Work Text:
1.
Listen, today, Jung Wooyoung isn’t called “Boykisser3000” by the fans for nothing. And it’s not just a played up front for the cameras like some might think. Sure, he’s having fun too, teasing his bandmates and sometimes being overly affectionate in public, but in reality, Wooyoung craves affection like a junkie craves drugs. For him, skinship is as essential and as natural as breathing, and he’s so, so grateful to have understanding, accepting, and most of all, indulging teammates.
Not to say it was always like that, though. No. Even getting to the point where members finally understood Wooyoung’s need for hugs, cuddles, and overall closeness took work and time. It took drunken night talks and hardship moments, gentle coaxing, and suddenly draping himself over them. At the start, quick pecks and playful bites weren’t even on the table for discussion – the action felt just a tad too intimate for other men.
Of course, some members adopted Wooyoung’s need for closeness faster than others; some indulged him more. But as time passed, everyone eventually gave in. It didn’t matter if Jongho or Hongjoong sometimes decided to act apprehensive on camera; the truth was that in the late-night evenings at the dorms, they didn’t swat Wooyoung away. In the confines of the dorms, when a hectic day ends and the eight men finally settle for the night, Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to lay his head in the captain’s lap to have his hair mindlessly played with. It was something that eventually became normal and natural for Ateez, the way Wooyoung would seek them out, find a moment to maybe sit a little too close, startle them with a back hug, or interrupt their nightly scrolling in bed with cuddles. Truth be told, Wooyoung’s antics influenced their own; after some time, other men started daring to freely seek out physical comfort amongst themselves.
Then there was Choi San. The one who from the start didn’t even question his affections. The one who didn’t look at Wooyoung strangely the first time he asked for cuddles one tired late-night evening and didn’t bat an eye at his clinginess later down the line. San not only immediately reciprocated Wooyoung’s skinship but soon after even started initiating it – the casual intimacy, playful touches somewhat becoming their thing on camera and outside of it.
Though the brisk pecks haven’t breached the displayed affection with San surface yet, Wooyoung’s mind had been thinking about it for a while now. In those moments, when it’s just him and his best friend, when San comes over to occupy his bed, and they once again end up lying together, their legs entangled. In that moment when their eyes linger on each other just a tad too long for friends, Wooyoung yearns to place a delicate peck on San’s cheek.
And yet for the longest time Wooyoung never does. He doesn’t take that last leap, usually ending up playfully shoving San’s face away, yet at the same time bringing him closer to share the body warmth. The closest Wooyoung gets to a kiss-adjacent action is nuzzling his nose into San’s neck or dipping his nose in San’s silky hair to sniff his shampoo. When Wooyoung decides to drape himself over his best friend’s back and feels engulfed by San’s scent that he revels in, he’d nudge his chilly nose tip against San’s nape, softly breathing in more of him and getting lost in the feeling.
And for the time being, that was enough for Wooyoung. So what if he didn’t even realise he was slowly falling for San? Thinking that the nervous jitters he felt when gazing at his best friend from afar were just general anxiety. Convincing himself that every time his heart rate picked up, it was due to caffeine, or that him suddenly feeling himself getting washed over by a wave of warmth was just because Wooyoung was still sweaty and tired after dance practice in a stuffy dance studio and not because he was admiring his best friend’s build and the way tiny sweat drops dotted his face. So what if Wooyoung didn’t want to notice his cheeks flaming with heat every time San jokingly flirted with him? Wooyoung was sure it was just embarrassment or confliction, not being used to being teased back.
Yet even after every friendly bicker, when they were together and ended up face-to-face, just a little too close to each other, San’s hot breath mingling with his own, Wooyoung’s urge to land a kiss on his best friend’s cheek or nose, or forehead, or San’s nape would resurface.
Sometimes the urge would get louder. Wooyoung would feel a tingling sensation at his fingertips, softly prodding him to find San and give in. For just a second, forget where and who they are and feel San’s soft, warm skin under his own lips. Especially when Wooyoung was tired after a busy day or sitting in his bed a little tipsy. In those drunken nights, after company dinners, when his Sannie got extra cuddly after just two measly sips of alcohol, they’d return to the dorm and lie in Wooyoung’s bed.
The outside world was already dark; the sun set early, and the company dinner full of high spirits and easy conversations, ending later than initially planned. Soft moonlight was already peeking through the room’s curtains. The street outside occasionally hummed with singular passing cars, and distant chatter of people hurrying home could be heard through the open window. The dorm was engulfed in a sleepy silence, most members already in their beds, heavily asleep or lazily scrolling through social media; the only sound was Seonghwa still shuffling around in the living room. The room itself was drowned in twilight; lights weren’t on so as not to assault the two’s tired eyes, but there was still enough brightness to see each other clearly.
Wooyoung was lying in his bed, head resting against fluffy pillows. His skull and limbs felt heavy, and a light buzz still lingered around his mind, although Wooyoung mostly sobered up on the way home. A solid weight of a still drunk and sleepy Choi San, lying on top of and between his legs, was pressing Wooyoung further into the mattress. His heavily flushed best friend, whose face was pressed into Wooyoung’s neck, was lightly snoring. Like many times before, their legs were tangled under the covers, one of Wooyoung’s heavy hands resting on San’s waist, feeling the older’s body warmth seeping into his very being.
