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It started from something very, very small.
So small that Sunoo himself did not realize there was a problem until the problem was already sitting right in front of him, wearing a handsome face and a faint beard that had begun to darken along Park Sunghoon’s jaw.
The first time Sunoo truly noticed it was three weeks ago, in between practice sessions. Sunghoon was sitting on the studio floor with a towel around his neck, drinking water, his head tilted slightly upward. Under the unforgiving brightness of the studio lights, Sunoo saw it clearly: fine hair growing along his jaw, beneath his lower lip, trailing slowly toward his chin.
A beard.
Sunghoon was growing a beard.
Sunoo stared for a full three seconds. Then he turned away and pretended to check his shoes.
He thought it would not be a problem.
He was wrong.
The problem was not that the beard made Sunghoon look bad. Quite the opposite, and that only made Sunoo more frustrated because he could not be completely logical about it.
With a beard, Sunghoon looked more mature. Sharper. Like someone who had just stepped out of a late night Korean action film. Jay had commented, “Hoon-ah, you’re seriously getting more handsome every day. That’s unfair.” Riki had sent a close up photo of Sunghoon to their group chat with the caption, “this should be illegal.” And Engene, always the most vocal about things like this, had been talking about it across platforms. Screenshots were circulating. The phrase “Park Sunghoon beard” even trended for a full day.
Sunghoon knew all of that and accepted it in a very Sunghoon way. Not excessive, but clearly pleased, the corners of his lips lifting slightly whenever the topic came up.
“I think I’ll keep it,” Sunghoon said one morning at the dining table, touching his chin with a finger. “It looks good.”
“Twice as handsome, hyung,” Riki said without looking up from his phone.
“I agree,” Jay added.
And Sunoo sat at the end of the table, spooning his porridge, saying nothing.
The problem truly began the first time Sunghoon kissed him after the beard had grown enough to be felt.
They were in Sunoo’s room on a quiet afternoon. Sunghoon tilted his head and pressed his lips to Sunoo’s in a way Sunoo knew by heart. Then Sunoo felt something strange around his mouth. Like being brushed with fine sandpaper. Like fabric with the wrong texture.
Sunoo pulled back.
Sunghoon opened his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” Sunoo shifted slightly. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat first.”
Sunghoon looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, but did not ask further. They ate.
Sunoo assumed that was the end of it.
It was not.
The next day, Sunghoon tried again in the kitchen hallway, a quick kiss, the kind they usually shared when no one was around. By reflex, Sunoo tilted his head just enough so the kiss landed at the corner of his lips instead of the center.
Sunghoon said nothing.
But his eyes said enough.
During the first week, Sunoo managed to avoid it with reasonable excuses.
Tired. Their schedule was indeed packed.
Dry lips. Less convincing, but accepted.
Someone walking down the hallway. That time it was true.
But the second week felt different.
Sunghoon did not stop trying, and that was not the problem. The problem was that Sunghoon started noticing. And Park Sunghoon, once he noticed something, would not stop until he had an answer.
The signs were subtle, but Sunoo knew him too well not to read them. The way Sunghoon, who usually reached for his hand without hesitation, now paused slightly before doing so. The way his eyes, which normally sought Sunoo’s immediately, lingered on his face a little longer, as if reading something without text.
Sunghoon had not asked yet.
But Sunoo knew it was only a matter of time.
The day the dam finally broke was an ordinary Wednesday. No schedule, no practice. Jake had gone to his private recording studio. Jungwon had gone to a café with a friend from outside the group. The downstairs dorm was empty except for Sunoo, who was lying on the couch with a drama playing on his laptop and a blanket clutched to his chest like a shield.
Sunghoon came down with two cups of tea. He already knew Sunoo liked tea in the afternoon, knew how long to steep it, knew Sunoo preferred it slightly sweeter than usual. He sat on the narrow edge of the couch, forcing Sunoo to move his legs.
“What are you watching?” Sunghoon asked, placing the cups on the table.
“Not sure. Just started.”
“Is it good?”
“I don’t know. I just started.”
Sunghoon nodded. They sat together for a few minutes. Or rather, Sunoo watched while Sunghoon sat beside him with his tea, glancing occasionally at the screen.
Then Sunghoon set his cup down and leaned toward Sunoo.
Sunoo, who could read this even from the corner of his eye, instinctively pulled the blanket slightly higher.
A small movement. Almost invisible.
But Sunghoon saw it.
He did not lean closer. Instead, he leaned back, sat upright, and remained silent for several seconds that felt longer than they should have.
“Sunoo-ya.”
“Mm.” Sunoo kept his eyes on the screen.
“It’s been two weeks.”
Sunoo felt his stomach drop. “Two weeks of what?”
“You know what.”
Silence.
On the laptop screen, the drama characters were arguing. Sunoo did not process a single word.
“I’m not—”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding—”
“Sunoo.”
His voice lowered. Not angry. Sunghoon was rarely loud when he was upset. But there was something in his tone that made Sunoo close the laptop and sit upright, hugging the blanket to his chest.
