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The studio lights blazed overhead as ATEEZ finished their final take of "Lemon Drop" for Music Bank, the synthetic beats still echoing in Yeosang's ears as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The choreography had been particularly demanding today—all sharp angles and fluid transitions that required every muscle in his body to cooperate in perfect harmony. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar burn that usually brought him satisfaction, but today it only served as a reminder of the conversation he'd had with the KQ staff yesterday.
"You need to tone it down a bit, Yeosang-ah. The tour styling won't accommodate your current build."
The words had hit him harder than he'd expected. Working out wasn't just a routine for him—it was meditation, stress relief, and a source of genuine joy all rolled into one. The weight room had become his sanctuary, a place where he could push his limits and watch his body respond with strength and definition that made him feel powerful. But apparently, powerful didn't fit the concept they had in mind for the July tour.
"Good work today," Hongjoong's voice cut through his brooding as their leader approached with a towel draped around his neck. "The energy was perfect for the recording."
Yeosang managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks, hyung. The song really suits us."
From across the studio, Wooyoung caught sight of that subdued expression—the one Yeosang wore when he was trying to convince everyone, including himself, that everything was fine. It was the same look he'd been wearing since yesterday, and it made something twist uncomfortably in Wooyoung's chest. He exchanged a meaningful glance with San, who had also noticed the subtle shift in their boyfriend's demeanor.
San's dark eyes reflected the same concern that Wooyoung felt. They both knew Yeosang well enough to recognize when he was internalizing something that was bothering him, and they both knew how stubborn he could be about accepting comfort when he thought his problems weren't worth troubling others with.
"Tomorrow's going to be busy," Seonghwa mentioned as they gathered their things. "Another show, then the fansign in the afternoon."
"It's also someone's birthday," Yunho added with a grin, nudging Yeosang's shoulder. "June 15th rings a bell for anyone?"
Yeosang's smile became a bit more genuine at that. "You don't have to make a big deal out of it. We have promotions to focus on."
"Like hell we don't," Wooyoung interjected, slinging an arm around Yeosang's shoulders with characteristic boldness. "It's not every day our angel turns another year older."
The casual contact sent a familiar warmth through Yeosang's body, even as he rolled his eyes at the pet name. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being accurate," Wooyoung shot back, his tone carrying that particular brand of shameless confidence that never failed to make Yeosang's heart skip. "San, back me up here."
San stepped closer, close enough that Yeosang could smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of stage makeup remover. "Wooyoung's right. Birthdays are important."
There was something in San's voice—a gentle insistence that suggested he was talking about more than just birthdays in general. Yeosang felt caught between them, surrounded by their shared warmth and attention in a way that made the studio suddenly feel too small and too public all at once.
"We should head back," he said, stepping away just enough to create some breathing room. "Early morning tomorrow."
But as they made their way out of the studio, Wooyoung caught San's eye again, and this time their silent communication was crystal clear. They were going to make sure Yeosang's birthday was special, whether he thought he deserved the attention or not.
The next morning arrived with the kind of crisp Seoul air that made everything feel sharper, more vivid. Yeosang woke to his phone buzzing with birthday messages from family and friends, each notification bringing a small smile to his face despite the early hour. The schedule was packed—another music show appearance, interviews, and then the fansign that would run well into the evening.
He was adjusting his stage outfit when Wooyoung appeared beside him in the dressing room mirror, already fully styled with his blonde hair catching the fluorescent lights like spun gold.
"Happy birthday, baby," Wooyoung murmured, just loud enough for Yeosang to hear over the general chaos of eight people getting ready in the same space.
The endearment sent heat creeping up Yeosang's neck. "Thank you."
"Sleep well?"
"Well enough." Yeosang caught Wooyoung's eye in the mirror. "You?"
"Better now that I get to look at the birthday boy," Wooyoung replied without missing a beat, his shameless flirting earning him an elbow to the ribs.
"You're impossible."
"Impossibly charming, you mean."
From across the room, San watched their interaction with fond amusement. He'd learned to appreciate Wooyoung's particular brand of boldness, especially when it came to making Yeosang blush. San's own approach was usually more subtle, but no less effective.
"Five minutes to places," a staff member called out, and the room erupted into final preparations.
The music show went smoothly—"Lemon Drop" translated beautifully to the live stage, and the audience response was everything they could have hoped for. But Yeosang couldn't shake the feeling that Wooyoung and San were up to something. They kept exchanging those looks, the kind that usually preceded some elaborate scheme that would either be brilliant or catastrophic, with very little middle ground.
"What are you two plotting?" he asked during a brief break between interviews.
"Who says we're plotting anything?" Wooyoung's expression was the picture of innocence, which only made Yeosang more suspicious.
"You get this look when you're planning something. Both of you."
San leaned back in his chair, that slow smile spreading across his face that meant Yeosang was absolutely right but wouldn't get any confirmation. "Maybe we just like looking at you."
"It's your birthday," Wooyoung added. "We're allowed to be extra attentive."
Before Yeosang could respond, they were being called for the next segment, and the moment was lost in the whirlwind of professional obligations.
The fansign venue was packed when they arrived, the energy in the room immediately lifting Yeosang's spirits despite his lingering suspicions about his boyfriends' behavior. ATINY always had a way of making even the most routine events feel like celebrations, and today was no exception.
They were seated at the long table on stage, going through the usual pre-event preparations when Yeosang noticed something odd. Several fans in the front rows seemed to be holding something, though he couldn't quite make out what from this distance.
"Ready for this?" Hongjoong asked, and they all nodded.
"Let's make it a good one," Seonghwa added.
As they were introduced and the first fans began making their way to the table, Yeosang settled into the familiar rhythm of the event. Sign an album, exchange a few words, maybe take a quick photo, then move on to the next person. It was routine, but he genuinely enjoyed these interactions—the chance to connect with the people who supported them felt like a privilege he never wanted to take for granted.
He was halfway through signing an album for a fan who was telling him about her university studies when he heard it. At first, it was just a few voices, barely audible over the general chatter of the room. But then more voices joined in, and the melody became unmistakable.
"Happy birthday to you..."
Yeosang's head snapped up, his eyes wide as he realized that a significant portion of the audience was singing. But it wasn't just the fans—when he looked down the table, he saw his members joining in, their voices blending with the crowd in a spontaneous chorus that made his throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"Happy birthday to you..."
San's voice was particularly clear, his gaze fixed on Yeosang with an intensity that made everything else fade into background noise. Wooyoung was grinning widely as he sang, clearly delighted that whatever plan they'd hatched was working perfectly.
