Archive of Our Own

The sun had been up for a few hours behind San's half-closed shutters. It hadn't woken him before, as its rays weren't yet intense enough, but now that the sun was high in the sky, it had all the strength to make San's eyes flutter.

The young man hadn't even opened his eyes yet when he was already raising his arms in the air to stretch, arching his back until it cracked and groaning with relief as he felt his muscles warm with the gentle effort. Then, he lowered his hands, one to his face to rub the inner corners of his eyes with two fingers, the other on the space beside him. His spot, now cold. Yeosang's spot. He frowned and finally opened his eyes to check for his boyfriend's absence and puffed out his cheeks with that adorable pout he wore whenever he was upset. Gently upset, of course.

"It's my birthday and you're not even here when I wake up..."

San said it as he traced a lazy circle on the rumpled sheets beside him, as if his Yeosangie were at his fingertips and he was caressing its smooth skin. The young man finally lay back, scratching the back of his neck, staring at an invisible point he couldn't even really see. The room was silent around him, it wasn't unpleasant. It just wasn't how he had hoped it would be when he went to bed last night, clutching his boyfriend's body to him and eager to wake up beside him. It was only a mild melancholy, perhaps brought on by the realization of his age. Twenty-seven.

San always felt that inner blur, once a year, on his birthday mornings. That hazy feeling of a person who had done a great deal in their life, overcome many challenges, but still had this contradictory sensation having done nothing and not knowing where to go in the future.

San closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and, as he held the air in his lungs, focused on the silence of their room. It was then that he realized the silence wasn't true silence, that there was a faint background noise he recognized by heart.

Yeosang.

Yeosang was in the kitchen, judging by the whir of the coffee machine and the peculiar clinking of the glass as it was taken out or put away. San smiled, that gentle smile that accentuated his dimples, and he lingered a little longer in the warm sheets, trying to guess what the blond was doing, wondering if it was another disaster, as so often happened, or if he'd manage it quickly this time. The singer chuckled when he heard his boyfriend stifle a scream, guessing he'd scared himself, probably nearly breaking a glass or a plate, and San could perfectly picture his adorable furrowed brows and his pretty lips pouting.

To see that adorable face he loved so much, the brunette decided it was finally time to get up. His mind was no longer vague, his body no longer cold, and his heart longed to be with Yeosang's. He stood up, slipped into his sandals, and walked quietly into the kitchen.

Yeosang didn't hear his boyfriend arrive, but he didn't jump either when he felt his strong arms wrap around his waist. He felt San's chest press against his back, his hands slide down his stomach to caress his skin, and his warm breath against the back of his neck. The blond smiled, put down the dish towel he was folding, and raised one hand to San's hair at the back of his head to give him a few caresses.

"Finally awake." His voice was soft, not accusatory, but full of love.

San groaned against his boyfriend's pale skin and peppered his bare shoulder with kisses. Each one sent shivers through Yeosang, who closed his eyes to enjoy the warm peace such a domestic scene brought.

"Did you sleep well?" Yeosang asked innocently.

San groaned again, and this time it blessed his ears with the blond's genuine laughter. He felt his hand tap the back of his head before his boyfriend turned in his arms to face him.

"I've poured your coffee, go drink it before it gets cold."

The brunet frowned, his lips curling back into a pout, as his hands still rested on his boyfriend's hips. He massaged them, gently, deeply, trying to steal a few more seconds of cuddling.

"Why are you chasing me away like that? I didn't ask for this coffee."

"How rude of you." Yeosang gently scolded, pinching the singer's nose. "You always drink coffee when you wake up and you're in a bad mood when you get up too late to drink it. So thank me and get out of here before I take it back."

"Can I have a kiss first, at least?"

Yeosang honestly couldn't say no to the sad little cat face San was giving him, with his bright eyes and plumped lips. So, he placed a tender, loving kiss on his boyfriend's lips, cupping his face in both hands. San closed his eyes, pulling Yeosang closer, melting into their shared warmth. It lasted a few seconds of pure bliss, before the blond moved a few millimeters away to tap the tip of San's nose with his finger.

"Now, your coffee."

San nodded, with the lovestruck look his face took on when he wasn't really listening to what Yeosang was saying because he was completely absorbed in his love for him.

"Right away."

The younger man then walked away, almost whistling, to sit on their kitchen island. A mug was waiting for him there, filled with steaming black coffee. San didn't ask for sugar; he knew Yeosang knew exactly how he liked it and had therefore already sweetened his coffee perfectly. He thanked him quickly before taking the handle of the mug and lifting it to take the first sip. But just before, a small yellow sticky note caught his eye. He raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and put down his drink to pick up the piece of paper with one hand. In his head, he read.

Happy birthday, my love.

San blinked once, twice, three times. He reread the letter, to be sure of what he had read, as if those two words were a rare and forbidden magic spell. Then he looked up at Yeosang, who, with his back to him, had resumed folding the dish towels. So he didn't see his playful, satisfied little sigh. That amused smile of a man who had seemed to have forgotten his boyfriend's birthday in order to surprise him.

The dark-haired man smiled, tender and deeply happy, and held the small piece of paper to his chest, clutching it close to his heart.

"Thank you, Yeosang."

