Work Text:
[ 1 ]
The first time it happened, San thought he was seeing things because he was exhausted.
It was one of those days when time seemed to crawl. His morning class had started way too early, his professor had talked for too long, and dance rehearsal had dragged on way past the point of fun into total exhaustion. His shirt had been glued to his back for hours, his thighs were sore, and he had barely managed to shower at the dance studio before dragging himself home. By the time he pushed open the apartment door, his limbs felt heavy as lead, and his mind was foggy.
He had a plan, and it was simple: drop his bag either on the couch or in front of his room, collapse face-down on his bed, and probably, if his body remembered how to function properly, look for food tomorrow instead of today because he's exhausted.
Unfortunately, hunger was a ruthless force. The moment he entered the apartment, his stomach let out a long, sorrowful growl that reminded him he hadn't eaten since lunch. Letting out a low, frustrated groan, San kicked off his sneakers in front of the shoe rack, walked towards the living room to drop his backpack on the couch lazily, and made his way straight to the kitchen.
The apartment was silent, the way it usually was. Yeosang's door remained closed as always, no light visible through the small gap beneath it. San could hear the faint buzz of the fridge and the ticking of the kitchen clock. Nothing else.
He pulled the fridge door open, hoping for some spark of inspiration. Most of the time, he was the kind of cook who would just 'throw together whatever's available': ramen, scrambled eggs, or toast if he was desperate. He wasn't anticipating any miracle tonight. At most, maybe a leftover cake or an abandoned energy drink.
What he didn't expect to find was a plastic container sitting neatly on the centre of the shelf, square and ordinary, but topped with a sticky note.
San stared at it in surprise.
He leaned closer to get a better look. The note was pale pink, carefully pressed against the lid so that the corners wouldn't curl. On it, six words were handwritten neatly that tilted just a little to the right.
i made too much. please eat :) - yeo
San froze and looked at the words to digest them. The handwriting tilted just slightly, with pen strokes even and deliberate. San could almost picture Yeosang leaning over the counter as he wrote it, hesitating before adding the smiley face as if weighing whether it was too much.
He slowly and carefully pulled the container out, half-expecting it to vanish in his hold like an illusion. But no, it was very much real. The faint warmth of rice clung to the plastic when he pressed his palms against it. Inside, through the transparent sides, he could see the scatter of golden egg, chopped carrots, and scallions. The smell of sesame oil floated faintly even through the lid, familiar and comforting.
His stomach growled again, this time louder. But San barely noticed because he was too focused on staring at the note.
It wasn't that Yeosang was unfriendly; no, he wasn't. He was polite, yes. Quiet, definitely. He's reserved in a way that San had never been. They had been sharing a living space for almost six months, and San knew a lot about his habits: he always wore headphones when leaving the apartment, he lined up groceries in the fridge with absolute precision, and he closed his door with a soft click instead of a bang. But he didn't know much more. Their conversations rarely went beyond "hey" in the hallway or "have a good rest." Yeosang was polite but kept his distance, and San, who liked his own space, hadn't pressed further.
So, a sticky note? With food prepared for him? That was something different.
San read it again, his lips forming the words silently. I made too much. Please eat — Yeo. The small smiley face at the end seemed almost shy, as if Yeosang had hesitated before adding it. His name that's shortened to "Yeo", as if even on paper he preferred conciseness, made something unfamiliar flutter in San's chest.
He couldn't really grasp why it hit him so hard. It wasn't like someone leaving food was something extraordinary. But the image of Yeosang cooking, dividing a portion into a container, writing this cute note, sticking it with care against the lid, and keeping it in the fridge? For him?
It felt comforting.
San's lips twitched upward into a smile before he realised. It wasn't his typical, wide and playful grin that Wooyoung claimed made professors annoyed. No, this was subtler and softer. It's the kind of smile that appeared uninvited, that spread gradually across his face without fuss.
"Thanks, Yeosang," he muttered under his breath, even though he was the only one in the kitchen.
He placed the container in the microwave to reheat it, removed the lid as steam wafted out once it was done, and ate at the counter after taking a seat on the stool. The rice was delicious, comforting, and full of flavour with a hint of sweetness. He hadn't expected Yeosang to be a great cook, but maybe he should have. The male always seemed composed and orderly, like he had everything under control. One thing's for sure is that his fried rice would be better than San's chaotic instant noodles.
