Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunghoon is only here because it’s Wonyoung’s birthday. She had planned it months in advance and as much as Sunghoon mught hate going to the club, he loves Wonyoung too much to miss out on her birthday. He's the only guy among her little friendgroup, some of the girls Sunghoon remembers from college, Jiwon and her girlfriend Rei.

The club is a haze of flashing neon and suffocating heat, bodies packed too close, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and the sharp bite of alcohol. Lights pulse in erratic bursts—blue, pink, purple—leaving faces half-obscured in shadow. The bass is relentless, pounding so hard it rattles in his ribs, a steady thrum that threatens to shake his thoughts loose.

Sunghoon lingers at the edge of the dance floor, his drink rapidly disappearing, condensation from the glass slipping between his fingers. His head is light from the alcohol, his skin buzzing. He scans the room for Wonyoung, and for a moment, he thinks he spots her—pressed against another girl, lips grazing the curve of her jaw, their bodies tangled in the dim glow near the women’s bathroom. He squints, but then they shift, swallowed by the crowd, and he loses sight of them.

Not that it matters because he is too busy staring at someone else.

The most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

He stands out even in the chaos of the club. He moves like he belongs here, like the music was made for him, hips rolling in an easy rhythm, body fluid and magnetic.

Sunghoon should look away. He doesn’t.

Someone else is pressed up against the guy’s back, a stranger—tall, broad, and clearly unwanted. Even from a distance, Sunghoon can see how the guy subtly leans away, discomfort etched in the set of his shoulders, the downturn of his mouth when the stranger gets too close.

Sunghoon should probably mind his business.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he drains the last of his drink, heat settling in his stomach, and steps into the crowd. It takes effort to push through the throng of bodies, the music swallowing everything but the thrum of bass, but he moves with purpose. When he reaches them, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Can I cut in?” Sunghoon asks, his voice steady despite the way his pulse kicks up. He’s already moving before he gets an answer, casually nudging the unwelcome guy out of the way. The drunk guy barely puts up a fight, stumbling away without protest, likely in search of another drink.

Sunghoon barely has time to register what’s happening before his mystery man turns, he still can’t properly see him but not that that matters anyway. He has a small, knowing smile on his lips, eyes gleaming under the lights. “Thank you,” he says, voice just loud enough to cut through the music.

Then, without hesitation, he presses back into Sunghoon’s chest, his body fitting against his like it was meant to be there. Sunghoon’s hands find his waist on instinct, fingers splaying over firm muscle. The guy moves more easily now, freed from his previous unwelcome partner, hips rolling with confidence, grinding into Sunghoon’s front like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Sunghoon exhales, gripping his waist a little tighter.

“I was wondering when you’d finally come talk to me,” the guy murmurs, tilting his head just enough for Sunghoon to hear. “Saw you watching me.”

Sunghoon lets out a low laugh, his lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Had to work up the courage to approach someone this pretty.”

The guy hums in response, pressing impossibly closer. Sunghoon moves with him, falling into the rhythm easily. His hands slide over his waist, lingering at the dip of his stomach. The guy smells like warm vanilla, and when Sunghoon leans in, his skin tastes like salt and sweat. He feels like he’s floating, heart pounding, body buzzing from a mix of alcohol and want.

Then, suddenly, the guy grabs his hand, threading their fingers together.

Sunghoon barely has time to react before he’s being pulled through the crowd, weaving between bodies, toward the back of the club. His pulse kicks up. His mouth goes dry. He doesn’t even think to question it, he just follows.

The door slams, and they’re inside a bathroom stall, locked away from the noise.

Sunghoon is on him instantly, pressing him against the cold metal, slotting a knee between his thighs. Their mouths collide, urgent and heated, hands roaming, gripping, desperate. The guy moans into his mouth, a sound high and needy, and it makes Sunghoon’s head spin. They kiss like they have all the time in the world—slow but firm, tongues teasing, tasting, savoring.

Then they break apart to breathe.

Sunghoon’s eyes blink open, adjusting to the steady bathroom light. He’s close to wide brown eyes, a familiar nose, a pretty little mouth—

His stomach drops.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

The guy blinks at him, chest rising and falling, lips still parted from their kiss. Then—

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon staggers back like he’s been burned, hitting the stall door with a dull thud. His breath is trapped in his throat, his mind scrambling to process the familiar face.

“Heeseung?” His voice is hoarse. Disbelieving. “Holy shit.”

Heeseung licks his lips—still wet with Sunghoon’s spit—before running a hand through his hair, which is longer than Sunghoon remembers. But then again, the last time he saw Heeseung, they were fourteen.

He’s grown up. Too well, in fact. Obviously, because Sunghoon had been about five seconds away from dragging him home.

“Oh god,” Sunghoon repeats, his mind still spinning. Heeseung’s gaze drops—once, twice—to Sunghoon’s mouth. His brows pinch briefly, something flickering across his face, before he looks away. “We shouldn’t,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Right?”

Sunghoon swallows, throat tight.

No, they shouldn’t. They really, really shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter how drawn he is to Heeseung, or how ridiculously good of a kisser he is. No.

Sleeping with his brother’s best friend is definitely a terrible fucking idea.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“Okay. Yeah.” Heeseung’s expression shifts—something unreadable flickering before he smooths it over. “You brother can never find out about this.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply. “I agree.”

His head is still spinning. His skin is still buzzing. How did he not recognize ?

And then he’s gone, slipping back into the club, the door swinging shut behind him.

Sunghoon watches him disappear, hands still tingling, the taste of him still heavy on his tongue.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon doesn’t move for a long time. The bass from the club thrums through the thin walls, muffled now, but still rattling in his chest. His heartbeat hasn’t quite settled, and his body still hums with residual heat, fingers tingling with the phantom memory of Heeseung’s waist beneath them.

His head tips back against the stall door, eyes slipping shut.

Shit. Of all people. It had to be Heeseung, his brother’s best friend. Jay is so going to kill him.

Not that he’s going to tell Jay. No, that’s the last thing he needs, his older brother getting on his case about hooking up with someone he’s known since childhood, someone who’s practically family. Someone Sunghoon should have recognized immediately.

He exhales sharply, pushing a hand through his hair, and the worst part is he still wants him even after finding out who he is. Even now, standing alone in the bathroom, with nothing but cold air and regret settling over his skin, he can still feel the ghost of Heeseung’s mouth on his, the warmth of his body pressed against his. And the way Heeseung had looked at him before leaving—cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, eyes dark with something unreadable—

Sunghoon groans. He needs to get out of here.

With a deep breath, he pushes the stall door open and steps back into the main area of the club. The air is even heavier now, thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat, the crowd more unruly than before. He scans the room instinctively, searching, but Heeseung is nowhere to be seen.

Probably for the best.

Sunghoon shakes his head, forcing himself toward the exit. He should find Wonyoung, make sure she’s still alive, and then get the hell out of here. Just as he steps outside, the cool night air hits his overheated skin, and he exhales, rolling his shoulders. The neon lights from the club cast an eerie glow on the pavement, the street alive with people—some stumbling, some laughing, some arguing.

He pulls out his phone.

[3:47 AM] Sunghoon: Where’d you go?

A response comes immediately.

[3:47 AM] Wonyoung: 😏 Did u miss me

[3:47 AM] Sunghoon: Don’t be annoying. I’m leaving.

[3:48 AM] Wonyoung: Kkkk okayyy~ Have fun?

Sunghoon stares at the message for a moment, thumb hesitating over the keyboard. Then, finally—

[3:48 AM] Sunghoon: No.

[3:48 AM] Sunghoon: Happy Birthday again. Ilove u

He shoves his phone into his pocket before she can reply, heading down the street. He’ll just walk home. He needs the air, needs the time to get his thoughts in order. But no matter how much distance he puts between himself and the club, the night lingers on his skin.

And the memory of Heeseung stays.

—

Sunghoon barely slept. After getting home, he had collapsed onto his bed, the ghost of Heeseung still clinging to him—his scent, the weight of his body, the taste of him still lingering on Sunghoon’s tongue. Every time he shut his eyes, flashes of the night played on repeat. Heeseung’s lips, warm and insistent. His body, pliant and willing. The way he moaned—soft, breathy, right into Sunghoon’s mouth.His stomach twists violently at the memory.

Now, as he trudges into the kitchen, the exhaustion is heavy in his bones.

Jay is already there, standing at the counter, making coffee. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a loose shirt, his dark hair a mess, and there are deep shadows beneath his eyes. He didn’t sleep much either, Sunghoon realizes. His brother is always pushing himself too hard.

“Morning,” Sunghoon mumbles, voice rough from disuse. Jay grunts in acknowledgement, barely sparing him a glance as he stares blearily at the coffee pot. “You got home late last night,” he says after a beat, rubbing his face. “Should I be expecting a third for breakfast?”

Sunghoon freezes mid-step.

For a terrifying second, his brain short-circuits. The thought of what could have happened, bringing Heeseung home, sneaking him past Jay’s room, waking up to this conversation but with Heeseung sitting across from them, the thought makes his stomach drop. He’s never been more grateful that he left alone.

“No,” he blurts, too quickly. “Don’t worry. No third person for breakfast.”

Jay hums like he doesn’t entirely believe him, but he doesn’t push. The coffee pot beeps, and he moves to pour himself a cup, his movements slow and unhurried.

“You’ve got zero game, brother,” he mutters, taking a careful sip. Sunghoon scowls, sliding his mug across the counter. “Says the guy who hasn’t gotten laid since the invention of the wheel.”

Jay scoffs but fills his cup anyway, shoving it back toward him. “I have standards.”

“You have the social skills of a brick.”

Jay doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he pulls out the actual, physical newspaper from the counter and begins flipping through it. Sunghoon watches in silent horror. “You know, I think you’re the only person under sixty who still reads that,” he comments, bewildered. Jay ignores him, already absorbed in the headlines. He furrows his brows, blowing gently on his coffee, looking like a disapproving father about to complain about “kids these days.” And Sunghoon just sits there, staring at his brother, thinking: People say I’m the weird one, but it’s him. It’s always been him. And yet, despite all of his quirks, Jay scares the absolute shit out of Sunghoon.

Especially when it comes to Heeseung.

Sunghoon is mid-sip when Jay says his name, and he nearly chokes on his coffee.

“Remember Heeseung,” Jay says casually, still flipping through his paper. “I was thinking of inviting him over for dinner this week. Welcome him back, you know.”

Sunghoon goes completely still. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, drowning out the sound of Jay turning another page. For a second, he forgets how to breathe. He focuses on his coffee cup, gripping it too tight, trying to keep his face neutral.

“Yeah, sure,” he manages, voice impressively steady. “Haven't seen him in a while.”

Jay hums in agreement, not even glancing up. He has no idea. Sunghoon exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

—

Jay and Sunghoon grew up in the same house, shared the same blood, but they couldn’t have been more different if they tried.

Jay, the eldest of the two, was responsible, disciplined, and always seemed to have a plan. He never needed to be told to study or clean his room; he just did it. He was the type of kid who teachers trusted, who parents boasted about, who had his future mapped out before he even hit high school.

Sunghoon was the opposite. Reckless, charming, and impulsive, he had a talent for getting himself into trouble and a talent for talking his way out of it. He was smart—when he wanted to be—but he rarely wanted to be. He was too busy pushing limits, testing rules, seeing just how far he could go before he faced any real consequences. And when those consequences inevitably came Jay was usually the one cleaning up his mess.

Despite all their differences, Jay and Sunghoon had an unspoken understanding: Jay protected, and Sunghoon needed protecting. It wasn’t that Sunghoon couldn’t take care of himself, he could, but Jay had always been the buffer between him and the rest of the world. The one who kept him from going too far, from making mistakes he couldn’t undo.

Then Heeseung was added to the equation.

They were kids, still in elementary school, when Heeseung moved into the neighborhood. Jay and Heeseung being in the same grade made it easy for them to become friends quite quickly. Jay took Heeseung under his wing from the very first day. Showed him around, introduced him to people, and made sure no one messed with him. It wasn’t long before they were inseparable. Jay and Heeseung were like missing puzzle pieces, they fit together perfectly and always had each other’s backs. They were best friends first, before anyone else, before anything else.

Sunghoon was just Jay’s little brother—an afterthought, a background character in Jay’s life. He was smaller, quieter, and spent most of his time watching from the sidelines whenever Jay and Heeseung were around. Sunghoon absolutely hated it.

He didn’t want to just be Jay’s little brother. He wanted to be part of them. It was obvious how much he idolized Heeseung, though Sunghoon would rather die than admit it. Heeseung was everything he wasn’t—effortlessly charismatic, easygoing, confident in a way Sunghoon could never quite manage to be. Sunghoon wanted that bond. He wanted to be included in their jokes, their late-night talks, their stupid adventures. He wanted to be seen as more than just the younger brother who tagged along.

But for the longest time, Jay wouldn’t let him in.

Jay was protective of his friendship with Heeseung. It was his thing, his person, and he wasn’t interested in sharing. Every time Sunghoon tried to insert himself into their dynamic, Jay would roll his eyes and brush him off. “Go find your own friends, Hoon,” he’d say, ruffling Sunghoon’s hair in a way that made him burn with frustration.

Heeseung never pushed Sunghoon away. He let him tag along, let him talk even when Jay groaned about it, let him cling to their friendship like it was something he had a right to. And somewhere along the way, Heeseung became just as much Sunghoon’s as he was Jay’s.

Jay might have been annoyed by Sunghoon back then, but there was one thing he never joked about: Heeseung was off-limits. Because for Jay, Heeseung wasn’t just a best friend. He was family.

Heeseung had always seemed untouchable, always the strongest, the smartest, the most put-together but Jay knew better. Heeseung’s family was distant, his house was too quiet, and sometimes he looked so tired in a way that had nothing to do with school or sports. Heeseung had never asked for anything, never complained, but Jay saw the cracks. And so, Jay made it his job to protect him.

Not that Heeseung ever asked for it. Heeseung was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but Jay still worried—worried about people who didn’t deserve his kindness, worried about the way he always gave too much and expected nothing in return.

At some point, Heeseung’s parents moved away, and Sunghoon never saw him again. The timing was never right—when Heeseung came home for the winter, Sunghoon was away competing in ice skating tournaments, locked in a world of cold rinks and sharper edges.

For years, Heeseung existed only in the periphery of Sunghoon’s life, a name mentioned in passing, a ghost in Jay’s occasional updates. Heeseung’s doing well. Heeseung’s thinking about studying music. Heeseung might stay in the south for college. Each piece of news was like a flickering signal, just enough to remind Sunghoon that Heeseung was still out there, but never enough to make him real.

And now, ten years later, Heeseung is standing right in front of him. Jay is grinning as he gestures between them, oblivious or perhaps purposefully ignorant of the tension hanging thick in the air. “Heeseung, you still remember my baby brother Sunghoon, don’t you?”

Sunghoon swears he sees something flicker across Heeseung’s face before he smiles, rolling his eyes. His cheeks are pink—whether from the cold or something else, Sunghoon isn’t sure. “Of course I do.”

Heeseung steps out of Jay’s embrace and moves toward him, just slightly hesitant, like he’s gauging the space between them.

And holy shit.

Heeseung was always attractive, even as a teenager, but in the full light of the day, he’s something else entirely. His hair falls over his face just enough to be unfairly charming, his skin sun-kissed and smooth in a way that makes Sunghoon’s fingers itch to touch him again. Heeseung looks soft—feels soft—because Sunghoon remembers.

“Good to see you, Heeseung,” he says, pulling him in. Heeseung’s body stiffens for just a second before he relaxes into the hug, arms coming up around Sunghoon’s back. “Good to see you too,” he replies, and he’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jay disappears down the hallway with Heeseung in tow, rattling off details about the apartment as he leads him from room to room. Sunghoon stays behind in the kitchen, poking at the food on the stove to make sure it doesn’t burn. It smells good—Jay might have the habits of an old man, but at least he knows how to cook.

Sunghoon listens distantly as their voices fade in and out from different parts of the apartment. Jay is animated, his voice bright in a way it only gets around Heeseung. This is my room—Sunghoon's is down the hall. The bathroom is small, but it works. Oh, and we finally got the leak in the ceiling fixed.

Heeseung and Jay return a few minutes later, and Heeseung takes a seat at the kitchen table, settling in like he belongs there. “You want a beer?” Sunghoon asks, already reaching for one from the fridge.

“Yeah, thanks.” Heeseung flashes a small smile, and Sunghoon tries not to overanalyze it as he slides the bottle across the table.

Jay, now back at the stove, picks up where they left off, catching up with Heeseung in the easy way only best friends can. “So, how's the roommate?”

“He’s alright,” Heeseung replies, popping the cap off his beer. “Bit of a neat freak, but I guess that’s better than a slob.”

The conversation moves from work to old memories, Jay and Heeseung falling into a rhythm that’s been a decade in the making. “You remember that summer we tried to build a treehouse in your backyard?” Jay asks, shaking his head. Heeseung groans. “How could I forget? We nearly broke our necks because neither of us knew what we were doing.”

Jay laughs, and Sunghoon watches Heeseung’s expression soften, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. He’s beautiful like this, warm and unguarded, and it makes something tighten in Sunghoon’s chest. The whole time, he stays quiet, lingering in the background, sipping his beer as the weight of something unspoken settles heavy in the air.

When the last bite of Jay’s delicious dinner is finished, the plates are pushed aside, and the comfortable hum of conversation settles into a quieter rhythm. Jay leans back in his chair, loosening his belt, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Heeseung glances at the pile of dishes accumulating in the sink, then looks back at Jay. "I got this, don’t worry about it."

Jay opens his mouth to protest, but his phone suddenly buzzes on the counter, vibrating insistently. He picks it up, glances at the screen, and his expression shifts. "Hold on," he mutters, swiping the call to answer. His tone changes, all business, as he steps away from the table. "What’s up?"

Sunghoon watches him go, briefly distracted by the smooth, effortless transition from the laid-back brother he knows to the focused, serious person Jay can be when work calls. He’s almost surprised when Jay glances over his shoulder before disappearing into the living room. "Sunghoon, help Heeseung with the dishes," he says, his voice over his shoulder, the command light but unmissable. "I’ll be back in a minute."

Sunghoon nods automatically, pushing his chair back as Heeseung stands and moves toward the sink. The quiet thud of water running in the background fills the space between them, and Sunghoon’s eyes drift to Heeseung as he moves to stack the plates. There’s something unspoken between them, a shared moment of tension from the night before, but neither of them brings it up.

"So, uh, need any help?" Sunghoon asks, clearing his throat as he steps closer to the sink, unsure of how to break the silence. Heeseung looks over his shoulder at him, his eyes catching Sunghoon’s gaze for just a second too long before he gives a small smile. "Just drying. You can grab the towels."

Sunghoon nods, reaching for the dish towels on the counter. The motion is automatic, his hands moving in the familiar rhythm of doing chores, but the atmosphere between them is far from casual. Heeseung is close, too close, and Sunghoon feels his pulse pick up again, just a little faster than it should be.

Heeseung hands him a plate, his fingers brushing against Sunghoon’s as he does. It’s a light touch, a nothing moment, but Sunghoon catches it and feels the weight of the contact as though it had meant more. He forces himself to focus on the task, drying the plate with unnecessary care, but his thoughts are elsewhere, flashing to the memory of Heeseung’s body pressed against his in the club, the feel of him under his hands.

The clink of plates and the soft rush of water fill the kitchen as Sunghoon and Heeseung move in a steady rhythm. There’s no conversation between them, just the sound of dishes being rinsed and dried. It’s strangely heavy, the air thick with the unsaid. Every time their hands brush while passing a plate or a towel, it feels like a spark—small, fleeting, but there.

Sunghoon’s focus stays on the dishes, his movements mechanical as he dries each plate, but his thoughts race, swirling with fragments of the night before. He keeps his eyes lowered, afraid that if he looks at Heeseung for too long, he might be caught with something in his gaze that he’s not ready to share.

Heeseung doesn’t say a word. He just moves in time with Sunghoon, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying to avoid disturbing the quiet between them. But the tension sits between them like a thick wall, making each small sound feel louder than it really is.

Finally, when the last plate is dried off and placed neatly on the counter, Heeseung breaks the silence. "I don’t want it to be weird between us," Heeseung says, his voice quiet but steady. He turns to face Sunghoon, his gaze careful, almost searching. "After what happened."

Sunghoon freezes for a moment, his fingers still gripping the towel in his hand. He hadn’t expected Heeseung to be the one to bring it up, but hearing the words makes everything feel even heavier. He takes a slow breath, looking up, meeting Heeseung’s eyes.

"I... I’m sorry," Sunghoon mutters, his voice quieter than he intended. "I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have... let things get that far."

Heeseung shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You don’t have to apologize," he says softly. "It’s not like it was anyone’s fault. It just happened. Let’s just not make it weird, alright?"

Sunghoon nods, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. He feels like there’s still something unresolved, a thread that’s been pulled taut between them. But Heeseung continues, his voice lightening a little, almost teasing.

"I hope we can still try to be friends. Now that I’m living here again... I don’t want things to stay awkward between us." Sunghoon looks at him for a long moment, trying to gauge the sincerity in his expression. Heeseung looks relaxed, almost like the tension from earlier has already evaporated, but Sunghoon can’t help feeling like he’s standing on the edge of something he doesn’t fully understand.

"Yeah," Sunghoon says, his voice a little rough, but he manages a smile. "I’d like that. Let’s try."

Heeseung nods. They both move toward the kitchen counter to finish putting away the last of the dishes.

–

The little restaurant is nearly empty, tucked away on a quiet side street. The hum of low conversation mixes with the faint clatter of dishes and the mellow jazz humming from the speakers overhead. Their booth by the window is warm, familiar—faded cushions, a slightly wobbly table leg, and the comforting scent of miso soup and grilled meat hanging in the air.

Sunghoon sits across from Yunjin and Chaewon, poking listlessly at his bowl of rice. He’s been zoning out for the past ten minutes, eyes glazed, lips pressed into a tight line. Chaewon is scribbling in the margins of her planner, doodling tiny cats in ice skates. Yunjin, as always, is restless—she’s drumming her fingers on the table, bouncing her knee, eyes darting toward Sunghoon every few seconds.

She finally sighs, leaning back. “Alright. Spill it.”

Sunghoon blinks. “What?”

“You’re thinking so loud it’s making my rice taste weird,” Yunjin says, stabbing a piece of tofu with unnecessary force. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Can I… ask you something? And can you not be obnoxious for like five seconds?”

Yunjin squints at him. “Define ‘obnoxious.’”

“I’m being serious.”

Chaewon perks up, folding her arms on the table and looking at him with bright, curious eyes. “Ooh, it’s that kind of question?”

“I hate this already,” Sunghoon mutters, dropping his gaze to the table. “Okay. What would you to if you went to a club, made out with someone—like, seriously made out with them in the bathroom—and then later found out that person was your brother’s best friend…”

Yunjin’s chopsticks freeze mid-air. She blinks slowly.

Chaewon’s mouth falls open.

“Sunghoon,” Yunjin says carefully, leaning forward. “You made out with Heeseung?”

“It was dark!” he says defensively, already flustered. “And we were both kind of drunk, and the music was loud, and I wasn’t really looking at faces—he just looked… good, okay? And I didn’t even recognize him until after. He had his hands in my hair and I didn’t think about anything except—” He stops himself, mortified. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, it happened. And now he’s back and wants to be friends like none of it ever happened.”

Chaewon lets out a slow gasp, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Yunjin’s face splits into the slowest, most wicked grin Sunghoon has ever seen. “Don’t you dare say anything,” he warns, already regretting every decision that led him here.

There’s a pause. Then Chaewon softly asks, “Do you still like him?”

Sunghoon doesn’t lift his head. “No, of course not. That was a stupid teenage crush I had on him back then..”

Yunjin whistles low. “Damn. This is… way more interesting than my Monday was supposed to be.”

“And Jay can’t find out,” Sunghoon says quickly, lifting his head to look at both of them. “If Jake hears anything, and gets high, he’ll tell Jay, and then I’ll have to fake my death and flee the country.”

Chaewon snorts. “You think Jay would kill you?”

“Have you met Jay?” Sunghoon says. “Last year, some guy stood Heeseung up and Jay booked a red-eye to New York just to ‘talk’ to him. You think he’ll be chill about me swapping spit with his childhood best friend in the bathroom of some club downtown?”

“I mean… fair,” Yunjin says, propping her chin on her palm. “That is a little scandalous.”

Sunghoon groans. “God, I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t even know why I did.”

“Because we’re your best friends,” Chaewon says brightly. “And you’re spiraling, and we love watching that in real time.”

He shoots her a look, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s too tired.

Just then, Jake appears at their table, plopping down beside Chaewon with a sigh. “Hey. What are we whispering about?”

The three of them freeze.

“Nothing,” they say in unison.

Jake eyes them suspiciously. “Okay… weirdos.”

—

Sunghoon is mid-pull-up, arms taut, core engaged, sweat dripping from his temple down the curve of his jaw. His muscles burn with each repetition, but he welcomes the ache, it’s grounding, familiar, a sharp contrast to the thoughts that have been clawing at the edges of his mind lately.

Jay has told him countless times to just get a gym membership. They could even split the cost, make it a brotherly bonding thing. But Sunghoon hates the gym, hates the mirrors reflecting every flaw, hates the people watching, and the unsolicited advice from strangers who think they know better.

Most of all, he hates the social aspect of it.

The gym Jay goes to is practically a second campus, a place where half the neighborhood goes to be seen. Sunghoon isn’t interested in being seen.

He exhales sharply, pulling himself up again—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell cuts through the quiet, shattering his rhythm. His grip slips slightly, and with a grunt, he drops down, shaking out the tension in his arms.

He isn’t expecting anyone. Jay is at the library, drowning in his thesis, which means it’s either Wonyoung or Yunjin showing up unannounced. They do that a lot—barging in, raiding his fridge, making themselves at home without a second thought. Sunghoon usually doesn’t mind. But right now, with sweat clinging to his skin and his thoughts already in disarray, he’s not exactly in the mood for company.

He wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist, rolls his shoulders, and heads to the door, still slightly out of breath. With a huff, he grips the handle and pulls it open, fully prepared to tell Yunjin to go away.

But it’s not Yunjin. Or Wonyoung.

“Oh.” The word escapes before he can stop it.

Because standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, is Heeseung.

For a second, Sunghoon’s brain just short-circuits.

Heeseung’s hair is tousled from the wind, messy strands falling over his forehead, framing his face in a way that makes him look unfairly good. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the sleeves slightly too long, his fingers barely peeking out of the cuffs.

“Hey, Sunghoon.” His voice is steady, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze.

Sunghoon clears his throat, suddenly painfully aware of himself—his damp skin, the way his tank top clings to his chest, the sweat still rolling down the back of his neck.

His first instinct is to close the door. Not out of rudeness—just sheer self-preservation. Instead, he grips the edge of the doorframe, holding it like an anchor. “My brother’s not here right now,” he says, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “He should be back in an hour.”

It’s an assumption, an easy one to make—because why else would Heeseung be here?

It’s not like he came to see you.

“Oh.” Heeseung blinks, his shoulders dropping slightly. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but Sunghoon catches it.

A beat of silence stretches between them—just long enough for Sunghoon to wonder if saying but you can wait for him here would be weird. Of course, it would. But he doesn’t care

“But you can wait for him inside,” he finally says, stepping aside. “Wouldn’t want you to have made the whole trip for nothing.” Heeseung hesitates for only a second before nodding, brushing past him into the apartment. Sunghoon watches him move—watches the way he toes off his sneakers, the way he drops his bag near the entrance like he’s been here a hundred times before.

“I’d offer you something,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms, “but I haven’t gone grocery shopping yet, so all I can give you is, uh, tap water.”

It’s meant to be a joke, an attempt to cut through the weird tension between them.

But the truth is, the tension isn’t weird—it’s entirely their fault. Because this is the first time they’ve been alone since the club. Since Sunghoon made a mistake he still can’t stop thinking about it.

Across the room, Heeseung settles onto one of the high chairs by the kitchen island, pulling out his phone and placing it face-up on the counter. The screen lights up for a second, and out of the corner of his eye, Sunghoon catches a glimpse of his lock screen.

A photo of him and Jay.

Jay’s arm is wrapped tightly around Heeseung’s shoulders, both of them laughing at something beyond the frame. Sunghoon swallows, his chest tightening. It’s a reminder. A flashing, neon sign above Heeseung’s head, screaming off-limits. That night at the club—whatever it was—was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. And it definitely can’t happen again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Heeseung says, snapping Sunghoon out of his thoughts.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, forcing himself to nod. “Right. Okay. Well, I’m gonna finish my workout and then take a shower. You can, uh, watch TV or whatever while you wait.”

Heeseung just hums, tilting his head slightly.

He turns on his heel, walking back toward his room. Just as he reaches the doorway, instinct makes him glance back over his shoulder.

Heeseung is still perched at the counter, one elbow resting lazily on the surface, reaching for the bag of mixed nuts Jay left out. He grabs a handful, popping one into his mouth, fingers grazing his lips as he chews. And from where he’s sitting, he has a perfect view of Sunghoon’s room.

Sunghoon grips the pull-up bar, muscles flexing as he readies himself for another set. His breath evens out, his mind sharpens—he’s in the zone. Or at least, he was.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he notices something.

A sliver of movement.

His gaze flickers to the doorway, past the open space leading into the kitchen.

And there’s Heeseung watching him.

Shit.

Sunghoon glances down at himself, suddenly hyper aware of the sweat clinging to his skin, the heat prickling at his neck. His tank top is damp, sticking uncomfortably to his torso. His fingers twitch at the hem of his shirt. He debates it for half a second before making up his mind.

Slowly, smoothly, he peels the tank top over his head in one fluid motion.The cool air rushes over his heated skin, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth from his workout. He bunches the fabric in his hands for a second, then tosses it onto his overflowing laundry pile without a second thought. He grips the bar and pulls himself up. The burn in his arms, the stretch in his shoulders—it’s all he focuses on. His mind clears with each pull, every repetition pushing him further into the familiar ache of exertion.

By the time he finishes his set, his muscles tremble slightly from the strain, chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. The satisfaction of a good workout settles in his bones, and without thinking, he turns around—

And stops cold.

Because Heeseung is still looking at him. Not just looking.

Devouring.

It takes Heeseung a second to realize he’s been caught.

His eyes are still moving—slow and deliberate, tracing over Sunghoon’s chest, his shoulders, the sharp lines of his arms. He lingers, gaze dark and heated, until finally, like he’s suddenly aware of himself, he blinks. Heeseung’s lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak. His teeth catch his lower lip, pressing down just a little too hard, like he’s holding something back.

And Sunghoon sees.

Sees the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the subtle shift of his fingers gripping the counter like he needs something to ground him.

It’s brief—so quick that if Sunghoon weren’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it.

—

“Hyung! Did you steal my blue shirt again?”

Sunghoon emerges from his room barefoot, jeans unbuttoned, shirtless. He pauses in front of the couch, where Jay is sprawled out with his phone, eyes glued to the screen.

“It's probably in the washing machine,” Jay replies without looking up.

Sunghoon scowls. “I already checked, it isn't there.”

Jay still doesn’t spare him a glance, too busy texting whoever has his attention. Sunghoon shifts his weight between his feet. It’s just a casual dinner, but it’s Heeseung’s dinner. Sunghoon isn’t sure why that distinction matters so much.

“You and that goddamn blue shirt,” Jay finally says, glancing up, eyes raking over Sunghoon’s state of undress with mild disinterest. “ Are you and Jake going to be macthing again?”

Sunghoon blinks. “Wait. Jake?”

“Yeah.” Jay finally puts his phone down. “Turns out Heeseung’s roommate is friends with Jake, so he got invited too.”

Sunghoon’s stomach flips. Jake. His best friend. The one person who could read him like an open book. Jake’s presence should be a comfort—an easy excuse to act normal. But if Jake picks up on even the slightest tension between Sunghoon and Heeseung, he won’t shut up about it. And if Jake ever gets high or worse, drunk around Jay, he’ll definitely blurt something out. Then Jay will know. And that cannot happen.

Sunghoon clears his throat, pretending to focus on his shirt choices. “Right. That’s… cool.”

Jay eyes him for a beat, then exhales through his nose. “Sunghoon, just wear the white shirt. We’re going to be late.”

Sunghoon grumbles but tugs the white shirt over his head, fingers fumbling with the buttons. He ignores the way his hands shake slightly.

.

The twenty-minute drive to Heeseung’s apartment stretches longer than it should, but eventually, they pull into the parking lot. Sunghoon barely has time to compose himself before Jay rings the doorbell.

The door swings open, revealing Heeseung—smiling, relaxed, standing there like he belongs in the warm glow of his apartment. He looks effortlessly good—too good.

Sunghoon swallows. Okay. This is going to be a problem.

“Hey,” Heeseung greets, stepping aside. “Come in. Took you guys long enough.”

Sunghoon steps inside, the smell of something warm lingering in the air. Heeseung’s place is cozy, not overly decorated but lived-in, the kind of place that feels like a home rather than just a rented space.

Jake is already inside, lounging on the couch, beer in hand, looking like he’s been there for hours. He lifts his drink in greeting. “Finally. Thought you guys got lost.”

“And this,” Heeseung continues, motioning to the guy beside Jake, “is my roommate, Kim Sunoo.”

Sunoo steps forward with an easy smile, eyes bright. He’s sharp-featured, effortlessly stylish in a way that makes him stand out, but his demeanor is welcoming. Sunghoon recognizes him immediately—he’s seen him at the tattoo studio a few times, usually chatting with Jake, though they’ve never spoken directly.

“Nice to meet you,” Sunoo says, offering his hand.

Sunghoon shakes it, nodding. “Yeah, you too.”

One round of Codenames turns into twenty rounds. Jay is horrible at the game—so bad it should be illegal—but he somehow makes it amusing rather than frustrating. Every time he blurts out a wildly wrong guess or accidentally helps the other team, he lets out a dramatic “Are you kidding me?!” that only makes everyone laugh harder. Jake, ever the opportunist, takes pity on him and teams up, claiming he can carry Jay to at least a respectable win.

They only have room for four players per round, so someone has to sit out. Sunghoon takes the chance immediately, feigning nonchalance as he sinks back into the couch. He tells himself it's because he's tired—because he's not really into word games—but really, it's the fact that sitting anywhere near Heeseung right now feels like a bad idea.

Instead, he watches.

From his spot, he has a perfect view of the others. Heeseung is completely at ease, laughing as he leans against Sunoo’s shoulder, his head tilting back in delight whenever someone guesses wrong. Sunoo doesn’t seem to mind, barely reacting even as Heeseung drapes himself across him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jake and Jay, on the other hand, are in their own little world. Jake is practically glued to Jay’s side, their shoulders pressed close, his hand resting on Jay’s forearm every time he leans in to whisper clue ideas. It’s not surprising—Jake has always been touchy when he drinks—but the weird thing is that Jay hasn’t pushed him off yet. Sunghoon frowns. That’s new.

He forces himself to look away, standing abruptly. “I’m getting another beer,” he mutters, making his way toward the kitchen.

A few seconds later, Sunoo follows.

Sunghoon is in the middle of rummaging through the fridge when he hears the footsteps behind him. He straightens, cracking open his drink and giving Sunoo a curious glance.

“Hey,” Sunoo greets casually, leaning against the counter.

“Hey.” Sunghoon gestures toward the fridge. “Want one?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Sunoo waves him off. “Actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to switch with me. I’ll do the dishes, and you can play with them.”

Sunghoon pauses mid-sip. “I don’t mind doing the dishes. You already cooked.” He shrugs, trying to sound casual. “Plus, I kind of suck at this game.”

Sunoo gives him a look. Not just any look—one that’s way too knowing, way too sharp. “Heeseung would be happy if you joined,” Sunoo says, voice lowering slightly, like he knows to be careful about bringing up Heeseung around Jay.

Sunghoon blinks, startled by the directness. He starts to scoff, to brush it off, to say I don’t know what you’re talking about, but then—

Then his gaze flickers toward the couch.

And Heeseung is already looking at him.

His chin is perched in his palm, his fingers curled lazily against his jaw, and his eyes are steady. There’s a soft, unreadable smile playing on his lips, like he’s waiting.

Sunghoon feels his breath hitch.

Shit.

He should stay right here. He should pick up a towel and start drying the dishes. He should look away, pretend he didn’t see the way Heeseung is watching him, pretend that his stomach isn’t twisting in knots.

He should—

All of that completely dissolves the second Heeseung lifts his hand and beckons him over, patting the empty spot beside him. Sunghoon’s body moves before his brain can catch up. One moment, he’s standing in the kitchen; the next, he’s lowering himself onto the couch, the space between him and Heeseung dangerously small. The warmth of Heeseung’s body is immediate, the scent of his cologne—something clean, something faintly sweet.

Heeseung hands him the clue-giver card. Their fingers brush.

Sunghoon grips the card like a lifeline, fingers curled tightly around the edges as he studies the grid. Their knees bump—barely—but he notices it anyway.

He stares at the word map, willing himself to focus.

“So,” Heeseung says, his voice light, teasing. “Are you ready?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “I was born ready.”

Sunoo snorts from the other side of the couch, adjusting the blanket draped over his lap. “You guys better get started. Jake and Jay are getting cocky.”

Sunghoon glances over. Sure enough, Jake and Jay are leaned in, already discussing potential clues like they’re training for a championship.

“Ready to lose again?” Jake grins.

Jay groans. “You’re literally the reason we lost last round.”

“Exactly. I have something to prove.”

The first few turns go surprisingly well—Sunghoon gives a clue that lands both their words, and Heeseung guesses them immediately, beaming. Meanwhile, Jay confidently chooses a word that turns out to be neutral, and Jake buries his face in his hands.

Midway through the next round, Heeseung suddenly shifts closer—his thigh pressing against Sunghoon’s. Heeseung doesn’t even seem to notice, completely caught up in the game, leaning forward to analyze the grid. The warmth of his leg seeps through Sunghoon’s jeans, and it takes everything in him not to react.

He reads the next clue wrong. Jay capitalizes immediately, guessing one of their words instead.

“Shit—” Sunghoon mutters, frustrated, but it’s too late. Heeseung laughs beside him, delighted.

“Aw, tough luck,” Heeseung coos, nudging him slightly. Sunghoon nearly drops the clue card. Sunoo definitely notices. There’s a very unsubtle sip of his drink and a smirk Sunghoon wants to wipe off his face.

By the final turn, Sunghoon and Heeseung are tied with Jake and Jay. One word left. Heeseung leans in, voice low.

“Okay. One-word clue. Don’t choke.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “I won’t if you don’t guess something ridiculous again.”

“I make no promises,” Heeseung grins.

Sunghoon pauses, then says, “Storm. One.”

Heeseung’s eyes dart over the grid. His hand hovers over one word—cloud—then another—lightning. He picks lightning.

Correct.

“YES!” Heeseung cheers, grabbing Sunghoon’s arm in celebration.

Jake groans dramatically. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Heeseung’s grin is radiant. Sunghoon tries not to smile back but fails, even as he mutters, “You better appreciate that clue.”

“I appreciate everything about you,” Heeseung says, way too easily.

Sunghoon stares at him, flustered.

The night stretches on, thick with laughter and the lazy hum of conversation. Jay and Jake are at it again, locked in yet another argument—this time over which movie to watch. Their bickering is animated, exaggerated, the kind that spirals on forever over something ultimately meaningless.

Sunoo stands between them, exasperated. “Oh my God, just pick something already.”

Heeseung, as always, is watching from the sidelines, a smirk playing at his lips as he throws in casual jabs at Jay’s horrendous taste in movies. “Seriously? That one? Jay, I love you, but you have the cinematic taste of a teenage girl in 2012.”

Jay gasps, offended. “Excuse me? Twilight is a masterpiece.”

Eventually, they settle on a movie, and Sunoo, Jake, and Jay disappear into the kitchen to make popcorn. Their voices fade into the sound of cabinets opening, the microwave whirring, the occasional sharp gasp as Jay inevitably burns himself.

Heeseung slips away at some point, wandering off without a word, and Sunghoon takes the moment to use the bathroom. The cold water on his face helps, but only a little. His thoughts are a mess, a tangled knot he doesn’t have the patience to unravel.

When he steps back into the hallway, Heeseung’s bedroom door is ajar. Sunghoon slows his steps, peering inside. The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the walls. Through the open window, he catches sight of Heeseung perched on the fire escape, one leg dangling, the other bent up to his chest, a small guitar resting on his lap, fingers lazily strumming chords that barely hold shape.

The city lights flicker against Heeseung’s skin as he plucks at the strings of a battered old guitar, fingers fumbling a little but still coaxing out soft, imperfect chords. He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“Didn’t think you’d follow.”

Sunghoon hesitates only a second before pushing the door open wider. “I'm always fallowing you.”

Heeseung gestures to the empty space beside him. “You can sit. Just don’t expect much—my guitar skills peaked at age fifteen.”

Sunghoon climbs through the window and settles beside him. The metal is cool beneath his legs. Heeseung’s thigh bumps his, warm even through denim. He shifts, adjusting the guitar in his lap, and strums again—slow, meandering, like he’s not playing for anyone but himself.

“Listening to Jay and Jake bicker all the time is giving me a headache,” Sunghoon mutters.

Heeseung chuckles. “Jake’s your best friend, right? Imagine if we bickered like them.”

Yeah, instead we made out.

Sunghoon leans back against the railing, watching the way Heeseung’s fingers move. “I think we’d give Jay a heart attack.”

Heeseung smiles, head tilting toward him, something soft in his eyes. “Probably.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The music drifts between them—barely more than a murmur of notes, trailing into the city night. Heeseung’s fingers slow, eventually resting on the strings. “You ever think about all the stuff we didn’t get to do together?” His voice is low, careful. “Like… I dunno. Dumb teenager things. Skipping school, sneaking out, buying alcohol with fake IDs.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. He’s thinking about the way he used to picture all those things when he was younger, filling in the gaps Heeseung left behind. The moments they could’ve had but never did. The space between them full of could-have-beens.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sometimes I think about that a lot.”

Heeseung exhales, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “When was the last time you played piano?”

Sunghoon glances at him, surprised by the question. “Not for a while. Not seriously.”

“You were always better than me.” Heeseung grins, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

“You were never that bad,” Sunghoon says, though it’s a lie.

Heeseung hums, then falls quiet again. The silence between them stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged, thick with things unsaid. Heeseung’s guitar lies idle now, resting across his thighs.

Sunghoon stares out at the city, at the tiny lives flickering behind windows in the distance. He hears Heeseung shift beside him, the rustle of denim, and then—

“You ever think about how different things would be if you never left?”

Heeseung stills. For a second, Sunghoon thinks he won’t answer, that he’ll brush it off with a joke or shrug it away, but then Heeseung leans back, gaze lost in the skyline.

“All the time.”

Sunghoon turns to look at him, breath catching. Heeseung doesn’t look back. “I used to wonder what I was missing. What it would’ve been like if I stayed. If we—” He breaks off, a soft curse under his breath. Then, quieter, “Never mind.”

Sunghoon wants to reach for him. Wants to say, Don’t do that. Don’t leave things half-spoken. But instead, he asks, “Do you regret it?”

Heeseung finally meets his eyes. There’s something raw there, something vulnerable. It makes Sunghoon’s chest ache.

“Yeah,” Heeseung says. “Sometimes.”

—

The studio hums with quiet activity. The scent of ink, antiseptic, and faint traces of paint linger in the air, blending into something familiar, something comforting. The soft scratch of a pencil against canvas fills the space where conversations fade into comfortable silence.

Chaewon is perched on a stool, legs crossed, brows furrowed in concentration as she sketches on her ipad. The artwork is for a client, something intricate and meaningful, but she barely registers anything beyond the lines she’s carefully bringing to life.

Yunjin, however, is sprawled out on the worn leather couch, head resting comfortably in Chaewon’s lap. She’s reading, the pages of her book slightly curled from her loose grip. Every now and then, Chaewon absentmindedly runs her fingers through Yunjin’s hair, the gesture so natural neither of them seem to notice.

Jake, sitting at the desk near the front, types away on his laptop, eyes flickering between the screen and the paperwork in front of him. He’s handling some administrative work, making sure schedules don’t overlap and appointments are set. It’s one of those tasks he grumbles about but secretly enjoys, taking pride in keeping the shop running smoothly.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, is slouched in a chair, deep in thought. His eyes are fixed on the floor, but they’re unfocused, his mind wandering. It’s been doing that a lot lately—spiraling in loops he can’t seem to break out of, especially at night when sleep refuses to come.

A nudge to his shoulder pulls him out of his daze.

“You good?”

Jake is watching him, perceptive as ever. Sunghoon has always hated how easily Jake can read him. It’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to his emotions, always knowing when something feels off.

Sunghoon sighs, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah. Just tired. My thoughts won’t let me sleep at night.”

Jake leans in slightly, voice playful but still laced with concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Sunghoon hesitates. He could tell Jake the truth, but the thing about Jake is that he has a terrible habit of blurting things out when he’s drunk. And not just minor secrets—everything.

It’s partially how Yunjin and Chaewon ended up together.

Jake had gotten ridiculously drunk at Sunghoon’s birthday party and, in the middle of the night, announced to the entire room that Yunjin and Chaewon were “pathetically pining” for each other and just needed to confess already.

He wasn’t wrong, but still.

Sunghoon exhales, leaning back in his seat. “Just thinking about life, dude.”

Jake makes a face. “Please don’t tell me you’re having a midlife crisis.”

“It sure feels like one.”

Before Jake can respond, the door to the studio swings open, and a tall figure steps inside. Yunjin is up in a heartbeat, practically leaping off Chaewon’s lap. “My favorite customer is here, y’all!”

Riki barely has time to react before Yunjin is wrapping him in a hug. He groans, trying to push her away—but his efforts are half-hearted at best, and Sunghoon catches the way he lingers just a second too long before finally prying her off.

“Didn’t you just get a new piercing two weeks ago?” Jake asks, raising an eyebrow.

Riki shrugs. “And what about it?”

“I feel like you may be developing an addiction,” Sunghoon adds dryly.

“Stop trying to shoo my customers away,” Yunjin says, waving them off. She drapes an arm around Riki’s shoulders, already steering him toward her workstation. “Come on, let’s go before they start lecturing you.”

Jake shakes his head as they disappear down the hall. “That kid’s gonna run out of skin to pierce.”

Sunghoon snorts, but his attention shifts when Jake glances at the clock.

“I have a client coming in soon, could you help me set up. I have to make a phone call” Jake asks him.

Sunghoon helps setting up Jake's work station, he doesn't have to be back at the rink for another hour so he helps out where he can.

Just as he's placing the last off the stuff down his phone buzzes.He fishes it out, glancing at the screen, and immediately, a smile tugs at his lips.

[1:47 PM] Heeseung:what are you up to?

A second message follows.

[1:47 PM] Heeseung: I’m bored :( I want to see you

And then another.

[1:48 PM] Heeseung: Nobody has time to hang out with me… I’m sooo alone and sad and alone and sad

Sunghoon rolls his eyes but types back a quick reply.

[1:48 PM] Sunghoon: Give me two hours.

Heeseung’s response is instant.

[1:48 PM] Heeseung: My knight in shining armour !!!!!

Sunghoon chuckles under his breath, about to type back when a voice appears at his side.

“Who’s got you smiling at your phone like that?” He jumps slightly, turning to find Jake grinning at him. Sunghoon schools his expression, locking his phone before Jake can peek at the screen. “No one.”

Jake’s grin widens. “Oh, it’s definitely someone.”

Sunghoon shoves him lightly, but the warmth in his chest lingers.

As promised, Sunghoon arrives at Heeseung’s apartment an two hours later. He barely has time to knock before the door swings open—and he nearly suffers a full-blown heart attack because standing there is Heeseung, barefoot and freshly showered, wearing a baggy hoodie and a pair of basketball shorts that are… offensively short. Sunghoon’s eyes immediately catch on bare thighs, smooth and toned, a flash of skin and muscle that makes his brain buffer for a solid five seconds.

“Hey,” Heeseung says casually, like he doesn’t just have all of his legs out in the open like that.

Sunghoon blinks. “You really aren’t letting go of those shorts, are you. You’ve had them since you were 10?”

Heeseung glances down at his shorts and then back up, smirking. “What, these? They’re comfortable.”

Sunghoon mutters something unintelligible and averts his gaze, silently praying for divine strength. Sunoo pops his head out from the hallway, textbook in hand. “I’m gonna be studying all night, so don't be too loud.”

“Noted,” Heeseung replies before turning back to Sunghoon. “There’s a new arcade a few blocks down. Want to check it out?” Sunghoon nods. “Sure. Feels like middle school all over again.” They used to go all the time as kids—Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jay. Wasting hours chasing high scores and bragging rights. Back then, everything felt simple.

The arcade buzzes with chaotic energy as soon as they walk in. Neon lights cast shifting glows across the floor, games whir and beep all around them, and the unmistakable scent of buttered popcorn and carpet cleaner fills the air. Kids dash between machines, clutching tickets like treasure, and teens crowd around multiplayer games, shouting trash talk and instructions.

They start with a few new games neither of them has ever played. They’re both terrible at most of them, but the failure just makes it more fun. Sunghoon nearly topples over during a VR rhythm game, while Heeseung sets off an alarm by hitting the wrong button on a sci-fi shooter. They're breathless with laughter, cheeks flushed, grinning like idiots.

Eventually, they drift toward the games they remember. The competitiveness kicks in hard. Every round becomes a battle. The loser has to buy the winner a snack or drink, and they keep a tally like it’s sacred. Heeseung wins an absurd number of times. Sunghoon refuses to admit he's trying harder just to see Heeseung laugh like that—full, unfiltered, eyes shining.

Then they reach Dance Dance Revolution.

Heeseung’s laugh echoes through the arcade as he pumps a fist in the air, sweat beading along his hairline. “That’s the third time I beat you!”

Sunghoon glares at the machine, hands on his hips, panting. “That’s not fair. You’ve got long legs.”

Heeseung nudges him with his shoulder, grinning. “So do you, dumbass.”

They keep going, dancing through old tracks and half-remembered steps. Sunghoon finally pulls ahead with two wins, but by the end of it, they’re both hunched over and panting. “Okay,” Sunghoon breathes, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Truce. Drinks. Or I might pass out.”

They retreat to a high-top table by the snack bar, drinks in hand and a shared tray of limp fries between them. A kid nearby bangs on a crane machine, yelling at it like it's personally betrayed him. Heeseung sips his soda, cheeks flushed from exertion.

“Do you still work at that office? The one by the police station?” he asks, wiping his fingers on a napkin. Sunghoon shakes his head mid-chew. “No. God, no. Quit that months ago. I’m working full-time now at the ice rink. Coaching eight-year-olds. Hockey.”

Heeseung blinks. “Wait—seriously? That’s kind of adorable.”

“It’s mostly just chaos and band-aids,” Sunghoon says with a tired grin. “But it’s fun. They’re weird little gremlins, but they keep me on my toes.”

Heeseung chuckles, leaning back. “Jake also mentioned you are also a tatoo artist?” Sunghoon pauses. That catches him off guard—when had Heeseung and Jake been talking? And more importantly, why were they talking about him?