It was tiny, so tiny it could even seem insignificant, but Yeosang felt in San's voice all the warmth of his gratitude. And that was more than enough.

The next few moments passed peacefully. San and Yeosang chatted about something, laughed about an anecdote concerning their band and their past life in the dorm, San got up to put his mug in the dishwasher, Yeosang poured himself some orange juice, and San tried to steal a few kisses from Yeosang, who didn't give in easily. Just to tease him, and it worked. It made the dark-haired boy sulk, but luckily, his forgiveness was very easy to obtain.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

San was now in the bathroom, because one shouldn't neglect cleanliness even on one's birthday. Upon entering the bathroom, the mirror directly opposite him caught his eye. Another small yellow piece of paper was stuck to it. San laughed, wondering if it was the last one or if Yeosang had planned more for him. He didn't take a second to think about it; curiosity got the better of him.

You make this face when you sleep. Only I know it; I spend hours watching you sleep.

And there was a small face with a sleepy pout drawn in blue pen at the end of the sentence. The brunette frowned, intrigued: what face was he making? Really the one drawn? That ridiculous face combining an open mouth, drooping eyebrows, and a bit of drool at the corner of his lips? He shook his head before staring at his reflection in the mirror. And there, he tried to recreate the same face Yeosang had drawn. He twisted his eyebrows this way and that, opened his mouth wider and narrower, turned his face to observe himself from every angle, and finally laughed, realizing the ridiculous situation he was in.

He lingered for another second, gazing at himself, after the laughter. He thought of Yeosang awake beside him in the dark, watching him sleep without his knowledge. There was something dizzying about it, being seen even in his sleep, even in his most involuntary and ugly expressions. And yet, Yeosang had drawn that ridiculous face with obvious tenderness. Not to mock it. Just to keep a record.

San placed the Post-it note flat on the edge of the sink, gently, as one would place something fragile. Then he slipped into the shower.

He emerged several long minutes later, wrapped a soft towel around his waist, and brushed his teeth. Then he hurried into the dressing room, remembering his mother's words, "staying naked for too long will give you a nasty cold, even in summer." It was stupid and most certainly untrue, but it had stuck with him enough that he always stuck to it. He quickly pulled out an outfit, something comfortable for lounging around the house, but nice enough to wear out without having to change. Loose-fitting trousers, a perfectly tailored polo shirt.

It was when he opened his sock drawer, for Monsieur had a drawer for each type of underwear, that he once again made the discovery of a familiar surprise.

A scrap of yellow paper, also bearing Yeosang's delicate handwriting. Upon seeing it, San smiled, realizing at the same time that it was most likely a birthday present that had been extended throughout the day. He picked up the sticky note, brought it closer, and read:

You laugh too loud, that sound I love most in this world.

San felt his cheeks burn. He reread the note a second time, slowly, as if he wanted to make sure every word was in its proper place. "My favorite in this world." Not "that I like," not "that makes me smile." The favorite. In this whole world.

San had a laugh that everyone noticed, too loud, too free, the kind that makes people turn around in restaurants and makes the other members laugh contagiously. He had learned to contain it in public, to moderate it for the cameras, to give it a more polite and controlled version. But with Yeosang, he had never been able to do that. With Yeosang, the laugh came out as it was, loud, unadulterated, sometimes ridiculous.

And Yeosang had written that it was his favorite.

San stood motionless in his closet, socks in hand, staring at the yellow slip of paper. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose, as if expelling something too big to fit in his chest.

He quickly placed the three note he already possessed in his bedside table. He didn't want to lose them; they were far too precious.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

The morning continued peacefully as San went downstairs to join Yeosang. They had no schedule today, so the dark-haired man intended to take advantage of it and spend the day being cuddled by the love of his life. But, just before, he stopped in front of the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of juice. He approached the fridge cautiously, his eyes narrowed in almost comical apprehension. Now that he understood the day would be filled with sticky notes, he expected to see them everywhere in this house.

Yet, there wasn't one on their fridge door. San's lips drooped slightly, a little disappointed not to find another of the absolutely adorable little notes Yeosang had written him. He didn't pay much attention when he opened the door; it was only when he heard the rustling of something under his fingers that he looked up inside the fridge. Stuck to the juice bottle he was holding was another sticky note. San's face lit up with excitement and happiness. He'd never been so eager to read something as on those little scraps of paper.

Twenty-seven years old, you're aging well.

Upon reading this note, San had the incredibly stupid, incredibly masculine reflex of feeling one of his pecs, then one of his biceps, as if to confirm his physique. If the blond liked him strong and muscular, he had to maintain his bulk at all costs. It was such a childish thought, and at the same time, so San. Kind and caring. In love.

Further away, seated on the beige sofa in their living room, Yeosang watched his boyfriend discover the new little note, not as serene as the dark-haired man. The older man's heart pounded in his chest, heavy with anxiety. He was grateful to have witnessed San's positive reaction to the first note he'd hidden under his coffee cup, but he hadn't seen the others since, so he had doubts. Had he done the right thing? Was it really a good idea? Seonghwa had reassured him throughout, repeating that it was exactly the kind of gift San liked. Something simple and romantic, sincere. Yet, he still had doubts.