San placed the sticky note beside his elbow on the counter as he enjoyed his meal. Once he finished, full and a bit sleepy, he didn't discard it. Instead, almost unconsciously, he made his way to the couch; he folded the note and tucked it into the front pocket of his backpack, where it lingered like a secret.
The next morning, when Yeosang stepped out of his room with his usual quiet elegance, San nearly said something out loud. Thanks for the rice. It was really good. You didn't have to, but I loved it. I loved it a lot.
Instead, he just gave a half-smile while tying his shoelaces, and Yeosang acknowledged him with a polite nod before heading out the door.
San watched him leave, the words still lingering on his lips, and he realised that maybe their apartment wasn't as quiet as he had assumed.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
[ 2 ]
San woke up with the undeniable sensation of a cold settling over him.
It wasn't overly dramatic, at least not yet. It was just that this itchy throat, hazy mind, and sore muscles hinted that tomorrow would be worse for him. His alarm buzzed uselessly on the bedside table, and though he hit the snooze button, he didn't get up. He remained there under his blanket, staring at the ceiling, thinking whether dragging himself to class was worth it.
It wasn't worth it. Even the harsh, torturing cough that tore through his chest confirmed that it really wasn't worth it.
By late morning, he had completely given up and stayed wrapped up in bed, drifting in and out of light sleep. His nose was stuffy, his head ached, and even the thought of moving made him groan out tiredly. Typically, San wasn't one to complain. Like, he'd endure dance rehearsal with a pulled muscle and sit through lectures in a daze, but when it came to being sick like this, he became entirely motionless.
He wasn't sure when the knock sounded at his door. It was gentle – two quick taps, then silence.
San cracked one eye open, bewildered. Nobody ever knocked. Yeosang never knocked. He was so silent about everything that at times San forgot he existed beyond the closed bedroom door.
"Yeah?" San croaked, his voice rough.
There was a short silence. Then, Yeosang's voice, muffled but clear. "Uhm. I left something for you in the kitchen."
San stared at the ceiling. He wasn't totally sure if he had imagined it, but the sound of Yeosang walking away down the hall confirmed otherwise.
Pulling himself upright felt like torture, but his curiosity got the better of him. He wrapped himself with his blanket like a cape, opened the bedroom door and walked to the kitchen.
There it was again: a plastic container on the counter, still warm, with steam clouding the lid. Another pale pink sticky note was pressed neatly against the top.
heard you coughing badly last night so i made soup. get better soon :)
San was taken aback. The steam blurred the plastic lid, enveloping the comforting aroma of ginger and garlic. It smelt like comfort, like being at home. San couldn't recall when someone had last prepared a meal for him while he was unwell, and it caused a tightness in his chest that the soup alone couldn't explain.
Leaving food on the counter was one thing, but realising he was sick, hearing the cough through the wall, apparently, and then deciding to make soup was something else. And not just any soup, either. When San opened the lid, the scent of savoury chicken broth, ginger, garlic, and vegetables filled the air.
His stomach growled despite the lump he felt in his throat.
He carefully carried the container to the dining table, sat down with his blanket still wrapped around him, and began to eat after taking a spoon in the drawer. The broth was piping hot, comforting him all the way down, clearing his sinuses and loosening something tight in his chest. There were thin slices of chicken, round slices of carrot, and even tender bits of egg woven throughout like something out of a cooking show.
It wasn't perfect, maybe slightly too salty, but to San, it was the most delightful dish he had tasted all month.
As he kept slurping spoonful after spoonful, he couldn't stop looking at the sticky note that's decorated with Yeosang's beautiful handwriting. This one didn't even have his name on it, but the "heard you coughing badly last night so i made soup" was somehow worse. Or perhaps it was better. Or, something that made his cheeks warm.
It showed that Yeosang had noticed. That he had been observant, quietly, from the other side of the wall.
San pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and giggled softly to himself, unable to ignore the warmth that's spreading across his chest. "You're something, Yeosang."
He should've sent a text to thank the male. He even picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over their nearly empty chat room. But how is he exactly supposed to say it? Thank you for the soup. Are you secretly a grandma who has a book of all the recipes? Or worse: it was so delicious that I almost bawled.
He placed his phone down again when nothing came to mind.
After several hours, Yeosang finally appeared from the bathroom, his hair still wet from a shower and a hoodie hanging loosely on his frame. San spoke up even though he was slightly hesitant. His voice was still raspy, but it resonated down the hall.