Although San’s consciousness floated somewhere between the living world and dreams, he was lightly snoring, his faint breathing and sometimes softly mumbled incoherent words subtly tickling Wooyoung’s warm skin. Wooyoung himself felt his eyes begin to droop. Luckily, tomorrow was the last free day before their comeback, and they didn’t have to worry about waking up early. However, Wooyoung tried to fight the drowsiness, wishing instead to spend just a little more time quietly admiring his best friend’s resting form. Focusing on the way San’s body slowly rose and fell with their synchronised breathing, along with the grounding weight of San’s heavy hand resting on his chest.
It was such an idyllic moment in the quiet of the night, and for a moment Wooyoung felt himself falling again. Adoring San felt so easy, revelling in his warmth and comfort – so effortless. Wooyoung felt a familiar lump forming in his throat. How easy it was to fall and how difficult it was to stay afloat. How truly and utterly challenging it had become to drown out the feelings desperately trying to ignite.
But no, Wooyoung wasn’t falling for his best friend. He couldn’t. Wooyoung tried to convince himself he was just tired after a long day because he couldn’t like Sannie in that way.
How easy it felt then for Wooyoung to give in to the nagging voice at the back of his head. His burning skin urged Wooyoung to take sleeping San’s hand and gently press his lips against his fingers. He’d proceed to litter them with feather-light pecks, soothing the lodged lump in his throat. A silent secret between Wooyoung and the night.
Wooyoung didn’t know yet that right there, and then, he’d become addicted to the feeling of San’s skin against his own lips.
2.
Addicts lust after the high of the first time, forever chasing the same euphoria. One shouldn’t give the junkie a stronger drug – it won’t satisfy the craving. Only deepen it.
And Wooyoung…well, he got to taste his best friend’s delicate skin under his lips. So what if he now wondered if San would push him away if he landed more quick pecks.
Wooyoung convinced himself a forehead kiss was still casual intimacy and San wouldn’t mind it. Friends do that all the time, right? Just a quick friendly peck on the forehead or into his hair. His Sannie wouldn’t mind, right? That’s where Wooyoung would end it – wondering about kissing San in more places.
Luckily for Wooyoung’s (non)addiction, comeback season was as busy as ever. His mind was mostly occupied by work, his body exhausted from dance practices, filming, photoshoots and other schedules. In the late evenings, Wooyoung was so tired his brain felt like mush, only capable of thinking about sleep and rejecting everything else. Mostly. Today just wasn’t one of those days.
Wooyoung was floating around the kitchen, cleaning up plates and bowls and wiping down the table and counters after dinner. Out of the corner of the eye, he saw San lazing around on their dorm couch in the living room. It was just another evening after long, hectic work hours, the members now all busy with their own affairs, resting in their own ways. It was just Wooyoung and San in the main living area, the room bathed in warm orange hues, the late evening sun setting on the horizon.
Even though Wooyoung was busy, his eyes couldn’t leave San, trying to secretly steal glances his way. Wooyoung felt the familiar tingle at his fingertips and a soft yearning lingering beneath his lips. Longing for a certain man’s skin, who coincidentally was sitting before him. Wooyoung doesn’t know if San remembers him kissing his hand, Wooyoung’s lips pushing softly against his fingers. And honestly, Wooyoung doesn’t really want to find out.
The younger man stood still at the kitchen table, a damp rag still in hand, outright staring at the back of San’s head. San sat with his back to Wooyoung, illuminated by the setting sun, the soft rays caressing his turned-away face and hair. Wooyoung imagined running his hands through it, dipping his nose and inhaling San’s familiar scent.
Of course, he could go up to the man and cuddle up to his side – San wouldn’t even question it; he’d most likely return the gesture, draping his hand around Wooyoung’s shoulders. But that would be them as friends, as best friends, seeking comfort after a draining day, but nothing more.
So, something about gazing at San from afar and, for just a second, letting himself imagine them as something more than just friends and bandmates makes Wooyoung feel some type of way that he doesn’t entirely hate. He still tries to deny it, fearing the implication that he might be in love with his best friend, but he feels his cheeks heat up at the thought of going up to San and kissing his forehead, and he doesn’t hate the feeling it leaves him with.
Wooyoung drops down the damp rag still in his hand into the sink and washes his hands. He feels restless. Wooyoung can’t be in love with San. He just can’t.
He’s not.
He dries his hands and inches to the living room couch where San is sitting with his nose in the phone. Wooyoung tries not to make a sound; he doesn’t know why, but he’s holding his breath. The sunlight is engulfing both of them, bathing them in its warmth. Wooyoung is sure it’s just the setting summer sun that’s making him feel this way.
He finally reaches the couch and approaches San from behind, draping his hands over and down the man’s shoulders and loosely hugging his neck. Wooyoung places his chin on top of San’s head and exhales. The older man doesn’t even look up or flinch; he lets out a low hum to acknowledge Wooyoung but remains still, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, trying to somewhat numb his mind after long schedules.
Wooyoung marvels at the closeness between them, but the tingling sensation doesn’t leave his lips. So Wooyoung digs his nose into San’s hair and quietly inhales, the older man still not uttering a word. But even being this close doesn’t soothe the feeling.
If anything, it makes it worse.
Wooyoung swallows and tightens his arms ever so slightly around San’s shoulders. There’s nothing unusual about the silent embrace. They’ve done this countless times before. He’s climbed all over San after exhausting schedules, fallen asleep against him in vans, buried his face into his shoulder when he was tired.