He files the thought away for later. “Yeah, but now I'm more like a consultant for the sketches or help out when the studio is filled to the brim with clients. I started picking it up after college.”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, clearly intrigued. “How come?”

Sunghoon chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Not exactly where I pictured myself either. I was supposed to be in the big leagues, remember? Olympics or bust.” He shrugs, his voice softer now. “After I quit skating, everything just kind of… stopped. I didn’t know who I was without it. Tried everything to find a new purpose. Took forever, but I found I was actually pretty good at drawing. Jake saw my sketches, offered to teach me. One thing led to another, and here I am.”

Heeseung’s gaze doesn’t waver. “That’s amazing, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon looks away, the compliment hitting harder than expected. Heeseung goes on, voice warm. “I always knew you were more than just your skating. Don’t get me wrong, you belonged on the ice and I can toatlly see you coaching around a bunhc of rowdy kids—but that’s not all there is to you. You’ve got… more. Depth.”

Sunghoon stares at him for a beat, then wordlessly grabs a fry and throws it in his mouth to keep from doing something embarrassing. Like reaching across the table.

“Enough about me,” he says, clearing his throat. “What did you end up doing, Great Heeseung?”

Heeseung’s smile softens into something quieter, prouder. “I’m an English teacher. High school.”

Sunghoon grins. “That actually makes sense. You were always talking about wanting to make a difference.”

Heeseung shrugs, a little bashful. “It’s not glamorous, but I love it. Even when the kids are little monsters. When they get it—when they write something that matters—it’s worth it.”

They spend the rest of the night moving from one arcade game to the next, weaving through glowing lights and pulsing music, caught up in a rhythm that feels achingly familiar despite all the time that’s passed. There’s a comfort in it—in the easy banter, the quiet glances that linger a little too long, the way Heeseung laughs with his whole body like he used to.

Heeseung tells him about Jungwon—how they were practically inseparable at their private school, how they snuck out of class so often their teacher started assigning them detention on principle. He tells him about college too, about the quiet months when he almost dropped out, and how Jungwon made him get out of bed every morning just so he wouldn’t waste another semester.

Sunghoon listens with his chin in his hand, a small smile on his face, absorbing every word like it’s another piece of a puzzle he didn’t know he was still building.

In return, he shares stories about his life now—about Chaewon and Yunjin, who argue more like an old married couple than two people wildly in love. He talks about how Yunjin calls him “Ice Boy” and won’t let him live down that one time he slipped in the studio’s parking lot. He tells Heeseung about Riki, the teen who started hanging around the shop so often that they kind of just… adopted him. Now he runs errands, naps on the back couch, critiques their playlist, and insists on being paid in boba and snack runs. “He's a little menace, but he’s ours,” Sunghoon says, smiling like it means more than he’s letting on.

Time slips past them like water—faster than either of them expects. One moment they’re sinking tokens into a claw machine, and the next, they’re standing in front of Heeseung’s apartment, the world outside dimmed by the hush of late summer night.

Sunghoon holds a ridiculously oversized teddy bear against his chest, won in a last-minute game he pretended not to care about. Heeseung had laughed when he handed it over earlier, joking about how Jay would definitely steal it if Sunghoon brought it home. That was the excuse, anyway. In truth, Sunghoon had picked the prize with Heeseung in mind—every throw in that game aimed at the idea of making him smile.

Heeseung fumbles with his keys now, squinting at the tiny numbers on each one. His hair is slightly damp with sweat, sticking up in places from all the running around earlier, and Sunghoon just watches him—unmoving, quiet, trying not to stare too hard. Even in this messy, flushed state, Heeseung still looks effortlessly good. Unfairly good. The kind of good that makes Sunghoon’s stomach twist just a little too tightly.

“Found it. Finally,” Heeseung mumbles, victorious, as the key slides into place and the lock clicks open.

Without a word, Sunghoon holds the teddy bear out. Heeseung reaches for it, but the size throws him off balance for a second and he stumbles, laughing as he catches it awkwardly in his arms.

“I had so much fun today,” Heeseung says, voice light but eyes warm. His smile softens everything in Sunghoon, and for a terrifying moment, Sunghoon feels like he might do something dumb—like kiss him again.

Instead, he offers a steady smile, and holds the door open. “I did too, hyung.”

The word hangs in the air between them like a tether, anchoring them to something unspoken. They don’t move. For a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath—just the two of them caught in a space where everything feels possible, but impossibly delicate. Sunghoon doesn’t say it, but the kiss at the club has never really left him. It clings to the edges of his mind like static, coloring every look, every brush of fingers, every silence that stretches just a second too long.

Heeseung takes a tentative step forward, close enough that Sunghoon can see the shift in his expression, the hesitation flickering in his eyes. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something—

—and the door swings open wider.

“Jesus, it took you long enough,” Sunoo deadpans, appearing like a phantom in fuzzy pajama pants and a pastel headband, clearly mid-skincare routine. His face is glossy, a sheet mask pushed up on his forehead like a visor. “Were you trying to break into our own apartment?”

Heeseung blinks, startled, then laughs as he adjusts the bear in his arms. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Sunoo eyes the bear, then looks between the two of them with pointed suspicion. “Who won the bear?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth, but Heeseung beats him to it. “Sunghoon did. Said Jay would steal it if he brought it home.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Right.”

Sunghoon just smiles, pretending not to read too deeply into the implication. “Goodnight, Sunoo.”

“Night,” Sunoo mutters, still eyeing him like he knows too much before disappearing back inside. Heeseung turns to Sunghoon, awkward now with the moment broken. But there’s something lingering in his expression, like he’s still thinking about what he almost said.

Sunghoon shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll see you around?”

Heeseung nods. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Their eyes meet, and there’s a flash of something—almost a question, almost a promise—before Sunghoon finally pulls himself away, the night pressing cool against his skin as he walks down the hallway.

Sunghoon gets home late, much later than usual because usually he comes home right after work.

Jay is sitting on the kitchen table, laptop open in front of him, some assignment pulled up on the screen. Sunghoon doesn't know really, Jay is doing his master's in criminal law so he's spending most of his time working on assignments and on his thesis.

“Sunghoon?” Jay looks up from his laptop when Sunghoon walks in. “I tried calling you. There is still some food left, want me to heat it up for you?”

Sunghoon stalks past him, heading straight for his room. “Ah, no thank you hyung. I went to dinner with Yunjin and Riki.”

When in reality Sunghoon wanted to say. I hung out with your best friend the same one I kissed and now I can't get him out of my mind even though we said we'd be just friends.

“I’m glad you're socialising.” Jay says.

“Yeah, good night, hyung.”

“Good night, hoon-ah.”

—

At first they hung out once or maybe twice a week but as time passes twice a week became four times a week or the whole weekend. Usually they hang out when Jay is out for his classes or at the library working on his thesis because Sunoo always studies at home and they didn't want to disturb him when he as well is working on his master thesis. Sunghoon feels a little guilty, the fact that they're so obviously trying to avoid being found out which is weird because they are just friends.

Because when Jay is with them, Heeseung keeps his distance, sticking to knowing glances and subtle brushes. But whenever they're alone they let themselves be, well not entirely. They reconnect, the soft touches and gentle smiles. Sunghoon is being eaten from the inside out but he's too selfish to put the weapon of destruction down.

Not only do they hang out regularly, they send each other texts regularly, sometimes Heeseung calls him when he's alone in his classroom and wants someone to keep him company. He learns that Heeseung’s obsession with ramyeon only grew stronger over the years when Heesueng calls him at midnight saying he was craving ramyeon from the convenience store and Sunghoon had to sneak out of his own apartment. He learns that Heeseung adopted a hamster during his first year of uni but it died within the first two days, while they where spending the day at the animal shelter. He learns that Heeseung still loves his games and fancy keyboards or that Heeseung heats up very easily when he's pressed up against Sunghoon's side when they're watching a horror movie.

Sunghoon learns that Heeseung likes physical closeness and when he wants Sunghoon to touch him he gets very close intentionally and starts complaining about something.

Not only does Sunghoon learn stuff about Heeseung but the other way around as well. Sunghoon tells him about the rough patches he went through after Heeseung left to go to a private school on the other side of the country. He tells him about the stuff that he did that he now regrets but back then he was a stupid angry teenager. But he also tells him about Wonyoung, whom he met at the end of freshman year and they have become inseparable since then and how she has been there for him through everything.

At some point—he isn’t sure exactly when—it became normal for his notifications to be filled with Heeseung’s name, for the sound of his phone buzzing to make his stomach do something humiliatingly close to a flip. It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t even bother keeping his phone on Do Not Disturb anymore, a habit he had maintained for years to avoid the distraction of unnecessary messages. Now, his ringer stays on, the volume turned up just enough to make sure he never misses a single notification from Heeseung, no matter how ridiculous or insignificant the message may be.

It’s pathetic.

He knows it’s pathetic.

But it doesn’t stop him from checking his phone constantly. It doesn’t stop the anticipation that builds in his chest every time he sees that familiar name light up on his screen.

Like now.

Sunghoon is crouched by the rink, tightening one of his student’s skate laces, when his phone buzzes violently in his jacket pocket—three times in quick succession. He hears the faint chime over the low hum of voices and skates slicing across ice.

[4:36 PM] Heeseung: Need your opinion now!!! [4:36 PM] Heeseung: Does this look good on me? [4:36 PM] Heeseung: [Picture attached]

Sunghoon unlocks his phone without hesitation, thumb swiping up on the notification.

His brain short-circuits, because staring back at him is a close-up of Heeseung’s face, his lips pursed in an exaggerated pout, glistening under the sheen of freshly applied lip gloss. The color is subtle—barely tinted, just enough to make them look softer, fuller—but damn does it work. The lighting catches the gloss perfectly, adding an almost obscene shine to his already pretty mouth, and for a split second, Sunghoon completely forgets how to function, heart pounding in his chest, face burning at the utterly inappropriate thoughts swirling in his head—thoughts about how badly he wants to ruin that glossy finish, about how good Heeseung’s lips would look smeared with something other than lip gloss.

His body reacts before his mind does.

His grip slackens, fingers slipping, and then—

Thud.

The phone slips out of his hand and clatters onto the ice beside him, skidding an inch before it stops. “Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, scrambling after it like a man possessed.

Too slow. A small hand beats him to it.

“I got it, Coach!”

Sunghoon looks up in horror as one of the kids—Liam, age eight, menace incarnate—picks up the phone and squints at the screen.

Sunghoon lunges. “NOPE—give me that—!”

But it’s too late. Liam lets out a high-pitched “Oooooooh!” before Sunghoon snatches the phone back like it’s radioactive.

“Who’s that?” Liam grins, full of baby teeth and bad intentions.

“None of your business,” Sunghoon snaps, face flaming as he fumbles to lock the phone. “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.”

Liam isn’t listening. “Is that your girlfriend?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth to lie—shuts it. Opens it again. “No.”

Liam gasps. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“Wait he looks familiar?” Wonyoung says leaning over Sunghoon's shoulder to look at his screen, voice laced with amusement as she pops the bubble.

Sunghoon chokes. “No! He doesn't” He snatches the phone from her grasp, locking it immediately as if that will somehow erase what she just saw. “You don't know him.”

Wonyoung’s eyebrows shoot up, her expression shifting into something akin to intrigue. She knows exactly who that is on his screen. She’s seen Heeseung before—maybe too many times, in hindsight.

“Oh shit,” she says, drawing out the words. “That’s the famous Heeseung?”

Sunghoon glares at her, but the effect is lost when Wonyoung just grins, walking back to the belachers with her coffee in her hand.

“No wonder you’re so hung up,” she teases, propping her chin on her palm. “He’s exactly your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Sunghoon shoots back, voice just a little too defensive.

Wonyoung snorts, shaking her head. “You so have a type.”

“I don’t.”

She hums, unimpressed. “Gay people are so stupid.”

Sunghoon groans, exasperated. “You’re gay too, Wonyoung.”

She grins. “And I stand by what I said.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in annoyance before turning back to his phone. His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally types out a reply, keeping it simple, safe, before he can say something he’ll regret later.

[4:50 PM] Sunghoon: You look gorgeous.

[4:50 PM] Sunghoon: Currently being bullied by my mean best friend. TTYL.

He hits send without overthinking, then locks his phone and sets it aside, forcing himself to focus.

Sunghoon pushes open the door to his apartment, exhaling as he steps inside. The familiar stillness greets him, a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the ice rink. The place is quiet but it’s nothing new. Jay is rarely home in the evenings, always off running errands, stuck at the library or out with friends, leaving Sunghoon to his own devices.

His eyes immediately land on the fridge, where a pink sticky note is plastered against the cold metal. The sight of it makes him chuckle under his breath before he even reads it. Of course, Jay left a note.

Gone to get groceries. Don’t eat all the snacks before I get back.

Sunghoon shakes his head, peeling the note off the fridge and crumpling it in his hand. He should’ve known. Jay could’ve just texted him, but for some reason, he insists on leaving old-school sticky notes like they’re living in some nostalgic coming-of-age movie. He always says it makes things feel “more personal,” which is peak Jay behavior. Still, it’s kind of nice.

Not bothering to throw the crumpled paper in the trash, Sunghoon lets it drop onto the counter before dragging himself to the couch. The second he hits the cushions, he slumps back, letting out a long, tired sigh. His whole body aches, shoulders tight, legs stiff and feet sore from the skates.

He closes his eyes, letting the quiet wash over him, sinking deeper into the couch. His mind begins to drift, his breathing evening out—

Riiiiiiing.

A shrill vibration jolts him back to reality. Sunghoon groans, fumbling for his phone in his back pocket, ready to be pissed at whoever thought it was a good idea to bother him right now. But the moment he glances at the screen, all his irritation disappears in an instant.

Heeseung.

Like some involuntary reflex, his lips twitch into a small smile. Without hesitation, he swipes to accept, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Heeseung,” he says, voice still tinged with exhaustion, but undeniably softer now.

“Hey,” Heeseung greets back, his voice warm, familiar, and so damn easy to listen to. There’s some noise in the background—laughter, the clinking of plates—and then, a muffled voice teasing Heeseung about something.

“Hold on,” Heeseung says, rustling sounds following as he moves around. “Let me go to my room real quick.”

Sunghoon waits, listening as the background noise fades into nothing. Then, the soft click of a door closing.

“Alright,” Heeseung sighs, settling in. “How was your day?”

Sunghoon exhales, shifting to get comfortable. Normally, when Jay asks about his day, he keeps it short—It was fine. Work was busy. Nothing special. But with Heeseung, the words come easily.

So, he tells him everything.

He talks about the kids and the trouble they got into today, about the designs he worked on for one of Cjaewon's clients, about how Wonyoung was being extra annoying today, blowing bubbles with her gum while giving him unsolicited opinions on his love life. The only thing he doesn’t mention is Wonyoung’s comment about Heeseung being exactly his type—because, well… he doesn’t need to think about that any more than he already has.

Heeseung listens intently, humming in acknowledgment at the right moments, chuckling when Sunghoon complains about Wonyoung’s antics. He makes little comments here and there, engaging, like he actually cares about the small details of Sunghoon’s day. It’s… nice.

Once Sunghoon is finished, Heeseung starts talking about his own day, telling him about the kids in his class, about the little things they did, the funny things they said. Sunghoon listens, his body relaxing bit by bit, the exhaustion from earlier feeling like a distant memory.

“Actually,” he says, voice dipping slightly, “I didn’t just call to ask about your day.”

Sunghoon snorts. “There’s always a catch.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung laughs. “But, um… do you remember Jungwon? My roommate from private school?”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, thinking back before the name clicks. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning him before. Why?”

“Well,” Heeseung hesitates for a second, as if choosing his words carefully. “He invited me to his next gig, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Sunghoon stills.

His mind stutters over the words, turning them over, picking them apart. When he doesn’t answer right away, Heeseung clears his throat, his voice coming through softer. “You don’t have to say yes,” he says quickly, like he doesn’t want Sunghoon to feel pressured. “I know it’s not really your scene, so—”

“I’d love to go.”

The words slip out before Sunghoon even has time to second-guess them. There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Really?”

Sunghoon can’t see Heeseung’s face, but he knows he’s smiling. He can hear it in the way his voice lifts slightly, in the way it carries that little note of excitement.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says, clearing his throat, hoping his voice doesn’t give away anything more than he wants it to. “Just let me know when and where.”

“I will,” Heeseung promises, and there’s an almost giddy edge to his voice. “I’ll send you all the details tomorrow.”

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgment, that strange warmth curling in his chest again, spreading through him like something he really doesn’t want to analyze right now.

“Well,” Heeseung sighs after a moment, his voice turning fond, “Sunoo’s yelling at me to help with dinner, so I gotta go. But, uh… thanks for saying yes.”

Sunghoon swallows. “Of course,” he says, voice quieter now. “Talk to you later.”

“Later, Hoon.”

The call ends, and Sunghoon is left staring at his phone, gripping it loosely in his hands.

Sunghoon stands frozen in front of Heeseung’s door, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket to stop them from trembling. His stomach is in knots, his mind racing through every worst-case scenario he can think of. This is stupid. It’s just a gig. It’s just Heeseung. But somehow, that doesn’t make him feel any better.

Sunghoon has been stressing over this for the past week, and it’s not because he doesn’t want to go. He’s excited, really. Spending time with Heeseung, hanging out, listening to live music—it all sounds great in theory. But he’s also going to be meeting one of Heeseung’s friends, someone important enough for Heeseung to introduce him to, and they’re going somewhere where there will be alcohol.

And he knows how that ended last time.

The memory flickers in his mind, uninvited. The heat of Heeseung pressed up against him, the way their fingers had laced together so easily, the way Heeseung had looked at him, half-lidded and flushed. The way he had wanted—

Sunghoon inhales sharply, shutting that thought down before it can go any further. Not now.

He rolls his shoulders, forces himself to take a few deep breaths, tries to ignore the irrational urge to turn around and leave. It’s fine. It’s just a normal night out. Heeseung invited him because they’re friends, not because of anything else.

Right?

Yeah. Right.

With that definitely reassuring thought, Sunghoon hypes himself up and finally rings the doorbell. Not even a full second later, the door swings open, revealing Sunoo.

“Oh,” Sunoo blinks, then grins. “It’s you.” Before Sunghoon can respond, Sunoo turns his head slightly and calls out over his shoulder. “Heeseung! Your boyfriend is here!”

Sunghoon chokes on his own spit.

“Shut up!” Heeseung yells from somewhere inside, followed by the distinct sound of something hitting the floor—then another thud, like he just knocked over everything in his room trying to get ready.

Sunoo hums, unimpressed, then turns back to Sunghoon with a squint. He leans in, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable. “Have him home by midnight,” he says, perfectly imitating an overprotective dad sending his daughter off on her first date.

Sunghoon snorts. “What?”

Sunoo tilts his head. “Or else I will kill you.”

Sunghoon blinks.

He’s pretty sure Sunoo is joking. Pretty sure. But also… it is Sunoo.

Before he can test that theory, Heeseung finally appears behind him, slightly breathless, smelling like something fresh and clean and so damn nice.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m ready,” Heeseung says, ignoring Sunoo’s smug look as he steps closer to Sunghoon. Sunghoon barely hears him. He’s too busy looking.

Heeseung is dressed casually—ripped jeans, a loose graphic tee, and a leather jacket—but somehow, he still manages to look good. Too good. The kind of good that makes Sunghoon’s thoughts short-circuit.

Heeseung catches his gaze and smiles, all soft and easy. “You ready to go?”

Sunghoon swallows, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah. You?”

Heeseung nods, then pauses. “Oh—just need to grab my keys. One sec.”

As Heeseung disappears back into the apartment, Sunoo turns to Sunghoon with a look. Sunghoon doesn’t take the bait. He stares straight ahead, pretending not to see it.

Heeseung returns, keys in hand, and gestures toward the hallway. “Alright, let’s go.”

The ride to the venue is surprisingly comfortable. Heeseung, always animated when talking about things he loves, spends most of the time explaining how Jungwon’s band started, how they first met, and how crazy talented Jungwon is. At one point, he even pulls up a few of their songs, playing them through the car’s speakers, eyes shining with excitement as he glances over at Sunghoon for his reaction.

Sunghoon doesn’t say much—mostly just nods along, listening—but something about the way Heeseung lights up, so genuinely excited about tonight, makes something warm settle in his chest.

Heeseung looks happy.

Sunghoon likes seeing Heeseung happy.

By the time they arrive, the bar is already buzzing with people, the low hum of conversation filling the air. It’s a small venue, dimly lit, the kind of place that’s intimate but still lively, with just enough of a crowd to make it feel exciting.

As soon as they step inside, Sunghoon feels Heeseung’s hand brush against his. Before he can react, Heeseung’s fingers slip between his own, lacing them together effortlessly. Sunghoon nearly stops breathing.

Sunghoon stares at their joined hands, his pulse hammering in his ears. His stomach flips, something warm curling low in his gut, because—

He remembers this. That night. That drunken, hazy night where Heeseung had done the same thing, pulled him close, held onto him like he belonged there.

Sunghoon lets himself be pulled along, lets Heeseung’s warmth seep into his skin, lets himself pretend, just for a second, that this means something more than he’s allowing himself to believe.

The atmosphere is thick with anticipation, the energy almost infectious, but Sunghoon barely registers any of it.

Because Heeseung is leaning way too close.

The noise makes it impossible to talk without getting up in each other’s space, and Heeseung, being naturally tactile, doesn’t hesitate. He leans in until his lips are just a breath away from Sunghoon’s ear, his warmth pressing into Sunghoon’s side, his cologne—fresh and subtly sweet—wrapping around him like a second skin.

Sunghoon’s eyes betray him instantly.

Before he can stop himself, his gaze drops to Heeseung’s lips.

Soft. Full. Glossy from the chapstick he applied before they left.

It takes all of Sunghoon’s self-control to drag his eyes back up, and when he does, he realizes Heeseung noticed. A light blush dusts Heeseung’s cheeks, barely visible under the dim lighting, but it’s there. The corner of his lips twitch, almost like he wants to say something about it, but instead, he just clears his throat.

“The show’s about to start,” Heeseung half-yells over the noise, his voice slightly rough, though Sunghoon doesn’t know if that’s just from the volume or something else. “Do you want me to grab you a drink?”

Sunghoon blinks, his brain taking a second to catch up—not because he didn’t hear Heeseung, but because he’s still stuck on his scent.

Heeseung smells really, really good. It’s distracting.

Shaking himself out of it, he quickly answers, “Just a Coke.”

At that, Heeseung pulls back, fixing Sunghoon with a look. Heeseung doesn’t even have to say anything—his raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips already convey the seriously? that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue. Sunghoon laughs, shaking his head. “Hyung, I’m driving us home later, remember?”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, exhaling dramatically. “If you drink one beer now, the alcohol will be out of your system by the time we leave.” Technically, he’s not wrong. Sunghoon could have one drink and then stick to water for the rest of the night, and it’d probably be fine. But Sunghoon also knows himself. It never stops at just one. And if there’s one thing he refuses to do, it’s put Heeseung in danger.

“I’ll stick to Coke,” he insists, smirking slightly. Heeseung groans like Sunghoon’s just ruined his night but doesn’t argue further, instead shaking his head fondly before disappearing into the crowd toward the bar.

A few minutes later, Heeseung returns, expertly weaving through the sea of people with two drinks in hand—a beer for himself and a Coke for Sunghoon. “Your super responsible beverage, sir,” Heeseung teases, passing him the soda. Sunghoon scoffs, taking it from him. “Thank you for respecting my commitment to safety.”

Before Heeseung can retort, the lights suddenly dim, plunging the bar into darkness except for the stage lights that flicker on, illuminating the figures standing in front of the instruments. The atmosphere shifts in an instant—the low buzz of conversation quickly replaced by cheers and applause as the crowd turns their attention forward.

Heeseung nudges Sunghoon’s arm, leaning in slightly. “That’s Jungwon.”

Jungwon adjusts the microphone, his voice effortlessly smooth as he greets the audience. “What’s up, everyone? Thanks for coming out tonight!”

Sunghoon watches as Jungwon effortlessly commands the stage, his presence magnetic. There’s something about the way he carries himself—the easy confidence, the slight smirk playing on his lips as he glances at the band behind him. Heeseung wasn’t lying when he said Jungwon was good. He hasn’t even started singing yet, and the crowd is already eating out of the palm of his hand.

Sunghoon steals a glance at Heeseung, who’s watching with a fond smile, swaying slightly to the bassline that starts to hum through the speakers.Heeseung’s fingers tap idly against his beer bottle, the way his lips move almost unconsciously, mouthing the words before Jungwon even sings them.

The music starts, and the energy in the bar shifts completely. It’s not the overly-polished, mainstream kind of sound that plays on the radio—it’s raw, gritty, alive. Sunghoon can feel it in his bones, the vibrations traveling up through the floor, into his legs, through his chest.

Jungwon’s voice is smooth, cutting through the instrumentals with ease, and Sunghoon finds himself nodding along. Heeseung grins, bumping his shoulder against Sunghoon’s. “Not bad, huh?” he says, leaning close again.

Sunghoon huffs, trying not to focus on the fact that Heeseung’s lips are practically brushing against his ear when he speaks. “Yeah, he’s good,” he admits, tipping his head back slightly to take another sip of his Coke.

“Good?” Heeseung scoffs, offended. “Jungwon is great. Like, if he doesn’t make it big one day, it’ll be a crime.”

Sunghoon smirks, glancing at him. “A crime, huh? You gonna report it to the police if he doesn’t get famous?”

Heeseung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Absolutely. I’ll march straight into the station and demand justice.” Sunghoon snorts, shaking his head, but before he can say anything else, the music shifts into a faster tempo, the crowd moving in sync. Heeseung perks up immediately, his fingers wrapping around Sunghoon’s wrist.

“Come on,” he says, tugging him toward the crowd.

Sunghoon tenses. “What? Where?”

“To the front!” Heeseung says, eyes bright with excitement.

Sunghoon digs his heels in, pulling Heeseung back slightly. “Hyung, I don’t—”

Heeseung pouts, and fuck, that’s unfair. “Please?”

Sunghoon hesitates, but only for a second. Because when Heeseung looks at him like that, pleads like that, there’s no reality in which Sunghoon can say no. With an exasperated sigh, he mutters, “You’re lucky I like you,” before letting himself be pulled forward.

And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung squeezes his hand a little tighter at that.

The song comes to an explosive finish, the last guitar note hanging in the air as the crowd erupts into cheers. Jungwon grins at the audience, pushing his sweat-damp hair out of his face as he leans into the mic.

“Thank you, everyone,” he says, voice slightly breathless. “We’ve got a couple more songs for you tonight, but first, let me introduce the band.”

He goes through the names of his bandmates one by one, the crowd cheering after each introduction, but Sunghoon barely registers it. His focus is elsewhere—on the way Heeseung looks so alive right now, his eyes gleaming under the stage lights, his lips pulled into the kind of smile that makes Sunghoon’s stomach twist into impossible knots.

Heeseung suddenly turns to him, his smile still wide. “Having fun?”

Sunghoon hesitates, then gives a small nod. “Yeah. More than I expected, honestly.”

Heeseung’s smile somehow grows even bigger. “See? Told you it’d be fun.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, but he can’t stop the small smirk from tugging at his lips. Before he can reply, Jungwon’s voice pulls their attention back to the stage.

“Also,” Jungwon says, eyes scanning the crowd before landing somewhere near where Sunghoon and Heeseung are standing, “I just wanna give a quick shoutout to a good friend of mine—someone I haven’t seen in years but is finally here tonight. Lee Heeseung, get your ass up here.”

Sunghoon freezes.

Heeseung, on the other hand, groans loudly. “Oh my god.”

Jungwon laughs into the mic. “Don’t pretend like you’re shy, dude. Get up here.”

The audience, now in on the joke, starts cheering louder, chanting Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung, and Heeseung looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Sunghoon, still trying to process what’s happening, turns to him with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna be part of the show.”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to be!” Heeseung grins before disappearing toward the stage, the crowd parting for him. Sunghoon watches as he hops up next to Jungwon, who claps a hand on his shoulder like they’ve been best friends forever.

“Everyone,” Jungwon says into the mic, draping an arm around Heeseung’s shoulders, “this guy used to be my roommate back in high school, and he’s the reason I even picked up a guitar in the first place.”

The audience cheers again, and Heeseung waves sheepishly. Sunghoon, still standing where Heeseung left him, is stunned. Heeseung had never mentioned anything about being the reason Jungwon got into music.

Jungwon leans down to say something to the band, and before Sunghoon can even process it, the opening chords of a song start playing. The crowd erupts once again, and Jungwon grins as he turns back to Heeseung.

“Since you’re already up here, hyung,” Jungwon teases, shoving a mic into Heeseung’s hand, “might as well sing one with us.”

Sunghoon sees it before Heeseung even realizes it—the way his fingers instinctively tighten around the mic, the way his shoulders straighten just the slightest bit, like something inside him is snapping into place.

With a deep breath, Heeseung lifts the mic to his lips. The moment his voice rings through the speakers, Sunghoon forgets how to breathe. Because Heeseung isn’t just good.

He’s incredible.

The entire bar feels like it shifts, every person in the room drawn into the way Heeseung’s voice fills the space—smooth, strong, effortless. It’s like he was made to do this, like performing is woven into his very existence. Even Jungwon looks impressed, and he’s the one who set this up.

Sunghoon watches, completely transfixed, as Heeseung loses himself in the music. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he hits a particularly high note, his fingers gripping the mic stand, his body moving slightly in sync with the melody. He looks stunning up there, like he belongs under the stage lights, like he was always meant to be someone people looked up at in awe.

As the final note lingers in the air, the entire bar erupts into cheers and whistles, the energy in the room crackling like static electricity. Jungwon is grinning so wide that Sunghoon thinks his face might split in half. The band members exchange glances, clearly impressed, and Heeseung—flushed from the performance, chest rising and falling with every deep breath—looks almost dazed, like he can’t believe what just happened. Sunghoon watches as Heeseung lets out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair before glancing at Jungwon, who claps him hard on the back.

“Dude,” Jungwon exclaims, still into the mic so everyone hears it. “You still got it.”

The audience cheers in agreement, and Heeseung just shakes his head, looking embarrassed but undeniably happy. Sunghoon can see it in the way his eyes shine, the way his lips curl into an uncontrollable grin.

Jungwon turns back to the crowd. “Give it up for Lee Heeseung, everyone!”

More applause, louder this time.

Eventually, the band moves on, Jungwon finally letting Heeseung slip away. Heeseung hops off the stage, making his way through the crowd back to where Sunghoon is waiting, eyes wide and unreadable.

As soon as Heeseung reaches him, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Holy shit, hyung.” Heeseung laughs, looking a little flustered as he rubs the back of his neck. “That was… not planned.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Yeah, no shit.” He crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly. “You never told me you could sing like that.”

Heeseung shrugs, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “It never came up.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “It never came up? Heeseung, you just got on stage and sang like you’ve been doing it your entire life.” Heeseung lets out another small laugh, taking a sip of his beer as if that’ll somehow make this moment less intense. “Well, technically, I have been doing it my whole life. Just… not in a while.”

There’s something about the way he says it—something careful, like there’s more to the story. And maybe on any other night, Sunghoon would let it go. Maybe he’d tease Heeseung a little and move on.

Heeseung must see the concern in his expression, because he quickly clears his throat, forcing his usual grin back onto his face. “Anyway,” he says, nudging Sunghoon’s arm lightly, “I need another drink after that.”

Sunghoon doesn’t press. He just watches as Heeseung walks toward the bar, the neon lights reflecting off his skin, making him glow like something untouchable.

After the final encore, the band steps off stage, leaving the audience still buzzing with excitement. The bar hums with conversation, people talking about the performance, ordering more drinks, or lingering near the stage hoping for a chance to meet the band. Sunghoon watches as Heeseung downs the rest of his beer before turning to him with an excited grin.

"Come on," Heeseung says, tugging on Sunghoon’s wrist without hesitation. His fingers are warm against Sunghoon’s skin, and despite the crowd pressing in around them, Heeseung moves with confidence, leading Sunghoon toward a door near the side of the stage. Sunghoon follows without question, but his heart starts beating a little faster when he realizes where they’re going. Backstage.

Heeseung is about to introduce him to his friends.

As soon as Heeseung pushes open the door, the energy shifts. The noise from the bar fades slightly, replaced by the more relaxed chatter of the band members cooling down after the performance. The backstage area is small, cluttered with instrument cases, tangled wires, and half-empty water bottles. A couple of guys are leaning against a couch, laughing about something, while Jungwon—blonde hair damp with sweat—sits on the armrest, scrolling through his phone.

When he looks up and sees Heeseung, his face lights up. "Lee Heeseung!" Jungwon calls out, standing up and walking over. "Man, that was sick. I knew you still had it in you." Heeseung laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it."

Jungwon rolls his eyes before his gaze shifts to Sunghoon. His expression is curious, but not unfriendly. "And this must be the famous Sunghoon."

Sunghoon blinks. "Famous?"

Heeseung immediately turns to glare at Jungwon. "Dude." Jungwon just smirks, crossing his arms. "What? You talk about him enough. I had to meet the guy in person." Sunghoon feels warmth crawl up his neck at that. He sneaks a glance at Heeseung, who looks vaguely like he wants to kill Jungwon on the spot.

"I do not talk about him that much," Heeseung mutters under his breath.

"Uh-huh. Sure," Jungwon says, completely unconvinced. Then, turning back to Sunghoon, he holds out a hand. "I’m Yang Jungwon. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name."

Sunghoon hesitates for half a second before shaking his hand. "Park Sunghoon. Nice to meet you too."

Before he can say anything else, another voice pipes up from the couch.

"Wait, wait, this is Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon glances over as one of the other band members sits up, eyes glinting with amusement. Heeseung groans.

"Oh my god, stop."

Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly. "What exactly have you been saying about me, Heeseung?" Heeseung looks away, suddenly very interested in the floor. "Nothing."

Jungwon snorts. "That’s a lie." Sunghoon tilts his head, intrigued. "Really? Because it sounds like you’ve been saying a lot."

Before Heeseung can protest, another band member—a tall guy with dark blue hair—grins. "Honestly, man, at this point, we feel like we know you. Heeseung’s been talking about you for weeks." Sunghoon smirks. Heeseung looks absolutely done with his friends.

"Okay, you all suck," Heeseung declares, throwing his hands up. "I’m never bringing Sunghoon anywhere ever again." Sunghoon chuckles, feeling more at ease than he expected. He had been nervous about meeting Heeseung’s friends, but so far, they seemed nice. A little chaotic, but nice. And if what they were saying was true—if Heeseung really had been talking about him this much—then maybe, just maybe, Sunghoon wasn’t the only one completely wrapped up in whatever this thing between them was.

Jungwon claps Heeseung on the shoulder, still grinning. "Alright, alright, we’ll stop embarrassing you. For now."

"Thank you," Heeseung mutters.

Jungwon turns back to Sunghoon. "Anyway, welcome to the chaos. You’re cool, so you’re officially invited to hang with us anytime." Sunghoon nods, feeling oddly pleased by the invitation. "Thanks."

As they all head back out toward the bar, Heeseung subtly nudges Sunghoon with his shoulder. Gyuvin appears beside them, already flagging down a bartender. “We’re celebrating. Shots, everyone.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the band as the bartender starts lining up small glasses of clear liquid. Sunghoon watches as one is pushed toward him, but before he can say anything, Heeseung subtly nudges it away.

“He’s not drinking,” Heeseung says, his voice loud enough to carry over the noise. “He’s driving us home, so he wants to stay sober.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Beomgyu tilts his head. “Oh.”

Dongmin raises a brow. “Wait, seriously? You’re not even gonna have one?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t trust myself to stop at just one,” he says honestly. “And I’d rather not put Heeseung in danger.” Jungwon, who has been quiet up until now, studies Sunghoon with an unreadable expression. His gaze lingers for a few moments before he finally hums and nods. “Fair enough,” he says simply, before grabbing his own shot glass. That seems to be enough for the others because, without further questioning, they all raise their glasses. Heeseung, now fully relaxed, throws an arm over Sunghoon’s shoulder as they all toast.

“To another great gig,” Jungwon announces.

“To our amazing lead singer,” Dongmin adds, smirking at Heeseung.

Heeseung rolls his eyes but clinks his glass with the others. “Shut up.”

Then, in one swift motion, they all tilt their heads back, downing the shots in unison.

Sunghoon chuckles as Heeseung’s face scrunches up for a moment before he shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Damn,” Heeseung mutters, setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh.

It doesn’t take long before the next round is poured, then another, and another. Sunghoon watches with amusement as the band gradually gets more and more tipsy. Gyuvin starts giggling at things that aren’t funny, Dongmin and Beomgyu get louder with every drink, and Heeseung—well, Heeseung starts leaning into Sunghoon more and more, his head resting against Sunghoon’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Sunghoon doesn’t push him away.

At some point, Jungwon, now slightly drunk and very talkative, turns toward Sunghoon with a mischievous grin. “Oh my,” Jungwon starts, eyes glinting, “Now that Sunghoon’s here we have to tell him stories about Heeseung.”

Heeseung groans immediately. “Jungwon—”

“No, no, let me finish,” Jungwon interrupts, waving his hand dramatically. “You see, I was Heeseung’s roommate at our fancy little private school, which means I have years worth of embarrassing stories.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I dare.”

Sunghoon smirks, shifting slightly so that Heeseung’s head is no longer resting on his shoulder. “Go on,” he says, entirely too entertained. Jungwon grins, clearly pleased that he has an audience. “Alright, alright, here’s a classic. Back when we were like, fifteen, Heeseung had the biggest crush on this one guy—”

“Jungwon,” Heeseung hisses.

“—and he used to practice confessing in the bathroom mirror. Full-on rehearsing lines like he was starring in a romance drama.”

Sunghoon bursts out laughing, ignoring the sting, but Heeseung groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God—”

“It was painful to watch,” Jungwon continues, clearly enjoying himself. “Like, he’d stand there looking at himself all serious and go, ‘I think I’ve liked you for a while now…’”

Beomgyu and Dongmin erupt into laughter, and even Sunghoon is grinning widely. He turns to Heeseung, who is now sinking further into his seat, looking utterly defeated. “You practiced confessions?” Sunghoon teases. Heeseung peeks at him through his fingers before groaning again. “I hate you all.”

Sunghoon laughs, shaking his head. “I think it’s cute.” Heeseung drops his hands, narrowing his eyes at him. “You think everything I do is cute.”

Sunghoon shrugs, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “Maybe.”

Jungwon leans in, eyes darting between the two of them. Then, with an exaggerated knowing look, he takes another shot. Sunghoon still can’t quite read Jungwon’s expression, but he has a feeling that Jungwon is noticing something Sunghoon isn’t ready to admit just yet.

Sunghoon watches as Heeseung disappears down the dimly lit hallway, half-dragged, half-supported by Gyuvin, Beomgyu and Dongmin. The four of them are stumbling over their own feet, giggling in that loose, tipsy way that only happens after one too many drinks.

“They’re gonna be in there for a while,” Jungwon mutters beside him, sounding thoroughly entertained. He lazily swirls the remnants of his drink in his glass. “They’ve reached that stage of drunk where going to the bathroom is a team effort.”

Sunghoon lets out a quiet huff of amusement but doesn’t respond. His focus shifts to the nearly empty bar, the chatter around them turning into background noise. Now that he’s alone with Jungwon, he suddenly feels more aware of just how sober he is compared to the other man. The atmosphere isn’t tense, per se, but it’s a little odd. Sunghoon doesn’t know Jungwon well enough to hold a conversation without Heeseung acting as the middle ground between them, and it’s clear that Jungwon, being as tipsy as he is, has no intention of keeping the silence.

His theory is confirmed when Jungwon suddenly reaches for the small bowl of bar nuts sitting between them. Just as his fingers are about to dip in, the bartender smacks his hand away with practiced precision.

Jungwon jerks back, blinking at the bartender like a wounded puppy. “That was uncalled for,” he mumbles, rubbing his hand as though he’s been grievously injured.

The bartender just raises an unimpressed brow. “We don’t serve nuts after two am. House rules.”

Jungwon gasps like this is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “It’s two-oh-five!” he exclaims.

“Rules are rules,” the bartender replies flatly before turning away.

Jungwon pouts dramatically. “What kind of dictatorship is this?”

Sunghoon watches the entire exchange with mild amusement. Then, once he sees the bartender is fully occupied serving another customer, he reaches for the small bowl, grabbing a handful of nuts before sliding them over to Jungwon under the counter. Jungwon’s eyes light up like he’s just been granted access to forbidden treasure. “Oh, you’re a real one,” he grins, immediately stuffing the nuts into his mouth.

For a while, Jungwon just munches away, seemingly content. But then, out of nowhere, he suddenly speaks. “I wonder if Heeseung ever managed to put those practiced confessions to use.”

Sunghoon stiffens.

The words are spoken so casually, like a passing thought, but something about them sends a jolt straight through him. His grip tightens around his glass as he processes what he just heard.

Feigning indifference, he shrugs, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Didn’t the guy go to your school?” he asks, lifting his drink to his lips. He doesn’t even take a sip—he just needs something to do to hide the sudden spike in his heartbeat.

Jungwon hums, shaking his head as he focuses on fishing more nuts from the tiny bowl. “Oh, no,” he says between bites, “Heeseung told me it was someone from back home.”

Sunghoon stills.

His fingers flex involuntarily against his glass. His stomach twists, something unsettled curling in his chest.

“At first, I thought it was his best friend,” Jungwon continues, blissfully unaware of the internal crisis he’s just triggered. He gestures vaguely, as if trying to recall a long-forgotten name. “I don’t even remember what that guy’s name was… Justin or something?”

Sunghoon nearly chokes.

Justin?

Jungwon waves a dismissive hand. “But then I started thinking maybe it was Justin’s little brother.”

Sunghoon’s entire body goes cold.

Jungwon, completely unaware of the absolute bomb he just dropped, casually pops another handful of nuts into his mouth. “It’s funny,” he mumbles, chewing absently, “you kind of look like him.”

Sunghoon feels like the floor just shifted beneath him.

His mind is racing at a hundred miles per hour, but no coherent thoughts are forming—just fragmented pieces of what the hell did he just say? and no way, no way, no way.

Did he…? Did Jungwon just—was he talking about Jay?

No. No. That can’t be right. That has to be wrong.

Heeseung having a crush on him back then? At the same time he was crushing on Heeseung? That would be insane.

Sunghoon swallows hard, eyes darting toward the hallway where Heeseung disappeared. His heart is still hammering, his thoughts spiraling in a way that feels almost dizzying.

He doesn’t think he was supposed to hear this.

If experience has taught him anything, it’s that drunk people have a habit of revealing things they shouldn’t. His logical side tries to reason with him—Jungwon is drunk. He could be misremembering. He could be getting the names mixed up. After all, calling Jay Justin is crazy work.

But then there’s that other part of him. The irrational part. The part that wants to believe what Jungwon just said is true. The part that aches with something close to regret at the what ifs clawing at his brain.

Because if Jungwon is telling the truth—if Heeseung really did like him back then at the same time he liked Heeseung—

Then Sunghoon might just lose his mind.

Because that means he could have had it all.

Chapter Text

–

Sunghoon stands in front of the towering school building, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he glances down at his phone. Heeseung’s directions are clear, yet he still finds himself double-checking, just to be sure.

It’s been years since he last set foot in a high school, and just the sight of the long hallways and pristine floors triggers an odd mix of nostalgia and unease. Heeseung claims the place is easy to navigate, but after taking a few wrong turns and walking in circles, Sunghoon begs to differ.

Thankfully, it’s lunchtime. Most students are packed into the cafeteria or lingering outside, so the hallways are eerily quiet, save for the occasional sound of distant chatter or the scuff of his shoes against the polished tile.

After what feels like an eternity of wandering, Sunghoon finally spots the right classroom. The door is propped open, and when he peeks inside, he immediately finds Heeseung seated at his desk, absorbed in grading papers while simultaneously eating his lunch.

Heeseung fits so effortlessly into the scene, like he was meant to be here. The sunlight streaming in through the large windows catches on the sharp edges of his face, his expression unreadable as he skims over the paper in front of him. Heeseung always talked about becoming a teacher, about having a classroom of his own, about spending his lunch breaks at his desk, scribbling red marks onto students’ assignments.

It’s a little surreal, seeing that dream become a reality.

Sunghoon smiles to himself at the thought before knocking lightly on the door.

Heeseung looks up at the sound, his pen pausing mid-stroke. The moment his eyes land on Sunghoon, his face softens into a smile “It’s been way too long since I’ve been inside a school building,” Sunghoon says as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I got lost like four times.”

He makes his way to Heeseung’s desk, grabbing the nearest student chair and dragging it over so he can sit across from him.

“And yet,” Heeseung muses, setting his pen down, “you still managed to find your way here without me having to rescue you.”

Sunghoon scoffs, about to respond when Heeseung suddenly pulls open a small drawer. Sunghoon doesn’t see what he takes out, but before he can ask, Heeseung leans forward and presses something against his forehead.

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard.

He doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t move, just lets Heeseung do whatever he’s doing. Heeseung then sits back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Confused, Sunghoon reaches up, fingers grazing the object now stuck to his forehead. When he pulls it off and examines it, he finds a small, colorful Good Job! sticker staring back at him.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at it. Then he lets out a laugh, shaking his head as Heeseung joins him, a familiar warmth bubbling between them.

“Alright, hyung,” Sunghoon finally says, setting the sticker down on the desk. “I’m here now. What’s this urgent thing you needed to talk to me about?”

This is the only reason he even agreed to step foot inside his old high school—because Heeseung asked him to. They could’ve easily met after work or at the studio, but Heeseung mentioned having a meeting later, and Sunghoon didn’t want to deal with Yunjin and Chaewon’s teasing. So here he is.

Heeseung hesitates. He places his chopsticks down, fingers fidgeting slightly as he presses his lips together.

“I got asked out the other day.”

The words come abruptly, catching Sunghoon completely off guard.

It’s like someone just punched him in the gut.

For a brief, disorienting moment, all he hears is a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Heeseung barely gives him time to process before continuing, completely unaware of the way Sunghoon feels like his entire world is tilting.

“I usually go to Jay for these kinds of things,” he admits, toying with the corner of a worksheet, “but you know how he gets.”

Sunghoon forces himself to nod, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. He does know. Jay isn’t against Heeseung dating, but he’s overprotective, sometimes to the point of being too much. Sunghoon has witnessed it firsthand. Hell, he’s teased Heeseung about it before. But now, as he sits here, all he feels is the slow, creeping nausea crawling up his spine.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Heeseung is being pursued. Of course people want to date him—he’s beautiful, kind, charming in ways he probably doesn’t even realize. Anyone with eyes can see that.

But it still stings.

Because this conversation is a painful reminder that Sunghoon will never be the one sitting across from Heeseung, asking him out. He’ll never be the one making him blush, making his heart race the way he so effortlessly makes Sunghoon’s do.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

“Do you think I should go?” Heeseung asks, eyes searching Sunghoon’s face for an answer.

Sunghoon wants to say no. He wants to tell Heeseung that dating is overrated, that the person who asked him out probably isn’t worth his time, that he’s better off staying single. But he can’t say any of that. Not without explaining why.

So he does what he does best—he swallows his feelings, forces a smile, and plays the part of a good friend. “Hyung, I can’t make that decision for you,” he says, his voice coming out steadier than he expected. “If you want to go, then you should do it.”

Heeseung still looks uncertain. He exhales softly, staring down at the desk.

“I just…” He shifts, biting his lip. “My last relationship ended so badly.”

Sunghoon clenches his fists under the desk.

He remembers.

Even though he wasn’t around to witness it firsthand, Jay told him everything about Heeseung’s ex-boyfriend. He’s never met the guy, but that doesn’t stop his blood from boiling at the mere thought of him.

“It’s just a date,” Sunghoon says, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious. You can keep it casual, get to know them, and see where it takes you.”

The words feel like lead on his tongue. He really wishes Heeseung had just gone to Jay instead.

Heeseung stares down at his nearly empty lunch container, idly poking at the last remnants of rice with his chopsticks. His expression is contemplative, lips pressed together in thought. “I guess you’re right,” he murmurs after a moment, though he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

Then, as if deciding not to dwell on it any longer, he looks up again—this time with a soft smile. Before Sunghoon can react, Heeseung reaches for his hand, wrapping his fingers around Sunghoon’s wrist in a gentle hold.

“Thank you, Sunghoon-ah.”

Heeseung’s touch is warm, his skin impossibly soft, and despite himself, a shiver runs down Sunghoon’s spine. He forces himself to smile back, though it feels a little tight, a little unnatural. He wants to be happy for Heeseung, he really does, but the truth is, he can’t shake the hollow feeling settling deep in his chest. Still, he doesn’t want to be the one to dampen Heeseung’s excitement.

He opens his mouth to say something—he’s not sure what, but something—when the sudden creak of the door interrupts him. Three girls walk into the classroom, their chatter immediately cutting off the moment they spot Sunghoon sitting across from Heeseung.

They freeze in place, looking just as surprised as he feels.

Sunghoon doesn’t need to ask to know they’re students of Heeseung’s. They wear their uniforms a little differently, skirts slightly hiked up, ties loosened just enough to bend the dress code without outright breaking it. But it’s their expressions that really give them away—the mix of curiosity, excitement, and poorly disguised whispering already beginning between them.

“Girls, the bell hasn’t rung yet,” Heeseung says, his voice slipping into something firmer, more authoritative, but still kind. “Why are you here already?”

“Mr. Lee, we wanted to talk to you about something,” one of them explains, clasping her hands behind her back, “but we can—”

“It’s fine.” Sunghoon pushes himself up from the chair before she can even finish. “I should get going anyway,” he says, smoothing out his jacket. “I have to get back to work.”

Heeseung stands up with him, as if reluctant to see him go, but the three girls don’t even try to hide the way they’re watching Sunghoon—studying his every move like he’s some puzzle they’re trying to piece together.

Heeseung sighs and walks him toward the door, lowering his voice so only Sunghoon can hear. “I’m so sorry to throw you out like this.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Throw me out?”

“You know what I mean.” Heeseung huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. “They always come to me to gossip, and I totally forgot to mention that you were stopping by today.”

Sunghoon glances over Heeseung’s shoulder. The girls have already made themselves comfortable, sitting around his desk like it’s their own personal hangout spot.“They feel comfortable around you,” he notes, tone more sincere now. “You’re a good teacher.” Heeseung shrugs, ducking his head slightly. “I try.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“Thanks again for coming over,” Heeseung adds, softer this time. Sunghoon exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Of course. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.”

Before Sunghoon can even process it, Heeseung steps forward and wraps his arms around him. For a split second, Sunghoon forgets how to function. The hug is unexpected—so sudden, so casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for Heeseung to be this close to him. His scent is familiar, warm and sweet, and Sunghoon swears he can feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest.

From behind them, the girls squeal. Heeseung pulls away just as quickly as he initiated it, completely unfazed by their reactions, while Sunghoon is left feeling like his brain turned into jelly.

He clears his throat, willing himself to get it together. With one last glance at the girls, he throws them a lazy wave. “Bye, girls.”

He’s barely out the door when he hears one of them gasp excitedly, “Mr. Lee, is he your boyfriend?!” Heeseung’s response is drowned out by the sound of Sunghoon’s own footsteps echoing through the hallway. He can’t help but smile at the question. The very idea of it, of people assuming that he—out of everyone—could be the one by Heeseung’s side, makes something flutter in his chest.

