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Jongho had a problem. Well, actually, he had a lot of problems, but this one haunted him the most. Jongho had a huge problem, and there was no way to fix it, because his problem happened to be his best friend.
Kang Yeosang.
Yeosang, ever intelligent as he was beautiful—and he was breathtakingly beautiful—could’ve hung the stars in Jongho’s mind. He would probably never admit it, but his innocent schoolyard crush he had harboured since day one was rapidly evolving, turning into a full-blown obsession—all because of one singular video.
Yeosang had been annoyingly secretive about the music video for Legacy, despite Jongho’s best efforts to wheedle it out of him. If he were to be honest with himself, he had already listened to the song a hundred times over, and he knew that giving Yeosang three minutes and sixteen seconds of uninterrupted screen time was going to drive him up the fucking wall. “You’ll see,” was all he would say when pestered about it. Jongho half-considered badgering staff to let him watch it before the release.
The day the video dropped, when there was only a minute left on the premiere countdown and Jongho had been waiting for ten already, watching the comments section flood with excited fans, he had realised just how insane he was being. He would never admit that he was just as, if not more excited than Atiny, despite practically living with the man. He had seen him at his best and at his worst, when he was sick and when he was tired, with less clothes than was healthy for Jongho’s poor heart and when wearing three-day-old pajamas with greasy hair and the shadow of stubble along his jaw. He had seen all of those sides of Yeosang, but he had a feeling that the side of him he’d see in this video was going to spell his end.
“Oh god,” he muttered as the countdown hit ten seconds. He readjusted his grip on his phone, not wanting to drop it if he freaked out too hard. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The countdown ended, and so did Jongho’s sanity.
Yeosang was insane. The video was insane. The way he danced commanded Jongho’s every breath, absolutely transfixed, gaze perpetually drawn to the strip of skin left exposed by his cropped shirt—and then something happened that broke him.
The shirt came off.
Jongho actually gasped as he watched the muscles of Yeosang’s back ripple, the set lighting casting haunting shadows across pale skin that Jongho craved like it were a drug. He groaned when he realised he was hard as a rock, knowing he’d have to jerk off as soon as the video was over or he’d be uncomfortably horny for the rest of the day. This was getting to be an issue; what would Yeosang think if he knew that Jongho pictured him bouncing on his cock, high cheekbones flushed and mouth parted in ecstasy every time he rubbed one out? Jongho was so distracted he didn’t even realise the video had ended until the silence caught up to him; guiltily, he rewinded it to the moment Yeosang shrugged his shirt off, turning the speed all the way down so he could watch his every move in slow motion. He sighed as he wrapped his fingers around his aching erection, gaze locked on the image of his best friend’s exposed chest as he began to flick his wrist, breath shallowing.
Jongho imagined it was Yeosang touching him, clothes cast aside and muscles illuminated in the dim light just like in the video. He imagined what his tongue would feel like wrapped around the head of his cock, what the heat of his core would do to him as he fucked him. His dick was absolutely throbbing, hot and heavy in his hand as he drove himself closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the tension in his gut, could tell that he wasn’t going to last much longer; he rewinded the video again, slapping a hand over his mouth as the sight of sculpted muscles and the face of a god drove him over the edge. He did not need Hongjoong or Wooyoung hearing him jerk off to Legacy. He’d rather die, in fact. Shame washed over him as he wiped the cum off of his hand, and he threw the covers over himself as if they could hide him from the world. He was so fucked, wasn’t he.
He just laid there, spiralling, for what felt like hours, only getting up when Wooyoung shouted through the whole damn apartment that dinner was ready. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, trudging into the kitchen. It smelled amazing in here; he was lucky as hell to have been roomed with someone who actually fucking knew how to cook.
“Who pissed in your cheerios, dude?” Wooyoung asked as he handed him a plate of stir fry, poking him in the arm. “You look like hell.”
“I’m fine,” Jongho lied, avoiding making eye contact. “Thanks for dinner, hyung.”
“…Yeah, something’s fucking wrong with you,” Wooyoung frowned, catching Jongho by the wrist as he tried to walk away. He laid the back of his hand across his forehead, humming absentmindedly. “Do you feel sick? You don’t feel feverish to me, but you sure as hell look it.”