This is normal. So why does it suddenly feel like he’s doing something he shouldn’t?
Wooyoung’s gaze drops to San’s ear, then to the side of his face. From this angle, he can barely see the older man’s expression, only the relaxed line of his cheek and the reflection of sunlight against his skin.
It’s just the two of them, and Wooyoung’s eyes linger.
Just once. A kiss against San’s temple. Nothing more. Something soft and fleeting, something that could almost be dismissed as affection between friends. It’s just that now San would be aware of it.
His stomach twists. Wooyoung shouldn’t do this. He can almost guess that if he does, in fact, land the peck, he’s not going to be satisfied without them anymore. Wooyoung already can’t get rid of the tingling sensation urging his fingertips to turn San toward him and bring their lips together.
But Wooyoung can’t. And he’s not in love with his best friend. And San doesn’t like him like that. He’s sure.
Yet Wooyoung is a weak man.
He drops his cheek to San’s shoulder. Wooyoung tries to convince himself that he’s just tired; that’s why he feels so weird. Slowly, very slowly and as softly as he can, Wooyoung lands a kiss on San’s temple.
Wooyoung feels weird so he closes his eyes and goes to rest his nose against the crown of San’s head, if only to miss the other man breaking into a smile and a light pink dusting his cheeks. Wooyoung’s just happy San didn’t push him away.
3.
Wooyoung can’t seem to catch a break. If it’s not schedules, then it’s San haunting his mind, and if it’s not San, then he’s breaking his back during schedules. At this point, Wooyoung could swear he was nearing his wits' end. On top of that, the past couple of nights, he just couldn’t seem to fall asleep, and the lack of rest was quickly catching up to Wooyoung. Today’s dance practice hadn’t gone any better, either. Wooyoung kept tripping over his own feet and messing up steps he normally knew by heart.
Now, he’s completely spent and beating himself up over today’s errors. He’s sitting on the studio floor, his sweaty back against the cold mirror, pretending he's fine while everyone else slowly packs up and filters out of the sweat-filled room. Wooyoung is still heaving, trying to gather his thoughts, and doesn’t even notice when San drops down beside him. The sudden warmth of San’s body against his cooled one sends a jolt through him, followed by a wave of shivers.
Wooyoung looks up, only to find San holding out a water bottle. “Good work today.”
The younger man wipes his sweaty forehead with an already damp sleeve, realistically not drying anything, before turning his attention back to the floor. His eyebrows knit together.
“You’re just saying that. I was complete shit today.”
Wooyoung doesn’t get to see San’s expression. Instead, all of a sudden, he feels something soft brush against his sweaty forehead. He doesn’t raise his eyes, but it’s obvious that San is wiping the sweat from the side of his face with his own towel – Wooyoung forgot his.
Unfortunately, now he’s painfully aware of just how close the two of them are sitting. He still doesn’t raise his eyes yet, afraid that the moment he does, he’ll meet San’s eyes.
“You still worked hard, Woo. We all have days like that.”
Wooyoung closes his eyes and leans his head against the cold mirror. San is right. They all have better days and worse days. Still, San couldn’t understand what Wooyoung was actually struggling with. And it’s not like Wooyoung can exactly tell him that No, you don’t get it. I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about you. And not in a friends way, even though I know I shouldn’t.
So instead, Wooyoung sighs and turns towards San, plastering a small smile onto his face, “Thanks, Sannie.”
The other man returns a gentle smile, and then they’re looking at each other in silence. Wooyoung is agonisingly aware of the position they’re in – sitting so close that their sides are pressed flush against each other, San’s face only inches from his own, and San’s hand, still holding the towel, is resting on Wooyoung’s thigh.
Wooyoung looks at him for just a second too long. His eyes rake across San’s face, taking in all the little details he’s come to appreciate in a different light lately. Wooyoung tries not to linger on San’s plush-looking lips, instead letting his gaze settle on those feline-like eyes that couldn’t look softer or dreamier in that moment.
They’re sitting so close. Their faces are inches apart – Wooyoung just needs to lean in, and they would be kissing.
Instead, he lets out a chuckle at his own thoughts and shakes his head, silently scolding himself before pushing himself to his feet. Wooyoung turns around to San, who’s now looking up at him with those painfully beautiful eyes, and stretches out a hand.
“Let’s go before others start to miss us,” Wooyoung jokes, trying to ignore the nagging tingling at his lips, wishing that this moment with just the two of them could be just a second longer.
San laughs at his words and takes the outstretched hand. As San stands, Wooyoung stumbles under his weight, so San has to catch him.
And now they’re standing incredibly close. Closer than Wooyoung would’ve liked.
They’re still holding hands, neither of them seeming quite sure what to do with themselves after the sudden closeness. San looks just as stunned as Wooyoung feels, and once again, they’re staring at each other.
They’re looking at each other for just a second too long again.
Before Wooyoung’s brain can catch up with what he's doing, he leans in and presses a quick kiss against San's cheek. He feels the tingling against his lips.
Wooyoung immediately freezes. Stupid. So, so stupid. Why did he do that?
Only San freezes too, and Wooyoung's stomach drops because this kiss wasn't hidden, it wasn’t subtle. They are still standing in each other’s proximity, Wooyoung still feeling the warmth of San’s hand in his.
The air around them feels too heavy for Wooyoung.
