jongho’s chest, spreading syrupy-slow from his heart to his fingertips.
“R-Right,” he stammers. “Let me get those materials for you right now, h-hyung.”
The older man is quick to leave once he receives the project materials, just as he said he would. Jongho feels an unexpected pang of disappointment stir deep in his gut as he watches Yeosang slip on his shoes, but he’s careful to keep his expression friendly and lighthearted, tucking his dismay neatly away. Just before he leaves, Yeosang turns back with one final wave, dark red hair bouncing perfectly in place.
“I’ll see you around, Jongho-ah.”
Jongho opens his mouth, but he finds himself unable to utter a single word. Instead, he responds with a weak wave on his own, watching silently as Yeosang disappears into the elevator.
The moment the door clicks shut, Jongho sinks to his knees, pressing a shaking hand against his chest, right where his heart’s currently racing circuits around itself.
Shit.
I have a fucking crush.
…
It takes a couple weeks for Jongho to realise that oh, perhaps he’s falling in love with Yeosang.
It’s a little strange, when he looks back and remembers that just the week before, Jongho hadn’t even known Yeosang existed, and yet, he now sees the man more often than he sees his best friend Bomin. It’s as if their first meeting had opened some kind of floodgates, for Yeosang seems to be everywhere now—in San’s and his apartment, in the library, even in the campus café that Jongho only visits once a week out of desperation, because their coffee tastes like they roast their coffee beans with hellfire.
Not that Jongho’s complaining, because Yeosang is truly a sight for sore eyes, but it’s just that—strange.
It turns out that Yeosang is Wooyoung’s best friend (“You remember Wooyoung, right? Wooyoungie, from—” “Yes, hyung, he was just here the other night.”), who had recently transferred to their college at the start of the semester, and naturally, Wooyoung had to introduce his best friend to all his other friends, San included. Given San’s natural warmth and proclivity to hospitality, it was only a matter of time before Yeosang was brought into the fold and under their collective wings.
Jongho learns a valuable lesson in life from all this: the bright side of completely humiliating yourself during your first interaction with a stranger is that, well, it couldn’t possibly get any worse than that. Yeosang’s kind enough that he doesn’t share with the others how Jongho had embarrassed himself the first time they met, and it only endears the other man even more to Jongho.
They hit it off surprisingly well, in spite of their contrasting personalities. Or perhaps it is precisely because they are so different that they end up complementing each other so perfectly—like two opposite poles of a magnet, drawn towards one another.
For one, Jongho enjoyed pushing people’s buttons, simply out of boredom and mischief. Where Wooyoung or San may respond with offence or retaliate by taking it up a notch—which Jongho sometimes, but not always, enjoyed when he felt like being aggressive—Yeosang tends to be unruffled no matter what, letting Jongho’s jabs coolly wash over him like water. It meant that Jongho never really had to hold back; he could act freely and Yeosang would just accept him as he was.
It’s… refreshing.
He’s sweet, too, the way he would take care of Jongho, somehow attuned to his needs without a single word from the younger man. The first time Yeosang had shown up unannounced at his apartment- takeout in hand after learning from San in a passing conversation that Jongho had pulled an all-nighter to rush an assignment—Jongho, half-delirious and half-unconscious, had been torn between bursting into tears or squeezing the life out of the man.
He ended up doing something in between, he thinks, like sobbing into Yeosang’s shoulder while Yeosang held him, but his memory of the morning returns hazy, clouded by exhaustion.
Yeosang never asks for anything in return, but he always makes sure to be explicit in his gratitude whenever Jongho does do something for him, like when he had driven Yeosang to seven different stores in search of a stupid financial calculator because Yeosang’s dick of a professor had chosen to announce he only allowed specific models the day before his mid-term. Jongho still dreams of the cheesecake Yeosang had bought for him in thanks some nights, some rare buy which Yeosang had gotten his hands on only by calling in a favour to have it delivered from who-knows-where.
But it’s nice, Jongho has to admit, to know that there was somebody constantly in your corner of the court, especially when that somebody is someone as calm and composed as Yeosang.
It’s… reassuring.
And isn’t that truly all there is to it? Unlike his friendships with San, Wooyoung, or even Yunho or Bomin, which were all predicated on some type of push and pull dynamic, given their fiery personalities, around Yeosang, Jongho could simply… exist.