But then reality comes crashing back.

Heeseung is going on a date.

With someone that isn’t him.

And there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

The smile fades.

Sunghoon’s whistle blows, but half-heartedly. The kids scatter across the rink in a chaotic mix of limbs and laughter, completely ignoring the drill he tried to demonstrate two minutes ago.

“Coach!” one of the kids calls, skidding to a stop in front of him. “You said we were doing passing drills!”

“Huh?” Sunghoon blinks down at her. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, passing drills. Line up in pairs.”

The girl frowns. “We did that already.”

From the sidelines, Haneul, his former coach and now coworker, crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. She’s been watching for the past ten minutes, eyes narrowing every time Sunghoon forgets a step or calls out the wrong direction. “Alright, that’s enough,” Haneul says, skating over with smooth, practiced ease. She claps his hands twice, signaling the kids to take a water break. “Team, hit the benches for five.”

Sunghoon turns to him, confused. “What’s up?”

“You’re out of it today.” Haneul’s voice is low enough that the kids don’t hear. “You’ve corrected the same form error on Jisoo three times and called Minho by the wrong name twice. And earlier, you told them to do warm-ups when they were already halfway through them.”

“I didn’t—” Sunghoon starts to argue, then falters. Yeah, he did.

Haneul exhales through her nose, not unkind. “Look, I’ve been there. Distracted, overwhelmed, whatever it is. But you can’t be like that when you’re responsible for a bunch of hyper eight-year-olds with blades strapped to their feet.”

Sunghoon rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well.”

Haneul raises a brow. “Not buying it.”

Sunghoon sighs, defeated.

“Go home, Sunghoon. You’re not doing anyone any favors trying to push through it.”

“It’s not that serious—”

“This isn’t a punishment. Just a pause.” Haneul’s tone softens, gentler now. “Take the rest of the day. Come back when your head’s back in the game.”

Sunghoon hesitates, looking out at the kids laughing on the benches, blissfully unaware of the conversation. He hates letting people down—especially them.

But he also knows Haneul is right.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll head out.”

He’s unlacing his skates when Haneul crouches beside him, hand warm on his arm.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Haneul says, voice quiet. “About whatever’s going on.” Sunghoon meets her gaze for a second. Haneul gives him the same look she gave him when he was the eight year old kid under her care, being taught to ice skate. Haneul was like the mother he never had. “I know,” Sunghoon says. “Just not ready yet.”

Haneul nods. “That’s fine. Take your time.”

And Sunghoon does—slings his gear over his shoulder, offers the kids a quick goodbye, and leaves the rink with too much on his mind and no idea how to unload any of it.

When Sunghoon gets home after paying a quick visit to Jake at the tattoo studio to drop something off, he finds his brother sitting on the couch, laptop perched on his lap, fingers moving furiously across the keyboard.

Sunghoon toes off his shoes by the door and walks past him, mumbling a quick, “Hey,” in greeting. Jay barely acknowledges him, too deep in his flow to look up. Which is perfect, because Sunghoon isn’t exactly in the mood to explain why he’s home earlier than usual.

The rest of the afternoon is spent lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He might be an adult now, but the brooding emo teenager in him is never leaving.

At some point, there’s a knock at his door. “Sunghoon, you okay?” Jay’s voice filters through the wood. “Yeah!” Sunghoon replies quickly, sitting up. He knows Jay’s about to come in, and sure enough, a second later, the door cracks open, and Jay peeks his head through.

“I ordered dinner,” Jay says. “You want?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah, I’ll be right out.” He throws on a hoodie before heading to the kitchen, where the smell of food immediately hits him. “I got caught up with my thesis,” Jay says, taking plates from the drawer, “totally forgot to cook.” Sunghoon glances at the takeout bags on the table and grins. Thai food. It’s almost uncanny—Sunghoon had been craving Thai for days, and Jay somehow knew. But that’s just how they are. They’re so in sync, it’s almost freaky. It’s the kind of bond that goes beyond just being brothers, like something built into their DNA.

As they sit down to eat, Jay casually says, “Jake texted me.”

Sunghoon’s chopsticks pause midair. He looks up, brows furrowing slightly.

“He said you got sent home early because you were distracted.”

Sunghoon sighs, debating whether to be grateful that Jake saved him the trouble of explaining, or annoyed that he and Jay apparently text about him behind his back. “Yeah,” he finally says, bringing a bite of food to his mouth. “Just tired, I guess.”

Jay doesn’t look convinced. “You’ve been acting weird lately.” Nothing ever gets past him. Even when Jay is drowning in work, even when he has a million things on his plate, he always makes time to notice when something is wrong.

That’s how it’s always been.

Growing up, their parents were never around—too busy with business trips, too caught up in work to pay much attention to what their kids were doing. Sunghoon, being the restless, reckless child he was, had acted out in every way he could think of, desperately trying to get them to notice him. But they never did.

Jay, though.

Jay always noticed.

And even when they fought—over Sunghoon’s rebellious streak, over his impulsive decision to throw away his ice skating career, over the numerous times SUnghoon got in trouble at school—Jay had always been there, pulling him back from every bad decision, every downward spiral.

Sunghoon looks at him now, at the way his concern is written all over his face, and instead of acknowledging it, he just smirks. “You worry too much,” he teases, punching Jay’s shoulder lightly.

Jay, of course, punches back a little harder. “You’re my little brother. It’s my job to worry about you.”

Sunghoon spends the next few days throwing himself into work like his life depends on it. He arrives at the rink before the sun rises, laces his skates with robotic precision, and runs his kids through drills with a kind of manic focus that borders on obsessive. Every free minute is filled with paperwork, equipment checks, or reorganizing the supply room.

Every idle second is dangerous—if he pauses for too long, his thoughts wander to Heeseung and that cursed conversation in his classroom. The one where Heeseung told him, at the beginning of the week, that the date was happening Friday.

And now, Friday is less than twenty-four hours away.

Sunghoon finishes the final practice of the evening, helping his smallest skater out of his gear and reminding the kids to stretch at home. His hands are steady as he unties a skate and smooths down helmet hair with a practiced gentleness, but his mind is anything but calm.

He keeps picturing Heeseung—dressed up, radiant, smiling at someone who isn’t him. He nearly drops a stack of cones when returning them to the equipment closet, catching them just before they crash to the floor. “Whoa,” a familiar voice calls out from the hallway. “You planning to fight the cones or something?”

Sunghoon turns to see Haneul standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway with a raised brow and that annoying half-smirk that always means she’s noticed something Sunghoon doesn’t want noticed.

“Relax,” Sunghoon mutters, tucking the cones away and dusting off his hands.

“Right,” Haneul says dryly. “That why you’ve been at the rink more than I have this week? I swear, I saw you scrubbing the penalty box with a toothbrush yesterday.”

Sunghoon huffs a laugh. “It was dirty.”

“It’s always dirty. That’s the charm.” Haneul pauses, watching him too closely. “Anyway. Good news. I’m giving you the day off tomorrow.”

Sunghoon freezes mid-step. “What?”

“The AC guys are coming in. Whole building’s gonna be out of commission until evening. No practices, no staff allowed, and I’m not sticking around sweating through my shirt while they bang around the ceiling.”

Sunghoon’s stomach sinks. The day off.

Heeseung’s date night.

He’d been counting on the chaos of drills, lesson plans, and inventory spreadsheets to keep his brain too busy to wander. Now all he has is a blank day ahead of him, wide open and unstructured—perfect for spiraling. Perfect for picturing Heeseung leaning across a candlelit table, laughing. Touching someone else’s arm.

“You don’t look thrilled,” Haneul says, tone suspicious now.

“I’m fine,” Sunghoon lies, turning away to sort the jerseys even though they’re already color-coded and folded.

“You do realize a normal person gets excited when told they don’t have to come into work, right?”

“Yeah. I just—had plans to run drills. Work on some new warm-up sequences.”

“Uh-huh.” Haneul doesn’t sound convinced. She steps further into the room, tone gentler now. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Totally,” Sunghoon says, wiping down an already spotless counter like it owes him money. There’s a beat of silence before Haneul speaks again—lower, more sincere this time. “It's okay to open about to someone if you're having a hard time, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon doesn’t look up. Doesn’t trust himself to.

So he just nods, the smallest tilt of his head, and continues scrubbing at nothing.

Sunghoon wakes up the next day with a weight on his chest that feels suffocating. He lies there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just fast-forward through the next twenty-four hours — or maybe skip them entirely. The thought of getting through this day, without work to occupy his hands and mind, without the constant buzzing of his tattoo machine to drown out his thoughts, feels impossible.

Outside his door, he hears movement: the soft shuffle of feet, the clink of a spoon against a mug, his brother muttering something to himself as he prepares to leave for class. A small wave of relief washes over Sunghoon. At least Jay won’t be around to witness him spiraling into a mess of anxiety and jealousy. He won’t have to come up with half-hearted excuses for why he’s sulking around the apartment like a ghost.

The front door clicks shut, and the apartment falls silent.

Sunghoon groans as he forces himself out of bed, dragging his feet into the bathroom. The shower’s hot water steams up the mirror, but it does nothing to ease the tension in his chest. He presses his forehead against the cool tile and exhales slowly.

By the time he’s dressed and poking at the leftover pasta he reheated for lunch, he’s settled on running errands. Staying home alone with his thoughts would only drive him insane.

Usually, without fail, around lunchtime Heeseung would send him a picture of whatever he packed. But today, no photos, no texts, no updates. Just silence.

Sunghoon tries not to read into it. Heeseung’s busy, he tells himself. He’s got a classroom full of teenagers to wrangle. He probably just forgot. But the ugly voice in his head whispers otherwise.

He’s busy texting someone else. He’s thinking about his date tonight. He’s smiling at his phone — and not because of you.

Sunghoon grips the strap of his bag tighter as he walks down the busy streets, trying to shake the thought. He ducks into a grocery store, grabs things he doesn’t even really need, pays without making eye contact with the cashier. By the time he’s done running his errands, his anxiety is only worse.

His feet carry him, almost on autopilot, to the small café where Wonyoung works. He hadn’t meant to come here. But he needs to talk to someone who won’t sugarcoat anything.

The café is packed when he arrives. He slides into a table in the corner, his hoodie pulled up, trying to make himself invisible. He watches Wonyoung work, weaving between customers with that sharp efficiency he’s always admired. But eventually, she notices him — and immediately, her face twists into a look of exasperation.

She walks over, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Can you be miserable over there?” she asks, nodding toward a far corner. “You’re scaring all my customers with your storm cloud energy.”

Sunghoon lifts his head just enough to glare at her. “Maybe if you actually served them instead of pestering me, they wouldn’t leave.”

Wonyoung lets out a dramatic sigh and spins on her heel, striding back to the counter. He watches her switch to her customer-service persona — overly bright, sugary-sweet, the complete opposite of her usual dry sarcasm. He can’t help but let out a small laugh.

When the café finally quiets down and the line disappears, Wonyoung saunters back to him, smoothie in hand. She sits across from him and raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Spill. What’s got you all broody and pitiful?”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, pressing his palm to his face. “Heeseung’s going on a date today.” Wonyoung freezes, her straw halfway to her lips. She lowers it slowly, eyes widening. “Let me guess… not with you.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Obviously.”

She leans back, crossing her legs, studying him like he’s some puzzle she’s close to solving. “And you’re sitting here, sulking, instead of — oh, I don’t know — telling him how you feel and sweeping him off his feet?”

He groans, resting his head on the table. “I don’t… feel that way about him.”

She snorts. “Liar.”

“I’m not in love with him.”

“Hoon.” Her voice softens, just a little. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

He lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze. “I swear, I’m not. It’s just… complicated.” Wonyoung tilts her head. “What’s complicated? You’ve had a crush on that boy since you guys were kids.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon says quietly. “Since middle school. I thought it was just… admiration, you know? He was everything I wasn’t — smart, confident, charming. I wanted to be him, not necessarily… be with him.”

She narrows her eyes. “And now?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. I thought I moved past it. But lately… I can’t stop thinking about him. And now he’s going on a date and all I want to do is — I don’t know — lock him in a closet somewhere so he can’t meet anyone else.”

Wonyoung bursts out laughing. “Okay, well, maybe skip the kidnapping part, but yeah… sounds like feelings to me.”

He groans again.

“Look,” she continues, more serious now. “You get possessive over the things that matter to you. Remember your skates? You wouldn’t even let Jay touch them.”

Sunghoon smiles faintly at the memory. Those skates were practically sacred to him.

“Same thing, but with more emotions and less laces,” she says. “You don’t have to be in love, but you care. And maybe that’s what’s messing with your head.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. Wonyoung sighs. “Or maybe you just need to get laid. Distract yourself. Go out, have fun. Unless, of course, you’re actually in love with him — in which case, you need to get your ass in gear before someone else snatches him up.”

He looks at her flatly. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

She grins. “Anytime.”

The conversation eventually drifts away from his mess of feelings and toward Wonyoung’s mystery girl — someone she met at the club on that night. Her eyes light up as she talks about how they’ve been texting, how they’re planning to meet up soon. Sunghoon doesn’t know who this girl is, but seeing Wonyoung happy softens something in his chest.

By the time Sunghoon gets back to the apartment, the sky has long since darkened, the city lights blinking like distant stars beneath a velvet curtain. He stayed later than planned with Wonyoung, helping her close the café, wiping down tables in silence while she hummed softly, her presence comforting but not enough to distract him from the weight pressing on his chest all day.

He unlocks the door quietly and steps inside. The soft click of the lock is almost drowned out by the faint shuffle of fabric and the subtle jingle of metal. Sunghoon peeks around the corner and finds Jay by the full-length mirror near the entrance, fastening his expensive watch with precise fingers.

The sight makes Sunghoon pause. That watch — he knows it well. Their parents had given it to Jay for his birthday, but they both knew it was really guilt money for missing his graduation. Jay only ever wore it on special occasions. Tonight, paired with a fitted black button-up, dark slacks, and polished shoes, Jay looks sharper than usual, like he’s spent real time curating his outfit. His usually laid-back, campus-ready aesthetic has been replaced by something more deliberate, more refined.

Sunghoon leans against the wall for a second, just watching. His brother hasn’t noticed him yet, giving him a rare moment to observe without commentary. Jay straightens the collar of his shirt, checks his reflection, and adjusts the sleeves — all with a nervous kind of care.

"Do you have a date or something?" Sunghoon finally asks, breaking the silence and smirking when Jay jolts, nearly fumbling with his cuff.

Jay turns, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there." He rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, no. Just... going to an event."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. Jay’s lying. He can tell by the way Jay’s gaze flickers away for half a second too long, by the slight tremor in his voice. Normally, Sunghoon would tease him mercilessly, but the exhaustion from today weighs too heavy. He decides to save the teasing for another time.

"Sure. Have fun at your... 'event,'" Sunghoon drawls, emphasizing the word just enough to earn an annoyed glare from Jay.

Sunghoon drops the grocery bags on the kitchen counter with a sigh, slumping onto the couch. He barely has time to close his eyes before Jay’s voice interrupts him again.

"Hey, before I go..." Jay grabs his jacket from the closet. "Are you gonna be home tonight?"

Sunghoon tilts his head back lazily to look at him. "Yeah. I can’t deal with another ounce of human interaction until tomorrow."

Jay brightens. "Perfect. Heeseung’s out on a date tonight, I told him to text you if he needs anything or if the guy is being a creep so keep your phone close."

Jay says it so casually, as if he wasn’t the same overprotective brother who once gave every guy who dared to flirt with Heeseung a terrifying shovel talk. Sunghoon chokes on his spit. He sits up, coughing and wide-eyed. "Heeseung’s on a date?" he repeats, pretending not to have known about this for a while now.

Jay nods easily. "Yeah." He flashes a grin and disappears out the door before Sunghoon can process any of it.

Sunghoon stares at the closed door, trying to piece together what universe he just stumbled into. Jay, the Jay, chill about Heeseung dating? It doesn’t compute. He exhales shakily and sinks back onto the couch. He can’t stop the dark thoughts from spiraling: Heeseung holding hands with some guy, laughing at his jokes, maybe kissing him goodnight — or worse, letting him have his way with Heeseung. The thought claws at his chest.

Three movies later, long after his dinner has gone cold on the coffee table, the sound of his phone vibrating on the table jolts him upright. He rubs his face, the imprint of the couch cushion still pressed into his cheek.

[10:30PM] Heeseung: Hey hoonie 😀 u up?

[10:30PM] Heeseung: Can I come over? Sunoo isn’t home and I don’t want to be alone

Sunghoon smiles as he sees Heeseung’s name pop up on the stack of notifications.

[10:31PM] Sunghoon: Of course hyung!! Always

Twenty minutes later, the front door creaks open with a soft groan that cuts through the quiet of the apartment. Sunghoon shoots to his feet like a spring uncoiling, the sudden burst of motion so automatic it surprises even him. His heart stutters in his chest — not with panic, but with something warmer, something sharper. Like anticipation. Like longing.

He doesn’t even try to fight the way his lips twitch upward.

The faint sound of shoes hitting the floor follows — one, then the other — and then Heeseung’s unmistakable voice drifts in from the entryway, laughing under his breath. It’s not loud, not the laugh he reserves for public displays or shared jokes, but a smaller, softer version of it — the kind Sunghoon secretly likes best. The kind that sounds like home.

When Heeseung steps into view, everything else in the apartment seems to blur at the edges. His hair’s a little tousled from the wind, a few strands sticking to his forehead. He’s still wearing his coat, the collar slightly askew like it’s been fussed with. His eyes land on Sunghoon’s and linger there. “Did I wake you up?” Heeseung asks, stepping into the living room.

Sunghoon blinks at him, confused. “No?”

Heeseung’s gaze flicks up toward his hair and he grins. “Your hair’s all messy. Looks like you just woke up from a nap or something.”

Sunghoon instinctively raises a hand to smooth it down, muttering something under his breath. Heeseung chuckles, the sound low and genuine, and it makes Sunghoon’s chest ache — because he wonders if whoever Heeseung went out with tonight got to hear that laugh too. If they made him smile like that. If they touched him in the places Sunghoon has only dreamed about.

But he pushes the thought aside, stuffs it down where it can’t reach him.

Because Heeseung is here. Not with them. With him.

“Is Jay out?” Heeseung asks, already making himself comfortable as he flops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. He sprawls out like he owns the place, stretching his long legs across the cushions.

Sunghoon bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Yeah,” he says, walking over. “Some fancy event or whatever.”

He bends down, wraps his hands gently around Heeseung’s ankles to lift his legs — and tries not to notice how light they are. How warm. How easily his fingers settle around them like muscle memory. Heeseung doesn’t even flinch, just lifts his legs slightly so Sunghoon can sit, then drops them right back into his lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Sunghoon swallows and doesn’t say anything about it.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are the muted hum of the paused TV and the soft rustle of Heeseung adjusting his coat. Then:

“You told Jay about your date?” Sunghoon asks, his voice low.

Heeseung doesn’t answer immediately. Instead of responding, he shifts again — this time sliding down the couch until his body is practically curled into Sunghoon’s side. His head rests against Sunghoon’s shoulder like it’s been there a thousand times before. Like it belongs there.

And that’s when Sunghoon notices it.

The scent.

Faint but lingering — a trace of cologne that doesn’t belong to Heeseung. Something sharp and woodsy, layered with something floral. Not Heeseung’s usual warm, clean, just-showered scent. No, this one is too polished. Too curated.

It clings to the fabric of his coat like a brand, and Sunghoon feels something hot and angry tighten behind his ribs.

Heeseung doesn’t smell like himself tonight.

Still, he says nothing. He just sits there, stiff beneath Heeseung’s weight, every muscle coiled tight with things he won’t say.

“Yeah,” Heeseung says eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to lie to him. I was nervous, but… it felt wrong not to tell him.”

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, enough to meet his eyes. “And he didn’t freak out?”

Heeseung laughs quietly, pulling back just enough to look at him. There’s a smear of eyeliner along his lower lash line, subtle but unmistakable. It makes his eyes look even deeper, darker — like secrets he’s not ready to tell.

“Nope. Took it better than I thought he would.”

Sunghoon furrows his brow. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Heeseung blinks. “What?”

“You don’t think it’s weird he didn’t give you the ‘all men are predators’ speech? Or threaten to set the guy’s house on fire?”

Heeseung grins. “Of course I thought it was weird. I was waiting for it, honestly. But… I don’t know. He just told me to text him if anything felt off and let it go.”

Sunghoon squints at him. “So why do you think he was so... chill?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung smiles slowly, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask.

“Truthfully?” he says. “I think Jay’s getting laid.”

Sunghoon stares at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

Heeseung nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m serious. He’s been less tense lately. And when we hung out last week, I swear I saw a hickey under his collar.”

Sunghoon’s jaw drops. “Jay? Our Jay?”

“Yup. Mr. Morality Clause himself.”

Sunghoon snorts and leans his head back against the couch, processing the bizarre image of his older brother sneaking around with someone. Maybe even being happy about it. The world is clearly tilting sideways tonight.

But then Heeseung yawns — a quiet, breathy sound — and Sunghoon feels the tension drain out of him just a little.

“Come on,” Heeseung murmurs, shifting again and curling deeper into his side. He snatches the remote from Sunghoon’s hand like it’s his, points it at the screen, and hits play. “Let’s watch the movie. I wanna see the alien guy get vaporized.”

Sunghoon lets him, saying nothing.

Heeseung smells like someone else. He’s wearing eyeliner for someone else. His laugh probably lit up someone else’s night.

But he’s here, now. With Sunghoon.

And Sunghoon, for better or worse, will take whatever he can get.

At some point during the movie, Heeseung’s phone lights up on the coffee table with a soft buzz, screen filling briefly with a string of notifications from Sunoo. Sunghoon catches the name in his peripheral vision — Sunoo 🍓 — followed by a series of messages stacked in succession.

spending the night at a friend’s don’t wait up pls don’t burn the apartment down

Heeseung glances at the screen, thumb tapping out a quick reply before locking it again with a sigh. Sunghoon keeps his eyes fixed on the TV, though the curiosity itches at him like a mosquito bite — he’d never actually read their texts, but god, he wants to know what kind of friendship those two really have.

“Would you mind if I stayed the night here?” Heeseung asks suddenly, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Sunghoon finally looks at him. Heeseung is curled into Sunghoon’s side, warm and soft. His eyes are wide and soft. There’s no hesitation.

“Of course, hyung,” Sunghoon says, voice firm and warm. “You’re always welcome here.”

Heeseung offers a grateful smile, small but sincere. Sunghoon mirrors it, though his chest feels tight in a way that’s becoming painfully familiar.

They watch the rest of the movie in silence, but somewhere near the end, Sunghoon realizes Heeseung’s breathing has slowed. His head has drifted lower, resting gently against Sunghoon’s shoulder. The weight of it is warm, grounding, and achingly intimate.

He’s fallen asleep.

Sunghoon doesn’t move. He sits there, still and reverent, as if any sudden shift might break the fragile moment. The room is dim, bathed in the flickering light of the TV. Heeseung’s hair tickles the side of his neck, and his scent — no longer mixed with unfamiliar cologne — has mellowed back into something more him, something Sunghoon secretly associates with comfort.

He dares to imagine what it would feel like to wrap his arms around Heeseung, to pull him in and lie back on the couch with him pressed against his chest. He dares to want it.

But Jay lives here, too. And Jay has a sixth sense for situations like this — for this kind of closeness — and Sunghoon is absolutely certain that finding his best friend and younger brother tangled up on the couch would not go over well.

So instead, Sunghoon slowly reaches for the remote and turns off the TV, the sudden quiet settling over them like a blanket.

He takes a few more seconds — maybe longer than he should — just to look at Heeseung like this. Peaceful. Unarmored. Lips parted slightly in sleep. He looks soft in a way Sunghoon rarely sees him. Then, gently, he shakes him awake.

“Hyung,” he whispers. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to go make Jay’s bed for you to sleep in.” Heeseung stirs, blinking blearily up at him, momentarily confused. Then his eyes focus, and he offers a sleepy, crooked smile.

“Aww,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep. “And here I thought we’d sleep in your bed together.”

The words hit Sunghoon square in the chest. Heat rushes to his face. He knows Heeseung is only half-conscious, probably not even aware of what he’s saying — but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

Because if things were different… if there were no Jay, no consequences, no rules — Sunghoon would. He’d take him to bed and hold him all night. Not even in a sexual way, just close. Just safe. Just his.

But reality is heavier than want.

Sunghoon manages a shaky laugh, heart hammering, and murmurs, “Another time, hyung.”

Heeseung hums something noncommittal and lets his eyes fall closed again, trusting. Unaware.

Sunghoon gets up from the couch and goes to Jay’s room to change the bedsheets and pillow cases because he knows that Jay hasn’t changed them yet. He opens Jay’s closet to look for clothes for Heesueng to wear but then an idea pops up in his head, if Heeseung can’t sleep in his bed then the least Sunghoon can do is let him wear his clothes. He knows he’s pathetic, but he can’t help himself. He wants Heeseung wrapped in his scent, not someone else’s.

A few minutes later, he returns to find Heeseung on the couch. "I left some clothes and a toothbrush for you in Jay’s room," Sunghoon says casually. Heeseung smiles at him with tired eyes and disappears into the room.

While Heeseung changes, Sunghoon busies himself washing the dishes, trying to distract himself. But when Heeseung reappears, wearing his clothes, Sunghoon almost drops the plate in his hands.

The shirt is soft and worn, slightly sheer from years of washing. Heeseung’s slim figure is outlined faintly beneath the fabric, and the shorts hang loosely on his hips. Sunghoon’s breath catches. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch — to wrap around Heeseung’s waist, to feel that perfect fit again like that night he tries so hard to forget. Sunghoon drags his eyes back up, heart racing. Heeseung has no idea what he’s doing to him.

"How was your date?" he asks, clearing his throat and praying his body behaves. Heeseung shrugs, flopping onto the couch. “It was fine. Fun. But… not what I’m looking for.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, tension seeping from his shoulders. He knows it’s selfish, but he’s selfish when it comes to Heeseung and he doesn’t care. “Bad kisser?” The words slip out before he can stop them. Heeseung gives him a long look.

“Not bad,” he says softly. “But there was no spark.”

“Spark?”

Heeseung nods. “You know… that fire. The kind of kiss that makes your whole body light up.”

Sunghoon’s throat is dry. “Ever had that?”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker, suddenly intense. The air shifts between them.

“Once,” he says, voice strained. “It happened once.”

Sunghoon’s heart pounds in his chest. He wonders who that lucky person was — and a desperate, foolish part of him hopes it was him.

Heeseung looks away. “Good night, Sunghoon.”

And God, Sunghoon wishes he could stop him. But instead, he just whispers, “Sleep well, hyung.”

Sunghoon wakes slowly, the soft morning light filtering through his curtains. He rolls over with a groggy sigh — only to be met with the sight of his idiot brother starfished across his bed, mouth slightly open, drooling onto his precious pillow.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Sunghoon mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. Jay’s hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction like he lost a fight with a tornado.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes and rolls out of bed, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen. He’s halfway down the hall, already thinking about making breakfast for Heeseung, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He unlocks it without thinking.

[10:46am] Heeseung: Had to leave, there’s a huge stack of papers that need to be graded. [10:46am] Heeseung: Thank you again for yesterday. [10:47am] Heeseung: And for lending me your clothes ;)

Sunghoon freezes mid-step. His ears turn pink almost instantly, heat rising to his face. Heeseung knows. He knew the clothes weren’t just random spares from Jay’s room.

Before he can spiral too hard, another message comes in:

[10:48am] Heeseung: Don’t worry. I liked your clothes better anyway.

Sunghoon presses the heel of his palm to his forehead. I’m such a loser.

Still, he finds himself smiling a little, even as his heart does that embarrassing flutter. Heeseung had left early — that part stung — but maybe it was for the best. Having him around while Jay was here was always dangerous. Jay was observant when he wanted to be, and Heeseung, sitting there all pretty in his clothes, would’ve been way too hard to explain.

Even if it left the apartment feeling strangely empty. Shrugging off the thought, Sunghoon pads into the kitchen and gets to work, making pancakes anyway — because some habits are hard to break.

Just as he flips the second pancake, the sound of shuffling footsteps and a muffled groan makes him glance up. Jay stumbles out of Sunghoon’s room looking like he barely survived the night. His hair’s a bird’s nest, his shirt twisted halfway around his body, and there’s a dried trail of drool on the corner of his mouth.

Sunghoon snorts. "You came home quite late, Jongseong," he says. Jay rubs at his face and yawns, responding in kind. "After the event, the guys wanted to get drinks. ‘Some’ turned into a couple." He ambles over to the counter, eyes immediately zoning in on the pancakes. Without hesitation, he reaches for the top one — the golden, perfect one that Sunghoon had just finished.

"Hey!"

Jay ignores him, tearing off a piece and popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Sunghoon watches him, brow twitching. He’s itching to interrogate Jay — Is there someone? Are you seeing someone? Who is it? — especially after Heeseung’s little comment last night. But one look at his disheveled brother, and he knows now’s not the time.

Jay’s too hungover, too soft around the edges, and Sunghoon knows if he pushes, he’ll just get deflection and bad jokes.

So he lets it go. For now.

"Sit down before you fall over," Sunghoon mutters, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. Jay mumbles a grateful, half-asleep response and collapses onto one of the kitchen stools, head dropping onto his folded arms.

As the kitchen fills with the smell of warm batter and syrup, Sunghoon glances at his phone one more time. He rereads Heeseung’s last message, heart stuttering, then quietly locks the screen and gets back to cooking.

—

"I need everyone to be on their absolute best behavior," Sunghoon announces, holding up a stern finger like a strict mom about to scold her kids.

Across from him, Yunjin, Chaewon, and — for reasons he still doesn’t fully understand — Riki, are all squished together on the worn leather couch in Yunjin’s workstation. The three of them look up at him with varying degrees of amusement as he paces in front of them like a stressed-out camp counselor.

"Heeseung’s coming in," Sunghoon continues, lowering his voice as if it’s classified information. "So I need you all to—"

"Chill?" Riki offers lazily, folding his arms behind his head and sprawling out, nearly kicking Chaewon in the knee. "Relax, dude. We won’t tell him you’re hopelessly in love with him."

Sunghoon nearly chokes on air. He stares at Riki, then flicks his gaze to Yunjin and Chaewon accusingly. "Okay. What exactly have you guys been telling him?"

Yunjin immediately raises both hands in surrender. "Nothing!"

Chaewon nods furiously beside her. "Seriously! We haven’t said a word."

"They didn’t need to," Riki cuts in with a smug grin. "You do it all by yourself."

Sunghoon’s eyebrows knit together. "What are you talking about?"

Riki leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looks at him with far too much smug satisfaction for someone three years younger. "Do you even hear yourself when you talk about him? You get this soft little smile and go all dreamy-eyed. It’s actually kinda creepy. Like… borderline rom-com protagonist levels."

Sunghoon’s mouth snaps shut. He crosses his arms defensively. "I do not."

Yunjin coughs — loudly — into her fist. Chaewon bites her lip, very obviously trying not to laugh.

"I don’t!" Sunghoon insists, but his voice comes out higher than he intended.

Riki shrugs, sitting back again like he’s already won. "Sure, hyung. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Sunghoon lets out a groan, running both hands through his hair. "I hate all of you."

"Love you too!" Chaewon chirps.

"Just don’t start blushing and stammering when he gets here," Yunjin teases with a wink.

"I don’t stammer," Sunghoon mutters, utterly betrayed by everyone in the room. But even as he protests, part of him knows they’re right — and that only makes it worse.

Before Sunghoon can defend himself any further, the door to the studio swings open with a soft chime of the bell.

He freezes.

Heeseung steps inside, looking unfairly perfect in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his soft hair falling slightly into his eyes. He gives everyone in the room that warm, easy smile that makes people fall in love without even realizing it’s happening.

And Sunghoon’s heart promptly does a backflip.

"Hey, guys," Heeseung greets, his voice soft and polite as always. His gaze lingers on Sunghoon for a second longer than necessary, and Sunghoon can practically feel his friends’ collective eyes drilling into the back of his skull.

"Hey, Heeseung!" Yunjin chirps, sliding off the couch and giving him a friendly hug. "Come in, make yourself at home. I’m Yunjin by the way"

"Good to finally meet you," Chaewon adds with a little wave. “I’m Chaewon.”

Riki just smirks and tips an imaginary hat. "Sunghoon talks a lot about you."

Heeseung blinks, confused. "He does?"

Sunghoon shoots Riki a death glare behind Heeseung’s back, mouthing shut up so aggressively that Riki just snickers. "Ignore him," Sunghoon says quickly, stepping forward. His palms are already clammy. He’s not going to stammer. He’s going to be cool. Professional. Calm. "Ready to talk about the design?"

Heeseung nods.

"Let’s go to the back so we can sketch things out?" he says, motioning for Heeseung to follow him into his private workroom. He can feel everyone’s stifled laughter as they disappear behind the curtain. Inside, it’s just the two of them. Quiet. Sunghoon gestures toward the high desk where all his tools and sketchpads are laid out.

"So… what did you have in mind?" he asks, thankful his voice doesn’t crack this time. Heeseung leans on the table, looking up at him with those soft, earnest eyes that ruin lives. "I was thinking something small, but meaningful. "

"Okay," he says softly, flipping open his sketchbook and grabbing a pencil. "I can work with that."

Sunghoon clears his throat, forcing his brain to focus as he starts sketching. The pencil moves quickly over the page, but his fingers are trembling slightly, and he prays Heeseung doesn’t notice. Heeseung leans in closer, resting his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between Sunghoon’s face and the pencil lines forming on the paper.

"God, you're talented," Heeseung murmurs, watching the sketch come to life. Sunghoon almost snaps the pencil in half. "Thanks," he mutters, ducking his head. His ears are burning.

The room is quiet for a moment, except for the soft scratch of pencil on paper. Heeseung shifts, his knee brushing against Sunghoon’s thigh. It’s barely a touch, but Sunghoon feels it everywhere. Heeseung peers down at the sketch — delicate lines of a compass intertwined with tiny constellations. In the center: a small crescent moon. Subtle. Intimate.

"This…" Heeseung whispers, his breath catching slightly, "it’s beautiful."

Sunghoon looks up at him, eyes wide.

Heeseung glances at him, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. "You always make things beautiful."

They discuss when Heeseung should come back to get the actual tattoo done. He says he wants to wait until spring break so that he doesn't want to go to school with a healing tattoo. Sunghoon goes to the front to put in the appointment and when he comes back Heeseung is no longer at his work station and instead he hears voices coming from Yunjin’s station. This can only mean one thing. Trouble.

“You’d look amazing with a nose piercing. Or a tongue piercing, actually,” Yunjin says, tilting Heeseung’s face toward the light with her thumb and pinky gently cradling his jaw, inspecting him like he’s a blank canvas she can’t wait to decorate.

Heeseung laughs softly, letting her turn his face from side to side. “You’re very passionate about your job,” he teases. From where he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Sunghoon arches a brow. “Is she pressuring you into getting pierced?” he asks, deadpan.

Yunjin scoffs. “Please. I’m suggesting. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, a suggestion that turns into a full-blown piercing addiction,” Sunghoon mutters as he walks over, eyeing the pair suspiciously. “That’s how it started with Riki. Now the kid’s got more metal than skin.”

“Hyung, stop talking shit about me behind my back,” Riki announces as he strolls in with Chaewon right behind him, both juggling drink trays like they’re catering an event.

Chaewon hands out cans and cups with casual precision, then drops herself into Yunjin’s work chair with a dramatic sigh.

Yunjin grins wickedly as she pops the tab of her drink. “I’m just saying, Heeseung’s got the kind of face that deserves attention. Strong bone structure, perfect symmetry…” She looks him over again, thoughtfully. “No wonder Sunghoon’s obsessed with you. You're gorgeous.”

Sunghoon, mid-sip of his Sprite, chokes spectacularly, sputtering and coughing into his sleeve as everyone turns to stare at him. His ears burn red. Yunjin doesn’t even try to hide her smug expression. She raises her can in a mock toast and takes a long drink, clearly proud of herself for hitting her target dead-on.

Heeseung just raises his eyebrows, biting back a grin, while Sunghoon tries to recover his dignity — and his breath.

“Yunjin,” he grits out between coughs, “one day, I’m going to pierce your mouth shut.”

“Oh, baby,” she purrs, “buy me dinner first.”

Heeseung leaves the studio a few hours later without any piercings even though Yunjin tried really hard. It was really nice to see Heeseung get along well with his friends, they really seemed to like him which isn't something unusual, Heeseung is very likeable so Sunghoon had zero doubts about his friends not liking him. Even Riki, who's usually more closed off towards new people he doesn't know, opened up rather quickly. They asked him about his job and about his students, Yunjin even tried to get Heeseung to tell them embarrassing childhood stories about Sunghoon. It didn't work because Sunghoon protested but he has a feeling that Yunjin asked for Heeseung’s number just so that he can text her the embarrassing story.

—

Sunghoon decided Jake needed a surprise visit. Sure, they saw each other almost every day at work, but somewhere between deadlines and coffee runs, they’d forgotten how to just hang out like best friends. So, on a whim, Sunghoon grabbed some snacks and drove to Jake’s apartment.

And, well… you could say it was definitely a surprise.

Because when he lets himself into Jake’s apartment, he’s immediately greeted by the sight of Jake standing in the hallway, fresh out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel. His skin’s still damp, hair dripping, and a bright yellow shower cap with tiny cartoon ducks sits proudly on his head. He looks like a deer in headlights. A very damp, startled deer.

“SURPRISE!” Sunghoon announces, kicking off his shoes like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Jake blinks, then groans. “What did I tell you about using the emergency key?”

“It’s for emergencies,” Sunghoon says, arms already spread wide for a hug. “And this is one. I’m experiencing severe best friend withdrawal.”

“You’re not bleeding,” Jake deadpans, arms crossed over his bare chest, trying—and failing—to look intimidating in his ducky cap.

“I’m emotionally bleeding,” Sunghoon says dramatically.

Jake just sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re an idiot. Let me get dressed before you traumatize yourself.”

As Jake disappears into his bedroom, Sunghoon flops down onto the couch with a dramatic sigh of his own. He’s barely there for a minute before he starts rearranging the sea of throw pillows Jake insists on having. No one needs this many damn pillows, he thinks, launching one across the room for more leg space.

While clearing the cushions, he uncovers a hoodie buried underneath. He picks it up to toss it onto the sandbag next to the couch, but pauses when he sees the front of it. His eyes narrow.

It’s a university hoodie—one of the official ones only enrolled students can get.

And he knows this hoodie. His brother has the same one. And unless Jake recently enrolled behind everyone’s back, it can only mean one thing: it belongs to someone else.

A past hookup, probably.

Sunghoon stares at it for a beat longer than necessary. Then he tosses it aside and leans back against the couch with a heavy exhale, eyes glued to the ceiling.

When Jake finally emerges from his room fully dressed—thankfully having ditched the duck-covered shower cap—he flops down next to Sunghoon on the couch with a sigh of contentment. Sunghoon doesn’t bring up the hoodie he found. That’s a conversation for another time. Tonight, he just wants to unwind and spend time with his best friend.

Jake, true to form, launches into a string of wild stories he's collected from his clients—scandalous breakups, secret affairs, and whispered confessions passed between tattoo sessions. Jake thrives on conversation. He knows things about people he’s never even met, thanks to the way he coaxes gossip out of his clients like a professional eavesdropper. For Jake, it’s not just fun—it’s practically a sport.

The hours begin to melt together. One moment they're slouched on the couch watching trashy reality TV, the next they’re locked in a vicious Mario Kart battle that devolves into childish yelling and playful shoving. Uno comes out at some point—though only briefly, because Jake accuses Sunghoon of cheating and Sunghoon retaliates by stealing one of Jake’s fries. Eventually, they end up sprawled across the couch again, bellies full of takeout, the soft glow of the TV painting shadows on the walls.

It’s easy, being with Jake. Comfortable. The kind of presence that doesn’t drain Sunghoon’s social battery, but recharges it. He thinks that’s why their friendship happened so fast—so naturally. Usually, it takes him a long time to warm up to someone, but with Jake, it felt like skipping all the awkward in-between. One day they were sitting next to each other in college creative writing class, and the next, they were sharing secrets they hadn’t even told their families.

Jake had been there when everything crumbled. When Sunghoon quit skating and his parents acted like he’d burned down the house. When freshman year of college felt like a freefall. Jake caught him. And somehow, without even meaning to, made things okay again.

So yeah, maybe Sunghoon owed him more than just a visit.

They’re finishing up the dishes, Jake washing and Sunghoon drying, when Sunghoon feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Assuming it’s Jay checking in, he wipes his hands quickly and pulls out the device—but pauses when he sees the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. He hesitates, frowning. It’s late. Could be a prank call. But something nudges him—an instinct.

“Hey, give me a sec,” he mutters to Jake before heading into the living room.

“Hello?” he says cautiously into the phone.

“Hey. Hi. It’s me, Jungwon… we met a couple of weeks ago?” The voice on the other end is slightly breathless. Nervous.

Sunghoon blinks. Prank call theory: debunked. But now he’s even more confused. Why is Jungwon calling at—he checks the time—2:06 a.m.?

“What’s up, Jungwon?”

“Look, I’m really sorry to call you this late. I hope I didn’t wake you up or anything—”

“It’s fine,” Sunghoon cuts in gently, already sensing that something’s wrong. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I have a bit of a problem,” Jungwon sighs. “I’m trying to get Heeseung to go home. He’s, uh… very drunk. Like, won’t-get-in-the-car drunk. He’s being extremely stubborn. Do you think you could come pick him up? He won’t listen to me.”

Through the phone, Sunghoon hears a distant, slurred mumble—definitely Heeseung—followed by what sounds suspiciously like whining. Sunghoon can’t stop the small smile that tugs at his lips.

He doesn’t ask why Jungwon called him of all people. He already knows the answer, and it warms something in his chest.

“Send me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

“Oh my god, thank you, Sunghoon. I owe you—seriously,” Jungwon exhales, clearly relieved.

Sunghoon hangs up and heads back to the kitchen. Jake, nosy as ever, is already looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“That was Jungwon. You know, Heeseung’s old roommate?” Sunghoon says, grabbing his jacket. “Apparently, Heeseung’s had a bit too much to drink and is refusing to get into an Uber.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Classic. You need me to come with you?”

“Nah, I got it.”

The night air is sharp, biting against Sunghoon’s cheeks as he steps out into the quiet street. He plugs the address Jungwon sent into his phone and climbs into his car, the engine humming to life beneath his hands.

He spots them before he even finishes parking—Jungwon standing on the curb, phone in one hand, the other resting on Heeseung’s shoulder as if trying to keep him from wandering into traffic. Heeseung is swaying on his feet, cheeks flushed pink and hair a complete mess, with that dumb dreamy smile on his face that does absolutely nothing to calm the butterflies in Sunghoon’s stomach.

Sunghoon steps out of the car and Jungwon waves him over immediately, relief written all over his face. “Oh, thank god,” Jungwon mutters as Sunghoon approaches. “He’s been singing sad love songs and trying to fight a trash can for the past twenty minutes.”

“I heard that!” Heeseung pipes up, voice way too loud for the hour. He blinks at Sunghoon, his smile stretching wider. “Hoonie…”

Sunghoon bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from reacting to the nickname. He hasn’t heard that one in a while. “Hey, Seung.”

Heeseung stumbles forward and slaps both hands on Sunghoon’s shoulders like he’s trying to stabilize the Earth itself. Sunghoon’s hands fly to Heesueng’s waist to stabilize him even more.

“You came,” he says, gaze soft and unfocused. “You always come.”

Sunghoon swallows hard. “Someone’s gotta drag your drunk ass home.”

“I’m not drunk,” Heeseung insists, leaning heavily into him now. “I’m relaxed. Vibing. Romantic.”

“Romantic?” Sunghoon glances at Jungwon, who just shrugs helplessly.

“Very romantic,” Heeseung mumbles, resting his head on Sunghoon’s shoulder like it belongs there. Sunghoon carefully maneuvers him toward the car, guiding him like one would a particularly floppy scarecrow. “Alright, Casanova. Let’s get you home.”

Sunghoon helps Heeseung into the passenger seat, gently guiding him by the shoulders as Heeseung's limbs flop around like overcooked noodles. He buckles the seatbelt for him, fingers brushing over the strap as he clicks it into place. Heeseung lets out a sleepy laugh, his head lolled to the side against the window, murmuring about how the stars are winking at him and how the moon “looks a little too lonely tonight.”

Sunghoon glances at him briefly before focusing on the road. Heeseung's breath begins to steady a few minutes later, and when Sunghoon risks another look, he finds Heeseung completely knocked out, cheek squished against the glass, lips parted slightly as soft snores leave his mouth.

Getting Heeseung awake turns out to be easier than Sunghoon expected. A few gentle shakes of his shoulder, a soft call of his name, and Heeseung’s eyes flutter open. He blinks in confusion, looking around like he’s landed on a different planet.

“Come on,” Sunghoon says quietly, trying not to laugh. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He helps Heeseung out of the car, slipping an arm around his waist when the older boy stumbles. Heeseung leans into him instantly, body warm and heavy, like he’s decided Sunghoon is his new mattress. They make their way to the apartment building, climbing the stairs slowly. Every few steps, Heeseung whines about being tired and tries to sit on the steps, and Sunghoon, sighing with a fond sort of exasperation, gently coaxes him up again.

It takes them almost twenty minutes to reach the third floor.

Now standing in front of Heeseung’s door, Sunghoon realizes another problem—keys. He glances toward the dark apartment, knowing full well that Sunoo is probably already fast asleep. He doesn’t want to wake him if he can help it.

“Where are your keys, hyung?” Sunghoon whispers, trying not to disturb the silence of the hallway.

Heeseung just blinks at him, pupils dilated and slightly cross-eyed. “What keys?”

Sunghoon nearly groans. “To your apartment.”

Heeseung hums as if that’s the most difficult question in the world, then leans into Sunghoon’s side with a pleased sigh. Sunghoon hesitates for a moment before carefully reaching into Heeseung’s jeans pockets, muttering apologies under his breath. He finally finds the keys in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Just as he pulls them out, Heeseung mumbles, “No, don’t stop. I like it when you touch me.”

Sunghoon drops the keys with a loud clatter. He freezes, heart thundering. Heeseung, meanwhile, doesn’t even flinch. Sunghoon winces, praying to every deity in existence that the noise didn’t wake up the whole building. Trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck, Sunghoon picks up the keys and fumbles with the chain until he finds the right one. They slip inside the apartment, the darkness swallowing them immediately once the door clicks shut.

Sunghoon turns on his phone flashlight, illuminating the hallway just enough to guide them. They move slowly, trying not to bump into furniture, but just as they’re about to reach Heeseung’s bedroom, the overhead light flicks on.

Heeseung groans and buries his face in Sunghoon’s neck.

Sunghoon blinks against the sudden brightness—and there stands Sunoo. Arms crossed, hair ruffled, sleep mask pushed to his forehead, and a thoroughly unimpressed expression on his face.

“What in the world is going on?” he asks, voice low but sharp.

Heeseung immediately detaches from Sunghoon and lurches forward, nearly tackling Sunoo to the ground. Sunoo catches him just in time, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Jungwon called me,” Sunghoon explains, trying to make the situation sound as normal as possible. “He said Heeseung refused to take an Uber.”

Sunoo examines Heeseung, sighing. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

Heeseung only giggles.

“Alright, pretty boy. Let’s get you to bed,” Sunoo says, tugging gently on Heeseung’s hand. But Heeseung jerks his arm back.

“No,” he says, lips jutting out in a pout. “I want Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes and tilts his head back, mentally preparing himself for whatever comes next.

“Oh, honey. We know,” Sunoo says sweetly. Then to Sunghoon: “You heard the princess, he wants you. Your problem now.”

“I got this. Go back to sleep, Sunoo,” Sunghoon says, trying to look confident despite the rapid beat of his heart.

Sunoo eyes him with a raised brow, clearly unconvinced, but eventually nods. “Okay. Good night, Sunghoon. Good luck.”

Sunghoon turns back to find Heeseung practically plastered against him again. “Okay, hyung. Almost there,” he murmurs.

In the bedroom, Sunghoon helps him sit on the bed and begins looking for pajamas. When he turns around again, Heeseung is stuck in his shirt, arms flailing as he tries to pull it over his head.

“You’re going to rip it like that,” Sunghoon says, stepping forward to help. His fingers brush Heeseung’s skin as he pulls the shirt over his head, trying desperately not to linger. Heeseung, now shirtless, reaches under his pillow and pulls out a familiar item.

Sunghoon freezes.

It’s his shirt—the one he gave Heeseung the night he stayed over after the date.

“You sleep in my shirt?” he asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

“Yeah,” Heeseung says simply. “It smells like you. Well, not so much anymore.”

He lifts it to his nose, inhales, then meets Sunghoon’s eyes again with a sleepy smile. Sunghoon’s heart clenches so hard it feels like it might burst.

He somehow gets Heeseung to brush his teeth and remove his makeup. There’s whining, lots of it, but eventually, they shuffle back to bed. Heeseung collapses onto the mattress with a groan. Sunghoon tucks him in and heads to the kitchen for water and meds.

When he returns, he thinks Heeseung is asleep—but those familiar eyes are open, watching him.

“Hey you,” Sunghoon whispers, smiling.

“Can you stay the night?” Heeseung asks, voice barely audible.

Sunghoon hesitates. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows Jay would be furious if he ever found out. But when Heeseung looks at him like that—with eyes so soft, so full of trust—how could he say no?

“Of course I can stay,” Sunghoon murmurs.

He slips off his shoes, climbs under the blanket, and tries not to melt when Heeseung clings to him like a koala, head resting on his chest, legs tangled together.

They lie there in silence, Sunghoon combing his fingers through Heeseung’s hair.

Then, softly: “What’s on your mind, hyung?”

Heeseung pushes up on one elbow, face inches from Sunghoon’s. “Will you ever kiss me again?” he whispers. Sunghoon’s breath catches. His mind flashes to that night at the bar—the kiss, the chaos afterward, the silence that followed.

“I want to kiss you so bad,” Heeseung admits.

Sunghoon aches with how badly he wants to say yes. But he can’t.

“Heeseung,” he whispers. “We can’t. Even if you weren’t drunk, you know we can’t.”

Heeseung frowns. “Your brother would understand.”

Sunghoon wants to believe him. He really does. He wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, Jay wouldn't mind. That maybe things are different now—that Jay wouldn’t stand in their way. But that tiny flicker of hope is no match for the memories pressing against his chest like weights. Jay has always been protective, always drawn a hard line when it came to Heeseung. And Sunghoon… he can’t betray the one person who’s always stood by him. Not like this. Not after everything Jay’s sacrificed for him.

So, instead of answering, he deflects.

“Aren’t you going out with that guy from your school?” Sunghoon asks quietly, keeping his voice casual. “The art teacher.”

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand dramatically down his face like the very mention of the guy drains the life out of him. “Ugh. That guy? He’s so boring. Talks about brush strokes and color theory like it’s religion. And,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes, “he’s a terrible kisser.”