It was after feeling someone's gaze on him for several minutes that the brunette turned his face toward the living room. His eyes met those of the older man, who smiled shyly, pointing to the pocket of the jeans San had just put on. Without even thinking, his hand acting on reflex, the singer reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifth note. First came the surprise, the genuine surprise of a man who thought his boyfriend must be a witch for having guessed in advance which pants he would wear today.

You always take such good care of everyone; today, it's my turn to take care of you.

San reread that note differently from the others. Not with the immediate smile, not with the light warmth of the previous ones. Rather, with something resembling relief, the kind of relief you feel when you realize you've been wearing something without noticing.

He thought of all the mornings he'd been the first one up to make Yeosang's coffee. All the times he'd kept his own anxieties to himself so as not to weigh down the atmosphere, pretended to be fine because Yeosang looked tired and it wasn't the right time. It wasn't a sacrifice; he'd never experienced it as such. But it was real. And Yeosang had seen it.

"Today, it's my turn."

San folded the note with the same care as the others and slipped it into his pocket, this time without putting it away right away. He wanted to keep it close to him a little longer.

And then there was San's smile, and Yeosang naturally found the answer to all his worries.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

San was seized by an urge, an almost irresistible need, to search for and find the notes Yeosang had scattered all over the house. He wanted to know what the notes said, how long they were, if he had added any little drawings, where he had hidden them. He wanted to discover how his boyfriend had invested in their shared space, in a way that was personal and meaningful to him. So, like a child on Easter, the dark-haired man rolled up his sleeves and went hunting. The first one wasn't complicated; it was right next to the blond guy who was reading a book on the sofa. A new Post-it note, stuck to the TV.

Two weeks ago, you were crying during a documentary about turtles. It was so ridiculous and so cute at the same time... and that's why I dragged you to the aquarium, so you could see them in real life. The brunette's first reaction was to turn his head toward the other man, his brows furrowed in embarrassment and his fingers clenched around the small piece of paper.

"You saw that, seriously?"

Yeosang only responded with a barely suppressed laugh, as he hid his face behind his book. He wasn't making fun of him, not entirely anyway.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

San found another note, placed in the lampshade.

When you're proud of something, you straighten up slightly, and when you're concentrating, you purse your lips.

He smiled as he read these words. No one had ever told him he had all these tics, but in a way, it didn't surprise him that Yeosang was the first. Many thought he was simple-minded and lost in his own world, but the blond always noticed the little things that everyone else overlooked. It was one of the things San loved about him.

The singer continued searching all around him, under the amused gaze of his companion who adorably thought that San would never have found any treasure if they had been real pirates. He was searching in such a disorganized way, sometimes going back to the same places several times, going upstairs only to come back downstairs. It was all over the place and he found nothing for a good half hour, but after a while, it finally paid off. In the kitchen, again, on the stovetop.

There's a version of you on stage that I admire because it's passionate and powerful. And another one, here at 2:00 a.m., making me food because I'm hungry and you're super tired. I love that version even more.

That little note resonated differently in San's heart because he knew how difficult it was for Yeosang to express himself. How modest, reserved, and shy he was about his feelings. It wasn't the first time the blond had opened up a little about his love, but that didn't make the note any less meaningful and touching.

Yeosang, meanwhile, had gone back up to his room and was still thinking about the day.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands flat on his knees, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. In his mind, he was retracing San's steps through the apartment: the kitchen, the bathroom, the dressing room, the living room, back to the kitchen again.

He tried to remember the exact order in which he had hidden everything, whether San had found the notes in the right order or if the logic he had constructed had collapsed by the second sticky note. He couldn't know. He hadn't dared follow San from room to room like a dog, even though the urge had been there, strong and a little ridiculous.

What bothered him most was the silence. San wasn't saying anything. He wasn't coming to him after every note to give him a rundown of his emotions, which was normal; it wasn't what Yeosang had wanted, it wasn't the idea. But the silence left too much room for doubt. Was the note about the turtles too mocking? Was the one about the stage and the kitchen too, too what, too honest? Too exposed? Yeosang rubbed his face with both hands and exhaled slowly. Seonghwa had told him, over and over again during the three weeks of preparation, that San would love it. "That's exactly him," he had repeated. "Simple, romantic, sincere. He'll melt." Yeosang had nodded each time, thinking Seonghwa was probably right, but only half believing it.

Then he heard San laugh from the living room, that laugh too loud, too free, the one he'd put into one of the notes that morning without knowing if he'd have the courage to let it out. That laugh San only really let out here, in their apartment, without cameras or an audience. Yeosang stood motionless for a second, listening. Then, almost involuntarily, he smiled.

Would he find all the notes? Would he love them all?

Would he understand the love he'd put into them? Closing his eyes, the blond tried to silence his intrusive thoughts. His sweet, tender San loved everything that came from him, after all.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Passing back through the living room, San noticed a new sticky note. He blinked, mentally swore it hadn't been there before, and scratched his cheek, thinking he might have been too discreet because of his excitement. The little piece of paper was waiting patiently for him, placed on their photo album. The one just for the two of them, without the other boys in the group. "The couple's album", as San liked to call it.