"Hey. The soup was really delicious. Thanks, Yeosang-ah."
Yeosang paused in his steps, turning to look at San. His expression was composed and hard to read, but his ears turned a shade of red as he nodded twice. "You're welcome. Rest well, San-ah."
Then he resumes his steps before disappearing into his room.
San sat there at the dining table for quite a while, the empty container in front of him, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He reassured himself it was just food, just friendly courtesy between housemates. But the warmth spreading in his chest disagreed.
Later, when he finally retreated back to his room and climbed back into bed, he slid the second sticky note under his pillow after folding it neatly. He'll keep it there just until he feels better, he told himself. Just until the fever subsided.
He didn't throw it away afterwards.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
[ 3 ]
Saturday afternoons were typically San's time to recharge. With no classes or rehearsals scheduled, he could chill in his room, spoiling himself with whatever show or game he felt like watching. The apartment remained quiet, Yeosang's door closed as usual, and San was absolutely fine with that.
That day, as San returned from taking out the trash downstairs, he nearly walked right past the front lobby without noticing the familiar figure standing just inside the entrance.
Yeosang was there, his arms awkwardly wrapped around two overstuffed grocery bags. A third bag slumped at his feet, clearly too heavy to lift along with the others. His head was bowed, dark hair falling into his eyes as he struggled to readjust his grip without dropping anything.
San stopped walking, blinking his eyes as he looked at the male.
For a brief moment, he contemplated going upstairs quietly, feigning that he hadn't seen. It wasn't that he didn't want to help; it was just that Yeosang looked independent and reserved. He seemed like the kind of person who would prefer to struggle with ten grocery bags alone than ask someone to help him grab one.
But then one of the bags tilted alarmingly, a carton of eggs balancing on the edge, and San saw his life flashing before his eyes.
"Whoa, wait—" San was already hurrying over to the male. "You're gonna drop and break some stuff like that."
Yeosang looked up, taken aback. His eyes widened a little at the sight of San, but he didn't argue when San crouched down to grab the bag that was on the floor and one of the heavier ones from his arms.
"These are seriously overstuffed," San said, shifting the weight effortlessly. "Are you feeding an army, Yeosang-ah?"
"Uhm... The groceries were on sale," Yeosang replied, his voice as soft as ever.
San grinned cheekily. "I bet you emptied half the store, huh?"
They walked side by side toward the elevator. San saw the slight flush on Yeosang's cheeks, noticing the way his shoulders tensed as if he wasn't used to having someone accompany him. He also saw how light Yeosang's steps were, making hardly a sound even with heavy bags in hand.
The ride up to their floor was quiet, the kind of stillness that might've felt awkward with anyone else. With Yeosang, it just felt okay.
When they reached their floor, they walked out of the elevator side by side until they stopped in front of their unit. San entered the door code successfully, even while carrying the heavy bags. Yeosang helped to open the door a bit before San stuck his left leg out to hold the door. He let Yeosang enter first; the door closed behind him, and he carried the bags to the kitchen after taking his shoes off. "Counter, right?"
Yeosang nodded twice in response, carefully placing his own bags down. He began to unload with careful movements: milk first, followed by neatly arranged vegetables, and pantry items stacked in the cupboard. On the other hand, San just let his bags spill open casually.
Yeosang hesitated for a moment, glancing at the chaos. "You don't typically help with groceries, do you?"
San laughed lowly. "What gave it away? My lack of tidiness?"
Yeosang's lips twitched slightly, showing the barest hint of amusement before he quickly composed himself. He reached over and quietly set aside San's abandoned loaf of bread, moving it away from the onions.
San leaned against the counter, observing. There was something strangely comforting about watching Yeosang in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair falling over his eyes as he focused on arranging things where they belonged. It was as if he was piecing together a puzzle only he knew the picture of.
"Hey," San said out of the blue. "Why don't we cook something? We have enough food here to last a week."
Yeosang paused, looking at him. "You mean... cook together?"
"Yeah, why not?" San's smile grew wider. "You already saved and blessed my life with fried rice and soup. I wanna return the favour."
The slight flush returned to Yeosang's cheeks. He looked down at the groceries, then back at San with a small yet sincere smile on his face. "Okay. That sounds nice."
Cooking together turned out to be quite an adventure.