“I said I’m fi—”
“—Joongie hyung!” Wooyoung shouted, his grip on Jongho’s wrist tightening as he tried to pull away in embarrassment. “Something’s wrong with Jongho!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Jongho hissed. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem is that you’re being weird and I don’t like it,” Wooyoung declared loudly. Hongjoong appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, looking halfway between exasperated and concerned. “Hyung, he’s acting really fucking off. Fix him.”
“Jongho,” Hongjoong sighed, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Jongho retorted, finally prying Wooyoung’s fingers off of his wrist. “Wooyoung’s just being insane again.”
“No, he’s being shifty as fuck. He won’t look at me, he hasn’t tried to annoy me at all since he’s stepped foot in this kitchen, and he looks like he got bitch-slapped by the sun he’s so pink in the face. It’s weirding me out.”
Hongjoong frowned. “Huh.”
“Seriously, I’m okay; can I please just go?” Jongho sighed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried not to get irritated by the interrogation taking place.
“Go where? You’re not eating out here?”
Jongho cursed his slip of the tongue. “I didn’t say that, I just want to sit down.”
“What’s with the tone?”
“Seriously?” Jongho groaned. “I don’t have a tone. I’m just tired and hungry and a certain someone is being a total fucking idiot and it’s pissing me off.”
“Hey,” Hongjoong warned. “I get that you don’t feel great, but that doesn’t make Wooyoung stupid. He’s just concerned about you.”
“I don’t need his concern, I need to eat dinner and go the fuck to bed.”
“Dude, it’s only 5:45,” Wooyoung squinted. “It’s not even dark out.”
“So?”
“So why the hell would you go to bed so ear—”
“—Would you just shut the actual fuck up?! Jesus fucking christ…” Jongho snapped, the walls closing in on him. This was bad. Very bad. Hongjoong was staring at him like he was some newly discovered species of deep-sea abomination, clearly taken aback by his outburst. Jongho was the calm one in this household, Wooyoung a total nutcase and Hongjoong almost always stressing about something work related. He just didn’t get involved in drama, much less start it. He preferred to have adult conversations and work things out maturely. He knew that shouting at Wooyoung had just painted a huge target for suspicion on his back.
“Jongho, please apologise,” Hongjoong said quietly. When Hongjoong spoke quietly, it meant he was actually upset. Whenever he shouted, it was more for emphasis or because he was riled up. When Hongjoong was mad, he was almost calm—at least, on the surface.
Jongho just closed his eyes in resignation. “…I’m sorry, hyung.”
“It’s okay,” Wooyoung sighed, “I’m just worried. Can you understand why I’m worried?”
“Yeah,” Jongho muttered hollowly. He wanted to disappear. They were going to make him talk about it, and Hongjoong hyung could always tell when people were lying to him, and everything was going to be ruined, and—
“Hey,” Hongjoong said gently, laying a hand on Jongho’s shoulder. “I can see you spiralling. What’s going on in that brain of yours, hm?”
“I’d really rather not talk about it,” Jongho replied hoarsely. He felt like his throat was closing up, fear seizing him. “Please, just this once, can you trust that I’ll be okay and just let me go?”
“Jjongie, please just talk to us,” Wooyoung murmured, taking a small step closer to him. “Just get it off your chest, and we can deal with it however we need to.”
“I can’t,” he choked out, fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t, please just let me g—”
“—Look at me,” Hongjoong urged calmly as Jongho’s chest began to lock up, a full-blown panic attack taking the reins. “Hey. Breathe, Jongho. In, out, just like that. Breathe. You’re okay. We’re all okay. I’ve got you. Come here…”
Hongjoong tugged him into a warm embrace, holding him tight enough for the pressure to be soothing but loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. A sudden wave of shame and despair crashed over him, realising that he was going to have to face the music. He was going to ruin everything. He’d have to leave, or get used to the seven people he held dearest to him hating his fucking guts. He bowed his head against Hongjoong’s shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes as the black hole in his chest sucked every ounce of hope out of his body. He was doomed. It was over.
“Talk to me,” Hongjoong whispered, smoothing Jongho’s hair down as he swayed them back and forth gently. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll always listen to you, Jongho. It’s what I’m here for.”
“I can’t,” Jongho whined, salt spilling down his cheeks. “Hyung, I can’t, it’s wrong, I’m wro—”
“—Hey,” Hongjoong murmured. “Nothing’s wrong with you, okay? You’re okay. I promise you’re okay. Just please tell me what’s bothering you so badly. I’m not going to be mad at you.”
“No,” Jongho sobbed, clutching at the back of Hongjoong’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground. “I can’t.”
