Archive of Our Own

It starts with a pair of shorts. A tiny pair of shorts.

Up until this point, Wonwoo has fully believed he’s lived a life paved with good intentions. Sure, he has his own follies and vices. Jihoon calls him a stubborn bastard sometimes, and Junhui gets frustrated trying to pull words out of him when Wonwoo’s feeling particularly repressed. Soonyoung would say his worst trait is that he’s not funny—but, well, it’s always him who laughs the hardest at Wonwoo’s jokes. Regardless, Wonwoo is only human, and he tries to maintain some degree of self-awareness to account for his own flaws.

And while there’s always room for improvement, as Coach Beomju tends to remind them, Wonwoo does his best to live a good life. He feeds the cats in the back alley behind his dorm building, he unlearns and learns history, culture, community; he reflects on how to be a better teammate, a better friend, a better son, a better brother. Wonwoo tries. Maybe not as well as Soonyoung sometimes, he thinks, but dear god, he tries.

Which is why when Kwon Soonyoung waltz into practice on Thursday afternoon wearing the tiniest pair of spandex shorts that Wonwoo has ever seen, Wonwoo suddenly wonders what bad deed he has done in a past life to deserve this.

The shorts expose Soonyoung’s strong, pale thighs, the lean muscles bunching and flexing with every move and with every spike as they practice their drills. Each time Soonyoung jumps, the shorts ride up just incrementally, a flash of tantalizingly smooth skin, and Wonwoo can’t help but follow the shift of fabric with his eyes.

It’s distracting. It’s horrible. They’ve been friends for sixteen years, have played volleyball together for all of their life—Wonwoo has seen him naked almost daily in the change rooms and showers over the years. And not once has he noticed Soonyoung’s thighs as anything but another part of his body. Attached to his legs. Attached to Soonyoung, who had braces for most of their adolescence, and once got so constipated that he cried. And then Wonwoo had to rub his tummy because it hurt so much—and because he’s the best friend ever—and assured Soonyoung he wouldn’t get bumped off their middle school volleyball team.

So, they’re just a pair of thighs. Soonyoung’s thighs.

A fist bumps into his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts. “Dude,” Jihoon says, his face skewed in annoyance. “What’s with you? You’ve been missing all your receives.”

Wonwoo clears his throat, and drags his eyes to meet Jihoon’s gaze. “Nothing,” he bluffs, shrugging his shoulder, hoping his face remains impassive, “Sorry, just distracted.”

Jihoon stares at him for a few moments, and then nods. “You better focus.” He has his co-captain voice on and it would be terrifying, if Jihoon wasn’t all bark and no bite. Next to him, Junhui pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

As they fall back into their places on court within their practice squads, Wonwoo takes in a deep breath and exhales again. He keeps his traitorous eyes focused on the net, and away from where they keep lingering on the pale, smooth skin of Soonyoung’s legs and all the power coiled underneath it. Soonyoung’s loud, yelling out excitedly at Chan about his diving and rolling drills, his energy taking up space in the gym as usual.

That’s the thing about Soonyoung: he’s always had a presence larger than just his body. He’s always seemed to fill up all the spaces in their practice gym, when he was loud and hyperactive, and even when he wasn’t.

Wonwoo’s used to it by now. There’s nothing different about Soonyoung today, aside from the shorts. But yet Wonwoo’s eyes keep straying back to him.

Practice has only just started. Later, he’ll have to practice with Soonyoung. He’s been trying to perfect his off-speed spike. Wonwoo knows he’ll succeed—Soonyoung is too hard-headed to refuse anything but utter success—and as the starting setter, he’ll be right there to set Soonyoung up for it. Yet for the first time in all their years of playing together, the thought of facing Soonyoung sends a strange coil of tension rising in his belly.

There’s no rational explanation for it, Wonwoo decides. It’s the shorts’ fault— and maybe the yogurt he had for breakfast that morning. It must have been expired or something because it’s the only explanation he can drum up to explain why he suddenly can’t tear his eyes away from his best friend’s thighs.

Because it’s not like he’s attracted to Soonyoung. That’s impossible.

Maybe he is attracted to Soonyoung, Wonwoo amends later when practice has ended.

The four of them head out to dinner afterwards, after the rest of the team begs off for various reasons. Seungkwan and Hansol look particularly suspicious, claiming prior commitments and shooting each other furtive glances. He bites down a smile when Soonyoung leans in close to him, hair still damp from the showers and smelling faintly like apple shampoo, and ferociously whispers, “Look! Seungkwan almost never ditches us. I told you! He’s totally dating someone.”

Junhui cajoles them into going to his favourite restaurant near their campus. The dumpling restaurant is nestled cozily under a faded red awning, impossible to miss under the vibrant neon signs that light up Incheon’s Chinatown. He’s heard from Junhui and Minghao that it’s harder to get ’authentic’—air quotes included—Chinese cuisine here, but the Korean Chinese cuisine in the area is full of history.

The restaurant isn’t too full when they arrive, and they are led to a seat quickly. As always, they let Junhui take the lead on ordering from the menu. And when the food arrives, they’ve all known each other for too long and too well to put up pretenses of politeness—they dig in. Meals are always a bit of a battleground, especially as collegiate athletes fresh off of practice.

They don’t talk at first, too focused on the blisteringly hot dumplings, golden brown and freshly fried from the brazier pot. Soonyoung burns his tongue biting into one dumpling too quickly, and Jihoon rolls his eyes. It draws a small laugh from Wonwoo, and he reaches out to pass the glass of water across the table to Soonyoung, but Junhui beats him to it.

“Slow down there, little tiger,” Junhui admonishes gently, a little smile on his face as he pats him on the back. None of them, except Jihoon, are small by any means—but somehow, Soonyoung seems impossibly tiny when he looks up at Junhui with wide eyes, nodding obediently. The corner of Wonwoo’s lips tug upwards at the sight, and he shakes his head at his friends.

Next to him, Jihoon scoffs. “Not the tiger thing,” he complains, and rolls his eyes, “It’s one thing to deal with on the court, but I refuse to while we’re not playing or practicing.”

Soonyoung swallows his bite of food, an indignant look on his face. “As if you’re not always thinking about volleyball,” he says accusingly, pointing his chopsticks at Jihoon. “You’re even worse than me! Seungcheol-hyung has had to scold you so many times for sneaking back into the gym to practice.”

“Who made us lose key access to the gym in the first place?” retorts Jihoon. He bats away Junhui’s attempts to soothe him, instead taking a noisy sip from his glass of coke.

A year ago, right after Jihoon and Soonyoung were named co-captain after their loss at the collegiate championship, Soonyoung had fallen into one of his—funks. Not quite as mercurial as they used to be when they were teenagers, but high school had not been kind to Soonyoung, and there are just some things that you carry with you—including coping mechanisms and bad habits. The burden of becoming captain after Joshua had graduated had exacerbated his drive to improve, along with a growing self-doubt that was uncharacteristic to Soonyoung. It was bad.

Bad enough that Soonyoung, and the team by extension, had lost their keycard to enter the gym unsupervised. Bad enough that Soonyoung had to sit out the next two games. Bad enough that Soonyoung can no longer play without taping up his shoulder beforehand. Wonwoo doesn’t ever want to witness Soonyoung overexerting himself hard enough that he dislocates his shoulder on court ever again.

He’s better now. A lot better. But sometimes, when the tensions are high and their bones and muscles are aching more than normal, it’s still a sensitive topic. Wonwoo tenses up, the residing panic and worry spiking in him at Jihoon’s comment, and readies himself to intervene.

This time, though, Soonyoung shrugs it off easily. “And we’ll never get it back after you got caught sneaking in last time,” he declares, shooting Jihoon a sulky look, “Wonwoo and I keep going to the community gym. It sucks, I keep running into Changkyunnie and Hyunwoo-hyung from INU there.”

Wonwoo breathes out. “And you’re the one who keeps getting distracted by gossiping with them.” He rolls his eyes. Soonyoung adores those two despite his protests now, even if they’re from their so-called rival school.

He sits back and lets their petty squabbling wash over him while they eat. Junhui chimes in every now and then, but Soonyoung’s in a chatty mood tonight. Despite Jihoon’s gruff demeanour, he’s always the first one to indulge Soonyoung when he’s like this, flitting from one topic to another, devising strategies to go over with the team during their next practice.

He thinks to himself, his mind flashing back to practice and the sight of Soonyoung’s shorts stretched over the firm muscle of his thighs and over the curve of his ass. Whatever he felt was a purely physical reaction. There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s caught Soonyoung staring at Jeonghan, the starting setter in their high school team, enough to grow used to it. They’re surrounded by fit, athletic, and often good-looking people. It’s fine if Soonyoung is one of them.

Wonwoo’s sure he isn’t the only one staring. It doesn't mean it has to be anything more than that.

Across the table, Soonyoung’s eyes squeeze shut at a joke that Junhui makes, and his hands come up to cover his face as he shakes with laughter. His cheeks bulge around the dumplings he’s stuffed into his mouth, and there’s a speck of dipping sauce staining the corner of his mouth. He waits for the stir of heat in his gut, the low-grade arousal he felt during practice this morning, the uncomfortable prickling flush at the back of his neck. Nothing.

Only the persistent warmth that glows deep in his belly, the surge of fondness that sweeps through him—but it’s how he’s always felt around Soonyoung. He studies Soonyoung’s smiling face, lit aglow with the brightness of his grin, and Wonwoo feels his mouth tug up as if swayed by Soonyoung’s own happiness. It’s a familiar feeling, and relief settles inside of him.

A physical attraction, he can admit to himself, as long as it’s nothing more.

“What are you smiling at?” Soonyoung scoots in closer and bumps into the table in his attempt to reach over. With his chopsticks, he plucks up one of the dumplings left untouched on Wonwoo’s plate. “You were acting all weird in practice earlier too.”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo responds, stealing the dumpling right back. He stuffs it into his mouth, and grins triumphantly at Soonyoung when he lets out a whine in protest. “Just thinking about stuff,” he says.

Fridays are their day.

The tradition has persisted long enough that Wonwoo can hardly recall how it started. Just that they were in middle school, and volleyball carved its way into their schedules—from an after school pastime to something much more serious—and Wonwoo had taken a step back from the team to join the eSports club instead.

Soonyoung hadn’t said anything at the time, not in so many words; neither about Wonwoo’s sudden cold feet towards their sport, nor how they were spending less time together than they ever had since they were five years old. But one day on a Friday, he stomped up to Wonwoo after class, and glared up at him. “You’re teaching me how to play your stupid game.”

Wonwoo remembers spending the day trying to teach Soonyoung the rules for Gunbound. And somehow after that, it became a routine for them to do something outside of volleyball on Fridays. Pretty quickly, too, Wonwoo had forgotten why he had been avoiding the team in the first place. He remembers the few weeks where his heart felt compressed, his lungs short of air, at the sight of Soonyoung flying on the court. And then, when he returned, it was gone again.

Years later, their Fridays continue to live on, although there are no rules or guidelines on what they end up doing on those days. Only the unspoken agreement that it’s their day.

He’s waiting for Soonyoung outside the subway station. Wonwoo checks his phone again for new messages, and finds nothing but a photo of Aji from Mingyu in their team group chat. He frowns, and shoves his hands into his pocket, trembling slightly from the cold. Maybe he’ll make Soonyoung pay for their lunch. It was him who wanted to head into Seoul for dinner, after all.

Wonwoo tucks his nose into the thick scarf bundled around his neck. It felt like summer had only been a couple weeks ago, but the cold seeps into his bones readily now, and Wonwoo shivers as he tries to keep himself warm. A ping from his phone distracts him again, but mild disappointment settles in when he sees it’s just a meme that Hansol sent into the group chat. It makes him smile a little though, and it reminds him of a hilarious gaming stream he saw last night. Wonwoo makes a mental note to tell Soonyoung about it later.

It takes another five minutes before he feels a hand tapping on his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry!” Soonyoung’s breath comes out in pants, his hair mussed with a small tuff sticking up from his haste. His cheeks are flushed red, and the tip of his nose is pink. Unlike Wonwoo, he’s only wearing a jacket, not even a scarf on him. But his smile is wide as he greets Wonwoo, even as he shivers from a sudden gust of air.

Just like that, some of the ire ebbs away at the sight of Soonyoung. He had class earlier, Wonwoo recalls, and he probably didn’t have time to go back to his dorm to change into something warmer. Wonwoo eyes the tousled hair, and his flushed face, and bites down on his bottom lip.

“You’re late,” Wonwoo accuses him, but then he reaches out to poke Soonyoung in the side. He ignores the ticklish yelp from his friend and trudges towards the subway gates, one hand digging through his pocket to take out his T-money card.

Soonyoung taps his own card to the gate and follows Wonwoo through. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, sounding sheepish, “I had to pee, and then I stopped by a GS25 to get some stuff.”

“You’re paying for dinner,” Wonwoo declares, leading them down an escalator to head to the correct subway line to get to Seoul. As they trek their way through the subway station, Wonwoo recalls the stream that he had wanted to tell Soonyoung about, and launches into a story about the professional Overwatch player who had streamed himself playing Getting Over It last night. Soonyoung’s indulgent, even as he interrupts Wonwoo to ask him to explain some of lingo. Some of the cold seems to fade away as Soonyoung laughs at the jokes.

They stop in front of the tracks. “Oh!” Soonyoung says. Wonwoo watches curiously when Soonyoung lights up before digging into his pocket for something. “I got you this!” he says, and pulls out a heat pack. “You probably forgot to buy any, right?”

Wonwoo takes the small heat pack from Soonyoung’s hands and shakes it lightly, soaking up the warmth for his cold fingers. It helps with the trembling, and Wonwoo clutches it between his fingers. He looks up to find Soonyoung watching him. A pleased expression rests on his face and lingers in the corner of his lips, small and quiet, but visible all the same. “Thanks,” Wonwoo says, bumping his shoulder against Soonyoung’s in a silent gesture, “did you get one for yourself?”

“Yep!” Soonyoung says, enunciating the syllable with cheeriness. He brandishes his own heat pack at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo eyes the redness of his fingers. The idiot, he thinks to himself, he should’ve gone back to the dorm to get a proper coat first.

Wonwoo shakes his head. The train is coming into the platform now, the rattle of the tracks loud enough to drown out the noise of everyone who swarms towards the edge of the platform in wait. As Soonyoung turns to look at the incoming train, Wonwoo reaches up to unwrap the scarf around his neck, and then leans down to wrap it around Soonyoung’s bare neck.

He ignores the surprised look that Soonyoung shoots him. “If you get hypothermia and die, I’m taking your spot as captain,” Wonwoo threatens instead. His lips tug into a smile when Soonyoung sputters in protest, and he rolls his eyes, yanking on Soonyoung’s elbow to usher him into the train.

“That’s so mean!” Soonyoung complains, a whine forming into a pout on his lips, “I’m treating you to dinner and you bully me like this. You’d hate the responsibility,” he says, but further protests die on his lips as they settle next to each other on the subway seats.

The train lurches along the track, the rumbling clatter settling into the space between them. Warmth unfolds in Wonwoo’s chest when he notices the way Soonyoung’s small fingers tangle into the thick material of his scarf, his chin tucked into the bundle of fabric, accentuating the roundness of his face. His hair is still mussed from the wind, and Wonwoo nearly reaches out to fix it when Soonyoung tilts his head towards him.

