Chapter Text
Middle of July 2025
Yeosang
Friday evening
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who?” Yeosang looked up from the crossword he was attempting to solve and frowned at his roommate.
“Who is it you like?” Wooyoung prodded, dropping the remote on the coffee table and settling back onto the couch.
He’d never—he hadn’t, had he? When was the last time they’d been drinking? Last weekend. If he’d said something then, Wooyoung would’ve leapt on it. But randomly? A week later?
That was...odd.
“Why do you think I like someone?” he asked casually, twirling the pen in his fingers.
“That.” Wooyoung pointed at his hand.
He looked down. “That?” he echoed.
“The pen.” Wooyoung nodded decisively, a small smile playing across his face.
Yeosang blinked. “You’re crazy.”
“Yes, yes.” Wooyoung waved a hand dismissively. “You tell me that at least twice a week. But the pen is damning, Sangie. So, spill.”
He was absolutely not going to ‘spill.’
“My regular ‘you’re crazy’ doesn’t include a sudden fascination with my pen’s new and creepy ability to speak.” No, that left room for debate. “And lie,” he added. “Which it doesn’t have.”
Wooyoung grinned. “It can’t speak or it can’t lie?”
“It can’t do either, idiot. Go back to your cooking show.” He wrinkled his nose and bent his head to the puzzle book.
“No. You’re keeping secrets. A big secret. We made a pact—”
“When we were 12.” Four letters. Gymnastics apparatus. Beam? Bars? Could be either. He’d try beam, and if he was wrong, he’d erase—oh. Why had he picked up a pen? He peered at the coffee table. Take-out menus. Really, why, when they ordered on their phones? A flyer for San’s taekwondo studio. They’d each tried an adults class—taught by Wooyoung’s boyfriend—once. To be supportive. Never again. Why was there a flyer, then? Weird. A highlighter. Again, why? Three magazines. Two books. Unopened mail. No pencils.
Damn.
He sighed. He'd just write beam/bars in the margin. Not the best option, but the only one he had.
“Looking for this?”
Yeosang glanced at Wooyoung. Who was...holding a pencil. Still grinning.
“You look like the Joker. Without makeup. Or the cuts to the face. Please stop. Also, the pencil?” He held out a hand.
“Nope! Tell me, first, who.”
Really? Really?
He narrowed his eyes. “You tell me, first, why a pen makes you think I’m pining for someone.”
“Pining?” Wooyoung looked delighted. “I said liked. But pining. How long’s it been going on, huh?”
“It’s not—I didn’t say I’d been pining.” He hadn’t. Liking from afar—four cubicles over—wasn’t pining. Pining was painful and full of internal conflict and confusion. He preferred clarity. He’d take a hammer to his favorite drone before he let himself pine for someone.
“But you do like someone.” Wooyoung leaned even closer, his face inches away, merriment bright in his eyes.
The absolute worst part about childhood best friends was that they knew, or could figure out with minimal effort, nearly everything.
Yeosang grabbed the pencil and shoved Wooyoung backwards with a huff of impatience. “Fine. A guy at work.” Was that a burning smell? Definitely a burning smell. “I think dinner’s scorched. You should fix that.”
He clipped the pen to the puzzle book. Hm. B-e-a-m. Probably. He could erase it later, if he had to.
Wooyoung snorted. “Not my chore tonight. Nice try, though.” He took a breath. “San!” he yelled. “Kitchen! Burning!”
Great. “He’s going to think there’s a fire, Wooyoung,” Yeosang said crossly, hunching himself into the corner of their couch, ignoring the spring that had somehow (he refused to think about how) bent itself from position and now poked anyone who sat on it.
“Nah.”
Wooyoung’s bedroom door flung open, and San hurried down the hall. “What’d I do? Where is it?”
Yeosang raised an eyebrow. Nah?
An eyeroll was the only response he got before Wooyoung pivoted and raised himself to his knees. “Sani. Inhale the air. What do you smell?”
San stopped in his tracks, tilted his head and carefully sniffed.
Cute. As always.
“Um...did I forget...something?”
He couldn’t resist. “A shirt?” Yeosang inquired blandly.
“What? Oh. Buttons,” San replied vaguely. “Got in the way. Young-ah, what am I—oh!” His eyes opened wide. “The quiche!” Panic now on his face, he whirled around and bolted into the kitchen.
“Shouldn’t you go save him?”
Wooyoung dropped back on the couch, eyes narrowing. “Nice try. He can handle it. Now. Name. Age. Looks. All.”
“Pen theory, first,” Yeosang said stubbornly. He wasn’t giving up without a fight!
“Habit, Sangie. You’re a poster child for habit. Black tank tops and black sweats to the gym, no matter the weather. Fried chicken every Monday night. Your wallet wears out, you buy an identical brown leather replacement. Pencils for crosswords. There’s more, of course, but you get my point?”
