Archive of Our Own

As our daily lives goes by, our hearts concealed
One, two, three, take it easy for tomorrow
Write that down, it's not so difficult

***

The chill of the bathroom tile seeps through the thin fabric of Yunho’s pants, numbing the growing ache in his knees. At least it’s clean tile—meticulously scrubbed and sanitized by an army of facility staff ahead of a long day of pre-recordings—and this bathroom is much further away from the green rooms, almost hidden at the end of a long service corridor, so there’s little chance of interruption. The clock is still ticking down fast on their half hour break, though, so Yunho widens his jaw and takes more cock into his mouth, carefully letting it slip into his throat. 

“Fuck,” Choi Soobin whines above him, muffled by the hand he has clapped over his mouth. He’s also got his eyes squeezed shut and his face is contorted enough that it almost looks like he’s in pain. Except for the other hand pulling frantically on Yunho’s hair and the little twitches of his hips as he struggles not to fuck deeper into Yunho’s throat. 

He’s cute and so pretty and Yunho loves taking boys apart like this: reducing them to gasping, shivering messes even though he’s the one on his knees. He runs his hands up Soobin’s quivering thighs and over his stomach, pushing his gauzy shirt up to expose more skin at the same time he swallows around Soobin’s cock—thankful that he’s never had much of a gag reflex. He could take Soobin even further, probably, in spite of his size. Go all the way until his nose is touching the base and he’s finally choking, but it’s not a good idea to ruin his voice when they’re literally in the middle of a performance day.

So he pulls back instead, until he’s just got the head cradled in his mouth and he can dig his tongue into the slit, taste more of the tang of Soobin’s precome. 

Soobin whimpers into his palm. “‘M close. ‘M really close.” 

That didn’t take long. Yunho wonders how often Soobin has done this. Is he the first? He can’t imagine so—with Soobin’s looks and industry darling status. There must be plenty of people willing to get on their knees for him. 

“Good,” he says now, kissing down Soobin’s shaft. “You can come in my mouth.” 

“Oh,” Soobin hiccups. 

Yunho feels his lips quirk in a helpless, affectionate smile that he masks by wrapping them back around Soobin’s cock, which is honestly as pretty as his face. Choi Soobin won multiple genetic lotteries, that’s for sure. 

Soobin’s fingers twist in Yunho’s hair as Yunho redoubles his efforts, bobbing his head so Soobin can feel tongue and wet heat all the way down. He’s tempted to use a hand to speed things along, but he’s also got his pride and he’s sure that Soobin won’t need it. Soobin’s going to come just from Yunho’s mouth on him. He’s nearly there, making a continuous stream of noise now and finally moving his hips in tiny, desperate thrusts. 

He’s still so careful, even on the edge, and that’s sweet. Pings something a little strange in Yunho’s chest. 

When Soobin finally tips over that precipice, he curls in on himself, shoulders up by his ears and half-sobbing behind his hand. Yunho lets out a moan of his own at the come that floods his mouth, slips down his throat—bitter and perfect. He makes sure to swallow it all, then to lick Soobin’s softening cock clean before he sits back and wipes at his swollen lips.

Hongjoong is going to scold him, but the long line of Soobin’s body and throat as he tips his head back, chest heaving, is worth the impending lecture. Allowing a small gesture of tenderness in the aftermath, Yunho kisses Soobin’s stomach and hip, rubbing gently over his ribs. 

“You okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Soobin mumbles. “Super okay.” Another shuddering breath. “Wow.” 

Yunho laughs, pushing himself to his feet. His knees are stiff and he’s uncomfortably hard, but he still focuses on taking care of Soobin. He tucks Soobin’s dick back into his pants, then straightens his shirt and jacket in an attempt to get him looking somewhat presentable. 

By the time he’s done, Soobin has recovered enough to glance at Yunho’s obvious erection with a furrowed brow. “Do you want me to…?” 

He sounds nervous, uncertain, and that makes Yunho shake his head. “It’s fine. I can take care of it.” 

His plan is to wait for it to go away because as frustrating as it is not to get off, if he stains these stage pants it won’t just be Hongjoong that will kill him so it’s better to just avoid the mess of an orgasm. He can always steal some extra time in the shower tonight, since Soobin has given him plenty of fantasy material. 

“Are you sure?” Soobin asks again. His hair is a mess, but not as bad as Yunho’s. The stylists are still probably going to commit at least bodily harm. 

“I’m sure,” he promises, squeezing Soobin’s shoulder. 

It’s strange, being with someone the same height as him—maybe even a centimeter or two taller. He likes it, he thinks. Soobin would be easy to kiss, if kissing was appropriate for a quick bathroom hookup. 

“We should get back,” he says, shaking off the urge to lean in and fit his mouth over Soobin’s anyway. “Before managers come looking for us.” 

Soobin grimaces and nods. “Managers or members.” 

God, yeah. He can’t let Wooyoung find out about this. Wooyoung would blab to Yeonjun and that’s not something Yunho wants to deal with in the middle of a comeback, if ever. 

“Then we’ll hurry.” 

He shifts to open the bathroom stall but Soobin grabs his arm before he can unlatch it. 

“Thank you,” Soobin blurts. “That was … amazing, Yunho-ssi.” 

The praise makes Yunho feel warm and pulls his chest taut at the same time. “Soobin-ah,” he says, keeping his voice dry, playful. “I just sucked your dick. You can probably call me hyung.” 

Soobin chokes, ears and cheeks reddening, and Yunho grins at him. “Let me know if you want to do this again sometime.” Soobin has his KT info now and Yunho has long mastered the art of coded messages to keep managers from getting too suspicious.

“I will,” Soobin says, still blushing. “Hyung.” 

Yunho winks at him and slips out of the stall, stopping by the sink to rinse his mouth out and wrangle his hair from clearly just fucked to artfully messy. His erection is mostly gone and his makeup didn’t get too wrecked, fortunately. He feels buzzy, energy sparking through his nerves like a gathering lightning storm, and he’s going to channel it into the afternoon taping session, even though what he really wants to do is pin Soobin to the bathroom wall for a second round. 

But he’s a professional and also queer, both of which make him an expert at compartmentalizing. So he leaves Soobin and the bathroom behind without a backward glance. And when he gets back to the green room, he smiles at his manager, perfectly polite, and apologizes for taking so long—he had to find a bathroom further away so he didn’t interfere with any other groups. The lie falls easily off his tongue and his manager just shakes his head, meaning that he’s in the clear. 

Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and Jongho all peer at him suspiciously but no one lectures or pushes him. It helps that several other members of his own group understand the rules of this game they all have to play. Know that if you want to be intimate with another boy, you do it privately, quietly, and you lie about it after. 

When they briefly see TXT at the end of the day, Yeonjun waves to Wooyoung but Soobin doesn’t glance at them, and good. 

That means Soobin understands too. 

***

Really, if you think about it, sucking Choi Soobin off in an Inkigayo bathroom is mostly Wooyoung’s fault. Because Wooyoung has … something going on with Yeonjun and that thread has expanded to connect their two groups as a whole. Which means that they’re often put together on encore stages whenever their comebacks align or during end-of-the-year award shows. Which means that Soobin and Yunho often end up together because they’re the same height and have to stand in the back so they don’t block everyone else. Which means that Yunho’s been aware of Soobin for a long time—learned that Soobin has dimples and a charming smile, and is polite but unafraid of threatening his own group with bodily harm if they don’t listen to him. Yunho’s always found him cute, attractive, but he wasn’t planning on doing anything about it. 

Until Inkigayo and Soobin tapping him on the shoulder during a break between pre-recording sessions with an unnaturally serious expression on his face. 

“Can I get your opinion as an objective third party?” Soobin asks. His tone sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

“About what?” Yunho asks warily. 

Soobin brandishes his phone. It’s open to his photo gallery and a multitude of selcas. “Which ones of these are sexy?” 

Yunho would be thrown off by the request, but it’s one he’s gotten from San at least once a week for years so he just accepts the phone and scrolls through the selcas, assessing. 

“These ones,” he decides after a minute, highlighting a handful where Soobin’s got his hair parted and is posing in a way that shows off his body proportions instead of a close up on his face making cute expressions. “Especially this one.” 

Soobin in a white sweatshirt, sprawled in a chair with his lips parted and his eyes hooded. 

“Thank you,” Soobin says, taking the phone back. “I’m going to post these.” He still sounds angry and it’s none of Yunho’s business, but. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Soobin sighs. “Just Beomgyu being dumb. He insists that I’m not capable of being sexy and I know he’s mostly joking but when you’re in a group with Choi Yeonjun….” He huffs. “Sorry, it’s stupid.” 

It’s not. Yunho gets it. He’s in a group with Choi San. And Jung Wooyoung. And Park Seonghwa, who doesn’t even fully understand what his face and body does to people, no matter how many times they try to tell him. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Yunho says to Soobin. “You’re hot, Soobin-ssi.” 

Soobin blinks at him, bemused. Has no one called him hot before? That seems absurd. 

“T-thanks,” Soobin stammers, like he doesn’t believe Yunho, and that’s a tragedy. 

Yunho leans a little closer, lowering his voice. “Want me to prove it to you?” 

Now this is stupid. Reckless in a way that he doesn’t usually allow himself to be. Choi Soobin is not in his carefully established network of idols who are safe— who won’t get offended by advances from another guy and know how to keep a secret, how to protect each other. But Yeonjun is in that network, which makes Yunho think there is a good chance that Soobin is too. Or at the very least, will just reject him instead of retaliating. And Soobin is attractive—Yunho would be lying if he tried to insist that he’s never thought about the prospect of hooking up with Soobin, getting to see what he looks like coming undone at the seams. 

It’s just sex and sex is fine as long as they’re careful. It’s relationships that are always more dangerous, more discouraged. 

“Prove it?” Soobin asks now—wide-eyed, still clutching his phone full of unposted, sexy selfies. 

Yunho smirks. “That I think you’re hot.” 

“Oh,” Soobin says, but it’s an intrigued oh, not a disgusted oh. “How?” 

“There’s a bathroom on the other end of the studio,” Yunho whispers. “No one uses it.” 

Soobin’s eyebrows disappear beneath his black bangs. He hesitates long enough that Yunho starts to withdraw. “Hey, no pressure, though—” 

“You should show me,” Soobin cuts him off, then winces and dips his head in apology. “Please show me, Yunho-ssi.” 

Five minutes later, Yunho is unbuckling Soobin’s pants in a bathroom stall as he sinks to his knees and Soobin gasps “oh shit” like he still can’t quite believe that Yunho is going to give him a blowjob, that any of this is actually happening. 

And that makes Yunho’s chest ache in a way that he doesn’t like so he rubs soothing hands over Soobin’s thighs and says “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Just stay quiet, okay?” 

“Okay,” Soobin whispers, eyes still huge in his cute face. Yunho’s determined to make this so good for him. 

And see? It’s definitely Wooyoung’s fault. 

