Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts two days before Christmas, when— No, actually.

— ♡ —

It starts one week before Christmas, which finds Wooyoung one significant piece of organic, homegrown mistletoe short.

Like many men, all the grow-your-own-mistletoe kit has done to him thus far is lie. Wooyoung lifts the curtains one more time to check up on the small clay pot, just in case ten more seconds of sunlight has convinced the mistletoe to sprout through the soil, but no. Like many men too, the planter has not changed, even after Wooyoung does it one more time and says, “Baby, please.”

No answer.

His mother’s going to be so disappointed. She’d given him the kit when they last met for Chuseok, and he’d been excited to show her the literal fruits of his labor by now to make up for the fact that they won’t be able to travel home on Christmas day, but at least now he’ll have a funny story to tell her when they do get to see each other again.

He sighs, forlorn, and leans back to sit on the kitchen floor. Then, since the floor is right there, he just completes the motion and sprawls on his back. The ceiling fan waves hello at him, and Wooyoung contemplates its circles as a metaphor for life, choice, and consequence. What he gets is this: the blades spin around in circles, circles travel three-hundred sixty degrees, there are five blades, and three-hundred sixty plus five is three-hundred sixty-five, which is sage advice that he should have started growing it an entire year in advance.

What’s he going to do now?

Think, Wooyoung! Think…

Luckily, he’s flexible physically and in every other way. One long hard stare at the ceiling later, he’s got a mostly-formed idea in his head, and it requires an impromptu trip to the shopping outlet. “Are you going out?” Seonghwa calls on his way past the other rooms, and Wooyoung retorts, “Mind your own business, hyung!”

“I was just asking a question,” he hears Seonghwa mumble.

Wooyoung snatches a post-it from the kitchen counter to scribble down his shopping list and make sure he doesn’t forget anything.

The homegrown mistletoe can wait until next year.

— ♡ —

It really starts two days before Christmas, the afternoon that he runs out of black pepper, at the end of a long, weird week. On the counter, the beef’s already been unthawed, the marinade is half finished in a bowl, and Wooyoung has one hand on the dial of the stove and another pawing through the spice rack when his fingers finally close around the familiar fox-shaped pepper dispenser Mingi got him last Christmas, lift it, and feel it empty.

Instantly, the world drops out from beneath his feet.

He needs the pepper. Needs it. His boyfriends have been weirdly cagey around him lately, and he’s pretty sure that means he did something wrong because the weird, cagey behavior in question consists of them looking at him expectantly at the end of conversations like they’re expecting him to do or say something.

He fears for the worst. What if they had looked in his closet? What if they know about his failures and his last-minute plan? How is he going to explain himself?

It’s like the dishwashing incident all over again, except Wooyoung’s not really sure what he did this time. He does mess up a lot, so there’s a chance that his secret’s safe after all, and he might’ve forgotten one of his chores. To be safe, he has decided to cover all of his bases and make up for every possible wrongdoing with the most powerful bribing tool he has: cooking. 

This is, of course, only because none of them have looked like they were in the mood to be dragged off into their room to be bribed a different way. 

Which is fine. Wooyoung can respect the sanctity of the holidays. Also, Yunho has gotten into this creepy-but-endearing-but-still-creepy tradition of putting up an Elf on the Shelf in the room, except Wooyoung is pretty sure that he read the directions wrong somewhere because he put one in every room of the dorm, including the bathroom where it sits and judges Wooyoung for taking one look at the mirror and then consciously walking out to go to bed without removing his makeup, so the atmosphere isn’t even sexy enough for that. 

So, yes, food is his only option, and now the three-course meal he was planning is completely ruined because the shakers are opaque, and he hasn’t been able to see the pepper levels decreasing this whole time. Not Mingi’s fault, of course, because Mingi is good and an angel and gave him the shakers with a little drawing of them as foxes.

It’s not anyone’s fault, really, because life isn’t in any of their control. This is why Wooyoung opts to simply shriek, “No!”

He began this afternoon thinking that he was alone at the dorm, but almost instantly, a pair of padded footsteps rapidly approaches from the direction of the hallway.

“Wooyoung?!”

Wooyoung whirls around, tongs in one hand and horrifically empty shaker in the other. “We’re out of black pepper,” he cries out.

Yeosang’s wide, distraught eyes gradually un-widen, until they’re not only un-widened, but narrowed into a scowl. “You fucking idiot,” he hisses, stomping over so hard that the paper towel roller sways on the counter. “I thought you set yourself on fire.”

Well, what a silly assumption. Wooyoung’s only an arsonist for their lore. Wooyoung sputters when Yeosang seizes both of his wrists in the air, appearing to inspect each of his hands. “What are you doing? I didn’t lose a finger!” He wrinkles his nose at Yeosang’s bare hands overlapping with the palms of the plastic gloves he’s got on. “Great. Did you wash your hands? I’m gonna have to put on a new pair of gloves.”

Yeosang looks at him darkly. “The next time you scream in the kitchen, I’m not coming over to help you.”

“My reaction,” Wooyoung says, wriggling his hands out of his grip, “is completely normal for what I just discovered. Dinner’s ruined now.”

“Dinner?”