Said with a smirk.
Yeosang glanced back down at his book. “I’m boring.”
“No. You just like what you like. And you stick to it. Anything major you would tell me. So it’s, to you, a small matter. The crossword is taking you longer than normal. That makes it minor but not new. It nags at you. What fits that category? That you’d refuse to share voluntarily? A crush!” he declared triumphantly.
“Do you have to shout?”
“I did not.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, looking affronted. “I announced.”
“Loudly. San heard you.”
“You have no way to know—”
San poked his head through the open kitchen doorway. “What’s crushed?”
Yeosang tossed the puzzle book onto the coffee table and watched the highlighter fall to the floor. “The hopes and dreams of mankind.”
“I thought you’d stopped reading dystopian?” San’s brows drew together. “Did you find a new series?”
Wooyoung giggled.
Yeosang tapped the pencil against his palm. “No.”
“He’s got a crush.”
A dimpled smile. “But that’s wonderful!”
Yeosang stared at him. Silently.
“I mean. Usually? I, um. The quiche got half-burned. I’m gonna. Make a bigger salad. Yeah.” San ducked out of sight.
Wooyoung slid down the couch until his feet were in Yeosang’s lap. “Details.”
Yeosang poked at an orange-striped sock. “Feet.”
“I’m getting comfy for story time.” Wooyoung tucked a pillow under his head. “Admit defeat and share with the class, Sangie.”
He eyed the pencil. Could it be used as a weapon?
Maybe.
But best to keep it in reserve.
“He’s older. Very nice. Perfect manners. Sweet. Gentle, though people tend to assume he’s a bit tough? Because, well...his body.”
Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. “Body?”
Yeosang smacked his big toe with the pencil.
“Ow! Why?”
“Shallow,” he said disapprovingly.
“I said one word!” Wooyoung protested.
“It was the way you said it. The glee on your face.”
“I’m trying to build a mental picture, Yeosang,” Wooyoung complained. “You start by making him sound like one thing, but then throw in his body makes people think he’s a tough guy. Was I supposed to ignore that?”
That...was a valid point.
“Sorry.”
“Accepted. Continue.”
“He likes the gym.”
“So does San.”
Yeosang paused. How best to put it?
“Um. He makes San look...puny? No, that’s too extreme. But not far off?”
Wooyoung’s eyes had grown wide. “Bigger than Sani?”
“Yeah....”
“Wow.”
“He’s impressive,” Yeosang agreed. “But that’s just—a part. He’s thoughtful, works hard, never late to meetings, beautiful smile, and so...pure. In heart,” he added hastily, before Wooyoung could interject.
“Hm. So, aside from being jacked as fuck and older, your crush is your clone?”
Yeosang jerked his head back. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “How you described him is how people describe you. Minus the body. Though don’t get me wrong, yours is very nice. It’s funny as hell watching people stare at you and San at the pool. But ultra-ripped? No.”
Damn that spring. Yeosang shifted. “You’re hot, too.”
“Aha!” Wooyoung half sat up, eyes gleaming. “A red-letter day! You accepted a compliment! On your looks!”
“I was saying you looked hot.”
“Too. You said ‘too’!”
Was it worth the argument?
“Nevermind. Hoseok is marvelous, but I’m just an admirer from afar. End of story.”
“You forgot the pining.”
He shoved Wooyoung’s feet to the floor. “I. Am not. Pining. People think about their crushes from time to time. It’s normal.”
Wooyoung pointed at the pencil, which had somehow made its way across the room to the TV stand. “How’d that get all the way over there, then? You’re distracted and frustrated, longing and wishing—the definition of pining.”
“The day I pine after someone is the day I—the day I—” What was emphatic enough?
“Yes?” Wooyoung grinned at him.
“The day I bleach my hair blond.” There. Perfect.
Wooyoung sat up fully and examined him. “That could be dangerous.”
“I didn’t mean I’d do it. I’d go to a salon.”
“Noooo. Dangerous to the world.”
Yeosang snorted. “Never going to happen anyway.”
“Swear it.”
“That it’ll never happen? Sure. I swear—”
“No, no.” Wooyoung grabbed his hand. “Swear to the blond.”
“Sure. Fine. Can we move on now?”
“Hm.” Wooyoung stood up and walked a circuit around the room.
Past the couch, the armchair, the table, the TV, the bookcase, the plushies scattered on the floor.
Yeosang watched him warily.
“Why don’t you ask him out?”
“Because.”
Wooyoung spun on his heel and marched back to the couch. “Try again.”
“He’d say no.” Obviously.
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I am. But—” He raised a hand to halt Wooyoung’s next objection. “Say he didn’t. That’s worse, Young-ah.”
Wooyoung put his hands on his hips and stared at him. “In what twisted reality is that worse?”
