Archive of Our Own

Wooyoung fills his plate, eager to taste what he’s been preparing for most of the afternoon. It’s been a while since they had the chance to hang out together, the eight of them, so he wanted to celebrate with something special. Fast foods are easy, cheap, and fill you up, but they’ll never replace a warm homemade meal like this one. He fills his plate up for last, while everyone waits for him to be done before digging in—so polite, it’s kind of endearing. When he settles back down in his seat, hands reaching for his knife and fork, he’s interrupted by Hongjoong’s voice coming from across the table.

“Isn’t that too much?” he says jokingly—of course, because he’d take every chance that comes his way to tease Wooyoung.

The younger glances down at his plate and notices that yes, maybe it is a bit much, but sue him—he’d spent the whole week thinking about tonight’s meal and the whole day smelling it in the air, is he not allowed to enjoy it? It’s no different than the usual portions they get every night at dinner, though. Looking around the table, he sees the same amount of food served on every plate—he’s gotten good at it, at handing out equal servings when they’re all together. Occasionally he’d play favorites and give Jongho something extra, or give the best pieces to Yeosang because he tends to be on the pickier side, and sometimes his plate would come up short of something because it’s easier. Tonight he paid attention, though, so why—

“What about your diet?” speaks again Hongjoong, digging his knife into the piece of meat.

It’s tender, and the sight makes Wooyoung’s mouth water—he can’t wait to catch up and do the same.

“What diet?” he asks back, with the curious rise of an eyebrow.

Hongjoong stops cutting and turns to him. The deep pink of the meat stares back at Wooyoung and he has to force his gaze away from it. He meets Hongjoong’s eyes but it’s brief, because the older’s travel down his body in a quick motion, and then they’re up to his eyes again in an instant like they never moved. It’s quick—the blink and you miss it kind of quick, but Wooyoung would never miss it—he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Uh, you mentioned a diet the other day, so I thought you—it’s nothing, I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

Ah, what is this?

Hongjoong tears his eyes away from Wooyoung and resumes cutting the piece of steak in uneven shapes, bringing the fork up to his lips, and munching away. The others do too, settling in the familiar tune of silver and porcelain clinking against each other. Some of them engage in small conversation, Wooyoung even picks up a few compliments being thrown his way at how well the meat is cooked, how perfectly seasoned it is, and how good the side dishes are, but he can only nod in response, maybe force out a timid smile. He must be the only awkward one at the table, it seems.

He tries to recompose himself before anyone can notice the way his muscles tensed up altogether, and starts following the others as he cuts the first piece for himself to taste, but the taste, texture, and weight of it on his tongue feel all but pleasant. He chews slowly until he can finally swallow the bite, but he's too aware of the pressure against the walls of his throat as it slides down to feel any satisfaction from it. He stares at the second piece he already sliced in the meantime and he doesn't find the courage to pierce his fork through it.

Greens—maybe some greens will ease the unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He reaches for the spinach instead and fills his mouth with it, but the consistency wraps around his throat with a hold tighter than before. He lets the soft, warm ball of leaves sit on his tongue for a long second, unable to swallow around it—he doesn’t feel like he’d be able to keep it down for long, if he did.

It seems like everyone’s eyes are on him, even when he can clearly hear them talking with each other, some even with a mouthful of food in their mouths. Wooyoung’s eyes stay glued on his plate until they find the half-full glass of water in front of him. He wraps his hand around it and steadily brings it to his lips, taking a few small sips and easing the food down his throat. Only after he places the glass back on the table he feels like he can start breathing again.

“Babe, are you not feeling okay?”

Wooyoung looks to his side to find San's curious eyes pointing at him, stealing glances at his full plate while in front of him lays his own, almost empty.

“Actually, no—not too much. You guys can have mine,” Wooyoung lets the cutlery fall on the table before sliding the nearly untouched plate further from him and toward the middle of the table under everyone’s attentive gaze. “I’ll head to my room, maybe I need some rest.”

San pouts at him when Wooyoung slides out of his seat, getting to his feet.

“Are you sure? You only had a bite.”

“It’s alright, I ate a bit while I was cooking to get the taste right—must have ruined my appetite,” he shoots a reassuring smile in the general direction of the others, but can’t find the courage to lay his eyes on either Hongjoong or Seonghwa, sitting directly across from him. “Sorry guys, just enjoy.”

Something loud and irritating is going off inside Wooyoung’s brain when he shuts the door of his room behind him, a bright bloody red light blinking behind his eyes, and he’s trying to ignore it with all his might. He’s never been particularly nice with himself. If only you could treat yourself like you treat your loved ones, had told him San once, then maybe you’d finally get the love I know you deserve. Wooyoung wanted to believe him that day, but he just never could. There’s something about himself that makes him want to shy away from any careful smile or loving touch—as if he was so undeserving of it that he’d burn at the attention.

There was a time when he would hide behind walls so high that he could barely see beyond them, let alone climb them or knock them down. Giving up felt like cheating, so he used to make sure that he’d never get a glimpse of that happiness everyone went on blabbering about, simply because he didn’t think he had the right to. Wooyoung had never been a brilliant kid, ever since he was little he was good at things he did, but just never good enough that his parents would brag about him. A normal amount of good—maybe he wasn’t even good, just average.

When San forced himself into Wooyoung’s life, Wooyoung had hit rock bottom. Everything he believed in started crumbling at his feet when with San came the first spark of hope. Thinking back, he doesn’t know how he mastered the courage to come clean with San, to tell him about the mess going on in his head, about the days spent starving himself and the sleepless nights spent hurting himself. He had shown concern at the sight of Wooyoung’s slim figure and fragile bones, but he had never questioned him—until he did. I don’t think I deserve to die, but I’m not too sure I deserve to live, he had confessed in the darkness of San’s room one night, when San eventually saw Wooyoung’s scars.

Wooyoung saw no reason to hide the truth. There was some masochist instinct swirling inside of him and screaming out loud to just get it over with, to just spill everything out and watch the look of pity in San’s eyes before it morphed into disgust, before he would kick him out and leave him for good. That was the night he realized he had it all wrong, about San. The real San—not the version of him Wooyoung had made up in his head that wanted Wooyoung for his body and nothing else—started shedding tears. The real San—his San—stared deep into his eyes and tried to tell him how much he loved him, spent the following hours kissing every inch of his skin, grazing the faint lines of his scars, whispering loving praises against his lips. San gave his everything to Wooyoung, and for the first time Wooyoung allowed himself to feel it, truly feel it. The love flowing through San’s veins almost scared him away, but San held him close and let him cry in his arms until feeling so much for someone, all at once, didn’t frighten him that much anymore.

Life was so much easier with San, that Wooyoung started believing he deserved to live it, as well. Then they found something at which Wooyoung wasn’t just average, but a natural, and he understood the difference between wanting to live for someone and having something to live for. When Wooyoung dances, it’s like the world gains a whole new shape and colors he had never even noticed before. Wooyoung had heard people say art comes naturally when someone knows what it feels like to be broken—he didn’t give it much thought when he first heard it, but it started to make sense soon after. Shattering yourself to pieces and pulling them back up together all on your own, one by one, will have you face the kind of emotions one would usually run from—the kind art feeds off of.

Then Seonghwa came into the picture, and it was Wooyoung’s turn to force himself into someone’s life. He didn’t remember feeling this safe with anyone before, not even with San, weirdly enough. There was something about the comfort that Seonghwa was as a whole person that was unimaginable—it scared him, a bit, the way he wanted everything to change but wanted everything to stay the same. If San hadn't been the person he had been from the moment he knew him, ever so gentle and understanding towards him, Wooyoung doesn’t think he could have ever told him—it didn’t surprise San when he finally did. It makes sense, San’s smile was warm as he moved a loose strand of hair from Wooyoung’s line of vision, you have so much love to give.

The three of them fit like puzzle pieces together. Seonghwa was their missing link, that part of them outside of them that made it all so much more worth it, to the point that neither Wooyoung nor San could imagine going back to their lives before they met the other boy. It just wouldn’t make sense. Seonghwa grew fond of the two rather quickly—because how could he not, really—and although it did take him some time to adapt to something that already looked perfect as it was, he found his place in their home eventually. They only took a few hesitant steps before diving in head first.

When Seonghwa introduced Hongjoong to them, shortly after the oldest became part of their friend group, Wooyoung asked if they were in a relationship the minute he laid eyes on the pair. It was just so obvious, the string pulling them together so blatantly there that it caught him off guard when the two quickly denied it. But Wooyoung had seen it—the uncomfortable reluctance at being pulled apart and away from each other. He quickly learned how selective Hongjoong is with both receiving and showing affection from and to others, but Seonghwa seemed to be the exception to everything, and that made it all the more illogical.

At first, Wooyoung was confused, because it didn’t make sense to his brain how Hongjoong could be so obviously attracted to Seonghwa and still not move a finger to make their relationship develop into something more. Maybe it’s because of us, had guessed San, I would think twice before making a move on a boy who already has two boyfriends. But then why didn’t he make a move before the two of them came into the picture? The two oldest had been attached to the hip from way back, long before that happened. Could it be one of those “you don’t realize what you have until you lose it” types of situations? he had asked then, as he and San tried to make sense of it all. He didn't lose him though, did he? Seonghwa-hyung is not going anywhere.

Wooyoung knows Seonghwa likes Hongjoong—Seonghwa knows Wooyoung is made of 70% water and 30% bad intentions. That still didn't prepare him for the day Wooyoung decided he’d make Seonghwa spit it out whatever it took. Seonghwa tried to deny it once, twice, before Wooyoung hit him with the what a shame, you look so good together—he obviously likes you, too. The older turned the deepest shade of red, and Wooyoung put his best effort into not bursting into laughter right there and then. As it turns out, Seonghwa’s heart had been stolen years prior, and the culprit is—to this day—blissfully unaware of the damage done, of the feelings blooming in the boy’s chest, frail branches growing thorns that scratch at the walls of Seonghwa’s throat more and more at each failed attempt at winning Hongjoong’s heart for himself—or getting his own back in one piece.

With San it came easy this time, too, no different than the first time—if not for some silly comment about how Wooyoung will end up dating their whole friend group by the end of the year if he keeps it up. His only comeback to that was that he wouldn't mind getting some extra attention and kisses. Although it had been scarier, that time around, telling Seonghwa he’d also been developing feelings for Hongjoong—his Hongjoong, the Hongjoong he wasn’t so sure Seonghwa would be willing to share. And the older one was obviously startled, shaken—the first and only thing he could do was apologize to Wooyoung. He still doesn’t think he fully understands the meaning behind that apology. If anything, Wooyoung should be the one asking for forgiveness, for intruding on something that already was, even if unspoken. But then Seonghwa quickly recomposed himself, and asked Wooyougn what he wanted—from him, from Hongjoong, from their relationship. Things went back to normal right away, with the only proof of their conversation being a new alliance formed to win Hongjoong’s heart. They both knew the task wouldn’t be an easy one, but maybe if they joined forces the other would have finally taken the hint.

Wooyoung has learned the hard way that it’s better to keep his hands and mind busy when he gets like this, so to avoid tuning in on the muffled voices coming from the living room, he sits at his desk and starts working on an assignment due in six days. He types the hours away and before he even realizes it he’s halfway through his twelve-page essay. Despite this still counting as working, he feels lighter by the end of it, his mind doesn’t feel as clouded and he might be getting his appetite back.

His mulling is interrupted by a knock on the door to which he gives close to no consideration—whoever it is, they’ll get the hint and come in anyway. He looks up from his laptop to see Seonghwa crack the door open and step into the room. Just seeing the warm smile on his lips makes him feel relieved.

“The others just left,” he says, closing the door behind him. “They didn’t want to bother you, but wanted me to tell you they said bye.”

“Hm, I’ll send them a text later—sorry for disappearing.”

Wooyoung turns his chair around to face Seonghwa as he walks up to him, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he places both hands on each side of Wooyoung’s face and caresses his cheeks with an obvious carefulness. “Are you feeling better?”

Wooyoung wraps his arms around the older’s waist and presses his head against his stomach, sighing content when he feels the gentle touch of his fingers against his scalp, grazing it slightly.

“I’m alright.”

“What are you working on?”

“Nothing important, just let me cuddle with you for a moment.”

He tightens his hold around Seonghwa’s waist, pulling him closer and forcing him into the space between his legs. Seonghwa chuckles, soft and sweet and amused. It might not be the most comfortable position for either of them, but Wooyoung can’t bring himself to mind when Seonghwa feels so warm against him. And stable—and real. Safe.

“Hongjoong wanted to apologize, for what he said before.”

“Hm, why didn’t he?”

“Because San and i told him not to, we thought that he could have made it worse, somehow.”

He didn’t expect an apology, actually. He didn’t want Hongjoong to feel bad for what he said when he obviously didn’t know the damage he could have caused. Wooyoung realizes it might not be the smartest joke to make regardless of the situation, but their relationship allows it. It’s always been a push and pull between the two of them, an endless cycle of teasing in which they knew better than to take anything that was said seriously—so it wasn’t the words that startled Wooyoung tonight, it was the assumption hidden in them.

“Are you really okay?”

Wooyoung lets out a sigh, almost frustrated, and he feels Seonghwa’s body subtly tense up in his hold. He doesn’t want to snap at the older, he’s grateful for Seonghwa and the fact that he’s showing concern—Seonghwa only ever means well and Wooyoung doesn’t have the right to fault him for it. But the point of this all was so that Wooyoung wouldn’t have to think about it, and now he’s back to square one.

“It’s just Hongjoong-hyung, I know he didn’t mean any harm, I’m alright.”

Seonghwa doesn’t seem satisfied with Wooyoung’s answer, but Wooyoung can guess by the way his body is slowly relaxing back against him that he decided to settle with it and let it slide, at least for now.

“I’m going to work on that essay a bit more, if you don’t mind.”

He detaches himself from Seonghwa so that he can look up at him, anticipating the pouty lips and gloomy eyes staring down at him.

“We were waiting for you to watch a movie together, though—Joongie is staying over, too.”

Oh, Wooyoung wants to—he’d love to. San had been chirping happily around the apartment for the whole afternoon with the prospect of spending a cozy night in with his boyfriends and Hongjoong, taking for granted that the boy wouldn’t turn down an invitation to spend a few extra hours with them, and mostly Seonghwa—he’s been spending more nights sleeping on their couch than in his own bed, lately. But that look—Wooyoung forgot what that felt like. he doesn’t think he can face hongjoong as of now.

“You get it started,” he reaches for Seonghwa’s hands, holding them in his own and swinging them side to side. “I’ll catch up as soon as I’m done here, alright?”

“Are you sure?”

“Affirmative,” he accentuates his statement with a quick kiss on the back of Seonghwa’s hands, and it may be just enough to convince the older. “Now go before San decides to make a move on Hongjoong-hyung while we’re not there.”

Seonghwa sticks his tongue out at the other, looking betrayed, like he means it, and Wooyoung watches amused as he turns to walk away, closing the door behind him. Wooyoung’s smile drops the very next second, while he listens to the muffled footsteps walking away. He doesn’t move for a moment, barely even breathing, trying to focus on the hushed tone of their voices.

“Is he not feeling better?” asks San, already resigned to the fact that Wooyoung wouldn't be joining them.

“I don’t know, he looks a bit down—he’s working on some assignment.”

“Should I check on him?”

“Let’s leave him be, he said he’ll join us when he’s done with it.”

Wooyoung waits some more, waits for Hongjoong to say something—anything that would ease his mind. His voice never reaches Wooyoung ears. His heart strains at the worry dragging San’s voice, at the hopeless sound of Seonghwa’s tired steps. He looks back at the computer screen, the black bar line blinking at him impatiently over the blinding white light, urging him to pick back up where he left off.

~

The clock reads well past midnight when Wooyoung turns off his laptop and heads out of his room. Some quick math tells him their movie is way past the post-credits—unless they spent more than half an hour fighting for the title choice, which wouldn’t be a surprise. But given the silence that fell over the apartment, he figures that wasn’t the case this time. He rounds the corner, apology rehearsed and ready at the tip of his tongue because you said you would join us, but he comes to a halt when he finds the three boys snuggled together on the couch, fast asleep.

Seonghwa is squished in the middle because of course he would be, San glued to his side and tucked safely in Seonghwa’s embrace because of course he would be, and then there’s Hongjoong—now that’s one for the history books. Hongjoong lies on his side, head resting on a soft pillow placed right on Seonghwa’s lap. Seonghwa has his free hand thrown over Hongjoong’s waist, keeping him from falling, while San has a hand tangled in Hongjoong’s black and white locks. Wooyoung really can’t believe that the one time he skips cuddle time, is the time Hongjoong gives in to it.

He spots Hongjoong’s phone on the coffee table and reaches for it, swiping on the screen to open the camera app. He steals a few quick shots that will undoubtedly make it on Wooyoung’s memory wall, if Hongjoong doesn’t decide to gatekeep them—he also makes sure to snap a few selfies of his pouty face, just to be generous. He sets the phone back down and takes a step back, a tired smile spreading across his face when Hongjoong’s form shifts slightly to settle more comfortably, and Seonghwa’s arm wraps more securely around him, drawing him closer.

Not wanting to risk waking them up, he only stays around to drape a soft blanket over Hongjoong’s and San’s bodies—Seonghwa already has his two human blankets—and with one last careful glance at the three sleeping boys he leaves the room, settling on a quick warm shower and a comfortable change of clothes before he can finally slide into bed and call it a day.

~

There, under the stream of scorching hot water, Wooyoung loses his grip on his thoughts. It’s brief, barely conscious, but it’s there and it’s so alarmingly familiar that his hand flies to the faucet before he can process it properly. He twists the handle all the way to cold and lets the water hit his skin, bites deep into his bones, wrapping around his senses until he can think clearly again, until the image of bloody-stained water flowing down the drain is replaced by the comforting thought of his two loving boyfriends—and best friend—waiting for him in the other room.

He only turns the water off when he starts feeling like his legs would collapse under his weight and his skin would turn white from the cold. He does a quick job of drying himself and washing his face while avoiding his gaze in the mirror—he doesn’t trust himself to linger in front of his reflection, of his soft stomach, or his naked, scarred thighs he’s usually so good at ignoring. Wooyoung is dressed and out of the bathroom before he can hate himself for how he looks.