*** 

Their schedules keep aligning. On Music Bank, Yunho presses up against Soobin in a storage closet—surrounded by old camera equipment and too many wires—with his hands down Soobin’s pants and Soobin gasping into the hot skin of his neck. 

At least this time, they’ve managed to sneak away before getting fully into stage outfits so Yunho is less worried about potential mess. On the downside, there is no room in this tiny closet to do much beyond handjobs, but they fit together well, Yunho thinks—the perfect height to grind against each other. 

Soobin fumbles at the drawstrings of Yunho’s sweatpants, tugging until they come undone and Soobin can worm a hand beneath Yunho’s waistband. He immediately pushes down Yunho’s underwear and Yunho swallows a moan at the rough feel of Soobin’s fingers wrapping around his cock. It’s a little too dry, a little uncomfortable, but Soobin matches Yunho’s rhythm quickly so they’re jerking each other off at the same pace. 

Yunho mouths at Soobin’s shoulder and neck, careful not to leave any marks, and Soobin thunks his head back against a shelf full of lenses when he gets close—hips bucking into Yunho’s hand and teeth sunk into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. He doesn’t stop touching Yunho, though, and when the pads of his fingers rub the perfect spot right under Yunho’s cockhead, it’s Yunho who has to hiccup “coming” first, giving Soobin just enough time to move his hand away and let Yunho spill into his underwear. 

Yunho noses at Soobin’s cheek, trying to get his breath back and get Soobin off, too, in spite of the hazy afterglow of orgasm. He picks up the speed of his strokes again and Soobin whines through his teeth right before he comes—fingers digging into Yunho’s back hard enough to bruise. 

“Fuck,” Soobin whispers into the sudden quiet. It’s too dark to see more than the vague outline of his features, impossible to read whatever expression might be on his face. 

“Good?” Yunho asks for clarification. 

“Yeah,” Soobin says, more a contented sigh. “Really good.” A pause. “I’m setting such a bad example as a leader.” 

Yunho snorts. “You’ve got Yeonjun in your group, and he’s sleeping with at least three people on a regular basis.” 

“Wait three?” Soobin says, sounding surprised. “I knew about Wooyoungand Changbin but there’s someone else now?” 

According to Yunho’s network, which is pretty reliable, Dino from Seventeen might also be in the rotation as of a few months ago, but that’s Yeonjun’s secret to tell. 

“Rumored to be,” Yunho says, keeping it vague. And Soobin doesn’t press him. Yunho squeezes his waist in both thanks and reassurance. “So I think you’re fine.” 

“‘M really not,” Soobin argues, but he’s still touching Yunho, tracing idle patterns on his hips. “I’m the leader. I shouldn’t be promoting storage closet hookups in the middle of a comeback.” 

“I don’t see why not.” Yunho slides a teasing hand between Soobin’s legs. Soobin makes a cute noise of half-protest, half-encouragement. “They’re great stress relief.” 

“And potentially career ending.” Soobin’s trying to sound serious but he’s also rocking his hips into Yunho’s hand. 

“Well, this doesn’t have to happen again if you’re not okay with it,” Yunho points out, ignoring the sharp prick of disappointment in his chest. There are plenty of other people in their industry to indulge with (not that he really does this often). 

“But I want it to happen again,” Soobin whines. “That’s the problem.” 

Yunho stifles a laugh. “Then just don’t tell anyone and it’ll be fine.” He nips at Soobin’s ear and takes his hand away since they unfortunately don’t have time for round two. “I promise. We all look out for each other, yeah?” 

“We?” Soobin asks, which makes Yunho privately question his experience again. 

“Boys who like boys,” he says. “Girls who like girls. Other idols like us. Trust me, we are far from the first people who have hooked up in this storage closet.” 

“Oh.” Soobin swallows. “Right.” He seems a little calmer now, like he’s found his equilibrium again. He pats Yunho’s shoulder, leaning in close,  and Yunho can just make out the flirtatious shape of his smile. “Until next time, then, hyung.” 

This time, he’s the one who leaves Yunho behind—consumed in a flash of light as he opens the door and vanishes into the fluorescent-bright hallway.

Alone in the dark, Yunho rests his head against one of the cool metal shelves and closes his eyes. 

*** 

It was San who discovered Yunho’s sexuality first, when there were only four of them at KQ and they were lean, ambition-hungry teenagers. When the stress got to be too much and Yunho snuck out of the dorm to meet a boy from Jack’d at a bar that he definitely wasn’t legally allowed to be in. When he snuck back in at three in the morning and ran right into San on the couch, curled up in a tiny ball and obviously waiting for him. 

He stopped on the threshold between the hallway and the living room, feeling too exposed even in the dim light. He didn’t know San well, back then. They were still learning the shape of each other, determining if they would all be able to fit together into a coherent whole. He couldn’t read the expression on San’s face as San stared at him. 

“Did you have fun?” San asked, voice whisper-soft to avoid waking Hongjoong and Mingi asleep in the bedroom less than a meter away. 

“Yes,” Yunho replied. 

It was fun. The boy was three years older and good with his mouth. He’d taken Yunho to a private room and pushed him against the wall with commanding hands, even though he was smaller. Yunho liked submitting to him—it was exactly the mind-emptying stress relief that he’d been seeking. 

San stayed quiet for several tense breaths. Then: “was it a guy?” 

Yunho sucked air in through gritted teeth, shoulders hunching, mind racing because how did San know? Not even Mingi knew and they were in their fourth year of friendship. The fact that he preferred boys, might only like boys, was something Yunho kept buried deep. It was for clandestine meetings and fleeting moments. Even in high school, he knew that he could kiss boys if he was careful about it but he couldn’t love them—not if he wanted to have a career. 

And he was careful. He’d always been so careful. He planned this outing for weeks before going through with it, making absolutely sure no managers were going to catch him. 

But there was Choi San, somehow looking right through him. 

San licked his lips, unfurled from his ball. “Because I would want it to be a guy,” he admitted, sharp. Like he was daring Yunho to fight him about this. “If I was going out.” 

Oh. Oh. 

Yunho deflated. San was … the same as him? He didn’t think there would be another trainee in the same boat, especially at their tiny company. 

“It was a boy,” he said. “It’s always a boy.” 

San smiled at him, then—an awful, tender thing. And Yunho had to cross their tiny living room so that he could press his forehead to San’s in the dark. It was more openly affectionate than they’d ever been with each other at that point, though San was a touchy, cuddly person by nature. Their walls hadn’t come down far enough, but in that moment, Yunho could picture them as rubble around their feet. 

San gripped the back of his shirt, holding him close. “It’s safe with me,” he said and clearly meant you’re safe with me. 

And that was when Yunho knew they would be okay. Whatever happened, whatever fights they might get into, however long it might take them to debut—in their cherished, hidden places they were the same, him and San. And that meant they weren’t alone. 

“You too,” Yunho said, firmly. A promise. “Safe with me.” 

***

Their respective comebacks end but Soobin starts messaging him. It’s a trickle at first—a funny meme one week, a silly selca a couple days after that: Soobin with a ridiculous Snow filter on that gives him bunny ears and makes his eyes comically huge. Yunho always replies, even if all he usually manages is a string of ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ. Sometimes, he sends his own silly pictures—his face on a picture of a dog, a video of him goofing around in the studio. 

It’s stupid, feeding this weird feeling in his chest, letting this head towards a friendship when it could so easily veer off into territory he’s not allowed to enter. 

But Soobin is cute and funny and easy to talk to. Yunho (along with most of the industry, he suspects) has no idea how to say no to him. Gradually, the trickle turns into a flood, into talking almost every day—good morning and good night, what they had for lunch, games that they’re currently playing, stupid selcas taken in dorm rooms too late at night, when everything is blurred at the edges. 

Sometimes I wish I could just be a hedgehog, Soobin texts at 7 a.m., accompanied by a picture of Odi, and terrorize whatever human decides to take care of me. 

If I’m this tired at 22, I think I’m going to be dead by 40,  Soobin texts at 10 p.m., free after an eight hour practice session and looking like a ghost in the selca he sends. 

Have you ever been in love with a boy? Soobin texts at 2 a.m. when he should be asleep. 

No, Yunho texts back—also far too awake for the late hour, sitting on the floor of one of KQ’s smaller practice rooms with his sweat-soaked clothes sticking to his skin and the air too thin in his lungs. He can’t seem to get his breath back. Never. 

He’s come to the edge plenty of times: a classmate in eighth grade who always bought him snacks after school, just to be nice; a senior at his dance academy who constantly pushed him to be better, but never held back with his praise—suave and older and everything Yunho wanted to be;  Mingi, for the first couple months of their friendship, when the spark of connection was new and electric. 

But he’s never let himself actually fall from the precipice. He always forces his heart back to safe ground and the crushes, the could-have-beens, eventually fade into oblivion, like they need to. 

Soobin doesn’t respond and Yunho has no idea if he provided the answer that Soobin was looking for. Have you? He doesn’t text back. 

Some things he’s better off not knowing. 

***

I’m free tonight, Soobin texts him on a Friday evening. Are you? 

Yunho is currently halfway through a second cup of Shin Ramyun with his phone balanced precariously on his knees, trying to watch a drama that Seonghwa said was good but so far has been mostly boring. Soobin’s message interrupts the male lead’s overly dramatic speech about “the trials of life” and Yunho nearly chokes on a mouthful of ramyun when the loud notification ding echoes through the room. 

He is free tonight, it so happens, but he still does his usual mental calculations. None of the managers are around—busy babysitting members on individual schedules. The only other person in the dorm right now is Yeosang, who vanished into his room hours ago and is probably engrossed in a game or asleep. No one else is supposed to be back for at least three to four hours. 

Yeah, he replies to Soobin with one hand. 

Soobin texts him an address in Yongsan, a love motel. Yunho snorts and finishes off his ramyun, replying: I’ll be there in an hour. 

He’s been to love motels before, but not for at least two years. Bars and clubs started to feel easier and with love motels it was like spinning a roulette wheel—will you get creepy, health-hazard, tacky, or normal? 

He shrugs on a dark jacket even though it’s the tail end of summer and the air outside is still heavy and sticky. He doesn’t think he’s really famous enough to get noticed, but better to be safe rather than sorry so he also grabs a face mask and baseball cap. Out in the hall, he pauses between the door to his room and Wooyoung and Yeosang’s, listening to the sounds of a game and Yeosang’s annoyed noises.

Going out, he texts, knowing Yeosang won’t look at his phone for at least the next hour. Back in a few hours. I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow. 

Which is long-established code for: cover for me? 

Like clockwork, his phone pings almost an hour later, just as he’s approaching the inconspicuous front door of the love motel—tucked away on a quiet Yongsan street that’s still surrounded peripherally by bustling nightlife. He can hear laughter and foreign pop music rising above the noise of traffic, filtering out from the open doors of bars or noraebangs. 

Yeosang’s reply is a thumbs up, a grinning face, and a bowl of soup. So Yunho’s covered. 