With me, you don't have to be strong. Maybe you can be yourself, that's how you made me fall in love

The brunette reread the note twice after discovering it, before letting out a small sigh. A slightly embarrassed, slightly relieved sigh. He was well aware of this tendency to try too hard around Yeosang, to want to appear stronger, smarter, more interesting. It was almost second nature, to give everything he had to ensure Yeosang was happy and healthy, to always be there to fulfill his every wish. Don't get me wrong, San loved it, loved the way he took care of Yeosang, but he couldn't deny that it was sometimes tiring, and it was especially touching that Yeosang noticed.

And it was reassuring not to be forced into anything, to be comforted in his need for vulnerability.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

The next note was in the hallway, hidden in the gym bag San had placed next to their shoe rack the day before. And reading it made him smile proudly, his heart swelling with happiness.

You've been the best again this year.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

After a quick meal, without even mentioning the notes found and those still hidden, San decided to go out. It was planned; his favorite ice cream vendor stopped for a few hours near their apartment, but San had hesitated to actually go. Yeosang had gone to so much trouble to scatter the notes all over the house; wasn't it disrespectful to him and his efforts to go out without worrying about the ones that were still to be found? But his boyfriend had encouraged him to go out a little too insistently for San to ignore.

He made the journey there without music, without headphones, without anything. Just with his hands in his pockets and his nose in the air, enjoying the sounds of nature, thinking about his boyfriend. Once he arrived at his favorite traveling ice cream truck, the brunette didn't even need to say a word. The old man greeted him with a big smile and wished him a happy birthday. His ice cream was already prepared, a huge one with different varieties of strawberries, pieces, coulis, whipped cream, and an adorable little birthday hat as decoration.

San couldn't help but laugh, warmly thanking the ice cream vendor, before opening his wallet to pay for the sweet treat. But what he grabbed wasn't a bill. The singer opened his eyes in surprise, looking at the small piece of paper he held so carefully in his hands, and his heart beat faster as he realized something: the notes had followed him here. He smiled, thinking of Yeosang, who must be giggling like a little brat in his corner.

I would have chosen you in any lifetime.

The young man read those few letters over and over, like a magic spell his brain was trying to etch into his memory. After a few very long seconds, someone behind him coughed to signal that, regardless of the meaning of that crumpled yellow piece of paper, other people were waiting their turn for ice cream.

"Sorry, sorry." He bowed, apologizing, embarrassed to cause any disturbance.
"Come on, kiddo, it's on the house, you can go!"

San looked at his favorite vendor with sparkling eyes, a mixture of gratitude and adoration, and thanked him warmly before walking away from the truck to enjoy his ice cream in peace. He found a small bench to sit on, then rummaged in his bag for his headphones, carefully stored in a special case to keep them from getting damaged. It was at this moment that San was surprised once again:

But I'm already so happy and grateful that you at least chose me from this one

San closed his eyes, smiled imagining Yeosang's flushed cheeks as he wrote that note, and simply thought that he, too, would have chosen blond in all their lives, not just this one. It was a drop of ice that brought him back down to earth: it was melting and really had to be eaten.

It was while putting away the pack of tissues he needed to dry his hands that the dancer found a new note, hidden at the bottom of his bag, which swelled his heart with happiness and courage for the rest of their lives.

Never stop being yourself, please, no matter what people say.

All this time, Yeosang had stayed in their apartment, tidying up some messy things. It was mostly an excuse to keep busy, to avoid thinking about San. It hadn't really worked.

He had spent twenty minutes folding and refolding the same kitchen towel without realizing it, lost in his thoughts. He had tried to read three pages of the same chapter, the same three pages, without retaining a single note. He had finally put the book down on the coffee table and simply sat down, elbows on his knees, staring at the front door as if San might return any second.

It wasn't worry. San was fine; San was out enjoying his birthday, just like Yeosang had told him to. It was something else, this physical absence, slight yet perceptible, like when you remove a piece of furniture from a room and the space feels slightly off without you quite knowing why. Yeosang wondered if San had found the note in his wallet. He tried to picture his face at the ice cream counter, eyebrows raised, that smile that starts at one corner of his mouth before spreading to the other, eyes crinkling. He hoped someone behind him in line had been patient.

He especially hoped that San had finally understood what "in any life" truly meant. Not just a pretty phrase. Something he'd thought for a long time but had never been able to express in any other way. He couldn't help but imagine his silly grin when he saw the notes, his adorable laugh, how excited he'd become as if those poor scraps of yellow paper that had been lying around in the corner of their office for ages were the most precious gifts of his life. Yeosang sighed, gripping the broom handle in his slender hands, thinking how much he missed San, even just for a short walk alone.

San finally came home, and Yeosang came downstairs to greet him. It was incredibly difficult for the blond not to throw his arms around him, kiss him, and complain about how long San had been gone. He had encouraged him to go out, after all; he couldn't sulk now just because he'd missed him. The brunet grasped Yeosang by the hips, pulling them closer, before their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and deep. They both closed their eyes, their hearts beating in unison, before they were breathless. San reluctantly walked away, staring at his boyfriend's sparkling eyes and plumped lips. Yeosang, on the other hand, smiled with the satisfaction of a man who had just fallen in love again.