“Because he’s older and more experienced—”
A scoff.
“I can shut up any time, Wooyoung!”
Eye roll.
“It’s one thing to make a fool of yourself on a blind date or at a bar or whatever. But at work?” Yeosang shook his head. He’d imagined it, and it freaked him out every time. “Say he said yes. Since I’d been the one asking, I’d have to decide where to go. What if he’s been there dozens of times?”
“That’s so not an issue.”
“It’s one of them.”
“You are—no.” Wooyoung waved his hands in the air. “Leaving that alone. How old is he?”
“32.”
“Six years isn’t that much. And you could ask him what he’d like to do. Then you simply arrange it, perfectly, as you tend to do, and boom. Hot older man acquired as boyfriend.”
“After one date?” Yeosang squinted at Wooyoung. “No? He used to date someone in another department. I saw them once, and, um—” Why had he mentioned that time?
“And?” Wooyoung prompted
“Nothing.”
Wooyoung plopped down next to him. “No, no, no. Not nothing. What did you see?”
“Something I wasn’t meant to,” he mumbled.
“God, why is it always like I’m torturing you to get the bare minimum! What did you see? Public sex?”
His mind had to go there, didn’t it?
“A kiss.”
Wooyoung looked unimpressed. “A kiss.”
Ugh.
“The kind of kissing people with a lot of confidence and skills do.”
Wooyoung tilted his head. “Sangie. Is there someone I need to hunt down? Was it Daniel? Did he give you a complex?”
“I’m lost.” What was he even talking about?
“Daniel. Last guy you dated, kissed, fucked. Did he say something? Make you doubt yourself? Because if he did?” Wooyoung’s eyes flashed. “If he did, that asshole is dead. I will personally—"
“No! Daniel was fine. Great. I just. That kiss is seared into my brain.” He wished it wasn’t. “They could model movie scenes on it. It was...intimidating. He says yes, we go out, the expectations of a kiss are there at somepoint, and how would I compare? Miserably. And then I’d have to see him, at work. Every day. So. No asking out. Not happening.”
“Hmmmm.” Wooyoung tilted his head. “What if there’s a solution to your phobia?”
“Not a phobia. Phobias are irrational.” And he wasn’t scared of kissing. It was wonderful. If he’d never left work through the side exit that day, never seen that kiss, he wouldn’t be worried. Nervous, some, sure, but not nearly paralyzed by visions of being a bad kisser.
Which...did sound a little irrational. Especially since he knew he wasn’t bad—someone he’d dated would have said something, if that’d been the case. It was just...that one kiss. Just thinking about it made him feel inadequate.
“Whatever.” Wooyoung patted Yeosang’s knee encouragingly. “I do have a solution.”
The wariness of earlier returned full force. And then some. They’d been friends too long for him to trust any spontaneous plans.
But he knew his role. And he was a little curious. “What is it?”
“Practice kissing.”
Yeosang blinked at Wooyoung. Twice. He hadn’t just heard what he’d thought he had.
“Practice what?”
“Practice kissing,” Wooyoung replied patiently.
As if it was obvious.
Right.
“How?”
“Kiss someone else first. More than once, of course, for it to be practice. Start basic, like a refresher, work your way up. Confidence-building and skill improvement.”
It took a while for Yeosang to realize his jaw had fallen open. He snapped it shut, then gave himself a gentle slap. Yeah, he was awake.
“Oh, come on. It’s not that strange!” Wooyoung tsked. “And it’s so simple!”
“Who the hell am I supposed to kiss?” Yeosang demanded. “A plushie?” He flung out his hand, pointing to the nearest one.
“Did you ever do that?” Wooyoung asked interestedly. “Crossed my mind, as a kid, but figured the fake fur would get on my tongue and ew.”
“No! But it’s not like there’s someone I can ask!” He’d known the ‘solution’ would be ridiculous, but this! “Just—just let’s drop it, okay?” He leaned forward, bracing himself on the coffee table as he reached for the remote. “Forget we ever had this chat and—”
“Me.”
Yeosang froze, then carefully and cautiously maneuvered himself back to the couch.
Wooyoung looked proud of himself.
The fuck?
“You’re dating San.”
A shrug. “He won’t mind.”
Wouldn’t mind??
“Uh, yeah. Pretty sure he would.”
“Nah.” Wooyoung relaxed against the back of the couch and pulled out his phone.
Yeosang watched him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
“I wanna see what your crush looks like.”
“Wooyoung. I cannot kiss you.”
Why was he being so dense?
“Why not? We’ve shared drinks and food for over twenty years. Slept in the same bed I dunno how many times. You know almost everything about me, and I know more about you than you’d like.” He grinned. “And, best part, you won’t raise any false hopes.”