“Dinner.” Wooyoung claps the tongs at him. “I’m making black pepper beef stir fry.”

Yeosang frowns. “Didn’t Seonghwa-hyung say he was already picking up food for tonight?”

Wait, what?

“Uh, yep. I knew that,” Wooyoung says, turning back towards his tray of beef and the bowl of marinade. Yeosang's right, Seonghwa did text them about that earlier. Damn it. “This is just a different option for whoever doesn’t want to eat…whatever he gets. You know?” He shoots Yeosang a meaningful look over his shoulder. “What if he brings home spinach again?”

Yeosang’s still frowning, but now he’s frowning at the tray of beef.

Wooyoung huffs, well-aware of what he must be thinking. The real dilemma is that he shouldn’t refreeze something that’s been sitting at room temperature for this long. Maybe he can do something else with this batch, then try the fancier stuff tomorrow. That would give him enough time to run to the store and get more black pepper and a new set of beef, and maybe—

“All right, what else do you need from the store?” comes a grumble.

“What?” He turns to find Yeosang unexpectedly close, close enough for Wooyoung to see the intensity of his stare directed at the beef.

“The store,” Yeosang repeats, eyes finally flicking up to meet his. “What else are you missing, so I only have to go out once?”

Yeosang…is going to go out to buy black pepper for him?

Hm.

“Well?” Yeosang prompts.

“A new sponge?” Wooyoung says slowly. Well, if Yeosang’s offering— “The same one we had two weeks ago, the one with a smiley face design and cleaned the pans really, really well.”

“Okay. That’s it?”

“Yeah?” The bemusement slips into Wooyoung’s voice before he can help himself. “That should be it. Uh, thanks?”

“Don’t mention it,” Yeosang mutters, pushing away from the island.

Wooyoung turns back to his ingredients with a silent cheer, hoping that they know they’ll be served after all. Whatever Seonghwa gets is probably going to be good, so Wooyoung wouldn’t blame the others if they opted for the takeout instead, but maybe he can earn forgiveness from two or three of them.

“Wooyoung.”

He jolts against the counter from how much closer Yeosang sounds now when Wooyoung thought he went to go change. Instead, he’s pretty sure that that’s Yeosang’s hand steadying him by the small of his back. 

“Yeah?” Wooyoung says, craning his head over his shoulder again.

“I love you,” Yeosang says. Something soft touches his temple. It’s small, quick, and just as quickly as it happens, his face begins to heat up. Wait, what?

Yeosang’s hand disappears from his back and Yeosang whirls around, kind of speed-walking out of the kitchen. Wooyoung catches a glimpse of him fishing out his phone and muttering to himself, otherwise giving no indication that he also just experienced — and catalyzed — the last twenty seconds.

It’s after about a minute of staring blankly at the corner he disappeared around that Wooyoung realizes Yeosang just kissed him. Not even on the lips. Yeosang kissed him on the temple.  

Wooyoung touches his fingers there lightly, then studies the pads of them. There’s no mysterious substance, which means Yeosang wasn’t just trying to remove something from his face using his mouth. Huh.

Worse, he realizes that the warm feeling in his face is a blush, prickly, thorny embarrassment at being so phased by a kiss. That doesn’t mean he’s flustered! A lot of kissing gets done between them all, thank you. On the last Kiss Day in June, he set a new record for himself. He’s not the type to kiss and tell, but the number was in the higher double digits.

Maybe Yeosang is trying to change it up. In that case, Wooyoung can respect the sanctity of that too.

Eventually, he hears Yeosang shuffling around near the door. “I love you too, Yeosang-ah,” Wooyoung calls after him. He’s answered by what sounds suspiciously like Yeosang tripping over his own feet. 

A moment after, the front door opens, then closes, and the apartment becomes silent again. When Wooyoung peeks into the vestibule, Yeosang’s shoes are gone from the shoe rack, rendering his own pair of boots alone, but he makes one round trip around all of their rooms anyway just to double check he hasn’t missed anyone else. Also, he kind of wants to ask someone if Yeosang is, like, feeling okay.

It turns out he’s really alone now though, so there’s only one option left. 

is yeosangie sick or something, he texts Hongjoong. If anyone would know, it would be him, right?

Hongjoong’s at the studio, so Wooyoung knows not to expect a reply too quickly, but one does come about six minutes later: he seemed OK this morning, why?

he randomly kissed me, Wooyoung says. are allergies contagious? i think he was trying to get me back for accidentally finishing his ice cream last week.

what, Hongjoong replies, a little quicker than before.

they ARE contagious?! Wooyoung immediately switches to a web search instead.

Twenty minutes later finds him at his fifth article about the difference between a cold and allergies. It’s when he clicks on another one about food allergies that he remembers, The food! and jumps up and scrambles back to the kitchen.

After replacing his gloves, he starts on some of the side dishes instead. His schedule will not be derailed by some missing black pepper, nor by the entire general horrific existence of cucumbers when he pulls one out to make oi muchim. He’s going to make it up to his boyfriends so well.

— ♡ —

It doesn’t take long for Yeosang to come back with the groceries. Wooyoung only has time to croon a thank you before Yeosang retreats swiftly into his room, thus escaping Wooyoung’s retaliation disguised as a thank you hug.