Sunghoon looked at him directly, as always.
“Did I do something wrong?”
The way he asked, softly, sincerely, without accusation, made Sunoo feel worse than he expected.
“No,” Sunoo said quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why is it that every time I get close to you—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunoo repeated, more quietly. “The problem isn’t you.”
“But there is a problem.”
Sunoo bit his lower lip. Looked at the blanket. At the closed laptop. At the tea that was already cooling.
At Sunghoon.
And in Sunghoon’s gaze, Sunoo saw something he did not usually see there: uncertainty. Not panic. Not anger. Just uncertainty, like someone used to reading maps who suddenly finds part of it erased.
Oh.
This is my fault.
Sunoo took a long breath, let go of the blanket, and straightened his back.
“Okay,” Sunoo said. “I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not allowed to laugh.”
Sunghoon blinked. “I won’t laugh.”
“Sunghoon—”
“I won’t. Tell me.”
Sunoo studied him for two full seconds, calibrating his seriousness. Then he inhaled.
“Your beard.”
Silence.
“My beard?”
“Yes.” Sunoo stared at a point between Sunghoon’s shoulders instead of his eyes.
“Every time we… when you kiss me… it feels like…” He scrunched his nose. “Like sandpaper. Around my mouth. And it’s very distracting.”
Another silence.
“You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks because of my beard,” Sunghoon said slowly.
“I wasn’t avoiding—”
“Two weeks, Sunoo.”
“I just didn’t know how to say it.” Sunoo finally met his eyes and there, at the corner of Sunghoon’s gaze, something flickered. Something dangerously close to laughter. “You said you liked your beard. Engene liked it. Everyone liked it. I didn’t want to be the only one—”
“Sunoo-ya—”
“And every time we kiss it feels like there’s a small doormat on your face—”
Sunghoon burst out laughing.
Not a polite chuckle. Not a quiet laugh. A full laugh from his stomach, shoulders shaking, one hand covering his face because he did not know what else to do with it.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“I—” Sunghoon tried to stop, failed, then inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. A doormat—”
“Park Sunghoon.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, still bright eyed with leftover laughter. “You didn’t tell me because you were afraid of hurting my feelings?”
Sunoo did not answer. Which meant yes.
Sunghoon’s expression softened.
“You avoided kissing me for two weeks,” he said quietly, “so you wouldn’t hurt my feelings about my beard.”
“It sounds stupid when you say it out loud.”
“It does,” Sunghoon agreed. “But it’s also very you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re very sweet.” He shifted closer.
Sunoo did not move away this time. “And very foolish.”
“Hoon—”
“Sunoo.” Sunghoon brushed his thumb against Sunoo’s cheek. “You can tell me things like this.”
“I know. I just…” Sunoo sighed.
“You looked happy. Everyone said you looked good. I didn’t want to be the only one saying otherwise.”
“You didn’t say I looked bad. You said my beard feels like a doormat on your face.”
“That’s about texture—”
“Sunoo-ya.” Sunghoon held back another laugh, barely succeeding.
“I won’t fall apart because you don’t like how my beard feels. Do you understand?”
Sunoo looked at him.
“Do you understand?” Sunghoon repeated more gently.
“…I understand.”
“Good.”
They talked more after that. About texture. About how the kisses felt different. About the redness on Sunoo’s skin after longer kisses and the trouble of covering it before photo sessions. Sunghoon listened without interrupting, without laughing again.
“You should have told me earlier,” Sunghoon said in the end. “Not because I’m mad. But because you didn’t have to carry this alone for two weeks. We’ve been together for over two years. You can tell me things like this.”
Sunoo nodded slowly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just don’t repeat it.”
The silence that followed felt lighter, like a window opened after being shut for too long.
A few minutes later, without looking away from the screen, Sunghoon said, “If I shave it, would you be more comfortable?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I didn’t ask that. Would you be more comfortable?”
“…Maybe.”
“Maybe yes or maybe no?”
“Maybe yes.”
Sunghoon nodded as if storing the information somewhere careful.
“I can like something and still consider if it bothers someone important to me,” he said calmly. “That’s not dramatic. That’s normal.”
Sunoo looked at him and, for a moment, felt as if he were seeing him for the first time again. Not because Sunghoon had changed, but because he was reminded how straightforward he could be when it came to things he cared about.
A week later, before breakfast, Sunghoon appeared at Sunoo’s bedroom door with a clean face, smooth jaw, and slightly messy morning hair.
Sunoo looked at him over his phone.
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow.
Well?
Sunoo stared at him for several long seconds, trying very hard to keep a neutral expression. Then he put his phone down, stood up, walked over, and kissed him.
Not dramatic. Not intense. Just a morning kiss. Slow, warm, and this time without any distraction.
When Sunoo pulled back, Sunghoon was still raising one eyebrow.
“Better?” he asked.
Sunoo pretended to consider.
“Much better.”
Sunghoon laughed, loud and bright, filling the hallway too early for that hour. After this Sunghoon will charge a kiss two weeks ago and Sunoo will be happy to give it