Archive of Our Own

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San really hadn’t thought any of this through, he was just incredibly tired of his friends’ pestering and meddling. If he’d thought about it for even a few seconds, he’d have realized that he was about to get himself into a troublesome situation. Unfortunately, San wasn’t really good at forethought; he was more of an act now, think later kind of person—something that had gotten him in trouble plenty of times in the past. He’d clearly never learned his lesson, but he didn’t really feel like it was his fault.

It all starts at a small cafe where he’s meeting up with his friends after a couple of weeks passing without seeing each other.

Wooyoung and Yunho had been San’s only friends in high school. He’s relatively cheerful and friendly in nature, but he’s also painfully shy. San is introverted, never really having an interest in going out to parties or making a lot of friends. He valued the two that he had, and it allowed for his social battery to remain at a relative constant, rather than being completely drained within minutes of being around other people. It’s not that San doesn’t like people—he does, it’s just kind of exhausting to try to be funny and entertaining when he’d rather blend in with a wall. He’s pretty awkward, to boot, which just made it harder to make friends.

Without Wooyoung being an introvert-collector of sorts (including his boyfriend), San probably wouldn’t have made any friends. The younger man has an ‘I bit it, so it’s mine,’ sort of mentality—and San does mean that literally. Wooyoung had sat next to San in one of their classes, struck up a conversation, and before San knew it, he was being dragged along to sit with him and Yunho at lunch. Yunho was boisterous and loud, and just as friendly as Wooyoung. The rest was history.

His friend group had only expanded by two in the handful of years since they’d graduated from high school. Two, because in their freshman year of college, Wooyoung met Hongjoong, who was a year older than them. By the time Hongjoong was a senior, the two of them were tentatively moving from friendship to dating. It took the two of them a lot longer to get together than it did Yunho and Seonghwa. Pretty much a week after meeting Seonghwa, who had been Hongjoong’s only friend, the two of them clicked, and Yunho asked him out. They’d been inseparable ever since, and Yunho was (secretly) planning to propose soon.

Perhaps it did bother San to be the only one of his small friend group to be single; sure, he’d had a few dates spread out through his adulthood, but they never really became anything more, because he always ended up with people who weren’t looking for anything long-term. And that was fine, San didn’t hold it against them—he just wished he’d been made aware of it before pursuing them. At least he'd never had his heart broken, because nothing had ever been official. Regardless, just because he might feel a little lonely from time to time and crave a little romance (he’s a romantic at heart, sue him) didn’t mean that his friends should be so meddlesome. It wasn’t really Hongjoong, because he didn’t really feel he had the right to talk. Wooyoung had to patiently, persistently go at their hyung’s pace, let him lead their relationship, despite the fact that Wooyoung had been utterly smitten very early on in their friendship.

The rest of them, however, were menaces. Sure, Seonghwa was a lot softer in his approach; he gently prodded, hinted at potentially wanting to set him up on blind dates with random people that he thought were ‘nice.’ San wouldn’t be so fed up if it was only Seonghwa. Even Yunho tried (keyword being tried) to be a bit tactful—he was just an overexcited, overgrown puppy, and he didn’t always think before he spoke. The worst of them all was of course, the one he’d been friends with the longest.

Jung Wooyoung was about as subtle as an elephant let loose in a china shop. He didn’t try to be tactful or gentle; they’d known each other far too long, and Wooyoung wasn’t one for bullshitting people. He was as blunt as his boyfriend, even if he worded things a lot kinder—sometimes. He’d tried to set San up with a handful of his friends, but it had always gone poorly. Felix was sweet, but they weren’t really interested in each other; Yeonjun was too vibrant and flirtatious, and it made shy, clumsy San even more awkward than he already was. He’d drawn the line at Changbin—his energy matched Wooyoung’s too much, and it’d been a really draining experience to go on a date with him. 

After that, San set a boundary that Wooyoung was not allowed to try to set him up with anyone else, and his best friend had respected that. It didn’t stop him from continuing to pester San about if he’d met anyone, if he was interested in anyone, did he want to go to a club next Saturday for a hookup. The answer was always no, and San was beginning to feel like a broken record. The conversation was tired. He’s aware that his friends mean well, but sometimes they didn’t realize when they were overstepping their bounds.

There is someone that San is interested in, but there’s no way he’d tell his friends that.

San works at a game shop. It’s owned by Song Mingi, who employs his two friends, Choi Jongho (no relation to himself) and Kang Yeosang. The store is relatively small and has a unique and fun retro vibe to it. He’s been working there alongside the three of them for nearly two years now—and had steadily been nursing a small crush on Yeosang. Now, it’s full-blown puppy love, and San has an incredibly hard time not making a fool of himself in front of the older man. They have a friendly enough relationship—in that they are coworkers who enjoy working together, but don’t try to hang out together outside of work. 

He could try asking Yeosang on a date, but the older man is a little unapproachable in that aspect. Yeosang is quiet and intimidating—until he feels comfortable with someone. It had taken a couple of months for him to warm up to San, but after he had, his personality began to shine through his impassive mask. He’s funny and witty, quick with barbed comebacks, and his deadpan sense of humor is something that San thoroughly enjoys. They have to work together, however, so no matter how big San’s crush is, or how much he’s pining (and a little in love), he doesn’t want to ruin the friendly and easygoing atmosphere they’ve created in their workplace.

It was just supposed to be a little white lie, one he could easily back out of. San didn’t think things would get so out of his control so fast.

San walks into the cafe, the bell above the door jingling to announce his arrival. He spots his group of friends clustered together in a booth, but lines up at the end of the queue to order his drink before joining them. With a coffee in hand, San makes his way over to their table, sliding in next to Seonghwa, and across from Wooyoung. Hongjoong is sitting in the window seat, his leg drawn up and arm circled around his knee as he plays absentmindedly with his straw. On San’s side of the table, Yunho sits across from Hongjoong, chattering excitedly about an upcoming video game release—something that none of them but San would even care about.

Turning to look at San, Seonghwa smiles demurely, twisting his mug between his hands. “Hey, San-ah, glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” San hums thoughtfully, head tilting to the side.

Wooyoung snorts, leaning his chest against the table and stretching his arms out over the surface. “It’s been like less than a month.”

Sneering, San throws the wrapper of his straw at Wooyoung playfully, earning an affronted squawk. The five of them spend about thirty minutes catching up. From the sounds of it, Hongjoong’s clothing reformation is beginning to pick up, and he’s earning quite a bit more income, to the point where he’s considering hiring someone to help him out. Seonghwa gets lost in talking about his preschool students, going on about them proudly like they’re his own kids. The dance studio that Yunho and Wooyoung run together as instructors is also doing incredibly well, as they’ve just begun to discuss taking on another class and filling up their schedules as much as they can handle. San barely has anything new to share—and it certainly isn’t exciting. He skims over talks of work in favor of mentioning his tentative plans to adopt a cat.

Perhaps it’s the way he was eased into a false sense of security by smalltalk. San had assumed, stupidly, that his friend were finally going to give him some peace. But if Jung Wooyoung is anything, it’s a fucking menace. If he doesn’t make San regret ever becoming friends with him at least once a week, he’s dissatisfied and doing something wrong.

“So, still single, Sannie?” Wooyoung asks, out of the blue and sounding entirely too nonchalant for the smug fucking look etched across his features.

If anyone were to ask San what he’d been thinking, the truest answer would be: he wasn’t. It was a steady culmination of being consistently pestered and never getting one get-together without it being brought up—and now he was at his breaking point.

“Actually, no,” San answers firmly, eyes flicking up to lock with Wooyoung’s.

Wooyoung raises a brow, lips parting in mild shock and eyes widening slightly. “You’re shitting me.”

Shaking his head, San decides to fully lean into his little white lie. There’s no harm in it, especially if it gets his friends to finally stop hounding him for a little while. If they ask to meet his mystery boyfriend later, he can just say they broke up. Easy. A smile spreads over San’s lips, and he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I’m not, I started dating someone recently.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Wooyoung screeches, sitting up and slamming his hands down on their table—drawing the wary attention of other patrons. “You didn’t think to mention it when we were all talking about what we’ve been up to?” He eyes San suspiciously, mouth twisting into a scowl.

Yunho leans forward to be seen around Seonghwa, face lit up with excitement. “Are you gonna tell us about him? What’s he like? Is he nice? Cute?”

“Calm down, Yun, give San-ah a chance to speak,” Seonghwa cuts in, leveling his boyfriend with an exasperated expression.

San bites the inside of his cheek, trying to think of something on the fly—and his mind goes immediately to Yeosang. “He’s quiet, and kinda shy. He’s really cute though, and once you get past his rough exterior, he’s actually pretty funny. I was intimidated by him at first, but now that I know him better, he’s about as scary as a wet kitten.”

“So like Hongjoong-hyung, then,” Wooyoung supplies helpfully, earning a sharp elbow to the side from his boyfriend.

Seonghwa squeezes San’s forearm lightly, beaming at him happily. “That’s really cute, San-ah. He sounds so charming.”

“What does he look like?” Yunho jumps in, looking extremely excitable, absorbing San’s every word.

“Well…” San hedges, trailing off. He’d already started with describing Yeosang, he may as well commit to it. Not like it matters anyway, he’d never have to introduce them to each other. “He’s a bit shorter than I am, but he’s like, surprisingly fit. He looks delicate, and he is very soft-hearted, but he’s not really… I think he could kick my ass if he wanted to, to be honest.”

“Is he prettier than me?” Wooyoung teases, leaning his chest over the table and staring at San with stars in his eyes. Despite his ribbing, he seems genuinely curious—and happy for San, which makes him feel a little guilty for lying, but it’s easily brushed aside.

San smirks, looking Wooyoung up and down before scoffing. “He’s far prettier than you, Youngie.”

A whine bursts out of Wooyoung, and his eyes gloss up with faux-tears, lips immediately curling down into a frown. “That’s so mean, Sannie.” He turns to look at his boyfriend, pawing at his arm with a pathetic little sniffle. “Sannie’s being mean to me, jagiya. Aren’t you going to defend me?”

“He sounds like a sweet kid. When do we get to meet him?” Hongjoong drawls, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm and looking at San curiously. He blatantly ignores Wooyoung, causing the younger man to throw himself back against his seat and cross his arms petulantly.

“Sounds like you’re gonna be fucking your hand for a week, Hongjoong-ssi,” Wooyoung mutters under his breath. He’s assuaged, however, by Hongjoong reaching over to absentmindedly pet his hair.

Hongjoong’s attention stays on San, however, as does everyone else’s, barring Wooyoung, who preens under the attention of his boyfriend. “You’ve been dating for like, what, nearly a month right?”

“Actually—”

“Oh, San-ah. What’s his name?” Seonghwa cuts in, looking sheepish, like he’s embarrassed he hadn’t thought to ask yet.

Panic jolts to life, spreading from San’s chest through his limbs. He nearly freezes up, lips parted and a name sitting on the tip of his tongue. It would be going too far, he thinks, if he said Yeosang’s name. He’d already described him to a T to his friends, but if they ever came to his workplace, they’d put two and two together with his name, and then San would have to admit that he lied.

Before he’s even given a chance to answer, Wooyoung makes a noise of excitement in his throat, bouncing in his seat (thankfully saving San from digging himself into a deeper hole). “Oh my god, this is perfect, actually! San-ah, you have to come!”

The relief from being saved from himself soothes his panic, but it doesn’t last for long. Confusion paints itself over San’s face, and a feeling of trepidation and dread starts to settle in his stomach. “Come where?”

“You can’t say no, you have to. I’ll even buy your tickets and pay for your room, please! Please, Sannie! It’ll be so much fun!” Wooyoung babbles, turning watery doe-eyes onto San. “It’ll be good for you, and we’ll get to meet your boyfriend. You need a vacation anyway, I don’t remember the last time you took time off from work.”

“Wait—hold the fuck up. Vacation?” San asks in bewilderment, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

Seonghwa sighs, setting his mug down and turning his body towards San after shooting Wooyoung a dirty look. “What Wooyoung-ah is trying —and failing—to say is, the four of us have been planning a sort of couple’s vacation together. We’re leaving in a week, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to secure a last-minute reservation or plane tickets.”

A cry of victory rips out of Wooyoung, and he leans forward over their table, shoving his phone towards San and Seonghwa’s faces. “Look! I already booked the tickets. And the joint room between yours—” he jerks his chin towards Yunho and Seonghwa, before gesturing with his free hand between himself and Hongjoong and continuing on. “—and ours hadn’t been taken yet. Probably because it’d be a little weird to room some random couple between us.”

“Christ alive, you work fast,” Hongjoong mutters, and Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at his boyfriend before snuggling up to him.

“In all things that weren’t getting you to date me, yeah,” Wooyoung shoots back, dipping his head forward to press a wet kiss to Hongjoong’s cheek.

The older man scowls, face pinching in disgust, and he shoves Wooyoung away from him. “Gross. I’m reconsidering your boyfriend application.”

“Don’t be mean!”

“Anyway, San-ah,” Seonghwa interrupts, looking about at the end of his rope. “We’d really like it if you and your boyfriend could join us. I’m sure it’s really early on in your relationship, but I think it could be a fun way for you to bond.”

“Plus, we’d really love to meet the man who finally managed to snag you,” Yunho pipes in, his tone turning teasing. “I mean, anyone who can put up with your painful shyness deserves a medal.”

“I’m not sure—” San tries, voice laced with the edge of panic, but he works hard to keep it off of his face.

Wooyoung still doesn’t let him get a word in. He swivels in his seat, glaring daggers at San, looking far more threatening than Hongjoong ever has. “No. No excuses, no ‘I’m not sure’ s. You’re coming, Choi San. I already took care of everything on my end. Now all you have to do is secure time off and bring your pretty pink-haired self and your new mystery boyfriend to the airport.”

Swallowing audibly, San nods his head helplessly. He can’t find his words.

A triumphant smile lights up Wooyoung’s face. “Excellent. I’ll text you all the details tonight baby.”

San is fucked six ways to Sunday. He has no fucking clue how he’s going to manage finding someone to at least be his fake boyfriend for a handful of days, just so he can save face. He really fucking stuck his foot in his mouth this time.

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By the time Wednesday rolls around, San realizes that he has less than 48 hours to secure a pretend boyfriend to go on a vacation with him and his friends. The biggest issue standing in his way is that, apart from Wooyoung, Yunho, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa, he doesn’t really have anyone that he considers a friend. Not much about San had changed from high school (besides going from scrawny to filling out rather nicely). He still struggles to talk with people he doesn’t know, he’s still shy and awkward, and it makes befriending people relatively impossible.

He doesn’t like to go out much unless being forced to tag along with his friends, and even then San tries to blend in with the wall. He knows Wooyoung won’t let him worm his way out of this—he can’t claim to be sick, or say that his “boyfriend” wasn’t interested, because Wooyoung wouldn’t listen to reason. If anything, Wooyoung would demand to meet San’s boyfriend, confident in his ability to convince anyone to do anything he wants them to. He’s also a lot smarter than he lets on with his bimbo act, and if San tries to skip out, he’ll be easily figured out.

A quiet sigh deflates San’s lungs, and he mentally shakes himself, trying to focus on work. Not that focus is really necessary; San and Yeosang are closing up Sector 1 Games, and they’re thirty minutes away from locking up shop. It’s 7:30 in the evening, and not a single customer has come in for at least two hours. San doesn’t understand why Mingi insists on staying open like this during the week when they barely ever have anyone scurrying in last minute to purchase a game, but it isn’t his place to question the owner. Besides, he really isn’t complaining. The downtime gives San ample time to secretly admire Yeosang.