Yeosang is so smart.

The rest of the food doesn’t take long to finish after that, and the others come home little by little. 

When Seonghwa returns from the gym with Yunho, Wooyoung accosts him at the doorway to see just how much competition he’ll have for dinner.

Seonghwa’s empty-handed, though. So is Yunho. Well, Yunho isn’t empty-handed for long, because he walks over and lifts Wooyoung off the ground in a hug, but even with the high vantage point, Wooyoung can’t see or smell any food, just the faint scent of strawberry shampoo from Yunho’s hair that suggests he showered with Seonghwa before they left the gym.

“I thought you were getting dinner,” Wooyoung accuses, patting Yunho’s hair as Yunho sets him back down. “Yeosangie said— ack.”

This is because Yunho plants a sudden, firm kiss on his forehead. “Hey, Wooyoungie,” he says, before kissing him again. “Love you.”

Okay. If a heart could be personified, it would just be Yunho. He’s always been easy-going, free with affection, not just kisses. It shouldn’t fluster Wooyoung as badly as it does, but—

Wooyoung goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Hi, I love you too?”

Yunho beams, petting his hip and relinquishing him. Without another word, he wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, calling for Mingi.

Wooyoung gawks after him.

“What did Yeosang say?” Seonghwa says with a subtle clear of his throat.

Right, right. What did Yeosang say? “Food,” Wooyoung huffs, shaking off that weird feeling again. He crosses his arms and juts his chin back up at Seonghwa. “We thought you were bringing something back with you.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa says delicately as he kicks off his sneakers. Wooyoung watches him arrange both his and Yunho’s shoes next to Hongjoong’s in satisfying height order. “I…forgot.”

Yes!

Seonghwa doesn’t look that upset about it, so Wooyoung feels less guilty for the reinvigorated excitement that runs through him. He grins, darting forward to loop his arm through Seonghwa’s. “Well, you’re lucky ‘cause I made dinner,” he crows as he tugs him along. “I made your favorite thing with spinach, too. I was going to make you blind taste it with the restaurant one, but since you forgot, now you can just eat my version and tell me it’s the best.”

“Right,” Seonghwa says dryly.

Wooyoung only grins wider and hugs his arm to his chest all the way to the kitchen.

— ♡ —

It sort of works. Long after dinner ends, they’re still sitting at the dining table, the dishes piled high in the sink because they needed space to lay out the iPad and watch a full fancam of Tempo because San and Yunho had started arguing midway through dinner about whether they were remembering a certain move right, and, of course, because Wooyoung loves San very much, he immediately took Yunho’s side just to get a pout out of him. This led to San pulling Seonghwa onto his side, then Wooyoung wheedling Jongho to join him and Yunho, then Yeosang joining San and Seonghwa just to spite him. It’s fine. Wooyoung laughs so hard at their arguing that he forgets all the weird stuff.

When one viewing of the performance doesn’t clarify anything, they resort to going over the dance right there in the kitchen. “Not again,” Seonghwa groans, but again, he goes ignored.

Wooyoung doesn’t know the dance as well as they do, so he opts to sit back and heckle them because that gets as much of a rise out of San as anything else. He sneaks a video of Mingi refereeing one of their heated debates in which both Yunho and San have rolled up the ends of their shirts to mimic crop tops and sends it to Hongjoong with a, this is what u miss when u skip dinner :(!!

please don’t accidentally send this to our manager again, Hongjoong replies.

that was ONE time!!

of you in lingerie.

Well, they liked it, and their manager had replied with a, That is amazing! Happy to see u are expressing urself well Wooyoungie 🙂👍, so Wooyoung harbors no regrets. are u coming home soon? he asks.

one more track to finish, Hongjoong says. gtg, eden is back. Then, like a blow to Wooyoung’s gut: love you.

A near-violent blush erupts in his cheeks. “I’m gonna go start washing these,” he volunteers quickly, snatching up the last plates from the table to take them to the sink.

“Hyungs, you’re both wrong,” Jongho says, stepping between San and Yunho, “I’m pretty sure it goes like…”

“If there’s no room on the drying rack, you can move Yunho’s mugs back into the cabinet,” Seonghwa calls over the ruckus.

Wooyoung flashes him an OK over his shoulder before he hurries into the kitchen.

“Wait, Wooyoung-ah! It’s my turn to wash the dishes!”

The patter of Mingi’s socked feet rapidly catching up to him registers too quickly for Wooyoung to outrun him. “You’re gonna trip again,” Wooyoung chides instead, raising a shoulder to rub into his cheek so that hopefully the blush isn’t that noticeable. Stupid Hongjoong.

“I can wash them tonight,” Mingi insists, joining him at the sink with a bowl that Wooyoung must have missed. “Come on, it’s my turn, and Yunho’s gonna give me shit if I miss it again.”

“It’s technically Yunho’s turn tonight, though?” Wooyoung leans over to look at the hot pink post-it note on the fridge — the hot pink, of course, signifying Important and Do Not Forget and Do Not Throw Away, San. There it is, in incriminatingly fuzzy pencil scrawl: Jeong Yunho, dish duty.