"I'm home," San breathed.
"Welcome home." Yeosang replied before pausing briefly. "Did you have fun?"
"Um," he began, pouting, "I missed you."

Yeosang couldn't help but laugh, one hand over his mouth and the other stroking his boyfriend's cheek. He then shook his head, a tender sigh escaping him, while discreetly reaching into his pocket.

"I missed you too, baby." He said, sticking something to San's chest before turning on his heel and walking away with a mischievous grin.

San understood immediately and hurried to read.

You annoy me so much, but in a sweet way, and the more you annoy me, the more I love you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

San went back up to his room to tidy up, including changing bags to put all his important papers in the one he reserved for work.

It was on this bag that he discovered another little note.

You were carrying this bag the day you decided to stay, even when I was yelling at you to leave. I remember how dramatic it was, but also how strong you were.

The singer paused, not to reread the note, but to remember as well. Yeosang was right in pointing out how dramatic it had been.

Ridiculously dramatic.

San and Yeosang hadn't been together long at that point. Just a few months, and it was still a secret. He remembered the van, the cold rain against the windows, an argument that had started over nothing and escalated too quickly, Yeosang yelling at him to leave, to find someone better, less shy, more this, less that. And San replying, in front of everyone, without lowering his voice, that he didn't want anyone else. That Yeosang was perfection incarnate. Ridiculously dramatic. Terribly sincere.

They had agreed on a rule that day: never to belittle their love, even when arguing.

San sat on the bed, the note still clutched in his hands, remembering that day. He didn't even remember why Yeosang had gotten angry, felt hurt, but he did remember vowing never to make him feel that way again.

What the note didn't say, what Yeosang hadn't been able to write, was that San also remembered the aftermath. Yeosang snuggled against him in the van, silent, his head resting on his shoulder. The way his fingers had searched for his in the dark without a word. San had understood that day that Yeosang loved with an intensity he couldn't yet express aloud. He had decided to be patient. He thought that this patience had been the best decision of his life.

It was then that his eyes fell again on a sticky note, this time tucked between two books on his bedside table. He took a deep breath and began.

You cry at sad endings, but even more at happy ones. You're the only one who does that, you know?

The singer remained silent for a moment, before laughing far too loudly for what the note meant. The tension dissipated, the memory faded, and San's smile returned.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Another note hidden in his room, which San discovered a little later with a tender smile.

I love that the smile you have for me is different from all the others. Different from the one you have for Atiny, for the group, for your family or friends. There's a special, incredibly cute smile that you only have for me, and I love it.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Evening arrived gently, and with it, their friends and bandmates. The living room was modestly decorated with streamers, a few inflated balloons, colorful streamers, and other whimsical decorations that Yeosang had found on the internet and whose names he had forgotten. Everyone had arrived at their own pace, having had their own schedules for the day.

Once everyone was gathered, the evening unfolded naturally, with an atmosphere that reflected their personalities: warm and noisy, truly making them feel alive. From the moment he arrived, Wooyoung had declared himself master of the festivities, and no one had the energy to contradict him, which meant he spent the first twenty minutes rearranging the decorations that Yeosang had so carefully arranged. Mingi followed him, approving each of his decisions with suspicious enthusiasm, until he noticed the playlist Yeosang had prepared and sovereignly decided to replace it with his own, moving away from Wooyoung to settle in front of the speakers with the focus of a professional DJ. Yunho, meanwhile, had quietly taken possession of the kitchen area with Seonghwa to reheat what they had prepared, and Jongho had sat in the corner armchair with the serenity of a man who knew exactly where he was most useful, which was nowhere, and he fully accepted it.

San flitted between his six most cherished friends, almost like brothers, accepting their hugs, their congratulations, their almost constant attention, but his eyes always returned to the same person. Yeosang.

The blond boy wasn't doing anything special, yet he ate everything Wooyoung and Mingi had cooked, he talked about a recently released video game with Yunho, he even let himself be swept away for a few dance steps with Seonghwa. At one point, Wooyoung tried to pull him into one of his impromptu dance routines, and Yeosang followed along with that half-amused, half-resigned look that San knew by heart, the look of someone who knows he's going to look ridiculous but goes anyway because it's Wooyoung, and you don't say no to Wooyoung. But in San's eyes, he shone particularly brightly. So brightly that he sometimes squinted to keep from being overwhelmed by all the love he felt for the older boy. And as San followed Yeosang with his eyes, he began to see little things he had never noticed before. Especially the way the blond always gravitated near him, the attention he always paid to bringing him something before it was asked, the tender glances he sometimes gave him, thinking San wasn't looking.

This wasn't new. It probably never had been. It was simply that San looked differently today, with several paper notes in his pocket and a faster-beating heart.

And, under a plate the brunette was moving to refill his food, a new sticky note appeared.

In a room full of people I love, it's you my heart seeks most.

San read it discreetly, in his head, almost like a secret he had to keep to himself at all costs. He reread the sentence a second time, his eyes fixed on the small yellow piece of paper. "It's you my heart seeks most." Not "I prefer", not "I love most", seeks. As if Yeosang couldn't help himself. As if it were involuntary, instinctive, stronger than him.