It's nothing new, the way he has to fight against intrusive thoughts like he’s fighting for his own life, but sometimes they get a bit too real, a bit too dangerous. They flood his mind and make him blind to everything good that could save him from them, to anything that could pull him back from the edge. He’s learned to keep them at bay, and learned that they don't have that much power over him unless he allows them to. But this day is taking a toll on him.

Wooyoung is good at ignoring others’ remarks about his appearance, about him, he knows better than to let them phase him—but that look coming from Hongjoong, of all, hurt him more than he'd expected. Maybe he got him at a weak moment, maybe he missed the signs of today being one of those days, and he hadn't been nice enough to himself throughout it. And just like that, what he thought he had left in his past came back to hit him head first. It wasn’t just Hongjoong words, nor the way he looked at him—now it's his own, insistent and arrogant voice spitting the words at him, and it's a whole different story. Apparently, he hadn't healed as much as he thought he did. Tonight is going to be a long one.

Wooyoung sighs heavily, flicking off the bathroom lights before heading towards his bedroom. Stepping out into the hallway he hesitates, noticing the light spilling from the room and into the hall. He takes a shaking breath and turns the corner, surprised to find San waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on Wooyoung’s bed and looking up at him with a tired face and a pout on his lips.

“You're awake,” says Wooyoung, going the extra mile to pick himself up and mask the turmoil of emotions making a mess of his thoughts.

“You said you would join us.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” he folds, trying to avoid San’s eyes so he won’t be swallowed by guilt. “I just needed to keep my mind busy for a while.”

Wooyoung walks closer to the bed, and without a word San scoots back against the headboard to slip under the comforter, urging him to do the same. Wooyoung climbs in beside him, the sheets and covers are uncomfortably fresh and clean when they fall over his body—they've been sleeping on Seonghwa’s bed these past few weeks, leaving his own bed untouched, so their scented softener is the only thing hitting Wooyoung’s senses now.

He wraps himself around the other boy, and his body goes lax when San holds him tighter, draws him closer, and lets him hide from his cruel world safe in his embrace. He’s sure San knows, that he felt the way the air shifted around Wooyoung the moment Hongjoong spoke those words and heard the thoughts taking up space in his mind ever since. He knows Wooyoung needs the reassurance just like he knows he has no right to pry answers from him.

“Is Hongjoong-hyung okay?” he breathes against San’s skin where he's hiding in the crook of his neck.

“I think so, we told him you were fine but he kept stealing glances down the hallway, he only started to look at ease after cuddling up to Hwa-hyung.”

So the cuddle pile was made specifically for Hongjoong, it makes sense. Guilt gathers in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Hongjoong worrying himself to sleep because of him. He almost wishes they’d let him barge into his room to apologize so that he could have calmed his nerves himself, cleared his forehead from any wrinkles and made sure he wouldn’t draw blood from his bottom lip from chewing on it like he always does.

“They were both asleep when I woke up, so I let them be,” adds San. “They’ll probably need some time alone.”

“God, I feel like shit.”

Wooyoung holds San tighter, presses his face to his skin and squints his eyes as he tries to dismiss the tears threatening to escape. He would have made the effort to step out of the room if he had known it could have eased Hongjoong’s mind at least a tiny bit.

“Hey, don’t—you needed space, and that’s okay,” San is carding a hand through Wooyoung’s hair now, and Wooyoung melts into the touch. “He wouldn’t blame you for it, so don’t blame yourself.”

Wooyoung is sure Seonghwa—and San—handled things in the best way possible, given the circumstances, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling off now that it’s there. He focuses on the steady rhythm of San’s heart beating under his weight.

“He felt really sorry, you know he didn’t mean it that way.”

“In what other way could he have meant it?” Wooyoung scoffs. “I know where he’s coming from, I did gain a bit.”

Wooyoung allows himself some minor slip-ups, from time to time. San never seems too fond of it, never at ease, but Wooyoung insists laughing it off helps deflect his attention from the main issue, helps him give it less value, and power. But he feels it as the words leave his mouth, tonight it’s less about deflecting and more about wanting to know how deep the thought has taken root.

“Young-ah—”

“It’s fine, San-ah,” Wooyoung is quick to cut him off, because now that he felt how deep the roots have reached, he doesn’t want San to realize it from the tremble of his voice. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

If he listens carefully enough, it almost feels like their hearts are beating in synch. It’s strange—in a good way. He wonders if it’s the first time it has occurred with San, or if he just never noticed it. San is quite the slave of anxiety, so his heart would always beat a tad bit too fast every time Wooyoung would be close enough to pick it up.

“How could I not worry about you?”

Wooyoung remembers reading something about it years ago, about how someone can become so attuned to each other, so dependent on one another that even their hearts synch up, and the longer two people are together the more they become part of each other—mind, body, and soul. It makes sense to him—he and San have been together for most of their lives. Would Seonghwa’s heart synch up with his, as well? Would Hongjoong’s sing a similar melody?

“Are you really okay?”

San’s words don’t come out as much of a question. His tone is so saturated with concern that it almost turns into a prayer. Wooyoung forces his eyes closed, his fingers shake where they rest on top of San’s arm, but then San lays a soft kiss on the crown of Wooyoung’s hair, and maybe it’s not as bad as he thought it was. He couldn’t be more grateful for everything that is San.

“I think so, yeah.”

Wooyoung startles as he realizes his own words come out as some sort of prayer, too.

~

The next morning, as Wooyoung walks into the kitchen with San by his side, Hongjoong gives him a shy, and cautious smile—uncharacteristic of him, but Wooyoung will take what he can get. The sight in front of him is so reassuringly familiar that he can leave most of his worries out of the room because nothing changed, we’re still here and we’re still together and we’re fine. Wooyoung loves it the most when it’s the four of them.

Seonghwa has his back turned to them, busy with the food cooking on the stove and filling their apartment with the most delicious smell. Hongjoong has the most endearing habit of sitting on the counter right behind the older as he does, carefully watching him move around the kitchen with a set of lovestruck eyes. Wooyoung always thought it hurt Hongjoong more than it made him feel content, in the long run. Today is no different—even now, he’s wearing that soft, fond look he only reserves for Seonghwa. Wooyoung often wonders what it must feel like to be at the receiving end of it.

Seonghwa turns to greet the two boys, and San doesn’t waste a second before he glues himself to his back like a leech, arms wrapped securely around his waist as he sighs content. When Wooyoung looks back at Hongjoong his eyes are glued to his own feet, swinging back and forth at a steady rhythm. Wooyoung walks to him and leans against the counter, and Hongjoong’s attention flies up to the younger. His smile is as genuine as ever, but there’s guilt swirling in his eyes. Wooyoung gives him a fond smile—Hongjoong is so endearingly transparent and sincere, at times.

“Hyung, I’m really okay—please don’t worry too much.”

“Does that mean am I forgiven?”

“I’ll forgive you,” Wooyoung starts, tone on the teasing side. “If you let me give you a kiss.”

Hongjoong scoots away just in time, before Wooyoung can invade his personal space—this boy’s got some reflexes when unwanted physical affection is involved—but Wooyoung throws himself at the other again and Hongjoong has nowhere to go. Before he knows it, Wooyoung has him locked in place, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Hongjoong cries out for help when the younger puckers his lips out, leaning in to press a kiss on whichever patch of naked skin he can reach.

“Your boyfriend is trying to kiss me, are you really not doing anything?”

Wooyoung hears San chuckle just when he manages to land a kiss on Hongjoong’s jaw, and he drinks in the squeal Hongjoong lets out at it, a deep blush reaching the tip of his ears—the reaction only spurs Wooyoung to be a bit bolder and aim for his cheek next.

“The best I can do is join him on his attempt,” is all the help San provides.

Hongjoong only groans at San’s remark, shutting his eyes when he feels Wooyoung’s breath brush against his skin. He’s probably praying to every deity he knows of, for someone to come and save him from the devil that is Wooyoung. As luck would have it, someone does answer before Wooyoung can press his lips to him a second time, much to the latter’s displeasure.

“Hongjoong-ah, could you go and set the table? Breakfast is ready.”

Seonghwa is good at boundaries, good at drawing the line between what can pass as just enough but not spill into too much. It’s always seemed too blurry for Wooyoung—maybe out of his own stubbornness. Hongjoong holds tightly on the extremely appreciated distraction and quickly pushes Wooyoung off of him to get down, telling Seonghwa he’d gladly take care of it. Wooyoung is about to follow Hongjoong out of the door, but Seonghwa stops him before he can take a single step behind him.

“Not you, Wooyoung-ah—behave.”

Before leaving the room, Hongjoong shoots him a playful smile and sticks his tongue out at Wooyoung, just for good measures. He’s so precious he wants to eat him whole.

~

At the table, Wooyoung puts his best effort into emptying his plate, because despite the way his guts feel twisted in knots and tight and obstructed and every bite feels harder to swallow than the previous one, he can feel San’s eyes on him for the whole duration of their meal. He can’t do something like this to him, not now. He feels like he could make out what’s going through San’s mind with a single glance—he has memories of their past written all over his face. The least Wooyoung can do is try to soothe his worries, at least this much.

Wooyoung slides a hand across his skin, palm flat against his stomach before closing it around a handful of soft flesh. Soft. Too soft. He kneads the skin between his fingers and grunts in disgust. Too much. He lets his shirt fall back down to cover his tummy. He thinks about it, really thinks about it before pulling out his scale from a dark corner of his closet. It’s been a while—he knows he shouldn't, but he’s drawn to it. He hid it away for a reason, the numbers on the small display had always shone back at him with an uncomfortable dullness, mockingly blinking at him, and he surely did not expect it to be any different now. He’s left staring down at it with a very familiar feeling twisting inside of him.

Too much. He’s too much.

He hates how easy it is to fall back into his old habits. It’s terrifying, he’s always been scared of it. It’s especially easy to stop himself from giving in to his cravings—almost as simple as it is to surrender to it. All he has to do is think about his body, about how wrong it feels to own it, to expose it, about how his reflection never seems satisfied with what Wooyoung has to show. In a second the mashed bite of tasty food on his tongue feels heavy and tasteless, sickening. And then he comes out of it victorious. He didn’t miss it, being hunched over the toilet seat, fingers grazing the back of his throat. He can’t face himself in the mirror as he washes his teeth, he quickly dismisses the guilt he knows he’s supposed to feel as he packs his leftovers back in the fridge. San will ask whose lunch it is, Wooyoung will reply he ordered too much and pray he believes him. But it brings him comfort, knowing he has at least this amount of control over his body.

A few days go by, and one morning he doesn’t shy away from his eyes when he meets them in the mirror. He takes in the sharpness of his jawline, how defined his cheekbones look, no more of that baby fat he so despised on sight. His favorite oversized t-shirt finally falls on his shoulders the way he wanted, and he smiles—proud—as he cuts an extra loop into his go-to belt when he realizes it’s not enough to keep his pants up anymore. It’s even scarier, how fast he managed to get here again, how much he accomplished in so little time. He wishes he’d feel more ashamed about it—at least that would mean there’s still something good within him.

Despite it all, it wasn’t his plan to do anything drastic. Most days it feels like he’s fighting a war against himself—all by himself. The most ironic thing is that it’s when he regains clarity, when he gets a glimpse of a good day, that he gets worse. It’s when he gets to see how much he’s hurting himself, that he hurts more. He realizes he’s getting bad again, that he’s free-falling into something risky and he wants it to stop because he doesn’t deserve it—he knows for sure he doesn’t. And then he bites his own tail, falling deeper, ignoring it for just a bit longer.

He's able to find the balance quickly, sticks to one meal a day—two if he really has to, if he doesn’t want to raise suspicions. He doesn’t indulge in any snacks like he usually would, he takes pride in his self-restraint. And for a while he manages to keep everything under control, the one time San questions him about it he makes up an excuse, tells him he’s been feeling unwell, and it works as a perfect diversion. It helps that Seonghwa’s been busier with his classes lately, and he’s not around enough to pick up on Wooyoung’s behavior like he normally would.

It makes him feel good that he seems to have everything under control, more at ease with himself. At times, he finds himself wishing either one of the two could catch him at any point, force him to come clean, but then they don’t, and he finds it’s easier to hold his breath through it. Until he loses focus for just an instant, and it almost costs him everything.

Wooyoung can’t recall the last time he stopped to have a proper, actual meal. He’s sure he had breakfast with Seonghwa at some point since the week started, and he did grab a quick lunch with San between their classes the day before. He didn’t even plan it, but before he realizes it, it’s thursday and he’s been mainly running on quick snacks for the past week. The day goes by in a wink, and he's running left and right from work to practice, to teaching classes, to home, to groceries, back home, and to practice again—he didn't know one could do these many things in a single day. So when his legs wobble a bit too much on his way up the stairs to his apartment, body aching and worn out and exhausted, he ignores it—like a stupid person would. When he flops down on his bed and drifts off by the time his head hits the pillow, he’s too asleep to worry about it.

Wooyoung wakes up in the middle of the night, probably just a few hours into sleep, discomfort crawling beneath his skin and sweat sticking to his hair, and he quickly realizes something isn’t right. He struggles to sit upright, and his head starts to spin, a loud ringing in his ears. His hands tremble, and his whole body shakes as he tries to weakly gather himself to slip away from San’s embrace. That’s when the nausea hits him.

He needs to get up—he has to. He’s too close to the two boys, and his struggles are going to wake them up both. But he can’t get his body to move, can’t get his muscles to obey him. It’s so sudden and intense that he folds into himself, his lungs fail him, and even taking in a deep breath feels like he’ll die from it. The feeling rises so high up in his throat that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from crying out loud. He doesn’t even know how much time goes by, but he tries to save himself by pretending it’s not real, by pretending he's somewhere far from here, pretending he’s someone else entirely.

“Young-ah?” A soft voice brings him back to reality, and it has him gasping for air and gripping the sheets with his fingers. “Love, are you with me?”

When Wooyoung opens his eyes, Seonghwa is in front of him, eyes filled with worry and hands coming up to each side of his face to hold it up. Wooyoung’s vision is a bit blurry still, unable to focus his gaze on the other. There’s a soft, warm light reflecting on his skin, probably coming from one of their bedside lamps.

“’m gonna throw up.”

It's the only coherent thought Wooyoung manages to get out, and Seonghwa is quick to get on his feet and run to the bathroom, coming back into the room with a basket and an exaggerated amount of tissues in his hands. He hears San’s voice call out to them, but it feels distant, and he can’t quite tune in on it. As soon as he places the basket in Wooyoung’s lap, a wretch pulls out of him with a force that almost has him topple over, and he’s left gasping for air again. He feels San’s hand stroking up and down his back to help him through it. He hears his voice now, as a gentle hand wipes his lips with a tissue.

“You’re okay, come on, we got you.”

Another wretch comes, and he feels like a piece of him is trying to escape from inside as well. Only then does the nauseating feeling tone down, and he allows himself to cave in and let his head fall to the side, settling on San’s shoulder as he takes big breaths. His body falls limp against him, and he thinks this is the worst he’s ever felt in all his life, probably.

“Are you feeling better?”

Wooyoung whimpers at the calmness in San's voice—he was sure the other would have scolded him as soon as he deemed it safe enough.

“What is it? Tell us what's wrong,” tries to pry Seonghwa from beside him, placing a hand on Wooyoung’s thigh.

“Hurts, everything hurts,” he manages to say, making himself smaller against San’s frame—taking anything he is willing to give him before he takes it all away from him.

“I’ll go grab an aspirin,” resolves the oldest, getting up on his feet.

Wooyoung can hear some degree of relief in his tone, he tends to be more at ease when he knows what he’s supposed to do, when he can place his hands on the problem and act on it. San, on the other hand, doesn’t sound pleased.

“Can you grab a protein bar as well? Something light, maybe something sugary, if we have anything.”

Seonghwa stops in his tracks to look back at him, eyebrows furrowed and hand wrapped around the door handle.

“I don’t think he should eat anything right now, he might end up throwing it up again.”

Wooyoung can already feel his eyes well up with tears—somehow, the fact that San can’t even bring himself to be mad at him makes him feel even worse, makes him want to hide even more.

“He didn’t throw up any food, he hasn't been eating—we can’t get his stomach upset, but he needs to eat something.”

Wooyoung would have pushed him away by instinct if only his arms didn’t feel so weak—if only San’s closeness wasn't the only thing keeping him alive. The thought alone makes him want to flee, but he knows he’d be lost without them. So he holds San closer, tighter. Seonghwa is still, silent, the air in the room is freezing cold. Heavy. Wooyoung knows what Seonghwa’s hesitation means, and it’s all his fault. He’s so selfish for making Seonghwa go through the same hell San had to face all those years ago.

“It’s okay, Hwa—just do as he says, I’ll be fine.”

Wooyoung doesn't dare look up, he just waits until he hears the door creak open and Seonghwa’s wavering steps walk down the hall. Only then does he allow himself to let go. His body shakes with sobs that only grow stronger when San’s head rests against his own, letting out a sigh he had been keeping in for a while now.

“What were you thinking?”

San’s tone is far from condescending—it’s apprehensive. The words come out in a whisper against the crown of Wooyoung’s hair before he lays a kiss on it. Wooyoung can’t stop the tears from falling. San only holds him closer.

“Please don’t be mad, I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t—

“Hey, of course not, why would I be mad? We’ll figure this out, just like we did in the past.”

San leans back to face him, and Wooyoung’s heart breaks when he sees the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

“I can’t tell him,” he feels San’s muscles tense, but the comforting touches don’t cease despite it all. “I can't face this failure as well, not now.”

“You don't have to tell him, he’ll understand, it’s going to be alright.”

~

Wooyoung wakes up alone. It takes longer than usual for him to regain complete consciousness of himself, the minutes drag out long and loud as he stares at the white ceiling over his head and goes back to last night. None of this should have happened. If only he had been more cautious, none of this would have happened. He hates himself for it. They weren’t supposed to find out—not like this, not now.

Knees to his chest and back pressed against the headboard, he holds himself as he tries to swim through the chaos in his head. San begs him to take a whole week off work, and maybe some more, not to step foot past the academy’s walls until he could make sure Wooyoung was doing better again. Wooyoung listens, because he wants to be good this time, because it’s in moments like this that he needs someone to take the reins, and San is the one who knows what’s better for him, right now. Because San has always treated Wooyoung better than he ever treated himself.