“Yeah, but he traded days with Yeosang, who traded with San, who I traded with,” Mingi explains. “So it’s my turn tonight.”

“You guys traded chores without me?” Wooyoung gapes. “I’ve had bathroom duty for four days straight, I’ve been trying to switch that for weeks!”

“Ew, really? Even today?”

“Yeah, why do you think I stayed home?”

“Was it before or after you cooked?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at him. “Hilarious, Mingi-ssi. I’ll have you know that this kitchen would pass health and safety inspection standards here, Japan, Chile, Greenland, Germany, and the United States.”

“That’s so weirdly specific,” Mingi says. “Anyway, do you want to switch tomorrow? I’ve got dusting and vacuuming the living room.”

“Nah.” Wooyoung flicks up the faucet to start clearing off some of the plates. “Bathroom duty’s shit on my back, I don’t want you to hurt yours.”

“Then we’ll do it together.” Mingi shrugs and takes his place next to him, until Wooyoung’s forced to move over and allow Mingi one half of the sink.

Wooyoung considers this. “Sure, I guess you can do all the shelf stuff.” He fits better in the cabinets, anyway.

When they get sick of listening to the first ten seconds of Tempo’s chorus being restarted over and over, Mingi puts on a playlist of English pop songs, and they stumble through the lyrics together while they work through the inordinate number of dishes they used tonight.

When everything’s been cleaned spotless and put away in the dishwasher to dry, Mingi turns to him with his pruney fingers raised.

Wooyoung nods in solemn agreement, raising his in turn. “Not as bad as it usually is. I have no idea why we don’t just make two people wash the dishes.”

“I know, right?” Mingi says, high-fiving both of his hands before toweling them dry. “Wait, no, I know why. When Hongjoong-hyung and I flooded the sink.”

Oh, right. “I still don’t know how you got that ladle stuck in the disposal,” Wooyoung says.

“Whatever Hongjoong-hyung says, it was his fault.” Mingi tosses him the hand towel. “I’m gonna go shower now before Jongho gets there and runs the hot water out again. Love you, Youngie.”

And Mingi pecks his cheek before walking out of the kitchen.

Wooyoung dries his hands slowly, looking down at the checkered cloth in search of some answers to questions such as, Why?

When the cloth disappoints him once again by giving no answer whatsoever, he slings it back over the oven handle and mumbles, “Love you too.” Then he resigns himself to walking back into the dining room with the same blush he’d worn on his way out.

— ♡ —

Something is really going on. When Jongho walks in on him splayed on his bed later that night instead of his own, Jongho doesn’t drag him out by the ankles. Instead, Jongho crawls in next to him and pulls out his phone to wordlessly scroll through Twitter with him. When Jongho doesn’t seem to mind that their legs occasionally brush together, Wooyoung rolls over onto his stomach and scoots in closer to his side. Jongho doesn’t seem to mind that either, and Wooyoung finds that the long explanation he had about Yeosang needing to use his bunk as a surface to fold his laundry on wasn’t needed after all. Huh.

“Do you think this looks like me?” he says instead, fullscreening a picture of a fox and putting it next to his cheek.

Jongho puts his phone down to look at him. “Hm. Kind of.”

“What about now?” Wooyoung scrunches his nose until his eyes become crescents.

Jongho tilts his head one way, then the other. “Oh, yeah, there it is.”

“Yes,” Wooyoung cheers quietly, turning his attention back to his phone to finish the post. Now, there’s just Jongho left.

“Are you making one of those ‘ATEEZ as animals’ threads?” Jongho says, leaning over to peer at his phone.

“And what about it.” Wooyoung switches back deftly to his gallery, opening his gallery of Jongho pictures to pick the best one. He scrolls for a while, until Jongho points out one with him making a claw at the camera. “That one’s cute, but it won’t really match,” Wooyoung explains. “Armadillos don’t do that.”

“You think I’m an armadillo?”

“Better than bears, don’t you think?”

Jongho hums, which sounds enough like an agreement, so Wooyoung scrolls on. He eventually finds a screenshot of Jongho during a talk show, shoulders pinched up and arms tucked inwards the way he always does when he laughs. He uploads the armadillo he already picked with it, and then his thread is complete.

“No one really listens to my choices, though,” he huffs, by way of warning Jongho in case Jongho sees how badly it, as the English ATINY say, flops.

“How many followers do you have?”

Wooyoung posts the thread so he can show him: 393 Following, 37 Followers.

“Am I your profile picture?”

“Yep!” Wooyoung grins, scrolling up properly to show him his layout. His icon is a purple-tinted screenshot of Jongho from a fansign, when he’d once hugged Wooyoung from behind, and his header is a group picture of them from Wave. It’s old, but it has all of them squeezed into the frame, and in the same week he uploaded it as a header, they got their first win. He’s not the superstitious type, but it’s started to feel like a lucky charm for them to always be happy together.

“I thought you’d have Yeosang-hyung,” Jongho mutters.

Wooyoung sniffs. “Technically I have all of you in my header. But I’m a proud jjongpo, thank you.”

“A…jjongpo?”

“Isn’t that what you call your fans?”

Jongho makes a small huh and plants his phone down on his belly. “I really can’t remember.”