Suddenly, it strikes him that Soonyoung is beautiful. Even like this, under the fading sunlight and the too-bright glow of the subway light, he finds Soonyoung beautiful. His heart stutters in his chest, and Wonwoo twitches back, as if he can physically avoid the thought.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow at the moment. An inquisitive look flashes across his features before it smooths out into something milder. “So, what were you saying about that game streamer again?”

Wonwoo laughs, maybe in relief, and he slouches back in his seat as he pushes his earlier thought out from his mind. Sometimes, he wonders whether it’s okay that he does this—that he saves up stories and all the little things that remind him of Soonyoung to regale back to him when they have time to hang out; that he holds back and can be quieter when they hang out in the group, only to take up so much of the conversation during days like these. But Soonyoung looks at him, patiently, waiting, and Wonwoo can’t help but smile.

They have about two hours until they reach Seoul. Wonwoo has plenty he wants to say.

When Wonwoo first meets Soonyoung, the other boy is snot-nosed and crying. Fat tears roll down chubby cheeks, his bottom lip trembles with the weight of his tears, sniffling as he tries to stifle his miserable, little whimpering noises. In his hand, he holds an egg.

He’s seen Soonyoung around the playground during playtime. They’re not in the same class, and Wonwoo doesn’t know him, but he has heard of him—or more accurately, he has heard him: on the playground, running around with other kids or up to the teachers, mucking up dirt across the fields, all to show off the egg cradled in the tiny span of his palms.

The egg is still held gently in his hands now, delicate and careful, as if Soonyoung holds the weight of the world, even as he uses his sleeve to wipe at his tears. He stands alone, just off to the side of the playground, right next to where Wonwoo had been napping on the grass after playing wall volleyball by himself. It’s only because no other kids usually go there that Wonwoo notices him at all.

“Why are you crying?” Wonwoo asks the other boy, bluntly, because that was how he always asked Bohyuk. It always got Bohyuk to stop crying.

But the other boy doesn’t stop. Instead, he hiccups, and then turns around to face Wonwoo. His mouth curls into a pout, his face damp with tears. And through a tiny sob, he says, “Ahjumma laid an egg.”

Wonwoo blinks. “What?”

“Ahjumma laid an egg,” the boy sobs out again, “and no one wants to listen to me!” He stamps his feet, all while cradling the egg carefully in his hands, and he lets out another loud sniffle.

At the sight of more tears welling up in his eyes again, Wonwoo panics. “I’ll listen,” he blurts out, although he isn’t sure he wants to. He imagines a frail little old lady, much like his own grandmother, sitting on a mound of eggs. “Who’s the ahjumma? Why do you have that egg?”

And Soonyoung doesn’t stop crying, not at first, but he sits down next to Wonwoo and shows him the egg, perfectly spherical and warmed from Soonyoung’s tiny hands. It turns out that Soonyoung’s parents have been raising chickens, and that was the first time their chicken, named Ahjumma, had ever laid an egg. Amazed, Soonyoung had brought the egg to school, and babbled excitedly to anyone he could find about the feat of magic—how incredible that life is created like this! he tells Wonwoo once he calms down, waving his hands in the air to illustrate his point. He even passes the egg into Wonwoo’s hand to hold. Isn’t this amazing? Soonyoung exclaims.

Wonwoo thinks it’s okay, maybe even a little bit gross, after Soonyoung explains the entire egg-laying process to him. But he can’t bring himself to say that to Soonyoung, not after seeing how excited he was by Ahjumma and her eggs.

That’s Soonyoung, though, boiled down to his very essence. Tenacious and vibrant, full of love and affection for all the little details that others tend to glance over, or to take for granted. Even as a child, Soonyoung had always been determined to be heard.

Wonwoo, who had never been good at sharing—both things about himself, and things he wanted for himself—always envied that about Soonyoung.

“Pigheaded,” Jihoon will describe Soonyoung years later, when they meet each other for the first time in high school. “Both of you—way too stubborn for your own good.” But everyone knows that Jihoon and Soonyoung aren’t as different as they appear; both driven by a relentless ambition that leaves Wonwoo wondering if he’ll ever catch up, sometimes.

Sometimes, Wonwoo thinks that in all the years he has known Soonyoung, in all the ebbs and flows of their youth and their forays into adulthood, Soonyoung still has not changed. It’s in the way he loves, so purely, so simply, and all-encompassing; in the way that he could extend such love to something as silly as a chicken egg, to the way he pours love behind every spike of the ball on court.

And sometimes, the most marvelous—the most improbable—part of it all, is how Wonwoo fits into that steadfast, unbending sense of love. It’s hard not to doubt himself sometimes, where his place is in Soonyoung’s whirlwind of life. As much as Soonyoung flies through the skies on court, Wonwoo only hopes that he can continue to keep him grounded too.

But those thoughts come later. Years later. Back then, where a five-year-old Soonyoung wipes his snot on his sleeve and looks up at a five-year-old Wonwoo with his watery eyes, those thoughts haven’t yet germinated.

The five-year-old Soonyoung, no longer sulky after he had shown Wonwoo his egg, points at the forgotten volleyball that sits next to Wonwoo’s elbow. “What is that?” he asks curiously, his egg safely held in the space of his lap.

“This?” says the five-year-old Wonwoo, and he picks up the ball with one hand. “It’s a volleyball ball. I play it against the wall.” He points at the side of the school building, where a shadow falls over the brick walls, slanted away from the playground. “My mom used to play volleyball, but she said you need a team. I don’t have a team, so I just play by myself.”

Soonyoung blushes pink. He looks down at his egg, and then back at Wonwoo again. “Do you want to play together?” he asks, shy, like he’s afraid Wonwoo will say no. “We can share my egg, since you listened to me. If you want to share your volleyball.”

Wonwoo blinks at him. “Sure,” he says slowly, in surprise, and then with more confidence, “Sure. Let me teach you how to play.”

“Wow,” a voice says towards Wonwoo’s right, “he sure has a lot of energy still.”

Wonwoo caps his water bottle and places it back on the bench. Sweat drips uncomfortably down the side of his face, and he pats himself dry with a fresh towel before he turns to face Sunghae. “What?” he says, confused.

The first year setter nods in a direction, and Wonwoo follows his gaze to the other side of the court. Most of the team is scattered across the gym, taking a quick water break before they scrimmage in the last hour of practice. A level of exhaustion blankets over the gym; Coach Beomju and Coach Seungcheol have worked them hard today in preparation for the National Sports Festival. Wonwoo’s breaths are still coming out in pants from the Kamikaze drills.

He quickly understands what Sunghae means. Soonyoung is on the opposite side of the court, thankfully in a pair of knee-length shorts this time, his face lit up with a bright smile as he gesticulates wildly with his hand. His voice carries through the gym, loud and clear despite their distance, a sound that has become as familiar to Wonwoo as his own voice. Soonyoung jumps up slightly, rocking up on the tip of his toes and then back onto his heel, nearly vibrating in excitement as he chats with Coach Seungcheol.

“How was it?” Wonwoo hears him ask, his tone bursting with anticipation. He can’t see Soonyoung’s face from here, but he can easily imagine the curve of his cheeks as his face squeezes into a smile. “How was my transition footwork?”

Seungcheol’s response isn’t audible, but Wonwoo can tell that his feedback was positive by the way Soonyoung immediately straightens up and waves his balled-up fists in the air, his feet moving in the tiniest little stomps as if he just has to express his excitement through his body. When they were younger, Wonwoo used to say that Soonyoung’s personality was too large for his body, and at times like these, he can’t help but think the same. His happiness is telegraphed. When Seungcheol adds another comment, Wonwoo’s lip tugs into a smile at the loud cheer that Soonyoung shouts out. He bounds away excitedly towards the closest teammate and latches onto him. Seokmin is more than used to it though, and he easily catches Soonyoung in his arms, swinging him around with an indulgent expression on his face.

Soonyoung has always worn his heart on his sleeve. It was a source of energy in middle school, and now, too, that they’re in university. High school, however, was a different story. With a team driven by a cruel, unforgiving coach, the pressure to prove themselves felt higher. At times, Soonyoung’s emotions had felt like they had taken up as much space on the court as the person himself. Mercurial and prone to mood swings during that period, Wonwoo had witnessed the brunt of it as the setter—and as his best friend.

Losses hit them hard, but especially Soonyoung, who would be berated by the coaches for his performance. Each fault was pinned on him, and it was difficult to witness how mistakes were internalized, held within, and carried. It was hard to work with him too. He would turn sharp at the edges, serrated with his words when he was usually gentle—or at the very least mindful of others—and strict with their team.

Each time they lost, Wonwoo could do nothing but watch as the coaches targeted Soonyoung again. Soonyoung would practice for hours after classes, fall silent and incommunicable when he was usually open-hearted, and brush off Wonwoo’s attempts to talk to him. It felt like no matter what anyone did, they were accidentally prodding at a fresh bruise, aching and hurting, eliciting a downward spiral in Soonyoung as he chased after his dreams with a desperation that never felt worth it for Wonwoo.

Wonwoo will never forgive their high school coaches for that. Even now, after they have both grown so much, and Soonyoung’s moods are more levelled now—a combination of growing up, counseling, and finally having a healthy relationship with their coaches once again—Wonwoo doesn’t think he can ever forget how deeply hurt Soonyoung was throughout high school.

Witnessing Soonyoung’s joy, in turn, is something Wonwoo thinks he could never trade for the world. As blatant as his downturns in mood were broadcasted to the world, his happiness ripples through the gym. And each time Soonyoung radiates a hypnotizing joy, he finds himself always drawn in. Wonwoo is just a sunflower, turned towards Soonyoung like he’s the sun.

A quiet scoff from Sunghae pulls him from his thoughts. “I have no idea how you put up with him to be honest.” He eyes the way Soonyoung has wrapped himself up in Minghao’s arms now. “Isn’t he a bit, you know, much?” His tone is light, but the words themselves contain a hint of derision that sets Wonwoo on edge.

Wonwoo bristles. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice thin. Something cold settles in his chest, his lungs compress as his stomach churns uneasily at Sunghae’s implication.

Sunghae doesn’t appear to notice the shift in Wonwoo’s tone. He takes a sip from his water bottle and shrugs, face still turned towards Soonyoung on the other end of the court. “Just— he’s so loud, and you’re so quiet. He’s always clinging to people, and it just— he seems like you have to take care of him a lot.” Sunghae rambles on, oblivious to the darkened expression on Wonwoo’s face. “It must be hard sometimes to be his setter, is all.”

There’s a pause as Wonwoo processes his words. A sharp emotion emerges in his throat, threatening to bubble out as he feels the exhaustion in his body morphing into something more heated, more angry. His stomach burns with frustration.

Across the gym, Soonyoung herds up their team members from their various resting points. Minghao is still wrapped around him, and Mingyu walks up to tug Minghao away into his arms with a pout. Rather than hearing it, he sees Soonyoung’s laugh—sees it in his face, and the way he glows with brightness as he turns towards the rest of the team. A few more members have flocked towards him now, and he catches sight of Chan falling in line with Seungkwan in tow, both deep in a discussion with Hansol. They start heading towards the centre of the court, where their scrimmages usually take place. From next to Seungcheol, Jihoon gets dragged away by Junhui, laughing as they poke Soonyoung on his cheek as they race past him.

It’s noisy in the gym. Raucous laughter fills the large room, and soon after, Wonwoo knows Seungcheol will yell at them to quiet down. But even in the final half-hour of their practice, the fatigue seems to have dissipated after their short rest. Their energy returns, and Wonwoo knows the rest of their practice will go well. Already, his finger itches for the familiar touch; a feather-light toss, millimetres above the net, and Soonyoung soaring through the skies to hit it.

He watches as Soonyoung reaches the centre of the court and slings his arm around Seokmin’s shoulders again. His head swivels around, scanning the gym, until his eyes land on Wonwoo. The bright, toothy smile softens, replaced with something smaller. “Wonwoo-yah!” Soonyoung calls out, his hands cupped around his mouth, “Come on!”

Wonwoo casts a sidelong glance at Sunghae, and then turns to wave back at Soonyoung. He takes a step forward, already instinctively moving towards him.

While Soonyoung isn’t perfect—while he can be moody and prone to sulking if he doesn’t get his way—he has heart. Whether he realizes it or not, that’s the effect of Kwon Soonyoung. His joy, when he feels it, diffuses through the team. Seungcheol and Jihoon have called him an engine before—he mobilizes the team, keeps them running, and Wonwoo has always been inclined to agree.

Sunghae is a fool, Wonwoo thinks, for not seeing that.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Wonwoo bites out at last. There’s too much emotion in his voice. The anger is too thinly veiled, too raw, too audible. Sunghae looks taken aback, and Wonwoo can’t bring himself to regret his response. But he does have to think about the team, so he takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

And he puts on a placid smile, but says nothing else as he turns away from Sunghae and heads towards the centre of the court where Soonyoung is waiting for him.

After practice, Coach Beomju and Coach Seungcheol corral the team to the MiPaChicken congregated amidst tiny cafes and chain restaurants in Inha Culture Street, the small neighbourhood just at the back gate of their university campus. After four years of volleyball with them, Wonwoo is used to the impromptu team bonding activities. They all quickly shuffle in and out of the showers, and Wonwoo pulls on his thick Inha University sweater before heading out with Soonyoung.

The warmth of the restaurant feels stifling in comparison to the brisk winds outside, even more so when their entire team fills out most of the seats in the restaurant. Wonwoo is packed in right next to Soonyoung, and Mingyu on his other side, elbow-to-elbow. It’s not comfortable, but it’s hardly an issue by the time their fried chicken arrives at their table, and the aroma of grease and deep-frying oil only whets his appetite. After a long practice, Wonwoo always feels ravenous. He digs in quickly.

Team dinners are always a great excuse to get drunk. Wonwoo’s not much of a drinker, but he’d be hard-pressed to say no to free beer, so he lets himself settle in with a pint glass to wash the chicken down. Most of the team has no such qualms though, and the restaurant grows noisier as the volleyball team continues drinking.

The noise level in the restaurant is splitting to his eardrums. A glance around the restaurant only provides him with a mild relief that it’s a weekday, and the restaurant isn’t as busy with other customers. As it is, he lets Mingyu pull him out of his seat towards the second table occupied by their team, where Minghao and Seokmin are sitting. Wonwoo turns back towards Soonyoung to drag him along—but he’s still eating, engaged in a quiet conversation with Chan and Seungcheol—and Wonwoo decides to let him be.

It turns out that Minghao and Mingyu are working on a film project together. Seokmin’s the unlucky fellow who’s been roped into as their film subject, something about reckoning the calculus of survival as youth in an unhealthy society through the use of peanut butter as a metaphor. Wonwoo would feel sympathy for the stark look of terror on Seokmin’s face, except he’s mostly just amused. For a bunch of jocks, Wonwoo has always been amazed by how pretentious Mingyu and Minghao can be with art.

Not that he’s much better. As a film studies major, Wonwoo has to regularly put up with Soonyoung joking about how nerdy he actually is in comparison to his looks.