Wooyoung wants to cry. He can hear Seonghwa walking around their apartment and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to face him as well. His heart clenches in his chest if he thinks back at the memory of him frozen in place, unable to move at the realization of what Wooyoung had been going through, at the fact that he didn’t notice. It makes Wooyoung feel guilty enough that San had caught up to him on his own, but the thought of Seonghwa knowing as well feels like a whole new kind of pain—worse than any he could possibly cause himself.

When Seonghwa does come into the room, Wooyoung can tell he’s trying his best not to intrude, not to force himself into wooyoung’s space. He knocks on the door, and only after Wooyoung gives him the go-ahead does he step inside.

“Are you feeling better?”

Wooyoung instinctively holds himself tighter, makes himself smaller when Seonghwa walks closer, and the older seems to catch the hint. He stops midway and crosses his arms to his chest, shoulders stiff and closed in on themselves. The view of Seonghwa standing still and uncomfortable in the middle of his own room makes something unpleasant swirl in the pit of his stomach—this isn’t right, this is unfair. It reminds him of when they first started dating, when Seonghwa couldn’t understand if or where he fit in their home quite yet.

“I made breakfast if you feel like it,” he says quietly, careful not to step over any boundary that Wooyoung just set. “San said you should eat something.”

San is familiar with Wooyoung’s antics, he already learned the dos and don’ts. Don’t overstep, give time, give space, be patient, and be gentle. Wooyoung doubts he was expecting to have to act on them again.

“What else did he tell you?”

“He just told me to be patient and make sure you eat your breakfast and lunch, and that he’ll think about dinner.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung’s voice is small when he speaks, quiet and wet with shame as he hides his face from the older, and it has Seonghwa scrambling to his side to make him look back up.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for, I promise you,” he sits at the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to rest against Wooyoung’s cheek.

Wooyoung’s heart shatters into pieces when he meets Seonghwa’s teary eyes, and the walls fall for a moment, allowing him to let his guard down and let go. He throws himself at Seonghwa and takes him in, pressing their bodies closer. Seonghwa cradles the smaller one in his arms and breathes him in, waiting for him to settle. Wooyoung doesn’t cry—Seonghwa doesn’t, either. They just stay like that as much as the morning allows them, in the quietness of their room.

~

Seonghwa made pancakes. It makes sense, they’re light and fluffy, with none of that weird food texture he would usually complain about, no pungent smell lingering in the air, and no intense flavor on his tongue as he chews on them. He wonders if San suggested it, or if Seonghwa just assumed by himself that it would be wise to do so.

Wooyoung eats the first one, picks a second, smaller one from the pile, and adds one last half to his plate despite every fiber of his body screaming against it—not after all the work you put into it—just for Seonghwa’s sake. He looks more at ease now, and Wooyoung’s mind feels lighter than before. They eat in silence, and Wooyoung can tell Seonghwa is taking his time not to pressure Wooyoung into eating faster to match his usual pace. Give time, be patient. Seonghwa waits until Wooyoung’s plate is clean as well and gets up from his seat, reaching out to get hold of it.

“It’s okay, I can clean up—you cooked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, just sit.”

Wooyoung gathers the dirty dishes in his hands and smiles sweetly at Seonghwa when the older leaves a quick peck on his cheek before sitting back down.

“Thank you.”

He hears a loud ping from Seonghwa’s phone as he leaves the room. Could that be San? He's probably asking how everything's going. Is Seonghwa going to tell him how much he ate? He hopes he is, San would be relieved to know that Wooyoung managed to clear his plate of its contents.

By the time Wooyoung finishes cleaning the dishes and tidying up the kitchen, Seonghwa has already settled down on the couch. He notices the older typing on his phone, and at first he thinks it might still be San, but then Seonghwa rolls his eyes to the back of his head and lets out a frustrated sigh, and there's only one person who can get that big of a reaction from him.

“Hongjoong-hyung?”

Seonghwa looks up, almost startled, then his eyes fly back and forth from his phone to Wooyoung sitting cross-legged beside him and sticking his neck out to peek at the screen.

“Yeah, he's been avoiding me, I think.”

“You think?”

“I've been asking him to come over for the past two weeks, and every time I do, he tells me he's in his studio and he can't talk. I don't know if he's lying to me or if he's just overworking himself as it's his usual—which in both cases doesn't make me feel quite at ease, to be honest.”

So that's why they haven't been able to see Hongjoong for the past week? He thought that at least Seonghwa would have gotten a glimpse of the boy. This is out of the ordinary. The two of them were used to seeing each other every single day, so it was weird for them to be apart from each other for more than a couple of days. And even when their schedules are more packed than usual, they can always wait for the weekend to come and squeeze a little group hangout in there. Now that he thinks about it, the last time Hongjoong had spent the night over was after the dinner incident—as Wooyoung started to call it. That was weeks ago.

“Give me the phone?”

Seonghwa only hesitates a second before placing his phone in Wooyoung’s hands, a white bubble staring back at him with a plain can't, I'm staying at the studio. He didn't even bother to apologize, really? That's a shitty move, and it's not like him to say no to Seonghwa. So he starts typing.

hwa .*•°

hyung

get your ass here

we’re having dinner together

hong <3

wooyoung?

i have work to do

hwa .*•°

i don't care

take a break

we want to see you

stop avoiding us

“Could you be a bit more subtle?”

Seonghwa scoots closer to get a glimpse of the screen, waiting for the three dots to disappear. He looks on edge, for some reason.

“That's not really my thing.”

hong <3

I'm not avoiding you

I'm working

hwa .*•°

fuck off i haven’t seen you in weeks

just come over for dinner

you made seonghwa cry

Seonghwa opens his mouth to object, but Wooyoung is quick to shush him. Maybe he shouldn’t lie to Hongjoong’s face like this—well, you know—but this is the quickest and most efficient way to have Hongjoong fold.

hong <3

what

really?

hwa .*•°

you're avoiding him

hong <3

I'm not

hwa .*•°

exactly

so get your ass here

dumbass

hong <3

fine

do I have to pick up the food?

Wooyoung hands the phone back to Seonghwa, a satisfied smile on his lips as he cuddles up to his side and watches attentively as he texts Hongjoong that no need, san is gonna get it on his way home from the academy.

“Why would you tell him I was crying?”

“Because he's whipped and weak for you,” says Wooyoung matter-of-factly, watching amused as Seonghwa types another message.

hwa .*•°

for the record, I didn’t actually cry

hong <3

noted

I can be there by 8?

“He's not whipped,” he tilts the phone towards Wooyoung for him to read the last text. “He just cares about me because I'm his best friend.”

“Eight is fine—I didn't know best friends spent that much time making out with each other.”

Seonghwa sends the reply and locks his phone, bending forward to leave it on the coffee table and out of his way.

“I just help him relieve some stress, there’s nothing more to it.”

“Oh, I'm sure you do.”

When Seonghwa settles back against the backrest, Wooyoung plops in his lap, head on his thighs and looking up at the older. Like a flip is switched inside of Seonghwa, his eyes turn sad. They've talked about this plenty of times, and Wooyoung would always find himself hoping the conversation would end in a turn of events of some sort. But the look in Seonghwa’s eyes is telling something different tonight, more on the hopeless side than on the desperate one.

“That doesn’t matter anyway, it’s purely platonic for him.”

“But you’d die for something more?”

Seonghwa's hand naturally comes up to play with Wooyoung’s hair, twirling the strands between his fingers, while the other rests on Wooyoung’s chest. It’s unlike him, the way his eyes don’t spark with annoyance at the fact that yesterday he had his tongue down my throat, and five minutes later I try to hold his hand and he looks at me like I am about to propose or something, or that last week he told me to stop bringing him dinner at the studio or his coworkers will start thinking that we’re dating, with that stupid annoying face he always does that makes you want to punch him—or kiss him, would always retort Wooyoung.

“Do you really have to keep asking that?”

“Just tell him, hyung.”

As it turns out, San and Wooyoung weren't the only ones getting mixed signals from Hongjoong. Seonghwa had been getting full buckets of them for years now. The spark between the two of them is undeniable. Wooyoung himself had always been envious of the chemistry they had, but when Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung made their relationship official, Hongjoong slowly but surely started measuring his every move, every word directed at them—and mostly at Seonghwa.

“He doesn't like me like that.”

It made sense, at first, that Hongjoong would take some distance, but after a while it became too much for Seonghwa to bear. Seonghwa confronted him about it before the situation could get out of hand, and Hongjoong’s answer was short and simple, as if there was nothing weird about his behavior: You're in a relationship now, I wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea. But Seonghwa’s interest in him is so blatantly obvious that the possibility of Hongjoong not knowing could barely even be taken into consideration. At that point, that could only mean that Hongjoong didn't feel the same way about him, and he had just been looking for a way to let him down easy.

“How do you know? Did you ask him?”

“I don’t have to, I can just tell.”

“Oh please,” bites back Wooyoung without hesitation. “He’s fallen so deep into you he’s basically up your asshole.”

It earns him a pinch on the chest, then another one on the waist when he tries to open his mouth again to complain about it.

“Fine, I'll drop it!” he sighs in defeat. “I was only trying to give this plot some spice.”

Wooyoung hates that things have to be like this, he just wishes the two of them would open their eyes and figure it out already. The most painful thing was having to watch them suffer for each other and forcefully shove the feeling down their throat each time it dared to rise to the surface.

The hours fly by, they settle on picking up a show they had started watching long ago and was left unfinished. To be honest, Wooyoung barely remembers anything from the first episodes, but he'll take what he can if it means he can spend the day in Seonghwa’s arms. The air around them is not as suffocating as he had feared the same morning—he should have known better, with Seonghwa. The older walks around him with steps more cautious than usual, but not enough to make Wooyoung regret sharing the space with him.

“Thank you,” whispers Wooyoung at some point, close to falling asleep on Seonghwa's lap as the older has his gaze fixed on the TV screen, hand still grazing his scalp with slow motions. “For not bringing it up.”

Seonghwa’s hand shifts lower and rests against Wooyoung’s cheek, thumb caressing the skin lovingly.

“I don't expect you to tell me just because I'm your boyfriend—it's your past, I'm going to be there for you whatever happens.”

~

Wooyoung is woken up from his nap by hushed yelling. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and tunes in to Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s voices coming from the other room, speaking in a low voice but with enough pathos to make it seem like they’d be screaming out loud, if they could.

“I've always hidden in my studio when important deadlines were coming up, I don't see why this is so different to you.”

“You never locked me out, not like this!”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that you could tell me if something was wrong between us, and we could talk about it like normal people would.”

“And I'd tell you if that was the case! I would, but this is just--” Hongjoong’s voice sounds like it’s on the verge of breaking, a shade of guilt so heavy that Wooyoung almost feels it burn up his throat. “I've got a lot of tracks to send out, that's all.”

“Is this because of what I said that night?”

“I told you it's fine already, why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Because it's obviously bothering you more than you're telling me.”

“It's fine, Hwa, you're just overreacting.”

“Don't you dare tell me I'm overreacting, when we both know you're only here because you felt bad bailing on Wooyoung.”

Oh, is that why? They wouldn't have told him, would they? Wooyoung suddenly feels very small. Torn between the satisfaction from knowing Hongjoong cares enough to show up for him, and the shame from the pity and guilt guiding Hongjoong’s actions.

“I've been busy with work, that's all that there is behind it.”

“Then why can't you just talk to me?”

Seonghwa has only ever been transparent when it comes to his emotions, that’s one of the things Wooyoung loves most about him. The hopelessness with which he whispers the words wraps around Wooyoung’s heart and squeezes with such force that it almost punches the air out of his lungs. He honestly hadn't imagined it would be this serious—he had guessed that Hongjoong was just hiding alone in his studio to get some work done like the workaholic gremlin he is. Wooyoung had been too distracted with himself these past couple of weeks to notice that something had happened.

A loud jingle of keys comes from the apartment door, and after a short moment, San is stepping in, followed by the rustle of paper bags filling the dead silence that had just fallen over their apartment.

“I'm home!” he announces cheerfully.

Wooyoung listens as San makes his way toward the kitchen.

“Hyung! I thought you bailed on us!”

“Sorry, work has been a bit of a bitch.”

He can clearly hear the way San ungraciously leaves the bags on the counter, then there’s some sort of squeal coming from Hongjoong—probably San squeezing him in what he would deem a welcoming and warm hug—and a quick smack of lips on lips, which has to be Seonghwa welcoming him home.

“That's no valid excuse, you're supposed to visit anyway, it gets lonely without you.”

Wooyoung doesn't have to see him to know that he's pouting, the tone of his voice gives him away.

“I'm here now, am I not?”

Hongjoong says it with a chuckle, but then Seonghwa scoffs, and the room grows silent. It's like the temperature in the whole apartment drops all of a sudden. Wooyoung has no idea what's happening in the other room, but he can feel the tension from where he's lying. Seonghwa isn’t one to taunt or provoke, so it must have thrown San off as well, to see such behavior being aimed at Hongjoong, of all.

“San-ah, can you go wake up Wooyoungie? He's on the couch.”

San's answer sounds hesitant, unsure—like he's having a hard time reading the room. He heads out of it nonetheless, making his way to the living room where Wooyoung is. He closes his eyes and parts his lips slightly, pretending to still be asleep. San kneels beside the couch with cautious movements, then Wooyoung feels a hand come up to move a few strands of hair falling over his forehead.

“I know you're awake.”

Wooyoung cracks one eye open to take a peek at his boyfriend and pouts.

“You're no fun.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Hm,” Wooyoung pulls himself up and sits upright, hiding an exaggerated yawn behind the palm of his hand. “I can't complain, I think i needed the break—Seonghwa’s been good to me.”

“Did you throw up again?”

“No,” he starts, then he thinks about it. “But I really wanted to, after lunch.”

The words are calculated, and he sees it in San's eyes that he understands. He said he wanted to, not that he felt like it, or that he almost did—he wanted to throw up, but he didn’t. San leans in to press a kiss on his lips, whispering a silent praise against them.

“I brought your favorite, want to try and eat something?”

When they sit at the table, at first he thinks San might have got their orders mixed, because he’s pretty sure the last time they ate at this restaurant, San didn’t look one bit satisfied with what Wooyoung had claimed to be the most delicious item from the menu, so his brain has a hard time registering the sight of him cutting into a portion of that same dish—but then he looks up at Wooyoung and slides the plate to his seat, and it makes sense.

The first time Wooyoung started recovering from his eating disorder, he remembers telling San how it was easier to have small pieces of food to chew on, instead of having big bites stuffing his mouth, because you never know when the overwhelmingly suffocating nausea is going to creep up the walls of your throat, and it's better to have a small bite to quickly swallow down when that happens. He remembers saying how comforting it was to have some sort of checkpoint throughout the meal, how he had worked up his habit of breaking it up into smaller portions and spreading them along the edge of the plate because it would make it look like he’d have to eat less of it.

The clinking of cutlery against their plates is way louder than it should be. Wooyoung exchanged some words with San, asking about his day and such, about which of the kids complained the most, who slacked off simply because Wooyoung wasn't there to scold them, and who showed progress instead. The conversation goes on for a while, but on the opposite side of the table, Seonghwa and Hongjoong barely spoke a word since they started. Seonghwa even stopped eating his food and is just playing with it now, moving it around the plate. The atmosphere is—how should he put it?—awkward as fuck.

“Okay, what happened between you two?” San speaks all of a sudden, with a bit less tact than Wooyoung would have expected from him—he must have noticed Wooyoung playing with his food, as well. “You’re making this way more awkward than it needs to be.”

“Nothing happened—” starts Hongjoong, but he’s interrupted by the older right away.

“I told him I loved him.”

All their heads snap in Seonghwa’s direction. He has his eyes fixed on the table, seemingly lost as his hand clutches around the pair of chopsticks.

“Seonghwa—”

“I was all caught up in my feelings, and it slipped, and he’s been avoiding me since.”

In any other situation, Wooyoung and San would have chuckled amused, and claimed that mom and dad are fighting again, but this—

“Woah.”

“I told you it’s not like that—”

“Then what’s it like? Because you told me we were fine, and yet this is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks, and you can barely even look me in the eyes.”

To prove his point, Seonghwa diverts his attention from the table and turns to look at Hongjoong, daring him to hold his gaze for even just a second longer, but Hongjoong averts his eyes right away. It hits Seonghwa like a knife to the heart, Wooyoung watches as he lets his eyes fall close and grinds his teeth, he loses his grip on the chopsticks and lets them roll on the table.

“Are you really that disgusted by the thought of it?”

Isn’t this going too far? thinks Wooyoung as he finds San’s concerned eyes looking back at him. The whiplash from the accusation has Hongjoong spring up from his seat, palms flat on the table. His eyes are close to welling up with tears, and he looks like he's been holding his breath since the start of the conversation—for the whole night, maybe. He opens his mouth to say something but stops in his tracks when he notices a lonely tear slowly fall on Seonghwa’s cheek—it’s like Seonghwa’s words hurt both of them in equal amounts. Hongjoong’s shoulders slump, his eyes turn miserable, and his arms fall limp down his sides. He has the face of someone ready to give up on everything.

“I think it's best if you leave.”

Hongjoong tenses up all over, frozen in place, almost as if waiting for Seonghwa to take back his words—but he doesn't. When his eyes find Wooyoung’s, there's a mess of guilt, panic, and heartbreak swimming in them. Wooyoung doesn’t recall ever seeing the older this devastated in his life. Hongjoong is facing something so excruciatingly shattering that his stillness almost feels like an oxymoron. When he does move, he takes a step back, hesitantly at first, but then it’s like a switch is pulled in his brain, and he’s walking away from them. Wooyoung can't help but run after him when he does.

“Hyung, wait!” he catches him at the door, Hongjoong already has a hand wrapped around the handle of it when Wooyoung gets a hold of his wrist. “Are you—do you want me to come with you?”

“Just stay with him, Young-ah—he clearly doesn't want me near any of you,” he blurts out quickly—it's obvious he’s holding back tears and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’ll crumble, and he doesn’t want that to happen anywhere close to Wooyoung, or Seonghwa—or any of them. “I’m sorry for causing a mess, thank you for dinner.”