“I figured,” Wooyoung says, shaking his head. “You’ve changed it so many times now that even I almost lose track, and I’m your number one fan. I kinda miss being ‘your everything,’ though.”

As he expects, Jongho blushes and rolls away from him to hide his face in a pillow, and Wooyoung cackles into his forearm. He eventually resumes scrolling again, listening to the sounds of the shower running outside and San and Mingi’s chatter next door, accompanied by the looping, tinny sounds of Tempo’s chorus.

He’s not sure how long passes until he hears the sound of Jongho’s phone being clicked off and the bed dips as he rolls back over to Wooyoung’s side. “Yes?” Wooyoung hums without lifting his eyes from the screen.

He doesn’t expect Jongho to kiss the back of his shoulder. Wooyoung freezes, phone slipping from his fingers in surprise, and hears Jongho mumble into his sleep shirt, “I’m going to sleep. I love you, hyung.”

By the time he’s regained enough wits to glance over his shoulder, Jongho has already crawled under the covers and bundled himself up, until all that’s left of him is the top of his dark brown hair.

Wooyoung rubs his cheek a little. Then he leans over to butt his forehead against the shape of Jongho’s shoulder in return and tell him, “Love you more, baby.”

“Sure,” Jongho says below the covers. Wooyoung can hear the blush in it.

Grinning to himself, he extracts himself from the sheets as carefully as possible and leaves Jongho to sleep.

— ♡ —

He wakes up to San sleeping on his stomach.

“Ugh. San-ah?” Wooyoung lifts his head blearily, but it takes about a second to realize that it’s going to take way too much effort to lift his entire body plus San. San’s kind of anchoring him down anyway, secured around his torso with a chunk of his covers.

“Wake up,” San slurs. “‘m not afraid to carry you out.”

“You’re not even awake either,” Wooyoung mumbles back.

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

San gives a truly massive yawn, nuzzling his cheek into Wooyoung’s stomach unabashedly. A few moments later, Wooyoung feels him trailing kisses near his belly button, soft with chaste and sleepy affection. “Seonghwa-hyung said you’re going to the supermarket with him,” San sighs, looking close to falling asleep again. 

At that, Wooyoung whines, tugging the nearest pillow over his face. It smells like detergent. “Why?”

“Dunno.” There’s finally some movement as San drags himself up to a sitting position with a sigh, and Wooyoung lifts one eye open to watch him rub sleep out of his face, looking like a rumpled mouse. “He mentioned something about dessert, I think? For tonight.”

Tonight.

Christmas Eve.

Oh, shit, he really almost forgot. He still has to finish preparations for The Plan, and if Seonghwa intends to keep him out for long— “Is he ready already?”

“Not sure. I had to carry Yeosangie out a couple of minutes ago and then I was supposed to wake you up.” San frowns at the sheets, so Wooyoung assumes he didn’t mean to…fall back asleep. “Hongjoong-hyung made breakfast. They’re probably still eating.”

Wooyoung winces as he draws up to a sitting position too, displacing the dozens of pillows he’s inadvertently collected from each of their beds. It’s not his fault he has the perfect bunk for cuddling like birds in a nest. “Did he eat when he got back last night?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Yunho and I made him.” San finds one of his hands and tugs, already one foot out of the bed. “You really have to get up, baby, it’s already past noon.”

“You really have to get up, baby,” Wooyoung parrots, going as limp as possible.

Eyes narrowed, San takes hold of his ankles.

Wooyoung giggles when San yanks his legs off of the bed and unceremoniously lifts him over his shoulder with a huff. 

They make it to the kitchen like that—not that Wooyoung can see anything other than the floor. He can just tell once they pass the small gouge in the floorboards near the kitchen where Yeosang once dropped his skateboard.

He feels San pat his flank, and then—he feels San turn his head and kiss his hip, right where his sleep shirt’s riding up, before depositing him into a chair in front of a plate of eggs. The world spins back up the right way, and as soon as it settles, he spots Mingi waving good morning by the kitchen island with Seonghwa. 

“The eggs aren’t poisoned,” San says, ruffling his hair. “I think I promised Jongho to bring tape back for presents before I fell asleep on you, so I’m going back to him before he thinks I just abandoned him in the closet. Bye, see you later, love you.”

“Bye, see you later, love you too,” Wooyoung hums, holding onto his hand for as long as he can before San gets too far for him to keep holding on.

“Cruel world,” San pretends to cry, and then he pretends to be whisked away down the hall by an evil, unseen force. Wooyoung giggles around a forkful of eggs.

“Ew,” Yeosang says across the table.

Wooyoung rights himself in his seat, assessing the rest of the breakfast spread before him. “We’re your boyfriends too, Sangie,” he sing-songs.

“I know,” Yeosang says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Wooyoung just knows it. “Ew.”

“Where’s Hongjoong-hyung?”

“He had to run to get something at the studio.” Seonghwa comes over to join them with his own plate. “Don’t worry, the eggs are perfectly safe.”

At the studio again? “Too bad he’s not here so I can congratulate him on how good these taste.” Wooyoung takes another bite, moaning appreciatively. “Whoa, he even used pepper this time.”