Yeosang is wandering between the shelves with purpose, the crown of his head peeking up over the units as he moves between them and out of San’s view. His black hair looks silky to the touch, and San can’t lie and say that he hasn’t fantasized about reaching up to brush stray strands out of his face. Tuck them behind his ear, have their eyes meet and the older man blush and realize that he’s desperately attracted to San. (What can San even say to defend himself? He’s a romantic at heart, and his favorite movie genre is romcoms. Sue him.) But he’s not brave enough to ever try and be that bold, and he highly doubts that Yeosang sees him as more than a coworker he’s friendly with. He’s only ever seemed to show San a polite (dis)interest (though San suspects the “disinterested” expression is more of Yeosang having a hard time expressing himself through both words and with his face, and less because he’s actually disinterested. The older man is a lot more reserved than San is, even if they both are awkward and shy).

Resting his hips against the edge of the counter, San leans forward and drops his elbow on the surface, chin cradled in his palm. Yeosang steps back into view, reaching up to reorganize the back wall. He moves a few games aside before leaning down to pull a handful of cases out to place into the newly empty space. San watches him line them up perfectly, then step back with his head tilted to assess them. A soft smile curls up San’s lips; Yeosang is so incredibly diligent in everything he does. It’s something that drew him to the other man in the first place. He treats even the smallest things incredibly seriously, a stickler for detail, even if it won’t make a real difference or matter to anyone else.

There’s a lot of things about Yeosang that San likes. He’s attentive; whenever anyone speaks, Yeosang listens, and he remembers things that are seemingly inconsequential but are actually quite important to the person. As tough as he seems (and San doesn’t doubt that he actually is tough—he’s fit and doesn’t seem like the type not to stand up for himself), he’s incredibly soft and gentle. He handles things with care, as if they could break under his touch, as dainty as his own hands. San likes his personality, likes that he’s weird and shy, funny and sarcastic, but so heartwarmingly sweet.

Yeosang is beautiful. His features are delicate, elf-like, with big brown doe eyes and a nearly perfectly straight nose that has the softest slope towards the tip. San isn’t sure how his facial structure can be so sharp and yet appear so soft. Perhaps his favorite thing about Yeosang’s face is his birthmark—it sits near his left eye just on the slope of his cheekbone, a faint wine-colored smear in the shape of a heart. San has spent so much time admiring the petal-like mark that he was certain he could paint it on canvas with his eyes closed from memory alone. He likes that Yeosang doesn’t cover it up, that he lets the world see what some would view as an imperfection or a flaw, but that San thinks just lends to the uniqueness of his beauty. When Yeosang smiles, it isn’t blinding like the sun on a cloudless day; it’s the gentleness of diffused light, the sun breaking over the horizon at dawn, bringing with it warmth and comfort.

Of course San isn’t crushing on Yeosang just because he’s physically beautiful; he’s not shallow, and he’s met plenty of outwardly attractive people that he wasn’t into. There’s just something about Yeosang that draws him in. It’s the way his inner beauty shines through and takes him from pretty to ethereal. It hadn’t taken very long after getting to know him for San to be a goner. He’s entirely smitten, and hasn’t had eyes for anyone since. It’s unfortunate that San is a fucking pansy, too cowardly to even ask the older man out for coffee. He only ever sees Yeosang at work, and it’s his own fault for not even being brave enough to pursue a real friendship with him.

“San-ah, can you bring me the other box of games?” Yeosang asks, his deep voice soft and lilting.

San feels like he could listen to it forever, even though the other man doesn’t talk much. He’d give up listening to music forever if it meant he could spend the rest of his life hearing Yeosang speak. The cadence to it is smooth, comforting, and his slight lisp is terribly endearing. San sighs quietly, leaning his cheek more heavily into his hand.

He blinks, startling out of his own head when Yeosang clears his throat. The older man is staring at him with a singular brow raised, head tilting to the side. “Earth to San-ah. We’re not done with work quite yet, space cadet. Can you bring me that box?” Yeosang hums, lifting a hand to gesture at the box resting on the counter next to San.

Flushing various shades of pink, San bites his inner cheek and pushes away from the counter, fumbling with the box. “Shit, sorry Yeosang-ah. I got a little… lost in thought, I guess.”

A soft chuckle floats out of Yeosang, and then San is blessed with the smallest upturn of lips; the sun cresting the horizon. “I can see that. I promise we’re almost done. Mingi just wants these shelved and ready for tomorrow, and then we can count down the till and head out.”

San shifts the box in his arms to get more of a firm hold on it as he rounds the counter. He walks over to Yeosang and places the box on the floor between them, pulling a box-cutter out of his pocket to carefully cut through the tape sealing the flaps shut. The two of them work together to shelve the new games, a comfortable silence sitting between them. With the quiet returns San’s previous line of thought before he’d been distracted by his daily (hourly) admiration of Yeosang.

There’s another glaring issue with trying to find someone to fake being his boyfriend for almost four full days, apart from his lack of friends. San had made the big mistake of describing Yeosang when they’d questioned him—and he doesn’t know where he’s going to find someone who fits the bill. It hadn’t felt like a mistake at the time, because he’d had no idea that he’d be getting himself into deep shit with a small white lie nearly immediately. The only person he knows that fits Yeosang’s description is… Yeosang himself.

So the dilemma San is left with is: admit to his friends that he lied, or embarrass himself by begging Yeosang to fake date him. There’s no way this will go well. His friends will either be upset that he lied, or tease him for it, or both. Or, he makes their comfortable work environment awkward and ruins any chances of real friendship he could’ve had a shot at with Yeosang. Maybe if San just—bites the bullet, embarrasses the fuck out of himself, has his request turned down and quits, he’ll leave with some of his pride still intact. He’d never come back to Sector 1 Games, unable to face his crush ever again or live down the sticky situation he’d ensnared himself in.

San really doesn’t have time for this mental back and forth. It’s making his head hurt, and the closer the deadline of the trip gets, the more frazzled and anxious he feels. He doesn’t have much of a choice if he wants to avoid pissing off the people that mean the most to him, and he really doesn’t want to endure anymore fucking meddling. All of his muscles bunch up, tension making him feel like his skin is trying to peel itself off of his body. His eyes flick over to the clock on the wall; 7:55pm. Now or never.

Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, San braces himself for his impending doom. “Yeosang-ah, I hate to do this, but I’ve kinda shot myself in the foot and I could really use a favor,” he rushes out, words nearly slurring together.

Yeosang glances at him as he places the last of the cases on a shelf, automatically pushing them into alignment. Unable to make eye-contact, San bends over to pick up the empty box, breaking it down so that it’ll fit into the recycling bin. “You can fill me in while we finish closing up.”

Nodding, San chews on his inner cheek. He watches Yeosang move to the front of the store to lock the door and flip the sign from open to closed before turning around to bring the empty boxes into the back room. When he comes back out, Yeosang is already behind the counter, diligently counting down the till. San nervously approaches him, curling his arms protectively around his own waist. With the money sorted out, the till locked, and the day’s profit tucked away securely in a safe, Yeosang directs his full attention onto San.

The older man hoists himself up onto the counter, idly kicking his legs and gripping onto the edge of the counter lightly. San apprehensively takes in the expression on Yeosang’s face; he looks open and reassuring, but he isn’t sure how long that’ll last once he starts explaining.

“So, I guess I need to give a little background first, for context,” San starts hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot and turning his gaze to the floor. “I’ve never had a real relationship, ever. I've tried dating before, but it never really... There’s never been someone that I’ve been interested in dating long-term.” He bites his tongue to prevent the until you from slipping past his lips.

“Okay,” Yeosang drawls, brows pinching and expression becoming a little perplexed, like he isn’t quite sure where this is going. He goes quiet once more, though, able to pick up on the fact that San has more to say.

San inhales deeply through his nose, reaching a hand up to fiddle with his pink tresses nervously. “My friends… they’ve tried to set me up on dates before, but it always went—not well… I know they’re just trying to look out for me, but I can never see them without it like, becoming this whole thing, and I couldn’t really take it anymore, I’m tired of being pestered and I don’t want them to meddle anymore…”

He knows he’s rambling, and it’s nearly as embarrassing as spilling his guts to Yeosang—but nowhere near as mortifying as what he’s going to have to do.

“I’m a little lost, San-ah,” Yeosang gently cuts in, and San shoots a grateful look up at him before once again dropping his eyes to the floor. “What does this have to do with a favor?”

“Right,” San breathes, voice frayed with anxiety. He forces himself to look back up at Yeosang, taking in his expression of befuddlement. He steels his nerves, squaring his shoulders, before blurting out, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go on a vacation with me this weekend!”

“What.”

San watches the shock spread across Yeosang’s face; he looks as flustered as San feels, which only makes that feeling worse. He feels tongue-tied as he tries to rush to explain himself, holding his hands up as if in surrender. “I know it’s a lot! I can totally understand why you wouldn’t want to. I maybe kinda lied to my friends that I got a boyfriend and now they’re forcing me to join them on this couple’s vacation but I don’t actually have a boyfriend to bring along!”

Yeosang parts his lips as if to speak, but he sits frozen, lashes barely fluttering. He’s not blinking, and San isn’t even sure if he’s breathing. It feels like he’s stuck five feet in his mouth, but he can’t back out now; all he can really do is barrel forward and hope that someone puts him out of his fucking misery. Maybe Yeosang will roundhouse kick him and put him in the hospital with amnesia. Otherwise San isn’t sure if he’ll be able to go on living with this as a core memory.

“I’ll owe you big time, seriously. Anything you want, if it’s within my power, it’s yours. I swear I wouldn’t ask this if I wasn’t desperate, Yeosang-ah,” San continues, leveling Yeosang with his most pleading, sad kitten stare he can manage. He isn’t above dropping to his knees and begging, but he’s really hoping it won’t come to that.

“Can’t you ask, like… isn’t there anyone else you can ask?” Yeosang mumbles, sounding a little breathless.

San bends forward in a deep bow, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t have any friends outside of them, and it—it has to be you.”

Spluttering, Yeosang leans forward to grip onto San’s shoulders and force him out of the bow. When San catches sight of his face, it’s flushed so pink that his birthmark blends in. He looks beyond flustered and incredibly embarrassed that someone only a month younger than him had bowed so formally—they are, after all, close enough for casual honorifics.

“San-ah, um—why? Why does it have to be me?” Yeosang asks, voice wobbly from bewilderment.

“It’s—because, well,” San tries, suddenly halting as his face turns pink from chin to the roots of his hair; his skin is only a few hues off from completely blending in with his pink tresses. “I, well. It’s—ah. It’s kind of a funny… like, when they asked what my ‘boyfriend’ was like, I panicked and described you, because I don’t really know anyone besides them and Min, Jongho-yah, and you. But I know you a little better and you’re cute and really nice so I just—”

“Fuck, San-ah,” he interrupts, slapping a hand over San’s mouth, looking everywhere but at him. “If-if I agree, will you stop talking.”

San brightens up (even though he absolutely still feels beyond mortified, and he knows he’s going to want to bury himself in a hole later) and nods his head enthusiastically.

Taking a couple of steadying breaths, Yeosang slowly draws his hands back, curling his arms into his chest and interlacing his own fingers. He glances up at San through his lashes nervously, teeth digging into his bottom lip. His hands wring together before they drop down to grip onto the hem of his sweater so tightly his knuckles bleed white. San waits patiently, giving him the time he needs to collect his thoughts and work past the shock.

When he’s finally got some semblance of control on himself, Yeosang sucks in a lungful of air before breathing out, “So, you said this weekend? How long exactly, and when?”

San nods in confirmation. “I don’t actually know where we’re going, Wooyoung-ah wouldn’t tell me. But we leave early Friday morning, and we’ll get back on Monday.”

“Okay, that’s… doable. We just have to let Mingi know we need time off,” Yeosang mumbles, more to himself than to San.

“Oh and, everything is already paid for, so you don’t have to worry about anything. And I did mean it when I said I owed you,” San reaffirms, feeling a lot less frazzled and a bit more confident.

Yeosang hesitates, tilting his head to the side as he mulls San’s words over. “I can’t think of anything right now, but let’s just say I can cash in an I.O.U whenever I do think of something.”

“That sounds good to me,” San says with a smile, offering Yeosang a hand. The older man hesitantly takes it, letting San help him off of the counter.

“We should, um,” Yeosang pauses, withdrawing his hand; it disappears inside of the sleeve of his sweater. “We should head home.”

The two of them finish tidying up in relative silence, shutting all of the lights down, before heading through the back room and towards the back exit. San grabs the bag of trash to carry to the dumpster while Yeosang locks up. With the trash deposited, San sidles back up to the other man awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as he rubs the back of his neck. They both avoid making eye-contact, looking anywhere but at each other.

“Can I walk you to your apartment? It’s kinda dark, and I’d feel a lot better knowing you made it home safe,” San asks softly, biting his inner cheek.

Yeosang nods tentatively, looking up at San with a bashful smile. “Sure, I’d like that. I think I have a couple more questions to ask, anyway.”

As they start walking, San subconsciously drifts a little closer to Yeosang until there’s only a bit of space between them. If he was brave enough, he could easily reach out and take the older man’s hand in his own—but they’re not dating for real. This is just Yeosang being the kind soul that he is and helping San when he’s in a sticky situation. A couple of blocks away from his apartment, Yeosang hums thoughtfully.

“You said you don’t know where we’re going,” he starts, glancing at San. Yeosang is only a few inches shorter than he is, but he somehow looks incredibly small and cute in his oversized sweater, with his little sweater paws. “How will I know what to pack?”

“Oh.” San blinks, looking a little sheepish as he tugs on a strand of his hair. “Seonghwa-hyung said something about a pool and a beach, so I assume we’re going somewhere warm. You’ll probably wanna bring a swimsuit or two.”

“Right,” Yeosang says with a singular nod, flicking his eyes down to watch his feet as he walks. “And… what’s our story?”

“Story?” he asks, confusion etching itself across his face, before his eyes widen in understanding.

Oh, shit. San hadn’t thought that far ahead, and now he’s drawing a blank. His lips purse in thought, idly kicking at stray rocks as he continues to walk at Yeosang’s side. He isn’t sure what their story should be; what’s believable and what isn’t. Yeosang sighs, looking at the younger man fondly and reaching up to pat his arm. It draws San out of his head and all of his focus onto the other man.

“We should keep it simple, and as truthful as possible,” Yeosang says matter-of-factly, voice soft. “When did you tell them we started dating?”

“Almost a month ago,” San replies, biting the tip of his tongue as his face once again flushes. He’s thankful that the cover of darkness keeps the pink to his cheeks hidden—even if Yeosang had seen him as a flustered, blushing mess not that long ago. He still had some pride left.

“Okay, so we’re a new couple, then, and it’s okay if we’re a little awkward,” he sighs, sounding relieved. “We met at work, obviously, and you’ve been interested in me for a while.” San swallows audibly, shoulders tensing, but Yeosang isn’t looking at him. He’s looking up at the sky, face lax, so San relaxes, realizing he hasn’t actually been found out, and the other man is merely crafting their ‘how we met, how we got together,’ story. “You finally got brave enough to ask me on a date, and you were really bashful about it. You stuttered and rambled the whole time, but I thought you were cute and I’d also had a crush on you, so I agreed.”

San’s heart is thundering in his chest so loud that he’s sure Yeosang can hear it. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, an almost nauseating churn. He has to remind himself that none of this is real—it’d never happened, but it’s nice to imagine how it would be if it had. It’s nice to imagine that Yeosang was a little in love with him, too.