And just like that, as soon as Wooyoung loosens his grip on his arm, Hongjoong is out the door. Wooyoung ponders on following him to his car, but he figures trying to pry some answers from him in a moment like this will turn out to be counterproductive and will probably cause a bigger mess than this. He just has to hope he's really going to be okay—maybe he'll give Yunho a call to check on him. He recomposes himself quickly and heads back to the living room, where San is already sitting beside Seonghwa and holding him close.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Wooyoung takes the chair on his other side, where Hongjoong was sitting, and hands Seonghwa a napkin from the table so he can stop wiping his tears with the rough sleeves of his sweater.

“What happened?”

“We were kissing, and I guess I got overwhelmed, so I just—blurted out that I loved him out of the blue. But he—he just looked completely petrified, he didn’t even try to say it back, so I tried to tell him that I didn't actually mean it like that and—”

“You took it back?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Wooyoung can feel the regret in Seonghwa’s voice, running deep in his veins since he had been dwelling on it all alone for the past two weeks without telling a living soul. Just why didn’t he tell them? How did Wooyoung not notice? “He said okay, San-ah, he—he was pushing me away, he probably would have just left if I hadn’t moved away first.”

“Did you talk about it after that?”

“I went there the next day, but he was already acting weird, I apologized and asked him if we were okay, and he acted like it didn’t even phase him one bit—like he wasn’t panicking in my lap just the day before. But then every time I asked him to meet, he’d just say no straight away and—that’s not like him.”

Seeing Seonghwa like this is wrecking Wooyoung in half, and he bets San is having a hard time as well—the younger lets his head fall on Seonghwa’s shoulder, trying to stop himself from crying and risk having Seonghwa bury everything deep down again to turn back into his loving, caring, and emotionally stable boyfriend form just to take care of him.

“I’m sorry I meddled like that before, if I had known—”

“It’s okay, I honestly thought he would have acted differently around you two, at least, but I guess I really messed up this time.”

His breathing is more stable, his sobs have quieted down, but it seems like the realization is only settling now.

“I don't know what to do—what if he never wants to see me again after what I've done?”

Wooyoung doesn’t finish eating his food, and San doesn’t pressure him into it—they all seem to have lost their appetite after the commotion. A small part of him is grateful to have something on his hands now, something else to worry about other than himself for the night.

Wooyoung walks up the stairs to Hongjoong’s studio with a cup of iced americano in hand, hoping it will be enough as his sorry for showing up unannounced gift. Well, he’s not technically unannounced since he did try to reach out to the older one, both the night before and the same morning before leaving the apartment, without getting any kind of response. He takes out his phone to check one last time if he may have answered in the meantime, and is welcomed by the bright blue bubble of his own texts.

wooyo ^.^

did you get home safe?

what was that all about?

do you want to talk about it?

im sorry

hyung

is it okay if i come by in the morning?

you’re at the studio, right?

im bringing coffee !!

im leaving now, be there in 15

He puts the phone back in his back pocket and rings the intercom. It's been a while since he's been to Hongjoong’s studio, but he's certainly no stranger to it. The building is attached to their dance academy, which had become extremely convenient throughout their relationship. They'd drop off often to act as a distraction for the producer, drop off quick meals to make sure he wouldn't forget to eat, and just drag him out of the small, stuffed room when his car would stay parked out of it for more than a couple of days.

Plus, him being constantly at their apartment also meant free rides at the academy whenever San and Seonghwa weren't in the mood to get behind the wheel and drive Wooyoung—poor Wooyoung is the only one of the four who still hasn't gotten his driving license, but he likes the passenger seat just fine so he doesn't feel like he can complain.

He hears a bit of a fuss coming from behind the door, and just after a few seconds, it opens to reveal one of Hongjoong’s teammates, one of the oldest, if he remembers correctly. Wooyoung is sure they’ve met more than a few times, but it’s been a while since he went to the studio, so he doesn’t really expect the other to recognize him right away. Instead he’s met with a cheerful smile, wrinkly around his eyes.

“Ah, you're Hongjoong’s friend! Wooyoung, right?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Wooyoung bows slightly to greet him and smiles sweetly, stealing a glance behind the man, trying to get a glimpse of Hongjoong in the room, but there's no sight of him. “Is he here?”

“It would be weird if he wasn’t, come on in—he’s in his studio.”

The older steps aside to let Wooyoung in, and he’s glad to find their common room to be empty so he doesn’t have to engage in casual small talk with any of Hongjoong’s team because he’s really not in the mood for it, right now. He walks down the narrow hall to where their private rooms are, and notices how Hongjoong’s door is the only one in which the lights are turned on, apart from the one at the end of the hall. He gets to it and knocks softly, but he doesn’t get any answer. He knocks again, and again, a bit louder this time—still no movement can be heard from the other side.

One thing about Wooyoung is that he can be extremely patient most of the time—and extremely impatient when it comes to Hongjoong. He gets hold of the handle and opens the door because this boy has no business being this unreachable at a time like this. When he steps into the room, he’s not surprised to be met with the back of Hongjoong’s head, a set of headphones over the mess of wavy and poorly styled hair, his right hand wrapped tightly around the mouse, and left one working on his midi keyboard on the side, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him.

He’s wearing the same clothes he wore the night before at their apartment, but his hair looks like it has just been washed. Wooyoung looks around the room and realizes it's quite the mess—so they weren’t lying when they said he'd been camping here for the past two weeks. There's a bunch of clothes thrown mindlessly over the backrest and arm of the couch, from pants to shirts to sweaters, and at its feet lies an open bag with a wet-looking towel hanging out of it.

The bin is half filled with empty caffeine-based drinks and energy drinks of many kinds and brands, together with plastic wraps and a fast food paper bag crumpled into nothing. Next to it, there's a small closed plastic bag through which Wooyoung can pretty much see the same contents of the bin.

“What does one have to do to talk with you?” mutters Wooyoung to himself as he watches Hongjoong’s leg bounce quickly up and down under the desk while he hugs the other to his chest—he has no idea that Wooyoung all but barged into the room a whole minute ago.

Wooyoung reaches for the light switch, turning it off and on a couple of times to get Hongjoong’s attention without startling him. Hongjoong’s movements stop at once, and he quickly glances up at the warm neon lights before he realizes the reason behind the flickering. He detaches a hand from the keyboard and shifts his headphones from one ear, but he doesn't turn around.

“Did you need something?”

He thinks it's one of the other producers—his free hand finds its place back on the keyboard tiles, and Wooyoung is tired of this already.

“Avoiding Hwa worked so well for you, so you decided to avoid me as well?”

Hongjoong jumps on his chair at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice bouncing against the walls of the small room, head whipping to the side to find the boy staring at him with stone-cold eyes, unimpressed, body leaning back against the closed door, and arms crossed to his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“Here’s your coffee,” Hongjoong is so genuinely stunned that he only notices the large cup of iced coffee when Wooyoung extends his arms towards him and shakes it right in front of his face, half-melted ice cubes rattling loudly against each other while swimming in the drink. Wooyoung kind of feels bad for jumping in on him like this so out of the blue, but then again, he did try to reach out, so it’s entirely Hongjoong’s fault—consider it Wooyoung’s payback for getting ghosted. “Where’s your phone?”

“In my bag?”

Hongjoong points in the couch’s direction with his finger, grabbing the plastic cup with his other hand, and Wooyoung follows it, unzipping the small pocket of it and fishing Hongjoong’s phone out. He unlocks it, takes note of the few unread messages from Seonghwa and Yunho, from himself, one missed call from San, and of the familiar picture on the boy’s lock screen—a picture Wooyoung had taken himself, not too long ago. He puts it all aside, and hands the phone to the older.

“Answer a text or two, would you? You made us worry,” he says lightly, slumping down on the couch and melting against the backrest. “I woke Yunho up because of you.”

He forgot just how warm and comfortable this couch was, how tempting it felt to just surrender to his weariness and doze off for a good hour or so. He used to spend so much time lying on it back when Hongjoong was much less busy, but would still beg for a few more hours of time on his tracks before he and Seonghwa would drag him out of the studio to take a breath of fresh air once in a while.

“Why would you call yunho?”

He watches as Hongjoong steals a glance at the screen and doesn’t even bother to unlock it, leaving it on the desk. Wooyoung lets his eyes fall close and sighs heavily. At this point, he kind of wants Hongjoong to feel bad about it. Just a few minutes of torture because Hongjoong should know better than to lock them out like this—he should know by now, that’s not how they work.

The three of them are all about communication. It’s the key to any relationship, and it holds an even greater value when it doesn’t just come in pairs. With time, they’ve learned to mold themselves around it, but despite their best efforts, it never rubbed off on Hongjoong—wary, stubborn Hongjoong, who felt like giving in to affection was equal to begging for it.

“Wanted to know if you were still alive—glad to know you were kind enough to tell Yuyu and still ghost both me and Sannie.”

Wooyoung understands, not everyone is able to handle themselves when emotions as overwhelming as the ones Hongjoong must have felt the night before—hell, Wooyoung has been fighting a war against himself for his whole life and he knows damn well how hard it gets when it all becomes too much, but he was lucky enough to find someone willing to carry the burden with him along the way.

Hongjoong hadn’t been as lucky—when Seonghwa found him, it was already too late. Too heavy of a burden for a boy as young as he was, grew up too soon in a world that gave its everything for him just to fail, he built his walls too high for anyone to even be able to take a peek inside. Letting Seonghwa in had been a big risk, and Wooyoung still doesn’t know how Hongjoong managed, but he’s glad he did.

“I needed to be alone, and you’re very much in the way of that.”

Wooyoung knows what he’s doing, by pushing him away like this. He hates confrontation, he’s not the best at communicating his emotions when under pressure and he’s pretty fucking good at keeping them from showing in any shape or form, when he wants to. Wooyoung knows there’s stuff in his head that only his keyboard, notebook, and brushes know of, things that even Seonghwa could only get nothing more than a glimpse of. Wooyoung often finds himself wondering if the boy would ever dare take a risk like that again, with him or San. It seems quite impossible, actually, but Wooyoung isn’t one to give up that easily.

“I wouldn’t be here if you’d have taken two seconds to answer my texts, I just want to talk with you.”

“What is there to talk about?”

Wooyoung hears the quick click of the mouse filling the empty room, and no, Hongjoong can’t be serious. Wooyoung opens his eyes, and he's not surprised to find him with his back turned once again, cursor moving fast on the screen. He's had enough.

“Can you stop acting like yesterday didn’t happen?”

“Wooyoung-ah, this is really not the time.”

“Letting you leave was a mistake, you needed space and respect that, now though,” getting up from the couch, he leans over Hongjoong’s chair and swirls it around in a quick motion, without much resistance on Hongjoong’s part—but a fair amount of annoyance showing on his face when he looks up at Wooyoung. “We’re talking about it.”

“No, we’re not—I have work to do, so if you could—”

Again, he’s usually the patient type—he could retreat, he was willing to let Hongjoong off the hook for a while more and check on him the morning after, but then Hongjoong is about to turn his back on him again, and Wooyoung has really had enough. This is too much even for him. He keeps his hands steady on the backrest, framing either side of Hongjoong’s head, preventing him from moving an inch.

“Fuck your work,” he harshly spits out, like it’s supposed to hurt.

Maybe he wants it to hurt, he realizes. From the first day he met Hongjoong, he quickly understood how much of a big deal work was for the older. He worked his ass off to get where he is now, to be able to do what he’s doing, and he did it all on his own. So it makes sense that he keeps devoting his life—heart, body and soul—to it even after achieving so much. Hongjoong knows he can do more, for every little milestone, he has to do more, or else it will all start to feel vain very fast and very soon.

Seonghwa always admired that side of him, he used to say it inspired him to go forth and try harder, no matter how difficult it gets. Wooyoung gets it, he’s always found Hongjoong’s diligence and commitment to be quite fascinating—but there are moments when it gets too much, and it’s terrifying to watch the boy come undone under the pressure of it all.

There are moments when Wooyoung wishes Hongjoong could just let go for a moment, rest, stop thinking about deadlines, and give himself time to feel proud of what he has achieved up until this moment before jumping on his next project and beating himself down because what he does never feels like enough. Wooyoung is afraid he’ll consume himself to the core ahead of time—he’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him afloat through all this is Seonghwa’s constant care and nagging, it’s always been him from the start. So the fact that he’s so ready to shrug his shoulders and call it a day and just send Wooyoung away after what happened the night before—it doesn’t sit right with him. How could Hongjoong dismiss their feelings so damn easily?

“Wooyo—”

“Hyung, I swear, if you ask me to leave one more time, I’ll have to go back home and tell him you have no intention of forgiving him whatsoever, and it’ll be over between the two of you.”

Hongjoong seems frightened by the sound of it, his eyes are widened, and his lips open to speak, but no sound comes out. He shrinks into himself, and Wooyoung realizes he’s never seen his face contorted by this many emotions all at once. It’s like he himself does not know what he’s supposed to feel, so he lets it all happen at once. Wooyoung’s eyes soften, and he sighs—maybe that was a bit too much. But he also knows—he’s learned, with time—that this is how Hongjoong’s emotions work.

Picture a dam, a perfectly constructed dam, perfectly unbreakable—but there’s a crack. Not many can see it clearly, it’s rather small, but it’s there regardless. Now picture someone hitting that crack repeatedly, again and again, adding pressure at every strike. The dam seems indestructible. There’s no leakage, no drops slithering out of the small imperfection—nothing at all. There’s silence—until it breaks. And once the water is free, it could wipe out entire villages if not contained.

It’s a bit of a gamble, on Wooyoung’s part, because Seonghwa is the one who’s usually ready to contain it. He only ever heard tales of it, but never got to experience it firsthand. The walls were always too tall and never granted him the chance to.

“Hongjoong-ah, look at me and tell me you want me to leave—just know that I’ll be leaving for good.”

The dam breaks. Wooyoung is still hovering over him, and he can visibly see the mess of panic, regret, and hopelessness starting to wet Hongjoong’s eyes as he swallows down the heavy lump that formed in his throat. The tears start to fall. He looks helpless. Hopeless. His hands fly up to wrap around Wooyoung’s arms, grounding him there.

He’s unsure of what to do, it’s unfamiliar for him as much as his fingers pressing so firmly on Wooyoung’s skin feel for the younger, but he’s trying to make it as clear as possible—I don’t want you to leave, please don’t leave. His body is shaking all over, but he’s trying to keep Wooyoung close. Tears are falling, but he doesn’t bother wiping them away—he looks barely aware of them.

“Alright, I’m staying, I am.”

Wooyoung pats his cheeks dry for him with the pads of his thumbs, delicate. Hongjoong’s body visibly relaxes, but it almost feels like he’s drawing Wooyoung closer still—perhaps it’s unintentional, but the pull to feel his body closer is strong nonetheless.

“Come here.”

Denying Hongjoong of something is so absurd that Wooyoung would have a hard time hesitating to please him even for a second. He doesn’t even think he could be physically capable of resisting the urge to do so, actually. So he leans back and brings the boy up with him, holding onto his wrists and making him stand up on his feet.

He wraps him in his arms immediately. Hongjoong presses his face to Wooyoung’s chest like he needs it to breathe, like Wooyoung’s hand sliding up and down his spine and warming him up with comforting and careful touches is the only thing keeping him sane right now. And maybe it is—it feels like it is, to Wooyoung.

“I hurt him.”

His voice comes muffled from where his lips are pressed against Wooyoung’s chest, wet with desperation and misery, skeptical, like he himself is struggling to believe what he’s done. I hurt him, he can’t possibly fathom doing anything that would damage Seonghwa to such an extent. It feels unreal, the way his hands are grasping at everything they can reach, wrapping around Wooyoung and pulling them impossibly close.

It’s suffocating, it’s too much. Wooyoung feels his heart clench when the first sob rips out of the other boy—and they never stop. He shakes and he breaks and Wooyoung is having a hard time gathering the pieces because it’s breaking him apart too. It’s like they’re standing on the edge of a precipice and Hongjoong’s never been this close to giving it all up.

“You didn’t mean to.”

Wooyoung isn’t quite too sure he’s capable of bringing Hongjoong back, pulling him away from the edge and into the safety of his embrace because he doesn’t know if right now that can be called safety at all—but he started this, and he has to put an end to it now.

“But I did.”

It’s unsettling in a way that makes Wooyoung’s stomach twist and turn uncomfortably at the realization that for the first time in years, Hongjoong has let his guard down in front of him, and he’s afraid he’ll let him slip from his grasp, because he thought he would be ready but there is just no way that he could have prepared himself for the hurricane of grief that is Hongjoong, at least not in the state his own mind has been for the past few weeks.

Wooyoung looks up at the ceiling and takes a long, unsteady breath, blinks the tears away from his eyes, and recomposes himself. He brings a hand up in Hongjoong’s hair, moving it back in the most comforting way he can manage, pressing his cheek on the top of his head and whispering close to his ear.

“This is not beyond repair—he still loves you.”

For some reason, it makes it worse. Hongjoong’s sobs grow in intensity, and for a moment, he’s afraid he might have stopped taking air in his lungs, and it’s starting to worry Wooyoung. Why does it feel like he made it worse? How could that make it worse? He was just trying to reassure him, why would it make him spiral like this?

“Hongjoong-ah, hey—” he leans back and it’s like Hongjoong’s refusing to let go of him, he gasps for air and tries to get some words out, but all that comes out of his lips is a mess of broken syllables spit out between hiccups. “I need you to take a deep breath, focus on me, come on.”

It takes a while for Hongjoong’s storm to placate. He comes down to gentle waves, shy hiccups of ragged breaths, tired red eyes, and swollen, stressed lips from being bitten into without mercy. There’s a switch in his demeanor, Wooyoung can feel his body tense up against him and it only takes a moment before Hongjoong is trying to get some distance between them. He’s drained already, aware of the whirlwind that wrapped around Wooyoung and squeezed him tight as he let it all out, and he feels guilty, vulnerable—naked, all his insecurities out in the wind for Wooyoung to see.

Despite his best efforts to avoid Wooyoung’s touches now, his body is still quite pliant to them. Like he knows it’s what he needs, but he’s denying himself the comfort they could provide—maybe if it were Seonghwa in his place, Hongjoong wouldn’t be trying to squirm away from them.

“I know I’m not him, but—you can still talk to me, I don’t want you to hide.”

Hongjoong is hesitant, wary, and also maybe a bit too tired to resist Wooyoung any more than he already did. There’s an ongoing war behind his eyes, he’s measuring and calculating every possibility, every action and consequential reaction from both his part and Wooyoung’s. The moment his eyes fall close and he takes in a deep breath, Wooyoung prepares himself to be kicked out of the studio once and for all.