Sunghoon lets out a soft laugh despite himself. The delivery is so theatrical it almost feels scripted. But beneath his amusement, a strange warmth blooms in his chest. He shouldn't be feeling this. Not hope. Not satisfaction. Not relief. But he does. If Heeseung’s already over the guy, then… then he’s not really competition anymore. And as awful as it is to think that way, Sunghoon can’t stop the quiet thrill that pulses through him.

“But you aren’t,” Heeseung murmurs, gaze dropping as he leans in slightly. He taps a finger against Sunghoon’s chest, slow and deliberate. “You’re a good kisser. A very, very good one.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. The air feels heavier, charged with something dangerous and unspoken. “Heeseung…” he says, almost too softly, his voice trembling at the edges. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. Is he warning him? Pleading with him to stop? Asking him not to?

But then Heeseung pulls back. Just a little. And Sunghoon sees it—the flicker of hurt behind his eyes, the subtle shift in his expression. “You just don’t want me,” Heeseung says quietly, and the crack in his voice shatters something in Sunghoon’s chest. Without thinking, Sunghoon reaches for him. His hands find Heeseung’s face, cupping it gently, like it's something precious—something breakable. His thumbs brush over the skin beneath his eyes, soft and warm and heartbreakingly familiar.

“That’s not true,” he says, the words spilling out fast, almost desperate. “God, Heeseung. That’s not it at all.”

He draws in closer, forehead almost resting against Heeseung’s. “I want you. I want you so much it’s terrifying. You don’t even understand—how many nights I’ve lost sleep thinking about this. About you. It’s driving me out of my goddamn mind.”

Heeseung stares at him, stunned into silence, breath catching like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Then why don’t you do something?” he whispers. His voice is smaller now, more vulnerable. He leans in, slowly, hesitantly, his gaze flicking down to Sunghoon’s lips, then back up again. “I want to kiss you,” he admits. “So bad.”

Sunghoon’s heart stutters. For a second, everything falls away—the apartment, the night, the consequences. It’s just Heeseung, looking at him like that, and it takes every last shred of willpower not to close the space between them.

But just before Heeseung’s lips can brush against his, Sunghoon brings his hands down to his shoulders, stopping him with trembling fingers.

“We can’t,” he whispers. His voice breaks. “Not like this.”

Heeseung blinks, confused, eyes glassy and tired.

Sunghoon reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Heeseung’s ear with a gentle touch. “You’re drunk, Heeseung,” he says softly. “And even if you weren’t… I can’t. Not when Jay—”

He stops himself. Can’t finish the sentence, because it hurts too much to admit that something so real might never be allowed to exist.

Heeseung exhales sharply and turns away from him with a frustrated noise, curling onto his side. His back is to Sunghoon now, but he stays close—so close that Sunghoon can feel the rise and fall of his breathing against his ribs.

“You’re being mean,” Heeseung mumbles, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“I know, baby,” Sunghoon murmurs, barely louder than a breath. “And I’m sorry.”

He shifts behind him, closing the small space between them. His hand hovers for a moment before resting lightly on Heeseung’s waist. Slowly, gently, he pulls him closer until Heeseung is tucked against his chest, their bodies pressed together in quiet stillness.

If he can’t kiss him—if he can’t let this become what he wants—then at least he can hold him like this. Just for tonight.

—

Sunghoon is on his way to get lunch when he gets the message.

[12:15pm] Heeseung: No more alcohol for the rest if my life

[12:15pm] Sunghoon: Look who has risen from the dead

[12:16pm] Sunghoon: How are you feeling?

[12:16pm] Heeseung: Awful….

[12:16pm] Heeseung: Thank you again for dealing with me… Jungwon said I was being difficult I can barely remember anything ㅠㅠ

[12:17pm] Heeseung: I hope I didn't say or do anything embarrassing. If I did I’m really really sorry

Sunghoon looks at the message, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, he's biting his lip contemplating if he should tell Heeseung about the stuff he said yesterday or just pretend like it never happened.

[12:20] Sunghoon: Don't worry, I brought you home and you pretty much passed right out the second you got into your bed

[12:22] Heeseung: OH THANK GOD!!!!

Sunghoon had promised himself he’d forget that night—bury it deep, never think about it again, and move on for the sake of his own sanity. But of course, how could he? How could he possibly forget the way Heeseung had looked at him—so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly sincere—admitting he wanted to kiss him, like it was the most natural thing in the world?

It should have been Sunghoon’s dream come true. In his dreams, though, Heeseung wasn’t drunk. And Jay wasn’t looming in the background, ready to tear Sunghoon apart into a thousand tiny pieces if he ever found out how Sunghoon really felt.

Sunghoon tried. God, he tried. He buried himself in distractions, forced his mind to stay busy, but no matter how hard he fought it, Heeseung’s words echoed in the back of his head. No matter how hard he focused on anything else, the memory would sneak up on him—the way it felt to have Heeseung pressed up against him, how right it had felt, like Heeseung fit there. Like maybe that's where Sunghoon was always meant to be.

Weeks passed.

Sunghoon didn’t bring up that night. Heeseung didn’t either—mostly because he clearly didn’t remember—and Sunghoon, being the coward that he was, didn’t dare clarify. Things between them stayed the same: no awkwardness, no heavy tension. Just the same easy friendship. Almost easy, if Sunghoon could ignore the way his heart twisted every time Heeseung smiled at him without a care in the world.

Sunghoon started visiting Heeseung at work during his lunch breaks. Somehow, he’d already gained a small fan club—three of Heeseung’s students who seemed far too interested in Sunghoon’s personal life. He didn’t mind their nosy questions, not when Heeseung looked at them so fondly, laughing when Sunghoon awkwardly tried to answer.

Heeseung invited him out to dinner one night, to a new Thai restaurant that had just opened near his apartment. Over spicy curry and sweet mango sticky rice, Heeseung talked about a field trip he was planning for the end of the school year. He wanted to take his students to Rome, because they had read a novel set there and his kids had begged him to help them see it with their own eyes.

They hung out at Sunghoon’s place too, mostly when Jay was stuck at the library working on his master's thesis. They watched movies, argued over plot holes, and more than once, Heeseung dozed off against Sunghoon’s shoulder. Sunghoon always sat still, barely breathing, treasuring every second he could steal like it was something fragile and precious.

In an effort to distract himself, Sunghoon launched a ridiculous investigation into Jay’s mysterious love life. He figured he could just ask—they were brothers, after all, and lived together—but this was easier. Safer. It gave him something else to think about when thoughts of Heeseung grew too heavy.

Sunghoon had noticed a few things: Jay taking phone calls with an idiotically wide smile, his voice softening into something almost tender as he bickered with whoever was on the other end. So far, Sunghoon’s list of suspects included:

The new neighbor who moved in a few months ago,

A classmate from his program,

And the girl Sunghoon had seen him talking to outside the library once.

Needless to say, Sunghoon wouldn’t be winning any awards for his detective skills. But if he could keep pretending to be busy, maybe he could fake it long enough to survive.

—

Saturday afternoon, Sunghoon stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Heeseung in the beer aisle of the small convenience store near Jake’s lake. It's actually his parent's house but he uses it the most. The place hums with the dull buzz of a fan overhead, shelves stacked high with chips and instant noodles, the scent of freezer-burned popsicles and floor cleaner mixing into something oddly nostalgic.

They’re here to grab beer for Jake’s impromptu BBQ—a casual hangout with the usual suspects: Jay, Yunjin, Chaewon, Riki, Sunoo, Heeseung, and Sunghoon himself.

It’s a simple. Laid-back. Just a warm spring afternoon with friends.

Sunghoon’s stomach twists the moment Heeseung, standing beside the cooler door and scanning beer labels, says casually, “Yunjin noona invited me over last night.”

Sunghoon’s hand freezes in midair, hovering just inches from a six-pack of beer. His heart skips, stutters. He keeps his eyes trained on the bottles like they hold the key to staying calm. He knew Yunjin had talked about having Heeseung over. But Sunghoon had assumed—naively, apparently—that he’d be invited too.

She hadn’t even told him.

A sharp, sour twist coils in his chest. All he can picture is Yunjin throwing back shots and spilling every embarrassing thing he’s ever told her about Heeseung. Chaewon egging her on.

“I really like her and Chaewon,” Heeseung says, his voice warm, almost fond. He picks out a pack and turns to look at Sunghoon, unaware that Sunghoon is about two seconds away from mentally combusting. Sunghoon pastes on a smile that feels too tight, too artificial. His fingers close around the six-pack like it’s an anchor.

“They like you too,” he says, the words tumbling out quicker than he means them to. He forces a laugh, light and easy. “Yunjin hasn’t shut up about your face. She wants to pierce literally every part of it.”

Which isn’t even an exaggeration. Ever since Heeseung walked into the studio to talk about his tattoo design, Yunjin’s been obsessed—calling him “the human equivalent of perfect proportions”. Heeseung laughs, low and warm, and Sunghoon nearly drops the drinks. The sound vibrates through him like a note played on the inside of his ribcage. He keeps his eyes on the glass doors of the cooler, pretending to be deeply interested in the difference between two identical lagers.

“Their relationship’s really cute,” Heeseung adds after a moment, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow. “They love each other so much. It made me want to ask if they’d consider a lavender marriage.”

Sunghoon snorts, the sound almost too loud in the quiet store. “Honestly, they’re a rom-com waiting to happen. Yunjin’s probably picking out engagement rings already. But it took them forever to get there.”

Heeseung gives him a confused look, brow furrowing. “Seriously? I never would’ve guessed that.”

“Oh, they hated each other at first,” Sunghoon says, cracking open the fridge to grab another pack. The cold air makes his skin prickle. “Jake and I are still convinced they were into each other from day one but didn’t know how to deal with it. They were both too stubborn to back down.”

Heeseung chuckles again, softer this time, like he’s picturing it. Sunghoon watches the way his eyes crease, the way his lips curl at the edges. God, he’s so pretty it hurts.

“How do you even go from that to being that in love?” Heeseung asks.

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon says. “I watched it happen up close and I still can’t explain it. They’re just... them. They make sense in a way no one else really does.”

He wants to say more. Something clever or safe or distracting. But before he can think of anything, the cashier calls out, “Next!” Sunghoon startles. He hadn’t even noticed the short line had moved, much less that it’s their turn.

By the time they reach Jake’s place, the smell of grilled meat and charcoal hangs heavy in the air. Jake’s backyard is already alive with noise, laughter, music and the crackle of the barbecue. The sliding glass door is propped open with a shoe, and as Sunghoon and Heeseung step through, it feels like stepping into another world.

Riki and Sunoo are sprawled out on the grass, bickering over a deck of cards. Jay is standing by the grill, wearing a ridiculous apron that says Kiss the Cook while pointing bossily at Jake, who’s flipping burgers with a shit-eating grin. Chaewon lounges in a deck chair, sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping something pink and fizzy out of a mason jar and Yunjin’s sitting next to her doing exactly the same thing.

“They’re back!” Sunoo shouts, springing up from where he’s sprawled on the grass. He makes a beeline for Sunghoon and Heeseung like a sugar-high kid on Christmas morning, and without even slowing down, he snatches the six-packs from their hands with the speed and enthusiasm of a wild raccoon.

“Hey—!” Sunghoon stumbles a step back, laughing.

“And we come bearing gifts,” Heeseung announces grandly, hoisting the last six-pack above his head like a sacred offering.

Once the beers are nestled safely into the cooler, the group settles into a comfortable rhythm.

The grill is set up in the corner of Jake’s backyard, its metal grate already hissing with the first sizzle of meat. Jay stands over it with the laser focus of someone attempting to control a battlefield, while Jake bounces around beside him, tongs in hand and no discernible plan.

“Jake! You flipped that too early—again!” Jay barks, eyebrows knit in frustration.

“That was strategy!” Jake argues, flipping the same piece of meat again like that might prove his point. “You don’t know what I’m doing!”

“You’re burning it! That’s what you’re doing!”

From across the yard, Riki leans back on his hands and grins. “At this rate, Jake’s the one getting grilled.”

Laughter bubbles up from the group, Sunghoon included. He sips his drink and watches the two by the grill, but his attention isn’t really on the charred burgers or even Jake’s chaos—it’s on Jay. He knows that tone in his brother’s voice, the one he reserves for exactly one person. Jay’s barking orders like a drill sergeant, but there’s a softness to the edges, affection woven through every shout.

Heeseung chuckles beside him. “They’re like a sitcom.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says under his breath, “if the sitcom came with a fire hazard warning.”

As the smoky scent of grilling food drifts through the air, the group breaks off into smaller, easy conversations.

Yunjin and Sunoo are sitting cross-legged on the grass, deep in discussion about some trending tattoo style. Yunjin is waving her hands dramatically, and Sunoo looks half-convinced and half-horrified.

Chaewon tugs Sunghoon down onto the picnic blanket beside her and pulls out her phone. “I need your advice. My client wants this huge back piece, but she also wants to keep it ‘dainty and minimal.’ I’m losing my mind.”

Sunghoon leans in, peering at the mockup. “This is your definition of minimal?”

Chaewon groans. “Exactly.”

As they debate linework versus shading, Sunghoon’s eyes keep drifting over Chaewon’s shoulder. Across the yard, Riki and Heeseung are deep in conversation. Heeseung is animated, using his hands as he talks, and Riki is actually smiling. Laughing, even. It’s subtle, the way he tilts his head in that curious way he does when he’s really interested. Sunghoon watches it unfold in real time: Riki letting Heeseung in.

Chaewon nudges him lightly. “Are you even listening?”

“Mm-hm,” Sunghoon hums, eyes still flicking toward Heeseung. “Linework’s too thick. Needs to be softer around the spine.”

Chaewon squints at him, unconvinced, but lets it go.

Back across the grass, Jay gestures for Riki. “Hey! I need help plating!”

Riki frowns like he’s just been told to abandon his puppy mid-walk. “Ugh. Fine,” he grumbles, standing slowly. “But if I get burger juice on my shoes, I’m yelling.”

Heeseung laughs. “Good luck.”

Riki lingers for a beat longer than necessary before turning toward the grill. Sunghoon watches him walk off and then glances back at Heeseung, who’s now idly toying with the tab on his beer can, eyes trailing after Riki with a smile still on his face.

The scent of grilled food floats heavy in the air, thick with charred meat, melting cheese, and the faint sweetness of corn still sizzling on the grill. Plates are passed around with clumsy hands and playful jabs, the table overflowing with mismatched containers—someone brought a store-bought potato salad, Yunjin contributed a massive bowl of kimchi fried rice, and Sunoo, arrived with neatly portioned fruit skewers that somehow haven’t melted in the sun.

“Lunch is served,” Jake declares dramatically, stepping back from the grill like a man who’s just won a war.

“It’s a miracle,” Chaewon mutters as she grabs a plate, narrowly avoiding Jake’s celebratory high five.

Jay, already holding a perfectly assembled burger, looks over at the group with the same expression he uses when someone messes up a simple math equation. “Let’s all be clear,” he says, pointing a tong like a gavel. “I cooked. Jake just stood there and questioned the meat’s feelings.”

Jake gasps. “It looked nervous, okay? It deserved reassurance.”

“Pretty sure you were the nervous one,” Riki throws in, dropping onto the grass with his plate in hand. “You screamed every time something sizzled.”

“That was tactical screaming,” Jake says, matter-of-fact. “To boost morale.”

Sunghoon sits cross-legged near the edge of the shaded lawn, his plate balanced carefully on his knees, warm sun brushing the back of his neck. He’s placed himself close enough to the table to hear the ongoing banter but far enough to watch it unfold like a scene in a play.

Chaewon settles beside him, sipping from a can of cold soda, the condensation dripping down her fingers. Yunjin drops down in a dramatic sprawl a few feet away, her hat tilted over her eyes, sunglasses perched on top like an accessory she forgot how to wear properly.

Sunoo joins them, fussing over the seating arrangement like they’re about to take a group photo. “I swear, if someone knocks this over,” he mutters, balancing his fruit skewer between his fingers as he slides onto a picnic blanket, “I will kill myself.”

Heeseung appears a moment later, dropping into a seat across from Sunghoon. His hair is a little mussed from the breeze, his t-shirt clinging slightly from the heat. There’s mustard on the corner of his mouth, and Sunghoon has to look away before he does something ridiculous, like wipe it off for him.

“This burger is so good,” Heeseung says around a mouthful, reaching for a napkin but missing it completely.

“You have mustard,” Sunghoon says before he can stop himself, gesturing to his own lip. Heeseung blinks, then wipes his mouth quickly, grinning when he gets it right. Heeseung laughs, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that it slides under Sunghoon’s skin and stays there, like a slow, steady hum beneath his ribs.

Plates full and appetites teased by the mouthwatering aroma that lingered all afternoon, everyone settles down on the grass, the late April sun warming their skin. The air is thick with laughter and barbecue smoke, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the background, and a faint playlist drifting from Jake’s speaker propped on the patio table.

They’ve formed a circle—well, technically a circle. It’s more like an amoeba-shaped sprawl of limbs and blankets and plates, some people cross-legged, others lying on their stomachs, leaning back on their elbows, or nestled in each other’s shadows. A very oddly formed circle, but a circle nonetheless.

Yunjin’s wedged between Sunoo and Chaewon, chewing contentedly on a charred cob of corn. Jay sits a little ways off with Riki, both of them already halfway through their first plate and eyeing the grill like it might grow more food. Heeseung ends up beside Sunghoon again, their knees brushing occasionally, though neither comments on it.

At first, the conversation is slow and relaxed—everyone focused on food, grateful for the brief lull after a long week. But gradually, the chatter picks up again, bouncing around the circle like an impulsive wind.

Chaewon is the first to bring up work, complaining about a client who ghosted her mid-project only to come crawling back with a “visionary” idea she hated even more. That somehow leads to Jay and Sunoo recounting weird professors from university, the rest of the group joins in everyone telling stories about that one odd professor they had during college and eventually the conversation ends with Heeseung telling them about Jungwon and his bands.

“You’re best buddies with a musician?” Jake says, practically scandalized. “And you’re only telling us now?”

Heeseung laughs. “He’s not some rockstar. It’s just a local gig—him and a few friends from uni. They’re called Paper Harbor. They do mostly indie, a bit of punk. Some really weird experimental stuff sometimes, depending on his mood.”

“That’s so cool,” Chaewon says immediately. “You better introduce him to us.”

“Yeah,” Yunjin adds, scooting forward on her blanket. “I’ve always wanted to be in a band.”

Riki snorts. “Yeah you look like you do?”

Yunjin punches him in the shoulder playfully. Heeseung just shakes his head, smiling like he can’t help it. “I’ll see if he’s free. He’s kind of shy around new people, but… I think he’d like you guys.”

The warmth of the afternoon softens everything—the laughter, the teasing, even the buzzing tension that’s always there when Heeseung sits too close. It feels… good. Solid.

Eventually, someone—probably Jake—declares it’s time for seconds, and the group springs to life with all the enthusiasm of a pack of starving wolves. Plates are refilled, burgers restacked, more corn peeled, and even the veggie skewers get some love this time around. There’s less polite sharing now, more chaotic grabbing, people passing forks and napkins and muttering apologies with their mouths full.

Then come the thirds.

Even Jay caves and goes back for another helping of grilled chicken, and when Jake points it out with a grin, Jay flips him off with a skewer of peppers.

By the time the feeding frenzy ends, there’s barely anything left but a few lonely pieces of charred onion and a single forgotten hot dog roll. Riki eyes the leftovers like a war survivor, dramatically whispering, “We’ve seen things…”

The sun dips lower, casting the yard in golden warmth. Shadows stretch long across the grass, the air sweet with the scent of charcoal and fresh-cut lemon from the drinks Jake mixed. The chaos of lunch has mellowed into lazy conversation and quiet laughter, and someone’s started playing a mellow indie playlist that hums softly beneath it all.

Sunghoon finds himself sprawled on a blanket near Chaewon and Yunjin, nursing a drink, his stomach pleasantly full. His gaze wanders lazily, catching little snapshots of his friends enjoying each other’s company—Riki lying half on top of Sunoo as they scroll through something on Sunoo’s phone; Jake building a makeshift table out of cooler lids; Yunjin braiding tiny flowers into Chaewon’s hair.

But it’s the quiet scene by the grill that catches his attention.

Jay and Heeseung sit shoulder to shoulder on the porch steps, plates forgotten at their feet, deep in conversation. It’s not loud or animated like the other conversations scattered around—it’s something softer, steadier. Heeseung’s laughing, not the big open laugh he usually gives to the group, but a quieter, private one, eyes scrunched and voice low. And Jay is looking at him with this fond, easy smile—one Sunghoon’s seen maybe a hundred times but never quite like this.

Heeseung says something, and Jay immediately shoves his shoulder, playful but full of affection. He mutters something back, and Heeseung tips his head against Jay’s like it’s second nature.

It’s so effortless, so comfortable. Like they’ve had this rhythm for years—like they’ve built it carefully over time, with trust and patience and the kind of loyalty that doesn’t waver even when tested.

Sunghoon swallows hard. It’s not just that they care about each other. It’s that they know each other in a way most people never get to know anyone. Inside and out. And it makes Sunghoon’s chest ache in a way he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

Because as much as he wants to look away, his eyes stay fixed on the slope of Heeseung’s shoulders, the way he leans into Jay’s space without hesitation, the way Jay lets him.

He wonders if Jay would still look at either of them like that if he knew what Sunghoon felt—what he's been feeling. The thoughts that keep circling his brain no matter how hard he tries to shove them away. The memory of that drunken night and how good it felt to have Heeseung curled into his side. The way his skin still tingles whenever Heeseung laughs a little too close to his ear.

Sunghoon tears his eyes away, staring down into his cup like it can offer some kind of answer.

He never meant for this to happen. He never asked for feelings to get involved. He was just trying to be a good friend. To Jay, to Heeseung. That was all. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Something small and quiet and dangerous.

And now, watching Jay nudge his foot against Heeseung’s and say something that makes Heeseung shake his head with a grin, Sunghoon feels it like a weight in his chest.

Heeseung isn’t his to want.

And even if he was… he’s Jay’s best friend first.

The guilt burns, slow and sharp under his ribs. Sunghoon knows how much Jay loves Heeseung. He’s seen it in every overprotective glare, every late-night phone call, every time Jay refuses to talk about something until Heeseung’s in the room to hear it too. They’re family in everything but blood.

What would it mean—for them, for their friendship—if Jay knew Sunghoon wanted more? He’s not sure he wants to find out.

So instead, he takes a deep breath, forces a smile when Chaewon taps his arm to ask something, and pushes the ache down where it can’t be seen.

Sunghoon wanders toward the house, pretending like he’s going to grab another drink, but really just needing a moment to breathe. To shake the image of Jay and Heeseung off his retinas, off his chest. He tells himself he’s fine. That it doesn’t mean anything.

But the moment he steps onto the porch, he nearly collides with someone coming out.

It’s Heeseung.

“Oh—sorry,” Heeseung says, his voice quiet, soft in the hush of early evening. He’s holding two bottles of water, condensation beading down his fingers. “Was gonna bring one for you.”

Sunghoon blinks at him. “Me?”

Heeseung shrugs, smiling like it’s obvious. “You looked kind of out of it earlier. Thought maybe you were overheating or something.”

Sunghoon laughs under his breath, not quite sure what to do with the warmth that floods his chest. He accepts the bottle, fingers brushing against Heeseung’s just a little too long. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

“You’re not,” Heeseung says, eyes holding his for a beat too long. “I just… I notice stuff about you. I guess.”

And just like that, Sunghoon forgets how to breathe.

They end up sitting on the porch steps, a little apart from the others. The music floats faintly through the air, blending with the chirp of crickets and the occasional burst of laughter from the yard. Their shoulders don’t touch, but they’re close. Close enough.

Sunghoon peels the label off his bottle, needing something to do with his hands. “You and Jay looked like you were having a serious heart-to-heart earlier.”

Heeseung chuckles, tipping his head back. “Not that serious. We were just talking about high school. Some dumb memory came up—this time we got detention for sneaking into the AV room to watch a soccer game.”

Sunghoon smiles, even as his stomach twists. “You guys really have been through everything together, huh?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung’s voice softens. “He’s always been there. Even when I didn’t want him to be. Especially then, actually.”

Sunghoon nods, staring out at the yard. Jay is sitting beside Yunjin now, gesturing animatedly at something on her phone. “He loves you a lot.”

“I know,” Heeseung says, quietly. “I love him too.”

At some point when the sun has fully dipped below the horizon and their laughter starts to feel a little too loud for the quiet suburban street Jake claps his hands and announces, “Okay, that’s it. No one’s going home tonight. You’re all staying over. I don’t trust any of you behind the wheel, not with how much beer we’ve gone through.”

There’s a brief silence, a beat of surprised hesitation then Yunjin throws her arms in the air and lets out a triumphant cheer. “Sleepover!” she shrieks, her voice slurring slightly with excitement. “Oh my god, we haven’t done a sleepover in forever. This is going to be iconic.”

Everyone groans affectionately, but no one protests. Honestly, it feels inevitable. Jake’s house is big, and warm.

Assignments happen fast. Sunoo and Heeseung call the cozy guestroom in the basement, excited by the idea of having “secret underground lair vibes.” Yunjin and Chaewon take the first-floor guestroom, conveniently located next to Jake’s own room. “I swear I can hear you snore through the wall,” Chaewon teases Jake, and he just flips her off without looking up from the pile of spare clothes he’s digging through.

Riki and Jay stake out the enormous sectional in the living room. “I want the side with the blanket that doesn’t smell like feet,” Riki says solemnly. Jay just shoves him playfully and tells him to grow up. Sunghoon will sleep with Jake in his bed.

Everyone changes into more comfortable clothes. Jake hauls out an old plastic bin filled with leftover pieces from his older brother’s wardrobe—ratty sweatpants, T-shirts with vintage logos, oversized hoodies—and the group scavenges like kids in a thrift store. The girls steal the best pieces immediately. Yunjin is now wearing a 3XL hoodie with a raccoon playing guitar on it, and she looks absolutely delighted.

They gather outside again, now under a sky full of stars. The firepit crackles in the center of the yard, casting soft light on their faces. Jay manages to get it going with only a minor struggle—Heeseung helps him without needing to be asked, and the little pat Jay gives him on the shoulder afterward doesn’t go unnoticed by Sunghoon.

The temperature has dipped, but it’s still that kind of gentle April warmth that clings to the day even after dark. Blankets are laid out like a nest around the firepit. Some people sit in chairs, others sprawl on the grass, and a few tuck themselves into the heap of cushions and fleece.

Sunoo, of course, starts making s’mores. They go around passing marshmallows on sticks like they're distributing weapons. There’s laughter, a few burnt ones, a dramatic retelling from Yunjin of the time she lit her hair on fire at a camping trip in high school. Jake snorts root beer out of his nose.

Riki clears his throat. “You wanna hear something messed up?” he asks, eyes glinting in the firelight.

They all look at him. Riki’s voice dips low, smooth and steady. He tells a horror story like he’s done this a hundred times before—his rhythm perfect, his pauses chilling, his voice just eerie enough to keep everyone leaning in. His expressions shift with the tension, weaving the story like he’s pulling it straight out of the air.

Even Yunjin, tipsy and giggly, is quiet now. Sunoo pulls the blanket over his head halfway through the story. Chaewon and Heeseung exchange skeptical glances, but neither interrupts. Jay mumbles, “This better not be one of those dumb YouTube stories where someone gets murdered with a spoon,” but even he listens all the way through.

Sunghoon doesn’t speak, doesn’t even move—he just watches.

The fire flickers in Heeseung’s eyes. His hair falls slightly in his face, catching a glow from the flames. He’s sitting so close to Sunoo that their shoulders are touching, but his smile is relaxed, easy. Sunghoon feels that now-familiar ache slip into his chest, soft and awful.

A month passes.

In that time, the days grow warmer, trees bloom, and sunlight begins to linger into the early evenings. And in that time, Heeseung finally gets his tattoo—the one Sunghoon had promised to do for him all those weeks ago.

Heeseung arrives at the studio early, earlier than anyone usually does. The air outside still carries the crispness of early spring, but Heeseung comes in with sunshine stitched into his smile, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, cheeks slightly pink from the morning chill.

Sunghoon had made sure it would just be the two of them. No Yunjin, no Jake, no nosy clients or coworkers. At the time, it had seemed like the smartest decision—quiet, controlled, focused. No distractions.

But now, as he closes the studio door behind Heeseung and locks it for the private session, he realizes it was the worst possible idea.

Because it’s just the two of them. And all Sunghoon can think about is the night Heeseung was drunk, slurring words and asking, “Will you ever kiss me again?” All he can think about is the weight of those words and how close they’d felt to something real, something dangerously close to the edge he’s been trying not to fall off of.

“So… you ready?” Heeseung asks, pulling off his hoodie with no hesitation, completely at ease.

Sunghoon isn’t.

For a heart-stopping second, Sunghoon thinks Heeseung’s not wearing anything underneath. His breath catches. But then, mercifully, he sees the white tank top clinging to his frame—thin, soft, and loose around the arms, but cut high in the back to perfectly expose his shoulder blades.

Not much of an improvement.

The fabric stretches over Heeseung’s chest, highlighting the slope of his collarbone and the narrowness of his waist. It rides up just a little when he shifts to climb onto the tattoo bed, revealing a sliver of pale skin and the curve of his lower back. Sunghoon turns away abruptly, pretending to sort his supplies, but mostly just trying not to combust.

He can feel the heat blooming in his ears. Get it together, he tells himself, jaw tight.

He focuses on laying out the stencil, checking the machine settings twice even though he knows they’re fine. He glances at the sketch one more time—the delicate line work he’d finalized last week, the one Heeseung had been so excited about.

He can’t screw this up just because his brain is melting at the sight of a pair of shoulder blades.

Heeseung lies down, arms folded under the side of his head, and chatters while Sunghoon sanitizes the skin and gets ready. His voice fills the space between them—warm, animated, distracting in the best and worst way.

“I finally got the go-ahead from the school for the field trip,” Heeseung says. “So I started calling around for hostels. There's this one by the lake I think the kids would love. And I’m trying to put together a schedule that’s fun but still educational, you know?”

Sunghoon hums in response, trying to sound normal, but the way Heeseung talks—so full of purpose, so excited about something that isn’t himself—it makes something shift in Sunghoon’s chest. He watches the little muscles move beneath Heeseung’s skin as he speaks, sees how his back rises and falls with each breath.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

He’s so wrapped up in his silent panic that he nearly jumps when the front door chimes. Yunjin walks in like a storm, holding two drinks and a pastry bag in one hand. “Brought snacks for the lovers,” she announces, shutting the door with her foot.

“God, thank you,” Sunghoon breathes before he can stop himself.

Yunjin glances at him, eyebrows raised. She hands Heeseung his iced Americano, and then sidles up next to Sunghoon as he starts the machine.

“Doing okay there, Romeo?” she mutters, voice low.

Sunghoon grits his teeth and doesn’t answer.

With her presence, the air shifts again—less charged now, easier to breathe. Heeseung keeps talking, voice light and unfiltered as Sunghoon works. Occasionally, he winces or sighs, but he never complains. He just keeps telling stories—about his students, about a new teacher who started at the school, about how Chaewon is helping him pick activity sheets that don’t suck.

Sunghoon doesn’t say much. He just listens. Smiling quietly. Stealing glances at the corner of Heeseung’s mouth when he laughs.

The tattoo takes about an hour and a half.

At one point, Heeseung falls asleep—just dozes off mid-sentence, his breath slowing into something soft and even. Sunghoon doesn’t realize until he looks up and sees Heeseung completely still, the room gently humming with the low buzz of the machine.

He pauses, just for a second, and lets himself look.

It’s not the expanse of Heeseung’s back or the way his lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks. It’s the calm. The softness. The complete lack of walls. Heeseung trusts him enough to sleep through the pain, to hand him his skin and say, Do what you want with it.

Until Jake crashes through the back hallway, yelling out a loud “FUCK!” after dropping a box on his foot.

Heeseung bolts awake, wide-eyed. “What happened?”

Sunghoon snorts. Yunjin nearly chokes on her coffee from laughing.

The rest of the month is a blur.

They don’t see each other much after that. Heeseung is buried in school obligations—staff meetings, lesson plans, prepping students for finals and the field trip. Sunghoon throws himself into work, the studio packed with people trying to get fresh ink before summer and working on a new training plan for his new hockey team.

But no matter how busy he gets, Sunghoon can’t stop thinking about that day.

He thinks about Heeseung’s smile when he talked about the trip. About how his skin felt under Sunghoon’s gloves. About how easily he’d fallen asleep. How warm the silence between them had been.

He thinks about how he almost told Jay the truth.

One night, while watching a movie together, he’d turned to his brother, heart hammering in his chest, the words rising in his throat like a wave.

I think I like Heeseung.

But the words stay buried. Because what if saying it ruins everything? What if it drives a wedge between Jay and Heeseung, between Jay and him? Their bond has always been unshakable, sacred. Sunghoon isn’t sure he could live with himself if he broke that.

So he swallows the truth. Buries it deep.

And tells himself, again and again, It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.

But he’s not sure he believes it anymore.

The only person who could help him out was the mean lesbian.

Wonyoung doesn't even look up from her phone when Sunghoon walks into her apartment uninvited. He kicks off his shoes like a lost child coming home, trudges past the scent of eucalyptus and expensive skincare, and flops dramatically onto her couch like it owes him something.

“You’re unbelievably stupid,” she said flatly, finally acknowledging his presence with a side-eye as she adjusted the silk headband keeping her hair off her face. “You know that, right?”

Sunghoon groans and lets his head fall back against the couch with a dull thud. “Yes, thank you, that’s very helpful.”

Wonyoung sighs like a woman who has seen too much. She is wearing a fluffy pink robe and has a sheet mask on her face that makes her look like a ghost of beauty past, present, and future. Her nails are painted a sharp emerald green, and she taps them against her glass of cucumber water with slow, deliberate annoyance.

“I’m having a crisis,” Sunghoon mutters into the ceiling.

“You’re always having a crisis,” she replies, slumping down beside him with all the grace of someone who doesn't actually care but also cares more than she’d ever admit out loud. “But this one’s especially stupid.”

Sunghoon turns his head toward her, squinting. “You have no empathy.”

“I have plenty of empathy,” Wonyoung snaps. “Just not for people who self-sabotage themselves into oblivion when the solution is literally begging them to make a move.”

Sunghoon groans again, louder this time. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple,” she says, peeling her eyes away from her phone long enough to glare at him through the holes of her face mask. “You’re in love with him. He likes you back. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I’m not even emotionally literate.”

Sunghoon winces. “Wonyoung…”

“No. Shut up. Listen to me,” she says, crossing her legs and turning to face him fully now, like a war general preparing for battle. “The guy literally asked you to kiss him. He begged you. While drunk, yes, but still very much aware of what he was asking for. And you—” she jabs her finger into his arm “—are sitting here on my couch, crying internally and writing imaginary eulogies for your love life like it’s a fucking Shakespearean tragedy.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but Wonyoung isn't done.

“You’re thinking about everything that could go wrong. I get it. Jay’s your brother. Heeseung’s his best friend. You don’t want to ruin things. But you ever think about what you’re ruining by not saying anything?”

Sunghoon’s expression softens, but the ache in his chest doesn't. “I’m just… scared, Wonyoung.”

She tilts her head, something tender slipping beneath the sharpness of her tone. “Of what?”

“That if I say it out loud, everything will fall apart. Jay will hate me. Heeseung will pull away. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe I didn’t. But if I tell him and I’m wrong—if he doesn’t feel the same—it’ll ruin everything.”

For a moment, Wonyoung is quiet. The muted sound of her diffuser hums in the background, mingling with the faint pop of a reality show playing on low volume from the kitchen.

Then, softly, she says, “You know what I think?”

Sunghoon looked over at her warily. “God, please don’t say some inspirational Pinterest quote.”

“I think,” Wonyoung continues, brushing a lock of hair from her face with the sort of practiced elegance that only she could pull off, “that you’re already ruining everything by pretending not to feel what you feel.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He’s curled up on the far side of her couch, knees pulled to his chest, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a shield. It’s Wonyoung’s self-care day, and he knows he’s intruding—her face mask is still drying in patches, her phone’s playing some relaxing spa playlist—but she let him in without hesitation. She always does.

“You’re punishing yourself for something that hasn’t even happened yet,” she says gently. “And maybe it’s not fair, and maybe it’s complicated, but the way you talk about him, Sunghoon?”

She glances at him, her eyes sharp despite the ridiculous green mask.“It’s not just a crush.”

Sunghoon blinks slowly. The room feels too quiet all of a sudden, even with the soft instrumental music playing in the background. He can feel the words wedge themselves between his ribs, sharp and sure.

“It’s not,” Wonyoung repeats, softer this time. Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. “You’re in love with him. Gross, inconvenient, heart-wrenching love. And it’s eating you alive.”

His chest tightens at her words, every beat echoing with the weight of them. Not because she’s wrong—he wishes she were—but because she’s terrifyingly right.

Wonyoung leans back into the cushions, peeling the mask from her face in one swift, practiced motion before tossing it into the trash bin beside the couch. Her skin glows, smooth and radiant like she’s just stepped out of a commercial. Of course it does. She always manages to look like a goddess—even while eviscerating him emotionally.

“All of that doesn’t matter,” Sunghoon mutters, his voice flat, almost robotic, “because Jay would never approve. He’s told me before—multiple times—to stay away from Heeseung.”

Wonyoung groans and throws her head back in frustration. “When you guys were kids, Sunghoon.”

Her voice is sharp, but not cruel. She sits up a little straighter, pinning him with a look that’s far too knowing. “And let’s be honest here—you were a mess back then. Like, truly a walking disaster. Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely your fault. You just wanted your parents to see you. Acknowledge you. Jay had good reasons to tell you off.”

Sunghoon flinches. He wants to argue, but the words don’t come. Mostly because she’s right. She always is.

“You got into fights. You skipped school. Hung out with people who made you feel worse about yourself just because they gave you a sliver of attention,” Wonyoung continues, her tone softening. “You were angry and lonely and drowning, and Jay was just... trying to hold you together the only way he knew how.”

Sunghoon bites the inside of his cheek to stop the flood of emotion threatening to escape. It’s like she’s cracked him open with surgical precision.

He huffs out a broken laugh, the sound brittle in the quiet. “Yeah. I was... a lot.”

“But you’re not that kid anymore,” Wonyoung says, her voice low and steady. “You grew up. You healed. You’re a fabulous tattoo artist, you’re literally building a name for yourself. You’re a hockey coach now, for God’s sake. Jay sees that. We all do.”

She reaches over, placing a careful hand on his knee, grounding him.

“Jay loves you, Hoon. Fiercely. And if he’s even half the good brother I’ve always known him to be, I think he’d be more than happy to see his little brother and his best friend find something good with each other.”

Sunghoon stares at her. His throat feels tight, and his eyes sting with something dangerously close to tears. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to thank her for seeing him—really seeing him—when he’s so convinced he’s still half a mess.

Wonyoung lets out a soft sigh and sits back again, folding her arms. “If Heeseung’s worth anything—and I think he is—he won’t let you fall alone,” she says. “But you won’t know unless you take the leap.”

She looks at him, unwavering. “So jump, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon sat in stunned silence. His hands were clenched in his lap. His heart felt like it had migrated to his throat.“I’m scared,” he said again, quieter this time. Wonyoung shrugged. “Yeah. Love’s scary. But so is living your whole life wondering what could’ve been.”

He let out a breath. “You’re too wise for a woman wearing fuzzy socks with cartoon strawberries on them.”

“Don’t disrespect the strawberries. They bring clarity,” she said solemnly.

Sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh and sank back into the couch. The fear was still there, but so was something else. Something he hadn’t felt in a while.

Hope.

Maybe Wonyoung was right. Maybe he was standing on the edge of something beautiful and terrifying, and maybe it was time to stop being afraid of the fall.

He looked over at her and nudged her shoulder with his. “Thanks.”

She picked up her phone again. “Don’t thank me yet. Just go do something about it. Or I swear to god I’ll tell Heeseung myself and embarrass you in the process.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Try me.”

—

Sunghoon is in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan when the phone starts ringing. The sound is faint at first, almost drowned out by the loud sizzle of garlic and oil in the skillet. He doesn’t notice it until the second ring cuts through the air, just sharp enough to catch his attention. He quickly lowers the heat and wipes his hands on a kitchen towel as he walks over to the counter where his phone is charging.

He sees the name light up the screen: Heeseung. A small, involuntary smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

He picks up immediately, answering with a light, almost giddy, “Hi.”

There’s a brief pause. “Sunghoon, hi. Uhm… are you busy?”

The moment Heeseung speaks, Sunghoon’s smile falters. His voice is shaky, unsteady in a way that sets off alarms in Sunghoon’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” Sunghoon asks instantly, voice soft but alert as his free hand reaches for the stove dial to turn it off completely. Whatever was cooking can wait.

He hears Heeseung inhale—a shaky breath, like he’s trying to steady himself.

“I’m in the emergency room—”

Sunghoon’s stomach drops. “Oh my god, Heeseung, what happened?”

“I’m okay! I’m okay,” Heeseung rushes to say before Sunghoon can spiral. “It’s… my friend. She fell and broke her leg. I just—I came with her in the ambulance, and now I’m kind of stranded and it’s been a long night and—” He cuts himself off with a breath that sounds dangerously close to tears. “Can you come pick me up?”

Sunghoon’s already moving, grabbing his keys from the dish by the front door, slipping his shoes on without even tying them properly. “Yeah, of course. Give me ten minutes—I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t wait for a goodbye. Doesn’t need to. He can hear everything he needs to in Heeseung’s voice—that subtle tremble, the way he’s trying to hold it together, the quiet kind of panic beneath his words.

Sunghoon bolts out the door, heart pounding, barely remembering to lock it behind him. The food still sits on the stove, forgotten and growing cold, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is getting to Heeseung.

Sunghoon bursts through the emergency room doors, heart pounding in his chest, lungs tight with worry. The harsh fluorescent lights sting his eyes, and the antiseptic scent hangs thick in the air. He scans the room with growing urgency, eyes flicking past worried families and tired nurses—until he sees him.

Heeseung.

Curled in on himself in one of the rigid plastic chairs, his figure small beneath the weight of the moment. His head is bowed, fingers knotted in his lap. But the second their eyes meet, something in Heeseung breaks open—his shoulders sag, his lips part with unspoken relief, and he pushes to his feet.

Without hesitation, he walks straight into Sunghoon’s arms.

Sunghoon catches him, holding him close like instinct, like second nature. He wraps his arms around Heeseung’s trembling frame, one hand coming up to gently cradle the back of his head. He can feel it—the tension running beneath his skin, the tremors in his breath, the way he leans into the contact like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung mumbles into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything. I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

Sunghoon pulls back slightly, just enough to look into his face. “Don’t say that. You’re never a disturbance,” he says, voice soft. “I was in the middle of failing horribly at making dinner anyway.” He offers a lopsided smile. “You saved me from a culinary disaster, actually.”

Heeseung huffs a quiet laugh, shaky but real. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Sunghoon murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Heeseung’s ear. “Are you okay? Like… really okay?”

Heeseung gives a small, hesitant nod. “Yeah. I wasn’t the one hurt. I’m fine. Just… shaken up.”

Sunghoon’s voice drops low, calm and steady. “What happened?”

Heeseung draws in a shaky breath, like he needs a second to collect the words. “Sakura and I were at school, working on final details for the field trip. Everything was pretty much set. She left to grab something from her classroom, and then…” His throat tightens. “I just heard this crash. Like something falling. I ran out and—she was at the bottom of the stairs. Her leg was twisted at this awful angle. She wasn’t fully conscious.” His voice wavers. “I called 911 right away.”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away. He just pulls him into another hug, grounding Heeseung with touch when words aren’t enough. He rests his chin on Heeseung’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“I’m glad she’s going to be okay,” he says softly.

“She broke her leg. Mild concussion too. They’re keeping her overnight, just to monitor things.” Heeseung’s voice is steadier now, but still raw around the edges.

He steps away briefly to say goodbye to Sakura, and when he comes back, they walk side by side out into the night. The hospital’s automatic doors close behind them with a hush, the cold air outside bracing but welcome.

The drive is quiet. Not tense—just still. A silence that gives them both space to breathe.

Sunghoon drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. Occasionally, he glances sideways, watching the way Heeseung’s fingers twitch restlessly in his lap. He doesn’t press. He lets the silence stretch, comfortable and kind.

When they pull up in front of Heeseung’s apartment building, Sunghoon turns off the engine. But Heeseung doesn’t move.

He stays there, head bowed, before he finally drops his face into his hands and groans.

Sunghoon turns slightly, concern flickering in his chest. “Heeseung?”

“She was supposed to go with me on the field trip,” Heeseung mutters, voice muffled.

Sunghoon leans toward him. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, but dry. “You need two teachers to chaperone. It’s a regulation thing. I asked Sakura because she’s great with the kids, and we’ve been planning this for weeks. Everything was in place. Now… now I have to cancel the whole trip.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and Sunghoon’s chest tightens. The devastation in Heeseung’s expression guts him—it’s not just about the trip. It’s about letting down the students, the plans, the effort. All of it.

Sunghoon blurts it out before he even thinks. “I’ll go with you.”

Heeseung looks at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ll go with you,” Sunghoon repeats, calmer now, more sure of himself. “You’ve worked so hard on this, Heeseung. You don’t have to throw it away.”

There’s a pause. Then Heeseung lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You realize what you’re signing up for, right? Fourteen teenagers. Loud. Wild. Chaotic. Hormonal.”

Sunghoon smirks. “I’ve coached teenage hockey players. If I survived that, I can handle a school trip.”

Heeseung laughs again, the sound brighter this time, real amusement in his eyes. Sunghoon watches it bloom across his face, and his chest feels a little lighter.

“You’re serious?” Heeseung asks.

“Dead serious.”

In one fluid motion, Heeseung leans forward and throws his arms around Sunghoon’s neck. The hug is sudden, tight, overwhelming—and Sunghoon leans into it without hesitation. He closes his eyes, lets himself sink into the scent of Heeseung’s shampoo, the warmth of his body, the way it fits against his own like puzzle pieces.

“Thank you,” Heeseung whispers, lips brushing Sunghoon’s ear, making him shiver.

They don’t pull away completely. When the hug loosens, their faces linger just inches apart. The air between them shifts—electric, charged. Sunghoon can feel Heeseung’s breath ghosting across his lips.

Heeseung’s gaze dips to Sunghoon’s mouth.

Sunghoon’s heart stutters.

He leans in, just a fraction, barely a breath’s width away from—

Knock knock.

A sharp rapping against the passenger-side window makes them both jolt like they’ve been struck by lightning. They whip their heads toward the sound.

And there, smiling like the cat who caught the canary, stands Jay. His eyebrows are raised. His grin is wide. And Sunghoon feels like the earth has opened beneath him.

His stomach drops. His lungs stop working. Because if there was one person in the world who absolutely wasn’t supposed to witness that moment—it was Jay.

Chapter Text

—

It’s 5:30 in the morning, and Sunghoon is standing in front of the school with a travel bag slung over one shoulder, a steaming to-go cup of coffee in one hand, and a plush neck pillow looped around his neck like a weary badge of honor.

The day has come: Heeseung’s long-anticipated field trip with his class.

After the almost-kiss in the car—and Jay’s untimely interruption—they’d ended up in Heeseung’s apartment, where Jay explained his reason for even being there interrupting them in the first place.

“I wanted to show Heeseung something.”

Sunghoon wanted to strangle his brother right then and there because he could’ve just sent Heeseung a goddamn picture.

“This will be good for Sunghoon. He needs to go out more,” he’d said, like it was a fact and not a backhanded blessing, after Heeseung tells Jay what Sunghoon agreed to.

Then his alarm went off at 4 a.m a couple of weeks later.

For a solid ten minutes, he hated his past self. Hated his good intentions, his soft spot for Heeseung, and his inability to say no when it actually mattered.

But all of that disappears the moment he sees Heeseung already standing at the school gates, clipboard in hand and smile lighting up his face. That smile alone makes the impending chaos of chaperoning a pack of hormonal teenagers in a foreign country seem almost…worth it.

The first to arrive are three girls from Heeseung’s class—Luna, Yerim, and Lola—and judging by the way they immediately squeal and rush toward Sunghoon, it’s clear no one told them about the switch.

“Mr. Park?!” Yerim cries, practically bouncing. “You’re coming with us?!”

He doesn’t get a word in before all three girls are orbiting around him, chattering excitedly, asking questions, and clearly delighted by his presence. Heeseung just watches with poorly hidden amusement, marking them off the list.

One by one, the students begin to trickle in, checking in with Heeseung while Sunghoon is quickly cornered into unofficial morning entertainment duty. It’s barely 6 a.m., and somehow he’s answering questions about curfews, negotiating snack allowances, and promising nothing—but not exactly saying no either.

“Can you convince Mr. Lee to let us stay out till ten instead of nine?” “Will you buy us candy?” “Are you and Mr. Lee dating?”

That last one gets a particularly loud snort from Heeseung, who nearly chokes on his coffee behind them.

Despite himself, Sunghoon finds his mood lifting. The energy is contagious—messy and loud and overwhelming, yes—but also weirdly fun. These kids are full of life.

Once everyone has arrived and been accounted for, the group boards the charter bus bound for the airport. That’s when the weight of it all starts to settle in. The responsibility. The what-ifs. The realization that he’s now partially in charge of over a dozen young lives for the next seven days.

Sunghoon sinks into his seat, the buzz of conversation around him fading into a distant hum. Heeseung stands at the front of the bus, microphone in hand, and commands the room like he was born to do it.

He outlines the plan for the airport: where to go, what documents to have ready, what to do if they get lost. His voice is calm and clear, every sentence met with focused attention. Sunghoon watches in awe. Heeseung has them all in the palm of his hand. Not a single student interrupts. Not a whisper out of place. Its impressive. Sunghoon, at that age, would’ve been causing absolute hell.

The ride to the airport is about forty minutes. Sunghoon considers napping, but a quick glance at Heeseung furiously flipping through his itinerary, lips pressed into a tight line makes him pause.

Heeseung is spiraling. Quietly, of course. But Sunghoon knows that look. He’s running through every worst-case scenario in his head, obsessively reviewing things he already triple-checked the night before.

Sunghoon reaches over and places a hand over Heeseung’s. The motion stills him. Heeseung looks down at their hands, then slowly lifts his gaze to meet Sunghoon’s.

“Hyung,” Sunghoon says softly. “Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. Enjoy the last few minutes of peace while you still can—because once we step into that airport, it’s game over.”

A soft laugh slips from Heeseung’s lips—quiet, but genuine. He exhales and leans back in his seat, finally letting go of the pages in his lap.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, sliding the stack of papers back into his bag. “I need to chill.”

Sunghoon smiles and squeezes his hand once before letting go. “One week,” he says. “We’ve got this.”

The bus pulls into the departure terminal just as the sky begins to lighten, a faint haze of early morning sun bleeding across the horizon. The students stir in their seats, stretching and yawning, phones already out as they take blurry selfies or message their parents that they’ve arrived at the airport.

Sunghoon shoulders his bag and follows Heeseung off the bus. They’re instantly swarmed by teenagers eager to know where to go, what to do, and—most importantly—where the nearest bathroom is.