San volunteered to slice vegetables, which was unfortunate, because his knife skills were lacking. Carrots ended up uneven, and green onions were chopped into messy pieces. Eventually, Yeosang gently nudged him aside, calmly taking over the task before San could ruin the zucchini.
"You're hopeless," Yeosang mumbled, though there was no real malice in his tone.
San laughed, leaning against the counter to watch instead. "Well, what can I say? I'm better as a taste-tester than a chef."
Yeosang's hands moved with steadiness and accuracy. He sliced everything into neat, even pieces, placing them into bowls with efficiency. San found himself captivated, not only by the skilful movements, but also by the slight crease on Yeosang's forehead, the quiet dedication that seemed to encase him like a shield.
"Do you usually cook this much?" San asked, genuinely curious.
"Most weeks." Yeosang kept his gaze down. "It's comforting."
"I figured. You're really good at it."
Yeosang turned to look at the male, quick but sharp, like he was checking if the male meant it. San didn't break eye contact, he smiled warmly. The slightest hint of a smile appeared on Yeosang's face before he lowered his head once more.
They ended up preparing a simple stir-fry dish: chicken, vegetables, and rice on the side. San took care of the pan while Yeosang handed him the ingredients in precise order, directing him with gentle instructions. There were a couple of near-disasters (San almost set the garlic on fire), but somehow, they ended up with a piping hot dish that truly looked edible.
As they sat down at the dining table with plates in front of them, San dug into his meal enthusiastically. "Wow. Okay, this is incredible. Much better than takeout."
Yeosang nibbled at his food, eyes lowered, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly at San's excitement.
"Seriously, Yeosang-ah," San continued as he chewed, "if you keep making food this good, I might end up following you around like a puppy."
That caused Yeosang to choke on his rice. He quickly covered it with a cough, shaking his head.
San giggled, bright and carefree. He failed to see how Yeosang's cheeks turned red again or how long his housemate's eyes held on him longer than necessary when he wasn't looking.
Later, after the dishes were cleaned and the kitchen was tidy once more (all thanks to Yeosang, because San's definition of 'clean' was questionable), San noticed a small container resting on the counter. Inside was a neatly arranged serving of the stir-fry dish from earlier, covered and labelled with another pale pink sticky note.
this is for tomorrow. don't skip meals :) – yeo
San stared at it, feeling a warmth spread in his chest.
It wasn't just a meal. It represented Yeosang's attention, thinking ahead for San, making sure he wouldn't neglect to care for himself.
"Thanks, Yeo," San muttered softly, even though he was the only one in the kitchen again.
As he carried the container to the fridge to keep it, he tucked the note into his back pocket before making his way to his room to wash up and closed the door.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
[ 4 ]
It all started with a knock on San's door.
This wasn't extremely strange, except that Yeosang rarely knocked. He was the master of making quiet entrances and exits; San could easily go an entire day without hearing a sound from his housemate besides the faint rustle of pages or quiet typing coming from the other side of the wall.
Therefore, when the knock came, three gentle taps in the middle of San's lazy Saturday evening, he was taken aback.
"Yeah?" he responded, propping himself up from where he had been sprawled across his bed, scrolling through his phone.
The door opened slightly. Yeosang was standing there, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands, a faint look of hesitation on his face. "Do you... wanna watch a movie with me? In the living room."
San's mouth actually went agape. Yeosang? Suggesting social interaction? It was unexpected, but San loves it.
Then he came back to Earth and smiled. "Sure. Just give me a moment."
Yeosang hummed softly and nodded his head twice in response before closing the door and making his way back to the living room to wait for San.
San can't hold back the wide smile from appearing on his face. His heart was pounding at the thought of the two of them watching a movie together. He doesn't know why, but it sounds domestic to him. He gets out of bed immediately, opens the door, and walks out of his room to the living room, where Yeosang is.
The living room was dimly lit, with the TV screen glowing softly from the pause menu of a streaming app. A bowl of popcorn rested on the coffee table, the buttery smell filling the air, and two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, steam rising.
San flopped onto the couch clumsily, extending his legs out. "Wow. You really set the mood, hmm? Popcorn and hot chocolate? Should I be concerned that you're secretly trying to woo me?"
Yeosang, already perched at the opposite side of the couch, shot him a deadpan expression. However, the tips of his ears betrayed him, turning a shade of pink. "It's just snacks."