The conversation unravels as they continue to drink, and soon enough, Seungkwan joins in too, one hand hung loosely over Seokmin’s shoulder, as he tries to convince him to incorporate a cover of EXO’s Wolf. Something about breaking through the confines of societal expectations. Wonwoo does his due diligence as a friend; he throws in a suggestion or two about adding some spoken poetry to the piece as well. Or a dramatic reading of idol group lyrics—same difference, really.

After another round of beer gets served to their table on Mingyu’s insistence, Wonwoo turns back to check on his seat. Soonyoung’s no longer at the table, and his chair is now empty. Aside from Soonyoung’s absence, nothing else is amiss: Seungcheol is still there, now talking to Chan and Hansol, and on the other side of the table, Jihoon and Junhui are still focused on eating. He scans the restaurant. No Soonyoung.

There’s only one place he can think of to check. Wonwoo turns back to the group and excuses himself; they pay him no mind, too embroiled in a heated discussion about hotdog condiments. He leaves the noise of the restaurant behind him as he pushes through the door, and steps into the cold air outside.

As he had expected, he finds Soonyoung leaning against the wall. His head is ducked down, chin tucked into his thick, padded jacket to keep warm, a dark beanie jammed tight over his hair with only wisps of his bangs escaping from the knitted fabric. Engrossed in his phone, he doesn’t seem to notice Wonwoo.

“Hey,” he calls out quietly, and stifles a smirk when Soonyoung jolts. A small noise of surprise falls from Soonyoung’s lips as he turns towards him.

The startled look on his face gives way to recognition. The smile that fills Soonyoung’s face is familiar. “Hey.” He tilts his head to look at Wonwoo, and he slides his phone into his pocket. His face is flushed a rosy pink from drinking. “Sick of the noise in there?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. He doesn’t say that he left to look for him. Instead, he sidles up to Soonyoung, and leans against the wall next to him. The brick is rough against his back, but Wonwoo ignores it as he pulls out his own phone and checks through his notifications.

There’s a pause, and then, a warm weight rests on his shoulder as Soonyoung leans against him. Only the top of his head and the curve of his cheek where it squishes against Wonwoo’s shoulder is visible at this angle. Warmth unravels in his chest. For a moment, Wonwoo worries whether it’s a comfortable position for him; he’s just barely tall enough that Soonyoung can’t lean against his shoulder with complete ease. So when Soonyoung returns his focus to his phone, Wonwoo slides down the wall slightly to lower his own height. A small smile tugs at his lips when Soonyoung immediately shuffles in closer and tucks himself neatly into Wonwoo’s side, fitting in next to him like a missing puzzle piece.

The next few minutes pass in silence. The green apple fragrance of Soonyoung’s shampoo is pleasant, strangely comforting in conjunction with the steady sound of Soonyoung’s breathing. Wonwoo catches up on missed emails and texts from their group chat.

During the weekdays, Inha Culture Street isn’t too busy. But their proximity to the university campus leaves the small neighbourhood milling with students, roaming around the cafes to study, or meeting friends for dinner. It’s a reprieve from the cacophony inside the restaurant. With the cool breeze sifting through his hair, Wonwoo lets himself breathe in the fresh air, the scent of Soonyoung’s shampoo, and luxuriates in the quiet company of his best friend.

Sometimes, ruminates Wonwoo, Soonyoung gets like this. He carries so much energy with him, and then he expends it all on the world like his love is endless to give out to others, to himself, to volleyball. And then, afterwards, his battery depletes. During moments like this, Wonwoo has learned over time that Soonyoung prefers subtle affection and for silence to fill in the spaces between them. He’s always had, whether it be after difficult practices in high school, exhausting victories, or a night out with their group of friends. There are times he needs to recharge.

And Wonwoo is always grateful whenever he’s invited into his space, during these times.

Sunghae is wrong, Wonwoo thinks, his mind wandering back to their conversation earlier. He had called Wonwoo quiet—and Soonyoung loud, like it was a bad thing. Not once has he ever found Soonyoung too much. Whether he’s quiet, like now, or bursting with energy on the court. Never too much.

The restaurant is still obnoxiously loud when he and Soonyoung return, closing the door to the cool winds outside. It’s a little busier than when Wonwoo had left, some of the empty seats now filled up with other customers, but that hasn’t deterred the team from indulging in more drinks. Soju glasses adorn the table, added to the mix of beer and fried chicken.

Most of the team has congregated to one table, leaving Seungcheol with the rest of the coaching and management team at the other table. Wonwoo shakes his head when he realizes their teammates are playing some sort of drinking game.

A few heads swivel towards them when they enter. Seungkwan brightens, perking up in his seat from where he had been leaning on Hansol. “Soonyoung-hyung!” Seungkwan calls out, his hand waving ferociously in the air, “Wonwoo-hyung! There you are!”

“Come here!” Seokmin adds. The beer threatens to spill out of his glass when he lifts it in a jaunty cheer. “You’re missing out!”

He exchanges a glance with Soonyoung, who shrugs, his mouth curling into a small smile as he trudges towards their friends. “Hey!” he calls out, more cheery than before, and he waves back at them. Wonwoo follows behind, and he absently notes how the tips of Soonyoung's fingers have turned pink from the cold. A weird urge to rub his hands over them to warm him up takes over for a second—and Wonwoo flinches back. He shakes his head clear.

“Where did you go?” Junhui asks curiously. He’s sitting half on Jihoon’s lap, half in the booth, crowded into his seat with the amount of people there.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Outside for some fresh air,” he says. Despite the narrow margin of space available to sit, he plops down into the booth and forcibly nudges Junhui and Jihoon over. He ignores the annoyed hiss from Jihoon in favour of watching Mingyu groan—losing a game, perhaps—and then takes a swig of soju to Chan’s amusement.

“We’re sharing secrets,” Seungkwan tells them. His eyes glint with amusement. “If you refuse to answer, you have to take a shot.”

Soonyoung shoots Seungkwan with a bewildered look. “What? Sharing secrets?” he asks, snorting. “What are we, in high school?” Then, he turns back to Wonwoo with a frown, eyeing the lack of seats at the table. “Move,” he whines.

The corner of his lip tugs up into a smirk. “Nah,” he says, teasingly, “no room here.”

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whines again. He shoves at Wonwoo’s shoulder. “C’mon, I wanna sit.”

Warm fondness unfolds in his chest at the sulky expression on Soonyoung’s face. His reactions have always been Wonwoo’s favourite—it makes it hard not to tease him. Instead of responding, Wonwoo smiles guilelessly up at Soonyoung, and then calmly spears a piece of fried chicken with his fork and pops it into his mouth. He looks up at Soonyoung triumphantly.

Soonyoung works his mouth into a pout. Then, he unceremoniously drops himself onto Wonwoo’s lap. All the playfulness inside evaporates as Wonwoo jumps, startled, nearly unseating Soonyoung in the process as he automatically jerks away. His heart jolts, suddenly and rapidly, and Wonwoo can feel the back of his neck prickling as it heats up.

“Stop squirming,” Soonyoung complains, and he wiggles around in Wonwoo’s lap until Wonwoo sits back in a failed attempt to put some distance between them. The flush creeps across his cheeks. Wonwoo tries to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart as his stomach swoops low in his belly. The room temperature seems to rise by several degrees.

Seemingly oblivious to his distress, Soonyoung whips around and aims a glare at Wonwoo. “You’re so buff now, how are you still so bony and uncomfortable?” he says accusingly.

Fondness mired in brash words is how they communicate. Sometimes, Wonwoo doesn’t know how to react in any other way, other than the tease and prod and poke at Soonyoung. And now, too, Soonyoung’s grumbling helps to kick his brain back into gear.

“Get off me then,” Wonwoo automatically retorts. He reaches up to pinch Soonyoung’s sides. It earns him another glare as Soonyoung yelps, and Wonwoo can’t help the laughter that escapes when he aims a kick at Wonwoo’s leg in retaliation. His laughter trails off quietly, a smile left on his lips while he soothes Soonyoung with a comforting pat on his hip. The churning in his stomach is momentarily forgotten.

Just as Soonyoung’s face pinkens and his mouth opens to respond, Minghao cuts in. “Quit flirting,” he says, rolling his eyes at them, “we suffer enough on the court as it is.” Wonwoo watches as Soonyoung’s mouth snaps close again. His eyes catch onto the way his playful grin morphs into something inscrutable. The smile fades, and Soonyoung averts his eyes away from Wonwoo.

Embarrassment, maybe, Wonwoo thinks, and he studies Soonyoung curiously. The tips of Soonyoung’s ears are red, spreading to his cheeks. Wonwoo wonders if it’s from the alcohol. The urge to trace his fingers along the curve of Soonyoung’s cheeks strikes him, and he nearly reaches out, his heart skipping a beat, until Soonyoung suddenly climbs out of his lap.

Wonwoo blinks. For a moment, he had felt the urge to pull Soonyoung back down, and keep him from leaving his spot. Weird. Wonwoo’s stomach flips uncomfortably.

“Nooo!” Chan drags out the syllable, his eyes glazed with inebriation. His hand shoots up to clasp around Soonyoung’s wrist. “Hyung! You have to play too!”

Seokmin jumps on the opportunity. “Yes!” His face brightens, “Soonyoung-hyung! You have to tell us the truth!”

Fondness flashes on Soonyoung’s face and he combs a hand through Chan’s hair. “What?” Soonyoung laughs, turning towards Seokmin. He doesn’t look at Wonwoo.

“Be honest, okay?” Seokmin warns him, “for the sake of our team bond!” He raises a glass as if it were a salute. “Even Hansollie told the truth!”

“Okay, okay,” Soonyoung says, “I got it. What is it?”

Seokmin looks stumped at first, like he hadn’t actually had a question in mind to ask Soonyoung. But then Junhui leans over and whispers something in his ear, inaudible to Wonwoo, and a mischievous sparkle flickers in his eyes. Seokmin turns back to Soonyoung. “Hyung!” he says, in a dramatic whisper, “do you like anyone right now?”

Wonwoo’s heart gives a small jump. He freezes, his eyes trained on Soonyoung, his breath fleeing his lungs all of a sudden. It’s a horribly juvenile question; it feels unbefitting for people their age, and yet, Wonwoo finds himself holding his breath as he waits for Soonyoung’s answer.

A look of surprise crosses Soonyoung’s face, and a huff of laughter escapes from his lips. “What the— are we twelve?”

“Answer it!” Seungkwan chimes in, waving a fist in the air and nearly knocking Hansol in the head. The outside hitter calmly wraps a hand around Seungkwan’s wrist and pulls it back down. “Answer, answer!”

Soonyoung eyes them all with disbelief, and he shakes his head. “Okay, no more drinks after this,” he says, as if he’s not the one usually egging them all on to raise their glass in cheers.

At first, a note of hesitation rests on his face. Wonwoo thinks he’s not going to answer, his heart thudding steadily against his ribcage as he waits, breath halted in anticipation. But then the pink spreads across Soonyoung’s cheeks, and he looks down at the table. He nods.

By all means a miniscule movement, but somehow, it feels monumental instead. Suddenly, Wonwoo can’t breathe.

“I— yeah,” Soonyoung continues shyly, his face ducked down. His eyes flit up, and he looks around the table. There’s a brief moment of pause when he catches Wonwoo’s gaze, long enough that his heart skips another beat, before Soonyoung casts his eyes downwards again. “Yeah, I like someone right now.”

The table erupts in noisy cheers, louder than they have any right to be in the restaurant. Wonwoo suddenly feels annoyed. It’s a week night—there’s no reason they should be out so late and drinking—and they’re disturbing the employees and the other customers. A sharp reprimand rests on the tip of his tongue.

At the sight of the flustered look on Soonyoung’s face, though, the words fade from him, leaving nothing but a bitter aftertaste. A lump forms in his throat. Soonyoung looks shy, but his eyes are curiously shiny when Wonwoo locks eyes with him.

And suddenly, Wonwoo’s heart is a lead weight in his chest. The sounds of their teammates fade away. The world feels like it’s spinning, but he can’t tear himself away from staring at Soonyoung, even as his stomach plummets as if he’s riding an unpleasant rollercoaster.

Soonyoung’s never told me about anyone, he thinks faintly. He’s dazed, but unsure why. Soonyoung must have kept it a secret. The realization sits uncomfortably inside him.

“Okay, spill,” Jihoon demands, his pen pointed in Wonwoo’s direction menacingly. “You’re acting all weird again.”

Wonwoo looks up from his tablet, his eyebrows raised as he takes in Jihoon’s disgruntled expression. Slowly, he sets the tablet down onto the table. A quick glance at Junhui confirms that he doesn’t seem to know what Jihoon’s talking about either. “What?” he says, confused.

“You’re acting weird again,” he repeats, “you keep zoning out, you’re distracted during practice, and you’re—” Jihoon’s face sours, his lips pursing like he’s eaten something foul, “you’ve been avoiding Soonyoung.”

Wonwoo swallows. “Uh,” he begins, hiding his hands under his table as he fiddles with his sleeves, “no I haven’t?” His words sound weak even to his ears.

“You are,” Jihoon insists. Next to him, Junhui closes his laptop in favour of watching them both, a vaguely worried expression flashing across his features. “You’ve barely looked at him this past week. Listen, I know we try not to say anything about—” he waves his hand in the air, the gesticulation too ambiguous for Wonwoo to understand. He looks towards Junhui for help, but the other man only shrugs. “—you, and your propensity to stare at him like he’s personally hung the stars and the moon in the skies.”

His heart drops a little. “I don’t—

Jihoon interrupts him. “But the National Sports Festival is coming up and we need our starting setter with his head in the game.” He levels him with a flat look, and Wonwoo gets the distinct impression that Jihoon is not impressed with him. “You better not mess up.”

For a moment, Wonwoo can only stare at him. Jihoon isn’t wrong. He’s been distracted all week, and he can’t even blame Soonyoung’s tiny shorts this time. In yesterday’s practice, he could feel Soonyoung’s exasperation with his less-than-perfect tosses, and Seungcheol’s stare could have burned a hole in the back of his head. With the cumulative years of them playing together since childhood, of Wonwoo tailoring his tosses for Soonyoung all these years, of Wonwoo training as a setter specifically because Soonyoung said he wanted to be the ace of the team—and where would Wonwoo be on the court except right by his side—it was inexcusable to perform so poorly. He winces at the memory.

Still, he avoids Jihoon’s accusatory gaze. “I’m not avoiding him,” he tries again, even as his mind clambers for an excuse. “Just have some things on my mind.” It’s not a lie. Maybe by omission, but the full truth feels more shameful.

“Just get it together,” Jihoon says flatly, his eyes trained on Wonwoo. His mouth purses into a disapproving frown. “Even if he doesn’t say anything, you know he notices, right? He’s an oblivious idiot most of the time, but he pays attention to yo— to things like this.”

Off to the side, Junhui makes a small noise of surprise. “Oh, I see what this is about,” he says. “Are you worried about Soonyoungie?” A giddy smile lights up his face and he claps Jihoon on the shoulder. Junhui coos at him, laughing when he gets nudged away. “Let’s not meddle too much, Jihoon-ah. I’m sure everything’s fine.” He looks at Wonwoo for confirmation. “Right, Wonwoo?”

“Right,” says Wonwoo, but it’s tinged with the slightest bit of shame. After Soonyoung, it’s Jihoon who has known him the longest. Known them both the longest. And if Jihoon is speaking up about it now, albeit indirect and shrouded in half-intentions, then it’s not without reason.