“I know that. Because you have a boyfriend.” What was Wooyoung’s deal tonight? Was he sleep-deprived?
A sigh. A mildly disappointed look. “Don’t you trust me to know what he’d think?”
“On this topic?” Yeosang asked incredulously, sitting up as straight as he could. Damn spring. “No. I don’t.”
“You test my patience sometimes, you know that, Sangie?”
“I test your—”
“Sani! Do you care if Yeosang practices kissing with me?”
He had not.
He smacked Wooyoung on the arm and yelled just as loudly, “Ignore him, San! He’s insane!”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just being a good friend.”
“You—you can’t—why—”
“Gimme a sec!” came the hollered back reply. “Bread rolls done. Ow! Hot! Be right there!”
He smacked him again. “You. Are. Crazy. Take it all back!”
“No.” Wooyoung rubbed his shoulder. “It is my job as your best friend to help when I can and kissing? Easy.”
A mix of mild panic—what the hell was San going to think and say—and confusion gripped him. He pushed himself to his feet and started pacing.
“What’s up?”
Yeosang glanced at San. Cheerful. How was he cheerful? He must not have heard what was said. Just his name.
“Wooyoung had a stupid idea, but we’ve moved on and—”
A pillow hit him in the face.
“Shush. Sani,” Wooyoung’s voice was sweet as honey, “do you mind if I help Yeosang level up his kissing skills?”
An expression Yeosang could not read flashed across San’s face. Shock, probably.
“Why?”
“To practice,” Wooyoung replied smoothly.
San rocked back on his heels, chewing on his lower lip. “I don’t mind in theory? But why do you think you need practice?”
Guileless eyes turned toward him.
He...didn’t...mind?
Wooyoung looked smug.
“I don’t think it. Your boyfriend does.” Did they both need reminders of their relationship?
“Um....” San hesitated. “Is it because of your crush?”
“Yep.” Wooyoung gave a nod. “Saw something he shouldn’t have, now his...hm...kiss-dence is too low to ask the man out. But if he practices with me? All will be well!” Wooyoung scowled at his phone. “No one you follow on Instagram or who follows you has a profile pic anything like your description.”
“Because he doesn’t have one,” Yeosang gritted out, his frustration skyrocketing.
“Ahhhh. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t trying to help!”
San leaned over the couch to peer at Wooyoung’s phone. “What’s kiss-dence?”
“Kissing confidence. His crush is a co-worker, and—oh. Holy shit, Yeosang.” Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and he handed the phone to San.
“Is this..?” San’s voice trailed off as he scrolled, eyes intent on the screen. “Are his thighs really that big?”
“Um. Yeah.” He’d never stared, but that one company picnic where Hoseok had worn shorts?
“Huh. For the sake of his partner, I hope he’s not a bottom. Because those legs around a top’s waist?” San winced.
He could feel his face turning bright red. “San. Why?”
He shrugged. “Seems like a reasonable concern.” He passed the phone back, then slid his hands to his sides. “Thighs that thick with muscle, I’d be scared for my kidneys.”
Yeosang covered his eyes. This conversation wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, no way was it happening.
Wooyoung zoomed in on a photo, then shook his head. “Jesus. Though if he is a bottom, and he’s good with riding...damn.”
And that was more than enough! He forced himself to drop his hands.
“I’m not interested in him for sex. He might not even like sex. I don’t know!”
“Never meant to say you were. Just. Y’know.” San paused. “You’re not delicate, but he’s massive. If he doeslike sex, just...need to be aware.”
“I don’t need to be,” Yeosang said firmly. “Not right now. Most likely not ever.”
“But you like him?” San asked, a slight frown on his face.
“Yes. But not asking him out, so it’s irrelevant..”
Wooyoung tapped San’s arm. “See what I mean? Low kiss-dence.”
“If it was anybody else, I dunno, but since it’s Yeosang....” San tilted his head back and forth, then smiled. “Go for it.”
“No!” Yeosang exclaimed. “I can’t do that!”
“It really doesn’t bother me,” San said mildly.
“How can it not?” It made no sense!
“Because it’s you.”
What kind of answer was that?
“I appreciate the...the kindness, but—”
“Sangie. Are you turning down lessons from a kissing master?”
“I do not need lessons, Wooyoung! Practice, fine, but not lessons!”
“Ah!” Wooyoung rubbed his hands together. “You admit it. You agree!”
“I didn’t—that’s not what I meant!” He’d only been protesting the injustice of lessons. He knew how to kiss! “San—say something.”
“He is very good,” San murmured, half-apologetically. “If practice is what you need—uh, want? Then he’s an excellent choice.”
Yeosang looked back and forth between the two. How could they be so calm? Unbothered?
Why was a small part of him starting to think it wasn’t the most terrible idea ever?