Now he just hopes that this love motel isn’t themed. 

“In my defense,” Soobin says five minutes later, as they stand side by side in one of the most hideous rooms Yunho has ever set foot in, “it did not say it was themed anywhere on the internet.”

“Are you sure?” Yunho asks. “I feel like it would be hard to miss…this.” 

He gestures weakly to the jungle wallpaper that includes two giant frogs that are a) three dimensional, which is horrifying on its own but also b) look like something out of a child’s nightmare. The bed frame is a fucking leaf. The ceiling inexplicably has hot pink lighting. There are condoms and lube on the bedside table, and that’s honestly somehow making this worse. 

“It didn’t mention this!” Soobin insists. “Anywhere!” 

“I’m not sure I can have sex in here,” Yunho says. He’s had sex in a lot of places—bathrooms, storage closets, private rooms in clubs, the back of a car, a noraebang once with Amor Fati playing in the background, which isn’t an experience he wants to repeat—but he’s going to draw the line at frogs and a plastic leaf bed. Even he has limits and this is hitting all of them. 

“We could turn the lights off?” Soobin tries, optimistic in spite of the grimace on his face. 

“I’ll know that they’re still staring at me,” Yunho says, half convinced that the frogs’ eyes are moving to track him as he crosses the room. “I can’t do it. I also think we’re both way too tall for this bed.” He kicks it with one socked foot. It makes a worrying hollow sound, which makes him wonder if it would even support their weight, let alone their height. 

Soobin sighs, deflating. “Sorry, hyung.” 

Yunho softens. He’s more amused than mad, anyway. This is objectively hilarious. He wants to take pictures and send them to the group chat just to hear Wooyoung scream, except that he never talks to any of the members about his hookups. 

“I saw another motel up the street on my way here,” he offers. “We could try that one?” 

Soobin perks back up. “Okay.” 

Love motel number two has an extremely weird bathroom situation—the toilet set behind see-through glass and a bathtub just kind of sitting next to the bed half in the middle of the room—but is not otherwise themed, thank god. They checked in via a kiosk and didn’t even have to deal with a staff member potentially recognizing them, so Yunho thinks their luck has turned around. 

“Come here,” he says, reeling Soobin in by the front of his baggy t-shirt. 

Soobin comes willingly, grinning at the easy way Yunho manhandles him. 

“You’re so tall,” Yunho says and Soobin laughs. 

“We’re the same height, hyung.” 

“Yeah, it’s weird.” He takes some of the sting out of his words by removing Soobin’s baseball cap and untucking his shirt from his waistband so that he can touch Soobin’s stomach and hips where he feels a little softer, a little more delicate. “I’m used to guys being smaller.” 

Not always by a lot. But definitely smaller. Soobin is like a tree—towering but narrow, all wiry limbs. Yunho likes it. 

“Me too,” Soobin says. “Though Huening is going to surpass me eventually.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Let’s stop talking about this, though. I don’t want to think about my members right now.” 

Yunho has to agree. “What do you want?” he asks, since time is limited. They only have about an hour, maybe two, before they have to head back to their respective dorms. 

Soobin licks his lips. “I want to suck your dick,” he says, shockingly brazen. “I’ve been thinking about it.” 

Heat flares in Yunho’s stomach in response. “Well,” he says, “I’m not going to object to that.” 

He lets Soobin take off his shirt, lets Soobin push him to sit on the end of the bed while Soobin sinks to his knees, lets Soobin undo the buttons on his jeans and pull the zipper down—loud in the hush that’s descended over the room. He lifts his hips so that Soobin can tug the pants down until they’re pooling around his ankles. That feels a little too undignified so he just kicks them off completely, discarding them out of the way and spreading his legs for Soobin to fit between them. 

“Wait,” he says when Soobin’s fingers curl in the waistband of his underwear. “Take off your shirt. And your pants.” 

He hasn’t gotten to see much of Soobin before—no time for them to undress in storage closets or bathrooms—and he wants to take the opportunity to indulge a little. Soobin blinks, like he’s surprised by the request, but then obediently tugs his shirt over his head, revealing a pale chest and arms defined by ropy, lean muscle. He stands to take his pants off, leaving him in just a pair of boxers, and Yunho admires the lines of his body just like the first time in the bathroom—from his throat to his legs that might even be longer than Yunho’s own. 

He looks even better with all his smooth skin on display, and the tips of his ears are clearly turning red. 

“You’re staring,” he says. 

Yunho hums. “Of course I am.” He reaches out to run a hand up Soobin’s thigh. “Bet you get stared at all the time, you should be used to it, right?” 

Soobin does that blink again—the unsure one. But he gets back on his knees before Yunho can decide if he wants to question what it means. 

“You probably get stared at more,” he says, also touching Yunho’s thighs. “Look at you.” 

Yunho laughs to mask his own blush at the praise. Objectively, he knows that he’s handsome—he turned heads even in high school, though that might have also been his height—but it always means more to hear it from someone he thinks is attractive, settles sparking just beneath his skin. Soobin smiles up at him, then urges him to lift his hips with an impatient nudge. 

Right, they really don’t have time for foreplay. 

Yunho obliges, shuddering as Soobin gets a hand around his cock as soon as his underwear is out of the way. He runs his fingers over the head, a maddening pattern, then licks his own palm to get it wet, which maybe shouldn’t be as hot as it is to Yunho—more of that electricity down his spine. He grunts when Soobin starts to stroke him fast, with purpose. No more teasing now. At this pace, it doesn’t take Yunho long to get fully hard. He braces his palms against the too-soft mattress, thighs flexing, as the hot coil in his belly draws tighter and tighter. Until Soobin stops the rhythm of his hand and fits his mouth over Yunho’s cock instead. 

“Fuck,” Yunho rasps at the feel of Soobin’s tongue. 

But Soobin goes too fast, takes too much, and Yunho cradles his head in alarm when he chokes on his next breath. 

“Easy, easy.” He draws Soobin up. Soobin coughs, cheeks red with humiliation. “It’s okay,” Yunho soothes. His first time (is this Soobin’s first time?) went much the same, except it was in an abandoned classroom at his high school and the senior he was trying to suck off wasn’t quite as kind. “Take it slow, yeah?” 

Soobin nods—not quite meeting his eyes—and leans back in. He listens to Yunho’s advice, at least. Doesn’t try to take too much, focusing on the head and the frenulum. If this is his first time, he’s a fast learner and fuck he looks good like this: all rumpled, spit leaking at the corners of his mouth, eyes tearing up when he finally slides down further, pushing his limits again. He’s uncoordinated, a little sloppy, but so eager that it’s flattering.  

The weird tightness returns to Yunho’s chest. He tries not to focus on it.

“That’s good,” he breathes to Soobin, because he suspects that Soobin likes praise, likes being told that he’s doing well. They have that in common. “You’re doing so good.” 

Soobin whines—a desperate, vulnerable sound—and stretches his lips wider, sinks down another few centimeters. Someday, he would probably let Yunho fuck his throat and isn’t that a mental image? 

Yunho would definitely let Soobin do the same to him, if that’s something Soobin wanted. 

Soobin comes up for air, letting Yunho’s wet cock slip from his mouth. There’s spit and precome down to his chin, messy and perfect, and he doesn’t bother to wipe any of it away before he resumes his earlier pace—this time using his hand where his mouth can’t reach. Yunho moans, stomach clenching. It’s an effort to keep himself still, let Soobin stay in control. He curls his fingers into the blankets beneath him, dropping helplessly onto his elbows as the heat in his gut coils tighter, heavy and all-consuming. 

“Soobin-ah,” he groans. “‘M gonna come.” 

He’s expecting Soobin to pull off, finish with just his hand, but Soobin is ambitious and he doesn’t move. He’s going to let Yunho come in his mouth. 

Fuck. 

Yunho can’t resist touching Soobin’s hair and the back of his neck as Soobin runs his tongue over Yunho’s cockhead, down to that bundle of nerves again. It’s the final push that he needs and he moans a little too loud as he arches his back, coming down Soobin’s throat.

Soobin hiccups, chokes a little as he tries to swallow, and Yunho pushes up into a sitting position so that he can properly cup Soobin’s face. Normally hookups don’t come with quite this much tenderness, but a part of him remains determined to take care of this boy. 

“Look at you,” he says, letting Soobin hear the reverence in his voice. “So good for me.” He wipes Soobin’s wet mouth and chin with the corner of the blanket, silently apologizing to the cleaning staff. 

Soobin shivers at the praise. Sucks in another heavy, steadying breath. “Thank you. Come tastes disgusting,” he croaks, managing to sound imperious about it, and Yunho laughs. 

“You get used to it.” 

(Is this his first time?) 

Soobin grimaces, dubious, and Yunho gets him off his knees and onto the bed, pushing his underwear down. He’s hard, leaking—all wet just from sucking Yunho’s dick and god, that’s hot. He moans when Yunho gets a hand on him, when Yunho whispers “look how wet you are for me” right in his ear. 

“I’m really close,” Soobin gasps. “I really like giving blowjobs, apparently. And you’re really hot when you come.” 

(Is this your first? Am I your first?) 

“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho asks, glowing from the praise. 

Soobin nods frantically. “Yes, yes, yes.” 

He wasn’t lying about being close. Yunho barely has time to get his mouth around the head of his cock before Soobin’s coming with a half-shout, spilling onto Yunho’s tongue.

“Sorry,” Soobin gasps once he’s sagged back against the mattress—spent and loose-limbed. “Sorry, hyung.” 

Yunho flops down next to him, running a palm over his still-heaving stomach. “It’s okay. I like it.” That makes Soobin give him a look he can’t decipher. Is that awe? Want? Disbelief? Yunho supposes that he doesn’t seem like someone who would enjoy letting a boy come down his throat—usually his hookup partners expect him to be more dominant, just based on his appearance. Maybe Soobin thought the Inkigayo bathroom was a one off. 

“What time is it?” he asks instead of trying to decode Soobin’s expression or how he feels about it. 

Soobin pushes up on one elbow to peer at the bedside clock. “10:46 p.m.” 

Yunho sighs. “We should head back.” 

Soobin sighs, as well, throwing an arm over his face. “I’d rather stay and make use of the weirdly giant bathtub.” 

It is huge, taking up a good third of this room, and Yunho loves baths. But he’d prefer not to get a lecture from a manager or, even worse, Hongjoong, for sneaking out. 

“Next time,” he says, patting Soobin’s stomach. Then realizes the assumption he just made and winces. 

But Soobin grins at him—easy, flirtatious. “Sure, hyung,” he says. “Next time.” 

On the train ride home, after cleaning up as best as he could, Yunho still tries to get his head on straight. There is no guarantee of a next time. Their schedules are chaotic—rarely has Yunho ever had a steady hookup mostly because of that. 

There’s no guarantee that this will happen again. Which is for the best, he tells himself. Maybe then this strange band across his lungs will dissipate. 