"Happy birthday, dear Yeosang..."
The sound of his name sung by hundreds of voices hit him like a wave, and he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. This wasn't just a casual acknowledgment of his birthday—this was something planned, coordinated, a deliberate effort to make him feel celebrated and loved.
"Happy birthday to you!"
The final note hung in the air for a moment before erupting into applause and cheers. Yeosang sat frozen, overwhelmed by the gesture and acutely aware that every eye in the room was on him.
"Speech!" someone called out from the audience, and the call was quickly taken up by others.
Yeosang stood on shaky legs, reaching for the microphone with hands that weren't quite steady. "I... thank you. All of you. This is..." He paused, swallowing hard against the emotion threatening to spill over. "This is incredible. I don't know what to say."
"Say you love us!" a fan shouted from the back, earning laughter from the crowd.
"I do love you," Yeosang replied, his voice gaining strength. "More than you know. Thank you for making this day so special."
As he sat back down, Wooyoung leaned over from his position two seats away. "Surprise," he said with a smug smile. "Though this is just the beginning."
"The beginning of what?"
"You'll see."
The fansign continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. There was an electric quality to the air, as if everyone in the room was part of some shared secret. Fans wished him happy birthday with extra enthusiasm, some presenting him with small gifts despite the official policies against it. The staff seemed to be looking the other way more than usual, and Yeosang began to suspect that this conspiracy went deeper than just Wooyoung and San.
He was chatting with a fan about her artwork when he heard the commotion behind him. Turning, he saw staff members wheeling out a cake—not just any cake, but an elaborate creation decorated with edible flowers and "Happy Birthday Yeosang" written in elegant script across the top.
"Where did that come from?" he asked, but his question was lost in the renewed chorus of "Happy Birthday" that rose from the audience.
This time, all of his members stood up, creating a semi-circle around him as the cake was placed on the table in front of him. The candles were already lit, their flames dancing in the stage lights.
"Make a wish," Hongjoong said, his hand warm on Yeosang's shoulder.
Yeosang closed his eyes, the wish forming easily in his mind. When he opened them again, he was surrounded by the faces of the people who meant the most to him, with hundreds more watching from the audience, all of them focused on this moment, on him.
He blew out the candles in one breath, and the room erupted once again.
But before he could fully process what was happening, chaos descended. At Yunho's playful declaration of "Group hug!" suddenly everyone was moving at once, and Yeosang found himself at the center of a very enthusiastic pile of his members.
"I want a hug too," he laughed, and that was apparently all the invitation they needed.
San was fastest, slipping behind him to wrap his arms around Yeosang's waist, his chest pressed against Yeosang's back in a way that was probably not entirely appropriate for public consumption but felt too good to protest. The familiar scent of San's cologne enveloped him, and he let himself relax into the embrace for just a moment.
But Wooyoung, never one to be outdone, darted in from the side and pressed a quick kiss to Yeosang's cheek before anyone could stop him. The gesture was bold even by Wooyoung's standards, and it earned a mixture of cheers and mock scandalized gasps from the audience.
"Wooyoung!" Seonghwa called out in his best disapproving-hyung voice, but he was laughing too hard for it to carry any real authority.
"What? It's his birthday!" Wooyoung shot back, completely unrepentant. "I'm being affectionate!"
"Too affectionate," Jongho muttered, but he was already moving in to join the hug pile, dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around Yeosang's legs with Mingi following suit to embrace his waist.
The position left Yeosang effectively trapped in a tangle of limbs, and when Seonghwa and Yunho moved to kiss the top of his head from either side—taking advantage of the small opening San had left them—he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"You're all insane," he managed to say through his laughter.
"Insanely devoted to making your birthday perfect," Yunho corrected, ruffling his hair.
Hongjoong, ever the responsible leader, contented himself with patting Yeosang's arm affectionately while trying to maintain some semblance of order. "Okay, okay, let's not traumatize the fans."
"Too late for that," a fan called out from the audience, but her tone was delighted rather than scandalized.
Eventually, they managed to untangle themselves and return to some approximation of normal fansign behavior, though the energy remained electric. Yeosang was still processing the overwhelming display of affection when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye.
Wooyoung had disappeared from his seat, and when Yeosang looked around to locate him, he spotted his boyfriend near the side of the stage, talking animatedly with one of the staff members. A few minutes later, Wooyoung reappeared, but something was different about his silhouette.
It took Yeosang a moment to process what he was seeing. Wooyoung was wearing what appeared to be an enormous decorative ribbon—the kind that might adorn a very large gift box—draped across his chest and trailing behind him like wings. The ribbon was pristine white, matching his outfit perfectly, and the effect was both ridiculous and oddly charming.
"Yeosang!" Wooyoung called out, his voice carrying easily across the room as he struck a pose. "Your present is ready!"
The audience burst into laughter and applause, clearly delighted by the unexpected entertainment. Yeosang felt his face heating up as he realized what Wooyoung was implying.
"Wooyoung, what are you doing?"
"Being your birthday present, obviously," Wooyoung replied with that shameless confidence that was so quintessentially him. "I figured you might want to unwrap me later."
The innuendo was subtle enough to fly over most heads, but Yeosang caught it immediately, and the way San's eyes darkened suggested he had too. Before Yeosang could formulate a response, San was on his feet, moving with that fluid grace that made everything look effortless.
But instead of standing beside Wooyoung, San dropped to one knee directly beneath the trailing ends of the ribbon, positioning himself so that the decorative bow framed both of them. The visual was striking—Wooyoung in his all-white outfit with blonde hair like sunlight, and San in black jeans and dark hair like shadow, both of them somehow contained within the same gift wrapping.
"Two presents for the price of one," San said, his voice low enough that only the nearby microphones picked it up.
The contrast between them was almost artistic—light and dark, bold and subtle, chaos and calm. They looked like opposing forces that somehow created perfect balance when brought together, and Yeosang felt his breath catch at the sight.
"So," Wooyoung said, tilting his head with that particular smile that meant trouble, "are you going to accept your presents, or what?"
The question hung in the air, and Yeosang was acutely aware that hundreds of people were waiting for his response. His boyfriends knelt before him like an offering, wrapped up in ribbon and audacity, and for a moment he was overwhelmed by how much he loved them and how impossible they were.
Which is exactly why he heard himself say, "No."
The single word carried clearly through the microphone, and the audience's reaction was immediate and dramatic. Gasps, laughter, and mock outrage filled the air as Wooyoung's expression shifted from confident seduction to indignant disbelief.