San laughed softly, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Sure, sure. Thanks, though. It's really nice."
They browsed through the choices before landing on an action-comedy, simple enough to follow and light-hearted enough that any silence wouldn't feel awkward.
For the first twenty minutes, San attempted to concentrate on the movie. He truly did. However, his attention kept wandering away. Yeosang sat with his hands wrapped around his mug, his gaze fixed on the screen, and his posture was firm as if he were in a class.
Occasionally, he'd reach for the popcorn bowl with his right hand while holding his mug in the other hand, always careful to take only one or two pieces at a time.
San, on the other hand, grabbed handfuls of popcorn, spilling a few onto his hoodie.
At one point, Yeosang silently nudged the bowl closer to the male. San smiled widely. "You're too nice to me, Yeosang-ah."
Yeosang hummed in response, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
Midway through the movie, San adjusted himself, stretching his legs out further until his sock-covered feet gently brushed against Yeosang's side.
Yeosang tensed up at the contact. He glanced down. Then, without saying anything, he shifted a bit, not away, but enough to allow San's legs to rest more without difficulty.
San felt something embarrassingly warm spread in his chest. He covered it with another handful of popcorn as if swallowing the snack would help his heart calm down.
The hot chocolate gradually cooled, sweet and rich on San's tongue. He wasn't sure when Yeosang had discovered his preference for it with marshmallows, as San couldn't recall mentioning it, but there they were, softening in the mug.
"Hey," San called out at one moment, tilting his cup. "Thank you for making this."
Yeosang nodded twice in response. "You're welcome, San-ah."
"It's just right."
A pause of silence followed. Then, Yeosang responds softly with an "I'm glad" that San almost missed it.
San beamed into his mug, feeling that familiar warmth spreading in his chest again.
By the time the movie finished, the popcorn bowl was empty, and the mugs were washed and resting on the dish rack. San stretched his hands upward with a groan, saying something inaudible, and turned to look at Yeosang.
"That was really fun. We should do this again."
Yeosang's gaze shifted, quick and unsure, before coming to rest. "Sure, if you'd like."
"I would." San's smile softened, now less teasing. "I really would."
For a moment, they gazed at one another in the soft glow of the TV. San hoped that perhaps Yeosang would say something more. But then Yeosang blinked his eyes sleepily, gathered the blankets from the couch, and gently said, "Good night, San-ah," before disappearing down the hall to enter his room.
San sat there a bit longer, looking at the empty bowl on the table.
When he eventually pushed himself to walk back to his room, he found another sticky note on his door, but it was a pale yellow one this time.
i saved some popcorn for you in the fridge :) – yeo
San chuckled, taking it and placing it into the notebook on his study desk alongside the others once he entered his room. He wonders when Yeosang had the time to keep some popcorn for him. The thought of the male writing the note and sticking it on his door somehow made his heart flutter. His collection was beginning to grow.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
[ 5 ]
San was definitely not a morning person.
Everyone is aware of it. Wooyoung, who constantly bombarded his phone with memes before noon to annoy him; Jongho, who threatened to pull him out of bed by the ankle; even his professors, who had given up anticipating his arrival to class looking fully alive before 10 am.
So, when he stumbled into the kitchen one Sunday, hair sticking up wildly, eyes still half-shut, the last thing he expected was the inviting smell of breakfast already being prepared.
He stopped in the doorway, blinking in confusion.
Yeosang was standing at the stove, a spatula in his right hand, his sleeves rolled up as he flipped something in a pan. The morning light streamed through the blinds, illuminating the steam rising from a small pot of seaweed soup. The counter was meticulously laid out with bowls, plates, and chopsticks.
San rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand, questioning if he was still dreaming.
"Are you seriously cooking at this hour?" His voice came out hoarse, a scratchy fragment of sleep.
Yeosang glanced back with his signature calm demeanour. "Good morning. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought of making breakfast."
San walked further in, gently scratching his nape with his right hand. "Damn, you're making me look bad. I usually just... you know." He imitated pouring cereal into a bowl to express his simple breakfast every morning.
Yeosang's lips twitched, nearly forming a smile. "I do notice."
San let out a soft laugh, plopping down into a chair at the dining table. "Rude. Accurate, but rude."
By the time everything was done and ready, the table resembled something out of a cosy cooking show: steamed rice, grilled fish, neatly sliced rolled omelettes, and bowls of piping hot seaweed soup.