“Sangie,” Wooyoung said coaxingly, “I can help. I mean, if not for timing, you know we’d’ve experimented together, years back. And it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Just a thing! This isn’t any different.”
He felt...conflicted.
In general.
And conflicted about feeling conflicted.
San had given a thumb’s up. Which was bizarre but also somehow oddly like him. Wooyoung was...well. He wouldn’t consider it at all, except there was sincerity in the offer. Strange as it was. And Yeosang had too many memories of rejecting offers of help and Wooyoung’s smile fading that little bit. Enough to make him feel the pinch of guilt, but not enough to change his mind.
It was absurd. The whole situation was absurd. But if they were both okay with it...it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’d ever done. Not that his memories of those events were very clear. Too much vodka.
“Okay.”
Wooyoung’s face lit up. “Really?”
“I’m not saying it again.”
“Awesome. Wanna start now?”
Yeosang took a hasty step backward. And peeked nervously at San.
Who seemed entirely comfortable (though still shirtless), hands in his pockets, gaze wandering around the room.
Well, fine, but he needed time to mentally prepare and—his stomach rumbled.
He silently thanked it.
“Dinner’s ready, isn’t it?”
San froze. “Dinner! The bread rolls will all be hard and cold!”
Wooyoung stood up and slung an arm around San’s shoulders. “Babe. Microwaves exist for a reason. Come on.”
And then he winked at Yeosang.
Winked.
Well, hell.
*****
Wooyoung
still Friday evening
Wooyoung glanced at the clock. One more minute and his skin would be beautifully hydrated. The very next sale, he’d stock up. Best face masks he’d used in years.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
He sighed. They’d already discussed this.
“My best friend since pre-school is scared to ask out his crush. Because someone—he won’t say who, but I have my suspicions—made him think he wasn’t a good enough kisser. Which is dumb because of course he’s good.”
San sat on the bed, eyeing him dubiously. “You know this how?”
“Instinct.”
“Uh-huh. What if it’s more than you’re expecting?”
Wooyoung peeled off the mask and studied his boyfriend. He knew what he meant. There was some risk, but he considered it minimal. And outweighed by the lovely feeling of finally being allowed to help Yeosang with anything.
“I can handle it.”
“Hmm.”
“You,” he pointed at San, “are thinking about the past. Just because you thought Sangie and I were an item when you first met us doesn’t have any influence on how this’ll go.”
“People who don’t know you’re dating me, who meet the two of you first? Still think you’re a couple.”
“Not my fault or his that they assume. We aren’t, never have been, and since I have you,” he smiled mischievously at San, “never will be.”
San chuckled. “Really? I’m the only reason you’re holding back?”
“No. 55% you. 20% happy how I am. And...uh...25%, yeah, 25% indefinable not-happening.”
“25% isn’t small,” San said quietly.
Wooyoung huffed out a breath, leaned briefly to the side, and tossed the mask in the trash. It wasn’t small. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a serious risk. Not by his reckoning.
“Sangie and me? If anything was ever going to happen, it’d have happened already. Probably in college. But it didn’t. Yes, my best friend is stupid gorgeous. Yes, he’s smart and kind with the perfect amount of sass. Yes, he makes me laugh more than any other human on the planet. But! It never happened.”
“I’m not worried like that. Though if things did start to slide that way....” San raised an eyebrow.
“I’d tell you,” Wooyoung said instantly.
“I know.” San scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him. “I wouldn’t mind, if that happened,” he said.
“Sani.... Even if Yeosang woke up one day with highly inappropriate thoughts of us both...he’d never say a word. It’d have to be one of us. Well, both,” he amended. “And since neither of us is psychic? We’d never know to ask.”
San nuzzled at his neck and pressed himself closer. “Is it bad,” he whispered, “that I sometimes think it’s a damn shame?”
If he was being absolutely, completely, bone-deep honest?
“No. Thoughts aren’t crimes. But helping Sangie is for him.”
“You’re not going to enjoy kissing him?”
San’s breath was hot against his neck and Wooyoung shifted restlessly.
“Unavoidable. But I can keep it to myself. I can handle it.”
“Hm...if you say so.”
“Constantly questioning me is not a turn-on,” Wooyoung managed, as San’s hand slid under his boxers.
“No, my lovely. But this is, yeah?”
Wooyoung gasped. “Yeah. That’s. Always good. Oh, fuck me.”
“In a little bit.”
“Ah.... ‘K.”
*****
Yeosang
Monday evening, week 1
“It’s been three days, Yeosang.” Wooyoung leaned against the kitchen door frame, watching him hover over the opened box of fried chicken.
“Since?” he asked absently. Wing, breast, or drumstick? Which first?
“Since you agreed to practice kissing me.”
Yeosang stilled. Oh. That. “Um. Three whole days? Really.”
“You agreed Friday night. Today is Monday. I figured you needed to settle into the idea, but 72 hours is kinda insulting.”