"No?" Wooyoung repeated, his voice rising in pitch. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no, thank you," Yeosang replied with as much dignity as he could muster while his boyfriends were kneeling in front of him wearing gift ribbon. "I don't need presents."
San's eyebrows rose toward his hairline, and there was something dangerous in his smile now. "Is that so?"
"That's so."
It was a challenge, and they all knew it. Yeosang had essentially dared them to prove him wrong, and if there was one thing Wooyoung and San never backed down from, it was a dare.
"Well," Wooyoung said, standing up and beginning to untangle himself from the ribbon with deliberate slowness, "I guess that means we'll just have to stick around until you change your mind."
"Good luck with that," Yeosang shot back, but even as he said it, he could see the wheels turning in their heads.
San rose gracefully to his feet, and there was something predatory in the way he moved that made Yeosang's pulse quicken. "Challenge accepted."
For the remainder of the fansign, Yeosang learned exactly what it meant to have two determined boyfriends who had decided to make him the center of their attention. They didn't do anything overtly inappropriate—they were professionals, after all—but their presence was constant and overwhelming in the best possible way.
When he was signing albums, one of them would find an excuse to lean over his shoulder, their breath warm against his ear as they pointed out something in the crowd or made a quiet comment that only he could hear. When he was taking photos with fans, they somehow managed to position themselves in his peripheral vision, San's steady gaze or Wooyoung's bright smile serving as constant reminders of their earlier promise.
During a brief break when the staff was setting up for the next segment, both of them descended on his chair with the kind of coordinated precision that spoke to years of practice.
"Thirsty?" San asked, appearing at his left elbow with a water bottle.
"Tired?" Wooyoung inquired from his right, already massaging the tension from Yeosang's shoulders with practiced fingers.
"I'm fine," Yeosang managed, though his voice was slightly strained from the dual attention.
"You don't look fine," Wooyoung observed, his thumbs working at a particularly tight knot. "You look like someone who could use some pampering."
"We're in public," Yeosang reminded him, but he didn't pull away from the touch.
"So?" San's voice was deceptively casual as he settled into the empty chair beside Yeosang. "Friends give each other shoulder rubs all the time."
"Friends," Yeosang repeated flatly.
"Very close friends," Wooyoung clarified with a grin that was anything but innocent. "The kind of friends who care deeply about each other's wellbeing."
"The kind of friends who make sure birthday boys are properly celebrated," San added, and there was something in his tone that made Yeosang's skin tingle.
Before Yeosang could formulate a response, they were being called back to their positions, and the moment dissolved into the controlled chaos of the continuing event. But the warmth of their attention lingered, and Yeosang found himself hyperaware of their every movement for the rest of the fansign.
As the event began winding down, exhaustion started to creep in around the edges. It had been a long day, and the emotional rollercoaster of the surprise celebration was beginning to take its toll. Yeosang was in the middle of signing what felt like the hundredth album when he felt someone lean against his arm.
Looking down, he found San resting against his shoulder, eyes half-closed in a way that suggested he was fighting his own battle with fatigue. The position should have been awkward—they were still in public, still technically working—but something about San's quiet presence was incredibly soothing.
"Tired?" Yeosang asked softly.
"Mmm," San hummed in response, not moving away. "Long day."
"We're almost done."
"Good." San's eyes opened just enough to meet Yeosang's gaze. "Want to get you home."
The simple statement carried layers of meaning that made Yeosang's chest tight with affection. Home meant their shared space, their private sanctuary where they could drop the carefully maintained boundaries that public life required. Home meant being able to touch each other freely, to speak the words that cameras and microphones couldn't be allowed to capture.
"Me too," Yeosang admitted.
San smiled and settled more comfortably against Yeosang's arm, apparently content to remain there for the duration of the event. A few minutes later, Wooyoung appeared on Yeosang's other side, not leaning against him but close enough that their knees bumped together under the table.
"Cozy," Wooyoung observed, taking in the scene with amusement.
"Comfortable," San corrected without opening his eyes.
"Is this part of your plan to stick with me?" Yeosang asked.
"Maybe," Wooyoung replied, but his tone was softer now, less performative. "Or maybe we just like being close to you."
It was a more honest answer than Yeosang had expected, and it settled something warm and content in his chest. They finished the fansign like that—San draped against his side, Wooyoung pressed close to his other side, all three of them existing in a bubble of quiet intimacy despite being surrounded by hundreds of people.
When the final fan had received their signed album and the official photographers had taken their last shots, Yeosang felt the day's adrenaline finally beginning to ebb. The post-event routine of packing up and saying goodbye to staff felt surreal after such an emotionally charged day.
"Ready to go home?" Hongjoong asked as they gathered their things.
"More than ready," Yeosang replied, and he meant it.
The ride back to the dorms was unusually quiet, all of them drained from the day's activities. Yeosang found himself squeezed between San and Wooyoung in the back seat, their combined warmth making him drowsy despite the early evening hour.
"Thank you," he said suddenly, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. "For today. For all of it."
"Thank us when we get home," Wooyoung replied, but his voice was gentle rather than suggestive. "Day's not over yet."
When they finally made it back to the dorm, Yeosang was immediately ambushed by the members who had arrived before them. More hugs, more birthday wishes, more expressions of affection that left him feeling overwhelmed in the best possible way.
"Okay, okay," he laughed as Yunho ruffled his hair for the third time. "I love you all too, but I need to get out of these clothes."
"We'll be in our room," San said, and there was something in his tone that made it clear he wasn't just talking about changing clothes.
"Don't take too long," Wooyoung added with a wink that made several of the other members groan.
"Subtle as always," Seonghwa muttered, but he was smiling.
Yeosang escaped to his shared room, finally alone for the first time all day. The silence was both welcome and strange after hours of constant noise and attention. He changed out of his stage clothes slowly, savoring the simple pleasure of soft cotton against his skin.
By the time he emerged from the bathroom in comfortable sweatpants and a tank top, San and Wooyoung were already settled on one of the beds, having changed into their own comfortable clothes. They'd set up what looked like an impromptu skincare station on the nightstand, various bottles and containers arranged with military precision.
"Finally," Wooyoung said, patting the space between them. "Come here, birthday boy. Time for proper pampering."
Yeosang hesitated for just a moment, struck by the domesticity of the scene. This was what he'd been craving all day—not the public celebration or the grand gestures, but this quiet intimacy with the people who knew him best.
He settled between them on the bed, and immediately felt the day's tension begin to dissolve. San's hands were gentle as he began applying moisturizer to Yeosang's face, his touch reverent in a way that made Yeosang's eyes flutter closed.