“What?” Wooyoung tries to joke again, his voice coming out a little more nervous than he’d like. “You looked kissable.”
But San doesn't laugh immediately. Instead, Wooyoung notices his ears slowly turning pink, a bashful smile appearing on his face.
And maybe that becomes the problem because now San is staring at him with that tiny, unmistakable smile, and Wooyoung suddenly has to confront the terrifying possibility that San liked it.
And that’s a frightening thought considering they can’t be doing this. Wooyoung can’t be in love with his best friend. Most of all, he absolutely cannot be in love with his bandmate. But now he’s aware that San might like his kisses, and that’s worse, because all Wooyoung wants to do is kiss him again.
Wooyoung drops his hand from San’s hold and bolts out of the studio, silently cursing himself the entire way.
Idiot. He wasn’t supposed to do this. Ever.
Because now he might become addicted even worse. When it was just San’s skin against his own, Wooyoung could live with that. He could pretend it didn’t mean anything. Except now – now that he’d seen the way San looked at him after that kiss…
This was infinitely worse.
And after landing that kiss on San’s cheek, Wooyoung couldn’t stop thinking and beating himself up about it. He convinced himself that he’d imagined the way San’s face lit up. Wooyoung convinced himself that it was just his imagination and that San hadn’t actually looked at him like that. That San couldn’t possibly like him back. Because that would be absurd.
Still, the little fire that was secretly sparked the night he kissed San’s hand was now burning through his mind all over again. And this time, it was much harder to ignore.
Later on, Wooyoung tried satiating the hunger with kisses to other members. He was already seen as the clingy one, so it was just one more display of affection. Nothing unusual. Nothing anyone would question.
So, he didn’t hold back – pecking his members in photoshoots whenever they got close, pecking them at fansign events, during performances and when saying goodbye at the dorms.
Yet none of the affection could calm down the tingling sensation at his lips. None of it could satisfy the craving for a certain sharp-eyed man.
So Wooyoung ignored it.
He ignored his feelings towards San. They were teammates; a falling out between them would mean the group’s doom.
4.
An ignited fire isn’t easy to tame.
Lately, Wooyoung and San weren’t on talking terms. Truth be told, Wooyoung had completely forgotten why the two had gotten into an argument in the first place, or how it had even ended up like this. Or maybe he didn’t even know why San wasn’t talking to him, because Wooyoung couldn’t really remember there being an argument at all. It just seemed that one morning, San had decided Wooyoung didn’t exist anymore.
But whatever happened, Wooyoung was sure it had to be something serious for his Sannie to go around brushing him off. He was also sure he wasn’t the one at fault. His stubborn ass was not apologising first.
Unfortunately for them, today the team had a fansign event, which meant they had to be on their best behaviour. Of course, the dorm had already noticed the tension lingering between the two, Hongjoong had even gone so far as to warn them to put the quarrel behind them.
And yet Wooyoung didn’t miss the fact that San still hadn’t said a word to him all morning. Not while they were getting ready at the dorm, not while they were getting their makeup done, and not even when they were waiting to go on. It also didn’t escape Wooyoung that San stood the furthest away from him once they were in front of the fans.
Only Wooyoung couldn’t exactly show that he was anxious about it because now they’re working – interacting with fans, smiling, jumping at their every whim. Out of the corner of his eye, Wooyoung could see San on the opposite end of the stage, but he couldn’t let his expression slip. So he kept a plastered smile on his face and desperately tried to focus on entertaining the crowd.
Wooyoung kept a smile on his face even when fans asked for him and San to pose together, and San didn’t seem the least bit bothered by him. But Wooyoung was. Wooyoung is bothered that San still won’t say a word to him once they get off the stage. And what’s even more troubling is that Wooyoung seemingly doesn’t know what he had done wrong.
And the thought alone – that San is angry at him – started physically hurting.
They’re backstage now, the fansign finally over, and Wooyoung can’t help but feel upset. He was the first one to flee the stage, and now he’s walking. Wooyoung doesn’t know where, he just didn’t want to be around the others and definitely not around San. Because if the other man wasn’t going to acknowledge him, then what’s the point?
Wooyoung turns a corner; he’s still walking as a strange and uncomfortable lump forms in his throat. The makeup he’s still wearing starts to sting his eyes, and the neckline of his shirt becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Wooyoung walked past staff without greeting or thanking them like he usually did. Right now, his eyes are trained on the ground.
Wooyoung tries to convince himself that he’s fine, that he’s just tired and the exhaustion is finally catching up to him. Except deep down he knows that it’s false. Somewhere in the far corner of his mind, Wooyoung knows what’s making him feel so upset, and it’s not work-related.
He turns yet another corner and crouches down near a wall. It’s quiet around, no one in sight. Wooyoung clutched one hand at his styled hair.
Why must he feel like this?
Why was San ignoring him, cutting so deeply?
Wooyoung didn’t have any right to be upset with the other man. He’s not entitled to his attention, and yet the feeling refused to leave him alone.
Eventually, Wooyoung sits down fully on the ground. He hoped no one would come looking for him, because then they’d ask questions, and Wooyoung wasn’t sure he wanted to hear his own answers. He rested his head against his bent knees and closed his eyes. It’s still relatively quiet around him, with only a faint background noise of people walking and talking nearby. Everyone was busy with their own tasks, leaving Wooyoung alone with his thoughts.
Wooyoung takes a deep breath.