As far as Wonwoo’s concerned, he’s been dealing with it. His emotions have grown wayward ever since the day Soonyoung’s shown up to practice in shorts, and it’s as if he’s been running after himself, chasing clumsily to untangle the overgrowth of his feelings, and to restrain them again. Maybe it’s the stress from the upcoming tournament, or maybe the stress of pending midterms is getting to him. Wonwoo has never seen Soonyoung as anything other than his childhood best friend, his wing spiker, Kwon Soonyoung. Now, he doesn't know how to adjust to this newfound preoccupation with him.

But one week later and Wonwoo still can’t stop thinking about how Soonyoung apparently likes someone—and never told Wonwoo. The rational side of his brain knows that it’s okay. It’s not like Soonyoung owes him information, nor is he obligated to share everything in the privacy of his thoughts with Wonwoo.

Growing up, they seldom talked about their love lives. There were a few times that Wonwoo suspected Soonyoung might have a crush—on the bungeoppang hyung at the bakery near campus, for example, or Yoon Jeonghan from middle school—but nothing ever materialized. Wonwoo always chalked it up to a lack of interest; Soonyoung’s priority has always been volleyball. Even when Wonwoo dated a few girls in high school, or Youngjin during their second year of university, Soonyoung never pried too deeply.

So, objectively, Wonwoo knows it should be okay. Soonyoung doesn’t owe this information to him.

Yet, his chest aches and his lungs tighten uncomfortably whenever he recalls the flush that crept across the curve of his cheeks, and his shy smile, bashful and secretive, when he admitted that he liked someone. At best, it’s distracting. At worst, it leaves Wonwoo feeling unravelled, as if someone has snipped off the ends of a threaded knot, and the strings holding him together no longer connect.

“Wonwoo?” Junhui says, a curious expression on his face. Wonwoo jolts out of his thoughts. “You okay?”

Wonwoo clears his throat. He intends to reassure them, or to brush off their worries again. They’re in the library to study, after all, and not to gossip. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Do you know who Soonyoung has a crush on?”

Jihoon squints at him. “What the fuck?”

Heat rises up his neck and into his face. At once, Wonwoo wishes he kept his mouth shut as soon as he catches sight of the peevish expression on Jihoon’s face, and the look of intrigue on Junhui’s. “Nevermind,” he says quickly, and trains his eyes on his tablet again, where he has one of his readings pulled up. “Forget it.”

Out of the periphery of his vision, he sees his friends exchange a glance with one another. Then, Junhui turns back to him. “Wonwoo,” he says slowly, his eyebrows raised, “is this what’s been on your mind?”

He has to swallow back the spike of embarrassment. “No,” he lies baldly, “‘was just curious, really.”

Junhui hums, like he doesn’t fully believe him. The hot rush of shame simmers deep in his stomach. Wonwoo risks a look at them both. A small smile toys at the corner of Junhui’s lips, while Jihoon’s brows furrow. He looks as though he’s collecting his thoughts and words. For a moment, Wonwoo thinks he’ll say something, but then Jihoon’s expression clears. In its place, a thoughtful look settles on his face instead. He studies Wonwoo intently.

Wonwoo has to look away again, ignoring the burning sensation of Jihoon’s gaze on him, and he stares at the words in the article with unfocused eyes.

“Soonyoung hasn’t told us anything,” Junhui says, and his words don’t bring the sense of relief that Wonwoo had been hoping for. He nods, mute, and taps his tablet to flip to the next page. Junhui falls silent, and he exchanges another silent look with Jihoon.

Junhui continues after a brief pause. “But you know, Wonwoo, maybe you should just ask him?” His voice softens, turns into something gentler and careful. It has the opposite effect on Wonwoo. His stomach churns at the prospect. “It’s Friday. You’re still meeting up with Soonyoung once his class ends, right? If this is weighing on you, you should just talk to him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Wonwoo says tightly, but he already knows he won’t. There’s no reason for him to bring this up.

At this point, Wonwoo isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

In the end, Wonwoo never brings it up with Soonyoung.

They’ve been friends long enough that Soonyoung knows how he works. Sometimes, the thoughts just need to fester in Wonwoo’s mind, left unsaid and unfinished. Even if it’s never been completely understandable to Soonyoung—who tries not to let his own worries build, and inevitably ends up spilling his thoughts in the end anyway—he knows to let it rest.

In the past, they have been burned before: when Wonwoo had temporarily quit volleyball in middle school, or when Wonwoo had been too hesitant to say anything at first when Soonyoung worked himself to the bone in high school, and then again after he’d been named co-captain in university. Soonyoung holds the tendency to expect others to say what’s on their mind, just like he does, whereas Wonwoo always feels the urge to swallow his innermost thoughts. Fights have erupted between them over the years in the push-pull of their miscommunication.

But they’ve learned. Sometimes it comes a little easier to them, on how to gauge and understand instinctively what each other’s needs are. Other times it takes a little more work. Wonwoo knows that’s what this is now: Soonyoung measuring Wonwoo’s wishes with a delicacy and care that leaves him both appreciative—and flustered.

Even as their friendship shifts back towards the spectrum of normalcy, the foreignness of his own emotions linger at the back of his mind. Wonwoo tries not to dwell. Since that first practice, now over a month ago, he’s been scrambling to get a hold of himself.

It doesn’t get easier by the time their next practice swings around. Not when Soonyoung wears those shorts again.

Usually, Wonwoo’s favourite part of practices are whenever he gets to run attacking drills with Soonyoung. The last couple of practices notwithstanding, their teamwork has always flowed with fluidity, built upon years and years of working together, memorizing the step of his feet, the height of his jumps, the perfect angle for Wonwoo to toss to Soonyoung. Sometimes, Soonyoung jokes that he could play with the lights off and his eyes closed, and still know exactly when to swing his hand and how high he should jump to hit those tosses—as long as it was Wonwoo.

He has to force himself not to focus on Soonyoung’s legs. The shorts stretch across his muscled thighs and tightly hug the round swells of his ass. A small strip of pale skin is visible between the black of his shorts and his knee pad, strangely tantalizing in its teasing appearance. Zettai ryouiki, his mind fills for him, clawing back to some of his seedy ventures into hentai. Absolute territory, the space of his exposed thighs, framed between his shorts and knee pads.

A part of him, desperate to ignore the sight of his best friend in tiny shorts, wonders if Seungkwan has been dragging him to do squats with him, but the line of thought makes him short circuit more than it helps. Surely he can’t be the only one who notices Soonyoung like this. As soon as the thought enters his mind, his guts churn uneasily. He doesn’t want to think about who might be noticing Soonyoung, not like this.

Luckily, he gets his head out of his ass as soon as they step onto court. With the looming tournament, and the judgmental stares from both Seungcheol and Jihoon that Soonyoung either doesn’t notice, or he has the tact to not comment, Wonwoo manages to focus. The rhythm of toss, set, spike is easy to lose himself in.

And it’s easy to lose himself in the relentless persistence of Soonyoung’s passion. Even like this, in the worn familiarity of Inha University’s gym, Soonyoung submerges himself into practice. As long as Wonwoo has known him, he’s never done things in spades, whether it was for his chickens, or for the team. It’s easy to get pulled along. For a moment, Wonwoo forgets about the lurch in his stomach and the newfound skip-stutter of his heart around Soonyoung.

Instead, Wonwoo lets the energy of Soonyoung keep him focused. He has this effect on the team—to keep them all buoyant as they train to near perfection, or as close as they can skim against it. The repetitive nature of practice is a welcomed distraction from his thoughts this time, and he narrows his focus to perfecting his tosses, in Soonyoung’s powerful spikes, who to toss the ball to, how to block, how to receive.

Practice ends before not too long. Wonwoo’s relieved to find Jihoon is no longer watching him with a critical eye, seemingly satisfied with his performance.

Soonyoung bounds up next to him as they lap around the gym. “Wonwoo-yah!” he says, his mouth curled up in a small smile that shows the slightest peek of his two front teeth. Cute, Wonwoo thinks, and then, oh no. He wrenches his gaze back up to Soonyoung’s eyes, and tries to chalk off his rapidly beating heart to the exertion of exercise. “Today felt good, right?”

Wonwoo makes a noise of agreement. Today has felt like one of his best days so far, and Wonwoo lets himself get carried on that high as they continue their cool down exercises. Without the immediacy of volleyball to distract him, it’s harder to not let his eyes drift back to the flex and contraction of Soonyoung’s thigh muscles.

“Your tosses were really good today,” he continues, “you always read me well, Wonwoo-yah.”

His stomach clenches at Soonyoung’s words. For Soonyoung, who so often speaks what’s on his mind when he feels no reason to hold back, compliments aren’t unusual. Somehow, it feels different now though.

“Thanks, Soonyoung-ah,” Wonwoo mutters, keeping his breathing steady as they turn another lap around the gym. Despite how flustered he feels, it’s easy to return the sentiment when it’s Soonyoung. “You’re doing a good job, you know,” he says, his voice dropping too low, unusually earnest when he’s so often teasing. “You’re an amazing captain. And you carry this team well.”

There’s a split-second where Soonyoung’s mouth drops open in surprise and his eyes widen. And then a pretty pink flush blossoms across his cheeks, and at first, a shy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Soonyoung looks away, before sliding his eyes back towards Wonwoo, as his smile grows wider and joy eclipses his face. His eyes curve into crescents, his cheeks bunching up, and when Wonwoo looks at him, he finds himself wondering how Soonyoung could be so beautiful.

His heart leaps into his throat, and without consciously realizing it, his own lips turn up at the edges, as if following the path of the sun. Whenever Soonyoung looks at him like that, Wonwoo has always had difficulties from refraining to return the gesture.

“Of course,” Soonyoung says, his chest puffing up, but the warmth in his voice is unmistakable in its heartfelt appreciation, “Where would I be without my setter?”

Wonwoo’s mouth grows dry as he takes in the way Soonyoung ducks his head as his smile grows soft again, his dark hair falling into his eyes from the gesture. Beads of sweat drip down the side of Soonyoung’s face, pooling in his bare clavicle, leaving a sheen on his bare skin that’s mesmerizing. It should be gross, but it’s not. Unable to tear his eyes away, Wonwoo is riveted by even the smallest details.

His heart thuds against his ribcage, loud beats that sound thunderous even over the squeak of their shoes against polished hardwood. Wonwoo doesn’t know what this means for him. He doesn’t know what the flutter in his heart means, nor the twist and turns of his stomach.

The truth is that Wonwoo has always prided himself as someone who’s rational and reasonable. Throughout their childhood, all the way up until now, Wonwoo has heard others call him patient, calm, the guiding voice to Soonyoung’s passionate fervor. He thinks through patterns and routines, control groups and variables, the art of observation.

Back in high school, when Soonyoung’s emotions grew rampant and unrestrained, he used to be seen as the one who could keep him in check. Wonwoo had always been able to read Soonyoung well. Better than anyone else. Seungcheol said it once too, that no one is ever as sync as they are; Soonyoung and Wonwoo.

But the truth is that Wonwoo had never been the one who could hold Soonyoung back from anything. Up until now, it has been Soonyoung who’s held his hand, who’s kept him going, who’s nurtured him without breaking him, who’s recognized when to back off or when to press Wonwoo for more. Just like on the court, there’s a routine and rhythm to their friendship, and he’s never realized how much he’s relied on it until now. Now that it’s as if he’s forgotten the rhythm, and is now left desperately trying to find his footing again.

His heart leaps into his throat when Soonyoung looks at him like that, so full of unrestrained love and happiness.

Soonyoung is his best friend. Just his best friend. They’ve been friends for so long, have known each other too much, and he hates how his stomach twists at the sight of his thighs, his smiling face, his mouth saying the words, yeah, I like someone right now. Their friendship should feel like well-worn clothes by now, easy and comfortable to move under, but somehow, Wonwoo feels like he’s grown two-sizes too small, or maybe too big, restless and picking at himself—and at them.

And he’s scared that if he picks too hard, the threadbare hole will be worn through their friendship.

For as long as Wonwoo could remember, volleyball has always been in his life. Even longer than Soonyoung, and sometimes, Wonwoo thinks he doesn’t remember a life without Soonyoung by his side. He knows, though, that volleyball has always been there.

His mother played it when she was younger. Up to a collegiate level where she had to decide between a more stable, long-term career, or attempting to succeed at the professional level. She chose the former, but her love for volleyball had been inherited by Wonwoo at a young age. Before he even understood the game at all, he remembers the weight of the ball between his hands, the texture and smell of synthetic leather underneath his fingers.

When he introduced Soonyoung to the game—or, rather, the child’s version of the game—he hadn’t expected it to become a part of their lives. But it did. In between catching bugs, play-pretend as Dragonball Z characters, watching Pororo and Digimon together, they played volleyball together.

It wasn’t until middle school that they actually joined a team. Looking back, Wonwoo can still faintly recall their shared excitement, the tepid nervousness of playing properly for the first time, and the anticipation of being on the volleyball court with all their teammates. It’s funny, Wonwoo thinks, his recollections can all traced through flashes of memories: Soonyoung’s sweaty palms clutched between his hands, the gleam of excitement in his eyes, the churn of anxiety in his stomach, and the tug of his own lips as he locked eyes with Soonyoung on the court for the first time.

Yoon Jeonghan, a third year student, had been the captain at the time. They meet him the first day they tried out for the team, but neither Wonwoo nor Soonyoung get a chance to talk to him properly until their first day of practice. Soonyoung had been particularly nervous. The night before, Minkyung-noona had regaled tales of horrible hazing rituals and bullying from club members to Soonyoung during dinner. While he’s always been the type to dash into his dreams with a headstrong stubbornness, Wonwoo remembers Soonyoung had been particularly cautious around the upperclassmen at first.

But Jeonghan proved to be none of that. Mischievous, sure, and a little prone to teasing them—always ruffling Wonwoo’s hair or pinching Soonyoung’s cheeks—but he had always been kind. Patient in fixing their receives, walking them through the drills, and before he’d graduated, Wonwoo knew that he listened to Soonyoung a lot too, even outside of club activities.

He’d overheard them once, when he had been on courtyard cleaning duty once, and passed by behind where they sat on a bench by the school’s garden.

“Thank you, hyung,” he heard Soonyoung say, his voice quiet and slightly muffled, like his mouth was pressed against something, “you always know what to say.”

“Of course, Soonyoung-ah,” another voice responds, and Wonwoo belatedly registers it as Jeonghan, “I’m glad you told me. You have nothing to be ashamed of, I promise.” And then Wonwoo saw how Jeonghan embraced Soonyoung, the way his arms wrapped around him, and how Soonyoung curled in close and tucked his head under Jeonghan’s chin.

He felt a strange fuzziness in his stomach at the sight. Wonwoo jerked away, his heart pounded in his chest, and he spun on his heels to turn away. Instant guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, as if he witnessed a private moment he wasn’t supposed to see, and he hurried back into the classroom with the imprint of their embrace in mind.

Soonyoung never told him about that conversation.