The boy crosses his arms to his chest, and at first, he thinks he’s getting some more distance between the two, closing up into himself and locking Wooyoung out for good, but then he opens his eyes again and Hongjoong has never felt this real. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t hide from Wooyoung—he isn’t adding distance between the two, he’s holding himself to feel safe enough and be honest with the younger.

“I don’t want to lose him.”

His voice is shaking and he’s looking at Wooyoung with so much hope and anticipation for anything good that it overwhelms him—he’s still not sure if he has any left to give.

“What happened? I want to know your side of it, too.”

“There are no sides to it, he just,” the light in his eyes visibly dims, his lips turn downward as if it pains him to even think about what happened that night. “He said something he didn’t mean, he apologized and left.”

Wooyoung wishes he could press more on something he didn’t mean. Seonghwa said it loud and clear at dinner, he told him he loved him. Hongjoong knows Wooyoung and San know, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. And Wooyoung is pretty sure he knows why that is, but it’d be crazy for him to jump there this quickly when he just managed to get Hongjoong to slightly leave the door ajar for him to take a peek inside. He’s going to take what Hongjoong allows him, for now.

“You've never fought like this, it's eating him alive.”

“Don't I know? When stuff like this happens he's the one I run to, so now that he's the cause of it I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do with myself.”

“Then why did you start avoiding him?”

“Everything happened so quickly that I couldn't even say a word, I was confused, and by the time he came back the next day I figured keeping my distance would have been the right thing to do, but he kept bringing it up again and again and I honestly didn’t know what he was expecting from me.”

“He wanted you to address the problem yourself, and stop dismissing it as if nothing happened—you always run away from this stuff, you’re always ready to flee as soon as it gets too deep and complicated, and this time he wanted you to face it.”

“He’s the one who left! He’s the one who took it back, not me! He took it back, and I can’t get over the fact that it was so easy for him to label it as a mistake and it—and it felt like he ripped my heart right out of my chest and left me there to bleed out.”

Tears threaten to spill again, his breaths are labored, and he seems unstable standing on his own legs, but this time he has it under control. Wooyoung holds himself back from reaching out to him and holding him close again because Hongjoong is clearly telling him not to. Without realizing it, a tear of his own slips from Wooyoung’s control and slowly reaches his chin, a second one catching up to it rather quickly.

Seeing Hongjoong like this, hurt and heartbroken and exhausted and betrayed and all things hopeless makes his chest burn, his hands itch to just do something, his lips want to move, to say something—but it's all too much and he doesn't know if it's his place to. He's tearing at the seam at the sight of Hongjoong’s tired eyes blinking back at him.

Wooyoung feels uneasy all of a sudden. When he cries, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he needs someone to wrap around him until he feels in control again. San and Seonghwa know it well, and Hongjoong does too—but he’s never the one to deliver. So why is he unfolding his arms now? Why is he reaching out to Wooyoung? And why are his hands suddenly resting against Wooyoung’s cheeks and wiping away his tears with the hem of his sleeves?

“Hyung—”

Wooyoung knows he's not a pretty crier—definitely not as much as Hongjoong just proved himself to be—and he feels his own face contort under the heavy emotion overtaking him. He tries to recompose himself, he really does, but then Hongjoong’s eyes are softening and sadness is still stirring inside them, and he realizes that's what always made them as beautiful as they are.

“Why are you crying now? I'm the heartbroken one.”

His attempt to lighten the mood is a shitty one that makes Wooyoung crush against his body, holding him impossibly close. Hongjoong lets him, giving him time to roughly pull himself back together.

“If you are the heartbroken one, why am I feeling like this?”

“Like what?”

It's less poetic than how Hongjoong described it, but it's all he can manage. He could never get words to obey him with as much loyalty as Hongjoong does.

“Like—like someone is using my heart as a squishy toy.”

~

“I hate seeing you like this.”

The air in Hongjoong’s studio is lighter and less suffocating now that both of them have been able to settle down. Wooyoung is sitting back on the couch, and Hongjoong gave in to the sight of a nice and comfortable place to rest his tired body and joined him, plopping on the empty spot beside him and throwing his head back on the backrest, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I'm fine, Young-ah.”

Wooyoung takes a good look, his eyes travel up his bare throat and to his face, broken lip and sharp cheekbones, deep dark circles beneath his eyes—spent and hollowed out—accentuating the paleness of his skin.

“You're far from fine, you’re overworking yourself, and that's certainly not helping you.”

“It’s the only thing that can keep me from thinking about it.”

The emptiness in Hongjoong’s voice feels wrong and out of character, it doesn’t sit right with him. Wooyoung dug everything out of him, and it’s like it left Hongjoong worn out to the core.

“You have me, and San—you could have talked to us about it, if you’d only let us in for once—”

Hongjoong scoffs and his body shudders imperceptibly like Wooyoung just cracked a joke.

“How could I come to you with something like this?”

“If you’re having a hard time, I expect you to trust us with whatever it is you’re going through, it doesn’t matter if Seonghwa is involved—our feelings for you won’t falter that easily.”

He steals a glance at Wooyoung, gaze traveling from his lips to his eyes as if to figure out whether his words match the sincerity in them—how could they not? Wooyoung’s heart is clenching uncomfortably in his chest because he didn’t think he could love Hongjoong more than he already did.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? We know it all, we know how important Seonghwa-hyung is to you—we know the way you feel about him, and I promise you that it will only get better if you talk to him.”

Hongjoong sighs, resigned. He’s letting the thought swim around in his head like he did plenty of times by now, Wooyoung guesses. He lets it float in the air, watches as it shifts shape—the closer it gets to reality, the more he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and Wooyoung is afraid they’ll break skin if he goes on for another second.

What would Seonghwa do if he were in his place? Wooyoung probably knows what he’d do, but maybe kissing his worries away isn’t the best solution right now—is that really how he usually keeps control of Hongjoong’s overflow of emotions?—so instead, he leans in and places a hand on Hongjoong’s cheek, making him turn his head to the side to look back at him. Wooyoung can’t help but notice the way Hongjoong’s gaze flies to his lips before fixing on his eyes.

“You don’t have to think about it now, but you have to promise me you’ll stop ignoring us—and you owe San an apology, as well.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why, you ignored us for weeks! He’s been pouting like a kid every time your name comes up!”

“I hate myself.”

The bathroom was silent until a second before, only the steady noise coming from the washing machine a few feet from them—from him and San. Wooyoung is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking at San’s face through the mirror as he goes through his skincare routine just in front of him, hunched over the sink. He had walked inside the room with him with the intention of doing the same, but he soon realized he wasn’t in the mood for anything more than brushing his teeth, so he resolved to sit down and watch him do the rest. It’s not like San minds the company, anyway.

Wooyoung is tired as he’s ever been. He hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in weeks, his body feels like crap and his head’s been hurting an awful lot more than it should for his sanity. He’s been eating well, thanks to San’s concerns and attentions and Seonghwa’s care, and yet there’s this uncomfortable nausea following him around at every step he takes, and his legs still don’t feel like they‘ll be able to hold him up for much longer.

He’s so detached from himself that he hardly registers his own words coming out of his lips when they do. They don’t hold much weight to them, and San barely even catches it, asks him to repeat himself, too preoccupied with the moisturizing cream he’s applying to his skin, making sure he spreads it neatly.

“I hate myself.”

Wooyoung says it casually like he’s sharing updates on the weather—this evening the sky is quite grey and there’s a storm just outside the city that doesn’t seem to bother getting any distance from us, it’s just staring at us with threatening eyes and it’s getting all the citizens looking sour and gloomy; it’s a rather depressing sight, to be honest.

“Where is this coming from?”

San’s hands move from his face and stop midair, searching for Wooyoung’s eyes through the mirror. His gaze is on the verge of concern, still debating on the carelessness of Wooyoung’s voice, on the seriousness of it all. 

“I just hate myself," Wooyoung shrugs.

It feels so good to say out loud, only now he realizes he never did. It feels so cathartic that he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of admitting it, now. San turns around to face him after quickly drying his hands on a towel nearby, and he crouches down in front of Wooyoung, looking up at him, still trying to read his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

San wasn't used to this side of Wooyoung. Sure, since the day he met him, he knew that Wooyoung wore his heart on his sleeve, that he didn't hesitate to say what he felt towards someone, whether it was discomfort or the opposite. But that was always with others. When it came to himself, Wooyoung would grow silent.

It caught San off guard at first, because it was uncharacteristic of the profile he so attentively put up of the other. And then it finally made sense when day after day San kept realizing just how many insecurities were hiding deep in Wooyoung’s heart. Layer after layer, one after the other, they just kept on adding to the pile—kind of like an ogre, layered like an onion, would say Yeosang often times.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just—just wanted to know how it felt to say out loud, I guess. Maybe giving it a voice gives it more form, makes it more real—like it’d be easier to deal with, in some way.”

San’s hands rest on Wooyoung’s thighs, caressing the skin through his sweatpants, and the gesture draws his attention to it. The aim of his touch is too accurate for it to be a coincidence, Wooyoung knows. San has always ever been so careful about this kind of thing. It’s the same attention he gives to Hongjoong’s tattoos, to Yeosang’s birthmark on his left temple, to Mingi’s mole under his right eye, to Seonghwa’s golden streaks. The same gentle, hidden attention, he gives to Wooyoung’s scars, from the very first day he learned about them. But the way he looks up at Wooyoung right now feels more like a question than voicing it out explicitly would.

“I’ve been—thinking about it, about doing it again,” he whispers the words because it’s a secret—not between the two of them but between Wooyoung and himself.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

Wooyoung takes the chance to come clean because he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from doing so, in his current state, and if he doesn’t tell San now he’s afraid the situation will slip from his fingers and out of his control before he’ll fully be conscious of the gravity of it.

“I was close, but then I thought about how disappointed you’d be, or angry or—or I don’t know. I couldn’t risk you or Hwa finding any new ones.”

“Oh, Young-ah, you should have come to me right away.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to look you in the eyes and tell you that nothing had changed—I knew it would have been harder for you to hear it than for me to confess to it.”

“This is not about me.”

San’s eyes are teary-eyed, and Wooyoung’s heart aches because he’s the cause of it. San’s never been good at hiding his concern—he never saw the point in it. Why should i pretend I’m not worried? Doesn’t that mean I care? he had said once, and it’s such a San thing that at the time it made Wooyoung’s heart swell, but right now he kind of wishes he could bury it deep down and out of sight because he’s on the verge of breaking.

“It broke you in half when you found out all those years ago, how was I supposed to do that to you again?”

“How can you put me first in a situation like this?”

One of San’s hands comes up to rest against Wooyoung’s cheek, cupping the side of his face lovingly and looking up at him with starstruck, shiny eyes, like he’s holding the whole world in the palm of his hand. It makes Wooyoung want to cry even more.

“How could I not? You’re everything to me.”

San breaks out in a smile despite his best efforts, and Wooyoung is quick to wipe away the tear falling down the other’s cheek. He leans down and joins their lips, a quick kiss that makes him smile at the content sigh San lets out. He suddenly realizes that silence is back to surround them after the washing machine has ended its cycle and shut down at last. Seonghwa will come in shortly to unload it, knowing him—San seems to have followed the same train of thoughts.

“Are you going to tell him?”

~

He does tell Seonghwa, that same night—sweet, sweet Seonghwa, who spends the last hours of today glued to his side and struggling not to shed tears, and the first hours of tomorrow whispering words full of love and so tender. Hiding an amount of care in every touch that years ago would have made Wooyoung run away.

Lately, my reflection has been looking back at me with pity, been begging me to reopen old scars, he tells Seonghwa, it hadn’t happened in a while. Seonghwa’s eyes well up with tears almost immediately, but he held them back. Sweet, sweet Seonghwa—he kept it all in while Wooyoung poured his whole heart out to him. I didn’t want to pressure you into telling me, confesses the older, a few moments after silence has settled back in the room, but you know how lost I feel when I don’t know where to put my hands. Wooyoung knows, and he’s grateful Seonghwa still managed. He’s grateful that he stayed.

It’s a slow morning. Wooyoung doesn’t usually sleep in, even on the few days when he doesn't have early classes and could allow himself some extra hours, but today he does. He went to sleep feeling gloomy, thinking he could sleep on it, but woke up feeling worse. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know where it came from or what caused it, but there’s a thick fog clouding his mind from the moment he opens his eyes.

When he turns around, he notices Seonghwa is still sleeping comfortably next to him, which means it’s probably still early in the morning. Getting up is not an option at this point, so he cuddles up to Seonghwa and goes back to sleep, hoping it’ll help his condition. Except, it doesn’t. When he wakes up again, it’s from an insistent pounding in his head. And he’s alone, this time.

He knows San is covering his early morning classes this week, and Seonghwa is probably getting started on breakfast. For a moment, he thinks of hiding his head under the covers and going back to sleep again, but he discards the idea when he realizes he's wide awake by now, and it would be a struggle to fall back asleep. He sighs, frustrated, and slides from under the duvet, rolling to the edge of the bed and throwing his legs over it, socked feet touching the warm wooden floor.

He looks down at his lap without realizing his own mistake. His sleeping shorts rode up his thighs, revealing most of his skin now, and shit, this is bad. He had felt shamelessly proud the first time he looked into the mirror and was welcomed by a thigh gap—it wasn't too wide, but it was still something. But that was weeks ago, when he was skipping most of his meals and when San still hadn't found him out. Now, though, with the way he’s sitting, his thighs look twice the size they did at the beginning of all of this.

Wooyoung feels like he can’t breathe all of a sudden. The air feels a little too heavy to draw in, a little too suffocating. A little too much. His hands grip the white sheets, and he tries to ground himself and get rid of the haze clouding his eyes as he stares down at his legs. It’s a natural thing, Young-ah, had tried to reassure Seonghwa once, some time ago, when Wooyoung had made an awful joke about his own body, mine do that as well, see? There’s nothing wrong with that.

But Seonghwa’s thighs weren’t even close to covering the disgustingly wide space his own are taking up on their shared mattress. It’s way too much, since when has he been taking up this much space? Why hadn't anyone told him? It’s definitely too much, way too much. He feels heavy, like his legs wouldn’t be able to keep him up steady with all this weight. Too much. Too heavy, too scarred—not scarred enough. Not perfect enough, never enough, never—

“Young-ah?”

It’s automatic, mechanical, Wooyoung’s hands come up to grasp his shirt and pull it down to cover up as much of his naked skin as he can when he hears Seonghwa’s voice coming from the door. His scars are out of sight before he looks up to meet his boyfriend’s worried gaze where he stands still at the door frame, eyes flying from Wooyoung’s body to his face.

“Is something wrong?”

Me, I am.

“Are you okay?”

Wooyoung can’t get the words out, his mouth gapes around the air and his tongue feels too big to even fit inside of it, it’s like there’s cotton filling it down to his throat, stopping him from speaking. He grips tighter at the hem of the oversized shirt and shakes his head quickly, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision, and that’s Seonghwa’s cue to come inside.

He walks up to him and as soon as his hands reach out to touch Wooyoung, the first sob rips out of him. But it’s contained, he doesn't want to cry, not like this. Not when Seonghwa is so worried about him already, not when he wants to tell him what’s wrong, and knows that crying wouldn’t take him anywhere. Seonghwa cups his face and strokes his cheeks delicately with the pads of his thumbs, and it’s like he’s giving him back the air he needs to breathe.

“You got it,” he tries to reassure, smiling sweetly down at Wooyoung. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I—I take up so much space.”

Seonghwa’s heart breaks, Wooyoung can see the exact moment it does, in his eyes. The warmth dissipates from them for the briefest moment, in which Wooyoung thinks he might have lost him—that’s not possible, some part of him knows that, but it still scares the shit out of him to think about the possibility of it becoming a reality. Then his loving gaze is back to haunt Wooyoung.

“What nonsense is that? I’m here, thinking I could never get enough of you, and you complain about being too much?”

“i just—how can you even deal with me?”

“Listen to me,” he starts, eyes determined. “You could never be too much, and I honestly don’t see why that could be a problem, anyway.”

It helps, but it doesn't. Wooyoung’s head drops, and Seonghwa knows. Then his hands enter his line of vision, reaching for Wooyoung’s own, still gripping tightly at the shirt.

“Can I?”

Wooyoung doesn’t quite know what he’s agreeing to, but the honey dripping from Seonghwa’s voice makes it impossible to even think of denying him. So he’s left watching as Seonghwa’s hands wrap around his own and slowly free the fabric of his—San’s, he realizes just now—shirt from his fingers. The hem of the shirt retreats, and Wooyoung’s skin comes back into view. He cringes at himself.

The older gently rests a hand over Wooyoung’s thigh and traces one of the most visible ones with the tip of his thumb, span wide enough to reach both ends of it, and oh, this feels new. Wooyoung is so charmed by the steady and slow movement of Seonghwa’s fingers, he thinks he might have stopped breathing. It looks much smaller, why does it look smaller? Then Seonghwa’s hand stops, and Wooyoung’s attention is drawn back up to him.

“Come on, get up.”

Seonghwa stretches a hand out for him to hold—he does, although slightly reluctant, and lets himself be guided off the bed and in front of the mirror. His eyes widen in dread as they divert from it and find Seonghwa again. What is this, torture? He does not want to face that disaster of his reflection, not now—not with Seonghwa in the room.

“Take a look.”

Seonghwa moves behind him, wrapping both arms around Wooyoung’s waist and leaning down until his chin is resting on the shorter’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t—”

“Trust me,” he says—no, he asks. Almost begs.

When Wooyoung looks back at himself in the mirror, his reflection is completely swallowed by Seonghwa’s much more imposing figure. When he meets Seonghwa’s eyes through the mirror, it’s obvious that he’s not too sure about what he’s doing. It’s like he’s taking a wild guess, trying what makes the most sense to him. He presses a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek when he notices the tremble of his bottom lip and assumes he’s on the right path. He looks ridiculously small, like he’s not taking up any more than a mere inch in the room.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t get to choose how much space you take up,” he whispers close to his ear, snuggling closer to him and tightening his hold around the smaller’s waist. “I’m starting to think you’ll disappear, if it gets less than this.”