“Do I need to be worried about your safety?” Hongjoong asked quietly, letting Jongho cry into his shoulder. “You’re scaring me a bit, sweetheart. I promise, whatever is going on, we can work through it, okay?”
“He’ll h-hate me,” Jongho stammered. He couldn’t breathe. The edges of his vision were going dark, flickering as his chest heaved in a desperate bid for oxygen. “He’ll hate me, and I’ll ruin everything, and I ca—”
“—Who’ll hate you?” Hongjoong pressed, rubbing comforting circles at the nape of Jongho’s neck as he held him close. “What’s going on?”
“I love him,” he hissed, an ugly sob tearing from his throat. “I love him and he can never know because it’s wrong and I’m not supposed to love him like that and I—”
“—Love who?” Hongjoong asked, drawing back and forcing Jongho to look at him. “Who are you talking about?”
“…Yeosang,” he whimpered once the long stretch of silence that had fallen over the three of them grew too uncomfortable to bear, clutching at his chest as everything came tumbling down around him. There was no going back. He had burned the bridge. His life as he knew it was over.
“Huh?” Hongjoong muttered, expression twisting in confusion. “Wait, are you guys not dating already?”
What. The. Fuck?
“What?” Jongho breathed, so stunned his tears stopped falling. Hongjoong thought he and Yeosang were together? Was this some kind of horrible practical joke? “What the fuck are y—”
“—Seriously, you two aren’t already going out?” Hongjoong marvelled. “Shit, does Yeosang know you two aren’t going out?”
“What!?”
Hongjoong just stared at him like he had grown a second head. “Oh my god. No, I can’t do this right now. You need to talk to him, I’m not doing it for him.”
“…Talk to him about what?” Jongho mouthed, unable to make a sound. His blood felt like ice in his veins, freezing him in his place. What the ever-loving fuck was Hongjoong talking about? “Hyung, talk to him about what?”
“Jongho, just trust me. Go upstairs and talk to him. Like, right now. Please.”
Jongho felt like he was going to throw up. “Hongj—”
“—Listen, I’ll even walk you up to their flat if you don’t want to go alone,” Hongjoong said plainly, “but you need to have a chat with him, like, now.”
“…Fuck,” Jongho mumbled, completely terrified. He had no idea what the fuck Hongjoong was going on about, and Wooyoung looked like he wanted to go on one of his unhinged rants, and he had to talk to Yeosang, face to face, today… He was going to die. This was it. This was the end of his life.
“Let’s go,” Hongjoong sighed, taking Jongho by the hand and dragging him out the front door, up the stairs, and down the hall to the flat Yeosang shared with Yunho. He knocked on the door loudly until Yunho finally yanked it open with an unimpressed expression, quirking an eyebrow at him and Jongho.
“Can I help you?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I was literally just about to start eating dinner, y’know.”
“Jongho needs to talk to Yeosang,” Hongjoong declared, gently shoving him towards the door before turning on his heel and walking away. “Bye.”
“What the—fucking—oh my g—”
“—C’mon in,” Yunho sighed, ushering Jongho into the apartment. “Pretty sure Sangie’s in his room. Everything okay?”
“I have no fucking idea anymore,” Jongho muttered, venturing towards the hall that led to Yeosang’s room hesitantly. He really didn’t want to be doing this right now, but something about the way Hongjoong had been so insistent he see Yeosang immediately sparked a horrible flicker of hope in his chest. He couldn’t entertain it; he’d shatter into a million pieces if that hope was unfounded. He’d break.
Before he knew it, he was standing outside Yeosang’s room, heart in his throat as he stared at the doorknob like it would bite him were he to reach for it. It took every ounce of courage in his body to raise his fist to the door, knocking once, twice, thrice. He could hear a quiet shuffling from within the room, and then the door swung open to reveal the man Jongho was hopelessly, entirely in love with. Yeosang’s expression morphed from fatigue to surprise to a wide smile that felt like a knife to Jongho’s gut, motioning for him to come into his bedroom. The lights were down low, the coloured LED strips along the seam of the ceiling glowing vibrant purple. Yeosang clambered back into bed, scooting over to the far side and patting the empty space beside him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he hummed contentedly as Jongho’s prefrontal cortex short-circuited. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jongho stressed as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, gaze pleading. “I don’t fucking know anymore, and I’m scared as shit, and I really don’t want to do this but fucking Hongjoong hyung made me and I swear to god I’m gonna throw up at any given moment an—”
“—Hey,” Yeosang murmured, laying a hand on Jongho’s shoulder. His touch burned. He needed more of it. “Slow down, Jjongie. What’s wrong?”