Heeseung moves like a machine, efficient, clear, calm. He rounds up the students, makes sure everyone has their passport, boarding pass, and luggage, and shepherds them toward the check-in counters.

Sunghoon plays backup, keeping an eye on stragglers and helping hoist overstuffed suitcases off the ground. One of the boys, Junseo, nearly forgets his entire carry-on until Sunghoon sprints back to the bus to grab it for him.

“You just saved my life,” Junseo breathes, clutching the bag like it holds the cure to all teenage heartbreak.

“Just make sure you don’t forget it in another country,” Sunghoon warns, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Despite the early hour and the chaos, Sunghoon finds himself easing into the rhythm. Heeseung looks over at him every now and then—those quiet, knowing glances that say thank you without needing words. Sunghoon pretends not to notice how much those glances make his chest flutter.

Once they’re through security and waiting at the gate, the students scatter into their friend groups—some pull out snacks, some take naps, others crowd around charging stations. Heeseung sits down beside Sunghoonnear the window, finally letting out a long breath.

“That was smoother than I thought,” he says, sipping from a water bottle and resting his head against the wall behind him.

“You were worried about nothing,” Sunghoon says, nudging his knee lightly. “You’ve got them trained.”

Heeseung chuckles, his head lolling to the side to face him. “Still, it’s different having them outside of school. They’re still technically my responsibility, you know?”

“Our responsibility,” Sunghoon corrects, offering him half a smile.

Heeseung’s gaze softens. There’s a beat of silence between them, the kind that stretches but never strains. Outside the window, planes taxi down the runway. The sun continues its climb, casting the airport in a pale golden hue. “I’m really glad you came,” Heeseung says after a moment, voice low.

Sunghoon shifts in his seat, his fingers curling around the coffee cup balanced between his knees. “Yeah?” he asks.

Heeseung nods slowly. “You being here… it’s making it feel a little less overwhelming.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightens. He wants to say something clever, something light, but all that comes out is, “I’d do anything for you, you know.”

Heeseung turns to him fully now, his expression unreadable. “I know.”

Before either of them can speak again, the gate attendant calls for boarding. The students spring into action, grabbing bags and chattering excitedly as they line up in rows.

The plane hums with low chatter as students settle into their seats, already swapping snacks and fighting over the window view. Heeseung moves up and down the narrow aisle, helping students with overhead luggage and reminding them, for the fifth time, to keep their seatbelts fastened.

Sunghoon ends up in a row near the back next to Yerim and Junseo and they immediately start chatting him up. Yerim offers him one of her strawberry gummies, and Junseo insists he try to beat his score on a rhythm game.

Once the seatbelt sign turns off and the lights dim for the long-haul flight, most of the kids either pass out or slip into the lull of movies and music. The plane dips into a quiet stretch, and Sunghoon gets up to stretch his legs. He finds Heeseung a few rows up, sitting alone, flipping through a notebook with tired eyes and a red pen.

“You’re still working?” Sunghoon murmurs, leaning over the seatback.

Heeseung startles, then smiles. “Just reviewing the itinerary. Making sure nothing’s missing.”

Sunghoon gives him a look. “It’s 7 a.m., we’re 30,000 feet in the air, and half your class is drooling on their neck pillows. Take the win, Lee.”

Heeseung chuckles. “I know. I’m just… nervous, I guess. This is the first time I’ve done something like this.”

Sunghoon slides into the empty seat beside him. “You’ve done everything right. Seriously. If there’s anyone who can survive a week in a foreign country with this many teens, it’s you.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond with words. He just leans a little closer, their shoulders brushing, his head tipping gently to the side until it rests against Sunghoon’s.

For a long moment, they sit like that. Not talking. Not needing to.

When a flight attendant walks past with water bottles, they both straighten up quickly—too quickly—but neither of them says anything about it.

Back in his seat, Sunghoon rests his head against the window, watching clouds drift by like slow-moving waves.

Sunghoon has just started to nod off himself, his head tilted toward the window and his travel pillow not doing much, when he feels a gentle tap on his arm.

He blinks awake, turning to see a boy—Jihyun, if he remembers correctly—standing in the aisle looking pale and sheepish.

“Mr. Park,” Jihyun whispers, shifting from foot to foot. “I… I think I spilled my water on my seat. I didn’t mean to, I just—my hand slipped when I was trying to put the tray back and—”

Sunghoon’s brain is still catching up, but Jihyun’s small, panicked voice registers quickly. He’s flushed with embarrassment, clearly afraid he’s going to be in trouble.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sunghoon says softly, unbuckling his belt and standing up. “No big deal. It happens.”

He follows Jihyun down the aisle, careful not to bump any elbows hanging out from other students’ seats. When they reach Jihyun’s row, Sunghoon sees the damp patch on the seat and the half-empty water bottle still teetering in the cup holder.

“Did it get on you?” he asks.

Jihyun shakes his head. “Just the seat… I think.”

Sunghoon glances at the kid. He’s trying to act like it’s fine, but his fingers keep twisting nervously into the hem of his hoodie. Sunghoon remembers being this age—how the smallest things felt like the end of the world.

“Okay, we’ll fix this. No stress,” Sunghoon says gently, reaching up to press the call button above the seat. Within a minute, a flight attendant arrives, and after explaining the situation, she nods understandingly and disappears, returning shortly with a few extra blankets and a dry seat cover.

Sunghoon helps her layer the seat quickly and efficiently, shooting Jihyun a wink to reassure him. “Crisis averted,” he says, giving the kid a thumbs-up.

Jihyun smiles a little, eyes wide with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Park.” Sunghoon ruffles his hair before stepping back into the aisle. “Get some rest, alright?”

When he slides back into his own seat, Heeseung is watching him from a few rows ahead, propped on his elbow, chin in hand. His expression is unreadable at first, but then his lips curl into a faint smile.

Sunghoon raises a brow.

Heeseung just mouths, You’re good at this.

Sunghoon shrugs, trying not to let the warmth that blooms in his chest show too clearly on his face. He turns back toward the window, but the view outside is just darkness and stars.

The wheels of the plane screech against the tarmac, jolting some of the students awake while others gasp with excitement. The seatbelt sign is still on, but already there’s rustling—teenagers grabbing backpacks, stretching limbs, twisting awkwardly in cramped seats.

“Seatbelts stay on until the light goes off,” Heeseung calls out from his aisle seat near the front. His voice is calm but carries enough authority that most of them reluctantly settle back down. Sunghoon leans into the aisle, smirking at him from a few rows back. “Natural born leader.” Heeseung glances over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth twitching upward

Once the seatbelt light dings off, the chaos resumes, students popping up like toast from their seats, stretching dramatically, chattering in half-whispers as they collect their bags from the overhead bins.

Outside, the airport runway gleams under an overcast sky, soft sunlight beginning to seep through pale clouds. As they shuffle off the plane, Sunghoon watches their faces light up with awe and disbelief some have never traveled this far before, and it shows in the way they cling to their phones to capture every second, even inside the jet bridge.

Luna and Yerim are the first to press themselves against the terminal windows, squealing, “We’re actually here! Oh my god, those are such beautiful flowers!”

Behind them, Jihyun is already filming a vlog intro, dramatically whispering, “Day one, barely survived the flight. Mr. Lee had to confiscate a pack of gummy worms from Minjae. He’s not surviving the week.”

Sunghoon can’t help but chuckle, trailing behind with a travel pillow still looped around his neck. His duffel bag feels heavier by the minute, and his body is screaming for coffee, but he pushes it aside, glancing at Heeseung who’s wrangling the group toward immigration with his usual gentle firmness.

When they finally get their bags and make it past customs—miraculously without losing anyone—Sunghoon finds himself standing near the arrivals gate, holding a cardboard sign with the school’s name scribbled in marker. He feels mildly ridiculous, but Heeseung insisted it was necessary in case of emergencies.

“Do I look like a chauffeur or a babysitter?” Sunghoon asks, glancing sideways at Heeseung. “Both,” Heeseung replies, grinning as he tugs his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “And don’t forget part-time bodyguard.”

“I better be getting paid.”

Heeseung chuckles. “I’ll buy you a snack at the vending machine. That’s the budget.”

The students stream past them, some sleepy, others oddly energized by the novelty of a new country. Minjae accidentally crashes into a suitcase and apologizes five times. Lola points at a nearby café, begging Heeseung for a quick stop.

“No time,” Heeseung replies smoothly. “Bus first, then hotel. Then snacks.”

“But—!”

“No buts. You’ll live.”

The bus is waiting just outside the arrivals gate, a large white coach with the logo of the travel company printed on the side. When the students spot it, a few of them cheer. Sunghoon raises an eyebrow.

“They really do celebrate everything, huh?”

“It’s called enthusiasm. Maybe you should try it.”

Sunghoon nudges him with his elbow. “You’ve got enough enthusiasm for the both of us.”

As the kids begin to load their luggage into the bus’s undercarriage, Heeseung starts another headcount, eyes sharp, lips moving silently. Sunghoon watches him with quiet admiration—how carefully he moves, how attuned he is to every name, every kid.

“Mr. Lee! Yerim says she left her neck pillow in the bathroom!”

Heeseung lets out a long, tortured groan, and Sunghoon barely suppresses his laugh. “Guess you’ve got a mission.”

Heeseung turns, already jogging back toward the terminal. “I swear these kids are trying to break me.”

Sunghoon calls after him, “You love it!”

Heeseung throws a hand in the air without turning around, clearly not denying it.

Sunghoon watches him disappear back into the airport, then climbs into the bus and takes a seat by the window. The students are already bickering about who gets which bunk at the hotel, who brought the best snacks, and who gets to sit next to Sunghoon on the walking tour tomorrow.

As the bus starts to rumble to life, Sunghoon lets his head fall back against the seat and closes his eyes for a moment.

By the time the bus pulls up to the hotel, the students are vibrating with excitement and sleep deprivation in equal measure. Some are glued to the windows, taking blurry photos of flow and neon signs, while others are slumped against each other, half-asleep and mumbling nonsense.

The hotel itself is modest but clean and charming—tall white exterior with ivy curling around the balconies, a tiled entrance with oversized potted plants, and a small fountain bubbling away near the front doors. Inside, the lobby smells faintly of lemon-scented cleaner and brewed coffee. A chandelier dangles overhead, slightly too grand for the space, but it casts a warm golden light across the check-in desk and lobby couches.

Sunghoon watches as the students pour in, dragging roller bags behind them, their sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. Heeseung’s already heading to the front desk, his backpack slipping down one shoulder as he flips through a binder of printouts.

Sunghoon trails after him, amused. “You printed out the room assignments?”

“I wasn’t about to rely on the hotel having decent Wi-Fi,” Heeseung says, handing the receptionist their reservation papers and pulling out a stack of room keys. “Besides, it makes me feel powerful.”

Sunghoon snorts. “Nothing says authority like a laminated spreadsheet.”

While Heeseung sorts through the room keys, Sunghoon turns back to the students. “Okay, guys! Chill out. You’re not picking your rooms.”

A few groans rise from the crowd.

“Mr. Park, do I have to room with Minjae again?” Jihyun whines. “He snores and sleep talks.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to talk to Mr. Lee.”

Minjae gasps. “I don't snore!”

Heeseung returns with a stack of keys and calls out, “Alright, listen up! We’re going over room pairings once, and once only. If you swap, sneak around, or try to organize a sleepover, I will know. I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing.”

“Is that because you used to be a teenager too?” Yerim teases.

“I was an exceptionally well-behaved one,” Heeseung replies smoothly, and Sunghoon chokes on a laugh behind him. The students gather around as Heeseung reads off names and room numbers like a roll call. As the kids drag their suitcases toward the elevators in pairs, some cheering, others groaning in fake horror, Sunghoon glances at Heeseung again—his forehead slightly creased, but eyes alert.

Once the last room key is handed out and the elevator dings shut behind the final group of students, Sunghoon sighs and rolls his shoulders. “That went better than expected.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Heeseung says, massaging the back of his neck. “Give it two hours. Someone’s going to lose their keycard and someone else will cry because the shower pressure sucks.”

“What about us?” Sunghoon asks. “Are we sharing?” Heeseung flashes a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah, but it's only one bed. Hope that’s okay?”

Sunghoon swallows. Having to share one bed with Heeseung for an entire week and having to be cool about it is going to be absolute torture but he can do this, he has to. Sunghoon nods. “Of course.”

Their shared room is on the fourth floor—modest and clean, with a king sized bed, a small balcony overlooking a cobblestone courtyard, and a closet with just enough space to squeeze their bags into. A framed print of some local landscape hangs crookedly on the wall.

Sunghoon flops onto his bed with a sigh, burying his face in the pillow for a moment before muttering, “This actually was fun I thought it’d be so much worse.”

Heeseung chuckles from the other side of the room, opening the curtains and letting in the soft daylight. “You’ll change your mind when they start begging to take pictures with you.”

Sunghoon lifts his head, mock horrified. “If they tag me in any posts, I swear—”

A loud knock at the door cuts him off.

Heeseung groans. “We’ve been here ten minutes.”

He opens the door to find Luna and Lola standing there with sheepish expressions. “Mr. Lee, um… we locked ourselves out of our room,” Luna says, holding up a clearly bent keycard.

Heeseung stares at the card, then at them. “How?”

“I think the card touched my phone?” Lola offers, as if that explains everything.

Sunghoon throws a pillow over his face to muffle a laugh. Heeseung pinches the bridge of his nose but doesn’t scold them. “Come on. Let’s go to the front desk. I’ll teach you how to use modern technology.”

As he herds them back toward the elevator, he glances back at Sunghoon and raises a brow. “Still think this is smoother than expected?”

Sunghoon grins, stretching out across the bed again. “Totally. This is a breeze.”

Heeseung shakes his head as the elevator dings open. The door closes behind him, and for a moment, the room is quiet again. Sunghoon stares at the ceiling, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

After washing up, they both venture out into the hallway, drawn by the sound of shuffling footsteps and muffled laughter. The hotel isn’t big—just four stories and shaped like a loose rectangle, with a small courtyard in the middle and open walkways instead of interior hallways. When they step out onto the fourth-floor balcony, the golden afternoon light floods over them, casting soft shadows through the railings.

Below them, they spot students wandering in small groups. A few of the boys are tossing a soft ball back and forth in the courtyard. Yerim and Jihyun have found a bench near a small garden and are already taking selfies with the local flowers. Others are poking around the vending machines, debating snack options like it’s a high-stakes negotiation.

Heeseung leans against the railing with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says quietly.

Sunghoon glances sideways at him. “It really is.”

They take a slow lap around the hotel, checking in with students as they go. Sunghoon ends up answering five questions about the hotel pool (which opens tomorrow), two about laundry (it’s coin-operated), and one request for a room change (“Not happening, Yerim, no matter how much you bribe me”).

Eventually, they find themselves in the small game lounge on the second floor, where Minjae and a few others are already halfway into a heated foosball game. A flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall with an old Xbox hooked up to it, and someone has connected their phone to a Bluetooth speaker, playing low-volume pop music that fills the space with easy energy.

“Mr. Park!” one of the students calls. “Play with us?”

Sunghoon raises a brow. “You sure you can handle losing to me?”

Minjae gasps. “You’ve played before?”

Heeseung steps in before Sunghoon can speak. “Only in his dreams. But yes, challenge him. Please.”

Sunghoon spends the next fifteen minutes dominating a group of fourteen-year-olds at foosball, until one of them figures out how to spin and wins by pure chaotic luck. Meanwhile, Heeseung sits on the couch, scrolling through emails and laughing quietly every time someone shouts in victory or defeat.

When the match finally ends, Sunghoon collapses on the armrest next to him, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t care what they say,” he mutters. “These kids are brutal.”

Heeseung looks up from his phone, his expression softening. “You love it.”

Sunghoon grins, tilting his head back. “Maybe.”

The dining hall of the hotel isn’t exactly luxurious, but it’s charming in a retro kind of way—warm lighting, tiled floors, round tables dressed with clean white linens, and a soft hum of background jazz filtering through hidden speakers. The scent of roasted vegetables and grilled meat wafts from the buffet line, and a few staff members move quickly between tables, refilling water pitchers and setting out fresh cutlery.

Sunghoon steps into the restaurant and instinctively scans the room. The students have already begun to trickle in, chattering excitedly as they find seats and start forming groups. Luna, Yerim, and Lola have claimed a table near the window, waving at Sunghoon when they spot him. A few of the boys are arguing about who gets to sit closest to the dessert table.

Heeseung appears at his side with a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Assigned seating for meals was starting to sound like a good idea,” he mutters.

Sunghoon laughs. “Too late now. Let them pick they'll be alright.”

Heeseung sighs, but there’s a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. But if one of them ends up with four bread rolls and nothing else on their plate, it’s your fault.”

“Understood,” Sunghoon says, mock-saluting him.

The two teachers guide the last few students toward open tables, answering questions about food allergies and drink options, settling minor disputes over who gets the seat closest to the AC. Once everyone seems accounted for, they finally get their own plates.

Sunghoon immediately takes a long sip of his water. “This might be the most peaceful moment we get today.”

“I wouldn't bet on it,” Heeseung says without looking up from his meal. As if on cue, Minjae stands from his table and waves a hand dramatically. “Mr. Lee! Mr. Park! Can we get soda if we finish our vegetables?”

Heeseung doesn’t miss a beat. “Eat your vegetables and don’t spill anything. Then we’ll talk.”

“But—”

Sunghoon cuts in, raising a brow. “And no soda if I hear another ‘Yo Mama’ joke at dinner, Minjae.”

The boy groans, slumping back into his chair. “You guys are no fun.”

Heeseung leans in toward Sunghoon with a smirk. “We’re the worst.”

The two of them eat in relative quiet after that, watching over the room like informal bodyguards. It’s kind of like babysitting a room full of caffeinated squirrels, but there’s something oddly heartwarming about it too—students passing bread baskets around, snapping photos of their plates, comparing desserts. Yerim and Jihyun take turns stealing tiny bites from each other’s trays, and a few of the boys start stacking empty cups like they’re building a hotel-themed tower defense.

Heeseung is halfway through his soup when he pauses, eyes distant.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asks, nudging his ankle lightly under the table.

Heeseung blinks, then nods. “Yeah. Just... watching them all like this. It's nice. After everything with Sakura and the hospital and almost having to cancel—it’s nice that it’s actually happening.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens. “You made it happen.”

Heeseung looks down, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

Eventually, the plates start emptying, the room begins to quiet, and students trickle out in pairs and small groups, off to their rooms with the promise of a packed itinerary tomorrow. Some linger to ask if they’ll have free time before breakfast, others beg for five extra minutes of Wi-Fi. Heeseung handles them all patiently, calmly—Sunghoon’s starting to believe he might actually be a wizard.

When the last of the students disappears down the hallway, Sunghoon slumps forward and rests his head on the table.

Heeseung chuckles. “One down, six to go.”

“Sakura and you are willing to do this every year?”

Heeseung smiles fondly. “She actually loves it. I do too, if I’m honest.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, head still resting on his arms. “I can see why.”

And he can. The way Heeseung lights up when he’s with his students. The way he keeps track of everyone’s names and dietary needs and quirks. The quiet joy that settles around him now, warm and steady like the soft lighting overhead.

The hotel hallways are dim now, lit only by muted sconces that line the walls. The air smells faintly of hotel soap and lavender cleaning spray. Somewhere down the hall, someone’s shower is still running. It’s almost 10 PM, curfew hour, and Heeseung and Sunghoon are making their final round.

Sunghoon trails just behind Heeseung, clipboard in hand, checking off rooms as they go.

Room 302: Minjae and Taejoon are already in bed, lights out, though Sunghoon suspects they’ve got phones hidden under their blankets. He lets it slide—for tonight.

Room 304: Yerim and Luna are still brushing their teeth when the teachers knock. They giggle when they open the door, Yerim half-apologizing for almost slamming the door in Sunghoon's face, Luna waving a mouth full of toothpaste foam.

Room 306: All quiet, all accounted for.

By the time they reach the last door, Heeseung is visibly softening, like the tension that clung to his shoulders all day is finally easing. Sunghoon glances over at him and finds himself smiling. Heeseung is tired—his hair a little tousled, his shirt wrinkled from the long day—but there’s a calm in his face now that wasn’t there this morning.

They start walking slowly back to their shared room. When they step inside, Heeseung immediately kicks off his shoes and flops down on the bed, groaning dramatically. Sunghoon, meanwhile, stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, suddenly very aware of the fact that there’s only one bed.

“You good?” Heeseung asks, voice muffled into the pillow.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says too quickly. “Yeah, of course. Just… hydrating.” He grabs a bottle of water from the desk.

Heeseung peeks up at him with a sleepy grin. “I can sleep on the floor if you want.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Sunghoon says, waving him off. “We’re both adults. We’re just sleeping.”

“Exactly. Sleeping,” Heeseung echoes, though his voice dips ever so slightly on the word.

Sunghoon turns away to brush his teeth, using the excuse of routine to give his racing heart a minute to slow down. The bathroom light flickers slightly when he turns it on, and he stares at himself in the mirror, silently mouthing Get a grip before returning to the room.

Heeseung is already under the covers by the time Sunghoon comes back out, eyes half-lidded, hair damp from a quick shower, face turned toward the wall. Sunghoon carefully climbs into the other side of the bed, making sure to keep a respectful distance. For a few minutes, the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning. Then Heeseung says, barely above a whisper, “Thank you again… for coming.”

Sunghoon turns his head slightly. Heeseung hasn’t moved, but his voice is softer now, sincere in a way that feels fragile.

“I mean it,” he continues. “I would’ve lost my mind without you.”

Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding. He wants to say something light. Something sarcastic. Something safe.

But instead, he says quietly, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I’m here.”

A pause. Then.

“You’re warm,” Heeseung mumbles, voice so close now that Sunghoon realizes he’s shifted in bed, just a little.

Sunghoon chuckles under his breath. “You’re not even touching me.”

“I can tell,” Heeseung says sleepily, and then—nothing.

Just slow, steady breathing.

Sunghoon lies there a moment longer, staring into the dark, pulse thrumming in his ears. The space between them is barely a hand’s width. If he shifted even a little, he’d feel the brush of Heeseung’s arm, maybe even the curve of his spine.

He closes his eyes.

He’ll just rest, he tells himself.

Just sleep.

The next morning, Sunghoon wakes up just after sunrise, the hotel room still cloaked in quiet. The light filtering through the curtains is soft, golden, and he moves through it carefully so as not to wake Heeseung, still bundled in the blankets, half-buried in pillows.

Sunghoon smiles faintly to himself. Heeseung looks peaceful like this—hair a mess, arm slung across the bed, mouth slightly parted. He’s going to need the extra energy today, Sunghoon thinks. Their first full day with the students will be no joke.So he lets him sleep.

Sunghoon showers, gets dressed, and when he steps back into the room, towel-drying his hair, Heeseung is blinking blearily at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember what planet he’s on.

Then his eyes land on the clock—and panic kicks in.

“Oh my god,” Heeseung sits up, scrambling. “Why didn’t you wake me up? We’re gonna be late—”

Sunghoon walks over, placing a hand on his shoulder to still him. “Relax. I figured you’d need a few extra minutes. I’ve got time to wake up the kids while you get ready.”

Heeseung sighs, slumping back onto the bed for a beat. “You’re too nice to me.”

He heads out and makes his rounds, knocking on doors and calling out cheerful morning greetings. There’s a lot of groaning and muffled complaints from the other side of the doors, but slowly, the students drag themselves out of bed.

By the time Sunghoon gets to the breakfast area, the early risers are trickling in one by one. Sleepy chatter fills the room, and before long, the kids are wide awake, laughing, teasing each other, piling plates with toast, fruit, and cereal like they hadn’t been zombies ten minutes ago.

Heeseung is the last to arrive, hair still slightly damp from his shower, slipping into a seat beside Sunghoon with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry—had to take a call from the school,” he explains.

“You missed watching half your class almost fall asleep into their cereal,” Sunghoon replies. “It was a sight.”

Heeseung snorts and starts buttering a croissant.

Their first stop after breakfast is the museum.

To Sunghoon’s surprise, the students are genuinely interested—eyes wide, heads tilted, following the guide with a kind of focused energy neither he nor Heeseung quite expected. The tour includes interactive exhibits and a clever game involving clues hidden throughout the art displays. The students love it.

Of course, there are still moments of chaos—Heeseung has to sternly separate two boys poking each other with museum pencils and remind Luna and Yerim not to sneak behind the velvet ropes for photos. But overall, it’s a win.

After lunch, Heeseung grants the students an hour of free time to explore the nearby area in small groups. But not before making them recite the rules out loud.

“No wandering too far. No splitting up. And if you get lost—?”

“Call you immediately!” the students chant in unison.

Heeseung gives a proud nod. “Exactly.”

While the students disperse, Sunghoon and Heeseung find a little café terrace with shaded seating and order two coffees. The weather is warm, the street lively, and for the first time that day, they exhale.

“This is nice,” Sunghoon says, stretching his legs out.

“Mhm,” Heeseung agrees, sipping his drink. “Don’t get used to it.”

Every few minutes, one or two students show up—Minjae arrives with hopeful eyes and a brochure for sailing, which Heeseung shuts down before the question is even finished. Others come to show off small souvenirs: keychains, postcards, novelty hats.

They wrap the afternoon with a visit to a botanical garden, where the students—especially the girls—go wild taking photos. Lola insists on getting a picture with every flower species, and Sunghoon is happily recruited to take all the group shots. He directs poses, lines everyone up, even crouches to get the “perfect angle,” earning laughter and cheers from the kids.

“You’re a natural,” Heeseung comments when they take a break on a bench near the gift shop. Sunghoon shrugs, still scrolling through the pictures. “One of the girls told me I’m ‘girl dad material,’ whatever that means.”

Heeseung barks a laugh, nearly spitting out his drink. “That’s… weirdly accurate.”

“It’s a compliment,” Sunghoon says proudly. “I’m honored.”

By the time they shepherd the students back onto the bus, everyone is tired—but in the good, sun-warmed, feet-aching kind of way. The kids are buzzing about the day, showing off their souvenirs, comparing photos.

Heeseung tosses his backpack down and collapses onto the bed with a groan. “Wake me up next week.”

Sunghoon kicks off his shoes, stretches, and flops down beside him. “Not a chance. We’ve got another museum tomorrow.”

“Kill me.”

“You’re the one who planned this.”

“I hate myself.”

Sunghoon chuckles and rolls onto his side, watching Heeseung’s face soften, eyes fluttering shut.

Moments later, they’re both out cold, the sounds of the city beyond the hotel window fading into the silence of their room.

The days blur together in a whirlwind of movement, laughter, and controlled chaos. Time seems to slip through their fingers, not because things are quiet or easy—far from it—but because Heeseung and Sunghoon are constantly on the move, always solving something, organizing someone, or chasing after stragglers who “just wanted to see one more thing.” Their hands are full, their energy stretched thin, but there's a strange kind of joy in the madness.

Each day begins early and ends late, packed from top to bottom with excursions, museum visits, walking tours, and group activities. Every morning starts with a chorus of yawns and groggy complaints as they wake the students, and every night ends with reminders about curfew, sunscreen, and staying in pairs. The routine is exhausting but never boring.

Despite the general smoothness of things, a few hiccups keep them on their toes. One afternoon, Yerim slips on a curb and scrapes her knee, which sparks mild panic until they get her cleaned up and laughing again, a lollipop from Sunghoon’s backpack distracting her long enough for Heeseung to finish bandaging her. Another night, Heeseung discovers half the boys sneaking through the hallway with shaving cream and a questionable look in their eyes. He swiftly puts an end to their prank plans, confiscating the supplies and sending them back to their rooms with a level stare that leaves no room for negotiation.

Sunghoon, meanwhile, finds himself reluctantly stepping into the role of unofficial “girl group” photographer. It starts innocently enough—Luna asking for a quick picture in front of the hotel lobby’s grand staircase—but before he knows it, he’s directing full-on photoshoots in the hallway, complete with lighting advice and pose suggestions. “Okay, Minji, tilt your chin—no, other way. That’s it. Gorgeous,” he says dryly, clicking the shutter as the girls squeal around him. He plays it cool, but he secretly enjoys it, especially the way they trust him, laugh with him, treat him like one of their own.

Heeseung doesn’t let him off the hook, either. “They really got you, huh?,” he teases one night while passing him a bottle of water after the fifth group shot in a row. “Should I be worried you’ll leave your job for fashion photography?”

Sunghoon just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

A few nights into the trip, Heeseung decides to take the whole group out to dinner at a nice restaurant in the city. It’s a bold move—getting fourteen teenagers into a formal setting is asking for disaster—but he wants to give them something special, something they’ll remember. Predictably, it starts out rough. One of the boys knocks over a chair, two girls argue over who gets to sit near the window, and someone manages to spill a glass of water before anyone even orders. But eventually, things settle. Food arrives, laughter replaces the chaos, and the restaurant fills with the sounds of stories being shared, inside jokes, and clinking cutlery. Even the waitstaff start smiling as the kids thank them in broken foreign phrases they learned that morning.

Later that night, back at the hotel, the students somehow convince them to stay for a round of truth or dare in one of the rooms. Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a wary glance—because nothing good ever starts with "Truth or Dare" and a room full of smirking teenagers—but they sit down anyway. The questions stay mostly harmless while the teachers are in the room: silly dares to sing off-key, truths about embarrassing childhood stories. But as soon as they stand up to leave, the laughter that explodes behind the door makes it clear the real game is just getting started.

That has become a new tradition. In the final minutes before curfew, at least half the students gather in Heeseung and Sunghoon’s room to hang out, talk, and decompress from the day. The first time they came in and saw the single bed, there was an immediate uproar.

“There’s only one bed?” Minjae gasped, dramatically clutching his chest like he'd seen something scandalous.

“No way. No way!” Yerim cried, laughing so hard she had to sit down. “You two are sharing? So do you two cuddle?”

Heeseung shut it down immediately with a roll of his eyes and a gruff “Everyone out or I’m collecting phones,” which got them moving fast. But Sunghoon had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing—especially after that morning, when he woke up tangled in Heeseung’s limbs, the older man draped over him like a blanket, still dead asleep. Heeseung had looked peaceful, almost boyish, hair flopped across his forehead, breath warm against the side of Sunghoon’s neck. And for just a second, Sunghoon had let himself lie there and feel it—feel how nice it was to be held.

Now, every night ends with the same unspoken ritual: Heeseung setting an early alarm, Sunghoon double-checking the itinerary, both of them collapsing into bed, too exhausted to think, their legs brushing under the covers, breaths syncing in the quiet. Neither of them says it, but it’s there—in the way they keep finding each other in the dark.

And somehow, as chaotic as it is, Sunghoon’s never slept better in his life.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a soft, golden glow over the beach where the group finally finds some time to breathe after a whirlwind morning of sightseeing. The salty breeze carries the distant crash of waves, mingling with the cheerful chatter of the students who scatter across the sand—some digging their toes into the cool water, others sprawled on towels, soaking up the warmth.

Sunghoon kicks off his shoes, letting the sand sift between his toes, feeling the tension of the past days begin to melt away. He leans back on his hands, watching the students with a fond smile—Luna and Yerim daring each other to jump over small waves, Minjae trying to teach a few boys how to skip stones, and a few quieter ones sitting in pairs under umbrellas, whispering and laughing.

Heeseung settles down beside him, pulling off his sneakers and stretching out. He gazes out over the shimmering ocean, eyes thoughtful. After a moment, he turns to Sunghoon, his tone low and certain.

“I’ve been thinking about the last day,” he says, brushing sand off his hands. “We should do something nice for them.”

Sunghoon nods, intrigued. “Like what?”

Heeseung’s smile is quiet but confident. “A beach barbecue. Music, games, a little awards ceremony. We can let them take charge of some things—like the playlist, or organizing some fun competitions. It’ll be a way to celebrate everything they’ve done... and maybe give them a chance to really relax before heading home.”

Sunghoon imagines the scene—a bonfire flickering against the night sky, the group gathered around, stories shared, laughter echoing over the waves. It feels right. Perfect, even.

“They’ll love it,” Sunghoon agrees. “And it’ll be a good way for us to unwind, too. We’ve earned it.”

Heeseung’s gaze lingers on him for a beat, a subtle warmth flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. We have.”

They sit side by side for a few minutes, watching as the sun dips closer to the horizon, the sky bleeding shades of pink and orange. Around them, the students are slowly tiring, voices softening, energy ebbing in the most peaceful way.

Later that night, the hotel hallway is quiet except for the soft padding of Sunghoon’s footsteps as he makes his way to one of the girls’ rooms. One of them had forgotten her hoodie on the beach earlier, and Sunghoon promised to bring it back. The air grows sweeter as he approaches the door, a faint scent of body lotion and hand creams drifting out the moment he cracks it open—floral, powdery, a little like vanilla and something fresh he can’t quite place. It’s overwhelming in the best way, a distinctly “girly” cocoon that makes him smile softly.

Inside, the three girls are already tucked under their blankets, whispers hushed to a sleepy hum. Their eyes flicker up as he steps in, the dim light casting gentle shadows on their faces.

“Here,” Sunghoon says quietly, holding out the hoodie. The girl’s eyes brighten, and she quickly slips it over her shoulders, warm and grateful. “Thanks, Mr. Park.”

Sunghoon nods, about to turn and leave, but just then, one of the other girls speaks up, voice curious and a little mischievous. “Mr. Park... are you in love with Mr. Lee?”

The room goes still. The other two girls widen their eyes, leaning in, waiting for his answer like it’s the most important secret in the world.

Sunghoon freezes for a moment, caught off guard but not wanting to fuel their teasing. He smirks, shaking his head gently.

“You girls need to learn how to mind your own business,” he says, voice low but playful.

“Don’t deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at our teacher.” She says adjusting her eye mask.

Sunghoon can’t help but chuckle softly as he closes the door behind him.

The last day of the trip dawns bright and clear, with a crisp breeze carrying the salty tang of the sea. The students wake up buzzing with excitement—today’s the day they’ve been begging for since the moment they arrived: sailing. Heeseung had resisted at first, wary of the logistics and safety, but after the students created a whole dance routine pleading for the chance, he finally gave in with a reluctant smile.

By mid-morning, everyone gathers at the marina, the sun sparkling off the gentle waves. The sailing boats bob gracefully in the water, white sails taut in the wind. Sunghoon watches Heeseung with quiet pride as he organizes the groups, assigning roles and safety gear with calm confidence. The students are electric with anticipation, their laughter and chatter carrying over the water.

As the boats push off from the dock, the wind fills the sails, and the students cheer, some gripping the rigging, others letting their hair fly free in the breeze. Sunghoon stands beside Heeseung on the main boat, their shoulders occasionally brushing.

Out on the water, the world feels wide and endless. Students take turns steering, their faces lit with pure joy and a little nervousness. Heeseung guides them patiently, pointing out the best ways to catch the wind, making sure everyone stays safe but also encouraging them to embrace the freedom of the sea.

After a few hours of sailing, the boats return to shore as the afternoon sun warms their skin. The group heads to the beach for a barbecue under the fading light, where the scent of grilled food mingles with the ocean air. Fire crackles in a pit, casting flickering shadows on smiling faces. Students gather around, sharing stories, teasing one another, and savoring the last moments of the trip.

Heeseung and Sunghoon sit side by side on a driftwood log, plates heavy with food, watching the students play near the water’s edge. The girls’ laughter mixes with the gentle rush of the waves, the sky painted in hues of pink and gold. The fire crackles softly, sending tiny sparks up into the starry sky. The salty breeze from the ocean mixes with the sweet smell of melting marshmallows and chocolate. Around the glowing campfire, the students gather in a loose circle, clutching sticks with perfectly toasted marshmallows ready to be sandwiched between graham crackers and chocolate squares.

Laughter bubbles through the group as they talk excitedly about their plans for summer break—trips with family, summer jobs, and lazy days by the pool. The warmth of the fire and the relaxed atmosphere make it easy for everyone to open up.

Back at the hotel, the students are utterly exhausted. Heeseung had been smart and told them the night before to pack everything, knowing they’d be too tired to think about it once they returned. One by one, the lights in their rooms flick off, and soft breathing fills the halls as they settle into bed, drained from the day’s adventures.

Sunghoon and Heeseung exchange a quiet look, sharing a small, tired smile, then quietly slip out of the rooms and head down to the hotel bar. The dimly lit space is still open, offering a calm refuge after the chaos of the day. They settle into a corner booth with their drinks, the hum of soft music and muffled conversations wrapping around them. For a while, they just sit, soaking in the quiet, the weight of the trip slowly coming to an end.

Eventually, they decide it’s time to turn in. Tomorrow promises to be just as draining—a final push to shepherd fourteen teenagers safely home.

While Heeseung showers, Sunghoon settles on the edge of the bed with his phone. He types quick replies to texts from Yunjin, Wonyoung, Jake, even Riki, his fingers moving almost automatically. The faint glow of the screen is soothing in the dim room, and the steady stream of messages feels like a lifeline to the world outside their hectic trip.

The bathroom door opens, and Heeseung steps out, steam still clinging to his damp hair. He’s wearing Sunghoon’s oversized shirt, the fabric loose and soft against his skin, and a pair of checkered boxer shorts that fall casually low on his hips. Sunghoon’s eyes catch the way the shirt swallows Heeseung’s frame, the hem brushing his upper-thigh. It’s funny—he suspects that shirt now fully belongs to Heeseung. Not that he minds. He’s almost grateful that the exhaustion of these past days dulled his senses enough not to overthink how intimate it feels to have Heeseung sleeping beside him wearing his clothes. But tonight is different. The awareness presses down on him, sharp and unmistakable. It’s almost laughable how something so small—a shirt, a shared space—can unbalance him so thoroughly. But then again, it’s no surprise. Heeseung has that effect: the subtle things, the quiet moments, always manage to catch him off guard, rendering him vulnerable.

Sunghoon heads to the bathroom next, forcing himself under a cold, bracing stream. He knows all too well what happens if he doesn’t—his body betrays him with unwanted heat, restless energy that refuses to settle. After the shock of cold water, he returns to their room, expecting Heeseung to be asleep by now.

Instead, Heeseung sits on the bed, quietly laying out his clothes for the next day—neatly folding each piece, then smoothing it down. He flips through laminated sheets again, the soft rustle of paper filling the stillness. Sunghoon watches him for a moment, drawn in by how focused he is, the way his brow furrows slightly when he reads.

Suddenly, a loud ding breaks the silence as Heeseung’s phone lights up. The glow snaps him out of his concentration. Sunghoon’s curiosity nudges him closer, and he leans over Heeseung’s shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at the screen.

Heeseung unlocks the phone, and his face immediately brightens. “Oh, look. It’s your brother,” he says with a teasing grin. “He’s asking if we got a sunburn?” Heeseung reads aloud, amusement in his voice. Sunghoon snorts, unable to hide his smile.

“Let’s take a picture and let him decide for himself,” Heeseung suggests, opening the camera app. Sunghoon steps even closer, settling behind Heeseung so that their bodies nearly touch. Heeseung lifts the phone and angles it just right, the screen reflecting both of their faces.

Through the digital lens, Sunghoon sees Heeseung’s damp hair tousled perfectly, eyes sparkling with warmth and humor. Even like this—casual, unguarded—Heeseung is the most beautiful person Sunghoon has ever known.

“Come on, Sunghoon, smile!” Heeseung prompts softly.

And he does—because with Heeseung, it’s impossible not to.

Three quick clicks later, Heeseung taps the screen, sending the photos off to Jay. Sunghoon remains standing behind him, still close, almost leaning into the warmth radiating from Heeseung’s back. If Heeseung were to shift or lean back just a fraction, they’d be pressed together, skin to skin.

From this angle, Sunghoon notices the subtle but telling differences between them. Both tall, but he’s just a few centimeters taller—his shoulders broader, his arms thicker. The difference isn’t huge, but it’s enough.

His mind wanders, and the mischievous, slightly perverted part of his brain kicks into overdrive—because let’s be honest, when Heeseung’s around, that part of him tends to take the wheel. There’s something intoxicating in this role reversal: Sunghoon, once the smaller kid, now the slightly bigger, stronger one. The power dynamic shifts, playful and charged.

It’s ridiculous and exhilarating, all at once.

Heeseung turns around, clearly not expecting Sunghoon to be standing so close—but he doesn’t move away. His brows lift slightly, eyes searching Sunghoon’s face like he's waiting for him to speak. But Sunghoon says nothing. He just looks at him—openly, intently—like he's memorizing every detail, every freckle, every breath.

Heeseung’s lips curve into a small, shy smile. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sunghoon hears Wonyoung’s voice echo faintly in the back of his mind, urging him to be brave. Telling him to do the thing he’s so terrified of doing. To cross the line he’s drawn for himself so many times. The line he swore he wouldn’t cross—for Jay’s sake, for Heeseung’s sake, for his own peace of mind.

But how is he supposed to stay quiet when Heeseung is right here, looking at him with such pure affection in his eyes?

What does he have to lose?

A lot, actually. If he thinks about it too long, the weight of it all crashes down: the risk of ruining his relationship with Jay, the bond he’s built with Heeseung, the delicate balance of everything they’ve been. Heeseung and Jay have been best friends since they were kids—what if this breaks them apart?

But somewhere in the ache of his chest, Sunghoon finds clarity. He’s tired of running from this. Tired of regrets.

He made that mistake once—thirteen, nervous and full of feeling, sitting on that fallen tree with Heeseung after he got stood up, the summer Jay was away. That had been his moment, and he let it pass. A week later, Heeseung was gone.

But now—now he has a second chance.

Heeseung whispers, voice careful and unsure, “Sunghoon?”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Sunghoon says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I need to kiss you now, so if that’s not something you want, you need to tell—”

But he doesn’t finish. Heeseung reaches up, hands trembling slightly as they cradle Sunghoon’s face, and pulls him in. The kiss is desperate—hungry, years of tension unraveling in seconds. Their mouths collide messily, wet and urgent, lips clashing, parting, rejoining in a flurry of need. It’s uncoordinated and perfect, like neither of them know what they’re doing but both know exactly what they want.

Sunghoon’s hands instinctively move to Heeseung’s waist, fingers gripping like he’s afraid Heeseung will disappear if he lets go. He’s warm and real beneath his palms—everything Sunghoon has ever wanted. Their bodies sway together in a dance they’ve both secretly memorized.

Heeseung moans against his mouth, quiet and breathy, and it sparks something in Sunghoon—something primal. Without breaking the kiss, he starts walking Heeseung backwards until his thighs bump into the edge of the desk. In one smooth motion, Sunghoon sweeps the clutter off it—papers, a water bottle, Heeseung’s laminated schedule—all crash to the floor as Sunghoon lifts him up and sets him down.

Heeseung barely has time to gasp before Sunghoon is between his legs, and their mouths are fused again. His fingers clutch at Sunghoon’s shoulders, dragging down to his chest and around his neck, nails grazing his skin like he’s trying to leave a mark.

Sunghoon groans into the kiss—deep and rough—and it makes Heeseung shiver. He wraps his legs around Sunghoon’s waist, tugging him closer, as if there’s still any space left between them. Sunghoon’s hands are everywhere—pressing into the dip of Heeseung’s waist, sliding up under the borrowed shirt to touch bare skin. His fingers splay across Heeseung’s ribs, thumb brushing the softness just above his waistband.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Sunghoon murmurs against his lips, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “I should’ve told you years ago.”

Heeseung’s eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and glassy. “Tell me now.”

Sunghoon does. Not just with words, but with the way his mouth traces along Heeseung’s jaw, the way he kisses his neck like it's sacred ground. With the way he holds him—like he’s finally found something he thought he’d never have. Something he’ll never let go of again.

Their breaths are ragged, mingling in the silence, and for the first time in a long time, Sunghoon feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Heeseung breaks the kiss with a gasp, the back of his head thudding softly against the wall above the desk. His lips are red and swollen, slick with spit, a thin string still connecting him to Sunghoon’s mouth before it snaps. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, almost as if the air has been knocked clean out of him.

Sunghoon pulls back just slightly, watching him. Just watching—like he’s memorizing him. And why wouldn’t he? Heeseung’s eyes are half-lidded and glassy, his cheeks are burning with heat, his lips parted as soft panting fills the space between them. He looks ruined—fucked-out before they’ve even gotten there—and Sunghoon’s barely touched him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice low and thick, like it’s crawling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

Heeseung shudders under the praise, hands fumbling blindly behind him for the edge of the desk. His fingers curl over it, knuckles white as he tries to steady himself.. The tension is unbearable—in his body, in the air, in the slick space between them where their clothes rub and catch with every movement.

Sunghoon leans in and noses along the sharp line of Heeseung’s jaw, then lower, to the place where his throat bobs with every shaky breath. He mouths at it, licks a stripe up the length of his neck, then bites—hard enough to make Heeseung jolt. The gasp that slips out of him is sharp, involuntary, and Sunghoon drinks it in like water.

“You like that,” Sunghoon whispers, tongue tracing over the mark he’s just made. “You want more?” Heeseung nods, too breathless to speak, thighs twitching where they press against Sunghoon’s hips. His entire body is leaning into him, like he’s being pulled in by gravity, or need, or something heavier than either.

Sunghoon's hand slides down his side, over the dip of his waist, the edge of his hip, before slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers already soaked through. Heeseung makes a strangled noise when fingers brush over his sensitive skin. The fabric clings to his skin like second skin, heat radiating from underneath like an open flame.

“Fuck,” Sunghoon hisses, his voice fraying at the edges. “We’ve only kissed and you’re already this wet.”

He slips his hand lower, fingertips brushing the slick seam, then pushes inside, beneath every barrier.

And then—he touches him. Skin to skin.

The first contact makes Heeseung jolt, his hips canting forward instinctively, a moan breaking free from deep in his chest. He’s soaked—dripping—and the feel of Sunghoon’s fingers finally sliding through the wetness makes his legs tremble.

Sunghoon finds his clit and starts slow—rubbing slow, deliberate circles, barely pressing down. Just enough to make Heeseung gasp and twitch, not enough to satisfy. He eases two fingers inside him with a slick glide that makes both of them groan.

Heeseung clutches at his shoulders, face burying into Sunghoon’s neck. “Please,” he whispers, voice raw. “Please, touch me—really touch me.”

Sunghoon curls his fingers deep inside and grinds his palm hard against Heeseung’s clit. The reaction is immediate. Heeseung cries out, hips stuttering forward, fingers clawing into the fabric of Sunghoon’s shirt. His legs fall further apart, spread wide enough for Sunghoon to step in between fully, his hand trapped between them, working him with slow, precise, devastating pressure.

“Look at you,” Sunghoon pants against his ear. “Fucking dripping down my hand. You need it so bad, don’t you?”

Heeseung nods frantically, his voice cracking on a moan. “Yes—fuck, yes—Sunghoon—”

Sunghoon grinds his palm harder, fingers fucking into him slow and deep. He pulls back just enough to see—to watch the way Heeseung’s brows draw together, how his mouth falls open, how sweat beads along his hairline. His thighs are trembling, legs barely holding him up.

“Come for me, baby,” Sunghoon growls, biting down on Heeseung’s earlobe, his teeth sharp and deliberate. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

And Heeseung does.

His entire body jerks, back arching, muscles locking up as he chokes on a moan. He pulses around Sunghoon’s fingers, the heat of it wet and overwhelming, thighs locking around his wrist as the orgasm crashes over him in waves. He gasps like he can’t breathe, mouth open, voice caught in the back of his throat.

Sunghoon doesn’t stop. He works him through it, fingers still moving, just slow enough now to drag it out, keep Heeseung riding that high until he’s left shaking and wrecked against the desk.

When Heeseung finally slumps, boneless and dazed, Sunghoon draws his hand back slowly, savoring the warmth still slicking his fingers. He presses a soft kiss to Heeseung’s cheek, then jaw, then lips—gentle, reverent, like a lull after the storm.

A long, heavy silence stretches between them, thick with everything they’ve just done and everything neither of them knows how to say. The only sound in the room is their ragged breathing, slowly calming, the rush of adrenaline and heat still echoing through their bodies. Sunghoon feels like he’s floating, disoriented by the intensity of it all. There’s a high humming under his skin, a kind of stunned bliss that leaves him dazed. Heeseung is glowing—flushed, eyes glazed, lips swollen and shining, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks otherworldly, utterly wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Sunghoon can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t even register the throbbing boner between his legs until Heeseung, still catching his breath, reaches forward, fingers deftly tugging at the drawstring of Sunghoon’s shorts. The contact makes Sunghoon jolt like he’s been shocked. His mouth opens, about to say something—he doesn’t even know what—but then Heeseung’s phone vibrates violently against the floor, the sudden sound slicing through the moment like a blade.

They both freeze.

Heeseung startles, pulling back from Sunghoon with sluggish limbs, like he’s wading through water. His hand scrambles for the phone. He glances at the screen and then looks up, eyes wide with panic.

Sunghoon doesn’t need to ask. He knows.

Jay.

It’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over him. Every part of him tightens—his stomach coils, his throat closes, his heart thuds painfully hard in his chest. The high is gone, ripped away in a single instant.

Heeseung hesitates, then answers. “Hey, Jay,” he says, voice strained but trying to sound casual.

Sunghoon is already tying the drawstrings of his shorts back together with shaking hands. His fingers fumble with the knot as a dense, suffocating weight presses into his ribs. The shame settles in fast—fast and heavy. It coils low in his gut, thick and acidic. A wave of nausea rises in his throat. He needs to get out.

He grabs his hoodie from where it had fallen on the chair and throws it over his shoulders. Heeseung doesn’t even notice—he’s facing away, phone pressed to his ear, eyes flickering nervously as he talks to Jay. It’s almost comical how fast reality snapped back into place, how quickly the dream turned back into a secret.

He slips out of the room and into the cool, humid night air, lungs dragging in air that doesn’t seem to help. He walks aimlessly, barely aware of where he’s going. The hotel gardens are dark, the lamps casting soft golden pools of light along the winding paths. The sound of crickets fills the silence. It should be peaceful, but his mind is anything but. He’s spiraling.

Every step is filled with doubt, with guilt, with the echo of Jay’s voice in his head—Jay, who trusted him, who would never forgive him for this. And Heeseung—what if he regrets it now? What if he’s already telling Jay everything?

Sunghoon presses a hand to his chest like he can hold himself together, but the ache inside him is too big, too loud. He hates himself for how badly he wanted it, how good it felt to finally be close to Heeseung, how he let himself forget—just for a moment—that what they did might ruin everything.

But the truth is, he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little. He would do it all over again. He’d do it a thousand times. What he regrets is the timing. The fear. The shame that always follows.

He wanders the garden for what feels like hours, trying to tame the storm in his chest, but it never really quiets.

When he finally returns to the hotel room, the lights are off. The only sound is the soft hum of the air conditioner. Heeseung is curled up under the covers on his side of the bed, his back to the door, slow, even breaths indicating he’s already asleep—or pretending to be.

Sunghoon stands there for a long moment in the dark, watching the rise and fall of Heeseung’s shoulders. His throat tightens. He quietly crosses the room, shrugs off his hoodie, and slips under the sheets. He keeps a careful distance between their bodies. He doesn’t trust himself not to reach for Heeseung again.

—

It’s officially been a week since Sunghoon last spoke to Heeseung.