*** 

One year after their debut, San crawled into Yunho’s bed in the middle of the night and curled around him like a sad koala. 

“I think I’m in love with Wooyoung,” he whispered into Yunho’s chest. 

Yunho closed his eyes, rubbing San’s back, and thought: of course. It was obvious, if he stopped to examine it—the lines of fanservice and skinship blurring into something real, something with weight, something impossible. 

“Oh, Sannie,” he murmured and heard San sniffle. 

“It’s stupid,” San said, trying to sound strong in spite of the tears Yunho could feel starting to wet his sleep shirt. 

It isn’t, Yunho wanted to tell him. Because love shouldn’t be stupid. Because they should be allowed it and it shouldn’t matter who the other person was—if they were another idol; if they were an old friend; if they were the same gender. 

But that wasn’t the world they lived in. 

“Does Wooyoung know?” Yunho asked, still making soothing circles on San’s back. 

“I don’t think so,” San replied. “I hope not. He’d never let me live it down.” 

Yunho had seen the way that Wooyoung looked at San when he thought San wouldn't notice and doubted that teasing would be his reaction. He kept that to himself, gathering San closer, as though he could somehow use his bigger frame to shield San from the disappointment and the heartbreak. 

“It’ll get better,” he said—pathetic comfort. 

“Yeah,” San said. “I’ll get over it eventually.” He hiccuped sadly. “I just wanted someone else to know.” 

And Yunho was safe. 

Yunho pressed a lingering kiss to San’s hair in the dark—reassurance and apology in equal measure. It wasn’t fair that they could pretend on a stage, that they could make a grand performance of flirtation and touch, and people would eat it up, demand more, more, more . But if it ever became real? If there were actual feelings behind the games, behind that intricate dance of push and pull, and they ruined the carefully-managed fantasy? They and their careers would be burned at the metaphorical stake. 

Sinners. Abominations. Traitors. 

“I’m here,” he promised San—the only other comfort he could offer. “I’ve got you.” 

San cried until he fell asleep. Until Yunho’s shirt was soaked all through the shoulder and Yunho’s own eyes were wet, blurring his view of the ceiling. 

But the next day, San put his hands on Wooyoung’s waist during their music show performance, as playful as always, and Wooyoung cackled and drew San in by the shoulders, mouth hovering just above San’s neck—the perfect tease. 

The game continuing. 

***

It happens with Soobin again: in a private room at a trendy bar—patterned wood digging into Yunho’s back; Soobin’s hands wringing an orgasm from him and then pushing him even further, until he’s shaking with overstimulation. 

And again: at another love motel in Itaewon—Soobin’s teeth scraping his shoulder; Soobin’s hips rocking against his own and their cocks sliding together in Yunho’s fist, drawing the prettiest noises from Soobin’s red mouth. 

And again: tucked away in an isolated corner of a sprawling park—chest to chest and hands down each other’s pants; Soobin cackling when they nearly trip and a branch smacks Yunho’s face; Yunho’s nose pressed to Soobin’s cheek and Soobin’s arm around his shoulders, trying to stay balanced on the slight incline and still get each other off. 

Again and again and again—until Yunho looks back and realizes they’ve been hooking up regularly for three months and talking every day. Soobin calls him just to get his opinion on what sandwich he should choose for lunch. He stops in the middle of looking for a show to watch to message Soobin about a new anime that came up on his homepage, because he knows that Soobin will like it.

(And when Soobin keeps texting him reactions to said anime, he calls just so they can laugh together—just to hear Soobin giggle down the line and say in that dry, sarcastic tone of his that the plot could really use some work, but he’s watching for the characters. Yunho pokes fun at the stuffy quality of his voice, the signs that he’s been crying, and Soobin hangs up on him. 

Only to call back thirty second later, sputtering apologies for his rude behavior, which makes Yunho laugh harder. )

Soobin is easy to talk to, easy to touch, easy to like. It’s fun to peel back the layers of charming, polite idol to the scathing sarcasm that he’s capable of when he’s comfortable enough. It’s fun to sneak away and meet up with the same person each time, getting time to map out another body until he knows how to efficiently unravel Soobin at the seams. 

(Soobin likes marks on his thighs, likes to be held down, likes when Yunho gives him orders. Soobin likes praise, likes how easily Yunho will get on his knees, likes being taken care of after. And Soobin always stares at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, like he’s peeling back Yunho’s layers too—one by one to the bloody sinew underneath.) 

Warning bells clang in Yunho’s head, shrieking danger, danger, danger, but he ignores them like an idiot. 

It’s stress relief, he tells himself. It’s casual. It’s sex. It’s friendship. 

It can’t be anything else. 

***

I have the day off tomorrow, Soobin texts him on a Sunday evening. It’s Autumn now—the leaves dying, the weather turning colder—and both of their latest comebacks are a few weeks behind them, leaving them exhausted from the usual frenetic promotional run. They haven’t seen each other in close to a month, which is just long enough for Yunho to start to miss their clandestine rendezvouses. 

(And then shove that ache deep inside of himself where it can die in the dark like it should.)

He pulls up their schedule on his phone and realizes that by some miracle, tomorrow is blank. No practices, photoshoots, filmings, recordings—just glorious empty space for the entire day. 

Me too, he texts back with a rush of elation that he also refuses to examine. 

Do you want to get somewhere overnight? Soobin asks. A proper hotel? 

Yunho gnaws at his lip, considering this. Of course he wants to say yes, but he’s never spent a whole night with anyone. And even on a day off, managers are going to want to know his whereabouts. This would be harder to hide, harder to lie about. It might cross that invisible line that Yunho has been toeing since his trainee days, and what if they stop looking the other way? 

Okay, he texts back before he can overthink it.

Soobin replies with an excited bunny sticker and: I’ll book it. 

Considering your track record, shouldn’t I be the one to make a reservation somewhere? 

A series of frowning faces and: that was one time, hyung. 

And I will never let you live it down.

Soobin calls him, just to say “fuck you” with laughter in his voice. 

Yunho slaps a dramatic hand over his heart, gasping in mock offense. “Where did all your respect go? You were so polite at the beginning.” 

“Pretty sure it disappeared after the time you got us lost in Namsan Park,” Soobin says dryly. 

“We were only lost for ten minutes,” Yunho argues. “At the most.” 

“It was at least half an hour and you made me climb three hills in the wrong direction.” 

“The orgasms were good though,” Yunho tries, biting his lip to keep from laughing. 

“Not climbing-three-hills good,” Soobin says, but Yunho can tell he’s lying. There is too much warmth lurking beneath the sarcasm. 

(Danger, danger, danger.)

“Fine,” Yunho surrenders. “You can book the hotel. Get us somewhere nice.” 

He means it to be more teasing, but Soobin sounds sincere when he says, “I will.” 

They hang up without really saying goodbye and fifteen minutes later, Soobin sends him an address: a boutique hotel not far from KQ’s headquarters. Yunho could probably walk to it from the company building and he almost tells Soobin to pick somewhere else, this is too close. The pictures are nice, though, and the rooms look good. It’s not a flashy, bustling place like you’d find closer to HYBE and the heart of Yongsan-gu, which is maybe safer. 

Looks good, he replies. I’ll be there in an hour. 

Soobin sends him back a thumbs up and an eggplant emoji because he’s ridiculous and embarrassing. Yunho packs a change of clothes and his toothbrush into an overnight bag—uncharacteristic nerves buzzing under his skin. He’s never spent a night with a boy he was also fucking. A boy who makes all of this too easy. 

“Where are you going?” The voice startles him in the middle of shoving his phone charger into the bag and he jerks his head up to meet San’s inquisitive gaze. Oh thank god it was San and not one of the hyungs, who would ask too many questions, or Wooyoung, who would tease him into next year, or Mingi, who would probably get sulky. 

“Out,” he says. “I’ll be back in the morning.” 

San’s eyebrows go up. “Out with someone?” 

“Not like that,” Yunho says, zipping his bag closed. “It’s casual.” 

“But you’re staying overnight?” San presses, and it sounds like the opening salvo of an impending interrogation. 

Yunho takes a steadying breath. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this?” He doesn’t want a fight, especially not with San. 

San frowns, disapproving. “Fine,” he says. Perhaps because he’s remembering all the secrets Yunho has kept for him over the last four plus years, including the love for Wooyoung that definitely is still going strong, in spite of San’s best efforts to kill it. 

“But you’d better be back at a decent time tomorrow. I’m not covering for you all day. You know how bad at lying I am.” 

We’re both great liars when we have to be, Yunho thinks darkly. When it’s not for a variety show, when it’s not pretend, when they have real skin in it. 

“Fine,” he agrees as he shoulders the bag and fixes a baseball cap over his head. “Thank you.” 

“You’re buying me lunch tomorrow too,” San adds.

Yunho was expecting that. Food is always the first favor-repayment option. “Deal.” 

“And I can order whatever I want.” 

“Yes.” Yunho waves an impatient hand. “Can I go now?” 

San kicks him in the shin. “Have fun. Be safe.” 

“Yes, Seonghwa hyung,” Yunho says with both an eye roll and a grateful squeeze to San’s shoulder. 

He does end up walking to the hotel to avoid the hassle of a bus or taxi and let the cool air revive him, chasing away the hazy remnants of a lazy day spent at the dorms sleeping in far too late. Soobin made the reservation under a fake name, which Yunho rattles off to the uniformed front desk staff. They check him in without question, handing him a shiny keycard and letting him know that the other member of his party has already arrived. 

Yunho bows in thanks. What do they think of him and Soobin, he wonders? Is it obvious what they’re here for—a metaphorical sign blinking above their heads? Maybe they could be old friends meeting up for a weekend in the city. Maybe they’re regular employees attending a business conference and bemoaning the fact that their company only paid for a single room. 

Realistically, the staff probably aren’t thinking anything. He and Soobin are just two customers in a long daily stream—faces barely registering—so he tries to shake off this uncharacteristic paranoia as he steps into the elevator and presses the button for the fifth floor. He’s never been one to overthink things, to get lost in his own head the way that Mingi and sometimes Wooyoung are prone to do. This just feels like blowing past so many of his long-established boundaries, and he’s never been prone to recklessness of this magnitude, either. 

(Danger, danger, danger, the alarms whisper.) 

Soobin is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the lone bed when Yunho unlocks the door to room 508, dressed in jeans and one of those baggy sweaters he seems to like with his hair still damp from a shower. His welcoming smile scrunches up his nose and eyes. 

“Yunho hyung,” he says, bright. “You made it.” 

“I made it,” Yunho says, toeing off his shoes and tossing his cap and mask on a nearby chair. He dumps his bag next to it on the floor and approaches the bed. Rather than sit, he lets himself fall on top of Soobin like a dead weight, sending Soobin toppling backwards with a startled grunt. 

“You’re heavy,” Soobin wheezes as Yunho settles in. 

“I’m not. Yeosang can bench press me.” 