San felt something tighten gently in his chest, not painfully, more like when you hold onto something precious to make sure you don't let go. But his cheeks betrayed him by blushing, and his pupils dilated considerably. Hongjoong and Jongho, standing next to him, noticed immediately. They exchanged curious glances, a slightly lost look on Hongjoong's face, a wry smile on Jongho's.

"What is it?" asked the younger one.

San folded it quickly but carefully, not wanting to damage any of the precious notes Yeosang had written to him.

"Nothing."

Jongho looked at him for a second too long, with that calm, slightly omniscient air that always made San a little uncomfortable. Then he nodded, without dwelling on it, and resumed his conversation with Hongjoong as if nothing had happened. San sighed quietly. Hongjoong, for his part, waited until Jongho had his back turned before leaning slightly toward San.

"Is that Yeosang?" he murmured simply.

San didn't answer, but his lack of response was an answer in itself. Hongjoong nodded with that quiet little smile of a man who isn't surprised at all, and is happy not to be.

San slipped the note into his pocket with the others. There were so many now that he could feel them pressing lightly against his thigh, that ridiculously soft weight of an entire day's love folded into little yellow squares.

And just like that, the party resumed peacefully. Laughter from some, childish indignation from others, dancing, singing, having fun, until Wooyoung decided it was more than time to open the presents. They were all wonderful. These weren't the silly jokes they played on each other during live streams; these were sincere gifts between friends. An album San had wanted for a long time, given by Hongjoong with that discreet smile of someone who had done their research and knew what they were doing. An item of clothing he had mentioned a few weeks ago, which Mingi had wrapped in so much wrapping paper that it took San three minutes to open it amidst everyone's laughter.

"It's so you feel like you're receiving something big", Mingi explained with absolute seriousness, which provoked another wave of laughter.

His favorite perfume, of which the previous bottles were almost empty, slipped into a pretty bag by Seonghwa who had attached a small handwritten card, simple, sincere, totally him.

Wooyoung, on the other hand, had offered something unclassifiable, a voucher for "a movie night with me, without Yeosang, because he always falls asleep before the end and you deserve better". San laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes, and Yeosang rolled his eyes with the resignation of a man used to it.

And, finally, a framed photo, a gift from Yeosang. The photo showed Yeosang and San, embracing and laughing, during their first date, beautifully captured by Yunho. Upon seeing it, San looked up at the older man who, across the room, simply shrugged with a modest smile.

"I knew it would be the right time when I took it."

That was all he said. It was enough.

And, along with the photo, another sticky note.

One thing I love about us is that we've watched each other grow, become the people we are now, thanks to each other's presence. I love the idea that there's a little bit of you in me, and a little bit of me in you.

San had always thought, too, that it meant the world. He held the frame in his hands a moment too long, his thumbs resting on the edge, his eyes on the photo. On that laugh he wasn't even aware he'd had. On Yeosang laughing too, his head turned slightly towards him, as if even in a moment of pure joy he couldn't quite stop himself from looking at San rather than the camera.

San didn't fold that note right away. He left it between his fingers for a moment longer, flat in his palm. He thought about what Yeosang had written, "a little bit of you in me, and of me in you", and he tried to list what Yeosang had unintentionally taught him. Patience, first of all. This ability to let things be without wanting to resolve them immediately. Silence, too. San had long needed to fill the empty spaces, and it was Yeosang, by his mere quiet presence, who had taught him that silence could be inhabited without being oppressive. And a certain way of looking at small things, of finding them worthy of attention. Turtles in a documentary. A sleepy face. Laughter that was too loud.

San wondered what he had left in Yeosang. He hoped it was something good.

Yunho, from the other side of the room, pretended not to see them. Yeosang, from the corner where Wooyoung and Seonghwa had cornered him, watched San laugh. This simple observation spread a gentle warmth through his chest, giving his heart a peaceful rhythm. Out of curiosity, he wondered what could possibly be causing his boyfriend's good mood, even though the room was full of potential reasons. The blond then narrowed his eyes and saw a note, and, given where San was standing, Yeosang immediately recognized which one he was holding.

Some days, you're too bright, so bright that I have to squint to avoid being blinded. At first, it hurt my eyes, but I kept looking, again and again, until it didn't hurt at all.

Yeosang watched San carefully tuck the slip of paper into his jeans pocket, one of those particularly sweet smiles on his face, and he couldn't help but wonder. In ten years, would the scene still be similar? Not in the details, no, not in a childish search for notes, but in the way he looked at San with love? In the way San laughed at everything his boyfriend did? What would their lives be like in ten years? And it was when he met the gaze of the dark-haired man who gave him a peaceful smile that Yeosang found his answer. No matter what their lives would be like in ten years, he would only want them with San.

At a completely random moment in the evening, the singer slipped away to his room. He needed to find a small item whose name he couldn't even remember, just to show it to Mingi. And, in his search, he found yet another paper note that, this time, made him laugh with amusement.

I learned true patience thanks to you. Or rather, because of you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

The evening had ended peacefully with the members' gradual departure. Silence had begun to reign again with a gentle and comfortable supremacy, broken only by the sounds of garbage and dirty dishes. To avoid a much busier day than tomorrow had been anticipated, the couple had decided to get the bulk of their work done before going to sleep. They worked individually on their own tasks, side by side, with almost theatrical coordination. And, under one of the few remaining clean glasses that San was still going to collect to put in the dishwasher, he found something else meant for him

You're the only person with whom silence doesn't weigh me down.