Then another.
His eyes remain closed.
He’s conflicted – on one hand, Wooyoung is incredibly sad that San seemed to be mad at him; on the other, he was angry at himself for feeling like this in the first place. Wooyoung is angry at himself because this shouldn't upset him so much; he shouldn’t feel so heartbroken.
San was probably just as tired from work as he was. Wooyoung tries to convince himself that maybe he’s just imagining the whole thing. Maybe San wasn’t actually ignoring him. He really, really tried to persuade himself but ultimately still failed. He couldn’t ignore the feeling.
Wooyoung didn’t even notice when a tear rolled down his cheek. He only realised he was silently crying when he felt the salty taste against his lips. Stupid. Wooyoung feels like an idiot – he doesn't deserve to cry over this.
Rationality seemed to leave Wooyoung’s brain completely, because now he’s convincing himself that San must hate him. San hates that Wooyoung is so clingy. He definitely hated that Wooyoung kissed him – that’s why he’s so cold towards him now. Maybe San just didn’t want to be the one to break his heart. That must be why he left Wooyoung to his own devices.
Wooyoung didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there alone, but he knew that soon enough, the others would search for him. He finally got up and tried to wipe his tears away, although unsuccessfully – he couldn’t seem to stop crying. Wooyoung felt pathetic.
“Here you are…”
Wooyoung jumps out of his skin, immediately wiping his face again. He didn’t want to be found yet. Please, just not yet. His back was turned, but Wooyoung already knew who had found him, and his heart ached. Why did it have to be him? Wooyoung let out a sniffle and cursed himself.
“Woo, are you okay?”
And Wooyoung could already picture the concern on San’s face. He knows that San had heard him sniffle.
“I’m fine.” Unfortunately for Wooyoung, his voice wavered, certainly not convincing the other man.
He felt San place a warm hand on his back, the familiar touch sending a shiver through him. Wooyoung desperately wipes away his tears; he knows that his eyes are going to be red from crying either way.
“Woo-“
“I said I’m fine, San. Leave me be.” Wooyoung winced at his own words; he knows he doesn’t have the right to talk to San like that, especially not now. The other was here because he cared about him, and all Wooyoung could give him in return was harshness.
But San doesn’t go away; his hand doesn’t fall from Wooyoung’s back, either. If anything, he feels San stepping closer into his space. He’s still avoiding San’s face, afraid of what else he might say.
Wooyoung stayed quiet for a minute, but eventually, he couldn’t stop himself from voicing the silent accusation that had been sitting in the back of his mind. “You hate me,” his voice was barely above a whisper.
San's expression changed immediately, although Wooyoung didn’t see it because he was still turned away. “What?”
Wooyoung laughed, except nothing was amusing about it. “You hate me.” He finally raised his red, teary eyes to meet San’s.
“Woo…” San’s face falters. “What makes you say that?”
Wooyoung's eyes burn again. “Then why are you ignoring me?”
San doesn't answer. And that's somehow worse.
Wooyoung swallowed. His eyes drop to San's lips before he can stop himself. He is about to backtrack on his words, apologise to San for imagining things, when suddenly San engulfs him in a hug.
Wooyoung’s face is buried in the other’s neck, San’s hand resting on his head, pressing him close. Wooyoung wraps his own hands around San’s waist, slightly gripping his shirt.
They stood like that in silence for what seemed like forever.
“I could never hate you, Wooyoung.” He heard San say it just above him.
Wooyoung feels the vibrations of San’s voice where his face was pressing into his neck. His fingers tighten around San's shirt, but neither of them moves.
And before Wooyoung can think better of it, he leans up and presses a trembling, wet kiss against San's neck, just below his jawline. It's barely there. Softer than the others. Almost apologetic.
Wooyoung pulls away immediately, looking at the ground. “I'm sorry.”
San’s hand tightens around his forearm before Wooyoung can take another step back.
“Why are you apologising?”
Wooyoung freezes. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor. “For that.”
“For kissing me?”
The words made Wooyoung’s stomach twist. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Wooyoung swallows. His throat felt painfully tight. “Because you clearly don’t want me doing that.”
San is quiet for a moment. Then his grip loosens, his fingers sliding down until their hands are loosely intertwined.
“I never said that.”
“You didn't have to.”
San sighs. “Woo.”
Wooyoung finally looks up. There was something unbearably soft in San’s expression, something that made his chest ache all over again.
“I was angry with you,” San said. “But it wasn't because you kissed me. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Wooyoung stared at him.
“Then why?”
San hesitated.
And for a horrible second, Wooyoung thought he was going to pull away again. Instead, San reached up and wiped the remaining tear from Wooyoung's cheek with his thumb.
“I guess I was just jealous.”
Wooyoung blinks. “What?”
A strange silence settled between them once again.
San gives him a small, almost embarrassed smile. “You started kissing everyone except me.”
Wooyoung’s heart stutters, and his eyes drop to their joined hands. “That’s why you stopped talking to me?”
San exhaled through his nose, looking almost as frustrated with himself as Wooyoung had been earlier, and looked away first.
“I didn't know what I was supposed to do with that jealousy.”
And suddenly Wooyoung understood why the silence between them had felt so much worse than any argument. Because San hadn't been disgusted. He hadn't been uncomfortable. He hadn't hated him. And Wooyoung hadn’t imagined San’s reaction when he had landed that kiss last time.