San stared at the delicious-looking food with wide eyes. "Okay, wow. This is quite a lot. Are you sure we're not accidentally running a bed-and-breakfast?"
Sunlight poured through the blinds, illuminating Yeosang's hair and turning the tips almost golden. The sight of the food on the table looks cosy, warm, and incredibly soothing. Until this moment, San had never wished for mornings to last longer.
Yeosang arranged the food neatly on the table with practised ease. "It's just a simple breakfast."
"Simple, he says." San said with a teasing grin as he picked up his chopsticks. "This feast looks incredible."
He dug into the food without hesitation, sighing contentedly after the first bite of egg. "Oh my god. This is so good. Like, dangerously good. If you keep feeding me like this, I might never leave."
Yeosang, who's sitting across from him, is focused on his bowl of rice. However, the slight flush that appeared on his cheeks gave him away.
They mostly ate in silence, but it wasn't awkward. San found himself stealing glances at the way Yeosang held his chopsticks with careful grace, at the slight tilt of his head when sipping soup, and at the steady rhythm of his movements.
In contrast, San was messy, chuckling when he almost dropped a piece of fish, slurping too noisily. But Yeosang didn't react with discomfort or annoyance. He just handed San an extra napkin without saying anything, his gaze soft in a way San found hard to define.
Later, San insisted on helping with the dishes. "No way you're doing all the work; I won't let you. Let me help. I'll dry them."
Yeosang didn't protest at the male's desire to help. He scrubbed the dishes while San stood beside him with a towel, clumsy but making an effort. Their shoulders brushed from time to time, small sparks that San chose to ignore but secretly cherished.
At one moment, San placed a plate down too hard, which caused water to splash onto the counter. He heaved out a soft sigh. "Sorry. I'm a troublemaker even in the kitchen."
A soft yet genuine laugh slipped past Yeosang's lips before he could hold it back. San turned to look at him, slightly taken aback by the sound, and smiled widely.
"Hey. You actually do laugh."
Yeosang's cheeks turned a shade of pink. "Sometimes because I'm still a human."
"I really like it," San said impulsively.
The room fell silent for a moment. Yeosang's eyes shifted to him, searching for something, then looked away again.
San cleared his throat and continued drying the dishes. But his heart was beating faster than it should have.
After putting away the last bowl, San noticed another small container on the counter. Inside were slices of leftover omelette, neatly arranged. A pale yellow sticky note was pressed to the lid.
for tomorrow's lunch. be sure to eat :) – yeo
San let out a soft laugh, his thumb brushing the edge of the note gently.
Yeosang was already walking back to his room when San called out to him. "Hey. I appreciate the breakfast. Really. It was one of the best mornings I've experienced in a while."
Yeosang paused in the hallway, and he glanced back at San a little with a shy smile on his face. Then, he replied just loud enough to be heard: "I'm really happy to hear that."
And then he entered his room before his door clicked shut.
San remained where he was, the container in hand, the sticky note already leaving a mark on his heart. The corners of his lips twitched upward into a wide, warm smile.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
[ +1 ]
It all began with their friends.
San should've anticipated it with how Wooyoung and Jongho had been hovering around him for weeks, smirking like the menaces they are whenever Yeosang was mentioned, and whispering loudly enough during group hangouts that San felt like throwing something at them.
This time, they found themselves at a crowded barbecue restaurant, the table filled with the sounds of sizzling meat and laughter. Yunho and Mingi sat across from Yeosang, sharing whispers; Wooyoung leaned against San, nudging him with every other remark.
"Seriously," Wooyoung murmured, "are you ever gonna say anything? He cooks for you as if you're his husband. There has to be something between the two of you at this point."
San almost sputtered on his lettuce wrap. "What—stop it, Young-ah!"
Jongho, deadpan, continued flipping the meat without looking up. "He's not wrong, hyung."
On the other side, Mingi was just as direct. "Sangie, you should make the first move. Sannie's too oblivious."
Yeosang halted mid-bite, his gaze shifting to San before darting back to his plate. His ears heated up as he successfully held back his smile.
San noticed the male looking at him for a bit, and his heart skipped a beat.
The rest of dinner felt like a haze of teasing and laughter, and San avoided eye contact with Yeosang like his life depended on it. But the words sank in deeply: say something to him. confess.