“I—” Jongho choked, head reeling. He couldn’t do this. Panic started to flood him again, his breath shallowing as doubt crept up his spine. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I don’t—”
“—Jagiya, look at me,” Yeosang murmured, his hand shifting to Jongho’s jaw as he gently tugged him to meet his eye. He felt his heart stop. “Hey, tell me what’s going on in there.”
…Jagiya?
“What?” Jongho breathed, shell-shocked. Yeosang had called him jagiya, had called him his. “I’m—huh?”
“Jongho, are you okay?” Yeosang frowned, thumb brushing against his cheek softly. “You’re concerning m—”
“—Are we together?” Jongho asked feverishly, the syllables so rushed he could barely understand them himself. Yeosang just frowned deeper, tilting his head slightly. “Like—are we together, together?“
“…Are we not?” Yeosang responded quietly after a long, tense stretch of silence. He looked as scared as Jongho felt. What was happening right now? “I—I know you’re not one to rush things, and that we were taking it slow, but I was—I was under the impression we were together, yes…”
“Oh god,” Jongho whispered in horror, heart racing. Yeosang ducked his head, face paling as he swore under his breath. Fuck, Jongho realised. He thinks I’m mad, doesn’t he—
“I’m sorr—”
Jongho grabbed Yeosang by the collar and dragged him into a kiss so desperate it almost hurt, every nerve in his body screaming as the searing press of lips on lips drove him past the point of insanity. His hands found purchase on the sides of Yeosang’s neck, fingertips threading through messy curls as he tugged him closer; when Yeosang climbed into his lap, Jongho absolutely lost it. His hands flickered to Yeosang’s waist, holding on for dear life as he let his mouth trail down his neck, basking in the strangled whimper that tumbled from kiss-swollen lips. Jongho bit down lightly just above the collar of his shirt, ready to devour Yeosang whole.
“Jongho,” Yeosang breathed, clutching at his shoulders as he let his teeth graze over his pulse. “Fuck, hold on a minute, Jongho...”
Jongho pulled away, heart in his throat. Had he just crossed a line in his desperation? He hadn’t asked, he had just taken, what the fuck was he thinking? He swore internally, bracing himself to lose everything he had just gained. Yeosang took his trembling hands gently, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles. “Hey, look at me,” he whispered, voice heavy with an emotion Jongho couldn’t place. “I’m not mad at you or anything, but I think we’re on two different pages here. Can you start from the beginning and tell me what’s been going on?”
“…I—I didn’t think you wanted me the way I wanted you,” Jongho started breathlessly. “I didn’t think we were together yet, but I wanted to be so badly, and Hongjoong found out and I thought I had ruined everything and then when I realised you wanted me too I just lost it a little and I’m sorry I kissed you, I just was so relieved that I hadn’t fucked up an—”
“—Breathe,” Yeosang chuckled, squeezing Jongho’s hands. “You didn’t think we were dating? Why not?”
“We never talked about it, and nothing has been different, and I didn’t even know you were into guys like that, an—”
“—Jongho,” Yeosang said firmly, expression mildly exasperated. “Do you remember my birthday party this year?”
Jongho blinked back at him, thinking back to June. He knew the guys had all celebrated Yeosang’s birthday together, and he knew he had been there, but why couldn’t he place any specifics? Oh god, he realised. Was that the night I got wasted enough that I didn’t even know whose apartment I woke up in the next day? Did I fucking forget telling Yeosang I love him? “Oh no,” he muttered weakly. “Oh no, what did I do?”
Yeosang fought a smile, eyes shining with mirth. “You were very, very affectionate,” he hummed. “And once everyone else had left you told me, and I quote, that someday you were going to ‘man up and kiss the fuck out of me.’ I’ve been waiting ever since.”
“Oh god,” Jongho paled. “Oh god, why didn’t you fucking say something? I’ve been losing my fucking mind over how fucking whipped I am for you, what the hell…”
“Well,” Yeosang started, the corner of his lips quirking up, “we’re both all caught up now, so…”
“Can I kiss you again?” Jongho breathed, heart soaring. Yeosang nodded, and Jongho let his hands rest on the sides of his neck as he leaned closer, hesitating a mere breath away in silent question. Yeosang closed the gap between them, winding his arms around Jongho’s shoulders as he kissed him like it was the last thing he’d ever do. The earth’s axis spun out of control, leaving Jongho careening through space as the press of Yeosang’s body against his own burned like wildfire.