San had been feeling something, too.
Wooyoung's fingers tighten around San's.
“San-”
But before Wooyoung could say anything else, he spotted Seonghwa peeking around the corner, and the words died in his throat. Wooyoung quickly retracted his hands from San’s warm hold.
Seonghwa fully popped out. “Sorry, guys, but we have to go in five minutes.”
Wooyoung looked down again. “Right…”
He glanced at San for just a second before looking away.
“Let’s go, then.”
5.
When Wooyoung finally fully admitted to himself that he really did like San romantically, he immediately scolded himself for it. He tried to push those thoughts away, to lock them somewhere deep where he wouldn’t have to think about them. Because San would probably never see him that way – they are best friends and bandmates. They had hectic schedules and lived in a dorm with six other men; there was hardly any room for romance.
Not to mention that the group was finally taking off. While all of them could breathe a little easier now, no longer having to worry whether tomorrow could be their last day, there was still no safety net. Any scandal or controversy could potentially be the reason everything came crashing down.
But then San had told him he was jealous of his affections toward the other members. And then San had given Wooyoung a tiny sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he might like him back.
But they were idols – dating wasn’t exactly for them. Not only did dating rumours ruin careers, but if word got out that two members of the same boy group were dating each other? One could only pray.
But knowing San might like him back was somehow worse than knowing he didn't. Because now Wooyoung couldn't simply bury the feeling beneath friendship. He couldn’t try to tame the fire with casual cuddles with San. He couldn't tell himself that the warmth in his chest was one-sided and therefore something he could eventually outgrow.
There was a possibility now. A tiny, terrifying possibility. And Wooyoung couldn't stop thinking about it.
So, naturally, he did what he always did when something scared him. He tried to run from it.
Unfortunately, running from your closest teammate, whom you shared not only a stage but a dorm with, wasn’t exactly easy. It was easier when they had solo schedules, but who was Wooyoung kidding – not seeing San (even if Wooyoung was deliberately trying to avoid him) was just as painful.
Still, Wooyoung stopped lingering beside San after schedules. He didn't climb into his bed late at night. He kept his hugs brief, his touches casual. When they sat together, Wooyoung made sure there was always someone else between them.
It was ridiculous. Only causing more pain for Wooyoung, because more than anything in the world, he wanted to wrap his arms around San’s waist and press his lips against the other’s soft ones.
It was stupid. San noticed his behaviour immediately.
So, Wooyoung desperately tried to make sure they never ended up alone together, because then he’d have nowhere to run, and they’d have to talk about it. Whatever it was.
Except some things are easier said than done, because in some twisted way of fate, Wooyoung and San were left alone at the dorm.
It was still early hours in the morning, but Wooyoung knew he couldn’t hole up in his room all day. Morning sunlight was shining through the windows; he could hear the birds chirping outside, mixed with the sound of roads already busy with cars and people rushing to work.
Wooyoung sluggishly got out of bed, his hair dishevelled. He didn’t pay it any mind, going straight to the bathroom to at least brush his teeth. He didn’t bother changing before tiptoeing to the kitchen for some coffee.
Wooyoung is almost asleep against the kitchen island, eyes closed, listening to the kettle slowly heating the water, when he hears footsteps coming from the hallway.
Wooyoung's heart immediately betrays him. He doesn’t turn around to look at San, because suddenly the guilt of avoiding his best friend is swallowing him whole.
And the conversation he’d been trying so hard to avoid was looming over his head. It’s unavoidable now.
“Morning,” San mumbles behind him.
Wooyoung swallows. “Morning.”
He hears San move closer, the soft shuffle of his feet against the floor. Wooyoung kept his eyes fixed on the kettle.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The silence was unbearable. And Wooyoung still hadn’t looked at San.
He reached for a mug, hoping the familiar motions would give him something else to concentrate on. He poured himself a cup, slowly stirred the coffee, focusing on the way it swirled.
Anything but the man standing somewhere behind him.
Then San speaks. “You're avoiding me.”
Wooyoung's hand stills. There it was. “I haven’t.” He tried to play dumb, albeit unsuccessfully.
“Don’t lie.”
“I've just been busy.”
San lets out a quiet laugh. “Woo.”
The fondness in San’s voice makes Wooyoung's chest hurt. He finally turns around and instantly regrets it. San was standing only a few steps away, hair messy from sleep, wearing an oversized shirt and sweatpants. He looked so painfully normal that Wooyoung almost wished he’d stayed asleep.
And there was that softness in his eyes again. And that tiny smile. It hurt.
A silence settled between them. The quiet isn't uncomfortable, and somehow that’s worse.
“I don't know what you want me to say,” Wooyoung finally breaks the silence.
“The truth and not running away would be a good start.”
Wooyoung grips the edge of the counter and lets out a shaky laugh because, in all honesty, he doesn't know what he wants to say.
I like you.
I want to kiss you.
I don't know what happens after that.
I'm scared. I’m so, so scared of this.
None of the words made it past his lips.
San watched him carefully, and Wooyoung felt small under the other man’s gaze.
“The other day…I keep thinking that maybe I misunderstood you.”
“You didn't.”
The answer comes so quickly that Wooyoung’s head snaps up. He gripped the counter so hard that his knuckles went white, desperately trying to keep himself grounded.