Later that night, back at the apartment, San hung out in his room, feeling restless. He looked at his notebook, which was packed with folded sticky notes, sitting on his desk in his room, practically resonating with significance.
He'd replayed each note in his mind: Please eat. Get better soon. Don't skip meals. Be sure to eat. Every quiet gesture, every careful meal, every container of leftovers – each one was a confession Yeosang hadn't said aloud.
San realised that he didn't want another sticky note. Not this time. He desired the real thing.
He walked out of his room to find Yeosang in the kitchen, sorting through a small paper bag. More groceries again, of course. Yeosang was taking out a pack of strawberries, bringing it to the sink and rinsing them under the running water with quiet efficiency.
"Hey," San said, leaning against the counter while looking at the male's back. His voice was more composed than he felt.
Yeosang glanced back, giving a slight nod before bringing the pack of washed strawberries to the counter. "Hey. You're back."
"Yeah." San rubbed his nape. "Listen, Wooyoung and Mingi are menaces, as you know. Don't take them seriously.”
Yeosang's hands, which were checking the strawberries, paused briefly. "I know."
Yet his shoulders were tense, as they always were when he had something to say but kept it to himself.
San heaved out a soft sigh. No more sticky notes. No more hesitating.
"Yeosang-ah," he called out softly.
Yeosang looked up to meet the male's soft gaze, his eyebrows lifted slightly. "What is it?"
San's heart raced like there was a race competition in his chest. He moved towards the male slowly, close enough to catch the faint sweetness of the strawberries and the fresh scent of Yeosang's soap.
"I absolutely like you," San confessed abruptly. Then he gathered himself, witnessing Yeosang's surprised gaze. "Not just because of the food or the notes. Though those... they mean so much to me. But it's you. Because you notice things that others always miss. Because you show you care in ways that often go unsaid. And I... I don't wanna keep acting like it's just nothing."
Silence fell around them. The grip Yeosang has on the strawberries tightened slightly.
Yeosang's eyes searched his, wide and unsure. "You... like me."
San nodded, his throat feeling dry. "Yeah, I do. A lot."
For a moment, he feared he had misjudged the situation and that Yeosang would retreat behind his usual barrier of silence. But then Yeosang let go of the strawberries, drying his hands carefully with a towel that was resting on the counter.
"I tried to tell you how I feel for you," he said softly. "Through food. It was... easier than using words."
San felt a tightening in his chest. He reached his right hand out, pausing for just a moment before brushing his fingers against Yeosang's right wrist. "I understood the message. It took me some time, but... I got it."
Yeosang looked down at their hands, then looked back up at San. A small smile curved his lips, genuine but real. "That's good."
San chuckled; a breath of relief slipped past his lips. "So... does this mean I can take you out tonight? On a real date?"
Yeosang's cheeks turned a shade of pink, but he nodded twice in response. "I'd love that."
Their first date that night was nothing extravagant. Just a stroll to the convenience store down the street in the late hours.
The air outside was chilly yet refreshing, the kind of midnight breeze that carried a hint of rain from the earlier evening. The streets were calm, with lamplight creating long shadows on the sidewalk. San tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket, walking close enough that his arm brushed against Yeosang's occasionally.
It felt relaxed and natural until he noticed his heart was racing like they were heading somewhere far more important than a convenience store.
They entered the convenience store once they reached there, and the bright fluorescent lights buzzed. San picked up a basket; Yeosang automatically walked next to him.
"Alright," San said, attempting to sound serious. "We need to get the essentials. Snacks, ramen, and... oh, those ridiculously delicious chocolate pies."
Yeosang raised an eyebrow. "That's not really essential, Sannie."
"Blasphemy," San remarked, tossing the box in anyway after reaching for them. "You'll thank me later for remembering to buy this."
Yeosang let out a soft sigh, though a small smile appeared on his face. He placed a bottle of banana milk in the basket.
San blinked in surprise. "Wait, you actually like that as well?"
Yeosang shrugged, a light blush creeping onto his ears. "They remind me of my childhood."
San grinned widely. "Okay, then they're essential."
They wandered around the aisles like that, throwing in too many items: spicy chips that San was eager to try, a ridiculous ramen flavour that had Yeosang raising an eyebrow in disapproval but didn't stop him from grabbing, and a pack of blueberries that Yeosang quietly slipped in.