The brunette straightened up, and his eyes immediately sought Yeosang's back. He could see his reddened ears and the slight tightness in his hands. Over the years, he'd learned to guess the reason behind each of these body language cues. The blond was simply embarrassed, refusing to face his boyfriend and continuing to sweep up the confetti with the broom. So, San said nothing. He just watched Yeosang, his red ears, his hands gripping the broom handle a little too tightly, and he thought that this man had spent weeks putting notes to everything he felt, and was still embarrassed that San had read them. He thought it was the most touching thing he'd ever seen. And he listened to the reassuring silence between two people who didn't need to fill the room with noise to hear each other exist.

For the first time that day, San realized that this silence, this precise silence, in this precise kitchen, with this precise man, was exactly what he had needed since this morning. Not the words, not the sticky notes, not the twenty-seven reasons. Just this. Just them.

Notes had only been a way to get there.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Naturally, they both ended up in the living room, like two magnets drawn to the same center of gravity. They didn't sit next to each other, not yet. San knew Yeosang inside and out, he had seen too many people, heard too much noise, had to concentrate on too many things at once. After those moments, after his mind had been burdened by too many responsibilities he wasn't entirely comfortable with, the blond needed a moment just for himself, without contact, without words. And San was always the first to respect that need and not disturb his boyfriend's fragile peace. It was also so sweet for the younger boy to see his lover stay close because, even with the need to find his own safe space, Yeosang couldn't bear to be too far away.

Then, the birthday boy opened his favorite music app to start their shared playlist. The one they had carefully created together, with only songs they both liked, not just one or the other. The title of the first song made him frown.

I loved you before I even knew that's what it was.

San didn't react right away; he reread those few words, blinking. He heard Yeosang chuckle at the other end of the couch, and he understood. He understood that it wasn't a bug in the app, not a new song added without his knowledge, but another one of Yeosang's notes. Without even realizing it, it made him smile. That sweet smile he reserved only for his boyfriend, when his heart swelled with a particularly comforting warmth.

Then, he scrolled through the different songs, without even playing one. He was simply curious to know if there were others, hidden messages. And he finally found one.

I knew you'd be curious, that you'd wonder how many hidden notes there are among our songs. It's something I love about you, this natural curiosity that makes you interested in everything, whether it's big or small, incredible or insignificant. Scroll some more, there's one left.

San didn't need to be asked twice and complied immediately, barely concealing his excitement, which genuinely amused the blond. It led him to the very last song.

Don't be too disappointed, but this isn't really a note like the others. It's simply to tell you to go check in your room. Something is waiting for you on your desk.

Like a cat whose attention has been caught by the sound of a bird, San turned his head toward Yeosang. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, the same as at the beginning of the day. The older boy couldn't help but find him so cute like that, almost wagging his tail with excitement, as if he were waiting for further permission. So, with a gentle and encouraging smile, he gave him a small nod.

"Thank you!"

That was the only thing Yeosang heard before the dull thud of San's footsteps on the stairs. So cute.

San sat almost reverently in the leather chair in his office, the chair he hated in the summer but adored when he remembered the smiles of his colleagues when they had all given it to him one birthday. Sure enough, he saw a letter waiting for him, lying in the middle of nowhere, with just his first name handwritten on it. Yeosang's handwriting. That round, adorable handwriting that looked so much like his boyfriend's. San opened the letter with more care than he had ever held a trophy or music award. Then he began to read.

Writing letters is a bit old-fashioned, but I know how much you love them. I know from the poetry books you read, the epistolary novel about love and secrets, the way your eyes light up in a movie when someone puts their words down on paper. You've always been such a romantic, and I've always thought you were so cute that way.

You're twenty-seven today, it's stupid and I think the same thing every year, but it seems so big and yet so insignificant. Yet, in twenty-seven long years, I've spent so much time loving you. I've learned to count the years differently; perhaps that's why time seems to pass differently? I've learned to count how many mornings I woke up beside you, but also those when I knew exactly where you were in the house without having to look. I've learned to count the times you laughed at something no one else noticed, and the times it was directed at me. I've learned to count the times I almost said something and didn't, because it was too early, too late, not the right moment, because I was afraid, or because I didn't want to ruin your happiness. I've also learned to count the mornings I woke up to your caresses, the mornings I fell asleep with your kisses. I've learned to count the nights I stayed up making love, and the nights we argued. I learned to count the nights you spent on the sofa because even when you were upset, you only thought about my comfort. I learned to count the number of times you told me you loved me each day, and every smile that accompanied them. I learned to count the "I love you" I held back, and those I whispered, then shouted. I know I haven't reached the end of these countdowns yet, because I haven't reached the end of you, or of myself, or of us.

I love you, San, I love you so much. Not a day goes by that I don't pray to love you even more the next. And every sunrise blesses me for always being as much in love with you as possible. I'm proud of you, of what you do to be the person you want to be.

And I'm grateful for everything you do for us, for me, for our love.

Thank you for being the person you are, and for loving the person I am.