Wooyoung feels his knees give up on him, and he'd much rather fall down on the floor and cry at Seonghwa’s feet because his love is just too much at times and it overwhelms Wooyoung to such an extent that he’d want him to be able to crawl inside his skin and feel it himself. Seonghwa holds him up, holds him tight, and lets him cry. For endless hours until he feels better—until he feels like living again. Seonghwa never fails to make him feel better.

He didn’t mean to. He stares down at his thighs, horrified by the red line of blood quickly forming on the wide map of his skin, adding to the collection of old, faded scars. Only after he feels the burn does the realization hit, and the panic and guilt and regret kick in. He doesn’t know how the scissors got in his hand, he’s sure he was drying his hair just a few minutes ago, he had Seonghwa’s brush in one hand and the blow-drier in the other. He was doing that, and he got increasingly more frustrated at his reflection because his bangs kept falling unevenly over his forehead and so he—oh, that’s how.

How could he lose control like that? He didn’t mean to. He really didn’t mean to. A knock on the door startles him out of his skin, making him drop the scissors that almost land blade down on his feet. He lets out a curse under his breath and scrambles to pick them up, hissing at the uncomfortable sting coming from the cut on his thigh.

“Young-ah? Is everything alright?”

“I’m good!”

San’s voice comes from the other side of the door, tone worried at the commotion Wooyoung has just caused, and Wooyoung’s answer was way too rushed, unnaturally so. Dumb, dumb Wooyoung.

“Are you sure? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! Just tripped, don’t worry!”

He's gonna know, he's gonna know.

“Wooyoung? Can I come in?”

What if he already knows?

“No!”

Fuck.

“Oh—okay, I'll—I’ll wait out here then, take your time.”

After making sure the handle of the door isn’t going to twist open and San doesn’t speak anymore, Wooyoung turns his attention back to the issue at hand. It’s bad, it’s really bad—not the cut itself, it’s not deep nor wide, and there are only a few droplets of blood gathering along the edges of it. No, what is bad is that he wasn’t supposed to do this again—he assured San and Seonghwa he wouldn’t do it again. He promised them he wouldn’t have, that he could handle it. He can’t have San find out, can’t have him worried.

Wooyoung rummages through the bottom cabinet, where they keep their first aid kit and all things medicine and pain-relieving. He only needs it not to bleed and show through his pants now, so he covers it with the first band-aid he can get his hands on, he’ll think about disinfecting it later. It’s unlikely that it would get infected, but those scissors aren’t exactly brand new, and they’re definitely not made to cut skin.

He smothers the heavy satisfaction rising up and filling his chest at the sight of it, of fresh, hurt, tortured skin as he slides into the legs of his pants. He won’t let it surface, not again—if he does, then he might as well give up altogether. The pants are loose, they don’t hug his legs tightly enough to be a bother, but the sting remains regardless. He thinks it has more to do with the emotional damage the act caused, rather than the wound itself.

He’s out of the bathroom, San tears his eyes away from the phone in his hand to look up at Wooyoung, a gentle smile on his lips, but Wooyoung avoids his gaze entirely. He needs a few more minutes to steady himself, so he buys some time by going for his coat, checking his pockets to make sure he’s got his wallet on him.

“Ready to go?”

Wooyoung hums in response, adjusting the coat over his shoulders. When he turns around, San walks closer and wraps his arms around him, drawing him in a hug and burying his face in the crook of the younger’s neck. Wooyoung takes a second to react, slightly startled, but he holds him tight and draws him closer.

“And what is this for?”

San leans back to look him in the eyes, and Wooyoung thinks this is where he’s found out.

“Nothing, you had me worried there for a second—are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

A few ticks of the clock go by while San decides if he’s gonna believe his words or not, weighing them carefully in his hands. This is it, he’s going to ask him if—

“I’m glad,” he leans in to leave a kiss on Wooyoung’s forehead, and lets out a snort when his lips come in contact with the damp tips of his bangs. “Your hair’s still wet, did you not dry it?”

“Ah, that’s—”

Wooyoung had forgotten, in the chaos, putting the hair dryer away in the rush and confusion of it all, without realizing he had stopped midway through it.

“Are you that excited about eating out?” he lightheartedly laughs. “I know it’s been a while, but you might catch a cold.”

When San peels off of him, it’s only to readjust Wooyoung’s messy and unstyled hair, moving some strands here and there and making sure to part them evenly.

“Is—is that it?”

“Yeah, why?” San’s attention is back on Wooyoung’s eyes for a short moment before he resumes his meticulous work. “Is there anything else?”

“No! I just,” his eyes quickly find the ground because he rushed out his answer, again. “Shouldn't you be more suspicious?”

“Are you asking me to doubt you?”

“I wasn't expecting you not to.”

“I trust you, I want to believe you'd tell me if you did it again,” he looks at Wooyoung’s hair, satisfied, before cupping his cheeks and pressing a quick peck on his lips. “You promised me, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung is left staring at San’s back as he walks around the room picking up his things, pulling out the car keys from Seonghwa’s jacket draped over the desk chair, and slipping them into his own, retrieving his wallet from his practice bag and his phone from where he left it on the bed. Wooyoung’s eyes are slightly out of focus as he follows him out of the apartment, glazed over, uncertain. Guilty. He has to tell him, he promised them.

~

Wooyoung lets some time pass, because he can’t bring himself to tell San. He could have told him on their way to the restaurant, but the air was filled with a silence far too comfortable for him to sour the mood. He could have told him while they were waiting to order, but San looked far too delighted by the fact that they were having a date night just the two of them after some time to ruin it for him.

He could have told him after his second glass of wine, but when he looked up at San and saw him staring back at him with eyes wrinkled up in adoration he realized he was far too in love with the boy to break his heart like this. He was about to tell him on their ride back home, but the way San’s skin glowed under the deep orange of the streetlights as they drove by them was far too enchanting to look away just for the sake of sincerity.

So he tells him when they’re in the safety of their apartment, and San has him giggling against his lips as they both struggle to get rid of their shoes at the entrance without stumbling to the ground. San has him wrapped in his arms and pressed against the nearest wall, and when his lips press against Wooyoung’s pulse point on the side of his neck, he finally finds the courage to let the words out.

“I did it.”

San’s breath burns against his skin when his lips drop lower, and Wooyoung is left grasping at his back just to make sure he’s real because he’s feeling so much right now that his body doesn’t really feel like his own anymore.

“I know.”

Tears start to stream down Wooyoung’s cheeks and San kisses them once they reach his jawline. A hand comes up at the back of his head and settles to play with the hair at the base of his nape, and Wooyoung revels in the grounding feeling that comes with the gesture.

“I swear I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, San-ah, I really am.”

“I’m gonna need you to stop apologizing.”

San is kissing the tear tracks on either side of his face and suddenly Wooyoung feels eager to taste the salt on his lips and nothing really matters that much anymore.

“I don’t deserve this, I don’t—you and Seonghwa, everything you’re doing for me—”

San is finally kissing his lips and Wooyoung swears he could do this for a lifetime. He could stay like this for a few more lives, just drinking in everything that is San and drowning in the purest and most sincere and agonizing and consuming forms of love Wooyoung has ever had the chance to taste.

“You deserve all the love I have the capacity of giving you, no less than that—you deserve so much more, I wish I could give you more.”

There’s nothing in the world that would make him detach from San’s body as of now. Let the building crumble over them and expect to find his lifeless limbs still wrapped securely around him, buried among the ruins. Let historians talk about how raw and true and ruinous love could be between soulmates, let them be proof of it.

It’s hard to keep his mind away from it. After telling San, things somehow become easier, in some way. He thought that the knowing looks from the other would make him squirm away at the attention, make his guilt creep up from behind him and grow hungrier, but it doesn’t. Instead, they make him feel safer. It’s just like he said the other day—giving it a voice helps, because it’s not just in his head anymore, it has shape and form and a body and it can hurt and Wooyoung doesn’t want it to.

When he enters Seonghwa’s room, his breath hitches in his lungs and his hands are shaking, so he hides them behind his back when he stops at the threshold of the door and Seonghwa looks at him from where he’s sitting at his desk. He only acknowledges his presence with a smile and a nod of his head before going back to his work, gathering some sheets of paper together and stapling them in order.

“What are you doing?”

“Just something for the academy—they asked me to bring these before tomorrow, so I’m leaving in a few.”

Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the uncomfortable sting of old scars begging to be reopened. He’s fidgety, and Seonghwa still isn’t looking back at him. Wooyoung needs him to notice.

“Do you want me to come with?”

“Don’t worry, there’s no need,” Seonghwa starts packing up the sheets, reorganizing everything on the desk, storing them tidily in his bag before zipping it up and getting to his feet. “I also have to stop at the post office to get a package, and I have to book that doctor’s appointment and—oh, I also have to stop by Hongjoong’s to pick up some stuff, and then my mom told me she has something to give me as well so, really, you’ll be just running around or waiting in the car.”

Wooyoung’s eyes anxiously fly to the bathroom door as soon as Seonghwa walks past him and out of the room, and he follows him out before his thoughts can wander too far.

“When is San coming back?”

“He’s covering a late class, I don’t think he’ll make it for dinner,” he replies, already heading for the door with Wooyoung trailing behind him.

If he doesn’t speak now, he’ll be left alone. If he doesn’t tell him now—

“I really—” he hesitates, and when Seonghwa finally stops to look at him, he instantly notices there’s something wrong with his behavior, in the way he’s making himself look so small in the middle of the living room and his arms are wrapped securely around his torso. “I really want to hurt myself.”

Seonghwa drops his bag on the ground and is next to him in a second, eyes filled with concern. Wooyoung feels like crying. He doesn’t want to cry. Not now.

“Please don't leave me alone, I—I don't trust myself enough to be left alone right now, please—”

“Hey, it’s alright—look at me,” he holds Wooyoung’s hands and keeps him close, leaning down to meet his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone, you’re okay.”

“I miss it so much, Hwa,” Wooyoung shakes in his arms when Seonghwa draws him in a hug, stroking his back and swaying them gently from side to side. “So fucking much that I'm scared of myself, I hate it.”

“What about this, you come with me to the academy so you can say hi to Sannie, and then I'll leave you with Hongjoong and pick up both of you when I’m done so we can have dinner together, how’s that sound?”

He’s looking Wooyoung in the eyes and stroking the hair out of his face as he talks, and Wooyoung finds that it’s easier to breathe when he looks at him like this, when he’s safe and sound in his hold and he’s got someone else to focus on other than himself. He nods his head slowly, and Seonghwa smiles down at him sweetly, any shade of concern left quickly washing away from his eyes.

“Come on, let’s get your stuff—you’ll never be alone, I promise.”

~

Wooyoung likes the new receptionist at their academy. The guy is only a few years younger than him, so he’s easy to talk to. Wooyoung usually doesn’t get to talk to him much, always in a rush in and out of classes, both the ones he has to take and the ones he has to teach. So he takes this chance to strike up a conversation, and it only takes the boy a few minutes to admit to his not-so-secret passion for dancing, something he never had the courage to take outside the private safety of his own room. Wooyoung ends up telling him to fish out a registration form from behind the counter before his shift ends.

Seonghwa is taking a while, but Wooyoung doesn't mind waiting. A wave of misery flows in his veins and he’s still trying to wash it off, but being alone is not that unbearable when there are people around him. There’s silence in the hall—apart from the faint classical melody coming from one of the closest practice rooms—until the entrance door opens and sounds of light rain and passing cars pour into the room. He hears the boy behind the desk greet the newcomer after the door shuts close again, and startles when he hears a familiar voice humming a response.

Wooyoung looks up to find Hongjoong taking off the overly used and worn out dark blue beanie Seonghwa gave him as a gift years ago—the older has this adorable tradition of gifting him a beanie matching the color of his hair every time he impulsively dyes it, and Wooyoung is starting to think that lately Hongjoong’s been choosing specific colors on purpose only to add new pieces to the collection.

“Hyung!”

When Hongjoong looks over in his direction, he seems as surprised as Wooyoung to find the other there.

“I thought you took this week off? What are you doing here?”

Wooyoung shakes his head no and gets up to walk up to the older when he realizes he has no intention of walking further into the room, probably not to drip rain on the floor or risk leaving footprints in his path.

“I did, I’m just waiting for Seonghwa,” he says when he’s in front of the other. “Why are you here, though?”

“I’m also waiting for Seonghwa.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung hides his hands in the pockets of his jacket because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from readjusting the slightly damp black and white strands falling over Hongjoong’s forehead any longer. “He should be—”

Their exchange is interrupted when the older enters the room, appearing from the hallway with San in tow behind him, messy hair and shirt sticking to his skin—he must have taken a break to get out of his class. They all greet each other, and San is gluing himself to Wooyoung before the smaller can do anything about it.

“San-ah, you stink.”

“Sounds a lot like a you problem,” he bites back nonchalantly, hiding his face in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck as he draws him closer—Wooyoung hugs him back just as tightly despite the sweat dampening his shirt. “Seonghwa told me.”

“I’m sorry,” dares to whisper Wooyoung, knowing how worried San must have felt at Seonghwa’s obviously distressed expression.

“Don’t be, I know it was hard for you to tell him,” he whispers close to his ear, before leaning back and pressing his lips against Wooyoung’s for a quick kiss. “Thank you, for trying.”

Wooyoung really wants to cry, the drop-into-a-ball-on-the-ground-and-cry-himself-to-sleep kind of cry. He didn’t do anything that would get him to be praised—on the contrary, he’s making people worry about him, go out of their way just for his well-being, he’s causing trouble all around. He swats the thoughts away for now and stores them in a dark corner of his brain for when San won’t be looking back at him so lovingly. They tune in to Seonghwa’s conversation with Hongjoong when they suddenly hear the older speak in a more authoritarian tone than usual.

“Like hell you are, it’s the third night in a row.”

“I told you, I still have stuff to—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Wooyoung is gonna go home with you, and when I’m back to pick him up you’re coming over for dinner.”

Hongjoong has his arms crossed, looking irritated as Seonghwa looks down at him unbothered—it almost seems like he’s trying to make himself look bigger in front of the older. After their fight—after Wooyoung managed to talk some sense into Hongjoong’s brain and San convinced Seonghwa to be slightly more patient with their stubborn friend—they cleared things out. This? This is your usual Seonghwa-Hongjoong banter, nothing new. But Wooyoung still notices something’s off in the way they both keep their distance from each other. Surely something like what they went through can’t be solved that easily, can it?

“Hwa—” intervenes Wooyoung, because Hongjoong looks deeply irritated by the way Seonghwa is meddling in his work, and it would usually be fine, but not when Wooyoung’s the cause of it. “He obviously has things to do, I can just—”

“This is not about you,” Seonghwa looks back at him, and it shuts Wooyoung up, because of course Seonghwa knew Wooyoung was going to blame himself at the first chance he got. “I was gonna drag him out before coming back home anyway.”

“I know how to take care of myself, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You’re getting one tonight—I have some errands to do and Wooyoung was getting bored at home alone, so I figured he could stay with you and make sure you don’t get back to work.”

Wooyoung’s eyes fly to Seonghwa as he says the words—Wooyoung was getting bored at home alone. He feels San’s arm wrap around his waist from behind and bring his body closer, caressing his side through the fabric of his clothes. His chest swells—maybe this is too much for him. The two of them taking his side, taking care of him so easily, carrying the weight of it in his place—it’s all so much that it almost adds to it.

“Do I really not get a say in this?”

Hongjoong looks at the three of them, Seonghwa clicks his tongue, San gives a shrug of his shoulders, and Wooyoung looks down at the point of his shoes.

“No,” says seonghwa firmly. “I’ll be done in—two hours or so? I don’t think it’ll take me more than that.”

“Two hours? I could get so much work done in two hours!”

“Stop whining, or I‘ll take you home right now.”

Hongjoong looks down and sighs in surrender. Wooyoung watches curiously as Seonghwa reaches for Hongjoong’s hat in his hand and places it on the shorter’s head, carefully adjusting the damp strands that slip out of it and fly in every direction.

“Be careful on the road.”

Hongjoong’s pout and angry eyebrows don't relent.

“I’m always careful.”

When Seonghwa’s hands retreat, Hongjoong clears his throat and visibly tries to will away the blush that reached up to the tip of his ears. San still has a smile on his lips when he turns around to kiss Wooyoung again before he leaves and goes back to his class, and Seonghwa doesn’t forget to do the same as he zips up Wooyoung’s jacket and fixes the hood over his head as well before he walks out of the academy and under the gentle rain.

~

The ride is silent for the most part, and Wooyoung doesn't know if he should be grateful for it or not. Not talking means that he can listen, and without any other voice but his own filling the air, he’s afraid he’ll drown in self-deprecating thoughts before they can make it to Hongjoong’s apartment. He hates it. He hates this. With every fiber of his body.

The raindrops racing down the window usually act as a perfect distraction from himself, but not today, apparently—the ones he keeps betting on keep losing, falling back so stubbornly and almost never reaching the bottom of the glass. Just like the light rain hitting the hood of Hongjoong’s car does nothing to placate his anxiety. The steady noise of the wipers sliding left and right against the windshield is more annoying than it is hypnotizing.

Hongjoong’s fingers tapping gently against the steering wheel make him want to slide out of the car and run back home by himself because Hongjoong should be in his studio writing down that beat somewhere rather than tapping it wherever, stuck here with me.

“I’m sorry for ruining your plans.”

I’m sorry for being a waste of time.

“What do you mean?” chuckles Hongjoong, keeping his eyes on the road. “There’s nothing I love more than wasting time with your bratty ass.”

He doesn't really mean it, Wooyoung knows he doesn’t, but—horrible wording for a devastating timing. Why does it sound so sincere coming from him? There’s no way he could mean it. Hongjoong is like that, that’s how they work—a constant push and pull of teasing, and Wooyoung keeps reminding himself, but lately Hongjoong has been the only one doing the pulling and Wooyoung thinks he needs a break from it all. Tears beg to fall, but he keeps his feelings at bay—maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Seonghwa. If he hadn’t, now he would be all alone in the safety of their apartment and—

“Is something wrong?”

They stopped at a red light, and Hongjoong must have picked up Wooyoung's silent sniffling and struggle at keeping everything in, now that the rumble of the car isn’t there to cover for him. He hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped moving.

“It’s nothing, sorry—don’t worry about it.”

His voice comes out broken and strained and way less convincing than he thought it would. The streetlight turns green, and at least he doesn’t have to worry about Hongjoong’s eyes on him anymore.