“I’ve seen Yeosang’s arms.” Soobin pokes him hard in the shoulder. “That’s not the defense you think it is.” 

Yunho laughs, muffled against Soobin’s neck, and rolls off of him. The walls in this room are all patterned wood paneling, to match the starburst designs laid into the tiled floor. Both contain soothing shades of dark blue, nearly the same hue as the blanket of twilight slowly draping over the city outside. A clock ticks in a steady rhythm on one wall, a large TV takes up most of another. 

It’s weird to have time. To be able to stretch this out instead of jumping right to the main event. 

Yunho’s not sure what to do with himself and the uncertainty only grows when Soobin sits up with a nervous expression on his face. “I, um, thought we could try something new?” He twists to grab his bag, sitting near the pillows, and produces lube and condoms. 

Oh. Oh. 

Heat and nerves thrum together in Yunho’s gut—an extended bass note. It’s been years since he’s done this with someone. Usually, it’s not worth the required time and effort. 

“Ah,” he says, internally wincing at the inadequate response. “You want to fuck me?” 

He’d like that, he thinks. Soobin would probably fuck him well and he’s missed it. The last person was a trainee at a different company he would meet up with early on weekend mornings, who held him against the wall of a convenience store bathroom and pressed inside so deep that Yunho had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. He ended up with little indents in his cheek that Mingi and Hongjoong stared at suspiciously but didn’t interrogate him about. 

They faded after a few hours. The ache inside of him took longer. 

“Actually,” Soobin says, drawing Yunho out of the past. He still sounds nervous, sitting too still like he’s trying not to fidget. “I was thinking you could fuck me? Would, um, would that be okay?” 

Oh. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Yunho likes it that way too. Likes feeling a boy come around his cock—all perfect, tight heat; likes hearing the noises that spill involuntarily from their mouths when he pushes inside for the first time; likes hands on his shoulder or even at his throat when his partner rides him, forcing him to stay still and accept what he’s given. 

Soobin might be different, though. Might require some extra care—if the anxious determination he’s currently displaying is any indicator. 

Would this be your first time? Yunho doesn’t ask. 

“More than okay,” he says and leans in, slotting his mouth over Soobin’s. They haven’t really kissed much before, but he wants to ease the tension threaded down Soobin’s spine. Get him warm and pliant. 

Soobin makes an indecipherable noise against Yunho’s lips before he sinks into it—big hands at Yunho’s waist and shoulders, head tilting back as he opens for Yunho’s tongue. Yunho presses closer, coaxing Soobin down, down, down until he’s pinned to the pattress with Yunho straddling him. This position makes it easy to roll his hips, grinding against Soobin through the layers of their clothing. Makes it easy to shift his kisses to Soobin’s exposed throat, then his collarbones, then his shoulders, pushing the wide neck of his sweater out of the way. 

Soobin groans at the teasing scrape of Yunho’s teeth, bucking up to meet Yunho’s next thrust. They’re both hard already. Somewhere along the way they’ve become so easy for each other, Yunho thinks. He sits up, wrapping his hands around Soobin’s legs to hold him still. Soobin blinks up at him, all ruffled hair and swollen lips. 

“Slow down,” Yunho murmurs, petting down Soobin’s thighs. “We’ve got all night.” 

Soobin huffs. “Exactly. To do this more than once.” 

Yunho cackles at that. Feels some of the weird heaviness evaporate. “Oh?” 

“We can go at least twice,” Soobin insists. “If we can do a three hour concert, we can have sex twice in one night.” 

“You’re probably not wrong,” Yunho concedes, trying to remember if he’s ever had sex more than once in a night. Usually there just wasn’t enough time. 

“I have also definitely jerked off more than once in a day, and is this really that different?” Soobin asks. 

“I think penetrative sex is a bit different.” 

Soobin wrinkles his nose. “Please don’t say ‘penetrative sex,’ you sound like a sex ed teacher.” 

“Yah!” Yunho smacks his thigh. “Stop ruining the mood!” 

Soobin hits him right back, on the shoulder. “You ruined the mood.” 

And then they’re both laughing, a little helpless with it—foreheads pressed together and bodies aligned, but still not enough skin. 

“Take this off, hyung,” Soobin murmurs in Yunho’s ear, tugging on the hem of his shirt and the jacket that he forgot he was wearing. “We can move a little faster than this.” 

Yunho pinches him, but still obeys, shrugging out of his clothes. Soobin’s sweater goes next, followed by Yunho’s sweatpants and Soobin’s jeans, all dumped haphazardly on the floor. 

“See?” Soobin says in that smug tone he always adopts when he knows he’s won an argument. It should be annoying but on Soobin it’s just cute. “This is much better.” 

He runs his hands over Yunho’s stomach and up his chest, stopping to rub a rough thumb over Yunho’s nipple. He’s never been particularly sensitive there, but the pressure and the pleased look on Soobin’s face still sends heat trilling down his spine. 

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, kissing the smirk off Soobin’s mouth. He shifts so that he can get a hand between them, grinding the heel of his palm against Soobin’s erection, feeling the wetness that’s seeping through his underwear. Soobin lets out a choked whimper. “Much better.” 

“Touch me,” Soobin half-begs. 

“I am touching you,” Yunho says, spreading his fingers to cup Soobin’s cock, dragging the damp fabric along the shaft. 

“Not there.” Soobin grabs his wrist and guides him lower, towards his hole. 

Yunho frowns in surprise. “No foreplay, Soobin-ah?” He was looking forward to gradually working Soobin up, but Soobin’s already flushed halfway down his chest. 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, hyung. I’ll come. Don’t wanna come yet. So please?” 

“So sensitive,” Yunho teases, keeping his voice gentle as he guides Soobin’s hips off the bed, tugging his underwear down his thighs. Soobin doesn’t bother denying it, just squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block out his own embarrassment. 

Yunho nuzzles his cheek, soothing, and kisses him deep, using the distraction to get his legs spread. Soobin whines at the first brush of Yunho’s fingers over his hole. 

“‘M clean,” he says, still so red. “I, um, I cleaned myself out before I came here.” 

That weird band is back in Yunho’s chest, twisting around his lungs. “Oh yeah? You wanted to be fucked that badly?” 

“Yes,” Soobin breathes. No more teasing or denials. He looks too vulnerable like this: laid out under Yunho, completely exposed, want and desperation burning in his gaze. It’s too much. Soobin is trusting him with too much of himself and Yunho is suddenly terrified of breaking him. 

But then Soobin licks his lips and says, “you’ll take care of me, right, hyung?” So hopeful. So certain. 

(DANGER, DANGER, DANGER. ) 

“Yeah,” Yunho assures him, kissing the bony cap of his knee, the soft inside of his thigh. “I’ll take care of you.” 

He guides Soobin onto his hands and knees in the middle of the bed and pauses for a moment to admire him like that—the curve of his spine, the faint tremble in his arms, the clench of his fingers against the blankets, the flush of his cock hanging heavy between his spread legs. 

“Gorgeous,” he says as he uncaps the lube. Too tender, but it makes Soobin let out a long breath that’s tinged with strange relief, like something just untangled inside of him. “So handsome, Soobinie.” 

“Ah,” Soobin says, head bowed and voice strangled. 

Yunho goes slow, tracing a wet finger over Soobin’s rim first. Even if this isn’t Soobin’s first time (Is it? Am I your first?), it doesn’t seem like he’s been touched this way often. So Yunho wants to ease him into it, get him used to the sensations before he actually pushes inside. 

Soobin rocks into the touch, seeking more friction. “Hyung. You’re still teasing too much.” 

“You’re too impatient,” Yunho replies, but he sinks his finger in all the way to the second knuckle and whatever rebuttal Soobin was forming is lost in the hitching moan that falls from his mouth. 

He’s so tight, squeezing hot around Yunho’s finger. He’s going to feel amazing around Yunho’s cock. 

Yunho works him open at a slow, steady pace—one finger, then two, then finally three pushing in deep, curling up to stroke over Soobin’s prostate. 

“Oh, fuck,” Soobin half-sobs, collaping forward onto his arms so he can press his cheek to the mattress. 

“Good?” Yunho asks, a little worried about how tense the line of Soobin’s back is and unable to see his expression well from this angle. “It doesn’t hurt?” 

Soobin sniffs. “No,” he says, a little warbled. “It’s—it’s so much, but it doesn’t feel bad. I like it.” 

“You like it?” Yunho presses a line of kisses along Soobin’s spine. Rubs over his prostate again—back and forth in teasing sweeps that drag a lovely tangle of sounds from Soobin’s mouth. “Like being fucked, Soobin-ah?” 

“Yes,” Soobin says, arching into Yunho’s touch like he’s trying to get Yunho’s fingers even deeper. “Love it. I love it.” He sounds needy and honest in a way that Yunho’s never heard in any of their other encounters. 

Chest tight again, Yunho mouths at the back of Soobin’s shoulder and spreads the palm of his free hand over Soobin’s stomach, drawing him off the bed so that Yunho can drape against his back. He lets his fingers slip free of Soobin’s hole, twisting to grab a condom. Soobin makes a noise of protest and Yunho pets his belly, soothing. 

“Be patient,” he teases, tearing open the condom packet with his teeth. 

“I have been,” Soobin complains, gathering agitated fistfuls of the duvet. “Hurry up.” 

Yunho finishes putting on the condom and repositions himself over Soobin again. “Such a demanding dongsaeng.” He slides his cock between Soobin’s cheeks, along the cleft of his ass. Soobin makes a quiet, whimpering sound when the head catches on his rim. 

“Back on your hands and knees,” Yunho instructs, keeping his voice gentle. He’s learned that Soobin doesn’t mind being ordered around, but only softly. Get too harsh and he’ll bristle—spines up like that little hedgehog of his, ready to stab you in self-defense. 

As Soobin grudgingly repositions himself, Yunho spreads a generous amount of lube on his cock, wanting to make this as easy for Soobin as possible. 

“Okay,” he says when Soobin’s ready. “I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Soobin insists, a little petulant. 

Yunho sighs at him, but doesn’t bother arguing. He holds Soobin steady with one hand on his waist and uses the other to guide his cock. Soobin exhales like he’s just been punched in the gut as the head sinks in all the way and Yunho lets out a shaky breath of his own, stunned at the feeling of Soobin clenching around him—hot and tight and just as amazing as he thought it would be. 

He keeps fucking himself deeper in small increments, letting Soobin get used to the stretch, the fullness. He remembers how intense this can be. Fingers are never quite enough preparation, no matter how thorough you are with them. The first time Yunho took another boy’s cock, he’s pretty sure he cried just from the intensity of it, more than the pain. 

“You feel incredible,” he says to Soobin, noting the tremble of Soobin’s limbs. “How do I feel?” 

“Big,” Soobin hiccups. 

Yunho’s almost all the way in now and the sight of Soobin’s hole stretched around him is so hot, he kind of wants to implode. Which is supremely embarrassing. He is not going to come thirty seconds into this, he is not. 