After they paid and stepped back into the cool night air, San carried the paper bags with his left hand, purposefully carrying them all with one hand so his other was free. His fingers brushed against Yeosang's once, then twice, until finally Yeosang wrapped his left pinky around San's right one.
San froze for a moment, then grinned like a lovesick fool, curling his entire right hand around Yeosang's left one and holding on tight.
Back at the apartment, they unloaded everything onto the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. A movie flashed across the screen, serving mostly as background noise while they rummaged through their treasures.
San tore opens a bag of chips, offering it with a crooked grin. "Want some?"
Yeosang took one, shaking his head at San's enthusiastic munching. "You eat like it's a race."
"Only when the food's tasty." San licked the seasoning off his fingers before he noticed Yeosang watching him, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment. "Uh, sorry."
Yeosang looked away quickly, but not fast enough for San to miss the slight smile forming on his lips.
Halfway through the movie, San shifted, heart racing as he reached for Yeosang's right hand with his left one. This time, Yeosang didn't pull back. Their fingers intertwined comfortably, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a while, they just remained like that, warmth spreading in the silence. But eventually, San couldn't hold himself back.
"You know," he whispered, his eyes fixed on their clasped hands, "I still can't believe you did all that just for me. The food, the notes. You didn't have to, but you did, and it really meant a lot to me. More than I think I've ever expressed."
Yeosang's thumb gently traced San's knuckles. "It was easier than expressing it with words. Every time I wanted to say something, the words... just wouldn't come. But cooking for you is something that I could do. And I hoped maybe you'd understand."
San felt a tightness in his chest. He leaned in closer, close enough that he could see the way Yeosang's pretty eyelashes cast pretty shadows on his cheeks. "I did. Eventually. I guess I'm a bit slow."
Yeosang finally met his gaze, maintaining eye contact despite the delicate blush painting his cheeks. "I've had feelings for you for a long time, Sannie. I thought you wouldn't notice. Or worse, that you'd notice and... not feel the same way."
San squeezed the male's hand gently. "I noticed. And I do. More than I even know how to express properly."
The air surrounding them buzzed with something electric and inevitable.
San leaned in first, giving Yeosang the opportunity to pull back. But Yeosang didn't. He closed the gap, his lips pressing softly against San's.
The kiss was cautious, like exploring the boundaries of a cherished fantasy. San's heart raced as he tasted subtle sweetness: banana milk, blueberries, and a hint of salt from the chips they'd been munching on.
Yeosang kissed gently, almost shyly, but there was a sense of urgency in the way his fingers gripped San's hoodie, pulling the male close as though fearing he might disappear. San tilted his head to deepen the kiss, and Yeosang submitted with a soft sound that made San's heart race.
Time felt like it was stretching. The TV's flicker blurred in the background, and the sound of the chip bag crumpling beneath his knee faded away. All San could sense was the warmth of Yeosang's mouth, the brush of his breath, and the sharp ache of weeks filled with unexpressed emotions finally coming undone.
Yeosang parted his lips just a bit, unsure but welcoming, and San seized the moment to glide his tongue along the edge. The shudder that ran through Yeosang almost unravelled him.
A soft sound slipped past Yeosang's lips, half sigh, half whimper, and San devoured it eagerly, his right hand moving to support Yeosang's jaw, his thumb caressing the smooth curve of his cheekbone.
It was messy and beautiful, their breaths intertwining, hearts pounding, every contact of lips and teeth a wordless confession: I like you. I want this. I want you so much.
The kiss grew hungrier and fuller, an unspoken acknowledgement flowing through every contact of lips, every breathy gasp.
When they finally pulled away from each other, foreheads pressed together, both of them were breathless, sharing soft laughter.
"Wow," San murmured, grinning. "That was... incredible. We definitely should do that again."
Yeosang's cheeks were flushed, his lips a deeper shade of pink, but his eyes sparkled with happiness. "Mhm, maybe tomorrow. Over breakfast."
San let out a soft laugh, leaning in to peck the male's lips again, softer this time. "Deal."
The movie continued playing, forgotten. The snacks remained half-open on the table, abandoned as they curled closer together.
Yeosang shifted until he was nestled against San's chest, his head resting on San's shoulder. San wrapped an arm around him, his thumb making gentle circles over Yeosang's sleeve, amazed at how natural it felt.
For the first time, the apartment felt anything but silent. It felt full, overflowing, alive with something neither of them would ever need to put words on sticky notes again.
And it was perfect.