The flight back from the school trip had been thick with silence, the kind of silence that presses heavy on the chest—charged with unsaid words, unspoken feelings, and questions neither of them dared to voice. But they’d had fourteen teenagers to wrangle through airports and boarding gates, fourteen reasons to keep moving and pretend that nothing was wrong. That distraction had saved them, temporarily.

Now, the silence feels permanent.

Sunghoon stares down at the last message Heeseung sent him, the one that came the morning after they returned home. “Can we talk?” Just four words. Simple. Direct. Heavy.

He hasn’t opened it.

Not because he forgot. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he’s terrified of what opening it will lead to. He’s scared of what Heeseung might say—and worse, scared of what he might feel if Heeseung says exactly what he’s been dreading.

He locks his phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of his jeans, releasing a long breath that does nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. He knows he can’t avoid this forever. Eventually, he’ll have to face it. Face him. But not today.

Today, he has his group of eight-year-olds waiting for him on the ice. They work on stopping drills, edge control, and simple gliding techniques. The kids are fast learners, sharp on the ice despite their size,

As the clock winds down, he lets them spend the final five minutes playing freely. He sits on the bench, and watches them chase the puck with wild, uncoordinated joy. A few of them slip and crash into each other, giggling as they scramble back to their feet. It almost makes him smile.

Almost.

By the time the last kid is picked up, it’s already 5 p.m. The rink is quiet now, the echo of laughter replaced by the low hum of the cooling system and the dull scrape of maintenance workers cleaning the ice.

Sunghoon feels drained—emotionally, mentally, physically. The guilt of not responding to Heeseung is catching up to him, creeping into every corner of his mind, eating at him piece by piece. He pulls out his phone again and opens their chat. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, typing half a word before deleting it again. Should he say sorry? Should he explain? Or would it be better to wait a few more days and pretend he was busy?

He never gets the chance to decide.

“Oh. So you didn’t lose your phone.”

The voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. Sharp. Familiar.

Sunghoon’s head jerks up—and his heart immediately drops into his stomach.

Heeseung is standing a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face unreadable except for the storm behind his eyes. Anger. Hurt. Exhaustion. He looks like someone who hasn’t slept in days. Like someone who’s been carrying too much for too long.

Sunghoon rises from the bench, startled and stiff. “Hyung? What—how did you even—?”

Heeseung steps forward, his expression hardening. “Cut the bullshit.”

Sunghoon flinches at the sharpness in his voice.

“One week,” Heeseung says, each word clipped and brittle. “You’ve been ignoring me for one entire week. Do you know how I found out you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? I had to ask Jay.”

The mention of his brother makes Sunghoon wince. He hadn’t thought about that part—the possibility that Jay might have figured something out, that he might have asked questions. Or worse, that Heeseung had to cover for both of them.

He looks away, shame burning hot in his chest. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did,” Heeseung cuts in, voice low and shaking now. “You meant to disappear. You meant to pretend it never happened.” Sunghoon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because Heeseung is right. “I waited,” Heeseung continues, softer now, but the tremble in his voice only makes it harder to hear. “I waited for you to say something. Anything. But you didn’t. You just… vanished.”

Sunghoon swallows hard. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“So you chose to say nothing,” Heeseung replies, eyes shining now, like he’s barely keeping the rest of it in. “After everything.” The silence that follows is different this time—not cold, not empty, but full of aching. Sunghoon feels it settle over him, heavy and unrelenting.

Sunghoon steps forward, hesitant, like getting too close might set something off—like Heeseung might break apart in front of him or he might break himself trying to fix it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says softly, the words barely carrying in the quiet rink. “I just… I didn’t know how to face you after that night.”

Heeseung laughs bitterly, but there’s no joy in it. “So you ran away instead?”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightens. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything,” Sunghoon admits. “Of what it meant. Of what it could ruin. I know it wasn’t just—just a mistake for either of us, and that’s what makes it worse. Because if it meant nothing, I could’ve moved on. But it did mean something. And that’s exactly why I had to back off.”

Heeseung stares at him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are screaming. “You think backing off is better than being honest?”

“No,” Sunghoon murmurs. “But it’s safer.”

Heeseung steps forward now, slow, careful, as if trying not to scare him off. “Safer for who? You? Me? Jay?”

Sunghoon’s chest tightens at the sound of his brother’s name.

“Jay doesn’t know yet,” Heeseung says, voice low. “But he’s not stupid. He knows something’s off. And when he finds out—because he will find out—he’s going to hate me.”

“He won’t,” Sunghoon says quickly. “He might hate me, but he’d never hate you.”

“But you think I’m worth hating,” Heeseung says, a whisper now.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, pained. “No. God, no. That’s not what I meant.” He exhales harshly, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“By abandoning me?” Heeseung says, voice cracking. Sunghoon feels it in his bones—the tremble in Heeseung’s voice, the hurt buried under every word. “I love my brother,” Sunghoon says, almost pleading now. “And I care about you more than I know how to explain. But that night... it was too much, too fast. We crossed a line we can’t uncross. And if we keep going like this, someone’s going to get hurt. Really hurt.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “So that’s it? You ghost me for a week and now you’re breaking this off like we’re some stupid mistake?”

“You’re not a mistake,” Sunghoon says firmly. “You’re the one thing I’ve never regretted. But I think we need space. Time. To figure ourselves out without burning everything else to the ground.”

Heeseung goes still. “You think distance is going to fix this?”

“No,” Sunghoon whispers, his voice breaking. “But maybe it’ll stop us from destroying what’s left.”

For a second, neither of them moves. The only sound is the faint hum of the rink around them and the shallow breaths they're both struggling to control.

Finally, Heeseung nods—once, sharp, like he’s cutting himself off.

“Okay,” he says, voice tight. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” Sunghoon whispers.

“But it’s what you’re choosing.”

Heeseung turns and walks away before Sunghoon can respond. His footsteps echo against the empty walls of the rink until the door closes behind him, leaving Sunghoon in the silence he chose.

And for the first time in a week, it doesn’t feel like safety.

The door slams shut with a soft thud, but it echoes through Sunghoon like a gunshot. He stands frozen in place, staring at the space Heeseung just occupied, like if he stares long enough, he can rewind the moment. Like he can take it back. Un-say it. Un-hurt him.

But it’s already done.

He sinks down onto the bench, elbows braced on his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body feels heavy, like all the guilt and tension he’s been carrying for the past week has finally collapsed on top of him now that Heeseung’s no longer here to carry half of it without even knowing.

His fingers twitch toward his phone. He wants to text him. Wants to run after him. Wants to say I didn’t mean it. I’m just scared. Please don’t leave.

But he doesn’t.

Because the problem isn’t that Heeseung walked away—it’s that Sunghoon told him to.

And that truth settles into his chest like ice, hollow and sharp.

Sunghoon wakes up with the taste of regret still thick in his mouth. Heeseung’s face haunts the back of his eyelids every time he blinks. The way he looked at him—shocked, wounded, like someone had pulled the ground out from underneath him. Sunghoon replays it over and over, like some cruel punishment his brain won’t let him escape.

Consequences of his own actions and all.

He's no stranger to his own self sabotaging behaviour but he really thought he had left that all in the past.

When Sunghoon walks into the studio, Chaewon and Yunjin are already huddled over the iPad, deep in discussion over a design Chaewon is drafting for a client. They look up when he enters, offering him cheerful greetings, but their smiles flicker slightly. Something about him is off. They don’t ask, though. They know how this goes—Sunghoon will say he’s just tired.

He wonders if Heeseung told them. If Yunjin knew the truth, she’d already be on his ass for the way he handled things—blunt, unfiltered, calling him out for being selfish and stupid. But she hasn’t said a word, which tells him Heeseung has stayed quiet. Just like Sunghoon asked for distance, Heeseung is respecting it. That realization hurts more than he expects it to.

All throughout the day, the urge to text Heeseung nearly swallows him whole. A hundred times his fingers hover over the keyboard, and a hundred times he stops himself. It wouldn’t be fair—to Heeseung, to himself. Not until he figures out what the hell he’s doing. Not until he has the words to explain to Jay why his best friend and little brother suddenly aren't speaking. Not until he knows whether it’s even possible to go back to normal.

And if that’s even what he really wants.

The days begin to collapse into one another, a monotonous rhythm of going through the motions. Every morning Sunghoon wakes up with a sharp ache lodged in his chest, but he buries it beneath a practiced, neutral numbness. He made this mess. He doesn’t get to wallow.

He’s either at the studio or the ice rink—sometimes both in a single day—back and forth like a pendulum, keeping himself in constant motion so his thoughts don’t catch up to him. He barely sees Jay, who’s swamped with finals, spending late nights at the library. Still, Sunghoon knows his brother can sense something’s off. Jay doesn’t push. But he watches. And Sunghoon can feel it.

So far, he's managed to function. To pretend. But it’s getting harder.

Heeseung is everywhere. Not literally, but in every corner of his life. He sees him in the ramen aisle of the convenience store and tears up without warning, remembering how Heeseung once showed him—step by step—how to cook the perfect bowl of noodles. He hears Heeseung’s favorite song playing on the radio and has to turn it off mid-chorus before it guts him. Heeseung’s laughter lives in his memories like a ghost, always just around the corner, waiting to ruin him.

And now, he's watching the movie they were supposed to watch together on their next movie night. A thriller—nothing emotional. Nothing remotely close to sad. And yet Sunghoon is crying. Not tearing up—crying. Full-body sobs, cheeks wet and throat raw, curled up on the couch like the pain is physically eating him alive.

Jay walks in mid-scene, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “Sunghoon… why are you crying?”

Sunghoon doesn’t look at him. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to laugh it off. “Oh, hyung… the movie’s just really sad.”

Jay doesn’t believe it. Of course he doesn’t. But he doesn’t say so. Instead, he walks over and sits down beside his brother, pulling him into a silent embrace.

Sunghoon leans into him without hesitation, burying his face into Jay’s shoulder. And for the first time in days, he allows himself to fall apart.

—

Today marks two and a half weeks since Sunghoon broke whatever it was between him and Heeseung.

It’s a Friday night. Jay is out with some friends. He invited Sunghoon to come along, offered to help him take his mind off things but Sunghoon declined. The thought of making small talk with people he barely knows, pretending to be fine, pretending to care about the weather or midterms or anything at all, makes his skin crawl.

So instead, he stays home. Alone.

His dinner is halfway done—some sad attempt at stir-fry that smells more like salt and regret than anything remotely edible. He stands over the pan, blankly stirring, his gaze fixed on the far wall like he's waiting for it to say something. He’s deep in that familiar fog—floating, detached—when the doorbell rings, jolting him like a slap to the back of the neck.

He frowns, startled. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He never is anymore. With a reluctant sigh, he turns off the stove and heads to the door.

Peeking through the peephole, he sees her.

Wonyoung.

And of course she’s holding a plastic bag from their favorite Chinese place, grinning like she’s starring in some sitcom. As if she knows he’s watching, she lifts the bag higher and calls out, loud and clear, “Delivery for Mr. Biggest Idiot on the Planet!”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He rolls his eyes and unlocks the door.

“There he is,” Wonyoung says, breezing past him like she owns the apartment. She kicks off her shoes and heads straight for the kitchen, giving his cooking a look so judgmental it could curdle milk.

“What… is this?” she asks, pointing to the pan with genuine concern. “Were you trying to salt your organs into failure?”

“Wonyoung,” Sunghoon says flatly, trailing behind her, “what are you doing here?”

“Saving your life, obviously,” she replies, already unloading takeout boxes onto the counter. “My Sunghoon-sense was tingling. I had a vision of you standing in your kitchen, depressed and seasoning your food with trauma.”

Sunghoon leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so bad at taking care of yourself that it should be criminal,” she counters, flashing him a look before turning back to the food. “Honestly, what were you even trying to cook?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Something. Anything.”

Wonyoung pauses for a beat, her tone softening as she glances at him. “Yeah. I figured.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches her. It strikes him then—how she always seems to know when to show up. How her presence doesn’t demand anything from him but still feels like a lifeline. She finishes setting the food on the table and looks at him expectantly. “Come on, sit. Eat something that won’t kill you.”

Without really thinking about it, Sunghoon does.

They eat in a comfortable silence for a while—well, comfortable for Wonyoung. Sunghoon mostly pushes his food around on the plate. He takes a few bites here and there, enough to keep her from nagging, but his appetite is long gone.

Wonyoung watches him from across the table, chopsticks suspended midair, her expression unreadable. The plastic takeout containers are half-empty now, the food mostly cold, and the only sounds filling the room are the quiet clinks of utensils and the faint hum of the fridge.

“You do know I didn’t come here just to eat in silence with you, right?” she says finally, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. “Not that I don’t enjoy brooding dinners—we’ve had plenty—but even I can tell something’s seriously wrong.”

Sunghoon doesn’t look up. He’s too focused on pushing grains of rice around his plate, trying to act like that alone requires all his attention. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, tone flat, like he’s already shut the door in her face.

Wonyoung leans back in her chair, tilting her head as she studies him—really studies him. Her eyes narrow, trying to read the pages he hasn’t offered to share. She doesn’t push right away, just lets the silence stretch again, her gaze pressing against the defenses he’s barely holding up.

Sunghoon pretends not to notice. He forces another bite into his mouth and chews like it’s gravel. Then, as if bored by his performance, she lets out a sigh and says, casually, “You and Heeseung hooked up. You freaked out. Then told him to piss off.”

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Sunghoon chokes immediately, a cough ripping out of his chest as he grabs his water, knocking his chopsticks off the table in the process.

“What the actual—” he wheezes.

Wonyoung casually hands him a glass of water, not even flinching. “So I’m right.”

He gulps the water down, still coughing. “What the hell, Wonyoung?!”

She shrugs. “Come on. Don’t act surprised. I know you way too well.”

He glares at her between coughs but says nothing, because what can he say? She’s right. And she knows it. Wonyoung leans in, resting her chin in her hand with a smug smile. “Am I right, or am I right?”

“Okay, fine,” Sunghoon grumbles, defeated. “That’s what happened. Happy now?”

Her grin widens, slow and lazy. “You’re so predictable, Sunghoon. It’s actually tragic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says, drawing the words out, “that I knew you’d run the second something might actually work out for you.”

Sunghoon frowns. “You don’t know that. Yes, Heeseung… reciprocated. Enthusiastically. But that doesn’t mean it would’ve worked. You keep forgetting about Jay—”

“Stop deflecting,” Wonyoung cuts in, pointing her chopsticks at him like they’re weapons. “This isn’t all about Jay. This is mostly about you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she barrels on.

“You’ve got major abandonment issues and a textbook case of avoidant attachment. Which, by the way, isn’t your fault.”

“Wonyoung, don’t psychoanalyze me,” Sunghoon groans. “You dropped out of psych after two lectures.”

“Yeah, but I watched Criminal Minds. All seventeen seasons. I’m practically licensed.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Not the point,” she continues. “The point is, you always run. Because if you leave first, then no one gets the chance to leave you.”

Sunghoon flinches. Just a little. But she sees it.

“Your parents bailed—physically and emotionally, doesn’t matter—they left Jay to raise you. And no matter what trouble you got into, they just… didn’t show up for you. Then your so-called friends dropped you the second life got inconvenient. And let’s not forget Heeseung, who moved away right when you were knee-deep in a painfully obvious teenage crush on him.”

“Jesus,” Sunghoon says quietly. “Go for the throat, why don’t you?”

Wonyoung lets out a long, steady breath, setting down her chopsticks and wiping her hands on a napkin as if preparing to deliver a final verdict. “You are a coward, Sunghoon,” she says, voice quiet but firm. “And I mean that with all the affection in the world.” Sunghoon blinks, caught between irritation and guilt. “Wow. Thank you,” he says flatly. “So kind. So gentle.”

“I’m serious,” she says, not even smiling. “You need to grow a pair and stop running from everything that scares you. Not everything is meant to be avoided just because it might hurt. Sometimes you have to stay and let it hurt. That’s how you know it matters.”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye socket. “Why is everyone always telling me to feel my feelings?”

“Because you’re really good at pretending you don’t have any,” Wonyoung shoots back. “But I know you. I’ve seen the way you love people—quietly, intensely, like you’re afraid of breaking the thing just by holding it too hard. You’d rather suffer in silence than risk being told you’re too much.”

She reaches across the table, gently taking his hand. Her tone softens. “But this isn’t one of those times you get to disappear and hope it’ll fix itself. You need to talk to your brother, Sunghoon. You need to tell him what’s been going on.”

Sunghoon immediately shakes his head, shoulders stiffening. “No. No way. That’s not—Jay won’t—he wouldn’t understand.”

“He will,” she insists, her grip tightening just slightly. “Sunghoon, Jay loves you. He’s not just your brother. He practically raised you. Do you really think he’d turn on you the second you told him the truth?”

“You don’t get it,” Sunghoon mutters, pulling his hand back. “Heeseung is his best friend. They’ve known each other forever. Jay trusts him with everything. And now I’ve—” He cuts himself off, words catching in his throat. “I crossed a line.”

Wonyoung tilts her head. “No. You fell in love. That’s not crossing a line.”

“You don’t know what he’ll say,” Sunghoon says. “Jay has always been protective of Heeseung, but this—this is different. He already got weird about us being close. How do you think he’ll react when I tell him I kissed his best friend? That we almost—” He stops again, swallowing hard. “It’ll change everything.”

“It’s already changed everything, Hoon,” she says softly. “You’re miserable. Heeseung’s gone. You’re pretending you’re fine when you’re clearly not. So tell me, exactly what are you protecting by keeping quiet?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He’s staring down at his lap now, thumb running over the chipped edge of his fingernail. The silence stretches, thick and heavy. Wonyoung reaches for him again, gentler this time. “Jay adores you, Sunghoon. You’re his baby brother. He’d walk through fire for you. Yeah, he might be pissed at first. He might take a minute to process it. But when he sees that you’re serious about this—about Heeseung—he’ll come around.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flick up to meet hers, cautious. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve watched him defend you since we were kids. Because I’ve seen him take on the world just to protect you from the dumbest things—like that one time someone laughed at you for tripping at skating practice and Jay almost fought a twelve-year-old.” She gives him a small, fond smile. “He’s annoying as hell, but Jay would never, ever throw you away. Especially not over this.”

“I don’t want him to hate Heeseung,” Sunghoon says quietly. “I don’t want to be the reason their friendship falls apart.”

Wonyoung shrugs. “Then don’t frame it like a betrayal. Don’t make it a scandal. Tell the truth. That you didn’t plan for any of this to happen. That you tried to walk away because you care about Jay. That you fought it for as long as you could, until it just… wasn’t possible anymore.”

Sunghoon lets his head drop into his hands, elbows resting on the table. His voice is muffled when he speaks again. “I don’t know if I can do this.” She stands from her chair and walks around the table, crouching next to him and nudging his shoulder until he looks at her. “You can. You just don’t want to.”

He gives her a look. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No,” Wonyoung says firmly. “It’s fear. And it’s understandable. But don’t let fear make your choices for you. Not when you’ve already lost something you didn’t want to let go of.”

She pauses, letting that sink in. “You love him, don’t you?”

Sunghoon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s time to stop acting like you don’t.”

It’s late—well past midnight—and the apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes everything feel heavier. Sunghoon’s been pacing in the hallway for the last fifteen minutes, hands clammy, heart stuttering every time he got close to Jay’s door, only to turn back around.

He’d promised Wonyoung he’d talk to him. Said he would finally stop running. But now that he’s here, stomach twisting itself into knots, he wonders if maybe he really isn’t built for this. For honesty. For confronting the people he loves and watching the way they look at him change.

But then he thinks of Heeseung and then he knocks.

There’s a beat of silence before Jay’s muffled voice answers, “Yeah?”

Sunghoon swallows hard, then pushes the door open. Jay’s sitting up in bed, textbook on his lap, glasses perched low on his nose. He blinks at Sunghoon, taking him in—sweatpants, oversized hoodie, nerves all over his face—and closes the book without a word.

“You okay?” Jay asks, setting the book on his nightstand. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. “Can I talk to you?”

Jay nods. “Of course.”

Sunghoon steps in, but doesn’t sit. He just hovers there at the edge of the room, like the words might push him back out if he’s not careful. “I need to tell you something,” he says. “And I need you to not—like—freak out.”

Jay gives a half-smile. “I’ll try. Though that usually means I should prepare myself.”

Sunghoon huffs a broken laugh. “Yeah, probably.” He falls silent again. There’s so much he wants to say, but it’s like the words are caught behind a wall of fear and shame and years of not knowing how to be emotionally honest with his brother.

So finally, he just blurts it out.

“I think I’m in love with Heeseung.”

The words hang there like smoke. Thick and heavy and impossible to ignore. Jay doesn’t react right away. Just stares at him, unreadable.

“And we… we kissed. A couple times,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter now. “And then I freaked out and told him we should distance ourselves, and I haven’t spoken to him since. And I’ve been going fucking insane over it.”

Jay still doesn’t say anything.

Sunghoon presses his hands to his face. “Okay. You’re mad. You hate it. I get it. I’m sorry, I just—I couldn’t lie anymore. I didn’t want to lie to you.”

Jay sighs and swings his legs off the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sunghoon…”

“I know he’s your best friend, and I crossed a line,” Sunghoon says, voice cracking now. “And I didn’t mean to fall for him, it just happened, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I was scared—of you, of him, of myself. And I know I’m the one who broke it, but I can’t stop thinking about him, and I don’t know what to do—”

“Sunghoon,” Jay cuts in gently.

Sunghoon snaps his mouth shut. Jay runs a hand through his hair and gives a short, almost sheepish laugh. “I was kind of waiting for you to tell me.”

“What?”

Jay glances up at him. “I already suspected something was going on. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. Neither is Heeseung.”

Sunghoon blinks. “So you knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wasn't 100% certain but I suspected something and I wanted you to say something first,” Jay says. “Because… I’ve been kind of holding onto something, too.”

Sunghoon frowns. “What?”

Jay hesitates for a second, then says it plainly: “I’m dating Jake.”

Sunghoon stares. “You’re what.”

Jay gives him a look. “You heard me.”

Sunghoon takes a physical step back. “Jake? As in my Jake? The Jake who cried when I got my first tattoo because he said it felt like the end of my innocence? The Jake who makes friendship bracelets for his clients?”

Jay snorts. “Yes. That Jake.” Sunghoon stares at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at Jay. “Oh my god. This is so weird.”

“Yeah?” Jay raises an eyebrow. “Now you know how I’ve been feeling.”

Sunghoon groans, dragging both hands through his hair. “This is so messed up.”

“It’s not messed up,” Jay says softly. “It’s just complicated.”

There’s a long silence between them. The air feels thinner now, like a weight’s been lifted—but another has replaced it. A different kind of vulnerability. “I thought you’d be furious,” Sunghoon says after a while. “That I—me and Heeseung…”

Jay shakes his head. “I was thrown off at first, yeah. But I’m not angry. If anything, I just want you to be okay. To be honest. With me. With yourself.”

Sunghoon’s eyes burn. “But I messed it up.”

Jay gets up and walks over to him. “Then fix it.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitches. “You’re really not mad?”

Jay shrugs. “I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled about the idea of my best friend kissing my little brother, but I also know that you’ve probably loved him longer than you’ve even realized. And if he feels the same? Then who am I to stand in the way of that?”

Sunghoon’s voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Jay squeezes his shoulder. “Go talk to him. Don’t let fear ruin something good.”

Sunghoon nods, heart aching in the best and worst way. “Okay.”

He pauses.

“But seriously,” he adds, face scrunching, “you and Jake?”

Jay smirks. “Yeah. He says I’m his reward for putting up with you all these years.”

Sunghoon groans. “We’re never doing double dates.”

Jay laughs. “Deal.”

—

The city is quiet, the kind of late-night hush that makes everything feel like it’s suspended in time. Sunghoon’s fingers are cold around the steering wheel, even though it's uncomfortably hot outside even at night. He’s been sitting outside Heeseung’s apartment building for almost fifteen minutes, engine off, debating whether to go up or drive away and keep pretending like he’s fine.

He’s not.

Not even close.

Jay’s words still echo in his head: “Then fix it.”

So Sunghoon takes a deep breath, kills the lights, and gets out of the car. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. Not before competitions. Not before confronting Jay. Not even the day he planned on confessing to Heeseung.

This is different.

He walks up to the familiar building, buzzes in without thinking—Heeseung always left the downstairs unlocked for delivery drivers—and then climbs the stairs like he’s being dragged there by something bigger than himself. When he gets to Heeseung’s door, he hesitates for a second. His knuckles hover.

What if Heeseung doesn’t open? What if he does?

Sunghoon knocks. There’s no answer at first.

He knocks again, softer this time, and then presses his forehead to the door, heart pounding.

Footsteps. Then a click.

The door opens slowly—and there he is.

Heeseung looks like he hasn’t been sleeping much either. Hair messy, hoodie hanging loosely off one shoulder, eyes bloodshot. His face falls when he sees who it is.

Sunghoon’s throat closes up. “Hey.”

Heeseung blinks like he’s trying to make sure he’s not imagining it. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know how to call,” Sunghoon says honestly. “So I didn’t. I just came.”

Heeseung leans against the doorframe but doesn’t say anything. He looks guarded, like he’s trying to decide whether to let Sunghoon in or slam the door shut. “I just talked to Jay,” Sunghoon adds, voice low. “I told him everything.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker. “And?”

“He’s dating Jake,” Sunghoon says, still kind of in disbelief. “Which is gross, by the way, but… he’s okay with it. Us.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “I didn’t come here to make excuses,” Sunghoon continues, voice shaking now. “I came because I—I miss you. I miss everything about you. And I hate how things ended. I hate how I ended it. And I know I messed everything up, and I won’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore, but—”

“Stop,” Heeseung says softly.

Sunghoon swallows the rest of his sentence.

Heeseung’s eyes are unreadable, but there’s something raw behind them. “You hurt me, Sunghoon.”

“I know,” Sunghoon whispers. “I hated myself for it the second I walked away.”

“You made me feel like what happened between us was just a mistake.”

Sunghoon’s eyes sting. “It wasn’t. It was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I was just terrified.”

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t get to come back now and expect me to just—”

“I don’t expect anything,” Sunghoon says quickly. “I swear. I just couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care. I’ve been miserable. I see you everywhere. I can’t eat ramen without crying in a grocery store like an idiot. And every time your favorite song comes on the radio I have to turn it off because it hurts too much to hear it.”

Heeseung’s expression wavers.

“I’ve been trying to be fine, and function, and convince myself that I did the right thing by walking away, but all I did was run from something good. Again. And I don’t want to run anymore.”

The silence between them is deafening.

Then Heeseung finally says, “Why now?”

Sunghoon shrugs helplessly. “Because it took me this long to be brave.”

Heeseung studies him for a long time. Like he’s looking for something real beneath the apology, and finally sees it. Then, wordlessly, he steps aside. Sunghoon stares at the threshold, surprised.

“You’re letting me in?” he asks.

Heeseung nods once. “Doesn’t mean I’m not still mad.”

“That’s fair,” Sunghoon murmurs, stepping inside. “You can be as mad as you want. Just… let me be here, too.”

Heeseung closes the door behind them.

And for the first time in weeks, the air between them feels like it might be breathable again. Not fixed. Not perfect. But real.

Inside, everything feels achingly familiar. The faint scent of Heeseung’s detergent clings to the air, and Sunghoon’s eyes instinctively scan the space like it might’ve changed without him. But it hasn’t. The same shoes are lined neatly by the door. The same hoodie Sunghoon used to steal off the back of the couch is hanging over the armrest. Everything is exactly the same—except for them.

Heeseung walks into the kitchen without saying anything, opening a cabinet and pulling out two mugs. Sunghoon lingers near the entrance, unsure if he’s supposed to follow, or if he's already overstayed the unspoken welcome.

“You want tea?” Heeseung asks, back still turned.

“Yes please,” Sunghoon says, voice small. Heeseung nods, pulling out a packet and starting the kettle. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, but not quite hostile. Just full of everything unsaid.

“I kept waiting for you to call,” Heeseung says eventually, his voice quieter than before. “Every day, I thought maybe today would be the day. But you didn’t.”

“I almost did. So many times.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Sunghoon shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.” Heeseung turns around then, leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “You broke my heart, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon nods, tears stinging his eyes. “I know. And I wish I could take it back. Not the feelings—not what happened—but the way I made you feel. I wish I would’ve stayed. I wish I had told you everything instead of pushing you away.”

The kettle whines softly as it finishes heating. Heeseung turns, pours the water, and hands Sunghoon a mug without a word. Their fingers brush for a second, electric, but neither of them pulls away.

They sit on the couch, not quite facing each other, but close. Close enough.

“I was scared too, you know,” Heeseung says after a long pause. “You weren’t the only one who didn’t know what to do. I spent so long being your friend, trying to hide how I felt, trying not to cross that line with you. And then it happened and I thought… finally. But then it felt like I got punished for it.”

Sunghoon sets his mug down. “You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I let myself hope,” Heeseung says, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s on me, I guess.”

“No,” Sunghoon says firmly, turning toward him now. “Hope wasn’t the mistake. I just wasn’t ready. But I want to be now. And I know I’ve got shit I need to work through—and I don’t expect you to pretend that none of this hurt. But… I’m here. For real this time. And I want to try again. If you’ll let me.”

Heeseung looks at him, really looks, and for a second, Sunghoon thinks he might say no. That he might smile sadly and tell him he’s too late.

But instead, Heeseung’s eyes fill with tears.

“I missed you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I hated you a little, I missed you every second.” Sunghoon swallows hard, leaning forward just slightly, resting his forehead against Heeseung’s shoulder. “I missed you too. I never stopped.” Heeseung’s hand finds the back of Sunghoon’s neck. Warm. Familiar. Steady.

“You really thought Jay would murder us both, huh?” Heeseung murmurs with a soft laugh.

Sunghoon lets out a shaky breath. “I mean… can you blame me? He’s terrifying when he gets mad.” Heeseung chuckles, pulling Sunghoon in tighter. “Well, joke’s on you. He was probably planning our wedding behind our backs.”

Sunghoon laughs wetly into Heeseung’s chest. “Shut up.”

They stay like that for a long while—bodies close, breaths steady, the quiet hum of the city outside their window far away, insignificant. Heeseung’s fingers continue moving through Sunghoon’s hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, as if grounding him with each pass. And maybe he is. Maybe he always has.

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He can’t. His throat feels like it’s closing, like all the air in his lungs is locked somewhere between guilt and disbelief. How can Heeseung still be here? How can he still want to be here, touching him so gently, looking at him like that?

Heeseung’s fingertips trace softly down to the back of Sunghoon’s neck again, then circle to his collarbones. When they skim over the edge of his pulse point, Sunghoon shudders. It pulls him out of his spiral just long enough to look up—really look.

And Heeseung is already watching him.

His gaze is soft, eyes as big and round as ever, the faintest hint of red still clinging to his lower lash line. Those eyes, always too expressive, too honest, too much. Sunghoon used to call him Bambi when they were kids—half a tease, half a truth—but now, looking into them, it just hurts. Because all he sees in them is love, and forgiveness, and a tenderness he hasn’t earned.

Sunghoon opens his mouth. Then closes it. Heeseung doesn’t push. He never does. And maybe that’s what breaks him.

Sunghoon’s voice is hoarse when it finally comes. “You cried.”

Heeseung blinks slowly. “What?”

“You cried,” Sunghoon says again, his chest tightening with every word. “Because of me.” Heeseung’s hand stills where it’s resting near his collarbone. “I hurt you,” Sunghoon breathes. “God, I hurt you, Heeseung. And I—I promised myself I’d never do that. I swore, from the very beginning, that I’d never be the one to make you cry. And then I went and did the one fucking thing I said I’d never do.”

Heeseung shakes his head gently, but Sunghoon doesn’t let him speak.

“I was a coward. I ran because I was scared. I thought if I ignored what I felt, it would go away. I thought if I pretended it didn’t mean anything, I could convince myself it wasn’t real. But it was real, and I still walked away.” His voice cracks then. “I left you. And I kept pretending like that wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“Sunghoon—”

“I don’t deserve this,” Sunghoon says, eyes burning. “I don’t deserve you. Not after what I did. You deserve someone who isn’t scared all the time. Someone who doesn’t push you away the second they feel too much.” Heeseung watches him for a long moment. His expression is unreadable at first—quiet, but not cold. Just… steady.

Then he exhales softly. “You’re right.” Sunghoon flinches.

“You did hurt me,” Heeseung continues, voice even, but not without emotion. “You shut me out when all I wanted was to understand. I cried, yeah. I stayed up more nights than I care to admit wondering what I did wrong. Wondering if it was something about me that made you run.”

Sunghoon’s heart caves in on itself. “But,” Heeseung adds gently, “I never stopped caring about you. Even when I hated how much I still wanted you to come back.”

There’s a long silence. Sunghoon is breathing hard, like he just sprinted a mile with his shame strapped to his chest. Heeseung reaches for him again, brushing a thumb against his cheekbone. “I’m not saying it didn’t hurt,” Heeseung murmurs. “But I also know what it’s like to be scared of your own heart. To think you’re not allowed to want something that feels too good.”

Sunghoon leans into the touch before he can stop himself, eyes closing. “I missed you so much,” he whispers. “Every day. I kept telling myself I had no right to, but I did.”

Heeseung’s hand moves back into his hair, holding him close. “Then don’t run anymore.”

“I don't know how.”

“Then let me run with you,” Heeseung says softly. “Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.” Sunghoon’s breath hitches. He opens his eyes to see Heeseung watching him, gaze unwavering. “I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter now. “For everything.”

“I know,” Heeseung murmurs, voice soft like the hush between waves, full of warmth and quiet conviction. “But you have a lifetime to make it up to me.”

The words settle over Sunghoon like a weighted blanket. Comforting. Grounding. Terrifying. He leans back just slightly to see Heeseung’s face more clearly, their foreheads still almost touching, breath mingling in the short space between them.

“A lifetime, huh?” Sunghoon says, trying to sound teasing, but the way his voice comes out — hushed, a little shaky — betrays something deeper. Heeseung grins, small and sheepish, like he knows he’s said something bold and isn’t sure how it’ll land. His cheeks pinken, and he drops his gaze for just a second before looking back up. “Well, yeah,” he says, and the vulnerability in his voice cracks something open inside Sunghoon. “If you’ll have me.”

It’s such a simple thing to say — if you’ll have me — but it carries the weight of years. Years of missed chances, of stolen glances, of unspoken feelings shoved into corners neither of them had the courage to face. Sunghoon knows exactly what Heeseung is offering: not just forgiveness, not just understanding, but everything. A future. A home. A place to rest.

And he doesn’t deserve it. Not fully. Not yet.

But God, he wants it. It terrifies him, if he’s being honest. The idea of forever used to feel like a cage, something suffocating. But right now, looking into Heeseung’s eyes—warm and wide and waiting—it feels like freedom. Like home.

He’s not going to mess this up again. He can’t.

“I’ve already got you,” Sunghoon says, voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m not letting go. Not again.”

It’s real. And so is the fear that lingers in Sunghoon’s chest — the fear of hurting Heeseung again, of falling short, of not being enough.

Still, he lifts his hand slowly, fingers trembling slightly as they brush against Heeseung’s jaw. He cradles his face, thumb grazing the edge of Heeseung’s mouth. His skin is warm under Sunghoon’s palm, soft, familiar. Heeseung leans into the touch without hesitation.

Sunghoon doesn’t move in right away. He waits — watches the way Heeseung’s lashes flutter, the way his breath catches, the way his lips part just a little. Heeseung’s gaze dips to Sunghoon’s mouth and stays there. And when he looks up again, there’s no fear in his eyes. Just quiet invitation.

Sunghoon closes the distance.

Their lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home after years away. It’s not rushed, not urgent, but deliberate. Reverent. Their mouths move together like they’re learning each other all over again — mapping each curve and dip, savoring every second like it could be their last.

Heeseung lets out a soft sound — a breathy, contented hum — and Sunghoon feels it against his own mouth, feels it bloom in his chest. His other hand slides up to cup the back of Heeseung’s neck, pulling him just a little closer, deepening the kiss without breaking its tenderness.

Heeseung’s hands slip around Sunghoon’s waist, curling into the fabric of his hoodie, holding on like he’s afraid Sunghoon might disappear. But Sunghoon’s not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

When they finally pull apart, it's only because they need air, not space. Sunghoon leans his forehead against Heeseung’s, both of them breathless, grinning like idiots, eyes closed as they soak in the quiet aftermath of something that just changed everything.

“You smile when you kiss,” Sunghoon whispers, his voice full of awe.

Heeseung chuckles, still pressed against him. “Only when I’m kissing you.”

This time, it’s Heeseung who moves first. No warning, no hesitation—just a sharp, sudden pull forward as his lips crash into Sunghoon’s. The kiss is deep, intense, charged with everything he's been holding back for years. It isn’t soft. It’s raw. Hungry. His hands fist into the fabric of Sunghoon’s shirt like he's afraid he’ll slip through his fingers.

Sunghoon freezes for half a breath, caught off guard, but then he’s kissing back just as fiercely. He grips Heeseung’s hoodie, pulling him closer, and lets himself drown in the weight of it all—the heat, the longing, the feel of Heeseung’s mouth pressed against his like a promise.

Heeseung pushes him gently back until Sunghoon’s spine meets the couch, then climbs into his lap, knees pressing into the cushions, thighs bracketing Sunghoon’s hips. It traps him, anchors him, and something about that—being held there like that—makes Sunghoon’s stomach flip.

He lets out a quiet sound when Heeseung settles fully against him, the weight of him heavy, grounding. Their mouths part just long enough to breathe, to look at each other—lips red and damp, eyes wide and dark with want.

“I love you,” Heeseung whispers, like it costs him something to say it. His voice is hoarse, breathless. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

He cradles Sunghoon’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks, and kisses him again—slower this time, deeper, with aching tenderness that makes Sunghoon’s chest tighten. Heeseung’s mouth is soft, deliberate, and Sunghoon melts beneath him, hands finding his waist and tugging him even closer. Each kiss is slower but hungrier, mouths opening wider, breaths mingling. Sunghoon’s hands slip under Heeseung’s hoodie again, fingertips gliding along bare skin. Heeseung shudders at the contact, hips rolling forward slightly in response. The friction makes them both gasp.

Sunghoon's lips part against Heeseung’s, letting out a soft whimper he hadn’t meant to make. It only seems to spur Heeseung on. He kisses him harder, deeper, tongue brushing along Sunghoon’s lower lip before slipping inside. Sunghoon moans, low and breathy, and his fingers press into Heeseung’s back.

Heeseung pulls back for a moment, panting, his lips swollen and glossy. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “I just—I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

Sunghoon’s gaze is glazed, pupils blown, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You love me?” he repeats, voice rough with disbelief.

Heeseung nods, eyes locked on his. “Since we were kids.”

Sunghoon’s throat bobs as he swallows. Then, softer than breath: “I love you too.”

The moment hangs in the air, heavy and full of everything they’ve never said—until Heeseung leans back down and kisses him again, with a fervor that speaks volumes. His hands slide down to Sunghoon’s chest, then under his shirt, palms spreading across warm skin and feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat.

Sunghoon groans softly into his mouth. His hands drift lower, slipping beneath Heeseung’s waistband, fingertips brushing the dip of his lower back. Heeseung arches into the touch, hips grinding down just enough to draw another shaky breath from them both. Their kisses grow more desperate, rhythm lost, exchanged in between shallow gasps and whispered names. Sunghoon’s hands explore freely now, gliding over Heeseung’s ribs, his spine, fingers digging in every time their bodies rock together.

Heeseung’s hoodie rides up with each movement, exposing more of his skin, and Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate to lean up and kiss along the exposed stretch of his stomach. Heeseung’s breath stutters, his head tipping back, a low moan slipping from his lips.

“Sunghoon,” he whispers, wrecked, like he can barely stand how good this feels.

Sunghoon pulls back just enough to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-bruised, his expression dazed and reverent. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice hoarse, Sunghoon’s fingers flex at Heeseung’s waist, then slide further up, feeling the defined ridges of his spine, the smooth skin along his sides. He touches like he’s afraid to break him, but also like he needs to know every inch. Heeseung’s breath stutters when those large, gentle hands find the dip of his lower back, thumbs brushing just above the waistband of his sweats.

Heeseung shivers, not just from the touch, but from the look in Sunghoon’s eyes—like he’s being seen, completely. Worshiped. Loved.

Every time Heeseung tries to slow down, Sunghoon pulls him back in—another kiss, another roll of their hips, like he’s afraid the moment will end if they stop. They laugh breathlessly against each other’s mouths, giddy and flushed and completely undone.

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung murmurs, voice wrecked. His forehead drops to Sunghoon’s shoulder, their bodies flush now, the air between them thick and charged.

Sunghoon tilts his head, brushing his lips against Heeseung’s ear. “Yes, baby?,” he whispers, his voice unsteady.

Heeseung lets out a soft, broken moan. “Touch me, please.”

Sunghoon does. His hands drift lower, slipping beneath the elastic of Heeseung’s waistband just enough to feel the warm curve of his hip bone, the soft skin just above where modesty begins to fade. Their kisses grow deeper again, messier, more open-mouthed. Every time Heeseung tries to pull away for air, Sunghoon follows, chasing his mouth, catching him again with another kiss, as if he can’t bear even a second of space between them. Their hips move without thought now, slowly, in sync, clothed bodies pressing and grinding together in the most maddening, perfect way.

Heeseung moans into the kiss, a sound so soft and raw it makes Sunghoon’s heart stutter in his chest. His hands are in Heeseung’s hair now, tugging gently, guiding him, as if trying to slow down and speed up all at once.

Sunghoon mouths at Heeseung’s neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that trail heat and want in their wake. He lingers just below Heeseung’s jaw, lips parting against the sensitive skin, and sucks—slow and deliberate—until he feels Heeseung shudder beneath him.

A broken moan slips past Heeseung’s lips, and his fingers tighten instinctively in Sunghoon’s hair, nails grazing his scalp. “Oh my god.”

Sunghoon can’t help the smug smile that curls against Heeseung’s throat. He presses one last kiss to the mark now blooming there, possessive and proud. The sound of Heeseung falling apart beneath him—because of him—sends a fierce rush of satisfaction through his veins. He’s the one doing this. He gets to have Heeseung like this—for good.

Now that the secret’s out and Jay knows, there’s no need for restraint anymore. No more hiding the way Sunghoon wants to mark Heeseung, not just with affection but with bruises that say, mine. The thought alone—Heeseung walking around with evidence of Sunghoon along his neck, his collarbone, maybe places only the two of them will ever see—makes Sunghoon’s hips twitch with barely-contained need.

He presses another kiss just beside the fresh mark, teeth grazing skin this time. Dark enough to last a few days, he thinks with savage satisfaction.

Wonyoung had once teased him—called him territorial, possessive. She wasn’t wrong. But if Heeseung minded, he’d say so. Judging by the breathy moans falling from his lips, the way he arches into every kiss and tilt of Sunghoon’s mouth, he’s not just tolerating it. He’s craving it.

Heeseung’s fingers tighten in Sunghoon’s hair before fisting a handful and yanking, forcing Sunghoon’s head back with a firm, commanding pull—like someone tugging a reckless puppy away from chewing something it shouldn’t. Sunghoon’s lips part in a startled breath, caught off guard by the sudden shift in control.

“Stop chewing me out like a puppy with a bone,” Heeseung growls, voice rough and breathy, “and fuck me already.”

The words hit Sunghoon like a slap—sharp, unexpected, and arousing beyond belief. His breath catches, and his body stills for half a second. Heeseung’s eyes are dark, blown wide with need, the challenge clear in his stare.

“You’re serious?” Sunghoon asks, voice low, as if testing the waters one last time. “I thought you wanted to take things slow.”

“Fuck slow,” Heeseung snaps, hips rolling up ever so slightly against Sunghoon’s. “I can’t stop thinking about your fingers inside me—it’s driving me insane.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes for Sunghoon’s restraint to disintegrate entirely. Something primal snaps inside him—an ache, a hunger that can no longer be reasoned with. His blood rushes south like a wave crashing through him, fast and hot.

In a single, fluid motion, Sunghoon rises from the couch, his arms wrapping around Heeseung and lifting him as though it costs him nothing. Heeseung gasps, startled, and instinctively locks his legs around Sunghoon’s waist, arms slipping around his shoulders to keep balance.

Their bodies are flush—chest to chest, breath to breath—as Sunghoon hauls him down the hall without breaking eye contact, without hesitation, like a man possessed.

Sunghoon’s grip on Heeseung is firm, his hands spanning the small of his back and the underside of his thighs as he carries him, purposeful and urgent. Their mouths crash together mid-step, a clumsy, desperate kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and hunger. Heeseung clings tighter, fingers curling into Sunghoon’s shoulders, his body already trembling with anticipation.

The bedroom door slams open and he lowers Heeseung onto the bed, hovering over him for only a breath before following him down. The moment their bodies hit the mattress, their hands are everywhere. Tugging at clothes, slipping under fabric, dragging nails over skin like they can’t get close enough, fast enough.

Heeseung gasps when Sunghoon’s hand slides under his shirt, fingers splayed wide against his stomach. He arches into the touch instinctively, wanting more—needing it. Sunghoon pulls back just enough to yank the shirt over Heeseung’s head, then tosses it aside without looking.

Heeseung’s chest rises and falls rapidly, flushed and warm beneath the low light. Sunghoon’s eyes drag over every inch of newly exposed skin, like he’s memorizing it—like he’s been waiting to see this forever. It occurs to Sunghoon that Heeseung is absolutely beautiful. He looks like a dream, hair fanned out over the pillow, sweet like tendrils of angel hair.

Heeseung’s legs are bent at the knees, pulled up close to his chest, the slope of them peaking like twin summits. His skin is beautifully tan and smooth under the low light, casting soft shadows over the curves of his thighs. Sunghoon hovers above him, breath shallow, eyes dark and reverent as he takes in the sight beneath him like it’s something sacred.

His hands start at Heeseung’s hips, slow and deliberate, brushing upward along trembling thighs. The heat of his palms contrasts with the goosebumps rising along Heeseung’s skin. He doesn’t rush—he lets the tension build, dragging his fingers all the way up until they wrap gently around Heeseung’s knees, thumbs rubbing slow, grounding circles into the delicate skin there.

“Let me taste you,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent, like a prayer spoken into the charged silence between them.

Heeseung’s lips part slightly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. He only nods, eyes locked on Sunghoon’s face, pupils blown wide with anticipation and trust.

Sunghoon leans down to press a kiss to the inside of Heeseung’s knee, his breath warm. Then he straightens again, reaching for the waistband of Heeseung’s basketball shorts. His fingers hook under the elastic.

“Lift your hips for me, my love.”

The term of endearment makes something flutter in Heeseung’s chest. He obeys, hips lifting easily under Sunghoon’s touch, and in one smooth motion, the shorts are pulled down and off, tossed somewhere unseen.

And then Sunghoon freezes.

The breath he draws in is sharp and audible. His eyes widen, caught completely off guard by what greets him.

Red. Silky. Panties.

Thin straps hug Heeseung’s hips, the satin shimmering in the dim light. It’s delicate and decadent in a way Sunghoon has never associated with him—and it’s doing dangerous things to his already frayed composure.

Heeseung watches the expression shift across Sunghoon’s face—shock melting into awe, then raw hunger.

“What’s up?” he asks, grinning breathlessly, his voice teasing but laced with nerves. His head falls back against the pillow, arms splayed out lazily. “You’re gonna cum already?”

Sunghoon can’t even be embarrassed. His cock pulses hard in his pants, painfully stiff, his fingers twitching where they rest on Heeseung’s thighs. The sight in front of him is too much—Heeseung laid bare, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his pretty cunt outlined by wet red silk.

“Oh for sure.” Sunghoon exhales.

Heeseung laughs, but it stutters halfway out of his throat. He’s trembling a little now, legs tensing like he’s fighting the urge to close them. But he doesn’t—he stays open, inviting, his eyes shimmering with something soft and hot. “You are such a loser.”

The words spark a new fire under Sunghoon’s skin. “I’m a loser who knows how to eat pussy, now open up baby,” he whispers, voice rough and barely under control.

Heeseung parts his legs slowly, shy but obedient. Sunghoon watches, hypnotized, as they fall open—like the petals of a flower, revealing something vulnerable and dripping with anticipation.

Between his thighs, the red silk is already stained dark with slick. A small wet patch, centered perfectly, growing by the second.

Sunghoon swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry, body flushed with heat. “Fuck,” he breathes, “were you expecting company?”

Heeseung snorts, rolls his eyes—but his voice is breathy. “Do I need a reason to wear them?”

Sunghoon lets his fingers trace the edge of the panties, slowly, reverently. Heeseung jerks slightly when one finger presses a little lower, brushing against the soaked fabric covering his cunt. The reaction is immediate—his thighs tremble, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“You do now,” Sunghoon says. “That reason’s me.”

“Get to it already, you pervert,” Heeseung whines, squirming. Sunghoon smirks, but it’s strained. He’s holding back by a thread.

“Shh, hyung,” he murmurs, lowering himself between Heeseung’s legs. His arms hook under Heeseung’s thighs, pulling him forward, flush against his chest. Heeseung lets out a startled noise—a mix between a gasp and a squeal—as his ass is pulled right to the edge of the bed.

“I got you.”

He doesn’t wait anymore.

Sunghoon leans in, mouthing over the wet fabric, his lips soft and warm through the silk. The taste is faint but intoxicating—sweet, salty, Heeseung. The dampness coats his tongue, the friction of the fabric only heightening the sensation. He licks long and slow, from the base to the peak, until Heeseung’s hips are twitching under his hands.

Heeseung lets out a shaky moan, hands fisting in the sheets. His thighs try to close on instinct, but Sunghoon is holding him open, firm but gentle.

“You’re so wet,” Sunghoon mumbles, voice muffled against the soaked material. “So fucking wet for me already.”

Heeseung whimpers something unintelligible, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut as Sunghoon licks him again—harder this time, dragging the flat of his tongue in rough, needy strokes over the fabric. His nose nudges against the elastic, and he moans low into Heeseung’s cunt, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through him.

The wet patch is massive now, soaking through completely. The taste, the scent, the sounds—everything is overwhelming, a heady mix of lust and emotion that makes Sunghoon feel dizzy.

He pulls back suddenly, panting, lips shiny, eyes glazed.

And Heeseung is a mess—blushing, sweating, chest heaving. His legs are still spread, trembling slightly, panties clinging to his soaked heat.

Sunghoon looks at him like he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Sunghoon pulls back, only for a moment. He looks up, lips wet, flushed down to his chest. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Take them off for me.”

Heeseung blinks through the haze, confused for a second, until Sunghoon’s fingers tug at the sides of the panties—playful, patient.

Heeseung nods, lifts his hips again, and the silk slides down his thighs like liquid, catching briefly on the curve of his ass before Sunghoon pulls them free completely.

He’s bare now. Fully, completely exposed.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat.

Heeseung’s cunt is slick and pink, glistening in the low light, folds swollen with arousal. His clit peeks out, flushed and needy, and there’s a thin thread of slick that connects his entrance to the ruined fabric of the panties now bunched in Sunghoon’s fist.