“He’s been working hard,” Seonghwa says, smiling down at his plate, and Yeosang wrinkles his nose again, and maybe this time Wooyoung does it with him. Seonghwa just arches an eyebrow at them. “We’re your boyfriends too.”

“And me too,” says Mingi, appearing behind Yeosang to fling his arms around him. Interestingly, Yeosang only sighs and leans forward to keep eating, even when Mingi bows forward to follow him down.

So maybe Yeosang really is just trying something new. Does that mean Jongho's in on it too? Maybe an early New Year’s Resolution?

“Hold him down so I can kiss him,” Mingi says, prompting a fresh wave of horror to fall over Yeosang’s face.

Maybe not.

“Finish your food first,” Seonghwa sighs.

“Say no more,” Wooyoung vows, and he shovels the last two bites of his food into his mouth before rushing around the table to aid and abet his boyfriend.

— ♡ —

“Aw, it’s one day off.”

The first snowflake falls just as he and Seonghwa are waiting to cross the street for the subway entrance. It happens to fall on Seonghwa’s bangs, and Wooyoung coos, reaching up to touch it. Almost instantaneously, it dissolves on his fingertip, but another flake soon lands on the opposite side.

“Well, if it snows tonight, at least we’d wake up to everything covered in white tomorrow,” Seonghwa observes, casting his gaze to the sky.

“That’s true, it is better to play in the snow when it isn’t actually snowing.”

“Mm.”

As they stand there waiting for the pedestrian light to blink on, Wooyoung contemplates asking Seonghwa if he knows what’s been happening with everyone lately. He’s probably the most likely to give Wooyoung an honest answer too, because, Wooyoung thinks, Seonghwa has the biggest and softest heart out of all of them. 

Instead, though, it’s Seonghwa who slips an arm around his lower back and coaxes him to stand closer. “How’re you these days, Wooyoungie?”

What an odd and oddly solemn question.

Wooyoung hums, leaning his head against his shoulder. He decides to be honest. “I was homesick for a while. I think it's getting better, though.”

“I know what you mean,” Seonghwa murmurs.

Wooyoung glances at him, snaking an arm beneath his to rub at his lower back. “Being around everyone's been helping. I think I’d miss you all if I was somewhere else instead, anyway.” He smiles, even if Seonghwa might not see it. “How’re you these days, hyung?”

“Happy that I get to have you all with me, too.” The pedestrian light finally comes on, and Seonghwa squeezes his hip before starting to walk. “Maybe next year, we can all visit someone’s hometown and spend the holiday there.”

“That’d be at least eight years of holidays,” Wooyoung points out. The concept unfolds in front of him like a packet of streamers, each one neverending in length, different colors criss-crossing this way and that.

“And possibly sixteen. Or twenty-four. Eight hundred.”

Wooyoung giggles. “What, we’re going to turn into vampires at one point?”

“Who knows?” The smile is in Seonghwa’s voice. “Let’s take it one year at a time, though.”

That sounds just fine to him.

The supermarket turns out to be inundated with plenty of other people doing last-minute preparations. The line for the bakery alone takes over an hour to dole out their order, and then there’s the actual shopping part. By the time they finish, the sun is dangerously close to setting, and the snow’s coming down a little harder. Seonghwa has a few close calls because he insists on carrying the heaviest bag, so Wooyoung forces them to slow down all the way from the market to the subway, then the subway to the dorm, lest they make impromptu snow angels on the thinly-covered sidewalks.

“I was going to ask you to get Hongjoong,” Seonghwa sighs at the front door, struggling endearingly to slot his key into the lock, “but I didn’t expect it to snow this hard. I’ll just call a cab for him.”

“No, I can do it! The studio’s not that far, so— Oh, hyung, you can just ring the buzzer, you know.” With some experienced maneuvering, Wooyoung manages to press the buzzer with his elbow and not fall over or drop the case of cream sponge cake he’s been entrusted to guard with his life. 

Seonghwa frowns over his bags. “I don’t think he’d want you to go out there.”

“And when do I ever listen to him?” Wooyoung says wisely, just as Yunho opens the door.

Yunho whistles as soon as he sees them, instantly reaching for the topmost bag in Seonghwa’s arms. “Oh, wow. This is a lot. C’mere, Wooyoungie, I can take those.”

“I can carry them in—”

Yunho squeaks, placing himself bodily in the doorway.

“Um, I’m changing!” San shouts from somewhere behind him. “I’m changing, so I’m—naked! Really naked! Don’t come in!”

“He has no pants on, because he’s naked,” comes Yeosang’s voice in support. “So don’t come in.”

“We literally just showered together earlier?” Wooyoung says, affronted.

“Well, you heard what they said.” Yunho laughs, and Wooyoung sees him glance nervously at Seonghwa, who just briefly closes his eyes in silent acceptance. “You can’t come in, sorry. I wouldn’t want you to be surprised by— Surprised, haha, by—by San’s— That kind of surprise. Not any other…kind. Of surprises.”

Seonghwa is now rubbing his forehead. “Thanks, Yunho.”