What started as sporadic drinks after classes slowly evolved into Yeosang becoming Jongho’s drinking buddy, taking over for San, who is too much of a lightweight to keep up with Jongho, who has the tendency to drink into the late hours of the night. But unlike his other drinking mates, though, Yeosang’s content to nurse his drink in occasional bouts of silence. It takes the pressure off Jongho, who, if he’s being honest, does have moments where he just wanted to stare silently into his glass of soju as he contemplates the meaning of life for a while, alright?
Yeosang’s… a breath of fresh air.
Eventually, Yeosang becomes a frequent visitor at Jongho and San’s apartment, where he would just hang around while waiting for plans with either of the two inhabitants. It’s these pockets of tranquility that form while they’re sitting quietly in the living room that Jongho cherishes the most—both busy with their own tasks yet basking in the comforting knowledge that the other person was just there.
And it’s on a random Tuesday afternoon, when Yeosang catches Jongho’s eyes from across the living room, that time seems to grind to a halt. The seconds stretch by sticky-slow, like molasses. Something catches in Jongho’s throat.
He musters up a smile, his heart dancing to an erratic rhythm in his chest.
Maybe, just maybe, Jongho might be falling in love.
…
It takes ten minutes for Jongho, for the first time in his life, to learn what heartbreak feels like.
The group—Jongho, San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang—hit the bar downtown as is their biweekly tradition, except it’s now four instead of the usual three. It’s a welcome change, though, since this means they can actually properly exploit the 1-for-1 beer promotion that comes with happy hour. Wooyoung makes a beeline for the bar as soon as they arrive, urging the others to grab a table.
Jongho squints as the bartender greets Wooyoung with a wave as he saunters up to the bar, unable to discern if the pained-looking smile on the man’s face is one of annoyance or amusement. It’s hard to tell, under the dim mood lighting that bathes the entire establishment in a hazy, purple glow. The bar’s ambience is a bit classy for an establishment that’s supposed to cater to broke college kids, but the owner is not only an alumnus, but also very, very generous with the student discounts.
“Does he always do that?” Yeosang asks curiously, not taking his eyes off the bar, where Wooyoung is now draping himself all over Seonghwa like a koala.
Jongho nods, pinching the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. “Every time we come here. I still can’t figure out if they’re going to date or not.”
Yeosang gives him a strange look then—something that exists somewhere in the chasm between confusion and curiosity, like he’s trying to solve a riddle—but he does not press the issue further.
It’s the last thing on Jongho’s mind, though, as the night unfolds. Wooyoung and Yeosang are somewhere behind their table, engrossed in a competitive round of pool. Wooyoung’s losing, though he seems to be taking the loss shockingly well, as though he hadn’t expected any other outcome.
Jongho would join them, except he's not about to leave San alone, not when the man is nearly entirely wasted. Jongho hasn’t kept count of the number of beers San had downed over the course of the evening, but now, as he takes stock of the sheer quantity of empty mugs littering their table, it’s clear that San had drunk way more than usual.
“Jonghoooo,” San whines, leaning over to rest his head in the palm of his hand, his elbows propped unsteadily on the table. His eyes are completely glazed over, the tell-tale flush of intoxication creeping up the sides of his neck and warming the tips of his ears crimson red.
Jongho wipes foam off the side of San’s mouth with a napkin, “Yes, hyung.”
“Can—” San’s head nearly slips out of his hand with how hard he hiccups, “Can I tell you something, Jongie?”
“Of course, hyung,” Jongho replies, patient and indulging.
San smiles dopily, his eyes curving into little crescents, the same way they always do when he’s bursting at the seams with excitement. It makes him look like a well-fed housecat lounging contentedly in the warm sun—it’s cute.
Happiness is cute on his San-hyung.
San’s voice dips low, conspiratorial in his secrecy, “I have a boyfriend, Jongie. It’s been a month now, and counting.”
San sinks back into his chair, giggling like a little schoolboy and looking more giddy than Jongho’s ever seen him. His eyes are shiny and sparkling when they meet Jongho’s, and Jongho can’t help but break into a smile that tugs so wide at his cheeks they ache. “I’m so happy for you, hyung! Who—”
Jongho stops mid-sentence.