The next few practices, Wonwoo couldn’t help but notice how brightly Soonyoung would smile every time Jeonghan-hyung complimented him, how his ears would turn pink, and he’d avert his eyes. He turned radiant whenever he was around Jeonghan-hyung, Wonwoo observes, as if a part of Soonyoung loosened up, the tension that Wonwoo couldn’t quite pinpoint seeping from his shoulders. Wonwoo should feel happy—happy that an upperclassman was treating his best friend so well—but his chest tightened each time, and his heart felt as if it was pressing against the sharp edges of his ribcage.

Whenever Wonwoo locked eyes with Soonyoung during those moments, he would turn away from Wonwoo as if he’d been caught. Soonyoung was more skittish around Wonwoo too, jumping away whenever their hands brushed when they were putting the balls and nets away after practice, or when they walked home together. Something had shifted underneath their feet, and Wonwoo wasn’t sure what.

It was the first time Soonyoung had kept secrets from him.

The strangeness between them lasted for another couple of weeks. Soonyoung seemed to have trouble meeting his eyes at times, and he seemed to careen closer and closer to Jeonghan instead. The strange ache in his stomach persisted. And after winter vacation, Wonwoo decided to take a break from the team.

That was the longest time Wonwoo had ever gone without being with Soonyoung. Up until Soonyoung stormed up to him, demanding a tutorial in Gunbound, one hand clutched tightly around Wonwoo’s wrist and his eyes squeezed shut, as if he were afraid to let go.

And Wonwoo— Wonwoo had decided, then, that he would do what it would take to not feel that way around Soonyoung again. The churn of his stomach, the pressure on his chest, like he could hardly breathe—Wonwoo needed to pack it away, discard the foreignness of these feelings in some place where he would encounter them again. Nothing that would jeopardize their friendship again.

“Why do you like volleyball, Wonwoo-yah?” Soonyoung asks one day in middle school that same year, after their KAIAC Tournament victory. Next to him, Wonwoo could feel the slow rise and fall of Soonyoung’s chest from where he’s pressed against Wonwoo’s side, their legs tangled together under the warmth of Soonyoung’s bed covers. Their families had gone out to celebrate their victories, and as per their tradition, Wonwoo’s sleeping over to seal the night on a good note.

He squeezes his arms around the cute chicken plush toy he once won for Soonyoung from a claw machine at the arcade as he mulls the question over. The easy answer is that it was fun. Wonwoo likes the thrill of the game, the snapfire pace to make decisions that would lead to a victory, the logistics and rationality in mentally calculating his tosses. He likes that his mom used to play it, and had felt like he could carry on her legacy through his own foray into the sport. Volleyball is exhilarating. It’s addictive. Wonwoo has never once doubted his love for volleyball, except for the few weeks earlier that year.

“It’s fun,” he chooses to say instead, “I have fun playing it. Like when you’re riding from Orbis to Ellinia in MapleStory, and the Crimson Balrog appears. And you have to fight it together, and you never know if you’ll win or wipe out.”

Soonyoung makes a soft noise, and Wonwoo laughs when he feels a silent question posed through a squeeze around his waist. “The winged boss creature, remember? You died the first time we saw one,” Wonwoo reminds him, a smile lurking on his lips. He turns onto his other side to look at Soonyoung, and they have to reshuffle in the bed to fit along each other once again.

Soonyoung’s eyes are closed, his lashes casting a shadow over his cherubic cheeks in the soft filter of moonlight. His mouth is worked into a pout, and Wonwoo wonders if he’s even aware of it. His mother forced him to get braces a couple weeks ago, and it’s taken Soonyoung some time to adjust to the obtrusion in his mouth.

“I don’t remember,” Soonyoung says grumpily, but then his voice smooths back out, this time tinged with humour, “I can’t believe you compared volleyball to MapleStory. Nerd,” he says affectionately.

“You’re the one who begged me to make an account for you so you could play,” Wonwoo retorts. After their failed attempt with Gunbound, Soonyoung had moved onto MapleStory. He still plays with Wonwoo sometimes, but Soonyoung had never had much interest in games.

Soonyoung’s eyes remain close, but Wonwoo can see the frown on his face. “That’s just because I—” he cuts himself off hastily, “—nevermind.” A pause. “I’m glad you still find volleyball fun, Wonwoo-yah.” The words fall from his lips quietly, yet it rings loud in the dimness of Soonyoung’s bedroom.

Curiosity piques at Soonyoung’s unfinished sentence. Wonwoo wonders what he had meant to say, and for a brief moment, he studies Soonyoung’s face as if it holds the answer. There’s nothing written there, though. Just Soonyoung, his eyes closed and his cheeks squished against the pillow, his lips slack with soft breathing, and his hair a tousled mess. “What about you?” Wonwoo says instead, eventually, “What do you like about volleyball?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer immediately, just long enough that Wonwoo thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then he shifts again, shuffling into the warmth of Wonwoo’s body, close enough that their noses nearly touch. Wonwoo’s breath hitches slightly. Soonyoung’s eyes remain closed, oblivious to their proximity.

“I like that I can fly,” he says, words coming out haltingly, as if he’s not quite done mulling them over in his mind, “I mean— I like that it feels like I can fly when I’m on court. When I’m racing towards your tosses, and then I’m soaring through the air, spiking the ball over the net, I like that a lot.” His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. Wonwoo traces the movement with his eyes before he realizes it. “But I think— I think I like it most because it’s with you. I like playing with you.”

Wonwoo’s mouth goes dry. His heart leaps into his throat, even though he’s not sure why, just that something in Soonyoung’s words—they dig deep, under his skin, burrowing into a small space inside his heart, even if he’s not fully sure why. “Oh,” he says, a little breathlessly. Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m— I’ll be there,” he says, struggling with his words, “I’ll be there, and I’ll make sure my tosses will always let you fly, Soonyoung-ah.”

A small smile spreads across Soonyoung’s face. Wonwoo can just make out the imprint of his braces through the dark shadows in the room. “I think if it’s you as my setter, I’ll always believe in your tosses.”

Soonyoung in motion is a beautiful thing to see. He’s easy to underestimate when he’s not on the court, but as they all took their positions on court, Wonwoo is reminded of why Soonyoung had been named as co-captain in the first place.

The game against Hanyang University starts. It kicks off with a rocky start; they lose the first two points to service aces, but the next battle for a point heats up with a volley. Jihoon comes in with a spectacular save, bringing the ball back to Soonyoung, who smashes through the block with a powerful spike. The momentum swings in their direction for the rest of the set, and Wonwoo easily directs the offense as he sets the ball, targeting their weakest blocker with their attacks.

By the end of the first set, Inha University takes an early 9-4 lead, and Soonyoung racks up five kills on seven swings.

He’s earned the nickname Tiger for a reason, as much as the rest of the team tease him for it. Soonyoung is beautiful; the lines of his body as he moves on the court, the powerful flex of his thighs as he drops into a crouch, all muscle and power coiled underneath his skin, the sharpness of his eyes as he tracks the volleyball with an intensity that always strikes admiration inside of Wonwoo.

Hanyang University starts amping up their offense in the second set. The other team is versatile and strong, adapting to their line-up quickly, but the set has only just started, and Wonwoo hasn’t practiced this hard—neither has the rest of their team—to go down without a fight, and Seokmin and Mingyu manage to out-block the other team. Still, Hanyang goes on a 4-0 run, and the score creeps up on them. And when the rally ends, the whistle blows.

He notices as Soonyoung and Jihoon exchange a glance with one another. The whistle means that Coach Beomju and Seungcheol called for a time-out. The six players hustle towards the bench where the rest of the team sits to huddle together, taking the quick breather to mop up the sweat and to take a much-needed sip from their water bottles. The time-out only lasts for thirty seconds. Beomju doesn’t waste any time, and launches immediately into their strategy.

“Good job with your blocks,” Coach Beomju leads, “it’s leaving their team more scattered, and we’re scoring on block-outs—but they’re playing smart too. Soonyoung, they’ve been blocking out your cross spikes.”

Seungcheol nods, his hands placed on his waist. During practices, it’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s their coach, and most of their team treat him as their friends. Now, though, there’s no questioning his authority. “They’re leading it straight to their libero. We need to bust through their block.”

They continue formulating a new strategy until the thirty seconds are over and they return to their places on the court. The whistle blows again. “Let’s go,” Soonyoung says, his voice firm.

Wonwoo glances at Soonyoung, takes in the blazing look of determination in his eyes, and he feels his own willpower strengthen. There’s a silent strength to Soonyoung when he gets like this, when he’s immersed fully in the game, persistent and unfailing. The rest of the team cheers loudly as they continue the set, and Wonwoo lets himself fall back into the game.

The game continues into the third set. Their team comes back with heated energy, and they take an 8-6 lead with three consecutive kills from Soonyoung. Tension fills the gymnasium, and a frisson of excitement runs down Wonwoo’s spine when Soonyoung lets out a shout of triumph. This is it, this is what he loves about volleyball; blood flows through his veins, his heart pounds in his chest, and Wonwoo feels on top of the world. Hard-driven spikes are getting dug up—even the ones that seem undiggable—and the other setter begins to look visibly frustrated. Good, Wonwoo thinks, and he knows from Soonyoung’s glance towards him that he notices too. It works in their advantage, and Wonwoo’s next serve is an ace.

On their next play, Wonwoo doesn’t even need to signal to Soonyoung before he leaps into the heavens. Instinct bleeds into determination, and Wonwoo has a split-second to breathe in the unfailing trust that Soonyoung places in him, as he gets the ball in the air and brings it back to Soonyoung with a toss. He lands on his feet, watches as it sails perfectly towards Soonyoung, and he knows without a doubt that he’s gotten it in the right spot. He knows how to toss to Soonyoung more than anyone else on this team.

Soonyoung gets it. He hits the ball down with a fury, a behemoth straight spike that heads directly into the open space in the middle of the court, and smashes onto the ground. Inha University gets the point. A laugh bubbles from his mouth when Soonyoung lets out a shout, backed in a chorus from their rest of their team.

Soonyoung in motion is a thing of beauty, Wonwoo thinks again, even as the game forges on. There’s no one like him—no one else who dives into the game with total and absolute abandon. And it’s beautiful. Stunning. There’s no doubt to him that Soonyoung is powerful in his enthusiasm, an unrelenting persistence that submerges him in the game. It’s infectious, too, and his focus and energy adds to the team that keeps their spirits up, their attacks strong, and their defense solid.

But despite their strong play in the first half of the game, the opposite team seems to be re-energized in the third set. And when they swap out their libero and their blocker, the momentum begins to shift in favour of Hanyang University.

After the longest volley this match, Hanyang University manages to take the lead by one point. Their two blockers dedicate themselves to blocking out Soonyoung’s powerful spikes, even as he tries to take advantage of the seam left open in the far corner and Wonwoo bites his lip as he assesses the situation, gauging the best strategy forward. Every play becomes more critical.

And in the end, it’s not enough. Even on a 3-0 run to tie it up at 19, Hanyang University is the first to 20. They lose.

Inha University is out of the National Sports Festival.

“Tell him it’s not his fault, okay?” Seungcheol says to him after their debrief meeting. “There’s still the Hyundai Capital Cup and the Collegiate Championship. We still have plenty to go.”

“I know,” Wonwoo says. He meets Seungcheol’s eyes, resists the urge to look away as the assistant coach studies him. His teammates are still milling around their locker room, but Wonwoo doesn’t need to scan the room to know Soonyoung is no longer anywhere to be found.

Whatever he sees, it seems to relieve him, and he pats Wonwoo on the shoulder. “Good.” He smiles at Wonwoo. “You’ve worked hard, Wonwoo. Take it easy this weekend.”

The mood in the locker room isn’t quite sombre, but it’s not as buoyant as it typically is either. Wonwoo passes by Jihoon and Chan chatting on one of the benches, the two liberos enveloped in a discussion about the game. Seungkwan and Seokmin and Mingyu are huddled near the lockers, talking quietly amidst themselves, and Hansol is still showering. He had seen Junhui leave earlier—something about needing to study for a midterm—and Minghao is talking to the coaches.

In their next practice, Soonyoung will be back with his metaphorical captain hat adorned again, and he will sit them through a replay of the match to dissect their gameplay. His determination will return, as will his resolve to lead their team to growth and victory. There’s one thing that Wonwoo has never once doubted about Soonyoung—and it’s his resilience.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t need comfort now though. And with a quick goodbye to the rest of the team, a nod of acknowledgement from Jihoon, who knows where Wonwoo is heading, he slings his duffel bag off his shoulder and heads out of the locker room.

Their first major loss in a volleyball game was in high school. There were losses in middle school too, but Wonwoo recalls none of them ever felt as gouging as it did on their high school team. Maybe it was the leadership of Jeonghan, the culture of learning and growing that kept them protected then. Something that disappeared after they graduated and moved onto a new team together.

It’s one of the memories that Wonwoo doesn’t let himself forget, though a not-insignificant part of him would rather repress them. Almost as if it’s his responsibility, he lets the image of the head coach berating Soonyoung in front of the team stain his memories, the ragged look of fear and hurt on Soonyoung’s face, and the start of several bad habits that would take years of unlearning on both their parts.

One of them was Soonyoung’s tendency to disappear after a particularly gutting loss. At the time, Wonwoo never knew whether to give Soonyoung his space—they’re not tied to the hip either—but he knows, now, that that’s when Soonyoung wants company most; when he gets lost in his head, stuck a little too far, and needs some coaxing out again.

Wonwoo’s always known where to find him. And maybe that’s a point of pride for him: that he knows Soonyoung better than anyone else. Back in their hometown, it was the park between both their homes, the one with old jungle gyms and squeaky exercise equipment for the neighbourhood elders. Here, in Incheon, where they set up their new homes in their first year of university, it’s at the convenience store closest to the train station that takes them back into the city.

Bright lights and the tired face of the convenience store employee greets him when Wonwoo pushes open the door, shivering slightly from the gust of wind outside. He finds Soonyoung immediately, huddled in the corner by the tiny table for customers to quickly eat a quick meal. Soonyoung doesn’t look up.

Wonwoo doesn’t head towards him right away. Instead, he picks up a packet of vegetable crackers and pays for two cups of warm cocoa at the cashier, and it’s only then, with his hands full of warmth, that he sits down next to Soonyoung.

“I got you a drink.” He pushes the cup over to Soonyoung, and busies himself with taking a steaming sip from his own drink. When he looks back up, Soonyoung’s holding the cup between his hands. The tip of his fingers are pink from the cold. He must have gotten here not too long before Wonwoo did.

Soonyoung doesn’t respond at first, but Wonwoo hears his soft sigh, and he turns to look at Wonwoo. “Thanks,” he says, softly, and the tip of his shoe nudges Wonwoo’s foot.

He watches the play of light and shadow on Soonyoung’s face, his eyes tracing along the curve of his cheeks, the swell of his mouth, pursed and blowing into the cup of cocoa to cool it down, the tip of his nose. Soonyoung is still in his jersey shirt. A jacket has been thrown messily on top, and at a closer glance, Wonwoo realizes that it’s his hoodie. He must have left it at Soonyoung’s dorm when he slept over the week before.

They sit in silence for a while. At times like these, Wonwoo used to wonder what Jeonghan would say. The older man always seemed to know how to handle Soonyoung, even after he graduated and grew too busy to visit them often. He knows they’re still in touch, and Wonwoo wonders if Soonyoung still goes to him for comfort. As much as he knows Soonyoung best—he’s never been the best with words.