Sunghoon stares—hungry and reverent, like he’s looking at something he’s dreamed about for months and never thought he’d get to touch.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispers. “You’re dripping.”

Heeseung squirms, flustered. Sunghoon leans in again, licking a slow stripe from Heeseung’s entrance up to his clit, groaning deep in his chest at the taste. It’s rich and intoxicating, a perfect blend of sweetness and salt and heat. He does it again, then again, each pass more deliberate, more filthy.

Heeseung whimpers, one arm flung over his eyes, the other gripping the headboard behind him. His thighs tremble where they rest on Sunghoon’s shoulders, twitching with every wet drag of tongue across his cunt.

Sunghoon buries himself fully now, mouth open, tongue flat and wide as he licks into Heeseung with abandon. He mouths at his folds, sucks gently at his lips, teases the swollen bud of his clit with slow circles until Heeseung’s hips are lifting off the bed, seeking more.

“Fuck—Sunghoon—ah—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

The desperation in his voice only spurs Sunghoon on. He slides one hand down, easing two fingers through the mess between Heeseung’s legs, spreading him open just a little, exposing the tight, fluttering entrance that clenches at nothing.

Heeseung gasps, hips jerking.

“You want my fingers?” Sunghoon asks, his voice low and rough, face still buried between Heeseung’s thighs. “Want me to stretch you open while I eat you out?”

Heeseung nods frantically, eyes glossy. “Yes, fuck, yes, please.”

Sunghoon presses a kiss to his clit before shifting slightly, coating his fingers in slick and easing one into Heeseung’s cunt. The heat and tightness nearly make him moan again.

“God—you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs.

Heeseung lets out a high, broken sound as Sunghoon curls his finger inside him, slow and careful. His walls flutter around the intrusion, sucking him in, begging for more.

Sunghoon adds a second finger after a moment, working them in gently, scissoring them apart as he goes back to licking, this time sucking directly on Heeseung’s clit, slow and rhythmic.

Heeseung is panting now, gasping, one hand fisted in Sunghoon’s hair, holding him in place.

“F-Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—Sunghoon—!”

Sunghoon hums low against him, fingers stroking that soft, spongy spot inside him while his mouth works his clit in tight, wet circles.

Heeseung comes undone with a sharp cry, hips bucking, thighs shaking around Sunghoon’s head. His whole body arches, muscles locking before melting into the mattress like wax under flame. His slick gushes around Sunghoon’s fingers, hot and thick, soaking his knuckles and dripping down onto the sheets.

Sunghoon doesn’t stop.

He works him through it, licking up everything Heeseung gives him, drinking it down like he’s starving, until Heeseung is sobbing softly, legs twitching with overstimulation.

Only then does he pull back, lips and chin slick, panting hard.

He presses a kiss to Heeseung’s trembling thigh, voice a soft murmur against flushed skin. “You taste incredible.”

Heeseung lets out a soft laugh, breathless.

Heeseung is still trembling beneath him, chest rising in rapid little gasps, skin flushed a rosy pink from his cheeks down to his chest. His thighs twitch against Sunghoon’s shoulders, streaked with arousal and glazed sweat. The sheets beneath him are damp, clinging to his back. He looks wrecked—hair sticking to his forehead, lips swollen and parted, a dazed look in his eyes like he’s floating somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Sunghoon licks his lips, tasting Heeseung on them—sweet, a little tangy, warm like honey. He doesn’t wipe his face. He wants Heeseung to see what he’s done to him. Wants to wear it.

“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing a hand along the inside of Heeseung’s thigh, the skin hypersensitive and twitching beneath his touch.

Heeseung lets out a quiet laugh that borders on a moan. “Too good. Too much.”

Sunghoon leans up, fingers still buried deep inside him, and kisses his hip, then his belly. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” Heeseung breathes instantly, voice cracking from overuse. “Don’t stop. Want you—inside. Now.”

Sunghoon groans like the words physically hit him. He withdraws his fingers slowly, watching the way Heeseung’s cunt clenches around the loss, fluttering open and dripping onto the sheets. He can’t resist sliding his fingers up to Heeseung’s mouth, and Heeseung—eager, pliant—opens obediently, sucking them in without hesitation.

His tongue curls around Sunghoon’s fingers, tasting himself, cheeks hollowing slightly as he looks up through his lashes. It’s the filthiest, most intimate thing Sunghoon’s ever seen.

“Fuck,” Sunghoon whispers, voice gone hoarse.

He pulls his fingers free with a wet pop and sits back on his knees, finally undoing his pants. His hands shake, either from restraint or overwhelming want, even he doesn’t know. Heeseung watches the bulge in his briefs strain forward, the head of his cock dampening the fabric, and bites his bottom lip.

“You’re so hard,” Heeseung says, a little awed.

“Been hard since I saw those panties,” Sunghoon mutters, dragging the fabric down. His cock springs free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip.

Heeseung reaches between them, wrapping a hand around him and stroking slowly. His touch is still shaky, oversensitive, but determined. Sunghoon groans at the contact, hips stuttering forward.

“Need you,” Heeseung says again, eyes locking with his, soft but unwavering. “Put it in, Hoon. Want you to fuck me.”

That does it. Sunghoon positions himself, guiding his cock down until it rests against Heeseung’s entrance. He drags the tip through the wetness once, twice, watching Heeseung’s body twitch at the tease. The way his hole clenches, needy and slick, makes it almost impossible not to just sink in all at once.

“You ready?” he asks again, voice strained with restraint.

Heeseung nods, wide-eyed. “Please.”

Sunghoon pushes forward, slowly.

The first inch slides in easily, the heat of Heeseung’s body wrapping around him like a vice. Heeseung lets out a soft, broken noise, his hands flying up to grip at Sunghoon’s shoulders, nails digging in.

“F-Fuck,” Heeseung pants. “So big—”

“I’ll go slow,” Sunghoon promises, though he’s gritting his teeth with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into the slick, velvet heat. He strokes Heeseung’s thigh gently with one hand, the other braced beside his head. “Just breathe, baby.”

Heeseung nods again, eyes fluttering shut. He relaxes slowly, his hips tilting forward in invitation. Sunghoon takes the signal and pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s bottomed out.

They both stay like that for a moment, unmoving.

Heeseung is stretched full, impaled on him, their hips pressed together, skin hot and sticky with sweat. Sunghoon can feel every flutter of Heeseung’s walls around him, the subtle, greedy squeeze that makes his whole body tremble.

“You feel… so fucking good,” Sunghoon groans, pressing his forehead to Heeseung’s.

“Move,” Heeseung whispers, voice wrecked. “Please, Hoon—need you.”

Sunghoon pulls back slowly, hips rolling, and thrusts in again, gentle at first. The friction is divine—slick and tight and molten, like sliding into the center of a star. Heeseung gasps, legs wrapping loosely around his waist, ankles locking behind his back.

Sunghoon sets a rhythm, each thrust slow and deep, grinding his hips to make sure Heeseung feels every inch. He kisses him between thrusts—his jaw, his throat, his parted lips—chasing every little sound he can pull from Heeseung’s mouth.

And Heeseung is loud now, whimpering with each roll of Sunghoon’s hips, his moans growing higher as Sunghoon angles slightly and finds the spot inside him that makes his whole body jolt.

“There?” Sunghoon pants.

Heeseung nods frantically. “Right there, fuck—again—”

Sunghoon fucks him harder now, thrusts hitting just right, dragging across that spot again and again. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and filthy, their slick bodies grinding together in a rhythm that feels like it could go on forever.

Heeseung claws at his back, his face a portrait of blissful ruin, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from how overwhelming it all is.

“I’m—Sunghoon, I’m gonna cum again—”

Sunghoon slips a hand between them and rubs Heeseung’s clit in tight, messy circles, never letting up his pace.

“Cum for me, baby,” he rasps. “Wanna feel you all over me.”

Heeseung cries out as his second orgasm crashes over him, back arching, cunt squeezing impossibly tight around Sunghoon’s cock, milking him with each pulse. The sight alone—Heeseung trembling, lips parted, tears slipping down his cheeks—is enough to undo Sunghoon.

He groans deep and thrusts once, twice more before spilling inside, hips jerking as he fills Heeseung with thick, hot ropes of cum. He keeps moving, riding out the high, until they’re both gasping, sweaty, and spent.

He collapses on top of him, careful not to crush him, forehead pressed to Heeseung’s temple. Their bodies are tangled, breaths syncing slowly.

Their bodies are still tangled when the silence finally settles around them, warm and heavy like a weighted blanket. The air is thick with the scent of sex and skin, but beneath it is something sweeter — the scent of trust, of something earned. Sunghoon doesn’t move right away. Heeseung’s fingers are still curled loosely around his biceps, nails barely pressing into his skin like he’s afraid he might float away if he lets go.

“You okay?” Sunghoon murmurs against his cheek, voice hoarse from earlier, but gentle now. Reverent.

Heeseung doesn’t open his eyes, but he nods. “I’m okay.” His voice is soft, small. “I’m more than okay.”

Sunghoon lifts himself up slightly, just enough to ease out of him slowly, tenderly, his hand bracing Heeseung’s thigh with care. He feels the way Heeseung flinches a little — not from pain, but from oversensitivity — and immediately hushes him, lips brushing against his temple.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

Heeseung lets out a quiet breath and finally opens his eyes, gaze glassy and tender as it meets Sunghoon’s. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers. “Just… don’t go far.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sunghoon promises, reaching to stroke the hair away from Heeseung’s damp forehead. He presses a kiss there — soft, grounding. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

Heeseung hesitates, but nods.

Sunghoon slips away reluctantly, padding across the room to grab a warm, damp towel. He’s gentle as he returns, lifting Heeseung’s hips with one hand and murmuring quiet reassurances while he wipes him clean. The towel is soft, and he moves slowly, like he’s caring for something fragile. Heeseung lies pliant, watching him with a look that borders on awe.

“Are you staying the night?” Heeseung asks, voice slightly hoarse.

Sunghoon chuckles under his breath. “Of course, baby. There's nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

Heeseung offers a tired smile as Sunghoon finishes up. Once he’s done, Sunghoon tosses the towel aside and climbs back into bed, lifting the blankets and pulling Heeseung into his arms without hesitation. Heeseung fits easily against him—head resting on his chest, legs instinctively tangling with his.

They lie there in silence, enveloped in warmth and bare skin, their breathing gradually syncing in the quiet.

Sunghoon’s hand moves slowly along Heeseung’s back—wide, steady strokes that anchor him. With his other hand, he gently combs through the soft strands at the nape of Heeseung’s neck. He can feel the way the tension slowly drains from Heeseung’s body, melting into the mattress and into him.

“Wait…” Sunghoon murmurs suddenly, his voice hesitant. “Sunoo wasn’t home this whole time, was he?”

Heeseung lets out a low, sleepy laugh. “No, he’s out with friends. And even if he were here, he’s always wearing those noise-cancelling headphones when he studies.”

Sunghoon groans. “Baby, you were moaning so loud, I think the neighbors know my name now.”

Heeseung snorts, slapping his chest lightly in mock offense. Sunghoon laughs and catches his hand midair, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, holding him close.

At some point, Sunghoon ends up carrying Heeseung to the bathroom — carrying, because when Heeseung tries to stand, his legs nearly give out. He clutches at Sunghoon like gravity’s turned against him, eyes glazed with exhaustion and something quieter, softer.

Sunghoon tells himself to behave. To keep his hands to himself in the shower. To focus on care, not desire. To move gently, to be present. This is supposed to be about looking after Heeseung — washing his hair, soothing his muscles, brushing fingers across skin in the way aftercare is meant to be. Tender. Safe.

But Heeseung has other plans.

He sinks to his knees the moment the water hits his skin, tilting his head up to look at Sunghoon with those wide, trusting eyes. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. And maybe that’s the problem — maybe Sunghoon has never been good at saying no to things he wants too much.

So they don’t stop at just a shower. The steam cloaks the room in warmth, in silence, in the sound of breath and water and the hush of want curling between them. They fall into each other again — not rushed, not rough, just aching in that full, unspoken way that comes when something’s been simmering for too long.

Afterward, Sunghoon helps Heeseung towel off, careful and slow. Heeseung leans into him like he’s already halfway to sleep. By the time they make it to bed, Heeseung is barely conscious, arms wrapped around Sunghoon’s waist, nose pressed to his collarbone, breaths soft and even. He clings like a koala, like he doesn’t want to let go even in sleep.

Sunghoon stays awake.

He lies there, one arm under Heeseung’s back, the other curled protectively around him. Heeseung’s weight is warm and grounding against his chest, but his thoughts are anything but still. His heart keeps repeating this is real. This is real. And it is. Somehow, unbelievably, it is.

He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. With the knowledge that for once, something in his life hasn’t fallen apart — that he’s here, in Heeseung’s bed, after everything. That they’ve crossed the line between wanting and having, and nothing has crumbled. That his brother doesn’t hate him. That this time, he hasn’t sabotaged it.

For once, he’s letting himself want something — and take it. Keep it.

He knows he’s not perfect. He still flinches at vulnerability, still carries that old urge to run the moment things feel too good to be true. But tonight, he’s still. Tonight, he stays.

And maybe — maybe — he can keep choosing to stay. Because Heeseung is worth that. Worth the effort, worth the fear, worth the parts of himself he’s still learning how to love.

And for the first time in a long time, Sunghoon thinks: I want this. I want to be here.

And he lets himself believe that maybe — just maybe — he can be.

—

[11.00 AM] Sunghoon: [picture attached]

[11.00 AM] Sunghoon: The baddie I bagged by being weird

The next morning, Sunghoon wakes up with a single mission: let the world know he had officially bagged Lee Heeseung. So he snaps a picture — Heeseung still asleep, curled into his side, face tucked against Sunghoon’s neck — and make a new group chat with all of their friends. (He’d gotten permission for this the night before, for the record.)

[11:05 AM] Yunjin: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH YALLLL

[11:05AM] Yunjin: THIS IS AMAZING

[11:06 AM] Chaewon: Bruhh finally

[11:07AM] Riki: Everyone owes me 5 bucks

[11:07AM] Sunghoon: YOU GUYS WERE BETTING????!??

[11:08AM] Sunoo: Duh

[11:08AM] Sunoo: btw I left some breakfast for you two

[11:09AM] Sunghoon: Thank you!! you're the best

[11:09 AM] Sunoo: Yeah I know :p

[11:10AM] Jungwon: uhm hi?

[11:10AM] Yunjin: Oh my that's Heeseung’s bestie

[11:11AM] Yunjin: Welcome Jungwon we’ve been waiting to get introduced to you :)))

[11:11AM] Jungwon: ?

[11:12AM] Sunghoon: Everyone wants to meet you Jungwon, Heeseung has been telling them about you

[11:13AM] Jay: Is that a fuckass hickey on his neck??!?!?!!???

[11:13AM] Riki: LMFAOOOOOO

[11:13AM] Riki: Congrats btw dude I knew you’d end up together!!!!!

[11:13AM] Jay: HELLO?/)/)): ANSWER ME SUNGHOON

[11:13AM] Sunghoon: 🤷🏻‍♀️

[11:14 AM] Jake: Jay get off your phone and come back to bed 😑

[11:14AM] Jake: you got bigger things to worry about than that… like the fact that I’m still mad at you

[11:14AM] Jay: I’m sorry baby

[11:15AM] Sunghoon: This is so weird….

[11:15AM] Jay: 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵😵😵😵😵‍💫

[11:16AM] Jake: Sunghoon, we are so incredibly excited for the two of you!!!!

[11:17AM] Sunghoon: You are all invited to the wedding

[11:15AM] Yunjin: Talking about weddings…

—

Not much changes between Heeseung and Sunghoon after they get together — not in the way people might expect. It’s steady. Familiar. Like they’ve just stepped into a version of their lives that had always been waiting for them to stop hesitating.

The biggest difference is that now Sunghoon gets to have what he’s been holding himself back from for so long.

He can kiss Heeseung whenever he wants — a quick peck on the cheek while waiting for coffee, a slow press to his mouth when he’s tired and trying to say thank you without words. He still tries not to do it too openly in front of Jay, though. Some patterns are hard to shake, and guilt doesn’t vanish overnight. But the weight has lessened. Sunghoon no longer flinches at the idea of being seen. He can sit close, can thread his fingers through Heeseung’s in full view of his brother and not feel like he’s trespassing.

He can lean into Heeseung’s side on the couch. Can let his hand rest on Heeseung’s thigh during movie nights. Can pull Heeseung onto his lap when there’s no more room and just stay like that — arms around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder — and no one even blinks. Nobody stares. Nobody questions.

And something in Sunghoon, the part that’s always been braced for impact, starts to slowly, finally uncoil.

What he doesn’t expect — what he still finds a little absurd — is how quickly he has to adjust to Jay and Jake being… well, Jay and Jake.

The first time he catches them kissing, it’s in the hallway after dinner at Jake’s place. Jay’s still holding a glass of wine, Jake’s hand is hooked in the back of his shirt, and they’re smiling into it like they forgot the world existed. Sunghoon stares. Blinks. Makes a noise halfway between a gasp and a gag.

Jake laughs. Jay flips him off.

It’s surreal at first. His older brother — the overprotective, slightly neurotic, always-responsible Jay — with Jake, the reckless, smart-mouthed tattoo artist who once threatened to key Jay’s car over a parking space.

But then Sunghoon starts to see it.

He sees the way Jake watches Jay when he’s talking — like he already knows what he’s going to say but wants to hear it anyway. He sees the way Jay leans into Jake’s space more than he does with anyone else. The way he lets himself soften.

Jay has always carried the world on his back. Always felt like he had to fix everything, be everything. Sunghoon knows that better than anyone. But with Jake, Jay doesn’t have to be perfect. Doesn’t have to pretend he’s fine when he isn’t. Jake lets him be messy — lets him be tired, frustrated, vulnerable — and still stays. That kind of love is loud, unfiltered, and oddly reassuring.

For the first time, Jay has someone who meets him where he is. And maybe that’s why Sunghoon stops flinching every time they’re affectionate. Stops questioning how it even happened.

(Though it does make a lot more sense when he realizes the hoodie he found in Jake’s apartment was Jay’s.

Jungwon, too, has become part of the picture now.

Heeseung had warned Sunghoon — “He’s shy at first, just give him a bit of time” — and he’d been right. At the first get-together, Jungwon had hovered near the snacks like they were a shield, answering questions with polite half-smiles and sipping soda like his life depended on it. But then Sunoo sat down next to him, started talking about a show they both liked, and something shifted.

It’s not just that they talk — it’s how. Their laughter weaves around each other easily, quick and constant. They finish each other’s jokes. They send each other looks across the room when something chaotic happens. By the second hangout, they’re already teasing each other like they’ve been friends for years. Sunghoon watches them from across the room sometimes, quietly pleased.

But he notices something else too — Riki.

It’s subtle, but noticeable if you know what to look for. Riki isn’t loud around Jungwon the way he usually is. He fidgets. Laughs a beat too late. Eyes Jungwon when he thinks no one’s watching, then looks away the second they make contact. Sunghoon files it away, a quiet mental note: Ask him about it later. Gently.

Still, despite all the shifting dynamics, it works. The group fits together like puzzle pieces that were scattered for too long. They’ve already gone to three of Jungwon’s gigs — all packed into tiny venues with bad air circulation and too-loud speakers. But they cheer anyway. They chant his name. Jake even made a sign for one show, and Jay pretended to be mortified the entire night.

Sunghoon leans against Heeseung’s side during these nights, heart full in a way he’s still getting used to. He doesn’t always know what to do with this feeling — this safety, this closeness, this normalcy — but he’s learning.

—

The summer starts off with a bang.

Final exams are finally over, the school year is over, and Heeseung, Sunoo, and Jay are free at last, their bodies loose with relief as they tumble headfirst into long days and warm nights. Sunghoon’s summer, however, looks a little different. He’s spending his final week at the ice rink preparing to say goodbye to the group of kids he’s been teaching all year. With the rink shutting down for summer maintenance, he’ll be working full-time at the studio until September. He’s not ready to let go of the kids just yet—some of them had finally stopped falling every five seconds—but he keeps a brave face for their sake, promising they’ll pick back up in the fall, stronger than ever.

Still, it’s not all endings.

The weekend finds the group once again back at Jake’s lake house. This time, the heat is relentless, clinging to skin like a second layer. The air feels thick with humidity, and the sun blazes unapologetically overhead. But the lake—the lake is perfect. Cool, vast, and sparkling under the golden light, it beckons to them like a cure.

The yard is alive with noise and color. Sunoo and Jungwon are in the middle of a fierce volleyball match, the net stretching between two trees, their cheers and taunts volleying faster than the ball. Riki is lying on the grass nearby, propped up on his elbows, his smile wide and unguarded as he watches his friends with affection in his eyes that he would never admit out loud.

In the lake, Yunjin is shrieking as Chaewon splashes her mercilessly, only to be tackled and tickled seconds later. Their laughter carries across the water like music.

Sunghoon, meanwhile, is still. He’s seated on a large lounge chair beneath a swaying umbrella, with Heeseung curled up against him, head resting on Sunghoon’s thigh. One of Heeseung’s arms is draped across Sunghoon’s lap, his legs loosely tangled, and he’s fast asleep—breathing slow and deep, completely relaxed.

Sunghoon hasn’t moved in over an hour, afraid even the slightest shift will wake him. His hand moves gently through Heeseung’s hair, combing through soft strands, fingertips barely grazing the warm skin of his scalp.

It’s quiet here, away from the chaos. Just the hum of summer, the occasional call from the others, the rhythmic beat of Heeseung’s breathing, and the steady thud of Sunghoon’s heart.

Every now and then, someone walks by and smiles at the sight—Jay smirks knowingly, Sunoo coos dramatically, and even Jake snaps a secret photo before disappearing back toward the grill.

Sunghoon leans down and presses a soft kiss to Heeseung’s temple. “You’re drooling on me,” he murmurs with a fond smile.

“Mmm…” Heeseung stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. He only burrows deeper into Sunghoon’s lap, like a cat claiming its territory.

And then, eventually, Heeseung does blink awake—blinking up at Sunghoon with sleep-drenched eyes and a dazed expression. He looks adorably disoriented, hair sticking up in soft tufts, cheeks pink from the warmth.

“Did I fall asleep?” he mumbles, voice raspy with sleep.

“You snored,” Sunghoon teases, brushing a thumb along his jaw.

Heeseung groans and hides his face in Sunghoon’s stomach. “Don’t say that. I was trying to look cool.”

“You looked very cool. Exceptionally cool.” Sunghoon kisses his forehead. “Riki’s been waiting to drag you into a volleyball match for the past twenty minutes. I think he’s starting to pace.”

Heeseung sighs dramatically and stretches before sitting up with a pout. “Can I get one more kiss before I go get destroyed by a teenager?”

Sunghoon smiles and pulls him in, kissing him slow and warm. The kind of kiss that lingers in the air, tastes like sunscreen and sunshine and something private in the middle of everything.

“I’ll be cheering for you,” he whispers against Heeseung’s lips.

“Even if I lose?”

“Especially if you lose.”

Heeseung laughs, stands, and jogs off to meet Riki, who greets him with a victorious grin.

Sunghoon, left alone for the first time all day, stretches out and finally gets up to check on the grill situation—before Jay decides Jake’s the real meal.

Inside the lake house, the kitchen is warm and quiet, the scent of grilled vegetables wafting through the open windows. Jay stands at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, his knife moving methodically through a pile of onions. There’s a furrow between his brows.

Sunghoon walks in, barefoot, sun-warmed, with the lazy ease that only summer can bring. He grabs a slice of watermelon from the bowl on the counter and leans back against the wall, watching his brother.

“Please tell me you’re not actually chopping up Jake,” he says, smirking.

Jay snorts. “Tempting. But no. I just kicked him out of the kitchen before I lost my mind. He was asking too many questions about seasoning again.”

“Hyung,” Sunghoon laughs, “he just wants to help.”

“I know,” Jay says with a soft sigh. “He’s annoying about it, though.”

Sunghoon hums, chewing thoughtfully as the sound of Jay’s knife continues — rhythmic, familiar. He’s always found something grounding in watching Jay cook. As kids, when things were unstable in all the wrong ways, Jay’s quiet care in the kitchen was a refuge. He never made a big show of it. He just fed him. Took care of him. No matter what.

They fall into a comfortable silence.

Jay suddenly puts the knife down. “Are you happy?” he asks, voice low but steady.

Sunghoon looks up. “What?”

Jay turns around, arms folded across his chest, leaning back against the counter. His eyes — warm and steady — meet Sunghoon’s. “Are you happy, Hoon? With where you are. With your life.”

Sunghoon doesn’t even hesitate. His smile is instant. “I’m really happy, hyung. I feel...light. Like I’m not holding my breath all the time anymore.”

Jay nods slowly with a soft smile on his face. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear.”

There’s a pause.

“Why are you asking?” Sunghoon asks.

Jay looks away for a second, exhaling through his nose like he’s bracing himself. “Because I’ve been thinking. About what you said—about why you didn’t tell me sooner. About Heeseung.”

Sunghoon shifts his weight, suddenly uneasy.

“You told me,” Jay continues, “that you kept it from me because you didn’t want to lose me. Because you were scared of how I’d react. And I’ve been trying to wrap my head around that. Because the idea of you… hiding something that means that much to you—something that makes you this happy—because of me…” His voice falters. “That breaks my heart, Sunghoon.”

“Hyung…” Sunghoon whispers, but Jay shakes his head.

“No. Let me say this. Just once. And then I’ll let it go.” He swallows hard, like the next words cost him. “If I made you feel like your happiness would be an inconvenience to me, I failed you.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightens. “You didn’t fail me—”

“I did,” Jay cuts in, eyes shining now, barely blinking. “I spent so many years trying to protect you. I became this… guard dog version of myself because I thought I had to be. Our parents were barely around, and you were this tiny thing just trying to survive. I didn’t know how else to love you but by shielding you from everything.”

Sunghoon’s eyes burn.

Jay steps closer now, hands braced on the counter behind him. “From the moment I held you that night in the hospital — you were so small, Hoon. You were this brand-new little thing, and I made a promise to myself right there that I’d protect your happiness with my life. But somewhere along the way, I forgot that part of protecting it means trusting you to choose what makes you happy. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s not what I expect.”

Sunghoon’s vision blurs, heart squeezing tight.

“I love you,” Jay says softly, his voice thick. “More than I know how to say. And you don’t ever have to hide your heart from me again. You hear me?”

Sunghoon nods, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was so scared you’d never look at me the same again.”

Jay steps forward and pulls him into a tight hug, arms wrapping around him like armor.

“I’d only ever look at you with love,” he murmurs against Sunghoon’s hair. “Even if you’d fallen in love with the most annoying man on earth.”

Sunghoon lets out a wet laugh against his shoulder. “Jake’s not that bad.”

Jay groans. “He is. But somehow, I love him anyway.”

They stay like that for a while, holding onto each other in the quiet hum of summer, surrounded by the smell of grilled food and the warmth of a home they built themselves.

Outside, someone yells that Riki broke something on the grill so Jay lets go of Sunghoon with a loud sigh and they both walk outside to see the damage Riki has caused.

The rest of the day unfolds in a blur of laughter and lazy summer energy. They eat until they’re stuffed—burgers grilled to perfection, cold watermelon slices, chips that somehow taste better by the water. Between bites, they take turns cannonballing into the lake, the splash echoing through the trees. Someone starts a volleyball game that’s more chaotic than competitive, filled with dramatic dives, missed serves, and way too much yelling over points that no one’s actually keeping track of.

As the sun climbs higher and the post-lunch sluggishness sets in, a quiet lull washes over the group. Most stay outside, sprawled on towels or floating lazily on inflatable tubes. But Heeseung and Jay disappear for a while, slipping away into the house without much notice.

Sunghoon eventually goes inside to grab a drink and nearly drops the water bottle when he finds them. There they are—completely knocked out on Jake’s massive couch, limbs tangled awkwardly, both snoring like old men and drooling on the throw pillows like it's their job. It's too good not to document. Sunghoon silently snaps a few photos, stifling his laughter as he angles for the most unflattering shots possible.

He lingers for a second, just watching them—Jay's head tilted back at an awkward angle, mouth wide open, while Heeseung has half a tortilla chip stuck to his cheek like some kind of badge of honor. It's honestly impressive how peacefully they're sleeping despite looking so undignified.

Sunghoon shakes his head with a fond sigh and heads back outside, the late afternoon sun warm against his skin. The others are still lounging by the dock. Riki is attempting to balance on a pool noodle in the shallow water while Jungwon heckles him from a floatie. Jake’s setting up a speaker, arguing with Chaewon over the playlist, and Yunjin is braiding Sunoo’s hair with intense concentration.

“Where were you?” Jake asks as Sunghoon plops down beside him.

“Caught the sleeping beauties in their natural habitat,” Sunghoon replies, pulling out his phone and holding it up. “Jay and Heeseung. Mouths open. Drool. Full-on hibernation mode.”

Jake bursts out laughing. “No way. You got pics?”

Sunghoon shows him, and Jake nearly drops the speaker mid-cackle. “They’re never living this down.”

“Already in the group chat,” Sunghoon says, smug. “Yunjin said she's making them her new lock screen.”

As the sun dips low, casting everything in soft gold and lavender, the energy around the house slows to a gentle hum. Dinner plans are abandoned in favor of laziness—no one has the strength to cook after a full day in the sun. So when Sunghoon offers to drive to the next town and pick up food, he's met with groggy cheers and weak fist pumps from the group splayed out across the porch and lawn chairs.

Inside, he slips on his sneakers by the front door, the quiet of the house wrapping around him like a blanket. He plucks the car keys from the little ceramic bowl on the entryway table—the one overflowing with everyone's keys, sunglasses, and other forgotten bits from the day—and is just about to open the door when he feels a familiar touch graze down his back.

Light. Unmistakable.

He doesn’t even need to turn around. He’d know that touch anywhere, in any room, in any lifetime.

He turns anyway, already smiling, and finds Heeseung standing there freshly showered, his damp hair pushed back messily and a faint, pink sunburn stretched across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He looks soft, a little sleepy, and somehow even more beautiful in the fading light.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Heeseung asks, one brow arched as he leans casually against the doorway.

Sunghoon tilts his head, plays innocent, then leans in with a crooked grin, aiming for a quick kiss.

But Heeseung plants a hand square over Sunghoon’s mouth, pushing him back gently.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sunghoon blinks, then pouts dramatically, muffled behind Heeseung’s palm. When Heeseung finally lowers his hand, Sunghoon grabs his hips and tugs him closer, lips still curled into a pleading smile.

“Hyung,” he says, voice dipped in playful whine, “do you not want my kisses anymore?”

Heeseung crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look stern despite the amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Not if you’re planning on going out without a shirt on.”

Sunghoon glances down at himself, shirtless, and shrugs. “But it’s hot,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Heeseung narrows his eyes. “And full of people who can see.”

Sunghoon smirks, slow and smug, the kind of smile that always makes Heeseung suspicious.

“Baby,” he drawls, voice dipping into teasing warmth as he leans in, “are you jealous?”

Heeseung groans and rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it physically pains him. “God, you’re so—”

But before he can finish the sentence, Sunghoon swoops in, grinning wider now, and presses a kiss to the side of Heeseung’s neck. Then another. And another. Each one slower, exaggeratedly loud, and deliberately placed to tickle. His lips ghost just under Heeseung’s jaw, then trail down to the dip of his collarbone, each kiss more ridiculous than the last.

“Sunghoon—” Heeseung warns, but his voice is already breaking with laughter.

Sunghoon chuckles against his skin, and continues his mischievous assault, kissing along the curve of Heeseung’s neck like he’s tracing a map only he can read. “You’re not denying it,” he whispers, grinning into the next kiss. “You’re totally jealous.”

“Stop,” Heeseung says between breathy laughs, weakly shoving at Sunghoon’s shoulder. “That tickles—”

But the laughter betrays him. Soft, warm, unguarded. The kind of laugh that makes Sunghoon's heart thump a little harder in his chest. The kind he always tries to earn.

Heeseung wriggles under the attention, but doesn’t actually move away—if anything, his fingers tighten around Sunghoon's shoulders as if anchoring him in place. His attempts to push him off are embarrassingly half-hearted, all while his smile threatens to take over his whole face.

Sunghoon eventually pulls back, proud of himself, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don't worry, baby,” he says, breath a little uneven now too. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

Heeseung gives him a look, but his cheeks are tinged a deep pink that has nothing to do with his sunburn. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” Sunghoon says simply, shrugging like it’s a universally acknowledged fact.

“I do,” Heeseung mutters, like it’s both a confession and a surrender. Then, quieter, “Unfortunately.”

Sunghoon chuckles, eyes crinkling with amusement as he reaches for the door again. “I’ll be back soon—with enough food to feed an entire army. Or at least Riki.”

Heeseung hums, still loosely holding onto Sunghoon’s arms, reluctant to let go just yet. “Drive safe,” he says softly, then adds, more pointedly, “And if you step one foot out that door without a shirt, you’re not allowed to touch me for a whole month.”

Sunghoon gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “A month? That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Try me,” Heeseung deadpans, though his lips are twitching.

Sunghoon leans in, pressing one final, lingering kiss to Heeseung’s cheek, the smile never leaving his face. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs with a wink, the words warm against Heeseung’s skin.

He turns and grabs a t-shirt draped over the coat rack, slipping it on with a heavy, theatrical sigh, like the fabric is some kind of burden. As he opens the door, the last light of the sun spills across the porch, painting everything in gold. The air smells like lakewater and bonfire smoke, and for a moment, everything feels still—easy.

—

It’s become something of a tradition—every summer, right at the beginning of the break, Sunghoon throws a small party to celebrate the hard work and progress of his hockey team. A way to thank them for giving their all during the season, for showing up to early morning practices and pushing through drills, even when they’d rather be sleeping or playing video games. It’s not a formal event by any means—just food, music, and a few silly awards—but it means something to all of them.

Sunghoon rents out the same small restaurant next to the ice rink every year. It's nothing fancy, but it's cozy and private. More importantly, it gives them the space to be loud without worrying about bothering other customers. Sunghoon knows his kids—knows how chaotic they can be even when they're not tearing across the rink in full gear—and he’d rather let them loose in a place where no one will mind the noise or the laughter.

Heeseung is standing on a chair near the back of the restaurant, arms stretched above his head as he tries to tape a banner to the wall. It reads "You Survived Another Season!" in bold, cartoonish lettering. He frowns as the tape peels off the corner again and tries to smooth it down.

Sunghoon walks in carrying another box of supplies, his cheeks flushed from the heat outside and the multiple trips back and forth from the car. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before the chaos arrives,” he says, setting the box on one of the long tables already lined with plastic trophies, streamer rolls, and goodie bags.

He looks up and grins. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” Heeseung replies, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he presses the banner more firmly against the wall. “Unless this thing falls on my head, then I’ll sue.”

Sunghoon chuckles and shakes his head, watching him for a moment before turning to unpack the last few decorations.

Heeseung had been quick to say yes when Sunghoon asked if he wanted to come along this year. He’s heard so much about the kids—Sunghoon talks about them all the time, animated and smiling, recounting stories from practice, their quirks, their inside jokes, the way they light up when they nail a goal or finally land a tight turn. Heeseung’s seen photos too—team pictures with crooked grins and missing teeth, silly selfies from the ice, the group holding up handmade signs for Sunghoon’s birthday.

And now, he’s finally getting the chance to meet them. It matters to him—not just because he’s curious, but because he knows how much they mean to Sunghoon. They’re more than just students or players. They’re his kids. His chaotic, foul-mouthed, too-honest, endlessly lovable kids.

And if Sunghoon is sharing this part of his world, it means Heeseung’s not just standing on the outside looking in anymore.

He’s part of it now.

As Heeseung hops down from the chair, satisfied with the banner’s placement. “You ready to meet the little monsters?” Sunghoon asks, leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Heeseung smirks. “Bring ’em on. I’ve dealt with you—I can handle anything.”

Sunghoon snorts. “You think that.”

Just then, a loud voice echoes from outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of rapid footsteps.

Heeseung glances toward the door.

Sunghoon grins wider. “Too late to run now.”

The front door swings open with a loud creak, and in an instant, the quiet hum of setup is shattered by the sound of sneaker soles pounding against the floor, and a chorus of voices raised far above indoor-appropriate levels.

“Coach!”

One of the boys— Liam, unmistakable from the gap-toothed grin Sunghoon had shown Heeseung in countless photos—makes a beeline for Sunghoon and barrels into him with enough force to knock over a full-grown adult. Sunghoon, used to it, just grunts and catches him with practiced ease, arms wrapping around the wiry frame like it’s second nature. Another boy grabs onto Sunghoon’s leg while two more bounce on their toes nearby, waiting for their turn.

“Alright, alright!” Sunghoon laughs, already outnumbered. “I thought we agreed—no tackling the coach until after cake!”

Heeseung stands near the back of the room, watching the whirlwind unfold in front of him. He’s smiling, eyes wide, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a streamer he forgot he was unrolling.

“Hey! You’re the boyfriend, right?” one of the bolder kids asks, pointing at Heeseung with a gummy worm hanging from his mouth.

“He looks like a boyfriend,” another says, giving Heeseung a once-over. “Do you live together? Did Coach let you eat his snacks? Did he tell you about the time he slipped on a puck and fell into the trash can?”

“Are you a hockey player too?”

“What’s your real job?”

“Do you also yell when someone forgets their helmet?”

Heeseung laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay—one at a time.”

“No, we ask all at once,” a boy says proudly, like it’s a sacred team tradition.

Sunghoon, still halfway into wrangling a group of kids away from the speakers, calls out, “If you scare him off in the first hour, no ice cream!”

That earns a wave of groans and a few rushed apologies.

Heeseung walks over and kneels at one of the tables where a few boys are coloring on paper plates with marker caps in their mouths. “Okay, shoot. I’ll answer three questions. Choose wisely.”

“Do you love Coach Sunghoon?”

Heeseung blinks. “Wow. Straight to the point.”

“He talks about you all the time,” another kid adds helpfully. “Even when we’re supposed to be doing laps.”

Heeseung lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he says, almost shyly. “I love him a lot.”

Someone gasps. A few boys go “Ewww!” on instinct, but they're all smiling. One of them quietly scribbles something down on a napkin—Heeseung catches the words coach has a boyfriend checkmark.

As the questions die down, Heeseung settles into the environment more naturally than he thought he would. He helps a few kids set up a cookie station—turns out his decorating skills are “terrible, but in a funny way,” according to Lily. He ends up refereeing an arm-wrestling contest using juice boxes as elbow pads. At one point, he finds himself wearing three mismatched party hats because one of the younger girls insisted “he needed more color.”

The next hour is chaos in the most joyful form. Music blasts from a speaker that sounds like it’s on its last leg, and the kids are all over the place—making ice cream sundaes at the toppings table, flinging streamer rolls at each other, running laps inside the restaurant even after repeated warnings.

Heeseung ends up helping one of the quieter boys, Jiho, build the world’s most structurally unsound cookie tower while Sunghoon hands out mock awards he wrote by hand—“Most Likely to Check a Player Twice Their Size” and “Best Mid-Practice Napper,” among others.

At some point, Sunghoon catches Heeseung in the corner, deep in conversation with a group of three boys all talking at once, showing off battle scars and describing goals with far more dramatic flair than necessary. Heeseung listens to every word, patient and engaged, even though one of them is using a packet of ketchup to re-enact a fight on the rink.

Sunghoon feels something shift in his chest. A warmth that spreads slowly, deeply. It’s not just that Heeseung showed up. It’s that he fit. Like he belonged there all along.

The parents all arrive almost simultaneously, their cars pulling up in a steady stream outside the restaurant. From where he stands near the window, Sunghoon watches the familiar routine unfold—kids gathering their things, exchanging last-minute hugs and goodbyes, voices bubbling with excitement and impatience.

Among the sea of faces, one figure stands out, clutching a large, beautifully decorated basket brimming with colorful wrapping and ribbons. Sunghoon’s heart lifts at the sight—he knows exactly what it is. Every year without fail, the parents put together a gift for him as a thank-you, a tradition he cherishes deeply.

The kids catch sight of their parents too, and a quiet, conspiratorial murmur spreads through the room. They begin whispering rapidly to one another, exchanging glances filled with mischief and delight. Then, like a well-rehearsed routine, they spring into action.

“Quick, cover Coach’s eyes!” one whispers.

“Don’t let him see!” another giggles.

Sunghoon hears every whispered word and chuckles softly to himself, feigning ignorance with a playful grin. He knows exactly what’s coming and decides to play along.

Before he can react, little Sarah, one of his youngest players, scampers over and slips her small hands gently over his eyes. “No peeking, Coach,” she says in a firm but sweet voice, a blindfold improvised from a soft scarf she found earlier.

Sunghoon laughs, the sound warm and easy. “Alright, alright. I trust you.”

He lets himself be guided by Sarah’s sure little hands, feeling the joyful energy of the kids buzzing all around him as they lead him away, excitement thick in the air.

Sunghoon hears the kids eagerly instructing their parents to place the basket carefully on the table right in front of him. He bites his lip, trying to stifle the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it’s no use—the warmth in his chest is too big to hide.

“Okay, Coach, you can look now!” Sarah’s voice is bright and full of excitement.

Slowly, Sunghoon lifts the blindfold from his eyes. His gaze falls immediately on the beautifully arranged basket sitting before him, overflowing with colorful ribbons, little wrapped treats, and a collection of small envelopes—each one carefully labeled with a kid’s name.

His voice cracks just a bit as he speaks, touched beyond words. “Guys… this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

The kids’ faces light up, their eyes wide and sparkling with anticipation, waiting to see his reaction.

Then, without warning, they all swarm him at once—small arms wrapping around his waist, shoulders, and legs in a joyful, chaotic hug. They’re laughing and shouting over each other, their voices a happy chorus.

“You’re the best coach ever!”

“We love you, Coach!”

Sunghoon’s heart swells as he bends to embrace them all back, careful not to crush anyone but giving each kid the full weight of his gratitude.

Sunghoon spends a few pleasant minutes chatting with the parents. The warm evening light filters softly through the windows, adding a golden glow to the room. But soon enough, the inevitable chorus of whining begins—the kids rubbing their eyes, complaining about how tired they are and begging to go home.

“Mom, can we please go? I’m so sleepy,” one little girl whines, tugging at her mother’s hand.

“Alright, alright, time to wrap it up,” a parent says with a chuckle, gathering their things.

“Bye, Heeseung hyung! Thanks for coming!” a small voice calls out.

Heeseung smiles warmly. “Bye, everyone. Take care!”

As the crowd thins, one of the older boys lingers behind near the snack table, his hand hovering over a cookie. He steals a quick glance at Heeseung, then shifts his gaze to Sunghoon with a curious, almost teasing smile.

“Coach,” he says casually, crunching his cookie, “your boyfriend is really pretty.”

Sunghoon pauses, caught off guard for a moment, before a slow smile spreads across his face. Heeseung raises an eyebrow, amused, crossing his arms.

“Yeah? You think so?” Sunghoon replies, grinning.

The boy shrugs, cheeks flushing just a bit. “I mean, he’s cool too, but… pretty.”

Sunghoon laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Lucky me.”

The moment the front door clicks shut behind them, Heeseung kicks off his shoes with a sigh and disappears down the hallway toward the bathroom. “I need a shower right now,” he mumbles, already peeling off his shirt.

Sunghoon chuckles and stays behind, unloading the car. He carries up the boxes filled with leftover decorations, crumpled crepe paper, and a few nearly-empty juice bottles. The gift basket from the kids sits delicately in his arms, its cellophane crinkling with every step. He places it carefully on the coffee table, taking a moment to glance over the little envelopes again—one for each of the kids, addressed to him with colorful handwriting and lopsided stickers.

There’s something about seeing them here, in Heeseung’s space, that makes his chest tighten in the best way.

By the time Heeseung emerges from the bedroom, showered and warm from the steam, the apartment feels a little more alive. He’s dressed in his signature at-home uniform: loose basketball shorts that hang low on his hips and a zip-up hoodie that’s left slightly open. He bends down to pick something up from the floor, and Sunghoon, halfway through folding a paper streamer, forgets what he was doing.

Heeseung crosses the room and presses a quick, soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll make dinner while you shower,” he says, voice still low and rough from the heat.

Sunghoon raises a brow, amused. “You mean you’ll make ramyeon.”

Heeseung grins as he walks toward the kitchen. “With love.”

And honestly? That’s all Sunghoon could ever want.

When he returns from his own shower, warm and freshly scrubbed, the apartment has transformed again—dim lighting from the kitchen pendant lamp, soft music humming from the little stereo on the counter. The scent of spicy broth and garlic fills the air, along with the light sizzling of something in the pan.

Sunghoon stands quietly in the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder, and watches.

Heeseung is in the kitchen, completely at ease, swaying slightly to the rhythm of a mellow R&B track playing in the background. It’s one of those songs with a slow, infectious beat and honeyed vocals—definitely something Yunjin had recommended and Heeseung had immediately added to their kitchen playlist.

He’s mouthing the words, humming softly and tapping his fingers against the counter in time with the music. He stirs the pot with practiced ease, body moving in that effortless way that’s uniquely his—loose, unhurried, completely unguarded.

Sunghoon doesn’t say a word. He just watches, a slow smile creeping onto his face. He feels it everywhere—in his chest, in his fingertips, in the quiet hope that this exact moment could last forever.

He can picture it so clearly: this same scene in a few years, but in their own place. A house they’ll save up for, with bigger windows and maybe a backyard. Mornings like this, nights like this. Ramyeon, music, Heeseung barefoot and humming something sweet in the kitchen. It hits him all at once—the weight of wanting a future, and the warmth of knowing it’s possible.

“You creep,” Heeseung says suddenly, still facing the stove, though the smile in his voice is unmistakable. “Stop watching me.”

Sunghoon laughs, caught red-handed. He pads across the floor, towel tossed aside, and steps in close behind him.

“Oh, but baby,” he murmurs, voice brushing the shell of Heeseung’s ear, “I love watching you.”

He wraps his arms around Heeseung’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Heeseung leans back slightly but doesn’t stop stirring. When Sunghoon presses a kiss to the nape of his neck—slow and lingering—he feels Heeseung shiver beneath him.

“You’re such a sap,” Heeseung whispers, but his voice is soft, affectionate.

Sunghoon rests his chin on Heeseung’s shoulder. “Only for you.”

Heeseung lets the silence stretch out for a moment. Then, gently: “I know.”

After dinner, they migrate to the couch like they always do—moving in sync without needing to say anything. It’s a quiet routine carved out over time, a rhythm that’s become second nature.

Heeseung settles into Sunghoon’s side, head resting against his shoulder, one of his legs tucked beneath him. Sunghoon’s arm comes up automatically, wrapping around Heeseung’s waist and pulling him in close. The TV plays some random show—something neither of them had planned to watch, just background noise and flickering light. The volume is low, the room dim except for the soft glow from the screen and the streetlights outside bleeding in through the windows.

They don’t talk. There’s no need. The silence between them is easy and familiar, filled with the kind of quiet intimacy that speaks louder than words.

Heeseung is scrolling on his phone, occasionally shifting or making a small noise under his breath. Sunghoon, only half-focused on the TV, glances down casually, not really intending to snoop—just curious. But what he sees makes something warm bloom in his chest.

Heeseung’s gallery is open. He’s looking through the photos from earlier in the day—most of them candid, soft, and a little chaotic. There's one of Sunghoon laughing with frosting smeared on his cheek, a blur of two kids chasing him with mischievous grins and sticky fingers. Another catches a moment where Sunghoon is crouched in front of Sarah, one of the youngest, as she carefully applies her glittery pink lip balm to his mouth, her little brow furrowed in concentration. Sunghoon is letting her, patiently still, grinning despite himself.

The images are sweet. Unfiltered. And from the way Heeseung is lingering on them, Sunghoon can tell they mean something.

He feels Heeseung shift against him, just slightly, and notices how warm he’s gotten. Not just from the body heat of being pressed so close—this is something else. Sunghoon feels it in the way Heeseung’s hand pauses mid-scroll, in the way his body stills.

“Hyung,” Sunghoon says softly, trying not to startle him. “You’ve gotta send me those pictures.”

Heeseung flinches, clearly not expecting him to speak. His head snaps up, eyes wide for a split second before his expression softens. There’s a look on his face that Sunghoon can’t immediately read.

Heeseung turns his body slightly, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. “I knew you were good with kids,” he says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “I’ve seen it in the way you treat my students. You’re always so patient with them. But today, seeing you with your own kiddos…”

He trails off, searching for the right words. His gaze lingers on Sunghoon’s face like he’s seeing something brand new.

“Wow,” he says finally. A single word, but it carries weight.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wow, huh? That’s all I get?”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too now, that crooked grin that always gives him away. “Shut up,” he mutters, but then reaches out and brushes his fingers gently over Sunghoon’s jaw. “I’m serious, though. You were so… you. So completely in your element. And the kids? They adore you.”

Sunghoon adores them as well, he treasures each of them in his heart and he’d do anything for them.

Sunghoon leans his head back against the couch, letting the words soak in. “They’re exhausting little gremlins,” he mumbles, but his grin betrays him.

“You know,” Heeseung says quietly, gaze still lingering on the dim TV screen, “one of them called you ‘dad’ today.”

Sunghoon jerks slightly at the words, eyes going wide. “Wait, what? Seriously?” His voice rises with surprise. “I didn’t hear that—who was it?”

Heeseung scrunches his nose a little, thinking, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m pretty sure it was Liam,” he says slowly. “He was working on that lopsided drawing—you know, the one with all the sparkles and a hockey stick—and he got stuck. You were braiding Lily’s hair at the time, and without even thinking, he just reached out and went, ‘Dad, can you help me?’ Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Sunghoon blinks, stunned, then lets out a soft, stunned laugh. “Liam called me dad?” His voice cracks a little. “God, why am I getting emotional over that?”

Heeseung smiles, fond and quiet, as he turns off his phone and places it on the coffee table. Then he leans back into Sunghoon’s side, resting his head comfortably beneath his chin.

“I guess…” Sunghoon begins after a pause, his voice a touch more serious, “I guess some of the kids do see me as a father figure.”

He feels Heeseung’s body shift just slightly—so subtly that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But Sunghoon does. He knows Heeseung too well, knows the tension in his spine.

“A few of them have, you know… deadbeat or absent dads,” Sunghoon continues, keeping his voice soft. “So they latch onto me a little. I don’t mind. I love playing that role, honestly. Being someone they can count on.”

Heeseung doesn't say anything right away. He just watches Sunghoon’s profile, his eyes slowly tracking over every line of his face—the curve of his nose, the dip of his lips, the calm glow in his eyes. Sunghoon glances down and catches it: that expression. Heeseung’s irises have dilated ever so slightly, his gaze deepening, almost unfocused.

“You’d make a great dad,” Heeseung mumbles, so softly that it’s almost lost to the space between them. But Sunghoon hears it. He hears everything when it comes to Heeseung.

“You think?” Sunghoon asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung nods slowly, but doesn’t speak. His eyes stay on Sunghoon, but there's something tight about the way he’s holding himself—his breath thinner, his throat working around whatever he’s not saying.