"You were beautiful today," San murmured, his thumbs tracing the line of Yeosang's cheekbones. "But you're always beautiful."
"Especially when you're being stubborn," Wooyoung added, reaching for one of his many serums. "Telling us no like that. Do you have any idea how hot that was?"
"Wooyoung," Yeosang warned, but there was no heat in it.
"What? I'm just being honest. San, back me up here."
"He's not wrong," San admitted, his voice low and warm. "You challenging us like that... it was very attractive."
Yeosang opened his eyes to find both of them looking at him with expressions that made his pulse quicken. "You two are impossible."
"Impossibly in love with you," Wooyoung corrected, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Yeosang's temple. "Happy birthday, angel."
The endearment, combined with the gentle pressure of their hands on his skin, made Yeosang feel like he might melt into the mattress. This was what he'd needed—not just the birthday wishes or the public celebration, but this private acknowledgment of what they meant to each other.
"I love you too," he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of everything he couldn't say in public. "Both of you."
"We know," San replied, his smile soft and sure. "We love you too."
The skincare routine began with San's careful ministrations, but the peaceful atmosphere lasted exactly as long as it took for Wooyoung to start rummaging through his extensive collection of products. What had started as a simple, intimate moment quickly devolved into something that could only be described as controlled chaos.
San's hands moved methodically across Yeosang's face, working the moisturizer into his skin with practiced ease. There was something hypnotic about the routine—the familiar scents of their shared products, the gentle pressure of fingertips against tired muscles, the quiet intimacy of being cared for by the people who loved him most.
"Wait, wait, you're doing it wrong," Wooyoung announced, reaching across Yeosang to snatch the moisturizer from San's hands. "That's not how you apply it. You need to use upward motions, not side to side."
San blinked at him, his hands still hovering near Yeosang's face. "I've been applying moisturizer for years, Wooyoung."
"Clearly incorrectly," Wooyoung shot back with the kind of absolute certainty that brooked no argument. "Here, let me show you the proper technique."
"Oh god," Yeosang muttered, recognizing the signs of an impending Wooyoung lecture. "Here we go."
"Don't 'here we go' me," Wooyoung said, squirting what seemed like an excessive amount of product onto his fingers. "Skincare is serious business. Your face will thank me when you're forty and still looking twenty-five."
"My face is perfectly fine with San's technique," Yeosang protested, but his complaint was muffled as Wooyoung began aggressively massaging moisturizer into his cheeks.
"Your face doesn't know what's good for it," Wooyoung replied matter-of-factly. "That's why you have me. I'm like... your face guardian angel."
"My face guardian angel," Yeosang repeated flatly. "That's what you're going with?"
“It’s accurate. San, are you paying attention? This is important.”
San, who had been watching this exchange with growing amusement, leaned back against the pillows. “I’m paying very close attention to how you’re manhandling our boyfriend’s face, yes.”
“I’m not manhandling, I’m professionally caring for his skin. There’s a difference.”
“Is there though?” Yeosang asked, wincing slightly as Wooyoung’s enthusiasm resulted in moisturizer getting dangerously close to his eye. “Because it feels a lot like manhandling.”
"You're being dramatic. Now hold still while I do your under-eye area. This serum cost more than your monthly coffee budget."
"How do you know my monthly coffee budget?"
"I know everything about both of you. It's part of being the responsible one in this relationship."
San nearly choked on his laughter. "You? Responsible?"
"I am extremely responsible," Wooyoung said with wounded dignity, accidentally squirting serum directly onto Yeosang's nose instead of under his eye. "Oops. Hold on."
"Extremely responsible people don't 'oops' skincare products onto their boyfriend's nose," Yeosang pointed out, but he was fighting back laughter now too.
"It's fine, it's fine, that's what toner is for," Wooyoung said, reaching for yet another bottle. "We'll just clean it up and start over."
"Start over?" San sat up straighter. "We've been at this for ten minutes and you want to start over?"
"Perfection takes time, San. You can't rush art."
"Art?" Yeosang's voice climbed an octave. "You're calling my skincare routine art now?"
"Your face is a canvas, and I am Michelangelo," Wooyoung declared with the kind of shameless confidence that would have been insufferable from anyone else but was somehow endearing coming from him.
“Michelangelo carved marble, not applied face cream,” San pointed out.
“Details,” Wooyoung waved him off, now wielding a cotton pad soaked in toner with surgical precision. “The principle is the same. Creation through careful, methodical work.”
“Methodical,” Yeosang repeated, jerking his head away as Wooyoung approached with the toner. “There is nothing methodical about what you’re doing to my face right now.”
“I’m being extremely methodical. San, explain to him that I’m being extremely methodical.”
"I'm not explaining anything," San said, crossing his arms. "You got toner on his forehead. His forehead, Wooyoung. How do you accidentally put toner on someone's forehead?"
"It's called being thorough," Wooyoung replied, but there was a slight flush creeping up his neck that suggested he knew he was being ridiculous. "Some people have very large foreheads that require extra attention."
"My forehead is perfectly normal sized," Yeosang protested indignantly.
"It's beautiful," San said quickly, shooting Wooyoung a warning look. "Your forehead is perfect."
"Thank you, San. At least one of my boyfriends appreciates my facial features."
"I appreciate all of your facial features," Wooyoung said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the tip of Yeosang's nose, right where he'd accidentally dispensed the serum. "I'm just trying to take proper care of them."
"By drowning them in expensive skincare products?"
"By giving them the attention they deserve. Now stop moving so I can apply your eye cream."
"Maybe I should do my own eye cream," Yeosang suggested, eyeing the tiny jar in Wooyoung's hands with suspicion.
"Absolutely not. You'll use too much and waste it. This stuff is liquid gold."
"If it's liquid gold, maybe you shouldn't be slathering it all over my face with reckless abandon."
"I'm not being reckless, I'm being generous. There's a difference."
San watched as Wooyoung began dotting eye cream around Yeosang's orbital bone with what could charitably be called enthusiasm. "Wooyoung, I think that might be too much."
"There's no such thing as too much when it comes to preventing crow's feet."
"I'm twenty-six," Yeosang said. "I don't have crow's feet."
"Prevention is key. You'll thank me in ten years when you still look like a baby."
"I don't look like a baby now."
"You look like the most beautiful baby in the world," Wooyoung cooed, which earned him a pillow to the face courtesy of Yeosang's quick reflexes.
"I take it back," Yeosang announced. "San can finish my skincare routine. You're banned."