“Too much?” He still asks Soobin. None of this matters if it isn’t good for Soobin. 

Soobin shakes his head frantically. Gulps in another rasping lungful of air. “No. No, keep going.” 

Yunho curls his fingers around Soobin’s hips and sinks the final couple centimeters, until his own hips are nearly flush with Soobin’s ass and he’s all the way inside. “Look at you,” he breathes in wonder as Soobin shudders. “Taking me so well.” 

“You can move,” Soobin says almost immediately. “Please move.” 

Yunho frowns. “Are you—” 

“Hyung,” Soobin cuts him off, scathing but still needy. “Just fuck me. Please.” 

It’s as close to begging as Soobin’s ever gotten and it turns Yunho’s veins into molten lava. 

“Okay.” He kisses the sweaty nape of Soobin’s neck. “Okay, Soobin-ah.” 

Soobin isn’t particularly loud when he’s being fucked, but the steady stream of soft noises spilling out of his parted lips are like a symphony to Yunho’s overwhelmed brain. They pitch up when Yunho angles right, finds Soobin’s prostate again, and Soobin rocks back against him, restless and desperate. 

Yunho still can’t see his face well and suddenly he feels too far away. Yunho needs him even closer, needs more of his skin. He wraps an arm around Soobin’s middle and hauls him up until he’s kneeling in the middle of the bed with his back against Yunho’s chest. He moans at the change in position but twists so that he can press his cheek to Yunho’s, gasping in Yunho’s ear. Now Yunho can drink in the pink flush of Soobin’s skin, his lower lip swollen from the bite of his own teeth, his sweat-soaked bangs plastered to his forehead, his long lashes fluttering as he closes his eyes. 

He’s so pretty stripped bare like this. And Yunho feels too much. 

He gets a hand around Soobin’s cock—hard and red, slick with precome. Soobin makes another punched-out noise, hips bucking. It only takes three strokes for him to tip over the edge into orgasm, spilling into Yunho’s hand and clenching so tight around Yunho’s cock that it makes him dizzy. 

“Inside,” Soobin insists when Yunho starts to pull out, stopping him with frantic fingers dragging along his ribs. “Come in me.” 

Yunho buries his face in Soobin’s neck, pants open-mouthed against his skin as he fucks back in, accompanied by Soobin’s low moan. His orgasm crashes into him fast, leaving him shivering and gasping in its wake. Soobin slumps forward—held up only by Yunho’s arm still braced around his waist. 

“Wow,” he gets out between heaving breaths. 

Yunho wants to keep holding him. Yunho wants to pamper him: clean him up and kiss all over his skin and curl up with him in bed. Yunho wants too much and it’s terrifying. 

(The alarms are typhoon sirens, wailing: WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! )

Yunho makes himself breathe, pulls out slowly,  and lowers Soobin to the bed. “Be right back,” he manages to get out, pecking Soobin on the cheek in apology. 

Soobin nods, eyes closed. He’s clearly sliding into a soft-limbed, post-orgasm haze—the kind they’ve never had time for in the past. Yunho pads to the adjacent bathroom to dispose of the condom and wash his hands. He wets a warm cloth and returns to wipe carefully over Soobin’s stomach, cock, then down between his thighs all the way to his puffy hole. 

“Thanks,” Soobin mumbles without opening his eyes. A blissful smile stretches his cheeks. “Think you fucked my brains out, hyung.” 

That startles a laugh out of Yunho. “That good, huh?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Soobin says. “I just don’t have a lot of comparison. That’s all.” 

And now the question won’t stay locked inside where it should. It pushes past Yunho’s barriers and careens right out of his mouth. “Was this your first time?” 

Soobin finally looks up at him through his damp bangs. “Yeah,” he says softly and it still lands like a blow. He laughs a little ruefully. “You were most of my firsts, hyung.” 

Yunho reels. “What?” 

Soobin twists onto his back, counting off his fingers. “First time receiving a blowjob, first giving one, first time with the whole mutual handjobs thing, first time in a storage closet, first time in a bathroom, definitely first time in a public park, first time booking a love motel …just about first everything.” 

He smiles at Yunho, blurry and affectionate, and Yunho wants to smile back but he’s panicking. “Why?” Soobin’s smile tips into a confused frown. “Why me?” 

That’s too much to trust him with, surely? First everything? And why didn’t Soobin tell him? Yunho would—well, he’s not sure what he would have done. Run in the other direction? Treat Soobin better? Make all of them more special? But that would have been crossing too many lines, right? 

Sex is supposed to be just sex. Just casual. It’s not supposed to mean something. 

Soobin sits up, drawing the covers over his lap like he needs a shield. “I thought it was obvious,” he says, more serious now. He also won’t quite meet Yunho’s eyes. “I like you so much, Yunho hyung.” 

Yunho sucks in a shocked breath. “You like me?” 

Soobin chews on his lip, that same irritated spot, and nods. “Yeah. I mean, I always thought you were cool so when you offered to hook up with me?” He makes a sound to mimic an explosion, miming along with his hands. “Of course I was going to say yes. Mostly because I kinda wanted to lord it over Beomgyu? But then after it happened, I realized I didn’t want to tell anyone. And then it kept happening and we became friends and I…” He pauses. Shrugs. “You always took such good care of me and you were easy to talk to. You made me laugh. You didn’t make me feel stupid or young. It was kinda inevitable.” Another glance up at Yunho. “I thought you knew. I thought that’s why you said yes to this.” 

Yunho didn't know and now Yunho’s not sure he can breathe properly. His head is a mess of sirens and his heart crashes wildly between guilt, denial, and stupid elation. He’s been so careful. For years, he’s been so careful because love is impossible. Love is dangerous. He takes what he can get and he doesn’t push for more. 

But here is Soobin, looking at him with such big, vulnerable eyes. Here is Soobin confessing. Here is Soobin deciding to hand Yunho nearly every single one of his firsts and trusting Yunho to hold them because Soobin thought they were on the same page. 

“This was a mistake,” Yunho blurts and Soobin flinches, withers. “I have to go.” 

“Oh,” Soobin whispers, shellshocked. 

Yunho yanks on his clothes without looking at Soobin. One part of his brain is screaming at him to stay here and deal with this like an adult but the louder part is insisting that he run, run, run! He can’t face the weight of Soobin’s trust, Soobin’s affection, Soobin’s not-quite-yet-love that could be if allowed to grow. 

He’s suffocating. He’s a fucking coward. 

He makes it halfway up the street before he realizes that his shirt is on inside out and he forgot his hat and mask in the hotel room. Somehow that’s what breaks him and he sinks into a crouch on the cold asphalt, bowing his head against a sudden, violent torrent of tears. 

*** 

“I thought you were staying out?” San whispers when he slips back into the darkened dorm, glad that the dim lights will hide his red eyes and flushed face. 

He opens his mouth to answer but his words jumble up at the back of his throat, choking him. Instead, he shrugs out of his jacket and squeezes himself next to San on the bottom bunk. 

“Oh, Yunho-yah,” San says, tucking Yunho’s face into his neck. “What happened?” 

Nothing. Everything. 

Yunho makes a helpless sound and that kicks off an embarrassing second round of crying. San coos at him and pets his hair, and maybe he understands without Yunho needing to explain. Maybe Yunho has a blinking neon sign over his head that’s alternating between heartbroken and idiot. 

They all recognize the sadness in each other—a similar line running through each one of them—and it’s part of what makes them protective, pushes them to keep each other’s secrets. But never has the sadness climbed right out of Yunho’s chest and swallowed him whole like this. 

San lets him cry and doesn’t once tell him that it will be okay. 

***

To Soobin: I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to just leave 

[Delete Draft]

To Soobin: Are you okay? 

[Delete Draft]

To Soobin: I just didn’t expect to get feelings involved 

[Delete Draft]

To Soobin: I’ve always tried to keep things casual. Because it’s easier that way right? I thought we were on the same page but I should have handled that better. 

[Delete Draft]

To Soobin:  I didn’t mean to hurt you though I’m so sorry for that please

[Delete Draft]

Choi Yeonjun (TXT)

We need to talk

***

Yeonjun sends him the address of a cafe near the HYBE building in Yongsan that is trendy enough to make Yunho feel out of place but Yeonjun seems right at home in. He’s already seated at a table tucked away in a back corner, cradling a large Americano in his hands. He glances up when Yunho approaches and somehow, he manages to look imperious even in sweatpants and a rumpled hoodie—hair still sweat-damp at the ends from dance practice. 

Yunho’s stomach twisted itself in knots the night he left Soobin in the motel and hasn’t untangled at all in the past two weeks. In spite of his desperate attempts to throw himself into work, he’s pretty sure that he’s reached a level of distraction high enough to get Hongjoong’s attention and a lecture is looming in his future. He was trying to brace for that, trying to figure out how to either conjure the right lies or frantically glue these jagged pieces of himself into a coherent, professional veneer that might satisfy Hongjoong. 

But Yeonjun beat Hongjoong to it and Yunho felt he needed to answer the summons. Otherwise, Yeonjun might actually show up at the KQ building to murder him and at least Wooyoung would potentially help. 

He sinks into the chair across from Yeonjun knowing that he probably looks like a man preparing for execution. Yeonjun’s face doesn’t soften—anger pulling his normally delicate features into sharp, tense lines. 

“Soobin is a mess,” he starts without preamble, any sort of greeting. “And I’ve learned that you’re the cause.” 

Yunho winces. All the excuses he has to offer are pathetic and he doubts Yeonjun would accept any of them. “He’s a mess?” 

Yeonjun’s glare deepens. “Of course he is.” He huffs. “I mean, he’s good at hiding it, but he’s been so sad for the last two weeks. Beomgyu heard him crying at night. We knew he’s been seeing someone for awhile now—he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is—but it took us ages to pry it out of him. He was trying to protect you.” The last sentence leaves Yeonjun’s mouth laced in derision and Yunho feels about ten centimeters tall, cut to the bone. 

“He’s kind like that,” he whispers. Soobin often isn’t afraid to stand up for himself, to push back when he feels disrespected or threatened. He’s blunt once you get to know him, able to turn his words into pointed weapons, but he isn’t cruel. Yunho thinks that once you worm your way past Soobin’s defenses and into his heart, you’re going to be there forever, whether you actually deserve to be or not. 

“Too kind,” Yeonjun says, scathing. “Which is why I’m here to tell you to fucking fix this, Jeong Yunho. Whatever it is you did.” 

“You’re right,” Yunho says, figuring that he should probably start at the beginning. “We’ve been hooking up since the summer.” 

“Inkigayo,” Yeonjun says and Yunho wonders if Soobin told him that or he was just able to guess. 

He nods in confirmation. “Yeah. And it was casual. I thought it was casual But Soobin told me he liked me. Two weeks ago.” He doesn’t mention the other aspect of this: Soobin trusting him enough to hand over so many of his firsts. That’s Soobin’s information to share, if he hasn’t already. 