San isn’t looking at him, as he had initially thought—no, his eyes were slightly off-kilter, fixed on something just behind Jongho, off to his side.
Jongho glances over his shoulder, just in time to catch a glimpse of Yeosang laughing in response to something Wooyoung’s just said. The sound is bright, carefree, twinkling in its wake as Yeosang throws his head back to reveal the smooth column of his neck.
When Jongho looks back, the dreamy, dazed look on San’s face is unmistakable. He’s completely beguiled, bewitched, besotted—like somebody had just hung the moon and the stars in the sky for him.
Oh.
Oh.
“Oh,” Jongho says numbly, the words catching in his throat. “You. Him. Are.”
He can’t even finish the sentence, but it doesn’t matter anyway, since San is hardly paying attention, playing the role of the smitten, lovestruck fool in his own little world.
“He’s amazing, isn’t he?”
Jongho chances a glance behind, again, and Yeosang’s looking over now, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as he locks eyes with—
Everything falls into place then, the final piece of the puzzle sliding into its destined spot to finally reveal to Jongho the big picture he had missing all along—the way Jongho had found it odd how excessively San dotes on Yeosang, more so than any of his other friends, more than even his own baby cousin; the way he had only met Yeosang a couple weeks ago despite the other man having transferred in at the start of the semester, the timeline perfectly matching up to when San was first introduced to Yeosang; the way Yeosang had sought Jongho out more than anyone else, likely to get to know his boyfriend’s cousin better because that was exactly the kind of thing sincere, softhearted, sweet Kang Yeosang would do—
“Yeah, hyung,” the words ringing hollow even to his own ears, “amazing.”
Some part of Jongho shatters like glass, splintering into a million tiny fragments, exploding with the force of a supernova.
Another part of him wilts like a flower left out to dry, withering in the face of a blazing sun.
Jongho tries not to be disappointed—after all, San had known Yeosang first, and it’s not like Jongho had actually made a move, right?
But even so, there’s a part of Jongho that can’t help but mourn the ‘what-if’s, quietly weeping over the remnants of a naive dream he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying.
Jongho had never thought that a heart could literally break, but now, as he watches San rest his head against Yeosang’s shoulder, a sharp sting of pain pierces at an empty space in his chest—a space where a flicker of hope once lived.
…
It takes another week for Jongho to conclude that San is possibly the worst boyfriend to ever boyfriend in the entire existence of mankind.
San’s generous, loving, always eager to lavish Yeosang with the attention he deserves but some of the decisions he makes has Jongho seriously questioning his cousin’s sanity.
The first seeds of doubt are sown when San asks Jongho if he could accompany Yeosang to the doctor when the other man falls sick. Jongho doesn’t protest too much, because well, he’s more than willing to help out but mostly because he’s too confused to do so. Jongho’s pretty sure that San is free that day—barring some pre-existing plans with Wooyoung but surely, your boyfriend takes precedence over a trip to Lotte World, right?
Thankfully, whatever illness Yeosang is down with isn’t too severe- a prescription of bedrest and some paracetamol, and the man is well on his way to recovery. Yeosang doesn’t seem too upset by San’s absence either, and Jongho takes that as a sign to drop the matter. It also bestows upon him the opportunity to take care of a slightly needy and whiny Yeosang—a side of him that Jongho’s never seen before and can now confidently say is absolutely adorable—so Jongho can’t bring himself to be that mad.
Later on, in what Jongho now dubs in the privacy of his mind ‘the week of judgement’, San makes the baffling announcement that he and Wooyoung would be going to the Seoul Winter Festa on Christmas Eve, which, historically, has been an event typically targeted at friends, couples, families and—has Jongho already mentioned—couples? Yes, Yeosang was still slightly unwell from his illness but really, hyung? Jongho wants to glare at his cousin but when Yeosang just cheerfully wishes them to “have fun!”, it makes him feel a little foolish for making a mountain out of a molehill.
Not wanting Yeosang to feel alone on Christmas Eve, despite having a living, breathing sorry excuse of a boyfriend, Jongho decides to invite him over to gorge on an excessive amount of popcorn and a stack of cheesy holiday films. The other man politely rejects the offer at first, worried about the possibility of getting Jongho sick, but eventually relents in the face of Jongho’s persistence. It turns out to be an enjoyable evening, in the end, and Jongho hopes the poorly-veiled attempt at distraction works to chase any lingering thoughts of San and Wooyoung at the festival out of Yeosang’s mind.