He peeked sideways. Not a frown on Wooyoung’s face, but he did look a little...displeased.
“It wasn’t meant that way?” he offered. “I thought about it. On Saturday. And part of Sunday. And, um, then I...forgot. Today.”
“Forgetting is so much better. Thank you so much for relieving my mind.”
Sarcasm, mid-high level. Not great. He slowly turned his body to face Wooyoung.
“Um. You said basic, first? Like, a peck? Or...?”
“A peck? The kind of cheek kiss you give your grandma? No.”
“My parents do it,” Yeosang protested. “Three quick kisses on the mouth. You used to call it cute.”
“When I was 15,” Wooyoung retorted. “Eleven years ago. You really think they kissed like that when they were dating?”
“Do not make me think about my parents and whatever they got up to before I was born.”
“Your sister’s older than you.”
As if that mattered!
“I’m not her, she’s not me, don’t care.”
Wooyoung gave him a look. “My parents fuck.”
“No, no, no. I don’t wanna hear this.”
“I have a little brother? He’s proof.”
“I know that. But ever since Becca Smith told everyone—”
“That she’d walked in on her mom and dad, yeah, I remember.” Wooyoung laughed. “We were all horrified.”
“Exactly. Doesn’t matter we were ten. Ever since? My parents? No. I refuse.”
“Well.” Wooyoung rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They never have seemed like passionate people. Dunno where you get it from.”
“Attraction.” Yeosang shrugged. Wasn’t any more difficult than that. “Magically making clothes disappear since Adam and Eve were kicked out of Eden.”
“Hah!” Wooyoung smiled at him. “Okay. Points made and understood. But this is about you and kiss-dence.”
“Are you really going to keep using that word?”
“I like it. And a peck isn’t going to work. We’re not an old married couple. Even in practice.”
If not a peck, then what? Yeosang bit his lip. He wasn’t ready to rush forward. He’d barely gotten his mind around the whole concept before he’d, well, forgotten.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sangie! I’m not going to shove my tongue down your throat.”
Tongues and kissing. That did happen.
He shook his head, suddenly impatient with himself. He’d had boyfriends before. Yet here he was, worried about tongues?
“Fine.” He stepped forward. “Here?”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened slightly. “If you want.”
“Works for me.”
Just a basic, simple kiss. Like his first few dates freshman year of high school.
He took a quick breath, then leaned in. Stopped. “Are you going to watch me?”
“Your eyes are open,” Wooyoung pointed out. Gently but firmly.
“Can we...can we turn off the overhead light? Hallway’s enough, I think....”
Before he’d finished the sentence, Wooyoung had flicked the switch off.
Yeosang could still see his face, but shadowed. His nervousness eased.
A first kiss with Hoseok would be gentle. He was sure of it. He’d try that.
He moved closer, and hesitantly raised a hand to Wooyoung’s face. He didn’t want to smash noses or have the kiss land on his jaw.
“It’s okay, Sangie,” Wooyoung murmured. “We’re best friends. We always will be. It’s just a kiss. A practice kiss.”
“A blip in the friendship timeline.”
“Mm-hm.”
It wouldn’t be strange, after they’d done it once.
So.
One tiny more step, and....
There.
Soft lips, instant response. For a second, he stopped thinking.
Warm. Sweet. Tingling?
He drew back, feeling puzzled. “Did you brush with cinnamon toothpaste or something?”
“Candy.”
“Ah. Is this...enough to start? I’ll be better, next time.” Less nerves.
“Better—and longer—than a peck. You pass.”
“Thanks,” Yeosang said wryly.
The overhead light came back on, and he blinked at the sudden brightness.
“Sangie?”
“Yeah?”
“If we call that a baseline? You’re pretty good already.”
He frowned. The compliment didn’t feel earned. “It didn’t last more than 10 seconds.”
“Even so.” Wooyoung looked at the clock. “Almost 7:30. Same time, each evening?”
A kiss every evening. Each time, deeper or longer. Or both, he supposed.
“Seems good.” What else could he say?
Wooyoung smiled. “Excellent. Now. Can you move so I can get to the fridge? Some people like making their own dinners.”
“Hey.” He poked Wooyoung in the chest. “I only order in once a week.”
“Really? What was the pizza Saturday night?”
“That was San’s fault.”
“Only his. Sure.” Wooyoung pointed at him. “Pull the pouty lip back in. Hasn’t worked on me in years.”
Yeosang scrunched his nose and whipped back around. Fried chicken was a yummier and less rude companion. “Fridge all yours,” he tossed over his shoulder.
“As always.”
*****
Wooyoung
Friday evening, week 1
The second kiss, Tuesday night, had been fine. Pleasant.
Wednesday night, a little different. Had lasted longer.