"You can't ban me from taking care of your skin," Wooyoung protested, clutching the pillow to his chest dramatically. "It's my calling. My purpose in life."
"Your purpose in life is to terrorize my face with overpriced creams?"
"Among other things, yes."
San decided to intervene before the situation could escalate further. "How about we compromise? Wooyoung can supervise while I finish Yeosang's routine."
"Supervise," Wooyoung repeated thoughtfully. "I like that. I'm very good at supervising."
"You're terrible at supervising," Yeosang said. "You're incapable of supervising without also doing."
"That's not true. I can totally just watch and give helpful advice."
"Helpful," San muttered under his breath, taking the eye cream from Wooyoung's hands. "Let's see how this goes."
What followed was a masterclass in chaos disguised as skincare. Wooyoung’s complete inability to simply observe without commentary failed miserably. Every movement San made, was accompanied by a running stream of suggestions, corrections, and outright contradictions that would have been infuriating if it weren’t so endearingly ridiculous.
“A little less pressure there…. no, wait, more pressure…. actually, try using your ring finger instead of your middle finger… the ring finger has less strength so it’s better for delicate areas… no, not that delicate, you’re barely touching him… there, that’s perfect… wait, is that even blending properly? I can’t tell from this angle…”
“Wooyoung,” San said with infinite patience. “If you don’t stop backseat driving my skincare technique, I’m going to accidentally get eye cream in your mouth.”
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
Yeosang, meanwhile, was caught between exasperation and helpless affection as he watched his boyfriends engage in what was essentially a territorial dispute over his face. "You know I can hear both of you, right? I'm not unconscious."
"We know," they said in unison, which only made the situation more ridiculous.
"Then maybe you could ask me what I want instead of arguing over me like I'm not here."
"What do you want?" San asked dutifully.
"I want Wooyoung to start his own routine so he stops critiquing yours."
"But then who's going to make sure San doesn't mess up your moisturizer application?" Wooyoung asked with genuine concern.
"I'll take my chances," Yeosang said dryly.
"Fine," Wooyoung sighed dramatically, "but if you wake up with uneven hydration tomorrow, don't come crying to me."
"I'll try to restrain myself."
As Wooyoung finally turned his attention to his own skincare routine, San was able to finish Yeosang's with significantly less interference. The quiet focus was almost meditative after Wooyoung's chaotic commentary, and Yeosang found himself relaxing properly for the first time since they'd gotten home.
"Better?" San asked softly, his thumbs making gentle circles over Yeosang's temples.
"Much better," Yeosang confirmed, eyes fluttering closed again. "Thank you."
"Don't thank him yet," Wooyoung called from across the room, where he was examining his reflection in a hand mirror with the intensity of a surgeon. "Wait until you see how your skin looks tomorrow morning. That's the real test."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Yeosang said, though he was smiling now. Wooyoung's neurotic attention to skincare was ridiculous, but it came from a place of genuine care, and that made it endearing rather than annoying.
"Fine is not the goal," Wooyoung replied, beginning what appeared to be an eight-step nighttime routine. "Luminous is the goal. Radiant. Glowing like you're lit from within."
"That's a lot of pressure to put on some moisturizer," San observed.
"Good skincare products can handle the pressure. It's what separates the drugstore brands from the luxury ones."
"The price tag?" Yeosang suggested innocently.
"The results," Wooyoung corrected with a look that suggested he was personally offended by the implication that expensive didn't automatically mean better. "You get what you pay for in skincare."
"Do you though?" San asked, settling back against the pillows next to Yeosang. "Because I've seen you use the same face wash as Hongjoong, and his costs about ten dollars less."
Wooyoung paused in the middle of applying what looked like a serum. "That's... that's different. Face wash is face wash. It's the treatment products that make the difference."
"If you say so."
"I do say so. And I'll prove it to you. By the end of this week, Yeosang's skin is going to be so perfect that people will think he's using filters in real life."
"No pressure at all," Yeosang muttered, but he was watching Wooyoung's routine with fascination despite himself. The precise way he applied each product, the careful timing between steps, the almost ritualistic attention to detail—it was like watching a performance.
"Are you going to use all of those?" San asked, eyeing the remaining bottles and jars on the nightstand.
"Not all of them," Wooyoung replied. "Just the essential ones. The toner, the essence, the serum, the ampoule, the moisturizer, the face oil, and the sleeping mask."
"That's seven products."
"Your point?"
"Most people use like... two products. Maybe three if they're feeling fancy."
"Most people also don't have to look perfect on camera every day," Wooyoung pointed out. "We're not most people, San. We're performers. Our faces are part of our job."
It was a fair point, though Yeosang suspected Wooyoung would have an elaborate skincare routine even if he worked in an office where no one ever saw him. Some people collected stamps or coins; Wooyoung collected skincare products with the dedication of a scholar and the enthusiasm of a child in a candy store.
"How long does this usually take you?" Yeosang asked as Wooyoung moved on to what appeared to be step four of his routine.
"Depends on how thorough I'm being. Tonight's a special occasion, so probably twenty minutes or so."
"Twenty minutes," San repeated. "For your face."
"For my face, my neck, and my décolletage," Wooyoung corrected. "You have to treat them as one unit or you'll get a distinct line where your skincare stops."
"Your décolletage," Yeosang said slowly. "You're going to spend twenty minutes on skincare that includes your décolletage."
"Don't say it like that. You make it sound ridiculous."
"Wooyoung, you're going to spend longer on your skincare routine than most people spend eating dinner."
"And I'll look better than most people, so it evens out."
There was no arguing with that logic, mainly because it wasn't really logic so much as Wooyoung's unshakeable confidence in his own methods. Yeosang and San had learned long ago that it was easier to just let him do his thing and enjoy the entertainment value of watching him work.
"You know what," Yeosang said, settling more comfortably against San's side, "I think I'm going to take a nap while you finish up."
"A nap?" Wooyoung looked scandalized. "You can't take a nap during my skincare routine. This is quality time."
"I can hear you perfectly well with my eyes closed."
"But you can't see my excellent technique."
"I'll survive."
"This is so rude," Wooyoung muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. "I'm trying to share my expertise with you, and you're just going to sleep through it."
"I'm not sleeping, I'm resting my eyes while listening to your educational commentary."
"That's literally what sleeping is."
"No, sleeping is when you're unconscious. I'm just... meditative."
San's chest shook with silent laughter beneath Yeosang's cheek. "Very meditative," he agreed. "I can tell by the way you're already half-asleep."
"I'm not half-asleep, I'm relaxed. There's a difference."