He watches as San closes the space between them, now standing directly in front of him. “You didn't misunderstand me, Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung's heart begins pounding; they’re so close. He is still leaning against the kitchen island, and San is almost caging him with how close he’s standing.
“San…” He doesn't finish, the words dying on his tongue, but Wooyoung notices San’s eyes flicker down to his lips. And that tiny movement is all the encouragement Wooyoung needed.
“I like you.” The words escape before he can stop them. Wooyoung's stomach drops. “I mean-” He laughs nervously, immediately trying to take it back. “Not like that. I mean, obviously I like you. You're my best friend. I just-”
“Wooyoung.”
“Forget it.”
“No.” San takes another step closer. Wooyoung finally looks at him; his heart is hammering so hard he feels like San must be able to hear it.
“I shouldn't have said that.”
“Why?”
“Because we're not supposed to.”
San's brows drew together. “Who says?”
“We’re idols, San. Dating and love just isn’t cut out for us.”
San didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at Wooyoung for a long moment.
Wooyoung sees his own vision go blurry. Ah shit…he’s crying again. How pathetic.
Wooyoung’s hand catches lightly on the fabric of San's shirt, and he leans forward and presses his lips softly against the corner of San’s mouth, missing his lips by a centimetre. He lingers for barely a heartbeat before pulling back. His tear-filled eyes make it difficult to make out San’s reaction.
His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
“I just…” Wooyoung laughs nervously.
San doesn't say anything, doesn’t pull away, but in that silence, Wooyoung's courage begins to crumble. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”
“Stop apologising.”
Wooyoung falls silent, the tears slipping down his cheeks and falling to the floor.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me and then act like you committed a crime.”
Wooyoung's cheeks burn. For a moment, neither moved.
Then Wooyoung smiles sadly. “We can’t, San.”
The other man doesn’t answer. They were close enough that their breaths mingled. Close enough that Wooyoung knew he could look up and close the distance again. All the distance he’d forced between them felt ridiculous now.
He closed his eyes and felt another tear roll down. Then he feels San’s hand against his cheek, wiping away the escaped tears. And Wooyoung imagines the fire again – it’s raging. Even that night, he knew that he could never be satisfied with just a peck.
So, Wooyoung leans forward again.
He kisses San.
Softly.
Slowly.
No impulse this time. No excuse. No pretending that it means nothing.
San's lips are warm beneath his own, exactly as Wooyoung had imagined a hundred times. San's lips part on a quiet inhale, and for one fleeting second, Wooyoung feels San lean into the kiss.
That tiny movement was enough to make his heart stumble. Wooyoung barely had time to register the feeling before he pulled back and disappeared into his room.
The cup of coffee remained forgotten on the counter. Eventually, it gets cold.
+1.
Time passed, but they hadn't talked about it.
Not really.
Wooyoung convinced himself he’d fucked everything up. He avoided initiating anything with San again. No kisses, no casual cuddles, no climbing into his bed. Wooyoung doesn’t know why, but he started avoiding others too, keeping to himself whenever he could.
But he and San still ate together. Still shared a dorm. Still practised side by side. San still stole food from Wooyoung's plate, and Wooyoung still complained about it.
Everything else was almost too normal, which, somehow, made it infinitely worse.
Because now Wooyoung knew exactly what San's lips felt like.
And San knew exactly how much Wooyoung wanted him.
Wooyoung had also spent the time avoiding the kitchen whenever he was alone, or San was nearby. It was stupid, really. The kitchen wasn't haunted, and San wasn’t a ghost. It just happened to be where he'd kissed the other man.
So Wooyoung spent most of his time holed up in his room. He skipped morning coffees, relaxed conversations in the afternoon, and late-night snacks. He left as soon as he was done eating, retreating to the comfort of his room. If others noticed his behaviour, they didn’t say anything. At least, not yet.
Wooyoung knew that, realistically, this was him running away too.
It seemed he was incapable of doing anything else lately.
Running from San was easy enough when they were surrounded by the others. There was always someone to talk to, somewhere to go, something to do. Wooyoung could sit beside Mingi instead, disappear into some meaningless dialogue with Jongho, or pick up extra dance practice with Yunho.
Anything to keep himself from being alone with San.
But eventually, when the sun set, there were no distractions left.
That evening, the dorm was unusually quiet. Most of the members had already gone to bed, and Wooyoung had retreated to his room under the excuse of being tired.
He wasn't sleeping. He was lying on his back, phone held loosely above his face, scrolling through the same handful of posts without actually reading any of them.
His thoughts kept circling back to the same place.
San.
His lips.
That kiss.
Wooyoung closed his eyes.
Stupid.
He should've left it alone. He should've pretended it never happened. He shouldn’t have ever kissed San’s hand in the first place. Maybe then things would've stayed normal.
Wooyoung feels the familiar sting behind his eyes, but he doesn’t cry. There’s no point anymore. He’d fucked everything up, and now he must live with it.
There's a soft knock on the door.
Wooyoung's eyes snap open; for a second, he considers pretending to be asleep. But the gentle knock comes again, and the door opens slowly.
“Woo?” San pokes his head inside. “Can I come in?”
The question makes something twist painfully in Wooyoung's chest; his heart sinks.
He used to never ask. San used to simply walk in, steal his blankets, flop onto his bed, complain about being tired, and make himself comfortable. Now he's standing in the doorway like a stranger, asking permission.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung confirms quietly, dropping the phone to the side.