Considering that Yeosang does not make any mention of the duo throughout the evening, Jongho likes to think that his plan worked.
San and Wooyoung return to the apartment close to midnight, giddy with exhilaration and drunk on mulled wine, but bearing goodies from the festival. Yeosang graciously receives the bribery that comes in the form of spiced hot cocoa mix, moving to the kitchen to get the stove started while Jongho retreats to the bathroom to freshen up.
When he returns to the living room, though, San and Wooyoung are nowhere in sight. It’s only after a couple seconds of searching that Jongho spots them on the balcony, their heads pressed together as they talk, their breaths dissipating into the cold air in puffs of white. Jongho is of half a mind to approach them, but freezes when he sees San take Wooyoung’s hands in his to rub circles into his knuckles.
It’s a quiet, intimate moment, and Jongho, for some reason, physically can’t bring himself to intrude into the little bubble of repose the pair have carved out for themselves. Jongho can only watch, wide-eyed, as San gently brushes the hair out of Wooyoung’s face with an expression that Jongho can only describe as entranced—like the entirety of the universe lived within Wooyoung’s eyes and San’s found himself adrift among the stars.
It’s that same dazed, dreamy look from that night, back at the bar, except-
Except San’s not looking at Yeosang, not this time.
But no, San wouldn’t. He can’t. His hyung may be an idiot, but he isn’t an asshole.
Instead, Jongho steps back. He returns to the kitchen, his thoughts swirling all at once in a tangled, emotional mess of a storm. Yeosang looks up from where he’s heating up the hot cocoa mix, his face bright and peaceful, blissfully oblivious to Jongho’s internal turmoil.
“Merry Christmas, Jongho-ah.”
Jongho offers him a tentative smile, the look on San’s face still seared into his mind. When Yeosang smiles back, soft and serene, he swallows.
He buries the sight he had witnessed into the deepest recesses of his mind.
“Merry Christmas, hyung.”
No, San wouldn’t. He must just be a terrible boyfriend.
…
It all comes to a head when Jongho returns home one afternoon, cheesecake, meant for their little get-together later that evening, in hand.
Perhaps his San-hyung is an asshole after all, Jongho thinks in disbelief, as he pushes the apartment door open to the sight of San pressing himself closer into Wooyoung on their shared sofa, their mouths slotted together, Wooyoung’s hands thrown around San’s neck as he tilts his head up with a muffled moan.
Hysteria begins to bubble in Jongho’s chest and up his throat as his brain works doubly overtime to process what he’s seeing because—is that San’s hand under Wooyoung’s shirt? And why is it moving up?
Then, the hysteria morphs into pure, unadulterated fury.
“What the fuck, hyung?” Jongho’s voice cracks as he steps into the living room, chucking the cheesecake carelessly onto the counter. San and Wooyoung jump, breaking apart almost instantly. Jongho crosses the living room in three large strides, his fury shifting into something colder, something uncertain, and he grabs San by the lapels of his shirt as the other man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Sorry, sorry, I know we shouldn’t—”
“So you know you shouldn’t be doing this?” Jongho yells, voice high with incredulity and disgust. “What’s wrong with you, hyung?”
To his side, Wooyoung is tugging his shirt down, his brows furrowing with confusion but also concern, “Look, Jongie, I think you’re overreacting just a little—”
“Overreacting?” Jongho shrieks, his arms flailing as he gestures wildly, “I think I’m reacting the perfect amount, thanks, hyung! This is,” Jongho looks around, eyes wide. “Nothing about this is fine!”
Wooyoung shoots San an unimpressed glare, “What’s wrong with him? You told me he was okay with this!”
“He is,” San replies flatly, narrowing his eyes at Jongho. “He knew about this.”
'“You told me he was okay with this!”'
'“He is. He knew about this.”'
Jongho thinks back to the doctor’s appointment, thinks back to the movie marathon, thinks back to the balcony on Christmas Eve, and Jongho reels back in shock as a sudden epiphany of a horrifying, harrowing possibility knocks the breath out of him- had he been helping with this… this affair all along?