"If you say so."
Wooyoung continued his routine with a running commentary that grew increasingly elaborate as he moved through each step. He explained the molecular structure of hyaluronic acid, the benefits of snail mucin (which made Yeosang wrinkle his nose in disgust despite his closed eyes), and the proper pH balance for optimal skin barrier function.
"Are you listening?" Wooyoung asked after a particularly detailed explanation of the difference between AHA and BHA exfoliants.
"Riveted," Yeosang mumbled against San's shoulder.
"I can tell. You're practically vibrating with interest."
"That's San's heartbeat you're feeling, not my excitement about chemical exfoliants."
"Rude. San, are you at least paying attention?"
"Every word," San confirmed, though his hand was slowly stroking through Yeosang's hair in a way that was definitely not helping anyone stay awake.
"Good. Someone in this relationship should appreciate the effort I put into maintaining our collective attractiveness."
"We appreciate you," Yeosang said softly, and he meant it. Wooyoung's routines might be elaborate to the point of absurdity, but they came from a place of caring—for himself, for them, for the image they presented to the world. It was one of the many ways he showed love, even if it sometimes manifested as twenty-minute lectures on skincare ingredients.
“It’s kind of your love language,” San added with a soft smile. “Even if it involves twenty-minute lectures on peptides.”
"I know you do," Wooyoung replied, his voice gentler now. "Even if you do fall asleep during my educational presentations."
"I'm not asleep."
"Your breathing says otherwise."
Yeosang was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was drowsy and content. "I like listening to you talk. Even when it's about... what was the last thing? Peptides?"
"Retinoids, actually, but close enough."
"Retinoids. I like listening to you explain retinoids while San plays with my hair. It's nice."
“You make everything feel special... and safe. Like nothing else matters when we’re here like this.” San added, reaching out to kiss his cheek.
"Nice enough to keep you awake?"
"Nice enough to make me want to fall asleep right here and never move."
"That's the goal," San said quietly, his fingers still moving through Yeosang's hair. "Making you comfortable enough to completely relax."
"Mission accomplished," Yeosang murmured. "But don't stop talking, Wooyoung. I like the sound of your voice."
"I can talk," Wooyoung said, and there was something soft and pleased in his tone. "I've got at least three more steps left, and I haven't even started on the proper massage techniques for lymphatic drainage."
"Lymphatic drainage," Yeosang repeated sleepily. "Sounds important."
"Very important. It reduces puffiness and promotes circulation and... are you actually listening, or are you just making agreeable noises?"
"Both."
Wooyoung laughed, the sound warm and affectionate. "I love you too, even if you're a terrible student."
"Best student," Yeosang protested weakly. "I retained at least thirty percent of that information."
"Thirty percent is generous," San said. "I'd say maybe fifteen."
"Fifteen percent about skincare is more than most people know," Wooyoung pointed out. "I'll take it."
“Good enough for me,” Yeosang whispered, eyes still closed. “You love us in everything you do. That’s the part I always understand.”
The conversation drifted into comfortable quiet punctuated by Wooyoung's continued routine and the soft sounds of the dorm settling around them. Other members moving around, the distant sound of someone watching television, the familiar creaks and sighs of a building full of people winding down from a long day.
"Almost done," Wooyoung announced eventually, holding up what appeared to be a glittery purple mask. "Just the sleeping mask and then I can join you two."
"Finally," San said. "I thought you were going to be over there all night."
"Good things take time. Beauty is a process, not a destination."
"Did you just make that up?" Yeosang asked without opening his eyes.
"Maybe. Does it sound profound?"
"It sounds like something you'd find on a motivational poster in a spa."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Wooyoung applied his final product with the same careful attention he'd given to everything else, but there was a different quality to his movements now—less performative, more purely routine. This was the part of the process that was just for him, the quiet ritual that helped him transition from the public persona he wore during the day to the private self he shared only with them.
"There," he said finally, capping the last jar and setting it aside. "Perfect."
"Can you come to bed now?" San asked. "Yeosang's practically unconscious and I'm not far behind."
"I'm not unconscious," Yeosang protested automatically, though his voice was muffled and drowsy. "I'm just resting."
"Sure you are." Wooyoung turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp as he made his way over to them. "Scoot over, I'm coming in."
They arranged themselves in their usual configuration—Yeosang in the middle, Wooyoung facing him, San curled around his back with one arm thrown across both of their waists, already half asleep. It was a position they'd perfected over years of stolen moments and careful navigation of shared spaces.
And for the first time all day, Yeosang found himself relaxing completely, the combination of soft voices and gentle touches lulling him into a state of perfect contentment, surrounded by warmth and the quiet sounds of his boyfriends settling in for the night.
"Tired?" San asked when Yeosang's responses began getting slower.
"Little bit," Yeosang admitted, though he made no move to get more comfortable.
"Long day," Wooyoung agreed, finally finishing his skincare routine and moving to join them on the bed properly. "But a good day?"
"The best day," Yeosang confirmed, shifting to make room for Wooyoung between them.
"Thank you," Yeosang said again, his voice muffled against Wooyoung's shoulder. "For everything. The surprise at the fansign, the cake, all of it."
"You don't have to thank us for loving you," San replied, his breath warm against the back of Yeosang's neck.
"But I want to. Today was... I needed it. More than I realized."
Wooyoung's hand found its way into Yeosang's hair, fingers gentle against his scalp. "You've been down lately. Since the thing with the staff about working out."
It wasn't a question, and Yeosang didn't try to deny it. "I just... I love it. The gym is where I go to clear my head, you know? And knowing I have to cut back because I'm too..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
"Too perfect?" San suggested, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Yeosang's ear. "Too strong? Too beautiful?"
"Too much for their concept," Yeosang corrected, but some of the sting had gone out of the words.
"Their loss," Wooyoung said firmly. "You're incredible exactly as you are. Strong and beautiful and perfect, and if they can't see that, they're idiots."
"Wooyoung..."
"I'm serious. You think we want you to be smaller? Weaker? Less than what you are?" Wooyoung's voice carried a note of fierce protectiveness that made Yeosang's chest tight. "Because we don't. We love you exactly as you are, and fuck anyone who thinks otherwise."
"Language," Yeosang said automatically, but he was smiling.
"I stand by it," Wooyoung replied stubbornly. "You're perfect, and I'll fight anyone who says different."
"Including staff members?" San asked with amusement.
"Especially staff members."
Yeosang laughed despite himself, the sound slightly muffled against Wooyoung's collarbone. "You can't fight the company, Wooyoung."
"Watch me."