And there wasn't a single word in that letter that didn't bring a sob to San's eyes. His throat tightened, his heart pounded, his hands trembled, all of it brought on by a single letter from the person he loved most in the world. He quickly put it back in its still-intact envelope, not because it was unimportant, but because he feared that the tears threatening to fall would smudge the ink and erase the love Yeosang had poured into it. It even took the singer several long minutes to recover from his emotions, his eyes closed and his face tilted back to the ceiling.

Turning back to join Yeosang, San noticed yet another note, half-taped, half-peeling off, on the door.

There's one last note missing, but I haven't written that one so, come back to me. And hurry back, I already miss you.

He quickened his pace, taking the longest strides he could to reach the man of his life as quickly as possible. His heart was pounding and adrenaline was pumping through his veins, but he hardly noticed. This day had been entirely like that, after all. But at the bottom of the stairs, San stopped.

It wasn't hesitation. It was something else, this sudden, irrational need not to rush into this moment, not to arrive as if the entire day had been a countdown to this precise second. Because it wasn't. The entire day had been the gift. Every note, every crumpled scrap of yellow paper, every image Yeosang had put into words for him.

San placed a hand flat on the stair railing. He took a slow breath. He thought about this morning, his cup of coffee, the sticky note tucked underneath, that "happy birthday, my love" he'd clutched to his chest like something precious. He thought about his own face in the mirror, the socks, the orange juice, the ice cream melting as he stood motionless in front of a checkout. He thought about the letter, the words he'd read and reread until his throat tightened. He thought about Yeosang, who had spent weeks writing all of this, hiding all of this, doubting all of this in silence. And he breathed slowly, as if making room. Then he crossed the hallway.

When he reached the living room, Yeosang was waiting for him, sitting on the back of the sofa, and San couldn't help but make an amused and tender remark. "He hates it when I do it, but look at him..." It was already dark outside, and the only light came from that floor lamp Yeosang had been wanting to replace for weeks, whose bulb was also on its last legs. The light was dim and yellow and a little wobbly, and Yeosang in it was the most handsome man San had seen all day. And despite the poor visibility, San could see his flushed cheeks and his nervousness, as if he could feel it throughout his entire body. Like a mental connection.

They stood for a second, looking at each other without moving, San in the doorway of the hallway, Yeosang perched on the back of the sofa with his hands flat on his knees as if he were trying to stay still. A suspended second, the kind you don't notice at the time but remember long afterward.

At the very second, though, Yeosang straightened up and took one step, then another, and San was completely frozen in place. He didn't even know why, but his legs refused to move even a single step while blood rushed to each of his limbs.

"I heard you practicing in the bathroom last time. You were wearing your best outfit, and your hairstyle was ridiculously cute." San blushed because he knew what his boyfriend was talking about. Yeosang smiled and continued tenderly. "I didn't want to eavesdrop, but you were practicing how to propose, and I really didn't want Wooyoung to hear that when you asked him for advice."

The blond paused, just long enough to rummage in his left pocket and pull out a magnificent silver ring with a rose quartz at its center. San recognized it at first glance; it was the engagement ring he planned to place on Yeosang's finger one day. Yet, this time, the older man slipped the ring onto his own ring finger, then raised his hand in front of his face to show it off to his lover. Far from being upset, San was rather captivated.

Completely mesmerized by the man with flushed cheeks and eyes shining with shyness who had made such a bold gesture before his very eyes. San felt as if he had just fallen in love all over again.

"I know this isn't how you imagined our engagement, but you're always the one who takes the initiative and spoils me, and I wanted to do the same for you. So, I agree to marry you." Another silence fell, in which San was speechless and Yeosang felt ridiculous, so he quickly added, "Well, if you still want to..."

The "if you still want to" hung in the air between them for a second, fragile, almost comical in its awkwardness, so very Yeosang.

No sound came from the brunet's mouth, not even a sigh or any sound at all. His body itself gave the answer: he grabbed Yeosang by the waist and pulled him so tightly that the older man thought his spine would break in the embrace. Then, the brunet sealed their lips in a kiss as passionate as it was deep, his fingers digging into Yeosang's flesh until they left red marks. The blond moaned against his boyfriend's lips as he wrapped his arms around his neck, intertwining his slender fingers with San's soft strands. The kiss lasted several seconds during which Yeosang lost all his breath, until the younger man let him breathe again by pulling away just a few millimeters.

San looked at Yeosang, his cheeks flushed, his lips plumped, his eyes still slightly closed, the silver ring catching the dim light from the wobbly lamp. He thought of the twenty-six notes. He thought of the three weeks Yeosang had spent writing them, hiding them, silently doubting them on the edge of their bed.

"You could have just told me, you know."

Yeosang opened his eyes. There was something between laughter and indignation in his gaze.

"I needed you to have the twenty-six notes first."

San nodded slowly, as if this was the most sensible answer he'd ever heard. Then he smiled, that smile, the one Yeosang had put into a note this morning, the one he reserved only for him.

"So, it was worth it."

And, from the way San's eyes looked at Yeosang, with an almost vital need for a kiss and love, the blond understood that his boyfriend had had a very good birthday and that they certainly weren't done celebrating yet. That, and their engagement.