He wets his lips, before taking a breath and adding, “We went out for coffee first, and I completely embarrassed myself. I was so nervous that I spilt my drink, and I kept apologizing over and over again. But you assured me it was okay, and then at the end of the date, you agreed to go on another with me.”

Yeosang smiles, that breathtaking sunrise smile of his, and San feels like he might melt. He can’t pull his eyes away from the older man; he looks ethereal under the glow of the streetlights. “I did, and you took me to a cute little restaurant. You didn’t make a fool of yourself that time, and by the end of the night, you were feeling really bold. You asked me to be your boyfriend, and I said yes.”

They come to a stop outside of Yeosang’s apartment, turning to look at each other. Several long moments of silence drag on between them, and it’s comfortable, but there’s an air of something, and San isn’t exactly sure what it is. It doesn’t feel like tension, or at least not a bad kind. Yeosang reaches up to pat his cheek, and San goes stiff under his placid touch. His skin tingles where the older man had touched him long after he let his hand fall away.

“I think that’s simple enough to be believable. Thank you for walking me home, San-ah,” Yeosang murmurs, looking away shyly and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. “Um, you have my number, so… text me the details. And don’t worry about talking to Mingi, I’ll handle it. He owes me, anyway.”

“Goodnight, Yeosang-ah,” San whispers, feeling a pull—one that he ignores.

A shy smile curls up Yeosang’s lips, and he gives San a look that falls somewhere between fond and impish. “Call me Yeo or Sangie, okay? I think it’ll be more believable to your friends if you don’t refer to me so stiffly. Do you prefer San-ah or Sannie?”

“Either is fine,” San rushes out, face heating up. He takes a small step back, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “And, thanks again. I can’t really express how much it means to me that you’re willing to help me out.”

“Don’t mention it,” Yeosang dismisses, drifting towards the front door of his apartment complex. He looks back over his shoulder for a few moments more, lips parted like he’s going to say something—but then he shakes his head, sighing quietly. “Goodnight, San-ah. Don’t forget to text me.”

San watches Yeosang turn back to face the door and disappear inside, feeling like his head is floating above his body, and like he’s living in a dream. He knows that none of this is real, that once the vacation is over, they’ll go back to being coworkers—but hopefully, they’ll also become friends through this experience. Real friends, who hang out together outside of work.

It may not be real, and he may desperately wish it was—but San would take Yeosang being his friend over anything else.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

The group arrives at the resort early afternoon on Friday. San hadn’t been aware that it was a resort; he’d assumed it was a beachfront hotel from the vague descriptions Seonghwa had given him. He still isn’t even sure he knows where the hell they are, but it’s not like it really matters. The flight from Seoul to wherever had been roughly five hours or so. They’d met up at the airport three and a half hours before their scheduled flight at five in the morning, and after San had sleepily introduced Yeosang to his friends, went towards the check-in terminal.

Hongjoong had handled them all getting checked-in, passing out their boarding passes. Their luggage was carefully labeled and placed onto the conveyor belt to be loaded up onto the plane. With their carry-on bags in hand, the six of them moved onto the security checkpoint. They took off their shoes, placed their items into bins, and took turns walking through the metal detectors. After each of them had been scanned through and cleared, they grabbed their things, put their shoes back on, and headed into departures.

Sluggishly, they meandered in a cluster down the stretch of little shops and restaurants, bleary eyes barely taking in their surroundings. None of them were very hungry, but they knew they would be right before boarding, so they ended up stopping at the McDonald’s for a quick breakfast. Feeling full, and even more sleepy than before, the group of six wandered towards their gate. There were clusters of seats in a plain little lounging area, other passengers scattered here and there, waiting for boarding. San could barely think straight; he was not an early riser, normally not awake until close to noon, so he was essentially operating on autopilot.

Hongjoong made a beeline for a row of chairs; none of them looked very comfortable, but San hadn’t known what to expect (he’d never flown before, let alone been in an airport). As soon as Hongjoong sat down, slouched and with legs comfortably spread, Wooyoung had practically thrown himself in his lap, forcing a grunt out of him. Wooyoung curled up in as small of a ball as he could manage and started dozing off immediately. Hongjoong had ended up shoving earbuds in his ears and slouching further in his seat, half-cradling his boyfriend. They were cute, with Wooyoung ducking his head under Hongjoong’s chin, face tucked into his throat, and his fist curled up beneath his own chin, clutching onto his boyfriend’s shirt.

A couple of chairs away so as to avoid bothering Wooyoung (who was incredibly foul when sleep-deprived; a grumpy, cantankerous little creature who absolutely bit), sat Seonghwa and Yunho. They were leaning towards each other, quietly speaking amongst themselves, careful not to disturb the other equally as exhausted travelers. The hands between them were clutched together, fingers interlaced, while Seonghwa held his phone up with his other hand, scrolling on social media with his thumb. They were equally as cute as the other couple with their heads resting against one another, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. The way the two couples showed affection were different, because they were all vastly different people with varying levels of comfort with public affection as well as needs for skinship.

San and Yeosang had sat awkwardly next to one another, both feeling incredibly nervous about the whole, ‘pretending to be boyfriends,’ thing. Neither of them knew how to act or what to do, but luckily their companions were far too tired to pay them any mind. San kept his hands firmly in his lap, fisted and pressed against his thighs. He snuck glances through his periphery at Yeosang periodically. His fake boyfriend looked stunning even when thoroughly exhausted. Yeosang seemed far more relaxed than San did, his muscles lax.

Eventually, Yeosang began to drift off, his head drooping steadily until it fell onto San’s shoulder. He did his best not to move, not wanting to wake the other man when he clearly needed the sleep. San wondered if Yeosang was like him, or if he was more of an early riser—perhaps just not at the asscrack of dawn. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone who liked to be up before or with the sun, and anyone who was like that, he couldn’t understand. There’d be time to ask, or even observe for himself, on their vacation, so he filed the thought away for later.

San hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen asleep, too. The next thing he was aware of was Seonghwa gently rousing him from sleep. He’d blinked his eyes slowly, realizing his cheek was smushed against the crown of Yeosang’s head. San lifted his head away, reaching out to wake the other man as Seonghwa murmured something about boarding. Once they’d all gotten their wits somewhat about them (Wooyoung was grouchy, clinging onto Hongjoong while also making him carry both of their carry-on bags), their group was one of the first to board the plane.

Apparently, they were flying first class—which was another first added to San’s lists of firsts (never flying, never leaving the country—if they were indeed leaving South Korea—never going on a real vacation). Wooyoung had gone all out, and sometimes San forgot just how much money his best friend and Hongjoong had between them. They may have only been really dating for a handful of years, but they lived together and shared a joint bank account. For all intents and purposes, they were essentially married—even if they claimed to still be in the early stages of their relationship.

The seats in first class were incredibly comfortable; the cabin was spacious, plenty of leg room and cushy arm- and headrests. Yeosang sat next to the window, and San sat next to the aisle; he’d quietly informed Yeosang that he was afraid of heights, and didn’t really want to sit next to the window because the thought made him queasy. The older man had smiled warmly at him, patting his arm, and then moved to sit first while San tucked their carry-on bags in the space overhead. The seats in front of theirs were occupied by Yunho and Seonghwa, with Yunho in the window seat (because the oldest in their little group was also terrified of heights). Hongjoong and Wooyoung sat behind them, but San wasn’t sure who was sitting where, and he didn’t really care to look over his seat and find out, lest he accidentally catch them sucking face (a regular occurrence that didn’t get less embarrassing the more it happened).

It took a while for the plane to be fully boarded, and by the time they were getting ready to take off, seatbelts secured, Yeosang was once again asleep. But San himself couldn’t sleep—at least not for the first three hours of their flight. He was too overly aware of the proximity of his crush (fake boyfriend), and it made butterflies swarm his stomach so much so that he felt restless. He tried, really tried, not to stare like a creep, but he couldn’t help himself.

Even asleep, Yeosang was painfully beautiful. There was a sereneness to his features that wasn’t always there; at work Yeosang looked a little stiff, his expression impassive and perhaps a little cold. But San knew it was because Yeosang is quiet and shy, and a little bit awkward, and had a hard time talking to people he wasn’t familiar with. His face was always smoothed out—unless he was perplexed or frustrated—and he rarely smiled unless he was truly comfortable around someone. San had maybe heard him laugh only a handful of times, and they’d always been sudden and short, like he hadn’t expected to laugh. He really liked Yeosang’s laugh, wanted to be able to hear it so much more.

San did manage to fall asleep again, once the butterflies had quietened and he didn’t feel so wired. They once again gravitated towards one another, only this time, it was San’s head on Yeosang’s shoulder, and his head being used like a pillow by the older man. It was as deep a sleep as one could manage in a two hour period. When they started their descent, San woke up from the sound of the stewardess coming on over the intercom to inform passengers to rebuckle their seatbelts, which neither of them had even taken off.

Getting off of the plane took about as long as getting on the plane, and once they were out and at the arrivals section of the airport, the group stretched their legs and headed off towards baggage claim. They waited patiently (and impatiently, per Wooyoung) for their luggage to come around on the conveyor belt, and once everyone had collected their suitcase, double- and triple-checking that they had the correct ones, they headed out towards the exit. Wooyoung had ordered an Uber on his phone while they were waiting for their bags, and by the time they got outside, the SUV was already waiting for them at the entrance. With Wooyoung confirming that the driver was there for them, they loaded their bags into the trunk, and then piled into the vehicle.

The scenery was beautiful; there were all kinds of trees and flowers that San had never seen in person before, and he still had absolutely no idea where they were. He’d tried asking Wooyoung and the others a handful of times, but they never gave him a straight answer, so he’d given up. He didn’t need to know where they were specifically to know that they were no longer in South Korea—and that it was somewhere tropical, judging from the heat and the breathtaking sights. He was sure that the hotel would be just as nice to look at, but hopefully with a cozy, homey feel to it.

Imagine San’s surprise then, when, around 1:04pm, they roll up to a fucking resort. Wooyoung had said hotel. San distinctly remembers him saying hotel room—which, he supposes, resorts have those, too. But no one had told him that they’d be staying at some fancy, massive resort in some tropical wonderland. He’s a little overwhelmed, and once again struck with just how fucking loaded Wooyoung and Hongjoong are to be able to afford their own first-class plane tickets as well as San and Yeosang’s round trip, and also pay for what San assumes will be fancy fucking rooms at a resort. He wonders if they paid for Yunho and Seonghwa as well—because Wooyoung is generous, and Hongjoong doesn’t really care all that much about money so long as he can live comfortably.

The lobby of the resort is luxurious and stunning. San feels like his head is on a swivel, because he can’t stop looking this way and that to take it all in. Hongjoong once again handles checking them in, this time passing out room keys rather than boarding passes. Their rooms are located on the 17th floor, adjoining with a shared common space sandwiched between Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s and San and Yeosang’s rooms. San doesn’t want to even think about how much money the two of them spent on this couple’s vacation—the thought makes him feel a little sick, especially with the added guilt of being a fake couple dragged along. They pile into an elevator and head up to their floor, which doesn’t take very long, because the lift is state-of-the-art, incredibly smooth and fast.

They quietly make plans to meet up after they get settled in, Yunho mentioning something about wanting to check out the pool together. Wooyoung and Hongjoong disappear into their room first, the former dragging his boyfriend nearly by the collar, probably in desperate need of a nap. After saying a quick goodbye to Seonghwa and Yunho, San unlocks the door to his and Yeosang’s room and helps him carry their luggage inside.

Their room is—San isn’t sure he has words to describe it. It’s bigger than his one-bedroom apartment, he’s more than certain. There’s a large window spanning an entire wall from floor-to-ceiling, with a massive king-size bed perfectly made a couple feet away from it. The bed has a canopy, and there are luxurious-looking chairs and matching oak furniture elegantly organized. Everything almost has a homey feel to it, if it isn’t for the fact that San could just tell from looking at the decor how expensive it is. There’s even a small kitchenette, although he doubts anyone would be doing any cooking on a vacation.

San comes to a halt, dead center. It suddenly hits him that there’s only one bed. Oh. Well, that’s… a problem. He glances at Yeosang, and can see him coming to the same realization that he’d just had. They stare at each other for a moment, a weird tension settling into the air.

“I can sleep on the floor—or the couch,” San blurts out, quickly amending as his face flushes almost the same shade as his hair.

Yeosang bites his bottom lip, setting his carry-on bag onto the coffee table. “I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea, San-ah.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, the edge of panicked nervousness lacing into his voice. He can’t be expected to share a fucking bed with the man he’s secretly in love with, he’ll die. San will absolutely burst into flames from the sheer overload of his feelings for Yeosang. He’ll get no sleep on the entire vacation because he’ll be too consumed by the thought of Yeosang being right next to him. In a bed. The same bed. Together. San absolutely can not.

He, unfortunately, doesn’t have a choice, because Yeosang brings up an extremely pertinent point when he breathes out, “It’ll be suspicious if we don’t share the bed. Our rooms are joined,” he pauses, jerking his chin in the direction of the doors on either wall that connect to the other couples’ rooms. “I know we can lock them, but suppose we forget. What happens then, when someone walks in for whatever reason—and I believe the chance is high because even though I’ve barely even met them, I can tell your friends don’t have a sense of privacy and you’ve also told me how nosy they are—and you’re sleeping as far from me as you can get? It’s not very practical, given our current situation.”

San’s lips curl down in a grimace, and he sucks in a deep, steadying breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry you have to sleep next to me, Yeosang-ah, I really, really didn’t think any of this through.”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind,” Yeosang hums dismissively, stretching his arms over his head as he pads over to the bed. “We should get some practice in, take a nap before going to the pool. I’d rather you not drown because you pass out from exhaustion.”

“How do you even know I’m tired?” San grumbles petulantly, voice taking on a soft whine. He drops his bag carelessly and trudges over to the bed, trying not to show how affected he is by Yeosang’s words.

Yeosang lifts his head to level San with an incredulous look, brow raising. “There’s bags under your eyes, you don’t get up until like noon on a good day—which is why when you applied to Sector 1, you asked for afternoon or closing shifts. If you have to come in early to cover Jongho’s shift, you look like someone pissed in your cereal, and like you’d rather eat paint chips than be awake. I’m also pretty sure you barely slept on the plane, because you somehow look worse than before we got on it, and also—”

“Ya! Okay, I get it,” San bites out, cutting Yeosang off with a visible blush and a pout on his lips.

He stomps over to the other side of the bed, crawling in and gripping onto one of the many pillows, crushing it in his arms. He flops down, squirming under the blankets half-heartedly as he smushes his face into the pillow, eyes lidding immediately as exhaustion sweeps over him. San doesn’t think he’ll have any trouble falling asleep right now, even with Yeosang so close. The older man rolls his eyes with a fond little quirk of the lips, and slides under the covers with ease. There’s plenty of space between them, but San swears he can feel Yeosang’s warmth, and it’s making the butterflies return.

San closes his eyes, trying to imagine that he’s back home, in his own bed, alone—but this bed is far more comfortable than his, and he can hear Yeosang’s soft breathing. He focuses on each in- and exhale, subconsciously matching his own breathing up with the other man’s. San melts into the mattress, feeling like he’s sinking into a cloud, and before he knows it, he’s asleep, as comfortable and content as can be. There’s plenty of space on this bed; it’s massive, after all. Still, somehow they end up a lot closer in their sleep, until their arms are brushing, and they’re breathing each other’s air.