His stomach swirls with a strange twist. There’s always going to be parts of Soonyoung that he doesn’t see. It’s inevitable, and even if he’s known that Jeonghan might fill up a space in Soonyoung’s life that he doesn’t, it leaves him feeling wrongfooted. Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t feel this way, and it only fills him with guilt when Soonyoung turns to look at him again, his shoulders relaxing another millimetre more.

Soonyoung smiles at him. His smile is tiny, wobbly at the edges, but it’s a smile nonetheless. And Wonwoo feels the urge to pocket it, somehow, to protect and preserve all smiles that Soonyoung offers him.

“Thanks for coming to look for me every time,” he says to Wonwoo, and he nudges his foot again. A small gesture, yet packed with so many incommunicable words and intangible emotions. Even under the streak of yellowed lighting and the faint smell of ramyeon that permeates the small convenience store, Soonyoung is beautiful.

For the first time in his life, Wonwoo recognizes the feeling for what it is; a burble of jealousy in the pit of his stomach at what he may lose, a flutter of his heart when he sees Soonyoung. He doesn’t like this side of him—he doesn’t want to keep Soonyoung just to himself, and he feels only far too aware that Soonyoung holds so much life in him, that it’s unfair for Wonwoo to want to burrow himself in those spaces.

It’s not fair to want so much.

Maybe it didn’t start with a pair of shorts, Wonwoo realizes. Maybe it started with a familiar twitch in his fingers, a toss, the sound of Soonyoung hitting the ball. Maybe it started years ago, when Soonyoung first offered to share his love—of all things, of his chicken’s eggs, of himself—with Wonwoo.

There’s no dam that breaks, no avalanche of emotions that crush Wonwoo under its weight. Something shifts, clicks into place, quiet and inaudible to anyone but himself. And still, it feels bigger than anything he has ever dealt with before.

Like a small burn, Wonwoo’s chest aches with the realization. Maybe he’s been in love with Soonyoung all along.

They walk home together. The sun has long sunken below the horizon, the dim light casting long shadows underneath the street lamps lining the road. The faint rumble and chatter is audible from the mouth of the subway station, and Wonwoo idly studies the bustle of people hurrying around them as they set out in the direction of their university campus.

Wind ruffles through their hair. The autumn chill has been biting lately, and Wonwoo shivers lightly as he tugs his coat tightly around him. Next to him, Soonyoung does the same, jamming his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Wonwoo’s hoodie. It’s slightly too big on him, already oversized on Wonwoo as it is, and the sleeves pool around his wrists and covers most of his shorts. His bare legs are exposed to the cold. Somehow, it makes Wonwoo want to bundle him up further—wrap him up, keep Soonyoung warm.

Without thinking about it, Wonwoo moves forward and pinches the hem of the hoodie between his fingers. “You’re going to freeze to death, idiot,” he murmurs, and tugs the zipper up until the hoodie is snugly wrapped around Soonyoung. His hands stutter and falter when his eyes lock onto Soonyoung’s gaze, wide-eyed with surprise as he looks at Wonwoo.

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says, the tip of his nose reddened from the cold. The pink has spread to his cheeks and his ears too, evident when he turns away again, tucking his face into the collar of the hoodie to hide the smile on his lips. Wonwoo could almost trick himself into thinking that Soonyoung is blushing.

Images resurface in his mind, unbidden, of every moment he’s looked at Soonyoung and felt the desire to hold him close. Wonwoo’s heart speeds up, his skin prickling with an uneasiness that leaves his stomach clenched and twisted. How long has he felt this way around Soonyoung without realizing it? Without letting himself name it?

He loves Soonyoung.

Wonwoo swallows, his hands retreat back into his pockets, and tries to slow the racing of his heart. Love feels like an abstract word to him. A word that’s too short in letters to encompass the torrent of feelings that he had tried to lock away, all that he cannot say and can barely let himself think about, all that’s left unsaid. He thinks back to the strange tightness in his chest whenever he saw Jeonghan and Soonyoung together, how his breath would come short when Soonyoung smiled. He’s always been ensnared with Soonyoung, tangled in a way where sometimes, Wonwoo isn’t sure where he and where he ends. There’s a name for it now.

Love. In love. Irrevocably and relentlessly.

But Soonyoung likes someone else, Wonwoo reminds himself, and he feels his chest ache with a phantom pain again. His gaze sinks towards Soonyoung, drawn like magnets. He likes someone else, and it’s probably still Jeonghan-hyung.

The small smile that rested along Soonyoung’s lips earlier has disappeared now. In its place, a contemplative expression digs along his features. He looks lost in thought, his eyes cast straight in front of him, a flash of white faintly visible when he bites down on the plump curve of his bottom lip. He wonders if Soonyoung’s thinking about the game, his mind floating among the clouds like he does sometimes when he’s particularly stuck in his head. Wonwoo licks his lips, and searches for words to say, even as his mind feels crowded with his own circular thoughts. Wonwoo yearns to reach out, tug his lip loose, smooth over the furrows of thought in his face with his thumb.

Instead, Wonwoo clenches his fists. Maybe if he still had hot cocoa left, he could swallow a mouthful and let the heat kill the butterflies erupting in his stomach. But he doesn’t, and he’s left with the silence hanging between them as they continue their trek back to the dorms. They continue walking.

“There’s been something on your mind,” Soonyoung says eventually, suddenly, looking from the distant road before them round to Wonwoo next to him. He stops in place. There’s an inscrutable expression on his face. “I can’t tell what it is, but you’ve been acting weird around me.”

Wonwoo tries not to flinch. He knows Soonyoung noticed; he’s the most intuitive person he knows. Still, he’d hope he wouldn’t ask. “It’s nothing,” he answers, sliding his eyes away from Soonyoung, “I’ve just— been thinking.”

Soonyoung waits a beat, as if hoping Wonwoo would elaborate. When he doesn’t, he sighs. “You’ve been acting weird on-and-off with volleyball,” he continues, and takes a step closer towards Wonwoo, “I wanted to give you space, I guess, but you’ve been acting weird around me too.”

This close to him, Wonwoo’s eyes find Soonyoung’s face, almost by instinct. The look of scrutiny on Soonyoung’s face morphs into something more uncertain, more hesitant. “I know you don’t always like it when I press,” Soonyoung adds, his lips curling into a small frown. He sounds regretful, and Wonwoo’s stomach clenches at the tone. “But I just— it’s been on my mind.”

“Soonyoung, it’s nothing serious, I promise,” Wonwoo says, but his heart flips uncomfortably in his chest.

Soonyoung squints at him. “Chan asked me too, you know. If we had gotten into a fight or something.”

There’s a moment where Wonwoo hesitates, where he wonders if he can say it. The words. I like you. I love you. But they ensnare in his chest, lodge in his throat, and he doesn’t spit them out. He sags, and takes a deep breath. “I’m dealing with it,” he says instead, and feels all the more inadequate for saying so. “It’s nothing you’ve done, I swear.”

“What are you dealing with?” His voice softens, a tinge of worry re-entering his words. “Wonwoo, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Soonyoung—”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Soonyoung cuts in, looking hurt, “you’ve been avoiding me, and the last time you did that, you nearly quit volleyball.”

His stomach turns. Wonwoo has to look away. He thinks back to all those times growing up, when people thought Soonyoung was the clingy one, the wild one, the one who wouldn’t survive if it weren’t for Wonwoo’s cool head and rationality. It’s funny, how none of them could see how much Soonyoung keeps him grounded. Wonwoo has always been weak for Soonyoung, back then, and now too. Seeing the look of hurt, Wonwoo knows he will always give in to him.

Wonwoo takes in a deep breath. “It’s funny you bring up middle school,” he says, crossing his arms to barricade himself against the cold, “I guess— I guess that’s partly what’s on my mind. You and Jeonghan.”

“What? What about Jeonghan-hyung?”

“I overheard you once in middle school, talking to Jeonghan.” Wonwoo sags, and rubs a hand over his face. Saying it out loud, it sounds stupid that he’s been thinking back to a time when they were still children.

Soonyoung sounds confused. “What—?”

Wonwoo forges on, “I heard your— confession. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have listened, and I know I never asked you about it, but I saw how you acted afterwards. Like— like you were in love—”

“Oh god,” Soonyoung interrupts, sounding horrified. Wonwoo still can’t bear to look at him. “You did?”

He nods, head still in his hands. “And the other day—with the team—you said there’s someone you like. I’m sorry, I know this is so juvenile of me, to be so hung up on this now, when we’re long past middle school, but I just— I just keep thinking about it. And I know you still talk to Jeonghan-hyung.” Wonwoo can’t keep his voice from shaking. “I know it’s unfair of me, to be so bothered by this. I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung is silent for a moment, and Wonwoo wonders if this is it, if this is the moment he’s ruined their friendship forever. The silence draws out. Wonwoo tries to take a deep breath to slow his pounding heart. He can’t bring himself to look at Soonyoung’s face, to catch sight of shock, or maybe disappointment. Or, at worst, disgust. Wonwoo doesn’t know if he could handle Soonyoung being disgusted with him. His brain screams at him to make it right, to say something, anything—

“You— you heard what I told Jeonghan-hyung,” Soonyoung says at last, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He sounds so hurt. Wonwoo’s gut twists inside of him, a sharp pain ricocheting through his whole body as if it has snagged on every bone and artery. “All this time, all these years—” he draws in a sharp breath, “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says miserably, and he rubs at his eyes harder until bright spots appear under his eyelids, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know— I don’t know.”

He hears Soonyoung breathe out, a heavy exhale that weighs on every surface of his skin. “And you’ve been avoiding me because— because of what I said during that dumb game with the team the other week. It reminded you of what I told Jeonghan-hyung when we were kids.”

Wonwoo winces. “Yeah.”

“Wonwoo, why didn’t you just—” Soonyoung cuts himself off, the last syllable coming out jagged and torn as if caught on the sharp edges of broken glass. He lets out a humourless laugh, and Wonwoo feels his stomach churning once more. “I wish you just— that you just told me that you knew. All these years, and I’ve been so, so scared you would be uncomfortable, or that you’d hate me—”

Bile rises in his throat. Wonwoo has always seen Soonyoung as the strongest person he knows, undauntingly and unapologetically himself, unafraid of the vulnerability of exposing all the hard and soft edges of himself. He’d never thought—even for a minute—that he’d give him reason to fear. He rushes to assure him, and the words stumble out of his mouth in clunky syllables. “Soonyoung, I’d never hate—”

“—for being in love with you all these years.”

Wonwoo’s head snaps up again, his hands falling uselessly to his side, eyes locking with Soonyoung’s in stunned silence.

“Jeonghan’s the only person I’ve told, I promise,” Soonyoung says, pain building up in his eyes. And to Wonwoo’s absolute horror, the faint sheen of unshed tears glimmer in the corner of his eyes.

Wonwoo stares, mouth parting. “W-What?”

“He’s the only one who knows that I’ve— I’ve always had feelings for you,” Soonyoung says, his voice dropped low into a whisper, barely audible over the rumble and noise of the street around them. “I told him that day, back in middle school.”

The sounds from the street blur into noise, drowned out by the pained throbbing of his own heart. Everything becomes incredibly still.

And just as sharply as it ached, his heart swells with a tentative hope.

Standing in front of him, Soonyoung sags, his shoulders collapsing under the invisible weight of their words, drawing forward as if he’s closing himself off from Wonwoo. He ducks his head suddenly, eyes trained on the ground before him, and Wonwoo dimly registers the trickle of tears through his shocked stupor.

Over the years that Wonwoo has known him, he’s seen Soonyoung in every state of being, has always been right by his side to experience it all with him. He was there to hold his hand through tears when Ahjumma, his pet chicken, died. He was the first one to take Soonyoung to the hospital when he overworked his shoulder to the point of injury, he had thrown the toss that led them to winning the spring championship last year, and had hugged him first. But this is the first time that he’s been the one to be the cause of his tears.

They’ve whittled themselves down to nothing, only to build themselves up again. Years of work, on one another, on themselves, have gotten them to the point in which they exist today. None of it—none—even comes close to the look on Soonyoung’s face right now.

His first instinct is to panic. Wonwoo rushes forward in a bulldozed haze, his hand reaching out to clasp around Soonyoung’s wrist before he registers his own actions. All he knows and all he can feel is the stampede of anxiety roaring inside of him, and the everlasting desire to make it right. It feels like it all happens in slow-motion, the track of tears trailing down Soonyoung’s face, Wonwoo’s dash towards him, the pink plushness of Soonyoung’s mouth as it falls open in surprise. He tugs Soonyoung towards him, almost helplessly, and Soonyoung flinches as if he expects Wonwoo to lash out at him—hit him.

It’s enough to stop Wonwoo in his tracks. He freezes. His fingers loosen, and then his hand falls away again. “I like you too,” he says, almost helplessly, his own eyes wide with astonishment with his own words, “I like you too, I think.”

And then— and then he leans forward, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Soonyoung’s slack lips; a tiny imprint, infused with all the affection and wonder he holds in the world for him, a split-second before he pulls back.

Soonyoung is silent. He stares at Wonwoo, eyes shiny and wet, his lips still parted in shock as his hand comes up to graze at his lips in a daze. The shimmer of tears is still visible on his face, and Wonwoo aches to smooth the tracks away with his hands. But he doesn’t dare. Not yet.

Soonyoung blinks at Wonwoo once, twice. “What?”

“I like you,” Wonwoo repeats, this time a little firmer, even as his face feels ablaze with heat, “I— a lot, I think.”

“You ‘think’,” Soonyoung repeats faintly, his hand still hovering by his lips. He looks at Wonwoo like he might be dreaming.

Wonwoo can feel his blush spreading down his neck. “I mean— I do. I like you. A lot.”

A look of confusion crosses Soonyoung’s features. “But Jeonghan?”

“I— I thought you were confessing to him,” Wonwoo says, and he feels abrupt embarrassment setting in, “and I thought I was fine with it, up until you said you had feelings for someone a couple weeks ago.”

Soonyoung still looks lost. “But I was talking about you,” he says. His voice is small. Smaller than it should ever be.

Even through the heat of embarrassment, Wonwoo’s heart tumbles in his chest and leaps into his throat. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung repeats dazedly.

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds. Soonyoung’s hand is still hovering by his lips, tentatively, and the look of surreal wonder doesn’t leave his face. It takes all of Wonwoo’s restraint to not kiss him again, to not press all of his love in all its incommunicable depth against Soonyoung’s lips, and so this time, he doesn’t hold himself back.

He wraps his fingers around Soonyoung’s fingers, huffing out a small laugh of relief when Soonyoung immediately curls his fingers around his own, intertwining their hands together. And then he pulls Soonyoung closer again, his other hand coming up to cup his jaw gently, so, so gently. And he leans down, and he kisses Soonyoung.

Soonyoung freezes momentarily, before relaxing into the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Wonwoo’s head as his other hand squeezes Wonwoo’s fingers. He opens his mouth with a sigh, parting gently as Wonwoo presses harder against him, letting him in beautifully, carefully.

But then Soonyoung stills again, pausing, and he breaks the kiss. A sharp edge of panic rises in Wonwoo—that he did something wrong—but Soonyoung doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hands tighten around Wonwoo’s fingers. A dazed look still rests on his face, but this time, Wonwoo feels a distant sense of pride. He did that. He put that look there.