“Is this for what I said? You know I’m just teasing, right?”

“I know, it’s just—it’s not your fault, my mind is just a bit of a mess right now, and I don’t—it’s fine, really.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so harsh—you can usually take three times that.”

Hongjoong lets out another chuckle, and Wooyoung would agree with him if he were in his right mind. He looks down at his lap and absentmindedly plays with the rings adorning his fingers, slipping them off and on and off and on until his skin turns a bright, deep pink under his eyes. Hongjoong notices, probably can smell the distress coming off of Wooyoung in waves before Wooyoung has the chance to add anything else.

“I really am sorry, how can I make it up to you?”

Wooyoung draws in a deep breath and relaxes against the seatback, looking out the window. You’re making him worry. Stop making him worry. He fixes his eyes on the road ahead, on the sun setting just at the end of the road. The sunset is not as pretty as it would be on any other day, the colors up in the sky are dull and move in slow, lazy strokes, and the clouds don’t play with it, either, keeping their distance as the sun silently slips behind the horizon. Or maybe it’s just Wooyoung, maybe he’s just tired.

“Don’t know,” starts Wooyoung, tone lighter than before. Maybe the sunset is not at fault, and it’s all in the eyes of the observer. He bets Hongjoong would find it beautiful, that dull sky, despite how much Wooyoung would say that the dreary colors make him feel miserable—Hongjoong wouldn’t care. “A kiss would be nice.”

“Literally anything but a kiss.”

Wooyoung sighs defeated, letting his head fall against the window dramatically and closing his eyes—it was worth a try.

“You let Seonghwa kiss you, what’s the big deal?”

“What?”

“You know,” goes on Wooyoung casually. “When Sannie and I disappear for a suspiciously convenient amount of time and then we all pretend you weren’t deepthroating our boyfriend’s tongue in our living room.”

“You—you know?”

Hongjoong stumbles on the few words, and there is definitely something wrong. Wooyoung opens his eyes just in time to see Hongjoong’s body tense up, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and knuckles going white as he steals an anxious glance at the passenger seat. Wooyoung looks at him a bit perplexed, mirroring his widened eyes.

“You know we’ve been okay with it this whole time, right? Because if you thought you were doing it behind our backs then that's totally fucked up and—”

“No! Of course not, I wouldn’t—he told me you were okay with it,” he says—Wooyoung relaxes again, and Hongjoong’s nerves seem to placate slightly at the sight. “I just didn't think he told you what we were doing, or when—or where.”

“Hm, almost every time.”

“He does?”

“Is it that weird? He’s our boyfriend,” it looks like Hongjoong is clenching his jaw at Wooyoung’s words, but the last lights of day don’t hit his features clearly enough for Wooyoung to be sure of it. Would he rather they didn’t know? He doesn’t see that much of a problem with it. Would it change anything at all? “Now that we’ve established this, do I get a kiss too?”

“Still not gonna kiss you.”

“You’re so mean to me—can we at least cuddle when we get home?”

~

Hongjoong adapts to this version of Wooyoung quite easily. Wooyoung feels out of place in a space he spent plenty of time in, and he can tell that Hongjoong notices—he’s not used to Wooyoung feeling like a burden, his thoughts are reflecting on the dark walls of his home and Wooyoung is afraid it could scare the boy away, that dripping his sorrows on his couch might stain it of an unremovable stain. It’s unfamiliar, the way Hongjoong reaches out for him, drags him through the apartment, pulling him by the hand until they’re inside Hongjoong’s bedroom.

Wooyoung always loved his room—opposite to the rest of the place, which is very uncharacteristically minimalistic and clean and on the emptier side. His room is so undeniably Hongjoong, with his impromptu music studio, art supplies scattered around every corner, and all kinds of pictures hanging on the walls. It’s colorful and messy, but bearably so, not a single space is left empty, and that makes it especially warm and comforting.

“Do you want something warm to wear? The house will take a while to heat up.”

Wooyoung knows, the heating system of Hongjoong’s apartment has been giving trouble for a good few months now, taking an eternity and some more to heat up the entire space. It got really bad really soon, to the point that he stopped bothering to turn it on in the first place unless he was spending more than a few hours home.

Wooyoung watches as Hongjoong rummages through his wardrobe and fishes out an oversized and well-worn hoodie to change into. Wooyoung would take it, on any other day, but he knows that when the time to leave comes, Hongjoong will let him keep it, and Wooyoung is afraid he might have to start denying himself of this proximity, these privileges. It’s been hurting a bit too much lately, and he doesn’t think he can stomach any unrequited feelings tonight.

“It’s okay, I’m not cold.”

The coldness in his bones is probably from the lack of closeness rather than the lack of heat. He expects Hongjoong to sit at his desk and pull out his laptop to get back to work, catch up on what he can manage until Seonghwa gets here to pick them up. Instead, he walks to the bed and sits at the edge of it, flattening the few pillows thrown haphazardly all over it and positioning them against the headboard.

“I’m not going to snitch on you, you know? You can work on your music.”

“You asked for cuddles, didn’t you?” he asks, scooting back against the wall and throwing his legs on the bed, crossing them at his ankles.

Wooyoung looks at him, bewildered, standing still a few feet from him, not sure of what to do with himself. He wants to apologize, to tell him it was one of his usual jokes he can afford to make simply because he knows Hongjoong will never comply. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to, almost wants to beg him not to. But before he can, Hongjoong looks back at him with a fond smile, and the words die on his tongue.

“Seonghwa’s right—I do need a break, so come here before I regret agreeing to it.”

Wooyoung is aware of the risk of it, he’s not stupid. But the sight of Hongjoong giving himself up so easily is almost blinding, it could leave him breathless. He’s not going to let that slip away from him, not after skipping the last cuddle pile.

“Kim Hongjoong—the Kim Hongjoong—accepting to actively cuddle?”

“I didn’t say actively.”

Wooyoung throws his head back in a laugh because of course he would say that, but he approaches the older anyway. He’s hesitant, usually Hongjoong is quick to set boundaries—and he’s clear about it, too—but Wooyoung is having a hard time reading the signs. A seemingly defenseless Hongjoong is disorienting, like there’s something Wooyoung should be mindful of more than he would on a daily basis.

He climbs on the bed and Hongjoong doesn’t scoot aside, doesn’t budge, doesn’t shy away, he just waits for him to settle—he’s giving Wooyoung the go-ahead to do whatever. And maybe Wooyoung wants to push his luck a bit, tonight, to read right through his bluff and see how much it’ll take for him to run away. So he sits on his lap, straddling his thighs with his legs on each side of him, and Hongjoong doesn’t falter. Wooyoung falls against the older’s chest, pressing his ear right over Hongjoong’s heart.

“Fine by me, as long as I get to hold you.”

He slips his arms around Hongjoong’s waist and tries to squeeze himself under his skin, needs to feel the other’s body so close that he’ll forget where he starts and where he ends, where up and down are, about the light rain still hitting the bedroom window because the thumping of Hongjoong’s heartbeat is much louder. Hongjoong’s hands lock around Wooyoung’s torso, keeping him close, and Wooyoung feels him let out a deep sigh, his body melting and his erratic heartbeat gradually slowing beneath Wooyoung’s weight. Something tells him Hongjoong needs this just as much as Wooyoung has been craving it—although unconsciously, probably.

~

“I think I still have some pink left, do you want to give it a try? I can bleach it for you.”

Hongjoong’s hand is picking on Wooyoung’s dark strands, twirling them around his fingers and grazing the scalp with the tip of his nails from time to time, slow and steady, and Wooyoung almost dozed off more than a couple of times. He’d probably be fast asleep by now, if Hongjoong hadn’t been talking from time to time.

“Isn’t pink a bitch to maintain?”

“The result is always worth the struggle—have you forgotten about Seonghwa?”

“I miss his pink hair with every fiber in my body, I will never thank you enough for convincing him.”

Hongjoong chuckles and the sound vibrates through his chest and against Wooyoung’s cheek and it warms him up just a tad bit too much for the latter to handle. It’s near impossible for him to ignore the way Hongjoong’s heart seems to have become accustomed to Wooyoung’s presence and slowed down to a more fitting pace, seemingly beating in unison in a melody sweet and loving and content, satisfied with the closeness. Wooyoung wonders, for a short, brief moment, if Hongjoong would rather be in Seonghwa’s arms rather than here with him. He wonders if he might be putting too much weight on him.

“Hongjoong-ah?”

“You know it won’t hurt you to call me hyung, right?”

“Are you in love with him?”

It’s like Hongjoong’s heart reaches a setback. Wooyoung can’t seem to pick it up for a few beats, and when it finally does come back to life it’s frantic, loud, and urgent. The hand in his hair comes to a halt, and Wooyoung feels wide awake all of a sudden. He tightens his hold around the older. He called Hongjoong’s bluff and it’s only a matter of time before he run’s off.

“Why would you ask me something like this?”

“Are you?”

Wooyoung’s legs are going numb. He can’t tell how much they’ve stayed like this, but maybe he did fall asleep for a few minutes at some point. His body is starting to feel sore from staying in the same position for so long, his head hurts from Hongjoong’s heartache being so close, his neck feels stiff.

“It’s complicated.”

He must have figured out that there’s no reason to hide it anymore, he knows Wooyoung knows, and denying it would be only a waste of time. He still doesn’t want to talk about it though, it’s obvious in the way his muscles tense up again under Wooyoung’s body, the way his arms unwrap from around him and fall heavy on the mattress. Wooyoung is not going to cry, not this time. He’s so impossibly tired of always crying.

“It’s only complicated because you want it to be.”

“You wouldn't get it.”

“Why shouldn’t I get it?”

“Because you ’re—you’re you.”

Wooyoung leans back and pulls himself up on his arms, looking down at Hongjoong. He immediately notices that his bottom lip is already red bitten, and his dark brown eyes seem duller than usual. Self-doubt doesn't suit him, it makes him look pale and small and weak and it’s unfamiliar—he’s always so bright and confident and optimistic, Wooyoung loves that color on him.

“And you are you, you’re far more special to him than I was back then—or than I ever was—there’s a reason why he stuck to you like gum and never let go.”

“He’s happy with you and San, I have no reason to intrude in something that already is.”

“You have every right to intrude if that’s what you want.”

“This is useless,” Hongjoong looks away from him for the first time, and Wooyoung understands it may be a bit too much to dump everything on him like this, so out of the blue, without giving him time to brace himself. “Can we please stop talking about it?”

But Hongjoong needs to hear this, he has to know.

“He’s the happiest when you are with us, as well, he—when he’s with you, he looks so happy that my heart breaks.”

Hongjoong is teary-eyed and still not looking back up at Wooyoung as if a single glance would make him crumble. Wooyoung wants to tell him that he can, that he will be ready to catch him this time, but he can’t—and it’s not like Hongjoong would trust him again with it, anyway.

“It’s not the same, Young-ah, the love he has for you isn’t the same he has for me.”

It isn’t the same love I have for him. Oh, how Wooyoung would scream at him for how he couldn’t be any more wrong than this. If he only knew how consumed Seonghwa is by the love he has for Hongjoong, how deep it runs in his veins, how stubbornly it’s rooted deep in his lungs, stealing his breath on the worst nights.

“You need to tell him.”

“I can’t.”

He pushes Wooyoung’s hands away, unwrapping them from around his waist and getting some distance between them. Wooyoung has never been so close to Hongjoong and yet felt so far from him at the same time in his life.

“He cares about you—we all do, you’re just too blind to see how much.”

“I told you to drop it.”

“I don’t want to drop it, if you’d only actually listen to me for once—”

“This is none of your business.”

“Things can change, if you—”

“Stop with the ifs, there are no ifs in this narrative.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, you—”

“Shut up! Enough, Young-ah, just shut up.”

Wooyoung stills for a few breaths. He wasn’t expecting him to snap. Or at least, he didn’t think Hongjoong’s answer would be rage, this time. He looks up at him with red-rimmed, flaming eyes and it makes him want to squirm away from his hold. He just wanted him to open his eyes, he wanted to make things right.

“It doesn’t matter how much you try to convince me, he will always choose you over me—it happened before and it will happen again, and I won’t be able to keep living knowing that, so if you really care about me that much, just leave me alone.”

Wooyoung is left staring, unmoving. There’s the tiniest glimpse in Hongjoong’s eyes, maybe he didn’t mean to raise his voice, and he’s now having second thoughts. Wooyoung gets up before he can say another word, before he can tell him he’s making things worse. He gets up before the first tear slips from his control, quickly wiping it away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He can’t bring himself to look Hongjoong in the eyes when he whispers a quick apology and scrambles away from the bed, away from Hongjoong. He’s already out of the room when he hears Hongjoong catch up to him, calling out to him when he bends forward to put his shoes back on.

“Where are you going?”

“Home, I think I’ve bothered you enough.”

“Come on, Young-ah, don't be like this.”

He wraps his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrist, but the latter swats his hand away.

“Like what? Like I'm worried about you? Like I care about you? For how long will I have to act like it isn't eating me alive to watch you break day after day when all you want is right in front of you?”

When Wooyoung turns to look at him, he’s burning holes in his body, tears falling freely across his cheeks, and he’s tired. He tried, he really tried to keep it in this time, but why is Hongjoong looking at him like that? Puzzled, shocked, like he’s the only one allowed to lash out at others. Did he think he could keep it in forever? Did he think he could pull and pull and pull and Wooyoung wouldn’t snap at some point?

“I’ve had one of the worst months of my entire life and you weren’t even there because you were busy avoiding us all! Have you stopped to think about how I'm fucking feeling? About how San is feeling? Is yelling in your face really the only way for you to acknowledge our feelings?”

He turns around, not giving Hongjoong enough time to react before his hand is on the handle of the door, pulling it open.

“Wooyoung, there's no need to—”

“You won’t have to worry about me anymore, I hope you’re happy.”

~

Wooyoung doesn’t get far, his legs give out before he can make it outside of Hongjoong’s apartment complex. He falls apart halfway down the last flight of stairs, crumbles to the ground as he meets the end of it. Knees to his chest, he lets the tears fall, and fall, and fall, taking shaky breaths of air in his lungs. It’s draining, bearing your feelings out to someone only to get nothing in return.

He’s regretting half of the things he said already—he’s regretting not saying more than he did. His hands are cold and shaking and his whole body feels numb again, painfully so. His head is pounding and he wants to go home but he can’t, and the more time goes by, the more he realizes how badly he’s messed up.

He’s stuck here until Seonghwa comes back for him. So he waits—that’s all he can do, the only thing that won’t have him spiral out of control because of how much he fucked up. He waits until he can breathe again, until he doesn’t feel like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff with nothing to hold him back anymore. He wishes he didn’t know both sides of the story—maybe that way it wouldn’t kill him to witness it. Maybe he would have kept himself at a safe distance, just as Hongjoong had begged him to.

His phone goes off from the pocket of his jacket, but he lets it ring for a moment longer. He’s afraid it might be Hongjoong calling, just to tell him to never show his face ever again, just to let him know he doesn’t need him—he never did. He waits for the buzzing to go off, for the spiteful voice to stop echoing in his head. And then it rings again, only a moment later. He gathers one last shaky breath before reaching for it, but by the time he unlocks the screen, the call has already gone to voicemail.

star *.°

2 Missed Calls

It’s proof that Hongjoong doesn’t hate him yet, but it’s proof that Hongjoong doesn’t care enough to reach out for him and call him back. He wonders what Seonghwa might want from him—maybe he’s early? Maybe he’s going to appear right outside of the big glass door of the apartment complex, arms wide open, ready to forgive him for all he’s done wrong and bring him back home.

Seonghwa is calling again, Wooyoung should answer, but he’s petrified by the realization that the other would never forgive him for drawing Hongjoong further away from him. He should answer, Seonghwa might get worried if he keeps this up. He’s tired of making them worry. He still doesn’t answer, he lets it ring.

What should he tell him, anyway? Not telling is out of question, because how would he explain that Hongjoong-hyung is not coming to dinner today or ever because he probably hates me now, and I wouldn’t even know how to face him at the moment without telling him a single thing? And Seonghwa only just fixed things with him, did he have to go and ruin it all for him, as well? He hopes he didn’t. Is Hongjoong going to forgive him for what he said? Should Wooyoung forgive him for what he said?

It rings again, only that this time it’s San’s name staring at him ominously. Wooyoung stares back, frozen and guilty, as a series of texts comes in.

star *.°

are you okay?

can you pick up?

wooyoung-ah

As soon as his call goes to voicemail, it's San's turn to send a chain of texts Wooyoung won’t find the heart to answer.

ruby <3

please pick up

hong said you left the apartment

where are you?

call me back

Maybe he should, maybe he has worried them both enough for nothing. They talked with Hongjoong, which means they know about their fight—do they? He assumes Hongjoong would have no reason to hide it. Seonghwa—he knows Wooyoung’s heart, he knows how much he truly likes Hongjoong and cares for him, so whatever happens, he would understand. He wants to think Seonghwa would understand, that he wouldn’t leave him to be by Hongjoong’s side. They would try to understand, they would be patient, just like they’ve always been.

When the phone rings again, he’s ready to pick up this time, be it San or Seonghwa trying to reach out, but he freezes the moment Hongjoong’s name pops up on screen instead. He still doesn’t pick up—this proves Hongjoong might care for him, but it doesn’t prove he’s not calling only to tell him how hopeless he is. He can’t pick up. Hongjoong talked with Seonghwa—could he have told him anything about Wooyoung’s recent struggles? He hopes he didn’t—he wouldn’t.

hong :3

im sorry

come back?

please let's talk

where are you?

There’s the heavy echo of a door shutting closed from a few floors higher, a loud rattling of keys, a series of hurried footsteps running down the stairs. Wooyoung gives up on his phone, hides it back in the pocket of his jacket after silencing it. If he hadn’t, he’s sure he’d feel it buzzing again already.

“How was I supposed to know? I don’t—Seonghwa? Hwa, fucking breathe, alright? Breathe, save that for after we find him,” Hongjoong’s voice comes breathless from upstairs, rushing down the few flights, sounding closer and more worried each passing second—Seonghwa definitely told him. “He didn’t leave that long ago, he’s probably close by still, go home and check if maybe he’s—”

He comes to a halt once he reaches the last flight, Wooyoung feels his eyes burn through his back.