Their nap lasts for three hours, and then an alarm is going off, startling San out of sleep. He hadn’t even noticed that Yeosang had set an alarm. The older man turns, smacking at the nightstand as he fumbles to find his phone—and then the room is thrown back into blissful silence. San groans, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. He takes a while to wake up, no matter how well-rested he is, but he can still tell that the nap really did a lot of good. The deeply rooted exhaustion is nowhere to be found despite the sleepiness that still clings to him.

He considers saying fuck it, and falling back to sleep—Yeosang doesn’t look that far behind him—but as luck would have it, they hadn’t checked to make sure the doors that connected their rooms to the others were locked. Wooyoung throws the door open, looking bright-eyed and not at all like the demonic gremlin he’d been only hours before. The difference between Wooyoung without proper sleep and with it is stark, almost jarring.

“Wake the fuck up, you two! I heard your alarm go off,” Wooyoung trills as he skips into the room and over to their bed. He throws himself onto it with a grunt, displacing San and Yeosang, and making them both grumble and whine their irritation and displeasure. “We wanna head to the pool before we order dinner. They’ll bring it around for us in the common room.”

Wooyoung wiggles his way between them, popping up to sit on his calves. He prods at them both, trying to annoy them into either sitting up or banishing him from the room. Either way, his goal of making sure that they’re both awake will be accomplished. He tilts his head, looking down at Yeosang, whose black hair is mussed up and sticking out in every direction. Wooyoung continues to eye him before breaking out into a grin, reaching down to pinch his cheeks.

“No wonder Sannie likes you so much, Sangie,” he coos, squishing his face between his palms and forcing Yeosang’s lips to purse. “You’re so cute!”

San groans, hiding his face and kicking Wooyoung in the side before shouting, “Hyung! Come get your menace of a boyfriend before I throw him out the window!”

A cackle bursts out of Wooyoung, and he jumps out of the bed, sprinting off to the connected room and slamming the door shut behind himself. Yeosang blinks slowly, turning his head to regard San. “Is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately,” San sighs, sitting up to stretch out his back.

The two of them take turns getting ready in the bathroom, brushing their hair and teeth and changing into their swimming trunks. San throws on a muscle tee, glancing over at Yeosang. The older man is drowning in fabric, a very loose plain t-shirt tugged on and nearly swallowing up his swim shorts. San tries as hard as he can not to stare, once again struck with the fact that Yeosang is far too adorable for words. After slipping their feet into a pair of sandals, they head out into the hall, where Wooyoung and Hongjoong are already waiting for them.

Yunho and Seonghwa join them shortly after, and together, the group of six head to an elevator to make their way down to the outdoor pool. When they reach the lobby, they follow the signs around to a hall leading towards the back of the resort. None of them are very good with directions, but they manage to find the back exit. The pool is located down near the edge of the beach, overlooking the ocean. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still burning brightly, and the humidity in the air is heavy. The breeze from the water is cooling enough for the tropical heat to not feel overbearing, though.

There’s a winding staircase that leads down to the pool, which they walk down in pairs. Wooyoung and Hongjoong lead the way, holding hands that the younger of the two swings back and forth as he chatters excitedly. In the middle is Yunho and Seonghwa, hands kept to themselves in favor of carrying towels and sunblock. San and Yeosang bring up the rear, at least a foot of space between them. He can’t help but to think that they must not look like a couple at all—they’re far too awkward, but it seems like his friends still believe that they’re dating. None of them have questioned the validity of their relationship (yet), so they must think that they’re still awkward because they’re in the beginning stages of being together. It’s a relief to feel a lack of pressure to act like a couple—but San isn’t sure how long it’ll last, knowing who he’s friends with.

When they reach the pool, they claim a section of chairs even though they’re the only people there. Seonghwa lays towels out on six lounge chairs before settling on one. They kick off their shoes, tucking them beneath their designated seats, before stripping down to their swimwear. Hongjoong is wearing a pair of swimshorts that are relatively on the shorter side; they cling to his muscular thighs, and half of the black spandex is hidden by a flowy half-skirt that hits his knee. The rest of them (apart from Yeosang, who looks like he’s wearing a pair of workout shorts) are wearing typical swim trunks in varying colors and styles.

Wooyoung moves to jump into the pool, but he’s caught by Hongjoong and yanked back towards the chairs, a disapproving scowl curling down his lips. “No, I’m not spending our vacation hearing you bitch about getting turned into a lobster because you forgot to put on sunblock.”

“Put it on me?” Wooyoung asks cutely, batting his lashes at his boyfriend.

Hongjoong’s scowl deepens, his nose wrinkling up. “I don’t want to. You know I hate the way it feels on my hands.”

When Wooyoung starts to whine petulantly, all glossy wide-eyes and pouty lips, Hongjoong caves easily. With delight, Wooyoung settles onto his chair, letting his head fall forward to prevent sunblock from getting all over the longer blond strands of his duo-toned hair as Hongjoong diligently applies it to his back.

On the other side of them, Seonghwa and Yunho take turns helping each other without a fight. They don’t even discuss the matter—it’s a given for them that when one of them can’t reach, the other helps without question. It’s a funny little stark difference to the couples that make up San’s friend group. They’re so vastly different, but they work well together in a way that they just fit. Seonghwa thanks Yunho for his help with a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek, which gets returned when Yunho is fully coated in a layer of sunblock.

Wooyoung pauses in smearing sunblock over Hongjoong’s shoulders, turning keen eyes to San and Yeosang. The two of them are standing awkwardly next to one another, with Yeosang picking at his nails nervously, and San shifting from foot to foot. Raising a brow, Wooyoung cocks his head to the side, slipping his arms around Hongjoong’s neck as he leans into him.

“San-ah, aren’t you going to help your boyfriend?” he questions, the inquisitive tone to his voice entirely fake. San swallows, feeling a little on edge. He knows how perceptive Wooyoung is, and he can’t have him figuring out that the entire “boyfriend” thing is a rouse just because he’s awkward as fuck around his crush.

Yeosang bites his lip, holding up his hands. “Oh no, it’s okay, I can do it myself—”

“You’re going to miss parts of your back, you know,” Wooyoung says matter-of-factly, eyes glistening with a catlike mischief. “You’re boyfriends, right? A little innocent touch like that isn’t a big deal. ‘S not like I’m asking you to fuck each other or something.”

San sputters, glaring daggers of embarrassment and annoyance at Wooyoung; he knew his relief would only last so long with him around. Ignoring the nosy gremlin he calls a best friend, San turns to Yeosang, gesturing with his fingers for the older man to turn his back to him.

“Just let me help, he’s not going to let it go,” San murmurs, quiet enough that only Yeosang can hear him.

Nodding tentatively, Yeosang does as instructed, nearly jumping out of his skin when warm hands coated in cool sunblock placidly splay out over his back. The attention is thankfully off of them once more, but San can’t really focus on his friends anyway. His heart lives in his throat, butterflies erupting in his stomach because not only is he touching Yeosang, but his bare skin as well. It’s smooth, and he can feel the way his muscles twitch and flex beneath his fingers.

San’s mouth runs dry, and he swallows noisily. He’s careful in his application, trying desperately not to get too caught up in the way that it feels to touch Yeosang. It’s innocent, it is, but his thoughts can’t help to turn a little south, and it’s embarrassing. He both feels relief and disappointment when he’s done, like it took way too long and yet ended too soon. Yeosang whirls around and puts his hands on San’s arms, guiding him to turn away. Shock jolts through San as he realizes that Yeosang is intending to return the favor.

If San had thought it was hard to keep his head on straight when he was touching the other man, he was sorely mistaken. Having Yeosang touch him is so much worse. Electricity dances over his skin, and he can feel the phantom touch of where Yeosang’s hands have been and no longer linger. It’s nearly torture for San; he really hadn’t thought any of this through, didn’t realize how much touching they’d have to do. It suddenly dawns on San that they’ll have to touch more, stand closer together, hold hands—oh fuck, what if they have to kiss?

His heart really can’t take much more of this, but at least Yeosang finishes applying sunblock to his back rather quickly. He doesn’t have time to dwell on anything (or possibly get semi-hard from a few, simple little innocent touches), because as soon as they’re all done with the sunblock, they’re heading into the pool.

“Let’s play volleyball,” Yunho suggests after moseying around the pool’s edge and finding a net and a ball. “Teams of three?”

“That sounds like fun,” Yeosang drawls, moving to help Yunho untangle and set up the net.

Knowing his friends, San thinks this might end up being a bit of a mistake. They’re all insanely competitive—but he doesn’t feel like Yeosang will have a hard time keeping up. He’s incredibly fit, and San had known that already, but seeing and touching his muscles when they weren’t hidden away by layers of clothing is a different matter entirely.

“I wanna be on Yunnie’s team!” Wooyoung demands. He jumps into the pool with a screech, disappearing below the surface before popping back up. “Hwa-hyung too.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, shooting his boyfriend a dirty look. “Of course you want the trees on your team.”

“Yun is also super athletic, duh,” Wooyoung snorts, sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend. “What, scared you’re gonna lose, tiny?”

“We’re the same height, you fucking trash panda,” Hongjoong seethes, jaw clenching. He grabs onto San’s arm and drags him into the pool, already fired up and ready to make his boyfriend cry when he loses. “You’re forgetting that Sannie here used to play volleyball.”

“Like, actual, real volleyball? On a team?” Yeosang inquires curiously, looking up from the knots he’d been tying into the post to keep the net in place.

“Oh, yeah, San-ah was real good,” Wooyoung pipes up, smiling brightly while eyeing San. “He was a… like, libero? Whatever. He was on the team all throughout high school. He did a lot of extracurriculars for being as unsociable as he is.”

“I’m not unsociable.”

Yunho drops into the pool and wades over to Seonghwa, head tilting to the side. “Mm, wasn’t he doing like, Taekwondo at his father’s dojo too?”

“Remember how scrawny he was?” Wooyoung blurts out before dissolving into giggles, curling in on himself. “He was so—so tiny and twinky. No one ever suspected that itty bitty Choi San was an athletic fucking prodigy.”

Rounding the edge of the pool to San and Hongjoong’s side, Yeosang carefully lowers himself into the water, inquisitive gaze locked on San. “You didn’t tell me about that. I thought you just liked going to the gym.”

“It never really came up,” San mumbles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah, I was really into sports and martial arts when I was younger.”

“That’s really cool,” Yeosang says with a smile.

All further conversation is cut short by Yunho, who calls out, “Enough talk; let’s play!”

It’s a close game. Playing volleyball in the water is a lot different than it is on a court. It’s harder, having to fight against the water, especially with only three players per team. They all mess up a lot, but no one has any hard feelings when the rest of the group laughs at them. Yeosang is surprisingly good at playing; he’d struggled at first, familiar with volleyball as a concept but never having actually played it before. He’s a natural, though, able to pick it up with ease after the first thirty minutes of playing.

They trade points back and forth, having decided to only play one round, and that the first team to reach a score of ten would win. Wooyoung has a bit of a hard time keeping his head above water as he flounders about, trying to prevent San’s team from scoring. Yunho and Seonghwa are a well-oiled machine, working well together despite the younger man’s lack of skill. For every point they manage, however, San’s team takes one with ease. Hongjoong and Yeosang may only be a bit shorter than San, none of them near as tall as Yunho, but together they’re essentially deadly.

It may not seem like it from their cool exteriors, but both Yeosang and Hongjoong are extremely competitive. The most competitive people in their little group are those two, Yunho and Wooyoung, though Seonghwa and San are also competitive—they just don’t care as much about winning as the other four do. Despite the aggressive gameplay, they’re all having a blast, easily laughing and throwing teasing barbs at one another.

With the score at 9 to 9, the tension in the game picks up. Whoever scores the next point wins the game for their team—and Yunho’s team has the advantage, because he’s serving. In spite of his targeted attempts to try and score a point without the other team being able to even touch the ball, San’s libero instincts kick in. He darts forward (as fast as he can in the water) and bumps the ball up before it can hit the surface, shouting out Hongjoong’s name. Hongjoong sets the ball, and it arcs over San’s head, lining up perfectly for their third teammate.

Yeosang jumps up, graceful despite the hindrance of the water, and his eyes flick over the faces of the other team. Seonghwa and Yunho are moving in, but they’re not fast enough. Targeting Wooyoung, Yeosang spikes the ball; it hits the surface of the water a few inches away from Wooyoung, who lets out a startled squawk as water splashes over his face. A cry of victory rises from their team, and San rushes over to Yeosang to sweep him up into his arms. He twirls them around clumsily, water sloshing, and soft, pleased giggles burst out of Yeosang.

“You fucking did it!” San shouts, laughing in delight. Yeosang clutches onto his shoulders, the fear of being dropped outweighed by his pure joy, though he still feels the need to cling onto San. “You’re amazing, Yeo!”

“It’s not fair,” Wooyoung whines, drawing out the last syllable in a grating nasally tone. “I didn’t know we were going up against a team of demons.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Wooyoung-ah,” Hongjoong drawls, swimming under the net towards his boyfriend. When he reaches him, he tickles his sides, turning his pout into a wobbly smile that Wooyoung tries to keep off his face. “No! Don’t touch me, you should’ve let me win because you love me.”

“That’s not how the game works, Youngie,” Seonghwa sighs, but he’s wearing a fond smile as he pulls himself out of the pool. “You all played really well together. It was a lot of fun, but now I’m tired.” He pads over to their chairs, wet feet slapping on concrete, before easing down and stretching out along the lounger.

“You sure you two haven’t been playing volleyball together or something?” Yunho asks, swimming up to San and Yeosang—who remember the way they’re clinging onto each other, and immediately detach, faces flushed. “That seemed incredibly coordinated for your first time.”

Yeosang shakes his head bashfully, pushing wet strands of black hair out of his face. He stares up at Yunho shyly, before directing his gaze back to San. “No, I’ve never even played before. I just have a knack for picking things up, I guess.”

“Scary athletic prodigy couple,” Wooyoung grumbles, reaching up to let Hongjoong help him out of the pool. “Remind me to never play games with you two again.”

“I’ll take it easier on you next time if you don’t invite yourself into our bed again,” Yeosang quips, and San’s face heats up—but he can’t help but laugh at the mix of bewilderment and embarrassment on Wooyoung’s face.

Wooyoung splutters, crossing his arms and flopping himself down onto a chair. “I changed my mind, I don’t like you, Sangie. You’re not cute at all.”

“Ignore him, he’s just a brat,” Hongjoong announces, rolling his eyes. He ignores the way that Wooyoung swats at him when he gets closer. “He likes you because you can take his teasing and dish it back out with ease. Wooyoung-ah’s a little freak like that, he likes to be bullied.”

“Hyung,” Wooyoung whimpers, trying to shove Hongjoong away. “You’re foul. A liar. I do not.”

“Can you not air your kinks out in public?” Seonghwa asks, his soft voice drawn thin with exasperation. “We know far more about your sex life just from you two opening your mouths than accidentally walking in on you going at it in places you shouldn’t be.”

Yunho speaks up, expression solemn as he sighs, “Everything I’ve ever learned about the freaky shit you two like to get up to has been against my will.”

“Oh fuck off,” Wooyoung chokes out on a laugh. “Just because you two prefer to keep it in the bedroom doesn’t mean you’re less freaky. I saw those fuzzy handcuffs you forgot to take off the railing on your bed, you know.”

A distressed sound rattles in San’s throat. He feels like he’s going to combust, and Yeosang doesn’t look any better. His face is flushed pinker than San’s hair. “I’m sorry, they’re always like this.”

San doesn’t like hearing about (or accidentally witnessing) his friends’ sex lives; Seonghwa and Yunho, at the very least, like to keep it as private as they can. The level of PDA they engage in is cute, even, all soft kisses and starry eyes and holding hands. Wooyoung and Hongjoong don’t know the meaning of private. And they certainly went far beyond simply hand-holding and kissing in public. Perhaps it wouldn’t bother San as much if he was… experienced. But as it is, he’s only ever kissed before.