“You like me,” Soonyoung says, as if he can’t believe it. “You really do?”

The words come easy this time. Wonwoo doesn’t even have to think about it. “I do,” he says, “more than anyone else I’ve ever liked before, I think.”

Heat rises in Soonyoung’s cheeks, and the pink glow is highlighted even under the dim streetlamps when Soonyoung smiles, his mouth tugging into a wide grin that shows off all his teeth, tiny and cute just like him. His cheeks bunch up, round and perfect, and his eyes curve into the sweetest crescents. He’s beautiful, stunning, and Wonwoo’s breath flees him all at once. “Oh,” he says again, this time with wonder, “you like me.”

And Wonwoo can’t help the way his own lips tug upwards in return. He doesn’t answer, not with words, as he leans in to capture Soonyoung’s lips in another kiss, just as tender as the last.

The wind seems to stop, and with it, the cold dissipates as well. All Wonwoo feels is warmth, and love.

“I can’t believe you put me through all of that,” Soonyoung says later, when they finally peel themselves apart from each other. Their hands swing entangled between them. Wonwoo doesn’t want to let go, not even as their university campus comes into sight. “And you only said you think you like me at first!” Soonyoung’s cheeks puff up when his mouth curls into a disappointed pout.

Wonwoo laughs, a little sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he does mean it. Still, it takes all his determination to not kiss the pout off of Soonyoung’s lips.

“You’re the worst, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung declares, narrowing his eyes into a glare. “I’ve decided you’re not allowed to kiss me anymore until you take me on at least three dates.”

It’s hard to be disappointed when it only means that Soonyoung wants to go on dates with him. At least three of them! Wonwoo’s heart feels so full, it could burst. “Come on,” Wonwoo needles, squeezing Soonyoung’s hand playfully. “Can’t I kiss you on the first date at least?”

Soonyoung pouts harder. “I’ll make it five,” he declares obstinately, “do you think I’m easy, Jeon Wonwoo? I’m not!”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo concedes. He’s smiling so hard, his cheeks hurt. “I’ll take you on all the dates you want, okay? I won’t even fall asleep on you like half the time you come over to hang out at my dorm. Or ignore you for Overwatch.”

“You better not,” Soonyoung says, his voice low and threatening. But then he darts in closer, and rises up to the tips of his toes, and presses his lips to the curve of Wonwoo’s cheek. Just as quickly, he pulls away again. Their hands still remain entangled. “That’s to seal the promise,” he grumbles, his cheeks flushed red.

He’s stunning. Wonwoo’s heart skips a beat. Then he leans down to press a kiss to Soonyoung’s round cheeks in return. “Promise.”

“We should visit home soon,” Soonyoung says, kicking off his shoes as soon as they enter Wonwoo’s dark dorm room. He slips his feet into the fluffy tiger slippers that he keeps at Wonwoo’s place, not bothering to turn on the light as he shuffles towards the small kitchenette to grab a glass of water.

Wonwoo hums as he hangs up both their jackets on the hooks affixed to the back of his door. “It’s been awhile,” he agrees. “Next weekend?”

He digs his hand through his coat pocket and pulls out his keycard, setting it down in the small bowl he keeps on a shelf next to the door. The bowl was made by Soonyoung back in 8th grade when he took an art elective, and the sight of the lopsided and lumpy clay bowl—painted with messy black lines because it was supposed to look like a volleyball—always brings a flutter of fondness in Wonwoo’s heart.

“Sure,” Soonyoung says, his voice muffled. Wonwoo turns to look at him, his mouth tugging into a smile when he catches sight of Soonyoung with his head practically stuck inside Wonwoo’s mini fridge as he digs through the scant offerings he has in there. “Where’s your milk?”

Wonwoo pads up lightly behind Soonyoung. “You drank the last carton last week,” he reminds him as he slides his arms around Soonyoung’s waist.

“Ugh,” Soonyoung says, and his face twists into a grimace as he straightens up, turning around to face Wonwoo instead. “The tteokbokki was too spicy.”

“You’re the one who was craving it,” Wonwoo says. A smile plays on the corner of his lips when Soonyoung slings his arms over his shoulders. “Want me to run down to Emart to grab more?”

Soonyoung thinks about it for a moment, and then shakes his head. His lips tug into a tiny smile—more of a smirk, really. “Nah,” he says easily, and he tightens his hold around Wonwoo’s shoulders, shuffling them both over until they’re pressed against the small counter instead. “This was our third date,” he says, pointedly.

Never the one to let go of an opportunity to tease Soonyoung, Wonwoo arches an eyebrow at him. “So?”

“I think I deserve a gift.” Soonyoung’s breath is warm, fanning over his lips.

Wonwoo presses closer and pins Soonyoung against the counter. There’s a small delight in how Soonyoung has to tilt his head up just slightly to meet his gaze. “And what is that?”

“Wonwoo!” Soonyoung says, exasperation painted across his features, and he scowls up at him, “You know what I’m thinking!”

His eyes fall to Soonyoung’s mouth, tracing over the shape of it with reverence, pretty and moulded into a pout. His lips look as soft as he remembers. Wonwoo's heart flutters with warmth. “Maybe I don’t,” he says, but his voice comes out a little breathless. “What are you thinking about, Soonyoung-ah?”

Soonyoung kisses him.

Immediately, Wonwoo unclasps his hands together and settles them along Soonyoung’s waist instead, sighing into his mouth, and kisses back. He’s held his promise, even if for the sheer competition of winning against Soonyoung even if it wasn’t formally a bet between them, and he savours his first kiss with Soonyoung since the day they confessed to each other. His mouth is warm, the faint traces of tteokbokki sauce still on his tongue, but Wonwoo feels nothing but warmth flowing through his chest, his belly, his toes. He clings closer to Soonyoung, clutching him tightly, as he deepens the kiss. Their lips move against each other, slow and deep and sweet.

They break apart, just long enough for Wonwoo to catch sight of the light pink blush dusting Soonyoung’s cheeks, and oh, Wonwoo thinks, he’s beautiful, he’s perfect. When they meet for another kiss, Wonwoo tries his best to memorize the curve of Soonyoung’s lips against his, the softness that presses his own, the small smile that rests at the corner even as he clutches Wonwoo tightly. Small hands card through his hair, a small moan, barely audible dispersing between them. He’s not sure if it came from him, or from Soonyoung. It doesn’t matter. Not when Soonyoung’s deepening the kiss again, and his mouth opens up beautifully for Wonwoo as he shifts his grip lower until his hands land on Soonyoung’s hips.

Wonwoo closes his eyes. Soonyoung fits so perfectly against him. Underneath the lingering smell of restaurant and bar snacks, the faint scent of his green apple shampoo is comforting, and Wonwoo relishes in the overwhelming presence of Soonyoung all around him. His lips are soft against his, his skin is warm against his, and when Soonyoung lets out yet another small noise, Wonwoo drinks it up eagerly, fervently. And with a feverish realization, one that slams into him with blinding quickness, Wonwoo realizes that he wants more; whatever Soonyoung is willing to give to him.

When they break apart, the flush on Soonyoung’s cheeks have darkened. Wonwoo knows he’s not much better, his hair mussed from Soonyoung’s fingers and his face heated to the touch. His lips still tingle from Soonyoung’s kiss.

“Do you get it now?” Soonyoung asks, though he sounds more winded than anything.

Wonwoo’s stomach flutters, and this time, he can’t bring himself to tease Soonyoung any longer. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice comes out gruff, “yeah, I do.”

The path from the small kitchenette to his bed is not a long one. Wonwoo leads Soonyoung through the small doorway, though he doesn’t need to. Not really, not when Soonyoung’s been to his dorm nearly as many times as Wonwoo has lived here. There’s no need for pretension, or any more facades, when it’s just the two of them. It’s Soonyoung who flicks the light on, while Wonwoo pushes aside the textbook he’d be studying the night prior to the floor.

And then Soonyoung pushes him onto his bed. His hands smooth along Wonwoo’s shoulder, down his arms to squeeze at his biceps, before he winds his arms back over his shoulders as he climbs onto his lap. The sudden movement pulls a shocked noise from Wonwoo as the welcomed weight of Soonyoung settles on top of thighs. Wonwoo’s hands find their place against Soonyoung’s hips, his thumb just barely grazing the soft, bare skin underneath his t-shirt where it has ridden up slightly from his movements.

Nuzzling into Soonyoung’s neck, Wonwoo kisses along his jawline. He feels Soonyoung’s breath hitch slightly, his hands coming to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulder, fingers tightening as Wonwoo drags kisses along the side of Soonyoung’s face until he returns to his lips. Warmth courses through him, heady and sweet, and Wonwoo thinks he could stay like this forever.

Soonyoung sighs; melts into his touch, his kisses.

Just as Wonwoo’s moves to deepen the kiss again, his tongue tracing along his plush bottom lip, Soonyoung pulls back. “Can I touch you?” he asks Wonwoo, his voice breathy and his eyes already half-lidded. Soonyoung’s hand dips down to play with the hem of Wonwoo’s shirt. His intentions are clear. Another spike of warmth rushes through Wonwoo, and he nods.

He lets Soonyoung remove his shirt, tossing it quickly over the side of his bed. Next, he removes Wonwoo’s glasses and carefully sets it aside. Soonyoung is back on him immediately, his hands tangling in Wonwoo’s hair as he presses as much of himself against Wonwoo as possible. He chases after Wonwoo’s lips, and the singular brush of Soonyoung’s lips against him has him drowning, once again, in the addicting sensation of Soonyoung.

This time, Soonyoung’s hands wander. They trace along the broadness of his shoulders, and a small huff of laughter escapes from Soonyoung’s mouth when he squeezes Wonwoo’s toned biceps, and Wonwoo purposefully flexes to show off a little.

Soonyoung briefly breaks their connection. “Look at you, big boy,” Soonyoung giggles, his voice dropping into a sultry whisper that’s too exaggerated to be serious, his hands squeezing again. His giggles dissipate as he continues trailing his hand along Wonwoo’s side, down to the muscle of his hips. A tinge of fondness blossoms in Wonwoo’s chest when he catches sight of Soonyoung’s mouth falling a little slack, his eyes dazed as he rakes his nails across the flat of Wonwoo’s abdomen, as if distracted by his body. A hand glides up to his chest, thumbing along the muscle, and then Soonyoung presses the pad of his thumb over Wonwoo’s nipple.

The fondness morphs into something more heady, the faint jolt of pleasure sending a tingle down Wonwoo’s spine and he bites down on a moan. Soonyoung, always observant when it counts, smirks a little. He rolls Wonwoo’s nipples between his fingers until they’re hard and peaked. His touch is electric, and still, Wonwoo wants more.

“Can I?” he asks, tugging at Soonyoung’s t-shirt. Once Soonyoung nods, Wonwoo curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. There’s a moment of confusion when Soonyoung climbs off his lap, missing his warmth and weight immediately, but then Soonyoung’s hands pop open the button of his jeans. With a dry mouth, he watches as Soonyoung shimmies his hips and pulls the fabric down, peeling his jeans off his legs and kicking it to the ground.

Shamelessly, he lets himself scan over Sooyoung’s form. The room feels a few degrees hotter, and his pants monumentally tighter as he trails his eyes up and down Soonyoung’s exposed skin. His brain short circuits at the sight of Soonyoung’s cock, already half-hard, pressing against the outline of his tight boxer-briefs. And his thighs—fuck, his thighs, thick and well-muscled and on display for Wonwoo to appreciate, to admire, to worship.

“Is this okay?” Soonyoung asks, his voice cutting in with a tinge of hesitation. His hands ball into fists at his side as he waits.

“Fuck, yes.” Wonwoo clears his throat, his voice coming out hoarse. “Fuck, Soonyoung, come here, please.”

A pleased smile curls at the corner of Soonyoung’s lips as he climbs back onto Wonwoo’s lap. With less clothing as a barrier between them, the feeling of his skin against his own is almost too much to bear. Wonwoo mouths at his neck, eliciting a lovely little gasp of surprise from Soonyoung, who pulls him back up for a kiss. This time, it’s bruising, frenetic, a different fervor than before.

Soonyoung lets out a little noise of approval when Wonwoo scrapes at his lips. He bucks forward, hips rolling restlessly against Wonwoo’s. It’s not enough, not nearly, and his grip tightens on Soonyoung’s hips. His cock hardens inside his pants as he places nipping kisses along the line of Soonyoung’s collarbone, his hands sliding over the soft skin and lean muscle of his body, before sinking lower until they rest on the tops of his criminal thighs. All he can think about is Soonyoung, Soonyoung’s kisses, the lean muscle of Soonyoung’s thighs under his hand, Soonyoung. Every other thought escapes his mind, as the soft sounds and the feeling of Soonyoung overwhelms him.

“I want to feel you,” Soonyoung breathes out, “I want you to touch me.”

Wonwoo hums, his thumb drawing slow circles over the skin of his thighs. One hand snakes behind Soonyoung and he traces his pinky finger down the length of Soonyoung’s spine, smiling at the shudder it elicits. “Touch you how?”

Soonyoung makes a small embarrassed noise. “Like—” He reaches behind him and entangles their hands together, and with a small pout of concentration on his face, he guides Wonwoo’s hand until it’s pressed against the round swell of his ass. The pout morphs into a smirk when Wonwoo’s cock twitches noticeably in his sweatpants. “Like this.”

Wonwoo, briefly, wonders if it’s possible to die from blood loss to the brain. His grip tightens on Soonyoung’s ass. Giving his thigh one last squeeze, he slides his other hand back as well, and strokes his hands up and down his back; from his nape, along his spine, until his hands reach the line of his underwear.

“Have you— um, done this before?” Wonwoo asks him, his hand tracing over the waistband of his briefs.

The blush on Soonyoung’s face darkens, and he shakes his head. “I mean— a bit,” he says, squirming a little on Wonwoo’s lap. He presses forward, grinding his hips in slow circles, just enough friction that Wonwoo lets out a small curse, his cock twitching in his pants. “Not a lot,” he admits, “I’ve only...a few handjobs...and blowjobs...” he trails off, biting down on his lower lip as he peers at Wonwoo through his lashes, “but you better not treat me like some delicate virgin,” he threatens. “I’m horny and I’ve been thinking about this for ages.”

A surge of lust clouds his mind as he imagines Soonyoung getting off to the thought of him. “Oh?” Wonwoo nips at Soonyoung’s jaw. He hooks his thumb beneath the waistband of his underwear. “You’ve thought about this before? Like what?”

He feels Soonyoung shudder in his arms. “For one thing, you weren’t so slow at this,” he complains, but his voice comes out a little shaky when Wonwoo traces another line of nipping kisses down the column of his throat. “Usually, we’d at least be touching each other’s dicks by now.”

Wonwoo smiles against the delicate skin of Soonyoung’s throat. “I kinda like you like this,” he says, just to tease. It’s hard not to want to make Soonyoung squirm a little, not when he’s so cute about it, all sulky and flushed and pressing harder against Wonwoo’s hands like it’ll spur him on.

“You’re so mean,” Soonyoung says, but it comes out as a small whine that only turns Wonwoo on more. “Come on, Wonwoo, I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Wonwoo hums, pretends to think it over, and it draws an annoyed huff from Soonyoung, who shoves lightly at his shoulders. “Okay,” he says placatingly, soothing over Soonyoung’s pout with a gentle kiss. “I got you,” he murmurs, and he finally tugs at the waistband of Soonyoung’s underwear. His erection presses against the material, a damp spot at the head already marking the fabric.