“No problem, hyung!” Yunho flashes them a bright smile. “Okay, well, I’ll be taking those.” He wrestles the rest of the bags from Wooyoung’s arms and then, once his are full, contemplates him and Seonghwa. Then he turns and kicks the door shut behind him.

“I should probably make sure they haven’t gone overboard,” Seonghwa mutters, taking one step up. “You’re sure you still want to go? They weren’t being serious. We just really wanted this to be a sur—”

“No way,” Wooyoung says, shaking his head insistently as he hops back down the bottom steps. “You heard them, right? Sannie’s naked. I can’t walk in on that. I’ll go rescue Hongjoong-hyung, and then maybe by the time we get back, San will have finally found his pants.”

“You know, I almost want to apologize that they didn’t think of something better while we were gone,” Seonghwa says grimly, “but knowing him, it might actually be true. Before you go, though—”

Wooyoung watches him tug his gloves off as he descends the front steps. They’re hand-knitted, pink, one out of seven sets that Hongjoong had made for them last year. Wooyoung’s was lavender.

“Text us when you get there,” Seonghwa says as he slips them onto his hands for him. “Watch out for black ice. If it starts snowing too hard, go into the nearest building and call me.”

“Hyung,” Wooyoung says, laughing. “I’ll be fine.”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, adjusting the gloves one last time around his wrists. Grinning, Wooyoung cups his cheeks with his newly-covered palms and shakes him affectionately. “Thanks for always taking care of us,” Wooyoung says, brushing snowflakes from the corner of his lashes. “And me, especially.”

“I should be the one saying that to you.” Seonghwa lays a hand over his, keeping him in place as he tilts his head and presses a gentle kiss into Wooyoung’s palm. Even through the thickness of the glove, Wooyoung swears he feels the warmth of it. “I love you, Wooyoungie.”

Wooyoung smiles so wide that it adds to the buzzing in his cheeks. “I love you too, hyung.”

Seonghwa’s smiling too as he lets him go. “Come home soon.”

— ♡ —

The snow’s falling harder now. Hongjoong’s coat is hanging on the coat stand next to the door, visible through the glass even before Wooyoung walks up and sees the sign that says, Closed for the holidays.

Inside, the studio’s quiet. There are traces of them, of the new trainees, of the renovations they’ll resume after the holiday break everywhere he turns, and for a moment, it’s hard to recognize it as the same tiny lobby they stood in three years ago, waiting for the van that would take them to their first debut stage. 

The recording studio — Hongjoong’s studio, he should say, given the amount of time Hongjoong spends in there — is buried a little deeper in the building than the others. Hongjoong explained to him once that it was for the structure of the walls, how they needed to be built out of and padded with certain materials to create a space good enough for them to record in. Wooyoung had teased him about being a structural engineer too on top of his list of talents, but that months before Hongjoong asked him to get something from his closet and Wooyoung found out the extent of it: books on soundproofing and sound engineering stored away there, coupled with others on sound theory, composition, and classical music, and old high school textbooks that looked less worn.

He isn’t surprised at all to find Hongjoong slumped over the soundboard with headphones skewed over his ears, fast asleep. 

Wooyoung tugs the gloves off before he carefully slips the headphones off of Hongjoong’s head. “Hyung?” he whispers, shaking him by the shoulder.

Hongjoong wakes up with a soft groan, at first burying his head deeper into the crook of his elbow before Wooyoung makes a sound of protest and rounds his chair to repeat the process for his other shoulder.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up,” Hongjoong grumbles when Wooyoung begins resorting to tickling the back of his neck.

“I can’t believe you really came to work on Christmas Eve,” Wooyoung says, shaking his chair this time. “Seonghwa-hyung said you just came here to ‘grab something.’”

“I had demos to finish.”

“They could’ve waited until after. Seriously, hyung. You’ve barely been home this week.”

“I got them done, though. It’s fine.” Hongjoong reaches back to give his hand a little pat before starting to gather up his things. “Now we’ll have less things to do when we come back from break, so that maybe,” he shakes a thin, clear CD case at Wooyoung, “we can extend it by a day or two, and you’d all get to spend more time with your families.”

Oh. Wooyoung watches him slip his pens, his notebook, his CDs, and his headphones into his bag systematically. Wooyoung’s probably seen him do it hundreds of times, but now he’s thinking about all of the hundreds of other times he’s missed too, and for some reason, that builds a strange lump in his throat.

“Wooyoung-ah, don’t look so serious.” Hongjoong shoots him a small, bemused smile. “It’s Christmas Eve, let’s be happy.”

Wooyoung gnaws on his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t all happy,” he says, though he’s not sure where he’s going with it. “I mean, any Christmas Eve with you and the others would be a good Christmas Eve with me as long as we get to celebrate together.”

“I know,” Hongjoong chuckles, “but I like it better when you’re happy, so.”

“I am happy,” Wooyoung says quickly, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m really, really happy, hyung.”

Here, Hongjoong pauses. He looks at Wooyoung thoughtfully. “Good,” he says. “I’m happy to hear that, too.”

“Are you?”

Hongjoong tilts his head. “Of course I am.”

“Okay. Good.” Now Wooyoung feels silly for bringing it up. He’s not really sure what he was trying to get at to begin with, but he didn’t mean to put that concerned look on Hongjoong’s face. It’s Christmas Eve.