He can’t imagine it’s very pleasant for Yeosang to hear, either, considering that San’s friends are still relatively strangers to him. San really admires him for taking all of this in stride, especially when he just chuckles softly and shakes his head, breathing out, “It’s fine, Sannie. It doesn’t really bother me, I was just a little… shocked, at how open your friends are.”

“Have you two fucked yet?” Wooyoung blurts, eyeing San and Yeosang with a wicked little smirk. “You’re so awkward around each other and I could practically cut your sexual tension with a knife, so my votes on no. It’d probably do you good to blow off some steam, you know.”

San should’ve known that they wouldn’t have escaped this line of questioning once on the subject of sex. He groans, hiding his face in his hands, decidedly not wanting to engage Wooyoung at all. He truly is a menace, and absolutely insufferable, even if San does love his best friend and would hate to be without him. Sometimes, though, the thought of drowning him in a pool or ditching him wherever the fuck they are before they head back to Seoul is incredibly tempting. He can barely look at Yeosang now, not after the topic of discussion becoming them, but from the glances he manages to take, he seems equally as mortified.

“Why don’t we head in?” Seonghwa asks, checking the time on his phone—mercifully saving the two of them from Wooyoung and his sure to be insistent interrogation. “It’s 6:30 already; we should order dinner soon.”

Relief crashes into San, and he quickly agrees, taking Yeosang’s hand without thinking and climbing up the stairs and out of the pool together. The group of six gather up their things to head back up to their rooms with the plan of getting cleaned up and changing to meet in the common room for dinner. San doesn’t let go of Yeosang’s hand the entire time, not even when he notices Yeosang lace their fingers together. His heart slams against his ribcage, and the butterflies return.

Part of him can’t wait for the next two days to rush by, because he can tell that Wooyoung plans to make himself a complete and utter nuisance by meddling and sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. San knows that it’s just in his nature to be the way he is, and that he genuinely means well, so he doesn’t mind all that much. He’s just embarrassed and awkward, and a little sad that it’s really all for nothing. The rest of him is dreading the end of this vacation, of the return to normalcy, because he’s no closer to confessing his feelings to Yeosang than he was before all of this.

San kind of wants this vacation to last just a little longer, so he can keep pretending. He squeezes Yeosang’s hand a little tighter. Either way, he intends to make the most of it, and regret nothing at all.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Saturday starts off bright and early, the group gathering in the common room for breakfast. The spread is as beautiful as it is delicious, and once everyone eats their fill, they split off to return to their rooms to get ready for the day. Wooyoung had a loose plan of what he wanted them all to do, with enough periods of time for the couples to split off and do their own things. It’s another blisteringly hot day, so the group dresses in very few layers and thin shirts and jean shorts. Yeosang looks simultaneously cute and extremely attractive; he’s wearing shorts like the rest of them, but the shirt he’d chosen he rolled up the sleeves of to sit at his shoulders, exposing his muscular arms. San is having a really hard time not staring at his biceps.

After the previous day, he’d gotten a lot more comfortable being close to Yeosang. Even sleeping in the same bed hadn’t been a problem after their “practice” nap yesterday afternoon. San had had no trouble falling asleep with the jetlag on top of the exhaustion of exerting himself in the pool. Add onto it the sleepiness that came with a filling meal, and he was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow. He doesn’t even have to think about it or second guess himself when he reaches out to take Yeosang’s hand in his.

Wooyoung chatters on and on about all of the sights there are to see, never once mentioning where the fuck they are—but San is far past caring about their location. The group of six wanders out of the hotel and down towards a little touristy area tucked close to the beach. They spend hours perusing the shops, splitting off into pairs. San and Yeosang walk hand in hand down the road, looking over all the cute little trinkets for sale. They come to a stop outside of one of them, the older man’s eye caught by pretty jewelry made of seashells and braided twine.

Making a quick decision that he won’t let himself back out of, San gently tugs Yeosang inside of the shop. They wander along the displays, carefully touching different necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. San had made the mistake of letting Wooyoung pierce his ears when they were in high school, but his skin is too sensitive, so he hadn’t worn earrings in a long time. He’s pretty sure the holes in his ears had closed up by now, but Yeosang’s lobes are pierced, and he wears simple studs most of the time. Without thinking, San picks up a pair of pretty earrings.

They dangle, the shells shiny and catching the light when he moves them. He palms them gently before pulling Yeosang further in. The two of them pick out matching bracelets, and then San tugs him along to the counter. He pays for everything, refusing to even humor Yeosang on his offers to split the cost. When they leave the shop, they take turns helping each other tie the bracelets in place, taking a moment to admire the pretty shells wrapped in twine. They link their hands back together and resume their walk down the rows of shops.

San pockets the earrings, silently promising himself that if he ever has the courage to properly confess to Yeosang, they’ll be the gift that goes along with them. He hadn’t been blind to the way that Yeosang had been looking at them when San had purchased them, which made him feel confident in his sudden choice of a gift.

Further along the strip, San spots Seonghwa and Yunho, arms linked. Seonghwa has his head resting on Yunho’s shoulder as they look over little jars filled with white sand and seashells. The two of them walk over to the other couple, linking their fingers together as they do so.

“Hey,” San says as they get closer, and Seonghwa lifts his head up, turning it in their direction with a happy, dazed expression on his face. “Have you seen Wooyoung-ah and Hongjoong-hyung?”

“I think they wandered down to the beach to wait for us,” Yunho responds, wrapping his arm around Seonghwa. He finalizes his purchase, picking up one of the jars.

San studies Seonghwa’s face, his brows pinching and lips curling down in a frown. Seonghwa’s eyes are rimmed in red, and they look a bit glossy. His cheeks are flushed, and San almost doesn’t want to know what the hell his hyungs have been up to—but Seonghwa’s lips are only a little swollen, and neither of them are the type to fuck around in public spaces.

“Are you okay, Hwa-hyung? Have you been crying?” San prods gently, concern clear on his face.

“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry,” Seonghwa hums, his smile growing brighter. He leans further into Yunho’s side, practically hanging off of him and melting into him. It’s a little odd to see them so clingy in public; normally their skinship is a bit more subdued, so it doesn’t really make much sense to San.

“If you two are done looking around, let’s head down to the beach,” Yunho says, jerking his chin down the way that San and Yeosang had come from. “Wooyoung-ah wants to barbecue and have a bonfire tonight.”

“That sounds really nice,” Yeosang comments. “Who’s grilling?”

“It’ll mostly be Wooyoung-ah,” San replies casually as they start to walk. Yunho and Seonghwa lag behind a little bit, which only makes San feel a little more worried, but he lets it go for now. “He’s really good at cooking and it’s something he enjoys, and if Seonghwa-hyung is okay, he’ll probably help too. I can’t cook to save my life, but Hongjoong-hyung and Yunho-hyung are also pretty decent when it comes to grilling meat.”

“So I won’t have to help?” Yeosang asks, sounding relieved.

“Why, are you as hopeless in the kitchen as I am?” San teases, feeling bold. He slips his hand free in favor of wrapping it around Yeosang’s waist and pulling him closer. He hopes the older man can’t hear or feel how his heart is going into overdrive, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, Yeosang tucks his hand into San’s back pocket casually, leaning against him as they walk. “I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless, but grilling meat isn’t really my strong suit.”

They step off of the asphalt and onto the sand when they make it to the edge of the tourist strip and the start of the beach. The sand is pretty and white, but loose and relatively hard to walk on. Yeosang disentangles himself from San’s hold, jumping up onto his back and nearly making him topple over. Automatically, San brings his hands up to hook under Yeosang’s thighs to hold him steady as arms curl around his neck. Yeosang rests his chin on San’s shoulder, humming playfully.

“I don’t like getting sand in my sandals; carry me,” he drawls, letting San adjust his grip to ensure he won’t be dropped.

San tries hard not to stumble as he resumes walking, hiking Yeosang’s legs up a little higher. “Whatever you want, brat prince.”

Yeosang snorts, kicking his foot against San’s thigh. “Noble steeds don’t backtalk.”

A laugh bursts out of San, and he nearly falls into the sand from the force of his amusement. Yeosang lets out a quiet yelp, clinging onto him tighter, his thighs pinching together around San’s waist to stabilize himself. It makes the air in San’s lungs get lost, his breath catching from the sensation of having Yeosang’s legs gripping onto him. His cheeks burns, a flush rapidly spreading over his skin, and he’s suddenly very thankful that Yeosang can’t see his face. San keeps walking, keeping his head turned towards the front, eyes glancing around the beach but not really taking in any visual information.

He didn’t think about how close Yeosang is until he’d almost fallen—and now it’s all San can think about. He can feel the older man’s torso molded to his back, feel his every in- and exhale, the rise and fall of his muscular chest. He’s touching bare skin; the way he’s holding onto Yeosang’s legs has his fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shorts, and his own skin feels like he’s going to burn up from the inside out. Hot puffs of breath hit the back of his neck, making hairs stand on end, and San thinks he might go a little insane from this close proximity. It’s so much worse than just sharing a bed, but he can’t just drop Yeosang for no reason. He’d have no excuses.

San is pulled out of his own swirling thoughts and his fixation of the way it feels to have Yeosang pressed against him (he tries really hard not to think about the dig of the older man’s hips into his lower back, or the press of—) by a shout. He looks up, spotting Wooyoung a little ways away waving at them. There’s a little grill set up next to Hongjoong (San isn’t going to question where the hell they got it), and a stack of firewood for when the sun goes down. San trudges over to them, letting Yeosang dismount his back when they’re a couple of feet away. They’re joined a few moments later by Seonghwa and Yunho, who are still being just as weirdly touchy as they were in the little market.

While Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa grill, Yunho, San, and Yeosang busy themselves with digging a firepit into the sand. They set up the logs in an organized pile, trying to leave enough spaces for the fire to be able to breathe when they eventually start it. Afterwards, the three of them start dragging over stumps to place around the pit to sit on. By the time they have everything ready, the meat is done cooking, so they all take turns piling their plates high and sitting around the unlit firepit.

As they’re eating, Seonghwa clears his throat, setting his plate onto his lap carefully. Four pairs of eyes turn to him and Yunho. Everyone is wearing similar expressions of curiosity, and for once Wooyoung is silent and patient, waiting for Seonghwa to speak.

“I have a feeling that you guys knew this was coming,” Seonghwa starts, looking down at his lap before taking a deep breath. He lifts his head, a grin breaking out over his face as he holds up his hand. “Yunho proposed!”

Wooyoung lets out a shriek, abandoning his plate and scrambling over to Seonghwa to grab his hand. He turns it left and right, admiring the simple band adorning his ring finger. “Oh my god! Congrats! I’m so happy for you, baby.”

“About time you grew a pair, Yun,” Hongjoong teases, but there’s no heat to his words, and he looks genuinely happy for the couple. “Seriously, man, congrats. Told you he’d say yes.”

San smiles, all of the weirdness from earlier suddenly making sense. He feels a sense of relief and joy for his friends, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Hwa-hyung, Yunho-hyung, I’m really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, San-ah,” Yunho hums happily, his expression turning sheepish. “I’m sorry that, uh, I didn’t include you guys in the proposal. I wanted it to be really simple and private.”

“Don’t apologize, dummy,” Wooyoung huffs, frowning at Yunho before hopping up to his feet and throwing his arms around him in a too-tight hug. “You don’t owe anyone anything; it’s not about us, it’s about you and hyung.”

Seonghwa smiles happily, looking out over all of their faces with tears glossing his eyes. “I love you guys, I’m happy that I get to share this with you all. I hope you guys will help us with wedding planning when we get back.”

“Don’t be a sap, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong groans, blinking rapidly. “I don’t wanna cry on my vacation.”

“Of course we’ll help,” San cuts in, reaching over to pat Hongjoong’s shoulder gently. “We’re happy to be a part of this in any way you want us to be.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, releasing his hold on Yunho to grip Seonghwa in a backbreaking hug. “Wedding stuff is a lot, so we wanna help to make it less stressful for you, hyung. You can always count on us.”

Yeosang shifts awkwardly on his stump when Seonghwa turns his gaze onto him. “Um, I hope this isn’t presumptuous, Yeosang-ah, but I think we all like you a lot, so I hope when we get back, you’ll want to be friends with us. If so, I’d really like to get to know you more, and um. We can hang out while planning, if you’d like.”

Looking like a deer caught in the headlights with eyes wide, entirely caught off guard, Yeosang opens his mouth to speak—but no words come out. He curls his arms around himself, his expression turning bashful as he turns his gaze to the sand. “I’d actually really like that. I don’t have many friends, so. This is… more than I’m used to already, but I think you guys are fun. I’d like to see you all more. Oh. But—” he cuts off, looking up at San in uncertainty.

San understands immediately what he’s thinking, and he reaches over to take Yeosang’s hand, a reassuring smile on his face. “I think it’s a good idea.”

They’ll have to talk about it later. Discuss what their breakup story will be, probably something along the lines of it being amicable. They’d still be friends, hopefully real friends, so San’s friends would still want to see Yeosang, too. They don’t have to keep pretending to be dating for the group to want to keep seeing Yeosang come around. His friends are really good people, and San can tell that they truly do like Yeosang a lot. The last thing San wants is to deprive Yeosang of new friendships and comfortable connections with other people just because he happened to do San a strange favor. Hell, if Yeosang would prefer to come clean, San would do that, too. It’s not a comfortable thing to lie to your friends, or have friendships start out on the basis of a lie. Whatever Yeosang wants, San is more than willing to do.

They all finish eating in relative silence after the good news, disposing of their waste in the proper receptacle. Wooyoung and Hongjoong are the first to wander off, a throw blanket in hand. San doesn’t have to think too hard about what they’re probably planning to do. He makes a mental note to not head in the direction they disappeared into, because so far on this vacation, he hadn’t seen anything he didn’t want to see, and he doesn’t want to start now. Seonghwa and Yunho strip out of their clothes and down to their swimming trunks and walk hand in hand to wade into the ocean together, leaving San and Yeosang on their own.

He doesn’t want to talk about anything now; he’s having a really fun time, and he doesn’t want to bring his mood down. So instead, San reaches out to take Yeosang’s hand, pulling him to his feet. They leave their shoes behind to walk along the shore, leaning close together with their fingers twisting together. The silence between them is always comfortable. San doesn’t ever feel the need to awkwardly babble to fill it; he can just simply exist in Yeosang’s presence. It seems like Yeosang is at ease with him too, and no matter how many times he gets that feeling, it never ceases to make San incredibly happy.

The waves lick at their ankles as they slowly walk along the beach. The wet sand is a lot more stable than the dry, so neither of them have to struggle to stay upright. They watch the sun begin its steady descent towards the horizon, the sun shifting from clear blue to hues of oranges and pinks the lower it gets.

“Do you… when this is all over, will you want to actually be friends, San-ah?” Yeosang murmurs, looking out over the ocean. His hand tightens on San’s nearly imperceptibly.

San takes in Yeosang’s profile, studying the straight line of his nose into the subtle curve. He’s so pretty it’s almost painful to look at him, especially in the golden light of the fading sun. “I’ve wanted to actually be friends for a long time.”

“So why didn’t you ever say anything?”

That’s the real question; San never had to confess his feelings, he could’ve just tried to be Yeosang’s friend first. He supposes it could be hard, to keep feelings of love held in and just be someone’s friend, but San never has any expectations. He’s content to be friends and have nothing more between them. Sighing softly, San looks out towards the beach, digging his toes into the sand.