“You too,” Soonyoung says, and he helps Wonwoo pull off his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them both nude. His neglected cock is hard against his belly, but he ignores it in favour of Soonyoung. As if to apologize for his earlier teasing, he gathers Soonyoung into his arms again, and kisses him.

When they pull apart again, Wonwoo pauses for a moment, long enough to rake his gaze over Soonyoung’s flushed face, his heaving chest, and his hard cock already dripping with precum. The strength of lean muscle in his body is a sight to behold. All the times he’s caught flashes and glimpses of his bare skin as they were growing up, pushing against each other in the small locker rooms, no image could ever live up to this. Soonyoung is beautiful, undeniably so, and better than anything Wonwoo could have imagined.

Wonwoo thinks of the times—ever since the day he showed up wearing those shorts to practice—he’s fantasized about Soonyoung sliding down the length of him, or about the muscles in his thighs bunching and releasing as he rides Wonwoo. He had imagined his head thrown back, his moans and whimpers. He’s thought of his powerful thighs as he fucked Wonwoo to completion. Wonwoo wants it all.

Right now, though, there’s only one thought in his mind as he pauses to admire his soft skin, the muscle of Soonyoung’s ass, and the power coiled in his thighs. A heated arousal burns in the pit of his stomach as he pictures himself burying his face between Soonyoung’s thighs. He wants to eat Soonyoung out until he cries.

He watches as Soonyoung squirms a little again. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Soonyoung snaps, looking shy at Wonwoo’s attention, even as he bucks upwards, cock dragging against Wonwoo’s abdomen. It’s more for show, Soonyoung’s own way of preening for attention. His hands knead at Wonwoo’s shoulders.

The idea of capturing Soonyoung through his camera lens is enticing, and Wonwoo files that idea for another day. For now, he wants Soonyoung first, wants to see him fall apart under his fingers, his tongue. Wonwoo’s hands sweep down to grip his hips again. “I want you to sit on my face.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “What?” He flushes even redder, if possible. “Won’t I be too heavy?”

Wonwoo rubs this thumb against the soft skin of his hip, the other hand sliding up to find his nipples. He smirks when Soonyoung lets out a soft moan, his body shuddering at the touch. “You won’t be,” he promises, his cock heavy with anticipation.

Soonyoung catches sight of the excited glint in his eyes. “Jeon Wonwoo, you are such a dirty pervert,” he says, but the shuddering breath he lets out ruins the primliness of his words, blatantly rolling his hips against Wonwoo’s cock. “How do I—”

He’s so cute, Wonwoo can’t bear it. He sweeps in for another kiss, capturing Soonyoung’s lips with his. His hand migrates back to Soonyoung’s ass, and a frisson of heated energy rushes down his spine when he feels Soonyoung’s thighs tighten around him. “Like this,” Wonwoo says, once they pull apart.

Wonwoo maneuvers them both until he’s lying back on his bed with Soonyoung on top of him. With a gentle grip on Soonyoung’s thighs, kneading at the firm muscle under soft skin, he guides him until he’s pulled over Wonwoo’s face and his thighs are settled on either side of his chest. Soonyoung carefully shifts until he’s facing Wonwoo’s legs.

“Like this,” Wonwoo repeats, and then he kisses the inside of one thigh. He feels Soonyoung shiver, and Wonwoo sweeps his hand down the curves and slopes of Soonyoung’s side, down his leg, wrapping around his ankle with a comforting squeeze, before he makes his way back up to his thighs again. His own cock lies flat and hot against his belly. Another kiss. He sinks his teeth into the same spot, sucking hard until Soonyoung’s breath grows shuddery and shaky. It’s not until he pulls a moan from Soonyoung’s lips that he pulls back, only to rub his thumb into the supple flesh and firm muscle.

Wonwoo’s hands slide up to sweep along Soonyoung’s side, over his hips and the swell of his ass. He kneads his ass, squeezing and massaging his cheeks, and then parts his cheeks until he can see Soonyoung’s hole. “Doing okay?” he asks, his voice softer than before.

Soonyoung shivers, breath stuttering. “Yeah,” he breathes out, and rolls his hips. “Yeah, yeah, come on—” his voice breaks into a moan on the last syllable when Wonwoo slides his thumb up to rub teasingly at his entrance, and then replaces his thumb with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” Soonyoung cries out, sucking in a sharp breath as he experimentally rolls his hips lightly. Wonwoo encourages him, squeezing his ass where he’s still holding Soonyoung open, and guides Soonyoung’s rocking motions until he’s grinding his ass back into Wonwoo’s palms and his mouth.

Obscene sounds of Wonwoo working his tongue over his hole fills the room. He can feel Soonyoung’s thighs trembling as he pushes his ass back, working it down over his face, and it only spurs Wonwoo on. He lets out a groan, the sound muffled by Soonyoung’s ass. The vibrations draw another bitten-off gasp from Soonyoung, and he thrusts his tongue deeper.

Soonyoung makes these little whimpering choked sounds that go straight to Wonwoo’s cock, and his fingers knead harder at Soonyoung’s ass. Wonwoo doesn’t hold back, showering his hole with filthy licks and kisses.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung moans, his hips stiffening and then jerking when Wonwoo thrusts his tongue past his entrance. He can hardly stay still, and Wonwoo can feel him shuddering from the sensations. “Fuck, ah.” Soonyoung’s tight grip on the bed sheets loosen, and the slick sound of Soonyoung working his hand over his own cock fills the room.

Wonwoo lets out a moan of his own, licking into him with sloppy, wet and deep, open-mouthed kisses. He thrusts his tongue deeper, smirks when Soonyoung arches his back in return, fucking himself on Wonwoo’s tongue. His hole contracts around him, sensitive from the onslaught of pleasure.

He brings Soonyoung fully down onto his face. “F-Fuck,” Soonyoung cries out again, and Wonwoo can hear as he works his hand faster. Soonyoung’s breath comes out faster. He knows without even looking that Soonyoung is near his completion. “Fuck, Wonwoo, W-Wonwoo— ah— oh god,” he moans brokenly, his name spilling from Soonyoung’s lips like a mantra.

Soonyoung’s moan grows louder as Wonwoo thrusts his tongue deeper. He lets out a broken whine as Wonwoo sucks at his rim, bucking his hips, caught between his hand and Wonwoo’s mouth. His thighs tremble and shake around him, his cries growing pitched. “W-Wonwoo,” Soonyoung gasps out when Wonwoo snakes one hand between his cheeks, petting at his wet entrance with the pad of one finger. He pushes his finger in, just up to the first knuckle, timed with another particularly deep thrust of his tongue.

Soonyoung’s whole body goes taut for one long second, locking up suddenly with a cry, and Wonwoo brings one hand between his legs, sliding up his erection to thumb at his slit, just as he comes, spilling over Wonwoo’s hand and his belly. “W-Won— ah,” Soonyoung moans brokenly, his body slumping over Wonwoo’s abdomen.

Wonwoo places a few final licks over Soonyoung’s hole before he gently rolls Soonyoung off of him and onto his back. Soonyoung’s pliant, letting out another small moan as he blinks up dazedly at Wonwoo.

Soonyoung’s face is flushed, bangs plastered to his forehead. A sheen of sweat covers his body, something Wonwoo finds oddly endearing. Soonyoung has always been one to sweat easily, but he probably doesn’t find it nearly as charming as Wonwoo does. So he’s a little enamoured with the man—who can blame him. Wonwoo probably should’ve clued in on his own feelings earlier.

There’s no time to dwell on that now though, not when Soonyoung’s warm and flushed and satiated in front of him. He leans down to press a chaste kiss against his lips. “Okay?” he murmurs, brushing away Soonyoung’s sweat-slick bangs away from his eyes with one hand.

“You sucked my brain out of my ass,” Soonyoung says, his breathing still coming out in pants. The brash words jolt a laugh from Wonwoo’s mouth, and he leans down to press a delighted kiss to Soonyoung’s face, his thumb caressing the curve of his cheeks. Soonyoung tilts his head into the touch, and his mouth curls into a smile, sweeter and fonder than his words betray. It sends a flutter to Wonwoo’s heart. “Now let me—”

Wonwoo startles as Soonyoung rolls over and rises to his knees, his hand coming up to palm Wonwoo’s aching cock. He moans as Soonyoung’s hand strokes along the heated flesh, squeezing at the base and then dragging his hand back up with a flick of his wrist. The friction is almost too much after neglecting it in favour of Soonyoung for so long.

Without warning, Soonyoung leans down and adjusts himself on the bed until he’s eye-level with Wonwoo’s cock. Then, suddenly, his cock is being enveloped in the heat of Soonyoung’s mouth.

Wonwoo’s hands scramble, darting down to cup the back of Soonyoung’s head. “Soonyoung, are you sur—” his words cut off, interrupted by another moan as Soonyoung’s lips suck the head of his cock. He wasn’t lying about having done this before; his tongue flicks over the sensitive head, and then he takes him in deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on Wonwoo’s length. Soonyoung smiles a little, the curve of his lips obscured by Wonwoo’s cock stuffed in his mouth, but Wonwoo recognizes the playful glint to his eyes as he glances up to meet Wonwoo’s.

The image is almost too much for him, already close to the edge after waiting so long. The image of Soonyoung peering up at him, cock in his mouth, cheeks flushed with rosy afterglow is a sight to behold. “Soonyoung, god,” he grits out, a low groan escaping from his lips.

Soonyoung has always had an insurmountable focus whenever he puts his mind to it, and having his attention trained solely on Wonwoo has his breath hitching. His eyes flick back down to concentrate on his actions, dragging his tongue into Wonwoo’s slit with a heavy lick, and then pressing a series of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft again. He moans loudly, like he’s getting off on it just as much as Wonwoo does, and Wonwoo can’t stop the involuntary buck of his hips at the sound.

“Shit, sorry,” he groans out, petting the back of Soonyoung’s head where his hand still rests. Wonwoo has to close his eyes, his head tilting back when Soonyoung only hums in response, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure down his spine.

He pants lightly. Another moan is pulled from his throat, this time louder, as Soonyoung’s lips press and drag over the sensitive underside of his length, mouthing at his balls, before taking him back into his mouth again. Soonyoung can’t take him fully into his mouth, and he works his hand around the base of his cock and strokes it in time with his mouth.

Wonwoo can feel his balls tighten with the need to come, the slow burn of arousal morphing into something hungrier as he barrels closer to the edge. “Fuck, f-fuck, Soonyoung.” His eyes fly open as the warm, pleasurable sensations of Soonyoung’s mouth and tongue working over his cock spread through his body. “Fuck, not gonna last,” he moans.

Soonyoung swirls his tongue around the tip of the length, and then he pulls away. “I want you to come on my face,” he pants out, his voice huskier than before.

Words are lost on Wonwoo at first, though his cock twitches in Soonyoung’s hand. “What— are you sure?” he asks, a little incredulously, even as his mind conjures up images of Soonyoung with his face striped in Wonwoo’s come. A shudder passes through him, already feeling a little wrecked.

“It looks kinda fun whenever I see it in porn,” Soonyoung says, and it’s somehow the most Soonyoung thing he’s ever said, that it brings a half-muffled laugh from Wonwoo. The laugh quickly tapers off into a moan when Soonyoung leans back in to lick the tip of his cock, sliding another glance up at Wonwoo as he suckles the head into his mouth. His hand starts pumping the length again, squeezing in a ring just on the verge of how tight Wonwoo likes it.

His thighs shake as Soonyoung sinks as far down as he can go, his throat spasming when the tip of his cock hits the back of his mouth. Soonyoung doesn’t let this deter him this time, swallowing repeatedly around his cock, and then he sucks. Wonwoo jolts, his balls tightening, the white-hot heat building slowly in his spine almost too much to bear. His fingers tangle in Soonyoung’s hair, hands clenching as his hip jerks once uncontrollable. “Fuck, S-Soonyoung—” He tries to warn him, but it morphs into a loud moan as the words he wanted to say become a jumbled mess.

Soonyoung pops off his cock with a gasp, pumping his cock firmly until Wonwoo’s orgasm hits him, the white-hot pleasure nearly blinding as he spills over Soonyoung’s face, landing in stripes over his cheeks, his eyelashes, and into his mouth where Soonyoung sticks his tongue out in anticipation. It’s one of the prettiest sights Wonwoo has ever seen.

He slumps over on the bed and pulls Soonyoung towards him so that he’s curled up on his lap as they both attempt to catch their breath. Wonwoo takes the time to admire how well-fucked Soonyoung looks, how pretty he is with Wonwoo’s come painted on his face, his pliant body settled on top of Wonwoo. His eyes remain closed, unable to open them with the come on his eyelashes.

Wonwoo leans in and presses his lips to Soonyoung’s. The kiss is gentle and soft, just a chaste peck since he doesn’t think Soonyoung would appreciate his tongue in his mouth quite yet. He rubs his thumb over where some of his come has landed on the curve of his chubby cheeks, wiping it off with his finger. “How was it?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips when Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “Was the bukkake as fun as you imagined?” he teases.

“...Porn makes it seem more fun,” Soonyoung grumbles. But then his mouth twitches into a small smile. “Not bad, though. You did a pretty good job, setter. Guess all that training for good aim pays off.”

A laugh escapes him unbidden. Fondness envelopes his body in warmth and affection as he takes in the sight of Soonyoung and the happiness that settles on his face. “Thanks captain,” he responds dryly, not bothering to hide the fond exasperation in his voice. He pushes himself up so that he’s sitting again, but not before he steals another quick peck from Soonyoung’s lips.

“Come on,” Wonwoo says, smiling down at Soonyoung, “let me clean you up.”

“Ready?” Wonwoo asks, bumping his shoulder against Soonyoung’s as they position themselves on the court.

They fall into place easily, standing in front of the net with their shoulders squared. This is their element, this is their arena—the polished gym floors, the smell of synthetic leather, the rub of sport knit fabric from their jersey and polyester from their knee pads—and a grin stretches across Wonwoo’s face as he takes it all in.

They’ve been playing better than ever since their loss at the National Sports Festival. It’s as if something has clicked in place between him and Soonyoung on the court, and sometimes, Wonwoo feels as if they’re dancing in synchronicity to a performance that they choreographed together. His tosses hold weightlessness to them, sailing towards Soonyoung at the perfect height.

True to his words, his tosses let Soonyoung fly on the court.

Soonyoung looks out across the gymnasium to their opponents, to the stands that are filling with people. A large banner is draped across the walls with 2020 Hyundai Capital Cup National Collegiate Volleyball Championships printed in sprawling, bold lettering. Around them, the rest of their team stands tall, their backs straightened in anticipation of the game. Wonwoo catches sight of Jihoon giving him a knowing look, and he looks away, refusing to let the heat rise to his face.

The rest of the team might know. Maybe they can already tell. Wonwoo’s surprised by how little it bothers him.

“I have you, don’t I?” Soonyoung says at last, and then he’s smiling at him, his lips curved so prettily that Wonwoo’s heart leaps to his throat. His smile feels like a promise. “I’m ready.”

And the whistle blows, and the game begins.