“And you don’t like him back?” Yeonjun asks, disbelieving. Which is understandable—how could anyone not like Soobin? “Fine. You can’t force something like that, but you could have let him down gently.” 

Yunho flinches again. “It’s not that,” he says even though, yes, he ran like a fucking coward and he hates himself for that. “I like him too.” 

It’s the first time he’s actually said that out loud to anyone and it feels heavy falling from his mouth. He pictures it as a stone landing on the table between him and Yeonjun, rattling the little decorative vase and Yeonjun’s Americano—finally released from where it’s been lodged in the back of his throat since the motel room. 

Yeonjun’s eyebrows arch. “Then what’s the problem?” 

“I can’t like him,” Yunho hisses, shocked that this isn’t obvious to Yeonjun. “We can’t be anything. Not like that.” 

“Why not?” Yeonjun asks and it sounds genuine—not like Yeonjun is trying to drive some kind of knife in. 

“It would put our careers in jeopardy,” Yunho says, ticking reasons off on his fingers. “It could endanger our respective groups. Not to mention destroy our reputations even beyond our public image.  Our companies might force us to put a stop to it anyway since relationships are different than just sex. Should I keep going?” 

“So keep it a secret,” Yeonjun says. “You’re not obligated to tell anyone.” 

Yunho fights the urge to gape at him. He’s acting like this is easy. “Keep it a secret? Just like that? A relationship is harder to hide than occasional hookups managers pretend not to know about.” 

“I never said it was easy,” Yeonjun spits back at him, angry again. “But it’s not impossible, Yunho-yah.” 

Yunho’s pretty sure it is. He doesn’t know of anyone in their network who has committed to an actual relationship. That’s too big of a jump with too far of a fall. Who would risk it?

When he just shakes his head, Yeonjun sighs at him like he’s being dense and picks up his phone. “What are you doing?” Yunho asks, off-balance. 

“Asking permission for something,” Yeonjun says—fingers tapping rapidly on the screen as he texts. 

Yunho wonders if he entered an alternate dimension when he crossed the threshold into this cafe. He was prepared for an interrogation, to be skinned alive and told to grovel at Soobin’s feet. Instead he sits in stupefied silence while Yeonjun stares at his phone, clearly waiting for a response. It comes several agonizing minutes later, arriving with a soft ding of a KT notification. Yeonjun’s face finally softens—an affectionate smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. 

The expression is gone by the time he glances up at Yunho and announces, “I’m dating Yeosang.” 

Yunho’s mouth drops open in shock. “What? ” 

This has to be some kind of prank, right? Yeonjun and Yeosang? When Yeonjun is also sleeping with Wooyoung? And Yeosang has never said anything—not about hooking up, not about dating, not about his sexuality. They’ve known each other for nearly seven years if you count time spent as trainees and Yunho’s kept Yeosang as a strange void in his mental catalog because he thought Yeosang just didn’t care about anything like that. Or he was straight but didn’t want to bother with the hassle of a girlfriend.

But Yeonjun isn’t laughing. He’s staring steadily at Yunho—arms folded on the table, posture defensive, expression fierce and honest. 

“I’m dating Yeosang,” he repeats. “We’ve kept it a secret. For years.” 

Yunho reels again. Years? They’ve been dating for years? “Since when?” 

Yeonjun gives a slight shake of his head. “The rest is Yeosang’s to tell you. If he wants to.” 

“Then why tell me at all?” 

“To prove a point,” Yeonjun says and takes a deliberate sip of his Americano, looking smug now. “That it isn’t impossible. So you can get your head out of your ass and stop hurting Soobin.” Yeonjun sets the Americano down with a crackle of ice and leans closer. “I know it’s scary. It’s not a simple thing or an easy thing, but don’t we deserve to be happy too?” 

Yunho swallows, unsure of how to process all of this. To answer the question because of course they do. It shouldn’t matter if it’s real or not, but it does. 

Doesn’t it?

Yeonjun sighs at him again, impatient. “Think about it. Sort yourself out. And fucking apologize to Soobin or I’ll let Taehyun end you. Got it?” 

He doesn’t bother waiting for Yunho to answer. Just pushes his chair back—wood scraping loud against the tiled floor—and grabs his half-drunk Americano from the table. Yunho stares at the pool of condensation left in its wake. Looks back up in time to catch Yeonjun’s retreating back as he leaves without saying goodbye, sweeping from the cafe like a drama lead. 

Yunho wants to go home. He wants to grab Yeosang by the shirt and shake him until he gets answers. But his head is still a storm and he has enough self-awareness left to know that anything he says now will come out unfair and accusing. So he goes to the company building only a few subway stops away and locks himself in an empty studio.

He turns on the music and dials up it until he can feel the reverberation in his rib cage, shaking through the floorboards, making his teeth ache and drowning out those messy hurricane thoughts. Then he dances and dances and dances and dances—anger and fear and frustration and heartbreak poured into every step. Time unspools, goes elastic and strange, and by the time his legs finally give out, he realizes that he’s drenched in sweat and it’s been hours. 

He crouches on the floor and puts a palm over his rabbiting heart, taking measured breaths to get it to slow. He feels … not necessarily better but calmer, at least. Like he can have the conversation that he needs to and be kind about it. He rinses off in the showers, wishing that he had a spare shirt lying around because his current one is a lost cause, still soaked through. A quick search turns up nothing, so he grimaces and puts it back on. 

He’ll just change before he actually tries to talk to Yeosang. Presuming Yeosang is even home. 

Fortunately, luck is on his side in this one instance. Yeosang is home and is the only one at the dorm besides Mingi, who has his door firmly closed with the sounds of a drama trickling through. Yeosang is on the couch, playing a game on the Switch that is technically Seonghwa’s but they all share. He looks up when he hears Yunho’s shoes hit the floor, eyebrows raised in silent question. Yunho gestures to his shirt and then in the direction of his room. Yeosang nods, turning his attention back to his game.

Yunho’s expecting to change and then return to Yeosang in the living room, but footsteps echo down the hall and Yeosang slips into his room, shutting the door behind him. 

“I thought it would be better in here,” he explains, shimmying past Yunho frozen with his shirt half over his head and taking a seat on San’s bottom bunk. “More privacy.” 

Yunho finishes changing. “Have you been waiting for me?” 

“I figured you’d have questions,” Yeosang says with a shrug. “So I thought I’d hang around and see if you came back.” 

“I just needed to clear my head,” Yunho says, sinking cross-legged onto the floor. 

“Did it work?” Yeosang asks.

Now it’s Yunho’s turn to shrug. “Sort of? I think I’m less angry.” 

“You were angry?” Yeosang looks more inquisitive than surprised, like he’s trying to peel back some of Yunho’s layers—dig into the fleshy, wounded parts of him and excavate something Yunho doesn’t yet understand. It reminds Yunho of Soobin. 

“I learned that one of my closest friends has been lying to me for years,” Yunho says, purposefully keeping his voice measured. “Of course I was angry.” 

“I wasn’t lying to you,” Yeosang says, also still calm. “Not telling you something isn’t lying to you.” 

Yunho frowns, not sure he buys that. “Why didn’t you tell us? And how long have you been dating Yeonjun?” 

“I didn’t think it was any of your business,” Yeosang says. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. And…” he pauses, staring at the ceiling as he does mental math in his head. “Almost eight years.” 

That sends Yunho reeling yet again. “Eight—since we were sixteen?” 

That would mean that Yeonjun predates Yeosang coming to KQ. That Yeosang has been dating Yeonjun for longer than Yunho has known either of them. And Yeosang never said anything. 

“Sixteen, yeah,” Yeosang says now. “Since we were trainees together at BigHit. We decided to stay together after I moved to KQ. Try to make it work.” 

“And you didn’t think it was our business?” Yunho presses. “This could affect the group if—” 

“Has it?” Yeosang asks, cutting through the beginning of Yunho’s rant. 

“What?” 

“In the past seven years, has it ever once affected the group?” Yeosang elaborates, mild but pointed. “You’re just finding out about it now. Because we decided to tell you.” Yunho doesn’t have a rebuttal to that. Yeosang smiles at him. “We’re good at this. At making sure it stays quiet. We figured it out as trainees.” 

“Isn’t it hard?” Yunho asks. 

“Very,” Yeosang says—some sadness creeping in now. “It sucks sometimes. But I love him.” Another shrug. “That makes it worth it.” 

It’s strange: hearing someone confess love so easily, hearing Yeosang confessing to loving another boy so easily. Another detail occurs to him. “But … doesn’t Yeonjun sleep with Wooyoung?” 

“Ah,” Yeosang says. “Yeah. Sometimes.” 

Yunho frowns at him. “And that doesn’t bother you?” 

“No.” Yeosang returns the frown. “This really isn’t any of your business, either, but I’m not that into sex.” 

Yunho struggles to wrap his head around this too. To understand. “What do you mean?” 

“That I’m not that into it,” Yeosang says with a quiet laugh. “It’s … it’s so much work.” He grimaces. “And I don’t mind it, but I rarely find it that enjoyable for all the work it takes. Even with someone I love. So Yeonjun and I have an agreement: he can sleep with other people as long as he checks with me first, and I’m the only one he dates.” 

Yunho’s glad that he’s already sitting down because this feels like too much to absorb at once. “Do … have you slept with Wooyoung?” 

He thinks of San’s tears wetting his shirt, of how careful San is about touching Wooyoung even now—so afraid to take more than he’s allowed because he’s following his messy heart and not his head. If Yeosang’s been having sex with Wooyoung this whole time … someone from their own group? He’s not sure how San would take it. 

But Yeosang is grimacing again, more exaggerated than before. “Yah, I love Wooyoung. But not like that. If I’m deciding to put in effort to have sex, it’s not gonna be with him, thanks.” 

Yunho breathes a sigh of relief. Yeosang’s expression softens, slipping somewhere close to tender. It’s so strange: looking at him now. Realizing how much of him remains unknown. 

“And me keeping everything quiet has nothing to do with you,” Yeosang says. “It’s not because I don’t trust any of you. It’s because I wanted something that’s mine. That I don’t have to share with the fans or the company or the group. No offense, but you guys already get so much of me. And TXT gets so much of Yeonjun. But the part of Yeonjun that’s in love with me? That’s mine. Just mine.” 

Yunho thinks that he’s starting to understand. “And you’re not scared? That it could ruin everything?” 

Yeosang sighs. “Of course I am. But….” He pauses for a moment—face going blank the way it always does when he’s trying to arrange his words right. “It’s about priorities, right? I would have to stop being an idol, which would suck, but my life wouldn’t be over. I think I realized after debut that I didn’t want this to be everything.” He gives Yunho a smile that’s definitely too tender. Yunho resists the automatic urge to kick him in response to the sentiment. “As much as I care about all of you, and our careers, I don’t want to let this consume me. I want to be in love. I want to have my own identity. I want to know that I’ll be okay if all of this goes away but Yeonjun doesn’t.” 