Sunghoon’s heart tightens in his chest. He’s never really let himself consider the idea of being a dad—not seriously. Growing up in a house where affection was a currency and love came with strings, he’d convinced himself long ago that he wasn’t cut out for that kind of future. That he’d just be the cool uncle—the one who gives kids candy and doesn’t ask about homework. Safe. Distant. Not responsible for shaping anyone else.

But hearing Heeseung say those words—you’d make a great dad—something shifts. Something softens.

Heeseung exhales, one hand reaching up to rest over Sunghoon’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I mean it,” he says, barely audible. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

He presses a kiss to the top of Heeseung’s head, lingering there. “That means a lot coming from you,” he says, and he means it.

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away, and when Sunghoon glances down again, his expression is unreadable—calm on the surface, but there’s a quiet storm brewing just beneath. Still, he doesn’t push for an answer. He just lets the silence settle between them like a shared blanket.

So, with nothing left to say, Sunghoon turns his attention back to the TV. He’s pretty sure he’s missed at least five major plot points in the last ten minutes—turns out the quiet moments where he’d been sneaking glances at Heeseung’s phone had apparently been essential to the story. But he can’t bring himself to rewind. He doesn’t really care about the show. Not when Heeseung is warm and pliant against his side like this.

He shifts slightly, letting his hand slip beneath the hem of Heeseung’s zip up. His palm meets bare skin—soft, warm, familiar—and he exhales through his nose at the comfort of it. He starts to trace lazy, aimless shapes along the dip of Heeseung’s waist, fingers moving slowly, more instinct than intention. Maybe it’s meant to soothe, ground them both in something quiet and intimate.

But then he notices the way Heeseung’s body reacts—not with ease, but with tension. His breath hitches, just barely. It’s subtle, but Sunghoon feels it under his fingertips, in the slight stutter of Heeseung’s chest as it rises and falls.

Sunghoon stills for a second, trying to gauge whether he should pull away—but Heeseung doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t move at all. He just keeps breathing, each inhale just a little shakier than the last.

The back of Sunghoon’s fingers brushes over the curve of Heeseung’s ribs, and he feels the fine tremble beneath his touch. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t say a word.

He just continues tracing those soft, quiet patterns on Heeseung’s skin, waiting—gently, patiently—for Heeseung to tell him what he needs.

Sunghoon can feel Heeseung’s eyes on him, a weight that burns into the side of his face. It’s not subtle—Heeseung is watching him with an intensity that makes the air feel thicker. Still, Sunghoon keeps his gaze locked on the TV, eyes tracking the vague movement of characters he isn’t really following, pretending not to notice. But his body is too aware, too tuned in to every shift and breath beside him.

He knows Heeseung. Knows when he’s quiet because he’s comfortable and when he’s quiet because his mind is loud. And right now, Heeseung’s silence is practically vibrating with energy.

“Hyung?” Sunghoon asks gently, eyes still on the screen. His voice is low, careful. “You okay?”

He doesn’t get an answer right away—but he hears it in the way Heeseung exhales, shallow and shaky. He finally risks a glance down and finds Heeseung staring at him, his brows slightly drawn together, eyes dark with something Sunghoon can’t quite name.

There’s a beat of stillness, stretched taut between them.

Then, before he can say anything more, Heeseung moves. It’s sudden—urgent. He throws himself into Sunghoon’s lap, straddling him like his body made the decision before his mind could catch up. His hands come up fast, cradling Sunghoon’s face with a kind of desperate tenderness, and then his mouth is on Sunghoon’s, crashing into a kiss that steals all the air from the room.

Sunghoon lets out a startled gasp, caught off guard by the intensity. But his instincts take over in a heartbeat—his hands fly to Heeseung’s waist, steadying him, grounding him. He kisses back just as urgently, mouth parting, matching Heeseung’s energy with something deeper, something warmer.

The kiss crashes into Sunghoon like a wave, all heat and urgency and unspoken longing. Heeseung doesn’t pause, doesn’t give him time to breathe or think—his hands are already in Sunghoon’s hair, gripping tight like he’s afraid he might disappear. His mouth finds Sunghoon’s with a kind of reckless hunger, and the moment their lips meet, he pushes forward, tongue slipping past with no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw need.

Sunghoon gasps into it, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn’t even think about stopping him. His lips part easily, willingly, like they were always meant to open for Heeseung. And then he’s clutching at Heeseung, anchoring himself, grounding himself against the overwhelming rush of heat spiraling through him. Every movement is frantic, bruising, like they’re both trying to crawl inside each other, erase the distance.

He lets Heeseung take control—lets him devour, explore, consume. There’s no resistance in him, no hesitation. Just surrender. Just want. Just Heeseung.

This isn’t the first time Heeseung’s pounced on him, and Sunghoon doesn’t flinch when it happens. He doesn’t even blink. It’s familiar now—the sudden press of Heeseung’s body, the desperate way his mouth crashes into Sunghoon’s like he’s been starving for it. There have been countless times like this. Nights where Sunghoon barely managed to kick the door shut behind him before Heeseung had him pinned to it, fingers already tugging at his belt, voice breathless and low—“Need you. Now.”

And Sunghoon always gives in. Always.

Not out of obligation—far from it. If there’s one thing about Sunghoon, it’s that Heeseung turns him on constantly. The way he moves, the way he speaks, even the way he sighs when he’s focused on something—it all drives Sunghoon half-mad with need. Half the time, he doesn't even care about getting off. All he wants is to drop to his knees and worship, to drag his mouth over every inch of Heeseung until he’s trembling and gasping, coming on Sunghoon’s face. And then again. And again. Until his legs give out, until his voice cracks when he moans his name, until he’s begging Sunghoon to stop—but not really meaning it.

Heeseung usually hides it better, where Sunghoon is shamelessly open about his desire towards Heeseung, Heeseung is a little calmer but only a littlebecause beneath that controlled surface is a desire that runs just as deep. He’s a different person when it cracks open—when he can’t hold himself together anymore. And it’s moments like this, when that composure shatters, that Sunghoon sees all of him. Hears it in the way Heeseung pants into his mouth, feels it in how his hands claw at his back like he can’t bear even an inch of space between them.

And when it starts—when it really starts—they go at it like rabbits. Clothes hit the floor fast. Teeth scrape skin. Breath mixes with moans. They don’t pace themselves; they don’t slow down. They take, they give, they lose track of whose hands are where, whose mouth is gasping whose name. Over and over and over.

Lucky for Heeseung, Sunghoon’s stamina is almost inhuman—years of early mornings, grueling routines, strict discipline and training molded him into someone who can go for hours. And when Heeseung is in this mood, wild and hungry and completely undone, Sunghoon doesn’t just keep up—he meets him there. He carries him through it. Again and again, until they’re both wrecked.

Heeseung breaks the kiss, completely breathless. His chest heaves as he gasps for air, and a thin string of saliva stretches between their mouths, glistening before it breaks. They’re both panting—flushed, disheveled, drunk on each other. Sunghoon watches him, eyes dark and unreadable, but Heeseung looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are swollen and slick, cheeks flushed a deep pink, pupils blown wide with want. Desire clings to him like sweat, and for a second, he looks ruined by nothing but a kiss.

Sunghoon lets himself breathe, pulling in a shaky inhale before finding his voice.

“What’s gotten you so worked up, baby?” he asks, low and rough, still catching his breath.

Heeseung blushes—actually blushes—like he wasn’t just moments away from tearing Sunghoon’s clothes off and begging to be fucked into the nearest surface. He glances away for a second, then meets Sunghoon’s gaze again with no filter, no hesitation.

“You,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And the idea of you being a father.”

Sunghoon’s brows draw together in confusion, lips parting as if to speak—but Heeseung keeps going, voice breathy, needy.

“Seeing how good you are with kids... fuck, it’s so hot. Like, stupidly hot. I need to make you a dad,” he breathes, every word soaked in desperation. “I need you to give me your babies.”

At that, Sunghoon’s cock twitches—shameless and eager—and he knows Heeseung feels it, pressed so close against him. He wants him to. Wants Heeseung to know exactly what he’s doing to him. How fast he can unravel him with just a few breathless words.

“Hyung—”

“I’ve been horny since the second we left,” Heeseung cuts him off, voice rising with urgency. “And if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to God I’m going to explode.”

Sunghoon stares at him for a long beat, blinking like he’s trying to process the words. Not because he’s surprised—Heeseung has said plenty of filthy things to him before—but because this… this is something else. There's a new kind of hunger behind it, something that grips deeper than lust. And it wrecks him a little. Completely, utterly wrecks him.

“Please,” Heeseung breathes, almost trembling now. “I want it. I want you. You inside me. As deep as you can go. Want you to fuck it into me.”

Sunghoon lets out a deep, guttural groan and tightens his hands around Heeseung’s waist, drawing a sharp, surprised squeak from him. “God,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice husky with heat. “You have such a filthy mouth, my sweet boy.”

Heeseung’s lips curl into a wicked little smile. “That’s nothing,” he replies, breath ghosting over Sunghoon’s lips, “compared to what I’m actually thinking.”

That earns a sheepish smirk from Sunghoon as he reaches up, thumb brushing tenderly across Heeseung’s brow before he can help himself. “Oh, yeah?” he teases, voice deceptively light, eyes dark.

Heeseung leans in closer until his lips graze the shell of Sunghoon’s ear, every word a silky whisper that tingles straight down Sunghoon’s spine. “I’m thinking about all the different ways you could ruin me,” he purrs, “in every single corner of this apartment.”

Sunghoon shudders, a heady rush of arousal burning through him. Without thinking, he fists his hand in the nape of Heeseung’s neck and drags him back into a kiss, deep and searing. It’s sloppy and urgent, all wet lips and greedy tongues, but neither of them cares. It feels like they could drown in each other — like if they weren’t careful, they’d lose themselves completely, tearing one another apart just to feel more.

Heeseung moans into his mouth as his hands slip under Sunghoon’s shirt, palms warm and roaming. They trail up across his chest, fingertips teasing the ridges of muscle before sliding back down to the waistband of his shorts, restless and needy.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat, his own hands moving with the same hunger. His fingers slide down to the zipper of Heeseung’s jacket, tugging it down in one smooth, deliberate motion until the fabric falls open, revealing his bare chest.

Sunghoon breaks the kiss just long enough to take him in, heart thudding painfully hard at the sight before him. Without a word, he leans in and trails his mouth across Heeseung’s chest, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses as he goes.

He moves slowly at first, lips brushing over his neck, then lower, teasing his way across sharp collarbones before drifting even further down. Finally, he reaches Heeseung’s nipples — he takes one between his lips and flicks his tongue across it, his fingers circling and tugging at the other.

A loud, breathless moan rips from Heeseung’s throat as he arches into Sunghoon’s touch, his hands knotting into his hair and pulling him closer. The jacket slips off his shoulders, leaving him bare and trembling.

Sunghoon glances up through his lashes, lips swollen and slick as he trails his mouth up to a shoulder, dragging the fabric the rest of the way off. The moment it hits the floor, his teeth sink into Heeseung’s skin — gentle but possessive — drawing a sharp gasp and a shudder that goes straight to his core.

“Sunghoon, hurry up,” Heeseung gasps, breath shaky and uneven, like he’s already been pushed to his limit — though Sunghoon’s hands have barely even started to wander.

“But I want to take my time with you, baby,” Sunghoon drawls, voice a dark, honeyed murmur as his fingertips trail lazily down the middle of Heeseung’s chest, pausing to feel every trembling inhale, every quiver of muscle. His touch glides across heated skin, over his sternum and down the firm plane of his stomach, circling his belly button before going lower still. “Wanna worship you,” he breathes, leaning close enough that his lips graze Heeseung’s ear. “Get you so nice and ready before I take you apart.”

Heeseung whines — a helpless, needy sound — and grabs Sunghoon’s wrist, pushing his hand firmly past the waistband of his basketball shorts. No underwear. Sunghoon’s breath hitches as his fingers slide between silky-wet folds, heat and slickness greeting him instantly.

“God,” Sunghoon groans, rubbing slowly through that aching softness. It’s soaked — not just wet, but utterly drenched — his fingers glistening with every gentle stroke.

“See how wet I am?” Heeseung pants, voice trembling as his hips roll up into Sunghoon’s palm, eyes dark and locked on Sunghoon’s face. “Just put it in already.”

Sunghoon’s mouth parts, lust sparking down his spine as he watches Heeseung writhe for him — so utterly undone already. But there’s one last thing Sunghoon craves before he gives in completely.

“Can I eat you out first?” he asks, lips brushing Heeseung’s jaw as his thumb teases a slow circle over Heeseung’s swollen clit. His voice is rough and pleading, eyes wide and needy — using that dangerous softness like a weapon because he knows exactly how impossible it is for Heeseung to say no when Sunghoon looks at him like this.

And usually? Usually, Heeseung would be more than willing to sink into that sweetness — to lose himself in Sunghoon’s mouth for as long as he wanted. But tonight, there’s a different kind of hunger coiled low in his belly, raw and impatient, aching for more.

“No,” Heeseung breathes out, voice trembling with equal parts desperation and defiance. His hands are already working at Sunghoon’s drawstrings, pulling them loose with an urgent, trembling need. “You can do that later. If you don’t put your cock in me in the next two seconds, I swear to god I’ll go out and find someone else who will knock me up.”

That last part is deliberate — a shot straight at Sunghoon’s most possessive, jealous streak.

And it hits him exactly where Heeseung wants. Sunghoon’s hands freeze for a split second, knuckles whitening against Heeseung’s hips, then his eyes darken into something molten and feral.

“Goddamn you,” Sunghoon growls, the sound deep and gravelly, humming straight through Heeseung’s chest as Sunghoon hauls him up with zero hesitation. Strong arms band around him, dragging him to his feet just long enough to rip the last of their clothes away — shorts kicked aside, shirts tossed, leaving them bare and burning for each other.

“You really know how to push my fucking buttons,” Sunghoon mutters through gritted teeth as he drops onto the couch and drags Heeseung back into his lap without a second thought.

Heeseung follows without a shred of resistance, knees sinking into the couch on either side of Sunghoon’s hips as he settles there — perfectly perched, legs trembling, slick with need. Sunghoon’s cock is right there, thick and hard, leaking beads of precum that smear across his folds as he grinds down just enough to feel that head press at his entrance.

“You could chase after a hundred different guys,” Sunghoon rasps, hands clamping onto his ass hard enough to leave fingerprints, his dark eyes never leaving Heeseung’s face, “but none of them will ever fuck you the way I do.”

Sunghoon’s hands slide firmly under Heeseung’s hips, lifting him just enough that he’s poised above him, trembling with anticipation. One hand stays on his waist to steady him while the other wraps around his own cock, already slick and aching.

He angles himself carefully, brushing the tip against Heeseung’s entrance before pressing up slowly.

Sunghoon’s hands span the curve of his ass possessively, thumbs dragging slow circles into the sensitive skin before he leans in to trail his lips up Heeseung’s neck. The wet warmth of his mouth on his pulse point makes Heeseung shudder, hands scrambling for a better hold on Sunghoon’s broad shoulders, nails scraping lightly at the muscle there.

“You feel so good,” Sunghoon breathes into his skin, voice wrecked already — so dark and husky that Heeseung’s walls flutter instinctively around the inch already inside him.

That tiny reaction has Sunghoon growling low in his throat as his hands tighten, lifting Heeseung up just a bit before pulling him back down.

“Oh my god,” Heeseung whines, head tipping back and eyes squeezing shut as Sunghoon pushes up slowly into him, inch after careful inch, making him feel every ridge and every subtle flex of muscle.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Sunghoon groans against his neck, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades to keep him close while the other rocks him gently downwards, deeper and deeper until he’s seated fully.

Heeseung shivers as Sunghoon stretches him completely, every muscle in his body going taut. “Sunghoon,” he moans brokenly, breath shaky and hitching as his hands trail up into Sunghoon’s hair, tugging gently, needing him impossibly closer.

Sunghoon holds him steady for a moment, letting them both savor that dizzying fullness. Then he flexes his hips upward — just enough for a slow, measured thrust that drags along every inch of him.

Heeseung arches into him with a gasp, chest pressed flush against Sunghoon's, his hands trembling as they grip at his nape. The soft, slick sound of their bodies moving together is already filling the quiet apartment, his breath catching at the pleasure winding its way up his spine.

“You like that, baby?” Sunghoon asks, voice low and filthy against his ear as he rocks him back down onto his cock again, slow and deliberate, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Heeseung can only nod breathlessly, lips parting in a helpless moan as Sunghoon keeps him right there, grinding their bodies together until they’re both dizzy with need. Every movement is deep and slow and so goddamn good that Heeseung can hardly remember how to breathe.

And Sunghoon doesn’t stop — hands firm and steady as he guides him through each perfect roll of his hips, making sure Heeseung feels every second of it.

Sunghoon’s hands tighten around Heeseung’s thighs as he pulls him down again, slow and deep, setting a rhythm that burns its way through both of them. Every flex of his abs, every measured lift of his hips is deliberate — Sunghoon savoring the way Heeseung arches into him like a man starved, slick skin pressed flush together.

Heeseung’s head falls forward against Sunghoon’s shoulder with a breathless moan, hands clawing into his hair, fingertips trembling. Every time Sunghoon shifts him, tiny shocks of pleasure race up his spine — his walls fluttering greedily around Sunghoon’s cock, trying to draw him deeper.

“God, you feel so fucking perfect,” Sunghoon groans against his ear, lips brushing damp skin. His voice is rough and wrecked, hands gripping Heeseung’s hips just enough to leave a faint ache, grounding him as he rolls them together.

Heeseung whimpers, heat coiling low in his belly as Sunghoon’s pace deepens — every push up into him reaching that perfect, devastating spot that steals his breath. “Sunghoon,” he chokes out, moan spilling into Sunghoon’s hair as his body jolts with each stroke, his slick heat taking him so easily.

The sound of their bodies moving together — wet, obscene, and perfect — mingles with their breathless gasps and murmured curses. Sunghoon’s hands roam possessively up Heeseung’s back, pulling him close as if he could fold him into himself.

“You take me so well,” Sunghoon groans into his neck, lips ghosting along Heeseung’s pulse before dragging his teeth gently across the skin. “Every inch.”

That almost-growl sends a shudder tearing through Heeseung, his hands tangled tighter in Sunghoon’s hair as he rocks himself down to meet each deliberate thrust. Sweat beads at his hairline, every nerve lit up, until all he can do is cling to Sunghoon and moan his name like a prayer, lost in the heat and tension crackling between them — knowing Sunghoon will give him exactly what he craves.

Sunghoon's hands skim lower, fingers spreading across the curve of Heeseung's ass, kneading him as he rocks up into him in slow, deliberate strokes. Every push of his hips is a measured, ruthless grind that leaves Heeseung trembling.

“You feel that, baby?” Sunghoon’s voice is dark, breath hot against the side of Heeseung’s neck. “That’s me, so deep inside you. You’re so fucking tight I can barely move.”

Heeseung moans, loud and unfiltered, hands fisting Sunghoon’s hair as he bounces his hips carefully, feeling Sunghoon’s cock stretch him so perfectly that all he can do is whimper. “God, yes,” he breathes, eyes fluttering. “Don’t stop. Fill me up, Hoon, I need you to ruin me.”

A low growl rumbles up from Sunghoon's chest as he tightens his grip, pulling Heeseung down to take him deeper. “That’s it,” he husks, each word laced with heat. “Such a good boy, riding me like you’re starving for it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to wreck me,” Heeseung chokes out, voice trembling as his nails dig into Sunghoon’s shoulders. “Stretch me open so good I feel you for days. Make me yours.”

“Fuck,” Sunghoon groans, his control fraying at the edges. He angles his hips up just right, hitting that spot inside Heeseung that makes his whole body jerk and his breath catch. “You already are, baby. Every inch of you is mine,” he growls, voice raw as he pounds upward again, dragging him down to meet him. “Your slick is everywhere — look at you,” Sunghoon adds, dragging his thumb across the inside of Heeseung’s thigh where it’s glistening wet. “God, you’re making a fucking mess all over me.”

Heeseung shudders, moaning at the filthy praise, his face buried against Sunghoon’s neck as he breathes him in, drunk on him. “I can’t help it,” he gasps, voice shaky. “Your cock feels so fucking good, Sunghoon — I could take you forever.”

Sunghoon’s hands slide up, one palming the back of Heeseung’s neck as the other strokes up his spine, drawing him even closer until they’re chest to chest, breaths ragged and tangled together. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Sunghoon promises in a dark whisper, lips brushing over Heeseung’s ear as he thrusts up again, deep and possessive. “You’re gonna stay right here, leaking on me, until you can’t take it anymore — until all you can do is say my name.”

Sunghoon’s hips snapped upward with a primal rhythm, every movement sharp and deliberate, driving deep inside Heeseung with fierce urgency. The slick heat between them intensified, skin sliding against skin with a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed through the quiet room. A slick sheen of sweat coated their bodies, catching the dim light as their breaths grew ragged and shallow.

Heeseung’s back arched instinctively, his muscles trembling under the relentless sensation as Sunghoon filled him completely. Each thrust pressed against the tender walls inside, coaxing a delicious, overwhelming pressure that spiraled upward, setting his nerves alight. The subtle twitch of muscles around Sunghoon’s length, combined with the tightening of Heeseung’s grip on his shoulders, sent shockwaves coursing through both of them.

Their breaths mingled in the charged air — sharp inhales followed by ragged exhales — punctuated by wet, urgent sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Sunghoon’s hands, rough with strength, gripped Heeseung’s waist firmly, fingers digging in as if to claim him entirely, anchoring them both in this consuming moment.

Heeseung’s lips parted in a breathless moan, a small, desperate sound slipping free as Sunghoon’s thrusts hit a perfect spot deep inside. His hands clawed at Sunghoon’s skin, nails grazing the taut flesh of his shoulders, desperate to hold on to the sensation, to the man driving him wild. The heat of their bodies, their mingled sweat, and the electric friction created an intoxicating haze that blurred everything but the raw connection between them.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” Sunghoon growled into the sensitive hollow of Heeseung’s neck, teeth grazing the flushed skin in a slow, searing trail of kisses that left a burning trail behind. “So fucking tight... squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave.”

Heeseung’s body trembled, a sharp, thrilling shiver racing down his spine as the ache blossomed into sweet, unbearable pleasure. His vision blurred, edges softening, as every nerve ending ignited with the relentless, exquisite sensation of Sunghoon’s movements. The mingling scents of their sweat, musk, and skin filled his senses, grounding him in the present while pulling him higher and higher.

“I’m coming,” Heeseung gasped, voice breaking with the overwhelming tide of sensation crashing through him. His entire body clenched, muscles tightening involuntarily as waves of euphoria pulsed in frantic, delicious tremors. His hands dug into Sunghoon’s shoulders, nails biting into flesh as his cries mingled with the slick sounds of their bodies moving together.

Sunghoon’s movements slowed, rolling his hips with deliberate care, matching Heeseung’s rising rhythm and pulling him through the storm. His breath hitched sharply as he felt himself teetering on the edge, muscles contracting with a shuddering groan before he spilled deep inside, warm and wild. Their bodies trembled as the aftershocks rippled through them, pulsing in perfect unison.

They’re still catching their breaths, bodies trembling as they ride out the last waves of pleasure. Sunghoon’s palm glides along Heeseung’s spine in slow, comforting strokes — a gentle ritual after every intense orgasm.

Sunghoon leans in to kiss him, soft and lingering, and Heeseung returns it just as tenderly, lips curving into a smile that Sunghoon can feel.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Sunghoon asks, his own lips tugging up.

Heeseung looks at him, face glowing in the low light, all post-orgasm softness and something almost otherworldly. “I’m just… happy,” he breathes.

That single word, and the way Heeseung says it, is enough to make Sunghoon chuckle, his chest vibrating against him. “Aren’t I the best husband ever? Keeping my wife happy and satisfied with orgasms and love.”

Heeseung swats his shoulder with a playful glare. “I’m not your wife.”

“Yet,” Sunghoon teases.

A brief silence settles between them before Sunghoon’s hands slide down to grip Heeseung’s thighs. With one smooth motion, he shifts them so that Heeseung’s seated properly on the couch and Sunghoon is kneeling between his legs.

He doesn’t wait, tugging Heeseung closer by the hips and pressing a kiss to his inner thigh before his mouth drifts higher.

Sunghoon’s lips brush over his clit in a gentle kiss, and at once Heeseung’s hands are in his hair, gripping tight. His thighs close instinctively around Sunghoon’s head, and a loud, shaky moan falls from his lips.

“Sunghoon—at least give me a second,” Heeseung gasps, tugging lightly at his hair.

Sunghoon looks up at him, eyes dark and lips slick. “Come on, hyung. Let me enjoy my reward. I did give you an orgasm,” he purrs, lips curved into a knowing pout.

“You came too,” Heeseung points out with a raised brow. “And now you're just gonna clean up all the cum, that was not what I wanted.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes dramatically, earning a sharp nudge of Heeseung’s knee against his chest. “Okay, let’s compromise,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice husky as he runs his hands up and down Heeseung’s trembling thighs. “I eat you out now, and then I’ll fill you up so good you’ll have my cum leaking out of your ears.”

“God, you’re so gross,” Heeseung scolds, though there’s a breathless lilt in his voice that says he’s anything but disapproving.

Sunghoon kisses the inside of his thigh as a quick apology before grinning up at him.

“Get to it,” Heeseung commands, voice trembling with anticipation. “Sunoo will be back soon—and you still owe me a few creampies.”

“Yes, sir,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice dark and warm as he leans in without a moment’s hesitation. The moment his lips seal around him, Heeseung’s breath catches — a sharp, needy sound that catches in his chest.

Sunghoon wastes no time dragging a broad, heated stripe up from Heeseung’s slick entrance all the way to his clit. The taste of him — musky and familiar, a perfect mix of himself and Sunghoon — is dizzying. Sunghoon groans against him, his hands flexing over Heeseung’s hips as his tongue explores, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every inch.

Heeseung’s hands twitch against the couch cushions before flying to Sunghoon’s hair, fingers curling and gripping as another gasp falls from his lips. “God,” he breathes, the sound trembling as Sunghoon sucks softly on his clit, lips molded perfectly around him.

That earns a filthy moan from Sunghoon, the vibrations humming straight into Heeseung and making him arch into Sunghoon’s mouth. Sunghoon tightens his hands on Heeseung’s thighs, holding him in place as his tongue begins to circle — slow, deliberate flicks that make Heeseung’s whole body shudder.

Every touch is measured but utterly greedy. Sunghoon listens to the way Heeseung’s breathing grows uneven and hitching, and drinks in the way his hands tug a little harder at his hair with each pass. The slick sound of his mouth working him grows louder — lewd, wet noises that echo in the quiet of the room, making the heat between them feel even heavier.

Sunghoon presses closer, the flat of his tongue sweeping up and then the tip flicking just right — just the way that always steals another sharp moan from Heeseung. And it does; Heeseung’s back arches off the couch with a helpless whimper, his voice trembling as his hands scrabble over his chest, down his sides, seeking anything to hold onto.

“F-fuck, Sunghoon,” he gasps, hands slipping up to palm at his own nipples as Sunghoon looks up, eyes dark and hooded.

That sight just makes Sunghoon moan again, so deep that the vibration shivers straight up Heeseung’s spine. His hands smooth up the trembling inside of Heeseung’s thighs, gripping him like he’s going nowhere.

Heeseung grinds into him, his rhythm slow and needy, every roll of his hips dragging Sunghoon deeper. Sunghoon matches him stroke for stroke with his mouth — swirling, sucking, flattening his tongue to rub him just right — until Heeseung’s moans pitch higher, breath breaking up into shattered whimpers that make Sunghoon ache.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Sunghoon groans into him, voice wrecked with lust. “Keep going, hyung, I want you to lose it.”

And lose it he does.

With a shuddering cry, Heeseung’s hands tighten painfully in Sunghoon’s hair, his spine bowing as the pleasure crashes over him in dizzying waves. Sunghoon holds him through every pulse of his orgasm — keeps him flush against his mouth even as Heeseung’s legs tremble wildly around him and his chest rises and falls like he can’t catch his breath.

Sunghoon’s hands stroke up and down his quivering thighs, coaxing every last moan and gasp until they ease into breathless sighs. Even then, he’s gentle — licking him clean with slow, careful licks that make Heeseung shudder and whine at the sensitivity, then kissing the inside of his thigh, his hipbone, like a silent promise.

When he finally looks up, lips shining and eyes soft with something deeper than lust, he meets Heeseung’s gaze. “You okay, baby?” Sunghoon’s voice is a husky murmur as he leans into him.

Heeseung gives a small, breathless nod, and Sunghoon takes it as his cue. Rising to his feet, he holds a hand out, his palm warm and steady. Heeseung slips his fingers into Sunghoon’s and lets himself be pulled upright, legs a little shaky but heart lighter than ever.

Without a word, Sunghoon guides him toward the bedroom, neither of them sparing a glance at the mess they left behind. Sunoo wouldn’t be home for a few more hours, so they could put everything back in its place later (spoiler: they won't)

They went for another round in Heeseung’s bedroom, bodies tangled together so tight they could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. But even that wasn’t enough. They stumbled into the kitchen next — Sunghoon lifting him onto the countertop, one broad hand splayed across his back to hold him steady as he drove into him, deep and unrelenting. Plates rattled in the sink as Heeseung arched into him with breathless moans, hands gripping Sunghoon’s hair like a lifeline.

And it didn’t stop there.

They lost themselves on the lounge chair, on the floor by the coffee table, hands and lips roaming every inch they could reach. Sunghoon held him up against the wall in the hallway too, legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts slow and punishing until Heeseung was crying his name. Every surface — the dining table, the arm of the couch — became part of their trail of heat and need. By the time they finally made it into the shower, the apartment felt like a battlefield they’d conquered together.

In the steamy haze, Sunghoon pressed him against the tiles, one arm pinning him in place as he went down on him again, mouth filthy and possessive as he sucked him through yet another shuddering climax. Water ran hot and slick over their bodies, masking their moans as Sunghoon held him up through every trembling aftershock, refusing to stop until Heeseung was a trembling, overstimulated wreck.

By the time they finally collapsed, Sunghoon carrying him back to bed, the apartment was wrecked — furnitures no longer standing in their designated spots, pictures knocked askew on the walls, one frame lying shattered on the floor. Even the kitchen, which looked deceptively innocent at first glance, smelled like nothing but heat and sex.

Heeseung was out cold the moment Sunghoon tucked him in. Sunghoon padded back through the apartment hastily picking up whatever he could before Sunoo could come home.

He thought he’d managed to erase most of the evidence.

That is, until Sunoo walked in a few moments later with a bunch of shopping bags and stopped dead in his tracks, nose wrinkling in instant disgust. “It smells like sex in here,” he groaned, voice full of horror.

Sunghoon froze in the middle of gathering up their clothes off the couch.

Sunoo shot him a sharp, accusing look — and then recoiled as realization hit. “Oh my fucking god,” he gagged. “You guys can’t ever keep it in the bedroom, can you? Seriously? I’m going to move out. This is unlivable.”

Sunghoon could do nothing but offer him a sheepish, guilty smile — and the next day, as an apology, showed up with the biggest tub of ice cream he could find. Because if Sunoo was going to forgive him for this one, it was going to take a lot of sugar.

—

Epilogue

Jake and Jay are the last to get married. First, it was Yunjin and Chaewon, who were the trendsetters. Then, not long after, Heeseung and Sunghoon followed suit. And now, years later, it’s finally Jake and Jay—two of the most strong-willed, untouchable figures in their circle—stepping into their own happily ever after.

The tension in Jay’s dressing room is palpable. The room is filled with the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional clink of cufflinks, and the faint hum of a nervous energy that seems to have settled over everyone. Sunghoon, Heeseung, Yunjin, and Jay are all there, but it’s Jay who stands out. He’s hunched slightly in front of a mirror, fidgeting with his hair for what feels like the fiftieth time. His hands tremble slightly as he adjusts the strands, making sure each one falls perfectly into place. Sunghoon can’t help but notice how different Jay looks right now. The usually unshakable man, who had been a rock to everyone since their childhood, seems to be crumbling under the weight of this moment.

"Jay, you’re going to be fine," Yunjin reassures, standing behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder. Her voice is soft but firm, like she’s trying to ground him.

But Jay only glances at her briefly, his brow furrowed, his gaze darting back to the mirror as though the reflection could give him answers. Sunghoon watches, his concern growing.

“Dude, you’re doing it again,” Sunghoon says, stepping closer and gently placing a hand on Jay’s arm. “You’ve redone your hair, like, five times already. It’s fine, okay?”

Jay lets out a short, sharp laugh, but it’s laced with nerves. “I just want everything to be perfect. You know how important today is.”

Heeseung, who’s sitting casually in the corner, leans forward, giving his old friend a knowing look. “We all know it’s important, Jay, but you’re acting like the world’s going to end if one hair is out of place.”

Sunghoon chuckles softly, his worry momentarily easing. He can’t remember the last time Jay had seemed so vulnerable. It’s strange, yet endearing.

Meanwhile, in Jake’s room, Sunoo, Riki, and Chaewon are probably witnessing the same ritual—Jake carefully adjusting his tie for the fiftieth time as well, trying to perfect every detail. In their world, where things had always felt so stable and certain, the sense of nervousness in both men is unfamiliar and a little unsettling.

In the quiet of the room, as Jay continues to twist and pull at his hair, a small voice suddenly cuts through the tension.

“If Uncle Jay and Uncle Jake are getting married, why aren’t they wearing dresses like Auntie Yunjin and Auntie Chaewon?”

Jeeyun, Heeseung and Sunghoon’s six-year-old daughter, is sprawled out on the couch. She’s twisting the delicate flowers in her hair between her tiny fingers, despite Sunghoon’s repeated warnings not to touch them. He’s told her a thousand times that if she keeps messing with them, they’ll fall out, but she’s stubborn like her dad—always pushing the limits, always doing the exact opposite of what she’s told.

The question is innocent enough, but it freezes everyone in place. They all turn slowly to look at her, and in the pause, Jay, who had been adjusting his hair again, looks over at Sunghoon with wide eyes, as if expecting him to provide an answer. Yunjin does the same, raising an eyebrow and waiting for Sunghoon to step in.

But surprisingly, it’s Heeseung who speaks up, his voice calm and steady.

“Well, sweetie,” he says, glancing over at his daughter with a smile, “your uncles decided to wear tuxedos instead of dresses. The nice thing about weddings is that you can choose whatever you want to wear—some people wear dresses like Auntie Yunjin and Auntie Chaewon, and some wear tuxedos like your uncles.”

Jeeyun tilts her head, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. “Did you and Daddy wear dresses at your wedding?”

Yunjin can’t help herself—she snorts, loud and unrestrained, and Sunghoon immediately elbows her in the ribs, a little too hard.

Heeseung just chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, honey, we didn’t wear dresses at our wedding.”

Jeeyun looks disappointed, her lips forming a tiny pout as she drops her gaze. She clasps her hands together, looking like she’s about to launch into another question, when she suddenly adds in the most serious tone imaginable:

“Why not? Daddy looks so beautiful in a dress.”

The words hang in the air for a split second, and Jay, who was just about to take a sip of water, chokes. The liquid bursts out of his mouth and splashes right onto Sunghoon’s shiny shoes. The scene could’ve come straight out of a sitcom, and for a moment, it’s as though the entire room is holding its breath.

Yunjin’s face breaks into a grin, and Sunghoon quickly wipes his shoes with a look of mock outrage. He raises an eyebrow at Jay, who is still trying to suppress his laughter.

“Jeeyun-ah, how do you know what your dad looks like in a dress?” Yunjin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jeeyun beams at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because he always wears one for my tea parties!”

Jay and Yunjin exchange a look, both of them struggling not to burst into laughter. Sunghoon, face flushed with embarrassment, raises his hands in defense.

“Hey, if my daughter asks me to wear a dress for her tea party, you best believe I’m wearing a dress,” he says, trying to sound serious, though the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth gives him away.

At that, Jay and Yunjin both lose it, laughter filling the room as they clutch their bellies, struggling to hold themselves together. Jeeyun, thrilled by the chaos she’s caused, jumps off the couch and runs straight into Sunghoon’s arms.

“Daddy is the best!” she exclaims, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

Sunghoon picks her up effortlessly, kissing her on the cheek. “Of course I am,” he says, grinning down at her. Jay, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, leans in and boops Jeeyun on the nose. “We know your daddy’s the best,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But if you show us some pictures of him in a dress, we’ll buy you every toy you want.”

Jeeyun’s face lights up, her eyes wide with excitement. But before anyone can react, Heeseung steps in, his tone serious though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “Stop bribing my daughter,” he says, gently pulling Jeeyun from Sunghoon’s arms before she can make any more deals.

Jeeyun manages to soothe Jay’s nerves, at least a little. A knock on the door signals that it’s time, and one of the ushers politely asks everyone but Jay to leave — the ceremony is about to begin.

Sunghoon steps into the hall, his breath catching for a moment as his eyes take in the scene. Rows of guests fill the softly lit room, chatting in hushed voices as they wait in anticipation. He catches sight of their close friends gathered by the altar, double-checking last-minute details. Jungwon is seated at the piano, hands poised above the keys. Everyone knows him as the designated wedding musician — at this point, it’s tradition. They joke that by the time Jungwon’s own wedding comes around, he’ll also be playing.

Sunoo stands close by as Jake’s best man, fidgeting with his boutonnière. Sunghoon can’t help but smile at the memory of Sunoo tearing up the day Jake asked him — they never let him live that down. Jake could have easily picked Sunghoon for the role, but they both knew Jay would want his brother by his side as his best man. Nearby, Yunjin is flipping through her notes one last time, perfectly poised as the officiant, making sure every detail is in place before they begin.

The guests gradually take their seats as a gentle hum settles over the room. Riki, Heeseung, and Jeeyun are already seated in the front row. Jeeyun leans forward, hands clasped in her lap, eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks around at the floral arrangements and the glowing string lights overhead.

As the ceremony begins and Jay reads his vows, Sunghoon can feel his chest tighten. Jay’s voice is steady but filled with tenderness, every word deliberate and heartfelt. It hits Sunghoon harder than he expects — suddenly, he can’t hold back his tears, and they spill freely down his face. Jeeyun shifts as if to jump up and hand him a tissue, but Heeseung places a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a kind smile and a subtle shake of his head. Even Heeseung’s eyes glisten as Jay speaks; by the time the vows come to an end, both he and Riki are crying too. It’s a rare sight to see Riki tear up — usually, the only person who’s witnessed that is Jake.

Hours pass in a haze of laughter and warm congratulations. The guests drift into the reception area, where doors have been thrown open to the terrace. Outside, the summer sun bathes everything in a golden light. Drinks clink together, and plates are heaped with food as everyone mingles, savoring the perfect weather.

Sunghoon holds back on the alcohol tonight, making sure he stays clear-headed until Jeeyun finally tires out. Around him, friends and family grow a little louder and a lot sillier as the evening progresses — a familiar scene. He leans against a railing, watching Jake and Sunoo challenge each other to ridiculous dares, and can’t help but laugh. Nothing surprises him anymore; after all these years, this is just what happens when they all get together.

The terrace glows in the deep blue of dusk, lanterns swaying gently overhead, their light soft and golden as it spills across the wooden floor. A breeze carries the scent of lavender and cut grass from the gardens, stirring the linen on scattered tables and lifting stray strands of hair.

Sunghoon leans against the railing with hands tucked into his pockets, gaze drifting across the terrace before settling on Jeeyun. She’s curled up in a chair in the corner, hands tucked under her cheek as she dozes, a light shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Every so often she sighs contentedly in her sleep. Sunghoon can’t help but smile, relieved she’s safe and warm.

Laughter bubbles up from nearby. Jake and Sunoo are deep into some ridiculous contest, attempting to balance empty glassware on their heads as they circle each other like dancers. Riki cheers them on with gleeful encouragement, one arm slung comfortably around Heeseung’s shoulders as they lean into one another, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You’re going to drop that,” Sunoo declares, hands up like a referee about to blow a whistle. “Never,” Jake insists, grin cocky as the champagne glass wobbles on his hair. “Do it again!” Riki eggs him on, clapping.

Heeseung lets out a quiet laugh. “You guys are hopeless,” he says fondly, leaning more into Riki, who grins like this is exactly where they both want to be.

Jungwon appears then, rubbing his hands together as he steps up to the group. “That’s it — I’m officially off-duty for the night,” he announces with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally,” Riki teases, tugging him in by the waist. Jungwon grins, leaning into him with easy affection.

Across the terrace, Yunjin and Chaewon have found a quiet moment together. Yunjin leans back into her chair, one hand trailing over the edge of the table where a scattering of flower petals and empty plates lie. Chaewon sits close, her fingers intertwined with Yunjin’s as she listens to the distant murmur of the party, her gaze soft and happy.

Sunghoon’s gaze drifts across the terrace once more and catches sight of Jay at the far end. Jacket forgotten on the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up, Jay looks lighter than he has in days. A few relatives hover around him, and he throws his head back in laughter at something someone says. Even from a distance, Sunghoon can read the softness in his expression — Jay looks truly, deeply happy.

As if sensing Sunghoon’s attention, Jay glances up and their eyes lock. Something warm and knowing passes between them before someone pulls Jay back into conversation. Sunghoon feels a pleasant weight settle in his chest.

After Jeeyun is tucked into bed in their hotel room with one of Jake’s older cousins sitting nearby, knitting and humming softly, Sunghoon slips back into the party. This time, he allows himself a drink too, savoring the cold glass in his hand as he takes a slow sip. The drink burns pleasantly down his throat. He’s nowhere near tipsy like most of his friends — their laughter is already loud and sloppy, their names forgotten in the haze — but he doesn’t mind. The evening feels easy and bright, glowing with warm lantern light strung overhead and a gentle summer breeze slipping through the windows.

Sunghoon leans against a wooden column near the dance floor for a moment, just watching, feeling his shoulders relax.

Jay and Jake sway together under a soft spotlight, foreheads tilted toward each other like they can’t bear to be any farther apart. Jay’s hands are clasped tenderly in Jake’s, and they move in an unhurried rhythm that matches the mellow melody playing over the speakers. Nearby, behind the bar, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki huddle like mischievous kids at summer camp — shoulders touching as they stifle their laughter. Every so often there’s the clink of glass and a burst of hushed giggles as they attempt to craft some ridiculous drink they absolutely shouldn’t be making.

Somewhere across the crowded room, Yunjin and Chaewon have disappeared entirely. Sunghoon can picture them weaving between tables or sneaking outside for their own secret adventure. With them, it could be anything — and by now, he’s learned not to worry.

That’s when he feels a warm palm trail up his bicep, slow and deliberate. Before he even turns his head, Sunghoon knows who it is.

“Hey, handsome,” Heeseung drawls, his voice a little syrupy as he leans into Sunghoon, a sleepy, contented smile playing on his lips. His words slur ever so slightly, and there’s a gentle sway in his body as if the world is rocking just a bit too gently around him. “Whatchu doin’ here all by yourself?”

Sunghoon chuckles, already charmed. “I’m looking for my husband,” he says lightly.

Heeseung’s mouth pulls into an exaggerated pout, his brow wrinkling with an adorable drunken seriousness. “You got a husband? What a bummer.”

“I do,” Sunghoon agrees, his grin widening.

Heeseung tilts his head, eyes sparkling under the lantern light, one cheek pillowed against Sunghoon’s shoulder for balance. “Do you think your husband would mind if I kissed you?”

Sunghoon’s heart melts all over again at the sweetness of it — the way Heeseung’s gaze is hopeful and a little playful. He leans in just a fraction, voice a low murmur. “Mm, I don’t think he’d mind at all.”

That’s all it takes for Heeseung’s face to light up like someone just handed him a gift. “That’s lucky,” he says, his gaze dropping to Sunghoon’s mouth before flicking back up, hands slipping up to Sunghoon’s shoulders and bunching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers as if to anchor himself.

“Very lucky,” Sunghoon agrees, one palm settling gently against Heeseung’s waist, careful and protective, like holding something impossibly precious.

And then they kiss — slow and tender, a soft meeting of lips flavored faintly with champagne and summer sweetness. Time feels suspended in that fleeting, perfect moment tucked into the glowing chaos around them. Sunghoon feels the curve of Heeseung’s smile pressed against his own and can’t help smiling back.

When they part, a breathless laugh bubbles out of Heeseung as he leans into him again, forehead resting against Sunghoon’s chest. “Your husband must really like me,” he mumbles.

Sunghoon’s thumb strokes a slow path across the small of Heeseung’s back as he leans down to press his lips to Heeseung’s hair, voice hushed and warm. “That,” he murmurs, “is an understatement.”

Heeseung hums softly, his lashes brushing his cheeks as they flutter closed, and he melts deeper into Sunghoon’s embrace. Sunghoon can feel the slow, easy rhythm of his breathing against his chest and the gentle way his hands cling to him — like he never wants to let go.

“Is Jeeyun sleeping okay?” he murmurs into Sunghoon’s shirt, voice warm and drowsy but laced with that familiar, tender concern. Even in this hazy, champagne-soft moment, Heeseung’s first thought is of their daughter.

Sunghoon smiles into his hair, heart aching a little at the sweetness of it. “She’s sleeping like an angel,” he answers in a gentle whisper. He presses a lingering kiss to the top of Heeseung’s head, savoring the faint scent of his shampoo, the softness of him tucked against his body.

Heeseung hums again, the sound content and sleepy as he nestles even closer. Sunghoon lets his hands trail slowly up and down his back, feeling every breath and every heartbeat until they seem to fall into the same quiet rhythm.

After a tender silence settles between them, broken only by the soft hum of the distant party, Heeseung’s voice breaks through—quiet, tentative, but full of hope. “We should get married.”

Sunghoon’s heart skips at the words. He turns to Heeseung, his eyes warm and steady, then reaches out to gently take his hand. Heeseung’s fingers are cool but tremble slightly as Sunghoon holds them, bringing the hand close to his chest. The two wedding rings catch the glow of the lanterns, shining softly—their simple bands heavy with meaning, perfectly intertwined, as if forged for one another.

“Baby,” Sunghoon says softly, his thumb tracing the curve of the ring, “we are married.”

A rush of memories floods him—the nervous six-year-old who had once told himself that someday, Heeseung would be wearing his ring. That promise, once a secret hope, now stands real and undeniable between them.

Heeseung’s breath catches, and his eyes widen in surprise and joy. “We are married? That means…” His voice catches again, soft and breathless, “…you’re my husband.”

Sunghoon’s smile deepens, full of quiet pride and affection. “And you’re mine,” he confirms, voice low and sure, the words settling between them like a sacred vow.

Heeseung’s smile blooms slowly, his eyes sparkling with disbelief and happiness. “That’s… that’s amazing,” he breathes, the glow of the moment washing over him. “So, I can kiss you now… without worrying about some other husband stealing you away.”

Sunghoon laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes Heeseung’s chest rise and fall with a relieved sigh. His heart swells with love and tenderness as he leans in just a little closer, voice rich with affection. “Yes, baby. You can kiss me whenever you want.”

Without hesitation, Heeseung’s arms snake up around Sunghoon’s neck, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, warm and steady. His lips brush against Sunghoon’s lips in a tender kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against his skin, voice full of vulnerability and strength all at once.

Sunghoon wraps his arms tightly around Heeseung, holding him as if he might never let go. “I love you too,” he replies, his voice steady and sure, “always have, and always will.”

By the end of the night, the soft glow of the hotel hallway lights casts a warm, golden hue as Sunghoon carries Heeseung piggyback-style through the quiet corridors. The weight of Heeseung against his back is familiar and comforting, a gentle reminder of how far they’ve come together. The faint scent of Heeseung’s cologne lingers in the air, mingling with the subtle floral notes of Jeeyun’s baby lotion that clings to his clothes.

Sunghoon fumbles with the keycard, fingers slightly numb from the cool night air, before sliding the door open and stepping inside. His eyes immediately find Jake’s cousin, curled up asleep next to Jeeyun, who lies peacefully under a soft, pastel blanket. The cousin’s steady breathing and the rise and fall of her chest bring a quiet reassurance to the room.

Gently, Sunghoon kneels by the bed and softly shakes her shoulder. “Hey, thank you so much for watching Jeeyun,” he whispers, voice hushed so as not to disturb the fragile calm. She stirs, blinking sleepily, then offers a warm smile before slipping out quietly, the door clicking softly behind her.

Turning his full attention to Heeseung, Sunghoon lowers him tenderly onto the mattress. Heeseung’s body is heavy with fatigue but still warm against the sheets. Carefully, Sunghoon helps him out of his clothes, peeling away the layers of the day—the fabric slipping softly from Heeseung’s skin. He moves with practiced gentleness, brushing aside stray hairs damp with the faintest sheen of sweat.

Next comes the nightly ritual: brushing teeth and removing makeup. Sunghoon holds the toothbrush steady, watching Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut against the cool minty foam. He then reaches for the remover and a soft cloth, delicately wiping away the remnants of the day—smudges of eyeliner, traces of lipstick—until Heeseung’s face is bare and serene once more.

Finally clean and refreshed, Heeseung stretches out beside Jeeyun, his gaze softening as he studies their daughter’s sleeping face, illuminated by the pale moonlight streaming through the window. His fingers move almost unconsciously, tracing gentle, reverent patterns over Jeeyun’s soft cheeks and the delicate hairs on her tiny arms, as if memorizing every detail.

Sunghoon eases down beside him, the mattress dipping slightly beneath their combined weight. Heeseung’s eyes lift to meet his, shimmering with a quiet tenderness. “We should get another one,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

Sunghoon blinks, surprised by the suddenness of the confession, but a slow smile spreads across his face. “Another kid?” His fingers reach up to brush a stray strand of hair from Heeseung’s forehead, the touch feather-light.

Heeseung nods, eyes heavy but bright. “Yeah.”

“Okay, baby,” Sunghoon replies softly, warmth flooding his chest as he cups Heeseung’s face with both hands, memorizing the gentle curve of his cheek and the way his lips part slightly.

Heeseung leans down to press a tender kiss on Jeeyun’s forehead, the moment filled with the purest kind of love—quiet, unwavering, and infinitely patient. Then his gaze shifts back to Sunghoon, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection as he leans forward and presses a delicate kiss to Sunghoon’s lips. Just as they begin to part, Heeseung whispers with a sleepy smile, “And we should get married... again.”

Sunghoon laughs softly, the sound rich and full in the stillness of the room. He returns the kiss slowly, savoring the softness and warmth, the way their lips fit perfectly together like pieces of a puzzle. Pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against Heeseung’s, he murmurs, “Of course, hyung. Anything you want.”

Satisfied, Heeseung snuggles closer, tugging the blanket up over his shoulders. His breathing evens out, slow and steady, until within minutes, soft snores fill the quiet room.

Sunghoon remains still, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Heeseung’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his hand. His gaze drifts to Heeseung’s hand resting protectively over Jeeyun’s small stomach, the wedding ring gleaming under the soft lamp light like a promise made real.

If he had told his younger self—back when the future seemed like an endless expanse of shadows and uncertainty—that one day he would marry the love of his life, build a family with him, be surrounded by friends who lifted him up, and find a joy he never dared to hope for, that younger version of him probably would have laughed bitterly.

But here, in this quiet room filled with love and light, Sunghoon knows better. The future is no longer something to fear—it’s a promise, a beautiful, unfolding story they will write together, one quiet, perfect moment at a time.