“I know I’ve been away a lot, but I didn’t mean to make it seem like I wasn’t happy.” Hongjoong frowns a little, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry if I made you doubt that, Wooyoung.”

An apology is the last thing that Wooyoung expects, that he was looking for. “No, hyung! You’ve been working so hard—you always are, and you’re always doing it for us. That was never a part of it. I’ve just…had a really weird week, I guess? I don’t know?”

“Weird?” Hongjoong questions. His bag’s slung over his shoulder, but he lowers himself back into the chair, tugging Wooyoung over by the hand.

“Well.” Wooyoung makes a face, trying to think through how to make this sound as least stupid as possible. “You know when I texted you about Yeosangie yesterday? Well, it happened a bunch of other times too. With all of the others, actually, except you—I was kind of expecting to be ambushed when I walked in here, actually, because you’re the only one left, right?—and it was all just so weird, because at first everyone was kind of tiptoeing around me, and then suddenly, boom, I’m getting kissed by Yeosang and Jongho—”

“Oh.” Hongjoong bursts out into a short laugh, and Wooyoung stares at him with his jaw open until Hongjoong laughs again and tugs him down, essentially into his lap. Wooyoung’s mouth drops even further at the sheer amount of contact he’s suddenly presented with, from one of the last people he ever expects it. Not that it’s unwelcome, but this is Hongjoong. 

“I thought we were being subtle,” Hongjoong says, his hand coming to a safe rest on Wooyoung’s knee, “but I guess you had us figured out.”

“So it was premeditated,” Wooyoung mutters. “What do you mean, subtle? You started with Yeosang! I mean, he was the first one, right?”

“Yeah, he was. He was actually—” Hongjoong pauses thoughtfully, appearing to weigh something to himself before he goes on, “Wooyoung, we thought you weren’t happy. Yeosang came to me at the beginning of the month and told me he was worried about you, because there was no mistletoe around the dorm and you didn’t try to kiss him like you usually do.”

Oh. The mistletoe. The weeks leading up to Christmas that he usually spent milking every opportunity to steal kisses. The failed planter kit still sitting on the dining room window. “Hyung, that was so not what it was, it just—”

“Let me finish first?”

Hongjoong’s face is uncharacteristically soft. No, Wooyoung wouldn’t call it uncharacteristic, just…rare. Reserved only for him, or when he sometimes sees him leaning towards Yunho in quiet discussion, or when he catches a glimpse of him stroking a hand through Seonghwa’s hair during movie nights they sit together.

Hongjoong squeezes his hand again and shoots him a grateful smile. “Before you explain, I just want you to know that it was something we all agreed on when we talked about it—no matter what the reason was behind you not…ambushing us with mistletoe anymore, why were we just waiting for it to happen? Why couldn’t we kiss you too?” He brushes his thumb over Wooyoung’s knuckles, his voice growing soft. “I guess we just wanted to make sure you knew how much we love you. We love you so much, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung startles when he feels something wet spill down his cheek. “Hyung, I never, ever doubted that,” he mumbles, swiping at his eye roughly. “I don’t need kisses to know that, or for you to even say it. I feel it every time I wake up. I really do. Even when I’m not near any of you, it’s there, and I know you do because I— I never feel lonely, even when I’m alone.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Hongjoong says gently, wiping his sleeve over his other cheek before he can get there, “but just because we don’t need to, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Or that we wouldn’t want you to know it—know it more.”  

There seems to be no hope in closing the floodgates now. Wooyoung can only put his hands to his face to hide the mortifying amount of tears sliding down his cheeks, thickening his throat, clogging up his sinuses, making his voice scratchy and horrible.

Yet he feels Hongjoong’s lips brush over the backs of his hands anyway. He presses one small kiss to the seam where his pinky fingers meet. Another kiss to the middle knuckle of his right hand, another to the knuckle of his other hand. Another kiss to the back of Wooyoung’s wrist.

“I love you, jagiya,” Hongjoong murmurs. “Every day, I’m thankful that you found your way to us, even if you took the longest. Sometimes, I think we would’ve always been waiting for you.” Hongjoong cards a hand through his hair, and Wooyoung crumples, hoping that his hands and the steadfast plane of Hongjoong’s chest will be enough to muffle the sounds of his crying. 

“You’re awful,” he hiccups, “making me cry on Christmas Eve.”

But when Hongjoong gathers him closer, Wooyoung thinks he feels something wet in his hair too. 

“I think the others are going to have something to say about that, too,” Hongjoong agrees, “but I think it needed to be said.” He draws Wooyoung’s hands away from his face carefully, lowering them to his lap where he intertwines their fingers tightly, firmly, leaving no space for anything else. There isn’t, there isn’t. 

“Can we stay for a little bit?” Wooyoung sniffles, burying his face into his neck. “I think they’re trying to throw a surprise at the dorm and they were trying really hard to distract me, so I want to be able to look really shocked too.”

He feels a chuckle reverberate through Hongjoong’s chest. “Of course, Wooyoungie. Take as long as you want.” He feels one more kiss, this one to his forehead, as soft as the others. “When you’re ready, we’ll go home together.”