He picks at some stray threads on San’s duvet. “Maybe that’s selfish of me. But that’s how I feel.” 

Yunho thinks of Soobin’s inane, wonderful texts that filled up their KT chat. Of the deep rumble of Soobin’s laughter, pitching up into helpless giggles when he lets himself go enough. Of Soobin’s glowing face and gentle smile and I like you so much, hyung. He feels that tightness in his chest again—the ache of something growing, shifting. 

Could he really cultivate it? 

A hand on his shoulder startles him. Yeosang’s moved from the bed and is crouched in front of him on the floor, expression serious. “Yunho-yah,” he says. “I really don’t want to repeat this because it’s cringey so pay attention, okay?” Yunho nods. “I want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, then you should be allowed to hold on to that. Fuck the company, the rules, whatever else we grew up hearing. You deserve to be happy.” 

Yunho bites his lip. A part of him wants to crawl under the bed to escape this conversation, but the rest of him is insisting that it’s okay to be vulnerable, just this once. “Even if I’m scared? I’m so fucking scared, Yeosang.” 

“We’re all scared,” Yeosang says, rapping his knuckles against Yunho’s shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll ever completely stop being scared. You just gotta push through it.” He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s actually not that different from when we debuted. You get through the fear, it eases a bit, and you settle into something a little easier on the other side.” 

“You’re being too wise,” Yunho mutters, trying to cope with the persistent ache in his chest and the contrasting warmth from Yeosang’s reassurances. “It’s weird.” 

Yeosang laughs again, low and amused. “I did say that I’m only going to talk about this once, so you won’t have to be weirded out again after this.” 

Yunho reaches up and draws Yeosang into a hug. Yeosang huffs in faint protest, but drops to his knees and lets himself be held—cheek resting on Yunho’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Yunho says, which is easier now that he’s not looking at Yeosang’s face. “For trusting me with all of this.” 

“You tell anyone and I’ll bribe Jongho into killing you,” Yeosang mutters even as he presses his palms to Yunho’s back and draws him closer. 

Yunho thinks of Yeonjun’s similar threat and stifles a laugh. How much of them has run together, he wonders. How much of the Yeosang they know comes from Yeonjun and vice versa—eight years of lines blurring, of growing up together. It’s both strange and wonderful to contemplate. 

“You’re safe with me,” Yunho says in an echo of what he told San, years ago. “Both of you.” 

“Good.” Yeosang pulls away and gives a decisive dip of his head. “Now go sort out this mess with Soobin so Yeonjun stops messaging me about it.” 

Ah. Yes. He definitely has some serious groveling to do in his immediate future. There is a chance that Soobin won’t want anything to do with him after being ditched in a hotel room, but the fact that Yunho is going to try at all is both terrifying and exhilarating. 

“I’ll talk to him,” he promises Yeosang. 

Yunho gives Yunho an affectionate punch to the shoulder and climbs to his feet. “Great talk. Let’s never have it again.” 

“Agreed.” 

The door clicks shut behind Yeosang, leaving Yunho alone. He sprawls on his back on the hardwood floor, pressing a hand to his heart again, feeling it beat too fast. He likes a boy. He lets that settle inside of him. He likes a boy and he’s going to try to date him. 

(He’s not sure that he’s ever been braver than this.)

Deciding that he shouldn’t let all of this keep festering, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and forces himself to message Soobin. 

To Soobin: can we talk? 

***

The reply comes a full two days later. 

Yes, Soobin says. Yongsan Park. Tonight at 10pm. 

Okay, Yunho replies and feels silly, reckless hope stretch its wings and take flight inside his chest. 

***

Soobin is waiting for him at the park entrance by Ichon Station when Yunho climbs the stairs into the Autumn chill. He looks cute bundled up in a coat, scarf, and beanie—face mask in place—but his eyes are exhausted and what Yunho can see of his expression remains stony even as Yunho reaches his side. 

“Come on,” he says, voice clipped. 

He spins on his heel and strides into the park without looking back to see if Yunho is following. Yunho scrambles to catch up, letting Soobin lead him off the main path to a quieter area—far from the bustle surrounding the National Museum. When Soobin finally stops in a little square with a fountain and benches and lights strung through the trees, Yunho prepares to get on his knees and beg. 

Instead, it’s Soobin who bows low at the waist. “I’m sorry, Yunho-ssi,” he says, so awfully formal. 

Yunho stares at him—rendered mute from shock. Soobin seems to take his silence for some kind of agreement and keeps talking in that stiff, terrible tone. “I … made a mistake. And overstepped. I shouldn’t have read so much into what was happening between us, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry. I’ll … keep my distance in the future so that we can maintain a professional relationship for the sake of our groups.” 

He sounds like the perfect idol and there is so much that Yunho needs to say in response to … all of that, but what comes out first is: “Don’t call yourself stupid.” 

Soobin frowns at him, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“I’m the stupid one,” Yunho says, pointing to himself. “You were never stupid, Soobin-ah.” 

Some of Soobin’s cold, professional exterior cracks. Good, Yunho would rather have him angry than have him polished and robotic. 

“You told me it was a mistake,” Soobin says. “You left. I was the one who assumed we were on the same page and you informed me that I was wrong. How are you the stupid one?” 

“Because I panicked,” Yunho says. “I was scared to realize how much you’d trusted me with.” He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to figure out how to say this. Just crack open his chest and let it all spill out? “I’ve never let myself like a boy. I always thought it was too dangerous, too impossible. Sex is … sex is easy. Fleeting. You can hide it easier than love.” 

The frown lines on Soobin’s forehead deepen. “That seems like a sad perspective to have,” he says in that gloriously blunt way of his. 

Yunho laughs, blinking rapidly so that he doesn’t start crying. He’s not sure he can handle that embarrassment on top of everything else that’s happened in the last couple weeks. “It is. I’ve been sad for years. I just … didn’t look at it. So it stopped hurting eventually.” 

Soobin takes a hesitant step towards him and Yunho shakes his head because if Soobin touches him right now, he’ll probably shatter. 

He cracks open his chest just a bit wider, pretty sure that Soobin’s going to be able to see the blood now and somehow that isn’t as scary as he was certain it would be. “But then you came along and I ignored all my stupid internal warnings and I just … let myself drown.” He laughs again. “It was so easy. You made it so easy. I think that might have scared me the most. How fucking easy it was to like you.” 

“You like me?” Soobin asks, eyes wide above his face mask. 

Yunho takes a deep breath. Positions himself for the fall. It’s like standing on top of a bungee platform—arms crossed in front of his chest, preparing to step out into thin air. 

“I like you so much, Soobin-ah.” The words are heavy on his tongue, just like they were with Yeonjun, but in the aftermath he feels lighter. Almost buoyant. 

“Oh,” Soobin whispers, swaying as though Yunho punched him. 

“I’m so sorry I left,” Yunho continues because an apology is still important too. “You didn’t deserve that.” 

Soobin sniffs. “You did sort of break my heart a little.” He sighs. “And now I can’t even really be mad at you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yunho repeats. “I probably wrecked your first time.” 

“Nah,” Soobin says, waving a flippant hand. “It’s … I wanted to do it with someone I liked, but it’s really not that big of a deal, hyung. You don’t need to make it one. It was good. And then I went home and cried into some ice cream and one of Huening’s plushies. It is what it is.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I went home and cried all over San’s shirt,” Yunho says. 

Soobin hiccups a wet laugh. “Okay that does actually make me feel better.” 

He looks more relaxed now, if dangerously close to crying again, and Yunho deems it safe to reach for him. He sticks to curling his hands over Soobin’s shoulders since they are still in public and don’t need to scandalize any potential passerby. 

“Let me make it up to you?” He asks. The nerves are returning because wow, he’s really in uncharted territory now. “Can I take you on a date?” 

“You want to date me?” Soobin asks in disbelief. 

“I did just say that I like you.” 

“Yeah but I didn’t expect you to jump right to dating.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Yunho asks, stomach twisting. 

But Soobin shakes his head. “No. It’s a good thing.” He pauses and a mischievous twinkle blooms in his eyes, accented by the glow of the fairy lights stretched above their heads. “Would I be your first date, Yunho hyung?” 

“Yes,” Yunho admits. “You would be.” 

Soobin looks incredibly pleased at that confession. Yunho can easily picture the smug shape of his smile beneath the mask. “Then you should definitely take me on a date.” 

“So I’m forgiven?” Yunho asks because once again this seems too easy. 

“You’re forgiven,” Soobin says, patting his chest. “But do it again and I’ll gut you.” 

Yunho feels a grin stretching his cheeks, pushing up the edges of his own mask. He’s so light now he could fly. “You won’t get Taehyun to do it?” 

Soobin sniffs, haughty. “I’m not Yeonjun. I take care of things myself.” 

Oh Yunho likes him so much. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Right now?” Soobin asks in surprise. 

“Yeah,” Yunho says, giddy. “Right now. You’re free, right?” 

Soobin glances down at himself. “But I’m not dressed for a date.” 

It’s absurd, thinking that they need to dress up for each other after the amount of sex they’ve had, but Yunho can almost understand. He gives Soobin’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t care. Come on a date with me, Soobin-ah.” 

“Okay,” Soobin relents. 

Yunho can’t resist pulling down Soobin’s mask, tucking it under his chin so that Yunho can get his own mask out of the way and press a fierce, joyful kiss to Soobin’s cheek. 

(He’s not sure he’s ever been happier than this.) 

Soobin squawks at him, but he’s giggling immediately after—flushed and beautiful. 

“Let’s go,” he says, settling his mask back over the bridge of his nose. “Sweep me off my feet, hyung.” 

“I will,” Yunho promises, though he doesn’t have much confidence in his dating abilities. 

It’s okay. With Soobin it’s always been easy. 

As they leave their little square behind, Yunho takes Soobin’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Soobin’s eyes scrunch up small and happy, and they walk all the way to the street like that—Soobin’s palm warm against his own. 

*** 

(Later, a few weeks from the night in the park, Yunho will crawl into San’s bed again and press his forehead to San’s temple in the dark. 

“You should tell him,” he will whisper with newfound certainty. “Tell him, San-ah. You both deserve to be happy.” 

San’s breath will hitch in shocked understanding and he’ll burrow into Yunho’s side like he’s seeking refuge. Yunho will let him shake, will stroke his back and keep him close and tell him: “He loves you so much. Just as much as you love him.” 

San won’t respond beyond another uncertain sound, but the next morning he’ll pull Wooyoung aside before they leave for their schedule. When Yunho comes looking, he’ll find them tangled up in each other—Wooyoung’s tears wetting San’s neck, San’s hands fisted tight in the back of Wooyoung’s shirt like he’s a life raft keeping San afloat in the middle of a vast sea. 

Yunho will leave them a little bit longer. Will tell the others a lie about their whereabouts and ignore Yeosang’s knowing look. 

Some things can be easy, he’s learning. 

You just have to let them be.)