“Hyung,” Jongho pleads, frail and broken. And just as things continue to spiral with Jongho caught in the eye of a storm—
“What’s going on?” Jongho hears from the last person he wants to see right now. He spins around, and Yeosang is there, standing in the middle of the hallway, grocery bags in hand, as though all was right in the world.
Wooyoung throws his hands up, “I have no clue.”
Yeosang takes in the scene, and Jongho can’t help but catalogue each and every clue of his friends’ betrayal the way it would present through Yeosang’s lens- Wooyoung’s rumpled shirt, the dark hickey blossoming on San’s neck, their lips, swollen and red-
Yeosang hums, setting the groceries down on the kitchen island.
Jongho’s grip on San tightens, dragging him closer as he hisses, “Tell him, hyung.”
“Tell me what?” Yeosang pipes up from beside Jongho, causing him to flinch in surprise. He hadn’t heard Yeosang move. Gently, Yeosang pries Jongho’s hands away from where they have a deathgrip on San’s collar. His eyes linger on the dark bruise that stains San’s neck, but his expression remains placid, neutral even, in which case—
Jongho sucks in a breath.
“Did you already know?”
“Hm?”
“San, Wooyoung, your best friend—they’re hooking up.”
Yeosang tilts his head slightly, intrigue lighting up his eyes, “I’m pretty sure they’re more than just hooking up, though?”
Jongho rears back, like he’d just been slapped.
Wooyoung’s eyes, keen and intelligent, shifts rapidly between Yeosang, San and Jongho, quietly taking in the situation, before it finally clicks.
“Oh my God,” Wooyoung exhales sharply, realisation dawning on him like a flash of lightning, bright and sharp, illuminating everything—the standoffishness, the judgement, the fury—in an instant, “Hojong—”
“Don’t call me that, right now—”
“—thinks you’re dating Sangie!”
“What? ” San sputters, “There’s no way—”
San trails off when he sees the look on Jongho’s face. There’s a long, tense pause where San just stares at him, dead in his eyes, with a considering look. He must find what he’s looking for because he just bursts out cackling, right in Jongho’s face.
“You,” San manages to choke out between bouts of laughter, “are one massive idiot, Jongie.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Jongho snaps defensively, prickling with annoyance, “You were all over Yeosang that night—”
“No,” San says, wiping tears from his eyes, “I was all over Wooyoung. You didn’t notice even though Wooyoung was right beside him because you were too busy pining after Yeosang-”
“Hey!” Jongho screeches, his eyes flickering wildly over to Yeosang, who’s just standing there, serene as ever—
Wait.
“Oh,” Yeosang simply says, pink dusting the high of his cheekbones—the same colour as sakura blossoms in full bloom, perfectly matching the dark red of his hair. Jongho feels the heat rise in his own cheeks, and he stares down at his sock-cladded feet, unable to meet Yeosang’s gaze.
Indistinctly, he hears Wooyoung drag San out of the living room, who is still laughing, still clutching his belly.
“So, you like me?”
Jongho can’t bring himself to speak, but the sound that sneaks past his lips sounds something like a strangled ‘mrrp’.
Yeosang chuckles, brushing the bangs out of Jongho’s eyes. “Thank you, for trying to defend my honour. Though it wasn’t needed,” he adds breezily, as his fingers trace the curve of Jongho’s face. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”
The back of Yeosang’s hand tenderly grazes the side of his cheek in an unspoken admission, sending a jolt of warmth that spreads like syrup from under his skin, before sliding down to gently take Jongho’s hand. Their fingers slot together like two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit.
“Come,” Yeosang says calmly, a soft smile and even softer blush adorning his face. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”
…
It takes a month for Jongho to finally discover that no, Choi San was not, in fact, dating Kang Yeosang, much to the younger’s chagrin and embarrassment. San, of course, will delight in lording this fact over his cousin’s head for far too long—until Yeosang, taking pity on Jongho, eventually asks San to cut it out. And because San is utterly whipped for Yeosang—even more so than for Wooyoung, his own boyfriend—he will agree without a shred of hesitation.
It will take another month for Jongho to summon the courage necessary to ask Yeosang to be his boyfriend, and another couple months after that for them to shyly exchange “I love you”s—faces flushed, bodies tucked under cozy swathes of blankets as Frozen II plays quietly in the background.
But that’s alright. They’ll have all the time in the world from here on.