San steps inside and closes the door behind him. Wooyoung sits up against the headboard, suddenly hyperaware of everything.
The distance between them. The closed door. The quiet of the dorm outside. He watches San silently.
San looks tired, hair slightly messy from the long day, an oversized shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. There was nothing unusual about him being here. San had walked into Wooyoung's room countless times before.
But this time, San didn’t come any closer. He stayed near the door.
“Are you okay, Woo?”
Wooyoung looked away. He’s a pathetic coward – can’t even look his best friend in the eye.
San let out a quiet breath and finally moved further into the room. He sat down on the edge of Wooyoung's bed, leaving a careful amount of space between them.
“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”
Wooyoung swallows. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I miss you.”
The words are so simple that they hurt more than they should have. Wooyoung's fingers tighten around his phone. “You see me every day.”
“I know.”
“Then what's there to miss?”
San's smile disappears, and he inches forward carefully, almost as if he’s afraid to startle Wooyoung.
“This.” He gestures vaguely between them. “You.” He feels San’s gaze on him. “This isn't us.”
Wooyoung still doesn’t look at him, trying to appear calmer than he is. “It is now.”
“No.” San's voice is quiet, still as gentle as ever. “It doesn't have to be.”
Wooyoung's throat tightens. He knows what San meant. He just doesn't know if he's brave enough to hear it.
“I'm scared,” Wooyoung finally admits.
San doesn't interrupt; instead, he moves until he is sitting directly across from Wooyoung.
“I'm scared that I ruined everything.”
“You didn't.
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
Wooyoung finally looks at him.
San's expression is unbearably soft. Wooyoung's breath catches.
San shifts closer, slowly enough that Wooyoung could stop him if he wanted.
He doesn't.
“I keep thinking about that morning,” San says quietly. “About you kissing me.”
“I shouldn't have.”
San shakes his head. “That's not what I mean.” He reaches for Wooyoung, slowly, giving him every opportunity to move away. His hand comes to rest on the other side of Wooyoung, just beside his hip. And suddenly, after weeks of deliberately keeping their distance, Wooyoung was back where he wanted to be most.
Close.
Warm.
Safe.
“I mean, you kissed me, and then you ran away.”
“I didn't know what else to do.”
“So, you started avoiding me…”
Wooyoung doesn't answer.
“You’re avoiding the kitchen like the plague, Woo. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” San sighs. “Don’t think that others haven’t noticed that you’ve been closed off…”
Wooyoung swallowed, remaining silent.
“Do you regret it?”
Wooyoung's heart dropped because he knew exactly what San meant. “Regret what?”
“Kissing me?”
Wooyoung doesn’t answer and looks down instead. But the silence is an answer enough for San.
“It hurts, Woo.” San’s voice was quieter now. “It hurts not being able to be close to you anymore. I know you’re scared. I am too. But not being with you, not sharing that warmth…” He swallows thickly. “It hurts me more than anything.”
San reaches up for him slowly, giving Wooyoung every opportunity to move away once again. But just like before, Wooyoung doesn't. So, San's hand settles against his cheek. Warm. Wooyoung's eyes flutter shut for half a second.
“I don’t care,” San admits quietly. “I don’t care what the media might say. Screw them. You know just as well as I do that the guys, the company, the people who truly stand beside us will be okay with it.”
His thumb brushes gently beneath Wooyoung's eye. “I just don't want you to keep running from me because you're scared.”
Wooyoung doesn't answer because every time San gets close, he wants to forget every reason they shouldn't do this. They're so close that Wooyoung can feel San’s breath, and San is looking at him like Wooyoung is the only thing in the world.
“I don't know how to do this,” Wooyoung whispers.
“Neither do I, Woo.”
Wooyoung looks down at San's hands beside his waist. One still rests against his cheek. He can feel the warmth radiating. Familiar. The same hands he's spent months pretending he didn't want.
“We could ruin everything,” he whispers.
“I know.”
“Our group-”
“I know.”
“The company-”
“I know.”
“The media-”
“I know, Woo.” San's voice is gentle, but there's something steadier underneath it now. “I know all of it.”
Wooyoung finally looks up. San's eyes were soft, his other hand inching closer to his waist, his thumb brushing slowly against his side, barely there.
“But I'm more scared of losing you.”
Wooyoung closes his eyes. That hurt.
A shaky laugh escapes him, his forehead dropping against San's shoulder. San’s hand, softly cradling his cheek, slips and settles against Wooyoung's back, holding him close. Wooyoung stays there for a while, breathing him in.
The familiar scent. The familiar warmth.
Everything he'd spent so long trying to convince himself he could live without.
Eventually, he lifts his head.
San is already looking at him. Neither of them says anything.
Wooyoung's eyes flickered down to San's lips and then back up.
San notices. Of course he does.
But this time, Wooyoung doesn't move. He doesn't need to.
San does.
Slowly, carefully, San leans in.
He stops just short of Wooyoung's lips, giving him one last chance to change his mind.
Wooyoung doesn't. So, San closes the distance.
The kiss is soft and tender.
Almost painfully so.
Nothing like the impulsive pecks Wooyoung had stolen over the past months. Nothing rushed, nothing hidden, nothing disguised as a joke.
San kissed him like he had all the time in the world.
And for once, Wooyoung doesn't run.
His hands curl into the fabric of San's shirt, holding him close as he finally lets himself believe it.
Maybe this could be theirs.