“Fuck,” Jongho swore as they parted for air, hands drifting beneath the hem of Yeosang’s shirt. The man gasped as his fingers trailed across his lower back, tugging him closer with a breathy sigh. “Yeosang, I—how far are we taking this right now?”
“How far do you want to take it?” Yeosang asked, pressing a kiss just below Jongho’s ear. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, so don’t worry about whether or not I’m ready.”
Jongho whined high in his throat, his grip on Yeosang’s waist tightening. “God, hyung, you can’t just say that,” he hissed, rapidly losing the will to keep things tame. He wanted to completely abandon control, to give into every urge and lose himself in Yeosang, but he had to be responsible about this. They had literally just worked things out, they hadn’t talked boundaries or preferences or dynamics or anything, and Yunho was sitting in the kitchen in full earshot of anything that may go on between them and he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “You have no idea how much I want you right now, but…”
“But?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Jongho admitted, frowning. “I’m still not even sure I’ve fully processed what’s going on right now, and I want to make sure we talk first, and it just doesn’t feel like the right timing even though I would literally drop everything and fuck you right this second if you told me to…”
Yeosang’s face went a brilliant shade of pink, lips parting as he sucked in a quiet gasp. “Really?” he asked, voice trembling. “You’d… you’d go all the way?”
“Yes,” Jongho nodded resolutely. “Only for you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, but not tonight,” Yeosang said quietly. “You’re right; it’s probably too soon for that. I would drop everything for you too if you wanted, but I think I’d rather we wait a little while longer and make sure we’re entirely ready before we do anything like that.”
“Can I still kiss you, and touch you, and hold you?” Jongho asked, hand alighting on Yeosang’s cheek. He sighed into his touch, eyes flickering closed. Jongho was spellbound.
“Yes,” Yeosang affirmed, turning his head to press a kiss to Jongho’s wrist. “I would be sad if you didn’t.”
“Come here,” Jongho murmured as he tugged Yeosang’s face closer, lips colliding in a languid, heated dance. Jongho couldn’t believe he was actually kissing Yeosang, couldn’t believe he was actually his. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but when they finally drew apart Jongho pressed their foreheads together, still holding him close as he tried to catch his breath.
“Stay the night,” Yeosang whispered, fingers curling into Jongho’s hoodie. “We don’t have to do anything, but I want you to stay.”
“Okay,” Jongho nodded, feeling a wild grin starting to overtake his features. “God, I’m so fucking happy. I—you have no idea how relieved I am right now, holy shit…”
Yeosang laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around Jongho’s shoulders as he tugged him into a tight embrace. “I think I’m probably just as relieved,” he chuckled. “I had been wondering if you’d ever actually make a move. What changed?”
Jongho was sure his face turned redder than Yeosang had ever seen it, his mouth going dry as he thought back to getting off to Legacy’s MV. “Uh,” he stalled, unsure if he was brave enough to admit the truth. “I—um—the… the video…”
“What vide—oh,” Yeosang blushed, ducking his head. “I was, uh, hoping that might get your attention.”
“Oh, it got my fucking attention alright,” Jongho laughed breathlessly. “Jesus, I thought I was gonna pass the fuck out when the shirt came off. I definitely contributed to that being the ‘most replayed’ segment…”
“…You know,” Yeosang hummed, gaze heavy as he took Jongho’s hands, settling them just below the hem of his shirt. “You don’t have to replay the video if you want to see me, now.”
Jongho’s breath hitched as Yeosang dragged his hands higher, higher, his shirt hiking up as he stretched his arms overhead. Jongho gingerly peeled the fabric away, helping tug it off and casting it aside before turning his attention to the downright sinful sight before him. A low groan rumbled through his chest as his gaze flickered across Yeosang’s exposed torso, the urge to touch and kiss and praise threatening to usurp rationality. “Fuck,” he swore, fingers twitching as he fought to keep his hands to himself. Yeosang just chuckled, guiding his hands to his sides once more.