Thursday night had startled him. They’d been watching TV on the couch and then—an alert. He’d been reaching for his phone when Yeosang had grabbed his hand.
“I set a reminder,” he’d said, “7:30 p.m.”
Made sense.
What hadn’t made sense was Yeosang leaning toward him, no warning, pressing him against the back of the couch, and kissing him slowly. As if he had all the time in the world.
He’d been so surprised it’d taken him a few seconds to respond. And then—hot shivers. He didn’t know what else to call them. Lighting up every damn nerve in his body.
Breaking apart to breathe—he’d thought that’d be it, but no. Just to catch a breath! He’d started to feel...fuzzy. Almost overheated. By the time the kiss had ended.
But Yeosang? Had simply smiled.
“Am I getting better?” he’d asked.
The fuck?
He needed to kill the person who’d made Yeosang think he wasn’t spectacular at kissing because suddenly this plan of his had him torn between delight and dread. Still delighted to help—and dreading how much each kiss was going to affect him. He knew he could handle it, but it was not going to be as easy as he’d thought.
He’d sighed, then nodded at his best friend. “Knocking it out of the ball park, Sangie.”
Yeosang had snorted. “Don’t think I’m that good, but thanks.”
He’d almost started an argument. Because yes, yes he was that good. Better. But he didn’t want Yeosang feeling pressured, so he’d held back.
And now. Friday night.
He’d had San stay away, earlier in the week. Thought it might make Yeosang feel strange. To step into another room for a kiss, knowing San knew what they were doing. But after last night?
Yeosang would be fine.
He was more worried for himself.
Because of course San had laughed on the phone last night. For a solid minute. Maybe longer, but he’d hung up on him.
He’d apologized, when he’d called back. Which Wooyoung had graciously accepted—ignoring the this-is-fucking-hilarious undertones in his boyfriend’s voice.
Jackass.
And now it was Friday. San had arrived, as he always did, close to 6:30. Wooyoung had thought about cooking, but he was too on edge.
He could still insist on civilized food. No pizza. No fried chicken. Korean, thank you very much. God bless DoorDash.
When Yeosang’s watch alarm had gone off, he’d flinched. In a good way. San, devil that he was, smirked.
“Oh!” Yeosang clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shrimp dumplings. I should brush.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re doing this for me every night. Seafood breath isn’t great. Least I can do!” He slid out of his chair and started for the back of the house. “Be right back!”
Yeosang had barely disappeared from view before San quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do best friends care about breath?”
“Regular best friends who don’t kiss? Don’t care. But this?” he waved a hand in the air, “Not surprised. He’s so sweet and thankful.”
“How oppressive.”
Wooyoung glared at him. San had no idea. He made himself a lettuce wrap and stuffed it in his mouth, refusing to respond.
San smiled.
Jerk.
They ate in silence, until he heard Yeosang call his name.
“Do not. Say. Anything,” Wooyoung hissed at San. He dabbed his mouth clean with a napkin, and walked, with a slight sense of fear and overwhelming curiosity, toward the hallway.
“Can we...can we go to my room?” Yeosang whispered, peering past Wooyoung. Not that San was visible from this angle, but nerves, maybe? Since he was here? Maybe tonight would be easier.
“Sure.”
And back the same way Yeosang had come from. His bedroom on the left, Yeosang’s on the right.
Once inside, the door closed—making Wooyoung a touch apprehensive—it felt awkward. Nearly as much as the first night.
Time to be helpful?
He grabbed Yeosang’s hand and pulled him forward. “Where we are doesn’t matter. It’s just you and me—your friendly practice partner.”
A small smile.
A tentative kiss.
“We’ve made more progress than that, haven’t we?” He slipped a hand to Yeosang’s shoulder. “You can do better.” If he could just get him to relax.
Hm.
What if he—
Yeosang inhaled sharply, and Wooyoung froze, hand still tangled in his hair. The tug had been meant playfully, but it seemed...more.
Before he could say anything, Yeosang had his hands at Wooyoung’s waist, and—nothing shy now.
Warmth.
Buzzing.
Heart hammering in his chest.
The kiss eased from crushing to a softer hunger, tasting and teasing, time to breathe.
A slight nip made him gasp, and feather-light, Yeosang’s tongue dipped into his mouth.
He felt like he’d fall down any second.
He wanted—he wanted—
He pressed back, matching everything Yeosang did.
Mint. Of course he tasted of mint.
He dragged a hand down Yeosang’s chest and let his fingers drift under his shirt.
The low, broken moan that got made him dizzy.
Less clothing. They needed less—
Clothing? His eyes snapped open—when had he closed them—as the word broke through the haze. He dropped his hands from Yeosang’s body, abruptly stepping back.
Yeosang blinked at him.