“I’m not… I think you’re leagues above me, Yeosang-ah. You’re quiet, and I know people who don’t know you think you’re intimidating, and perhaps a little scary. But I don’t think that, because I know that you’re really sweet, and you’re sensitive. You’re funny, and you’re cool, and I really like you a lot,” San trails off, slowing to a stop while he mulls over his thoughts. “So in a way, you do intimidate me. I thought that someone as amazing as you wouldn’t want to see someone like me outside of work.”

Yeosang turns to look at San, his expression almost blank, but his brows pinch in perplexion. He stares at the younger man like he’s grown another head, like he’s trying to puzzle him out and just can’t seem to put the pieces together. “What does that mean? ‘Someone like you’?”

He can’t meet Yeosang’s eyes when he answers. “Like, well. I’m really awkward, and I’m shy, and I sometimes talk too much when I get nervous. I like people, but I’m bad at socializing, and just because I like someone doesn’t mean they’ll like being around me. I’m lucky to have the friends that I do, but outside of those four, I haven’t made friends, really. The only reason I even have them is because of Wooyoung-ah. I think you, Mingi, and Jongho are really cool, and I see you all like friends, but at the end of the day, we’re just coworkers—except for you three being actual friends with each other. I suppose it felt more like… like I was overstepping? Trying to add myself to a group of friends that was already complete.”

Unable to stop himself, Yeosang snorts, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. But, San-ah…” he trails off, moving to stand in front of San until he’s able to catch his eyes. Their fingers stay interlaced, and Yeosang gives the hand in his a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m really awkward and shy, too. I’m not good with people or words, most of the time. Making friends doesn’t come easy to me, but I’ve always liked you.”

“Oh,” San says, dumbly, blinking rapidly as he stares down at Yeosang. He can feel his cheeks heating up.

“It’s a little funny that it took this for me to realize that you wanted to be my friend, too,” Yeosang sighs, moving a little closer to San. “You’re cute, you know? You don’t have to overthink everything. You can just… act.”

As if to prove a point, Yeosang pushes up on his toes, pressing a kiss to San’s cheek, before ducking his head down in embarrassment.

When the sun starts to disappear behind the horizon, the two of them head back towards where their group of friends are, already gathered around the firepit and getting the fire started. The silence is once again comfortable, but now there’s a weird tension settling between them. If only it were as simple as Yeosang made it out to be. San would love more than anything not to have to think, to simply just act. It would be nice if it was easy, to confess his feelings, to kiss Yeosang the way he wants to. But it isn’t easy, and not everything is black and white. Yeosang may like him as a friend, but it doesn’t mean that he feels the same way that San does.

They sit down once they reach the group, settling onto their stumps. Wooyoung passes out sticks while Seonghwa breaks out a bag of marshmallows, and they start roasting them over the fire. It’s sticky and messy, but it’s a wonderful way to end the relaxing day. They toss their sticks into the flames when they’re done with them, and then San slips down to sit on the sand with his back resting against the stump. Seonghwa curls up in Yunho’s lap, watching the fire lick at the wood and the flames dance up and disappear into the sky.

Yeosang moves to sit beside San, leaning into his side. His hand falls onto San’s thigh, and the younger of the two swallows nervously, tensing up imperceptibly. His heart starts to race in his chest as he sets his hand atop of Yeosang’s, squeezing his fingers. Wooyoung looks over at them from his perch on his stump, hands idly combing through Hongjoong’s blue hair and weaving the tresses into braids. Hongjoong is sitting between Wooyoung’s thighs with his cheek resting against his knee, looking halfway to falling asleep.

“You two are so cute,” Wooyoung sighs, dragging his fingernails lightly against Hongjoong’s scalp to remove the braids, only to start twisting them back into place. “Not to be gross, but I’m really happy that Sannie found you, Sangie. How did you two get together?”

Luckily, they’d planned for something like this, and the both of them had their story straight. San and Yeosang take turns telling their fake ‘how they got together’ story, subtly scooting closer together. Wooyoung coos here and there, letting his hands slip away from his boyfriend’s hair to settle onto his shoulders. He ends up hunched over, arms curled around Hongjoong’s neck loosely and chin resting on the crown of his head. Seonghwa sits up a little, an adoring expression on his pretty face.

“That’s so precious,” he murmurs, glancing at Yunho with stars in his eyes. “It kind of reminds me of when Yun asked me on a date that first time. He was so nervous, it was cute. I was really surprised he was even interested in me.”

“Hyung, you’re hot as fuck? Why wouldn’t Yunnie be interested in you?” Wooyoung snorts, rolling his eyes. Seonghwa gives him a dirty look and receives a petulant tongue stuck out in his direction in return.

“It doesn’t remind me at all what it was like to be harassed by Wooyoung-ah,” Hongjoong bites out, reaching up a hand to caress his boyfriend’s cheek blindly. “This little shit was too confident for his own good, like he knew I’d come around eventually.”

Wooyoung scoffs, affection on his face as he nuzzles his cheek against Hongjoong’s head. “Was I wrong, Hongjoong-ssi?”

“No, but you’re on thin fucking ice as it is, brat,” Hongjoong grumbles, snaking his arms around Wooyoung’s calves and settling more firmly back against the stump and his boyfriend’s stomach. “Everyday you make me reconsider agreeing to date you.”

“You’re full of shit, and you know it,” Yunho cuts in, head thrown back on a laugh. “I’m sure even Yeosang-ah can see how fucking smitten you are. You can’t even keep your hands to yourself, mister 'I hate skinship, I’d rather throw myself in the ocean than touch another person.’”

“Nn, remember when that random guy hit on Wooyoung-ah at the club when we were in college?” San asks, throwing a delighted sneer in Hongjoong’s direction. “They weren’t even dating at that point, and Youngie literally only had eyes for hyung, but he got so pissy that he dragged him outside?”

“God,” Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head at the memory. “I think that was Joong-ah’s breaking point, actually. Because shortly after that, they’d finally got their shit together and made it official.”

“It’s like I’m not even here,” Hongjoong mutters, and Wooyoung giggles softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Think they’d talk about that night if they knew what happened after I pulled you out, jagiya?”

“Mm, probably not, Joongie-hyung. I think they’d regret even bringing it up,” Wooyoung teases, smirking like the cat that ate the canary. “I mean, since we’re sharing our get-together stories…”

Yunho lets out an annoyed groan, throwing a marshmallow at the other couple. It hits Wooyoung square in the face, making him squawk. “Please, I really don’t wanna hear about how you fucked yourselves into a relationship.”

Yeosang watches the group go back and forth with a fond little smile curling up his lips. He seems to be enjoying himself despite not being able to reminisce. San keeps flicking his eyes over to check that he doesn’t feel left out, but he seems content. It makes San genuinely happy to have Yeosang fit into his little friend group. He truly hopes that when all things are said and done, that Yeosang will still feel like he has a place with his friends, and judging from their earlier conversation, it seems incredibly likely.

After they clean up their surroundings and put out the fire, the sun having long since set, the group of six start heading back to the resort. San gives Yeosang another piggyback ride off of the beach and onto the road, the older man giggling softly the entire way there. Once Yeosang is back on his feet, they walk side by side, arms brushing with how close they’re standing together. As they walk up the road towards the hotel, something catches San’s eye.

A cluster of vibrant orange pansies sway in the gentle breeze. He comes to a stop, and Yeosang watches him with mild confusion as San crouches down to look at the flowers. The edges of their petals are tinged with a deep magenta. They’re really pretty, like the sunset, or the way dawn breaks over the horizon. It makes him think of Yeosang and his sunrise smile. Without giving it conscious thought, San plucks one of the delicate little flowers and straightens back up. He turns to Yeosang, reaching his free hand up to brush some of his black hair out of his face. San tucks his hair behind his ear before slipping the stem of the flower along with it.

Yeosang stares up at San with wide eyes, lips parted but no words coming out. He looks utterly bewitching, the sunrise-colored pansy complementing the golden hue of his complexion. It brings out his eyes, making the brown depths appear warmer even under the white streetlights. Yeosang’s hands flutter close to his chest, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them.

“You’re pretty,” San whispers, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say the words. His thumb grazes over Yeosang’s cheekbone, admiring the way that the pansy doesn’t detract or distract from the older man’s birthmark. It sits perfectly next to the faint red heart, drawing attention to it but not clashing with it. The pad of his thumb brushes along the birthmark, and he sighs softly through his nose. “This is pretty.”

Yeosang swallows audibly, his face heating up, and he dips his chin down, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Thank you.”

His eyes drop to Yeosang’s lips. They look so inviting, a sheer orange lip-balm making them shine. San watches the way Yeosang’s teeth release his bottom lip, watches the way they part slightly and his pink tongue darts out to run along the slightly abused flesh. His eyes flick back up, locking on brown eyes alive with flecks of caramel and fire, and he feels that pull again. San starts to lean forward, and Yeosang’s eyes grow to the size of the moon. He catches himself, though, fighting the pull once more. Yeosang has an unreadable expression on his face when San straightens back up with a sheepish smile on his face.

Sliding his arm around Yeosang, San resumes walking towards the hotel, their friends already long gone and nowhere in sight. He feels a little like he’s in a trance, bewitched by Yeosang—but he doesn’t want to break free. The tension from earlier is still in the air around them, heavy, building and bubbling, like it’s boiling and close to coming to a head. San doesn’t know what kind of tension it is, but it isn’t unpleasant. He likes the thrill that runs beneath his skin, the way it sparks and makes him break out in goosebumps when they touch. Yeosang once again slips his hand into San’s back pocket, and his throat runs dry.

San feels like he’s made up of electricity, the air charged with it filling his lungs every time he draws breath. Something is shifting, a ripple of a butterfly’s wings in his stomach causing a change far greater than itself in size. Whatever lives beneath his skin makes it hard to sleep that night, when he can feel Yeosang shuffling closer to him, hear the sound of his breathing, feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips.

Whatever this is makes it harder and harder to keep swallowing his feelings down. San truly believes that he’s falling a little more in love with Yeosang as each day slips by.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

On the last day of their vacation, Wooyoung suggested they go on a nature hike in the morning, before the sun got too high in the sky, and the humidity started to swelter. They’d eaten a quick breakfast and headed out shortly after getting dressed. San hadn’t brought proper shoes for hiking, but the terrain wasn’t too intense, and he was able to walk comfortably, hand-in-hand with Yeosang, along winding paths. The scenery truly was captivating, and San had decided that maybe he’d harass Wooyoung after they’d gotten home about where they’d been (or even pay attention to his surroundings a bit better on the way back to the airport). The trees were clustered together on either side of them, beautiful flowers blooming between them.

When it was getting closer to noon, and they’d made it back to the main road, beating the humidity, Yeosang quietly pulled San aside. He’d mentioned wanting to go back to the resort alone to take a quick nap, because the hike had worn him out. San had tried to come along with him, but the older man insisted he stay out with his friends for a while longer before coming back to the hotel. Yeosang had promised that he was fine, and would be fine on his own—no, he wasn’t sick, just tired, and needed a bit more sleep before doing any more fun activities together. So San had simply ended up letting him head off on his own, watching Yeosang head back up the road towards the resort, until he disappeared from sight.

San spent a couple of hours wandering around with Seonghwa and Yunho; Wooyoung and Hongjoong had once again wandered off somewhere, and San wasn’t keen on looking for them. He knew they were safe and not getting into any trouble, and were most likely doing things that he could really go the rest of his life without witnessing. However, as the time went on, San started to feel a little bad for tagging along with Yunho and Seonghwa. It wasn’t like they were making him feel like a third wheel; on the contrary, they were attentive and made sure to include him. He felt bad because this was meant to be a couple’s vacation, and while yes, they’d all spent time together because they’d gone as a group, the two of them deserved to have time with just the two of them together as well. Especially after Yunho had finally proposed.

With his mind made up, San gave them a quick goodbye and promised to meet up with them later. He could tell that they were thankful, even if they didn’t voice it. Which is how he found himself turning back and heading towards the resort. San isn’t the best with directions, but luckily the resort is huge, and can be seen from pretty far off. The group hadn’t wandered all that far from their hotel anyway. It only takes him about seven minutes to make his way up the path and back into the lobby of the resort.

San figures he should check in on Yeosang. He’s a little worried that the older man had been lying about feeling fine so as not to worry them, or take away from their vacation. Yeosang could very well have just been tired, but San needs to make sure for himself. He takes the elevator up to the 17th floor, and once he steps off it, he makes his way down the hall to his and Yeosang’s room.

Quietly, careful not to wake Yeosang up, San scans his keycard to unlock their door and lets himself into the room. He shuts the door behind himself as quietly as he can manage, turning around and looking up—and then freezes. Their room is a flurry of bright, vibrant colors. Pansies litter the floor, the chairs and couch, the coffee table, and the bed. There are pansies of all different colors, but most of them are the little sunrise ones, vivid orange tipped in pink. In the middle of the explosion of pansies sits Yeosang on the edge of the mattress. He looks up at the sound of San’s sharp inhale of surprise, an expression of impassiveness on his face.

But San can see through that mask; there’s a nervousness living beneath it, enhanced by the way Yeosang sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. He wrings his hands together, corner of his lips twitching up into more of a grimace than a smile.

“Hey, San-ah,” Yeosang hums, tone of his voice a little strained.

It takes San a moment, but his legs remember how to move, and then he’s walking over to the bed slowly on unsure feet, hand coming up to nervously tug on a strand of his hair. He isn’t sure what’s going on, but Yeosang’s nervousness is infectious. Yeosang pats the edge of the bed, silently inviting San to sit next to him. When he does, looking at Yeosang with wide-eyed curiosity, the older man takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“I have something I want to say, and I need you to listen to me without interrupting,” Yeosang says, filling his voice with the edge of confidence.

It’s off enough that San can tell it’s feigned, but he nods his head. San is willing to hear anything Yeosang wants to say, even if his stomach is twisting with dread, and his heart is trying to beat itself out of his chest. He tries to keep his breathing normal, and his hands curl into fists and press against his thighs to ground himself. Yeosang stares at him, and once he seems sure that San isn’t going to interrupt, and is going to follow through with his request, he lets out a breath he’d been holding.

Yeosang can’t meet his eyes, at first, when he starts talking. “I was a little sad, when you asked me to be your fake boyfriend. I’ve been waiting for… for you to ask me on a date, for real. I could tell you liked me, you know. It’s kinda always all over your face.” He lifts his gaze up, trying to gauge the kind of expression that San is wearing, before he continues speaking. “I didn’t want to rush you, or make you freak out. I was hoping that eventually, you’d be able to do it on your own time. But…”

He trails off, lips curling down into a little frown, and he places a hand over San’s fist. It relaxes and flattens out under his touch. San doesn’t know what his own face looks like. He can’t tell if Yeosang can hear his heart fluttering against his ribcage, or the swarm of butterflies filling up his stomach. This doesn’t feel real, it feels like a confession, but there’s no way that can be true.

Only, Yeosang proves that it’s true when he breathes, “I really, really like you Sannie. I have for a while, probably as long as you’ve liked me. I was really hoping that night, that you were going to confess then, and it really hurt that I got my hopes up. But I thought, maybe being your fake boyfriend would make you want me enough to finally be the little push that you needed. And, I thought it might be, when I told you to act instead of think. But then you didn’t kiss me last night. You looked like you really wanted to, and you didn’t.