"Please don't. I need you both to stay employed."
"Fine," Wooyoung conceded dramatically. "But I'm going to glare at them very meaningfully."
"That's... probably fine," Yeosang agreed, and he felt some of the tension he'd been carrying for days finally begin to release.
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the familiar sounds of the dorm settling around them. Yeosang was almost asleep when he felt fingers trailing along his ribs, light enough to tickle.
"San," he warned, but it was too late.
The tickling began in earnest, both San and Wooyoung ganging up on him with the kind of coordinated attack that spoke to extensive planning. Yeosang dissolved into helpless laughter, his body twisting as he tried to escape their hands.
"Stop," he gasped between laughs, "stop, I can't—"
"Can't what?" Wooyoung asked innocently, his fingers finding a particularly sensitive spot along Yeosang's waist. "Can't handle a little birthday tickling?"
"I'm going to—to die," Yeosang managed, tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard.
"We can't have that," San said solemnly, but his hands didn't stop their gentle assault. "Who would we spoil if you died?"
"Each other," Yeosang suggested desperately.
"Not the same," Wooyoung replied, leaning down to blow a raspberry against Yeosang's neck that made him shriek with laughter.
"Okay, okay, mercy!" Yeosang finally managed to gasp out. "I surrender!"
The tickling stopped abruptly, leaving him panting and boneless between them. But before he could fully catch his breath, Wooyoung was leaning down to kiss him properly—not the quick, playful pecks they'd been exchanging, but a real kiss, deep and thorough and full of all the things they couldn't say in public.
When they broke apart, Yeosang was breathless for entirely different reasons. "Wooyoung..."
"Happy birthday," Wooyoung whispered against his lips, then kissed him again, softer this time but no less meaningful.
San's hand cupped Yeosang's face from behind, turning him just enough to capture his lips in turn. San's kisses were different from Wooyoung's—less urgent but just as intense, filled with quiet devotion that made Yeosang's heart race.
"We love you," San murmured when they parted, his thumb tracing the line of Yeosang's jaw. "So much."
"I love you too," Yeosang replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Both of you. More than I know how to say."
"You don't have to say it," Wooyoung told him, settling back down with his head on Yeosang's shoulder. "We know."
They rearranged themselves back into the original position, the playful energy settling into something softer and more intimate. Yeosang found himself perfectly surrounded—San's arm around their waists, Wooyoung's hand resting over his heart, both of them close enough that he could feel their breathing begin to sync with his own.
"This is perfect," he said quietly, just before sleep began to claim him. "This is all I wanted."
"Good," San murmured, already half-asleep himself. "Because you're stuck with us."
"Forever," Wooyoung added drowsily. "Whether you like it or not."
Yeosang smiled in the darkness, surrounded by warmth and love and the quiet certainty that this—whatever else the world might think of it—was exactly where he belonged. He let himself drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that he was loved completely and unconditionally by the two people who mattered most.
The morning light filtered through the curtains slowly, painting everything in soft golden hues that seemed fitting for the aftermath of such a perfect day. Yeosang woke gradually, awareness creeping in layer by layer—the familiar weight of San's arm draped protectively over both his and Wooyoung's waists, the soft puff of Wooyoung's breath against his collarbone, the comfortable ache in his muscles from yesterday's performances. Wooyoung's leg was tangled between his own, their limbs intertwined in the unconscious intimacy of sleep, and he could feel where Wooyoung's foot had somehow found its way to rest against San's calf.
Carefully, so as not to disturb the peaceful tableau, Yeosang shifted just enough to glance over his shoulder. San lay sprawled on his stomach behind them, his broad shoulders catching the morning light in a way that made Yeosang's breath catch. The expanse of bare skin was golden and warm, muscles defined even in sleep, and there was something almost artistic about the way the light played across the planes of his back. San's face was turned toward them, features soft with sleep, and there was the faintest smile curving his lips as if he was having pleasant dreams.
What made Yeosang's heart flutter, though, were the small constellation of freckles scattered across San's neck and shoulder—tiny marks that most people never got close enough to notice, but that Yeosang had memorized during countless mornings just like this one. They were like a secret map written on San's skin, visible only to those privileged enough to see him this vulnerable, this unguarded.
For a moment, he just lay there, savoring the peace of the morning and the luxury of waking up surrounded by love. These moments were precious—stolen time in a world that demanded they keep their relationship hidden, quiet hours when they could just exist as themselves without worry about cameras or public perception.
San stirred behind him, his arm tightening slightly around both of them before his eyes fluttered open. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep in a way that never failed to send warmth through Yeosang's chest, the sound muffled against the pillow but still carrying that particular tenderness he reserved for these quiet moments.
Without fully lifting his head, San shifted closer, his body naturally seeking the warmth and comfort of proper contact. His chest pressed against Yeosang's back as he adjusted his position, one arm sliding more securely around Yeosang's waist while the other remained draped over both of them. The movement was instinctive, muscle memory from countless mornings of finding the perfect way to hold each other, and Yeosang felt himself melt back into the familiar embrace.
San stirred behind him, his arm tightening momentarily before he seemed to wake up properly. "Morning," he mumbled against Yeosang's shoulder, his voice rough with sleep in a way that never failed to send warmth through Yeosang's chest.
"Morning," Yeosang replied softly, not wanting to wake Wooyoung yet.
But it seemed Wooyoung was already stirring, his face scrunching up in that adorable way it did when he was fighting consciousness. "Too early," he mumbled, burrowing deeper against Yeosang's chest.
"It's almost ten," San pointed out with amusement.
"Still too early."
Yeosang was about to agree when something caught his attention. There was something different about Wooyoung's face—a subtle shimmer that definitely hadn't been there when they'd gone to sleep.
"Wooyoung," he said, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice, "did you sleep in your face mask?"
"What?" Wooyoung's eyes flew open, his hand immediately going to his cheek. His fingers came away with traces of the glittery purple mask he'd applied the night before, and his expression shifted from confusion to horror. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no."
"Oh yes," San said, now fully awake and grinning as he took in the sight of Wooyoung's partially mask-covered face. The product had dried and flaked during the night, leaving patches of glitter scattered across his cheek and temple like some kind of avant-garde art project.
"This is a disaster," Wooyoung moaned, sitting up and trying to assess the damage in the mirror across the room. "My skin routine is ruined. I'm going to break out. I'm going to look terrible for the next week of promotions."
"You look beautiful," Yeosang said automatically, because it was true. Even with half-dried skincare products flaking off his face, Wooyoung was still the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen.