“He’s here,” he says, tone closer to a question than an affirmation, as Seonghwa could give him a valid reason as to why exactly Wooyoung didn’t run away. “He never left the building—alright, we’ll just wait here.”

After hanging up, Hongjoong still doesn’t move. He seems unsure of his next move, like he’s finding himself in front of a wild, dangerous animal, who will certainly either run away or jump at him if he dares take another step. Wooyoung has no intention of doing either—nor does he have the energy for it, anyway. He wants Hongjoong closer, but he’s afraid he’d be forcing his hand again, by asking.

“Did he threaten you?”

“He’s probably going to kill me,” the teasing in Wooyoung’s words seems to spur Hongjoong to move, slowly coming down step after step until he’s sitting down beside the younger. “Are you—”

“I’m okay.”

“Young-ah, I'm so sorry—”

“I’m guessing you know?”

Wooyoung turns to look at the other, and this time Hongjoong’s gaze doesn’t falter, he looks back at him almost like Wooyoung might disappear again if he even dared to avert his eyes. Wooyoung wouldn’t put it past himself, but he also has no reason to. He still looks tense all over, clearly doesn’t know where to put his hands—both literally and figuratively.

“He never said much, he just—needed someone to talk to about it, he didn't have bad intentions, you know him.”

At least he doesn’t have to worry about telling him himself. He won’t ask him what exactly Seonghwa told him because he doesn’t necessarily want to know how much the boy spilled. He doesn’t want to know what Hongjoong might be seeing now, looking at him. A simple Wooyoung has been hurting himself would have been enough to elicit this type of reaction from Hongjoong, and there sure is a significant amount of subtle—or at least it tries to be—concern hiding in every single one of Hongjoong’s gestures.

“So you’ve known for a while?”

“If you wanted me to know, you would have told me yourself, so—I never brought it up.”

“You can stop holding your breath, I’m not suicidal,” he says as he looks back at the wall in front of him, diverting his attention from the older. “You’re lucky I’m not, you took at least, twenty minutes to find me—I’d be taking a swim at the bottom of a river by now.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood, it’s one of the few things he’s actually good at. If anything, it makes him feel better about the whole situation, it makes it feel a little less tragic than it is. Hongjoong catches on it, it seems to release some of the tension on his shoulders, but he doesn’t appreciate Wooyoung’s take on it.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he scolds, lightly hitting Wooyoung’s shoulder with his closed fist. “You made us worry.”

At least he does seem slightly relieved seeing Wooyoung crack a joke in a moment like this—in their friend group, they always used to say that the moment Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to crack awful jokes at the most inconvenient of times was the moment they actually had to worry about him.

“I know, I’m sorry for making you worry all the time.”

“Hey, don’t—” Hongjoong’s hand reaches out but stops midair right before coming in contact with Wooyoung’s face, as if asking permission. He grants him with no hesitation, sinking into the feeling of Hongjoong’s palm resting against his cheek to have the boy face him. “Don’t say that, I am the one who should apologize—you’re just trying to help me, and I keep pushing you away.”

“I shouldn’t be asking anything of you, I shouldn’t pressure you into things I know nothing about.”

Hongjoong shakes his head.

“But you know it all, Young-ah,” he says, voice small and soft and vulnerable. “I am in love with him, but sometimes it just gets too much and I don't know what to do with myself, and then I—I end up hurting you, and him, and San, and I'm—I'm sorry, I truly am.”

Hongjoong has never been the best at expressing his feelings, and Wooyoung has always maybe only ever asked too much of him, thinking it would be fair for him to do so when Wooyoung could only ever be transparent about what he thought and felt. Wooyoung can’t bring himself to say anything, really. So he lets his head fall against Hongjoong’s shoulder and lets that speak for him. You’re forgiven, he tells him, I’ll always forgive you no matter what. Hongjoong gets it, it’s clear in the way he leans right into it, pulling Wooyoung closer.

It’s not long before Seonghwa’s car pulls up in the parking lot, and the boy rushes out of it and into the building. He startles the moment his eyes fall on the two of them, sitting so close. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the glare he sends in Hongjoong’s direction, but he dismisses it easily in lieu of making sure Wooyoung is alright. Wooyoung sits in the back so that he can stay by Hongjoong’s side a bit longer, and although Seonghwa sends him a skeptical look, he doesn’t object. The drive from Hongjoong’s apartment to theirs is quite short, but Wooyoung still manages to drift off for a few minutes, leaning on the boy’s shoulder.

~

Wooyoung can’t fall asleep. He’s lying on the bed, squished between San’s and Seonghwa’s bodies, and he can’t seem to drift off no matter how much he tries. Maybe it’s the five-minute nap he took on their way back home, combined with the extra time he spent snoring softly in San’s lap after dinner, that made him restless for the rest of the night. Or maybe it’s the events of today that are making a feast of his brain that keep him from putting it to rest. Either way, he can’t get himself to stop moving around, and he’s afraid he’ll end up waking the two boys up sooner or later.

He gently moves Seonghwa’s arm from around his waist and slips away from San’s grasp. The boy inevitably awakens, but Wooyoung is quick to reassure him and send him back to sleep with a kiss to his lips. He stops and watches endeared as San takes his place in Seonghwa’s arms, fixing the comforter over their shoulders.

He tiptoes out of the room and into the living room, trying to make as little noise as he can to not have Hongjoong wake up because of him, as well, only to find the boy lying on the couch wide awake with his phone in hand. When he notices Wooyoung, he moves his phone aside to properly look at the younger, propping himself up against the armchair of the couch.

“What are you doing up?”

“I can’t fall asleep,” says Wooyoung, arms crossing to his chest. “Mind if I stay here with you?”

Hongjoong gives him a nod of his head and scoots back against the backrest, giving Wooyoung enough space to settle down comfortably. Wooyoung slides under the blanket and takes the liberty of throwing a leg over Hongjoong’s, nuzzling his face against his chest as Hongjoong wraps an arm around his shoulders to keep him close and steady. He lets his phone fall on the couch where it’ll probably slip through the cracks and disappear into another dimension—he has a habit of losing it there, and Wooyoung already knows they'll be dismantling the couch piece by piece the next morning because that became part of their routine at this point.

He turns his full attention to the younger, who absentmindedly draws delicate swirls and twirls on Hongjoong’s chest with the point of his index.

“Is something bothering you?”

“Don’t get mad, but I really think you should tell him,” he mumbles, a bit hesitant. “I mean, I get how hard it must be for you, but keeping it inside won't make it better—I don’t think you need to put that much thought into it, a single word from you will have him on his knees in an instant.”

He lets out a breathy laugh and Hongjoong snorts, a playful fuck off leaving his lips as he nudges Wooyoung’s head to the side.

“I’m being serious!” says Wooyoung between giggles. “You know, the other night he was so out of it he moaned out your name while San was—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because he has to shield his forehead from Hongjoong’s attempt—and success—at landing a flick on it, firmly indicating the end of that conversation.

“Okay! Sorry—I’m sorry, it’s nice to tease you about it,” he leans back and shifts his weight on his forearm so that Hongjoong would at least stop trying to hit him. “It’d be nicer if you two would figure it out, you know?”

Hongjoong sighs, chest deflating under Wooyoung’s weight as he settles onto him once again.

“He said he’s going to give me some space for a while, we agreed it would be better that way, so I—I wouldn’t even know where to put my hands.”

“Is that what you really want? Distance?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Silence fills the room for a long moment, Wooyoung tries to figure out what his next move should be, because he rarely gets a chance at Hongjoong’s unfiltered honesty like this. Wooyoung’s fingers move to play with the folds of Hongjoong’s shirt as they’re both lost in thought, until he’s made enough order in his head to speak again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hm.”

“When he left that night, what was it like?”

“What do you mean?”

“The night he told you he loved you—how did that make you feel?”

Hongjoong almost stops breathing, Wooyoung can hear the gears turning in his head as he goes back to that night, he can hear his heart break again at the mere thought of Seonghwa walking away from him.

“Awful,” he concludes. “And bitter—and miserable.”

“That’s it, just start with that,” Wooyoung’s heart strains at the tone of his voice, a perfect and balanced mixture of defeat and heartache. “Everything else will come.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I know it isn’t—but you mean the world to him, he’ll understand as long as you truly want him to.”

“Let’s make a deal, then,” there’s a certain warmth in Hongjoong’s words, like he’s been mulling it over for a while now. “I promise to tell him, if you promise me you’ll never hurt yourself ever again.”

Wooyoung’s breath itches in his lungs. I can’t promise you something like that. What if it gets bad again and he gives in? What if he relapses and everything goes to shit? If he makes a promise like that, the outcome will be much worse because he wouldn’t be able to deal with disappointing so many people all over again. What if they get sick of taking care of him? I can’t promise you that.

“I know it’s going to sound dramatic, but I thought I lost you, for a moment,” maybe it’s unconscious, the way he tightens his hold around Wooyoung, but the gesture wraps around his heart just as tightly. “The look in your eyes, the things you said—if something were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself, and you know they feel the same way, so please, promise you won’t do it again.”

Wooyoung raises his head to look him in the eyes, but Hongjoong is looking up at the ceiling. He can’t remember the last time Hongjoong opened his heart without him having to stick his hands down his throat and forcefully drag the feelings out himself. As he looks down at him, he realizes the urge to just kiss Hongjoong has never been so overwhelmingly strong until now, and he gets an idea. A great idea—a questionable one.

“You just dug your own grave, Kim Hongjoong.”

He doesn’t give Hongjoong enough time to react because suddenly he’s sitting upright on his lap and pulling the boy up with him.

“Why—”

“You’re telling him now.”

Wooyoung can clearly see the moment Hongjoong’s fight or flight response kicks in—it feels like a mixture of both, actually—and he’s trying with everything he’s got in him to stand his ground against the boy tugging and pulling at his arms like he wasn’t minutes away from falling asleep on top of him just a few seconds before.

“No way.”

“You promised!”

“I didn’t mean now—it’s like, three in the morning!”

“Hyung, I will literally kill myself if I don’t get to kiss you in the next ten minutes,” he says, earning himself a light slap on the chest because I told you not to joke about that stuff. “So I think it’s strictly necessary that you do it now because I need everyone’s consent for that.”

“How—how can you be so sure they’ll be okay with it?”

“Sannie literally swore he’d be taking the three of us to the altar the second day we met you, he’s more than okay with it.”

“Wait, San said what now?”

Just like that, Wooyoung manages to get Hongjoong to stand on his feet because he’s simply too stunned to do anything about it—Wooyoung has to laugh, because it’s not like San ever did anything to hide it. They get to the door when Wooyoung feels Hongjoong tense up behind him, hand pulling back just enough for the younger to notice. He stops and turns, and Hongjoong is looking as hesitant as he ever did.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softens, and he gives Hongjoong a smile as reassuring as he can provide, squeezing his hand and pulling him closer.

“I wouldn't ask you to do this if that was the case, you just have to trust me on this—do you trust me?”

“Not on most days, no.”

“That's fair, I guess,” Wooyoung breathes out a laugh and he's glad to see Hongjoong lose some of his tension, unclenching his jaw and slumping his shoulders.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise you.”

“But what if I mess up? I mean, I can barely keep a relationship with only one person, how am I supposed to handle three people? You know I suck at communicating, what if—”

The worry in his tone increases gradually as Hongjoong speaks and Wooyoung knows for a fact that if he doesn’t put a stop to it, he’ll have him spiral into an endless cycle of self-doubt.

“Hyung,” he whispers close to Hongjoong’s lips, cupping his face with both hands. “It’s going to be okay, it’s not just three people—it’s us, we'll figure it out together.”

He presses their foreheads together and waits until Hongjoong gives him a slight nod of his head, leaving a quick peck on Hongjoong’s cheek before he pulls away, right at the corner of his lips. Hongjoong looks back at him, almost mesmerized, and Wooyoung can’t get himself to stop smiling.

For the first time in a while, there’s some sort of hopeful feeling taking up a small space in his heart because if this goes well—and he’s more than confident that this will go well—there’s a high chance that Hongjoong will finally take down his walls and let them in, that he’ll allow them to love him in any way and form they can possibly imagine and Wooyoung has so much love to give him that sometimes it hurts. If this works, they’ll finally be together*.*

Wooyoung tugs on the older’s arm, and they step into the room. It’s not pitch black, but the light coming through the door from the hallway isn’t bright enough to allow them to see clearly, so Wooyoung opts to turn on the small bedside lamp, and a warm, soft light fills the room. He sits on the bed, guiding Hongjoong to do the same, but then he plops down on top of Seonghwa, caging him from the waist with both legs on either side of him, hands resting on his shoulders and shaking his body lightly.

“Hyung, hyung! Wake up, come on.”

As Seonghwa shifts under him, grumbling something low in his throat and bringing his arm up to shield his eyes from the light, Wooyoung’s attention is on San. He’s much more gentle with him as he calls out for him in a whisper, brushing the blonde overgrown strands of hair from his face and waiting for him to crack his eyes open just enough to get a glimpse of Wooyoung.

“Is something wrong?” he says, voice low and tired.

“Everything’s fine, Hongjoong-hyung has something to tell you.”

“Wooyoung-ah, get off,” most people would be surprised, but Seonghwa can get extremely grumpy when he’s woken up for no apparent reason. “It’s the middle of the night.”

"I know, but this is really important.”

“I doubt that, can’t it wait until the morning?”

“It’s—well,” upon hearing Hongjoong’s voice, the older lifts his head from the pillow to look at him. “It’s about us.”

Suddenly, Seonghwa is very awake. Wooyoung moves off of him to sit back beside Hongjoong, allowing Seonghwa to sit up straight with his back against the wall as San follows him up, still seemingly half asleep, letting his head fall on his shoulder, slitted eyes looking at Hongjoong.

“What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa’s concerned eyes are flying back and forth from Wooyoung to Hongjoong, and the latter is struggling to find his words, his lips part to speak but nothing seems to get out. Wooyoung scoots closer, resting a hand on his thigh and giving him a reassuring smile. It’s not a lot, but the gesture seems to be just enough for Hongjoong to take a deep breath and finally speak.

“I’m honestly not—not okay with this,” he starts with a shaky voice, and Wooyoung gets a clear view of Seonghwa’s eyes widening in terror. “Watching from a distance, I mean—I want to be with you—all three of you.”

The words sound so sweet and sincere that if it was up to Wooyoung, he’d have him stop here and now and drown him in love and affection and spare him the struggle of having to go on and find the words to express the myriad of tangled emotions he’s feeling, but he knows Hongjoong needs to do this in order for it to work, and both San and Seonghwa deserve to hear what he has to say.

“I know things have been complicated between us lately and I’m entirely to blame, but I’m asking you to give me a chance because I don’t think I can go on like this—but I can’t stand the thought of losing you, and I know I’m not easy to deal with but—”

“Is this a dream?” interrupts San, squinting his eyes at Hongjoong. “Am I still sleeping, or is he actually confessing?”

“Seems like it,” agrees Seonghwa, a confusing mix of perplexity and doubt showing on his face.

There’s a moment of silence where Hongjoong doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, this may be a bit too much for him. His eyes find his lap and he shrinks into himself quietly, and Wooyoung wants to bash Seonghwa in the head because why isn’t he saying anything? But then San is throwing himself at Hongjoong and he barely manages to catch him before they both topple over off the bed.

“Now I can finally start planning our wedding,” he says, hiding in the crook of his neck.

That earns him a light scolding from Wooyoung—you’ll scare him away in a blink if you start saying shit like that—but San can’t seem to care about it because the next thing he knows Hongjoong’s fingers find his neck and start kneading the skin there, and San is melting against him in an instant.

“Does that mean you are staying with us tonight?” asks Seonghwa, with such hope in his tone that Wooyoung can do nothing but look at him lovingly.

Hongjoong’s eyes find Seonghwa’s and his breath stutters—it seems like he hadn’t thought that far. It makes sense, if it wasn’t for Wooyoung he would still be sleeping alone on their couch, and would have kept doing so for the rest of his life, probably. San must feel the tension flowing in Hongjoong’s body because he instantly leans back to press a kiss to his cheek, one that has the older blushing under the attention.

“If—if you’ll still have me.”

“Of course we’ll have you,” answers Seonghwa, slightly incredulous. “I didn’t think we could make it clearer than it already was.”

Wooyoung can't even wrap his head around the fact that Hongjoong is still dealing with this many doubts and insecurities despite all the reassurance the three of them have been providing him with for all this time. As soon as San plops back down beside Seonghwa, Wooyoung leans in Hongjoong’s space, placing a hand under his chin to turn his head to the side, warm breath brushing the older’s lips.

“Now, can I?”

The question is clear, Hongjoong’s gaze flies down to Wooyoung’s lips before it fixes on his teary eyes, and he gives a slight nod of his head. Wooyoung doesn’t waste a second more before joining their lips together. It’s soft and gentle, and it’s something Wooyoung has been wanting for the longest time, and he’s thought about it plenty, but nothing compares with the way Hongjoong melts against his body and gives him free rein. Wooyoung savors every second of it and drinks Hongjoong down to the last drop. When he finally pulls away, he hears San whisper a quiet are you really sure this isn’t a dream? to Seonghwa’s ear.

“Thank you for giving us a chance,” breathes Wooyoung, still close to Hongjoong’s lips.

At this point, Hongjoong might be too stunned by the myriad of feelings swimming inside of him to even do anything about himself, and it’s endearing to think all of this rendered him completely speechless. San takes the chance to ungraciously pull both of them down on the bed, and Hongjoong still shows signs of hesitance, but he settles comfortably once Seonghwa wraps his arms around him, pressing a quick peck to his lips. Wooyoung latches himself to his body and sighs content when San does the same, throwing an arm over him to rest on Hongjoong’s waist as his mind is still wrapping around what all of this means.

This is far from everything Wooyoung has ever felt in his whole life. It’s like at this precise moment there’s nothing else in the world that could phase him because it feels like as long as he’s tucked in their warm embrace, nothing will be able to hurt him, not even himself. He’s safe, and it feels so unreal that he might cry—he finds that he wouldn’t mind letting a few tears fall, as of now. He wouldn’t be ashamed of it, it wouldn’t bother him. It would almost feel fitting.

Now, Wooyoung isn’t paying much attention to it, but if only he were, he’d notice the four heartbeats falling into the same rhythm and beating as one as the four of them quietly drift off to sleep, tucked safely in each other's arms.