“I realized that it was a little dumb of me to just wait around. You’re not the kind of person who’d want to trouble someone else with your feelings, and I wasn’t really being obvious about how I felt about you. So, I decided that I needed to be the one to confess first. And I didn’t want to wait until after we got home, because I was scared you’d start to avoid me.” Yeosang takes a breath, and San turns his hand over so that they’re palm to palm. Their fingers lace together, and Yeosang smiles. “I like you a lot, San-ah, and I want to be your boyfriend, for real this time.”

“Yes, yeah, please, I—” San cuts himself off, feeling flustered and a little overwhelmed. He holds Yeosang’s hand a little tighter, covertly pinching himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. San takes a few moments to just breathe, to organize his thoughts and calm his racing heart—though the latter is impossible, he thinks. “First, I’m really sorry that I hurt you. I won’t lie, it hurt me too, that I was a coward, and I kept pretending this was all real. I wanted it to be real. So, please be my boyfriend, Sangie. I really, really like you.”

Yeosang beams, that breathtaking sunrise smile, and San practically melts. “I think you’re a little in love with me, actually,” Yeosang teases, and San lets out an embarrassed whine, his face flushing three shades of pink. “But it’s okay, because I’m a little in love with you, too. I’d love to be your boyfriend… And I’d like to cash in that I.O.U now.”

San is flustered beyond belief, his heart skipping a beat and ears burning. It’s hard for him to find his voice; it feels like the swarm of butterflies are trying to flutter their way out of his stomach and beat their way out of his chest. He swallows, lips parting and head tilting to the side shyly. San can’t believe that this is real, that Yeosang feels the same, but he knows he’s not dreaming.

“What do you want?” he murmurs, voice cracking, and he clears his throat with a wince.

A small hum floats out of Yeosang, and he scoots closer to San until their knees brush. “I want you to kiss me.”

Wetting his lips, San brings a hand up to caress his fingers along Yeosang’s cheek, head still tilted as he leans a little closer. His palm cradles the side of the older man’s face, thumb stroking back and forth over his birthmark. He flicks his gaze between Yeosang’s eyes, searching for hesitance or maybe even a change of heart, but when he finds none, his eyes fall to his lips. A little pink tongue darts out to wet them, and San is mesmerized by the motion. He dips closer, trepidation and anticipation churning in his stomach.

San has kissed people before; he knows how to kiss, but all of them have been lackluster and awkward. Every kiss he’s ever had pales in comparison the moment his lips ghost against Yeosang’s before they slot together. His skin thrums with electricity, breath stolen from his lungs when Yeosang works his lips against his, catching San’s bottom lip between his own. The kiss starts out chaste and exploratory, with San tentatively running his tongue along the seam of Yeosang’s lips. When they part compliantly to the silent question, he dips his tongue into his mouth.

He drags his tongue along Yeosang’s, flicking the tip up to map out the edge of his teeth. Yeosang brings a hand up to cup the nape of San’s neck, tugging him closer gently to deepen the kiss, his head leaning into San’s palm. Their noses brush as San pushes forward, so close that their thighs press together, and their chests brush. When Yeosang curls his tongue around San’s, teasing it into tangling with his, San makes a small noise in the back of his throat. His thumb presses into Yeosang’s cheek, the kiss growing more heated, becoming more teeth and tongue.

The fire that had been steadily burning away in San’s lower stomach over the entirety of the vacation kicks up. Flames lick at his veins, and the feeling of tension that’d been simmering and bubbling between them boils over. Arousal, white-hot, scalds through him, sending all his blood flowing south. San had been trying to suppress it and ignore its existence from their close proximity and all their small, innocuous little touches all weekend, but now that he has permission to kiss Yeosang, with their mutual feelings brought to light—he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. He lets the feeling burn him alive.

Yeosang falls back against the mattress, pulling San down along with him until he’s half-lying on top of him. Slipping one of his legs between Yeosang’s, San kisses him a little more fiercely, sucking in ragged breaths through his nose. A soft sound of pleasure rumbles in Yeosang’s throat with the press of a thigh against his cock. They’re both gradually getting hard just from making out, and every point of contact between them tingles across their skin, electric. San hesitantly rolls his hips, grinding into Yeosang’s hip, and a low moan dies in his throat.

They grind against each other languidly, letting their hands roam over each other’s body. Kissing Yeosang isn’t like fireworks—it’s the steady buildup of heat on a summer’s day, soothed by a balmy breeze. It’s intoxicating like alcohol, breathtaking like the flash of lightning before thunder. Kissing Yeosang is everything San had dreamed it would be and more, and he can’t get enough. His tongue maps out Yeosang’s mouth, licking behind his teeth and coaxing his tongue back up. Their lips part and slot, wet little smacking sounds filling the charged air around them.

Breaking the kiss, San draws back just slightly, coming up for air, feeling winded and too hot. His eyes find Yeosang’s; they’re lidded, pupils dilating and swallowing up his irises. “We don’t have to do anything,” San murmurs, thumb rubbing back and forth over the older man’s kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“I know, but I want to, San-ah,” he whispers, breathless. “I want to, wanted to for a while. It was really hard to keep my hands off you the entire time we’ve been sharing a bed.”

He entirely understands the sentiment, knowing the agony of having Yeosang within reach but not allowed to touch. “Do we… have condoms?” San tries, swallowing nervously. Kissing is the extent of his experience, and he’s apprehensive, but he really fucking wants this, too.

Yeosang hums an affirmative, tilting his head in the direction of his suitcase. “I brought condoms and lube.”

Blinking, San’s brows furrow as he looks down at the other man. “…were you planning for this?”

“I like to be prepared, just in case,” Yeosang mumbles, cheeks flushing a pretty pink. “I didn’t know how confessing would go, but I was hopeful.”

San hums in understanding, flushing a brilliant shade of pink at the realization that Yeosang had been feeling the same attraction that he had. That they both wanted each other romantically and sexually. It’s almost a little too overwhelming for San to process, so he tries to ground himself by stealing another kiss. Yeosang smiles like sunrise when the younger man pulls back to look at him with reverence.

He gently pushes San off of him to walk over to his suitcase, unzipping the front pocket and rummaging through it. Yeosang pauses, turning to look at San, expression a little shy. “Did you… did you want to uh, did you want to have sex? We don’t have to, like you said. I’m sorry I just kinda assumed…”

“Don’t be sorry, I do want to, so badly, but—” San cuts himself off, taking in a quiet breath, bracing himself for his coming admission. “I’ve never had sex before.”

“At all?”

San shakes his head, biting his inner cheek and digging the pads of his fingers into his thighs. “I’ve never really dated before, and I wasn’t into the people I tried seeing enough to… and casual sex just—isn’t my thing.”

A noise of understanding rumbles in Yeosang’s chest. He palms a bottle of lube and a string of condoms, padding back over to the bed. Yeosang steps between San’s thighs, setting the items on the bed in favor of cupping the younger man’s face. He guides San to look up at him, studying his expression and his eyes.

“If you really wanna do this with me, then I’ll take care of you. I want your first time to be good, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so I’ll bottom, okay?” Yeosang says soothingly, and when San nods, he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Yeosang slides his hands down, running them up San’s shirt, fabric bunching up around his wrists. He watches San intently, head tilting to the side as his fingers splay out, feeling every dip and slope of his musculature. San sucks in a shaky breath when thumbs graze his nipples, a shiver jolting down his spine. His shirt is pushed further up, until he has to lift his arms, and Yeosang fluidly tugs it off over his head, tossing it onto the floor. He guides San to lay back, mapping out his body with his hands and his eyes.

The button and zipper on San’s shorts are undone with a practiced ease, and he lifts his hips to allow for Yeosang to pull them off. San feels incredibly bashful under Yeosang’s heated gaze. He’s still wearing his underwear, but it’s almost like he’s entirely naked from the hungry way he’s being stared at. Yeosang hooks his fingers in the collar of his own muscle tee, yanking it up and off over his head. He discards it, evening the playing field. Reaching forward, San fumbles with Yeosang’s shorts, heart slamming against his ribcage so hard he can hear his own pulse in his ears. He swallows as the older man’s shorts crumple to the floor, drinking in the sight of his mostly naked form.

He’d seen Yeosang in this state of undress before when they went to the pool, but there’s something far different and more intimate about it in this setting. His boxer-briefs cling to his hips and thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination the way that his swimshorts had. San can see the outline of his half-hard cock tenting the fabric, and his throat runs dry even as his mouth begins to water.

“Like what you see?” Yeosang teases, a smirk lifting up the corner of his lips.

San swallows the excess saliva noisily, head nodding enthusiastically. “Fuck, yeah.” He kind of wants to suck Yeosang’s dick, but there’s time for that in the future.

Yeosang hooks his thumbs in the band of his underwear, locking his gaze with San’s. His voice dips low, smooth and deep. Even his fucking lisp sounds sexy when he purrs, “You’re not so bad yourself, Sannie.” His eyes drop to San’s crotch, admiring the way his clothed cock twitches under his gaze and the sound of his voice.

A pained noise rattles in San’s throat when Yeosang lets his underwear fall away. He tries to memorize every inch of Yeosang’s body; his muscular arms, the broadness of his chest and shoulders leading down into a pinched waist. He’s built similarly to San, just more compact, but not any less strong. His v-line is semi-defined, but it leads San’s gaze directly to his half-hard cock. It throbs with life, steadily growing. San never thought he’d consider a dick to be pretty, but that’s how he feels about Yeosang’s. It’s thick but not dauntingly so—and long. Long enough that he feels like he’d have a hard time getting it to fit in his mouth or—elsewhere.

San lets his gaze drift as low as he can see, taking in Yeosang’s muscular thighs. His baggy clothes never did him justice, and San feels incredibly lucky to see Yeosang this way, bare before his eyes in all his glory. He looks like a delectable work of art. A sudden burst of arousal and bravery has San sitting up and rising to his feet, shoving his own underwear down. They stand in front of each other, fully naked, just drinking in the sight of each other, until a mild nervousness starts to bubble up in San’s stomach.

To chase that feeling away, he snakes his arms around Yeosang with a faux-confidence setting his shoulders, and tugs him close. Yeosang falls against him, looking up at San through his lashes with his head tilting to the side and an amused little smile on his lips. His hands run up San’s arms, settling around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Whatever apprehension San had left dies as Yeosang molds his body against his. An appreciative groan rumbles in his throat, fingers digging into the older man’s hips. Their cocks bump and brush against each other, making them both shiver and hiss from the contact.

Yeosang breaks the kiss, mumbling against San’s lips, “On the bed, San-ah, ‘m gonna teach you something, okay?”

“Okay,” San breathes, anticipation making his voice waver.

He slides onto the bed, watching the older man expectantly. Yeosang follows after him shortly, slowly shuffling forward on his knees until he can reach the pillows at the head of the bed. He picks up the bottle of lube, directing his gaze to San.

“Prep is really important, so I’m gonna help you prep me,” Yeosang drawls, popping the cap on the bottle. He coats his fingers before dropping the upper half of his body down. The side of his face rests against a pillow and his shoulders press into the mattress. “The best way to learn is to do. Watch closely, yeah?”

San wets his bottom lip, moving forward to sit on his knees behind Yeosang when he’s beckoned over. His gaze rakes over his boyfriend’s ass, mouth watering at the flex of the muscles in his thighs. Yeosang slides his hand between his legs, the other settling on one of his ass cheeks. His digits circle his rim, smearing lube everywhere, and Yeosang lets out a soft breath as he relaxes, melting into the mattress a little. He presses the tip of his finger against his hole, and San watches with rapt attention as it slowly starts to disappear.

“You wanna go slow,” Yeosang instructs softly, voice a little strained. “And you wanna start out with one finger and work your way up. You don’t need to scissor your fingers or anything, just—work them in and out until I start to relax. I’ll know when I’m ready, and I’ll tell you, okay?”

“Okay, I understand,” San hums, tongue running out along his bottom lip. He’s almost jealous of Yeosang’s fingers, but he knows it’ll be his turn soon enough.

Yeosang withdraws his finger, shifting a little to look at San from over his shoulder. “You’re gonna need a lot of lube. Go ahead and coat your fingers in it, and then give me your hand.”

Doing as instructed, San upends the bottle, pouring the slippery, viscous liquid over his fingers. He warms it instinctually before moving even closer to the other man. Yeosang reaches back, gripping onto San’s wrist and tugging his hand up. San swallows, tentatively brushing his fingers against the little pucker. He watches it flutter, arousal splashing over his lower stomach. Fuck. He really can’t believe that this is happening, never in his wildest dreams would he ever have thought Yeosang would be his boyfriend, let alone being this intimate with him.

San carefully presses his finger into Yeosang’s hole, feeling it clench around the intrusion. A low whine rattles in his throat; Yeosang is so fucking tight and velvety, imagining what he’ll feel like around him might break him a little. San is attentive, letting Yeosang use his wrist to guide his movements until his confidence grows. He wants to make Yeosang feel good, wants to please him and be putty in the older man’s hands. San slowly fucks his finger in and out until Yeosang prompts him to add another.

Withdrawing his index finger, he presses his middle finger against it before carefully pushing them in together, up to the first knuckle. Yeosang sucks in a quiet, sharp breath, and San pauses, waiting until he can feel his boyfriend relax around his digits. He drags the pads of his fingers along the velvety walls as he steadily fucks them deeper, drawing little pleasured sounds out of Yeosang. It gives him more confidence; the more quiet noises the other man makes, the more encouraged San feels.

San crooks his fingers as he draws them back, then drives them back in. His lidded eyes watch the way Yeosang starts to rut back into his hand, taking his digits as deep as they can go. When San feels like he’s relaxed enough, he pulls his fingers out, reapplies lube, and then adds a third. He explores Yeosang’s tight heat, fingers curling and brushing against something that sends a little jolt through Yeosang. Curiosity peaked, San rubs the pads of his digits against the little bundle of nerves repeatedly. Yeosang twitches, muscles spasming as a long-drawn out sound wrings out of his lungs.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sucking in a shaky breath and squirming slightly. “Didn’t expect you to find my prostate that fast your first time, San-ah.” It pleases San immensely to know he’s doing a good job, that he’s pleasing Yeosang even with just his fingers, inexperienced he may be.

Precum dribbles from Yeosang’s cock, dripping onto the comforter beneath his body. He shudders when San starts fucking his fingers into him a little harder, spine arching and sharp gasps sucked into his lungs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” San whispers, enraptured. He feels like he could finger Yeosang forever and be satisfied without getting off. So long as his boyfriend is drenched in euphoria, San is beyond satisfied. He’s not even paying attention to whatever words are coming out of his mouth. “I’m so in love with you, holy fuck.”

His fingers continue to fuck in and out of Yeosang until he feels like there’s little to no resistance, just a fluttering, pliant hole sucking them in and clenching around them. Yeosang shifts his cheek against the pillow, looking back at San with a flushed face, sweat beading at his brow, and eyes lidded. His pupils are completely blown out, swallowing up amber. He reaches back, pushing San’s hand away with trembling fingers. San obediently withdraws, shuddering at the whine of loss it rips out of Yeosang.

Yeosang pushes up on shaky limbs, sucking in uneven breaths through his nose. “Okay, fuck, I’m ready. Need you to lay down on your back.”

Doing as directed, San lays back against the pillows, settling in and reaching for the string of condoms. He rips one off before tearing the package open. Yeosang takes the condom from him, rolling it over San’s cock with one fluid motion. He scrambles to grab the bottle of lube, upending it once he’s got a grip on it and squirting a liberal amount over San’s dick. San hisses, shivering from the drastic temperature difference between his heated flesh and the cool lube even with the condom sheathing him. Yeosang tosses the bottle away, raking his hair out of his face with his clean hand as he fists San’s cock, pumping his hand up and down to spread the lube evenly.