"I look like I got attacked by craft supplies," Wooyoung corrected, but some of the panic was fading from his voice.
San reached over to gently brush a flake of the mask from Wooyoung's jaw. "You look like someone who fell asleep during their skincare routine because they were too comfortable to move."
"Which is exactly what happened," Yeosang added, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. "You were so cozy with us that you forgot to wash it off."
Wooyoung paused in his self-examination, a slow smile spreading across his face despite the skincare disaster. "I was pretty comfortable, wasn't I?"
"Very comfortable," San confirmed. "Almost couldn't get you to stop talking long enough to fall asleep."
"I wasn't talking that much," Wooyoung protested, but his tone was light now, the earlier panic completely forgotten.
"You gave us a twenty-minute dissertation on the proper order of serum application," Yeosang reminded him. "While lying down. With your eyes closed."
"That's important information!"
"It is," San agreed solemnly. "Very educational."
Wooyoung looked between them suspiciously, clearly trying to determine if they were making fun of him. But the expressions on their faces were nothing but fond, and after a moment he seemed to decide that being teased by his boyfriends first thing in the morning was actually a pretty good way to start the day.
"Fine," he said, climbing over them both to get out of bed. "But I'm going to go fix this disaster, and then I'm going to come back and make you both pay for laughing at me."
"Looking forward to it," Yeosang called after him as he headed for the bathroom.
"How exactly is he planning to make us pay?" San asked, settling back down next to Yeosang now that they had more room on the bed.
"Knowing Wooyoung? Probably by being extra affectionate until we're too flustered to function."
"That's not really a punishment."
"No," Yeosang agreed, turning to face San properly. "It's not."
San's dark hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there were pillow creases along his cheek, but his eyes were warm and alert as they studied Yeosang's face. "How are you feeling? About yesterday, I mean."
"Good," Yeosang said immediately, then paused to consider the question more carefully. "Really good, actually. I didn't realize how much I needed that until it happened."
"The birthday celebration?"
"All of it. The surprise, the attention, the way you and Wooyoung made everything feel special." Yeosang reached out to smooth down San's unruly hair, the gesture automatic and intimate. "I've been feeling kind of... invisible lately. Like I'm just going through the motions. But yesterday reminded me that I matter. To the fans, to the group, to you."
San caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "You always matter. Even when you don't feel like it."
"I know that, logically. But sometimes knowing something and feeling it are different things."
"Yeah," San said quietly. "I get that."
They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, hands loosely intertwined between them. From the bathroom came the sounds of Wooyoung's extended morning routine—running water, the clink of bottles, and what sounded like muttered complaints about skincare disasters.
"He's going to be in there forever," San observed.
"Probably. He takes his skincare very seriously."
"Almost as seriously as you take working out."
The comment was casual, but Yeosang caught the underlying concern in San's tone. "I'm okay," he said. "About the gym thing, I mean. What you and Wooyoung said last night... it helped."
"Good. Because we meant every word."
"I know you did. That's what made it help."
San's smile was soft and private, the kind of expression he only ever wore when it was just the three of them. "We're always going to be on your side, you know. Whatever happens, whatever anyone else says or thinks. It's us against the world."
"Us against the world," Yeosang repeated, liking the sound of it. "I can live with those odds."
The bathroom door opened, and Wooyoung emerged looking considerably more put-together, his face free of glittery mask residue and glowing with the effects of what had probably been an extensive damage-control routine.
"Crisis averted," he announced, striking a pose in the doorway. "I am once again devastatingly beautiful."
"Were you ever not?" San asked with a straight face.
"Well, no," Wooyoung admitted, clearly pleased by the question. "But I could have been temporarily less devastating."
"The horror," Yeosang said solemnly.
"I know, right? Can you imagine if I'd had to go to the company today looking anything less than perfect?" Wooyoung climbed back onto the bed, settling himself across both of their laps with the kind of shameless claim to space that was purely him. "Speaking of which, we should probably get moving soon. We have that meeting about the tour logistics."
"Do we have to?" San asked, his arm automatically coming up to wrap around Wooyoung's waist.
"Unfortunately, yes. Unless you want to explain to management why we skipped a mandatory meeting to stay in bed."
"I could think of worse reasons to get in trouble," Yeosang mused, which earned him a laugh from both of his boyfriends.
"Tempting," Wooyoung agreed, "but I actually want to hear about the tour details. Plus, if we're good during boring meetings, we get to do more fun things later."
"Like what?"
"Like celebrate the birthday boy properly," Wooyoung said with a grin that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. "Last night was just the beginning."
"What exactly do you have planned?" Yeosang asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Wouldn't you like to know," San said, exchanging one of those looks with Wooyoung that meant they'd been plotting again.
"Actually, yes, I would like to know. Very much."
"Too bad," Wooyoung said cheerfully. "You'll just have to wait and see."
Before Yeosang could protest further, Wooyoung was climbing off the bed again, this time with clear intent to get ready for the day. San followed suit, leaving Yeosang alone on the bed and wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into by having boyfriends who were both incorrigible planners and entirely too creative for his peace of mind.
"Come on," San said, offering him a hand up. "The sooner we get through the meeting, the sooner we can get to whatever Wooyoung has planned."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Yeosang muttered, but he took the offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.
As they got ready for the day, falling into the familiar rhythm of shared space and casual intimacy, Yeosang found himself thinking about San's words from earlier. Us against the world. It was a simple phrase, but it carried the weight of everything they were to each other—partners, lovers, best friends, allies in a world that didn't always understand or accept what they had.
But that was okay, he realized as he watched Wooyoung steal San's hair product and San retaliate by messing up Wooyoung's carefully styled hair. They didn't need the world to understand. They had each other, and they had the quiet support of their members, and they had moments like this—ordinary mornings filled with laughter and love and the comfortable chaos of three people who had learned to build a life together in the spaces between public obligations.
"Ready?" Wooyoung asked, checking his appearance one final time in the mirror.
"Ready," Yeosang confirmed, and he meant it.
They headed out together, three friends as far as the world was concerned, but something infinitely more precious in the privacy of their own hearts. And as they walked toward whatever the day might bring, Yeosang carried with him the warmth of the morning, the memory of glittery face masks and sleepy kisses, and the absolute certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wouldn't be facing them alone.
The world might not understand their love, might not have words for what they were to each other, but that didn't make it any less real or any less worth protecting. They were us against the world, and Yeosang had never felt more ready for whatever battle might come next.
After all, he had the best possible allies by his side, and that made him feel invincible.
Even if one of them did occasionally fall asleep in face masks.