Hell. That hadn’t been just a kiss.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry!” Yeosang’s cheeked flooded with color. “I didn’t mean to. Just—the hair. You pulled my hair, and it does something to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Young-ah, I’m—”
“It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. Did he look as wrecked as Yeosang? Probably.
“No. San agreed to let me practice kissing you, and that was—”
“A little more than planned.” He was not letting Yeosang spiral. He knew exactly how San would react. Telling Yeosang the truth, though? Not the best option. “You trust me, right?”
Yeosang nodded, eyes wide.
“Not planned, but not entirely unexpected, okay? San and I...had this talk. We both knew something...sort of like this? Could happen. I promise you, he won’t be upset.”
“I can’t face him. Not now. Not tonight. Even if he is somehow okay with this.” Yeosang chewed on his lower lip.
“You’ll see him in the morning,” Wooyoung pointed out. “Like every Saturday.”
“I won’t look like this, then.”
“True.”
Yeosang hesitated. “Do we...stop?”
“For now? Yes.” As soon as he got back to the dining room, he was hauling San to bed.
“I meant, entirely? This whole practice idea.”
Wooyoung frowned at him. “Why? Because we went a little too far once? We won’t again. I’ll keep my hands out of your hair.”
Yeosang ducked his head, then peered up at him. “Then you...want to keep doing this? The practice.”
It had been helping. Why would he stop?
“Yeah. We should just...be more aware.”
“I can set a two-minute timer,” Yeosang said.
Relief. And disappointment. Be logical, he told himself. At least for a few more minutes.
“Sounds like a plan. I’m, uh, gonna go back to San.”
“I’m...going to stay here.”
“Right.” He tilted Yeosang’s chin up. “Look at me. We’re fine. It’s okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, Sangie.” He let go. “I promise. See you in the morning, okay?”
“Yeah. Sweet dreams, Wooyoung.”
As if he’d be sleeping any time soon.
He smiled. “You, too.”
***
“You wish,” San panted out, “it was Yeosang, not me, right now?”
He rolled his head back and forth. “No.”
“Hm.”
“San.” Wooyoung swallowed convulsively as San did that hip tilt thing that didn’t make sense but felt amazing. What...what was he going to say?
“What if he was here, Young-ah? Would you...want him here...watching?”
“Jesus.” He grabbed at the sheets, twisting them in his hands.
San braced himself over him.
“You think he’d jerk off? Watching me...fuck you? Waiting for his turn?”
Wooyoung whimpered.
“You’ve seen his dick. More than once. Had to have...known him...years.”
“I never—”
“Liar.” San grinned at him. “Course you looked. Imagine it. Now.”
Images flashed in his mind. He bit hard on his lip.
“Imagine...imagine him on the bed. Me in the chair. Watching you both.”
Wooyoung’s breath caught.
“Got your attention. Me, watching him...push into you. You’ve wanted him...so long. Could you take it like that? Slow? Or you gonna beg? Faster?”
San snapped his hips forward and Wooyoung’s hand flew to his mouth. Yeosang—across hall—no—no screams.
“That be enough? Fast as this? No. You need more. Need him...on his back. Gonna climb on top? Hm, lovely? Wanna do that?”
He could see it.
“Don’t lie,” San whispered. “Slide his dick in, grind down...make yourself...feel as full...as you can? You want that?”
He nodded frantically. “Close. Please.”
“How hard....you gonna ride him, Young-ah? When he starts...bucking up...how long’ll you last?”
Pressure. Ache. His back arched. “Please.”
“You love that word. ‘Full.’ You love...a cock deep in you—”
Wooyoung cried out, body shuddering with release and relief.
“Yes,” San breathed. “My lovely.” A few quick, hard thrusts, then he stilled, eyes locked with his.
Wooyoung felt light-headed. “Stay. Just a bit?”
“’Course.”
***
After they’d showered—and, oh, he’d been grateful that his bedroom had a washroom attached—and gotten back into bed, San drew the blanket over them both, then chuckled.
“What?” Wooyoung asked sleepily.
“You were so sure you could handle it. Now look at you.”
“Wasn’t expecting you to play dirty.”
San flung an arm over his waist. “You love it.”
Wooyoung sighed. “It won’t get this bad again. Yeosang was so embarrassed he’s determined to set two-minute timers from now on.”
“That’s barely enough time for anything.”
“That’s the point. And I swore to keep my hands out of his hair.”
“Huh. Never seen him lose control. Wish I could’ve.”
“I should try to forget.” He didn’t have much faith that he could, but he could try. “Be for the best.”
“I guess so.” San pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
“You are still okay with it, right?”
“Yeah.” San blew out a long breath. “Because it’s him, yeah. But be careful, okay? It is what it is. A mistake for him, a fantasy for you. Watch yourself. One-sided feelings would be kinda tricky.”
Wooyoung gripped San’s hand. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”