San groans, rocking his hips up without conscious thought, fucking into Yeosang’s fist, skin thrumming and feeling too tight. Letting go of his dick momentarily, Yeosang shuffles forward, straddling San. His ass hovers over San’s thighs, and he grips onto his base from behind to steady his cock.

“I’m gonna ride you, so just be good for me and stay still,” Yeosang commands softly, slowly sinking down. 

It’s really fucking doing something for San to have his boyfriend gently commanding him, essentially puppeteering him even though he’s the one who’s bottoming. There’s something incredibly sexy about servicing Yeosang, being told what to do and how to do it. Maybe it’s just because it’s their first time together, and San’s first time at all, but he hopes that it’s not a one-off. He wants to be good, to please Yeosang and earn his praise for fucking him properly, even in spite of knowing he probably won’t be very good at it. San hopes that at the very least, his enthusiasm makes up for his lack of experience, and his willingness to listen and be compliant will go a long way to make this good for Yeosang.

The head of San’s cock nudges against Yeosang’s rim, both of them sucking in sharp breaths. Yeosang rolls his hips down, hole breached by San’s cockhead. He stills momentarily, in- and exhaling slowly as he tries to relax around the intrusion. San’s hips twitch with need, but he forces them to stay still, not wanting to hurt Yeosang. It’s impossibly hard, but he manages to keep from moving as Yeosang releases his hold on his base to sink down a little further.

As the minutes pass, Yeosang continues to lower himself until he’s fully seated. He wipes the lube on his hands off on the comforter, steadying himself with one hand pressed to San’s pectorals. San reaches forward to grip onto one of Yeosang’s hips, trying to ground himself. Having his cock wrapped up in tight, pulsating heat makes him feel seconds away from blowing his load. His other hand lays over Yeosang’s, threading their fingers together. Once Yeosang feels as adjusted as he can get to the sheer fucking size of San’s cock, he experimentally rolls his hips. It makes both of them moan quietly; San’s thighs tremor from the intense need to fuck up, but he fights through it.

Yeosang hunches over him, capturing San in a sloppy kiss, lifting his hips up slowly before dropping back down. He sets a steady pace, making San’s eyes roll back in his head as pleasure starts to course through his veins. His fingers dig into the hip in his hold, tips of his digits indenting flesh and sure to leave pretty bruises in their shape. Yeosang swivels his hips when he pauses in riding him, fully seated, head falling back and a quiet pleasured moan oozing from his parted lips.

“Feels good, you feel so good,” San slurs, cracking his eyes open into slits to stare at Yeosang. It feels like a mistake, because watching him move erotically nearly breaks him. He looks ethereal like this, skin glistening in sweat, face flushed, damp strands of his dark hair glued to his forehead. Yeosang grips his hand a little tighter, holding on like it’s his only lifeline as he starts to build up to a faster pace.

San rocks up as Yeosang drops down; skin slapping against skin echoes around their hotel room, mingling with their gasping breaths and pleasured noises. “Yeah, fuck, just like that Sannie. Doing so good for me. That’s good, you’re so good.”

“I love you,” San blurts out, letting his hand fall away from Yeosang’s hip, a sudden desire to be closer settling over him.

He uses his hand to push up into a sitting position before curling his arm around Yeosang to mold their chests together. San shoves backwards until his back hits headboard, and he decides he likes this position a lot more. It gives him access to Yeosang’s lips and throat, which he litters with kisses and love bites. San sucks hickeys into his skin, tongue laving over every mark, the salty tang of sweat blooming on his tastebuds. A hand slips into his hair, yanking his head back harshly, and then Yeosang dips his head down, capturing him in a kiss that steals his breath.

Tongues tangle together, teeth nip at lips, and their bodies work in tandem, chasing pleasure. San fucks up into Yeosang with a renewed fervor, wanting desperately to please him more than anything. His own need for pleasure falls to the wayside, shifting the angle of his hips until Yeosang keens. Yeosang’s own movements stutter, his body trembling and leaning heavily into San as the head of his cock continually drags back and forth over his prostate maddeningly. It seems to break something in the older man, because suddenly he starts slamming down with intent.

Yeosang kisses San hungrily before breaking it off, leaning back and reaching a hand behind himself to grip onto San’s thigh. His back arches beautifully, head lolling loosely on his neck, eyes pinched shut in euphoria. The new angle really seems to do it for him, because he’s making so many pretty noises it’s driving San up the fucking wall. He’s not loud with his pleasure, but every soft whine and moan goes straight to San’s dick. It’s like music to his ears, and he wants to draw more quiet sounds of ecstasy out of Yeosang.

Dipping his head forward, San kisses his way down Yeosang’s throat, tongue darting out to drag along his clavicle. He doesn’t mind the way his boyfriend’s chest keeps bumping into his nose and chin from the force of their movements. Yeosang’s hand slips out of San’s in favor of gripping onto his broad shoulder for leverage, freeing up San’s hands to roam wherever they please. He runs his fingers everywhere, squeezing Yeosang’s muscled chest, raking his nails lightly down his sides, ghosting over his hips and gripping his ass. Every touch makes Yeosang tremble like a leaf, breathy gasps fucked out of him as San starts snapping his hips up harder.

The coil in his stomach is tightening up impossibly fast, making his thrusts lose rhythm. San knows he’s close, but he wants to hang on for as long as he can, desperately wanting to please Yeosang and leave him fully sated before he allows himself to orgasm. He doesn’t have that kind of stamina, however, and he knows it—everything is too good, too intense, and it’s his first time fucking anything other than his own hand. His hips stutter, and a low whine rattles against his ribcage, a shudder rippling through him as he curls his toes into the comforter, trying futilely to ground himself.

“Sa—ah, San-ah, ‘s okay, you… you can cum,” Yeosang mumbles reassuringly, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth and hard for him to talk around. “Good, ‘s good, yeah? Doing so good for me. My Sannie.”

“Fuck, ‘m yours, Yeo, only yours,” San slurs out, voice pitched and breathy.

The praise makes San feel incredibly warm and painfully needy. His cock throbs insistently, the threat of the coil in his stomach snapping too intense to ignore. He brings a hand back around to fist Yeosang’s cock, thumb pressing into the slit before he tightens up his grip. His hand flies over throbbing, hard flesh, smearing precum over his shaft as San’s hips rock up and still momentarily, a shudder ripping through him as the string of control snaps, and he cums hard. San fills the condom, rolling his hips slowly to milk his orgasm. He sucks in uneven, shallow breaths, limbs trembling and whines of overstimulation reverberating in his chest.

Yeosang keeps riding him, his own movements stilted; he seems unsure of whether to rock down onto San’s cock or fuck up into his fist, breathless noises pouring out of him. His nails dig into San’s shoulder as his entire body pulls taut, hole clenching and pulsating around San’s cock and making him whimper. He orgasms with a hissed out fuck, winded moans and mewls catching in his throat as he continues to rut down slowly. His cum splatters over his and San’s stomachs, panting tan, flushed skin in milky white. Yeosang falls still, slumping against San bonelessly.

It takes them both several long minutes to come down from the high of their orgasms, aftershocks tingling over their skin. Gradually, their breathing evens out, and Yeosang sluggishly turns his head, pressing a kiss against the side of San’s neck.

“Love you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into San’s throat, seemingly ignoring the fact that his skin is sweaty. “God, that was so good.”

“I love you,” San says softly, an elated grin breaking out over his face and making his dimples pop up. There’s a warm tingling pleasure in his stomach from knowing he’d done a good job at pleasing his boyfriend. He blinks slowly, a thought rising through the fog in his brain. “Did either of us lock the doors?”

“Mm,” Yeosang huffs, curling his arms around San and pressing closer. “Don’t know, don’t care. Maybe he’ll learn to knock.” He doesn’t have to specify who he means, they’re both aware of Wooyoung’s innate habid of bursting in without a care in the world.

San laughs quietly, affection lighting up his eyes as he looks down at his boyfriend. “That’s doubtful. Wooyoung-ah is shameless. I can’t even count on my fingers the amount of times he caught me jerking off in my own home in high school. Didn’t even bat a lash.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he muses, stifling a yawn. “His problem, not mine. I don’t intend to make it a pleasant experience for him if he can’t learn to respect our privacy.”

“You’re cute, Sangie,” San murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Yeosang’s head. He doesn’t even mind the fact that his hair is damp from sweat, that their skin is sticky and slippery, or that he’s simultaneously feeling too warm and cold from the cool air clinging to his sweaty skin. He hesitates for a moment, tightening his hold around his boyfriend. “I really… that was… so fucking good but, can I—can I try bottoming next time? Or do you, like, prefer to bottom?”

Yeosang hums, lifting his head up to look at San. “I don’t really have a preference, I like doing both. I just wanted to make sure your first time was enjoyable and not like, scary. But if you wanna try next time, I don’t see why we can’t.”

Affection swells San’s chest, warm and feeling like clouds. He cups Yeosang’s cheek and steals a soft, chaste kiss, humming, “Thank you. I’m really happy. Thank you for being braver than I am.”

Snorting, Yeosang returns the kiss before pulling back, lifting his hips up and shuddering with a grimace as he pulls off of San’s cock. “One of us had to grow a pair at some point. I was just tired of waiting, the whole fake boyfriend thing really lit a fire under my ass.”

A laugh bursts out of San as he removes the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the wastebin. He shuffles out of the bed, leaning over it to help Yeosang to his feet with the roll of his eyes. “Let’s go get cleaned up, I’m sure the others will be back soon, and I’m getting a little hungry.”

The two of them wander into the bathroom hand in hand. In the shower, despite their efforts to focus on getting clean, neither of them can really keep their hands to themselves. San hopes that now that they’re actually dating, they won’t end up as bad as Wooyoung and Hongjoong are when it comes to PDA—but he has a feeling they just might come close.

After all, when your boyfriend is literal perfection and beauty personified Kang Yeosang, how can you be expected not to be all over him?

∘°∘♡∘°∘

An hour and a half before they have to get ready for their flight home, San slips away from his and Yeosang’s hotel room and into the common room to order breakfast. He’s groggy, beyond tired, because it’s early as fuck, but he wants to surprise his boyfriend with breakfast in bed. They’d spent the rest of the day after catching a late lunch with Seonghwa and Yunho (Wooyoung and Hongjoong had still been off who knows where) cuddling and making out in their freshly made bed.

(Housekeeping must have come by while they were occupied in the common room, a thought that embarrasses San when he remembers the state they’d left the room in. Bruised flower petals all over the floor, littering a sweat-, lube-, and cum-soaked comforter, condom wrapper thoughtlessly discarded on the floor. Their clothes strewn in a heap near the foot of the bed.)

He sits down on one of the chairs as he waits, dry washing his face and trying not to fall asleep sitting. It isn’t long before there’s a quiet knock at the door, announcing the delivery of his food.

San answers the door, thanking the staff and taking the tray from his hands. He pushes the door shut with his foot before padding back towards his own room. When he reaches his and Yeosang’s door, he bumps it with his hip to open it fully, and slips back inside. He sets the tray down on the coffee table before silently closing the door and making sure to lock it—not that he thinks they’ll be getting up to anything that requires privacy, but simply because he wants to enjoy breakfast with Yeosang and not have Wooyoung interrupting. Before waking his boyfriend up, San pulls the earrings he’d purchased out of his bag and sets them on the tray, heart racing in his chest.

He picks the tray back up, carefully carrying it over to the bed. Yeosang is curled up on his side, expression pinched and face shoved into San’s pillow. He’d moved from where San had left him, seeking his warmth out, and looking disgruntled that San was no longer in the bed with him, even in sleep. It’s terribly cute, and he can’t help the little laugh that floats out of him. San sets the tray of food on the bed, reaching a hand out to gently shake Yeosang’s shoulder. His boyfriend groans, rolling onto his back and looking at San with bleary eyes.

“I got us breakfast,” San whispers, watching Yeosang rub at his face before stretching.

Yeosang lets out a tired sigh, pushing himself up on his hands and shuffling to sit back against the headboard. He grumbles out, “Lucky you’re cute, Choi San.”

Beaming, San moves the tray onto Yeosang’s lap before sliding into the bed next to him. He lifts the lid off of the plate, setting it aside. They balance the tray on both of their legs, eating delicious, still-steaming crepes together in silence. Yeosang leans his head against San’s shoulder, blinking his eyes slowly and trying not to fall back asleep. His gaze floats down to the tray, drifting to the set of earrings. He reaches out to pick them up, cupping them in his palm.

“That’s… I got those for you,” San says quietly, clearing his throat nervously and rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to give them to you as a gift when I finally got up the nerve to really ask you out, but you beat me to it.”

Yeosang presses a kiss to San’s cheek, snuggling into his side carefully so as not to knock over their food. “Thank you, I love them.” He sounds fond, the tone of his voice conveying so much emotion that it’s nearly overwhelming.

They lace their hands together, taking the time just to enjoy each other’s company before they inevitably have to pack up their things and get ready to head out to the airport. San isn’t sure how he’s going to tell his friends that he lied to them, but that his lie had somehow become the truth. They might be a little angry, or they may tease him, but in the end he knows everything will be fine. He doesn’t even mind if they give him shit, because everything he’d ever wanted is currently pressed into his side, wrapped up in his arms and holding his hand. San kind of wishes they could stay in this moment forever, never having to go home.

Unfortunately, time waits for no one, and they eventually have to climb out of bed to get ready to leave. When they meet their friends in the hall, Wooyoung stares at them, taking in their lack of awkwardness and how close they’re standing together. His eyes sweep over Yeosang’s throat, a brow raising, before a wicked smirk breaks out over his lips.

“So you’re actual boyfriends now, right? No more of that awkward fake bullshit?”

San splutters, his face heating up, and he shifts closer to Yeosang. His boyfriend’s hand slips easily into his, head tilted to the side as he regards Wooyoung. “You knew?” Yeosang asks quietly, brows pinching together. Clearly they’d both thought their acting had been better than it actually was.

“Obviously,” Wooyoung snorts, grabbing onto the handle of his suitcase and turning to walk off towards the elevator. “San-ah’s a terrible liar, and you two were way too nervous around each other to have been dating for a month. The only one who didn’t realize Sannie made everything up was Hwa-hyung, and that’s cuz he’s too trusting. I had to tell him yesterday when he asked me why you two kept jumping away from each other like skittish kittens.”

Well, at least San is saved from having to come clean—and none of his friends seem angry or annoyed at all. On the contrary, they seem genuinely happy that San had finally found someone worth pursuing. He wouldn’t have regretted anything, anyway. This weekend had been the best vacation of his life (even if it’s the only vacation he’s ever been on). He’d started the trip with his crush pretending to be in a relationship with him in order to fool his friends, and is leaving with him being his actual boyfriend. He leans down to steal a kiss from Yeosang, as if affirming that the whole trip had been real, squeezing the older man’s hand affectionately.

“Stop holding hands, lovebirds, and grab your shit,” Hongjoong drawls, jerking his chin towards the elevator. “I’m gonna drop your asses into the ocean and ditch you both if we miss our flight.”

Rolling his eyes, San begrudgingly drops Yeosang’s hand and picks up his suitcase. He knows they’ll have plenty of time to hold hands in the airport, and on the flight back, and even back home. There’s plenty of time to take Yeosang on proper dates and steal sweet or heated kisses; they have a lot of lost time to make up for, after all.

San has never been this thankful in his life to have spoken before thinking things through. This weekend had held so many firsts for him, but perhaps his favorite first is getting to call his first love his very first boyfriend.

∘°∘♡∘°∘