“You can touch me,” he sighed as Jongho’s fingers splayed over smooth, warm skin. “Mmh…”
“Yeosang,” Jongho whispered, leaning in and pressing a reverent kiss to his lips. “Fuck, Yeosang…”
Jongho let his hands roam over ribs and spine and collarbones and shoulder blades, memorising every contour of Yeosang’s body as his lips trailed down his neck, ghosting across his racing pulse. Every little pleasured noise that fell from Yeosang’s lips only spurred him on, and he had to rein himself in when he found himself ready to leave a bruising mark over his collarbone as a reminder that Yeosang was his now. He bowed his head against his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to calm down, or he was going to get carried away.
“You okay?” Yeosang mused, carding his fingers through Jongho’s hair.
“Yeah, just really fucking worked up,” he admitted, sighing into Yeosang’s touch. “God, I want you.”
“Soon,” Yeosang hummed. “Come on, let’s just lay down for now.”
“Okay,” Jongho acquiesced, letting himself lean back into the mattress. Yeosang laid his head on his chest as their legs tangled together, fingers curling into his shirt. Jongho wrapped his arms around his waist loosely, hands resting on his hip as he let out a deep sigh. This was all he had ever wanted, and now it was real.
“I just realised we’re gonna have to tell the others,” Yeosang muttered, and Jongho groaned. “God, Wooyoung is going to be insufferable.”
“At least you don’t fucking live with him,” Jongho grumbled. “I’m not going to have a moment’s peace for the foreseeable future.”
“Let’s just fucking traumatise them all before they have a chance to traumatise us,” Yeosang snorted. “I dare you to text a picture of us laying like this to the groupchat. Bonus points if you give me a hickey first.”
“The makeup noonas are gonna be so fucking pissed if I do that,” Jongho balked. “They can get scary, man. Anyone who makes a living using a fucking mascara brush is a goddamn medieval torturer in my book.”
“Hmm, but it would let everyone know who I belong to,” Yeosang hummed nonchalantly. Jongho felt every drop of blood that had somehow managed to stay in his brain go straight to his cock. “I want them all to see how much you love me.”
Jongho swore under his breath, shifting so Yeosang lay beneath him with half-lidded eyes locked on his lips and cheekbones flushed bright red. This was going to be the death of him, but he didn’t care. He let his teeth graze the supple, sensitive skin just above Yeosang’s collarbone, bite deepening into something more dangerous at the broken whine that tore from Yeosang’s lips, his hands immediately twisting in the hem of his hoodie as he struggled to stay calm. Jongho’s tongue flicked across his pulse as he teased at pale skin, ensuring he left a very conspicuous mark right around where Yeosang’s collar would rest if he were wearing a shirt.
“Come here,” Jongho murmured as he laid back across the covers once more, tugging Yeosang as close to him as he could. He slung his arm around him, letting his fingertips trail over the jut of his hip bone as they got comfortable again. Yeosang tucked himself under Jongho’s chin and started humming quietly, clearly pleased.
“Mm, smile for the camera,” Jongho snickered as he angled his phone to catch all the key points to this picture; that he was clearly in Yeosang’s room, that the two of them were laying in bed together and had become a complete tangle of limbs, that Yeosang wasn’t wearing a shirt, that the blossoming hickey on his neck stood out like an ink stain in this light, and that if you looked very, very carefully in the bottom left corner, you could see the outline of Jongho’s hard-on pressing into Yeosang’s thigh. Yeosang grinned as Jongho snapped a photo, shifting to place a gentle kiss to the base of his neck. The camera clicked again, capturing lips on skin. That would be the one, Jongho thought to himself as he pulled up the groupchat.
—>Haribo sent one picture.
Haribo: We’re turning our phones off for the rest of the night; if you need us for anything, no you fucking don’t. Peace, bitches.
the hot one: OH MY FUCKING GOD. YEOSANG CALL ME N O W IM NOT FUCKING JOKING.
hehetmon: No.
Captain: my work here is done. praise be.
Toothless: !!!!! Oh my god!! Finally!!!
spidey: damn please tell me y’all ain’t fucking while i’m still in this apartment
Haribo: Nah not tonight
But rest assured there will come a day in the very near future where you get sexiled for idfk how long
spidey: gee thanks
the hot one: KANG YEOSANG. CALL ME.
hehetmon: no!
Mingki: wait what’d i miss?
OH
OKAY
DAMN
creep: huh
WAIT WHAT
WHATTTTTTTTTTTT OMFG I CALLED IT
WOOYOUNG YOU OWE ME 50K
hehetmon: San what the fuck? you BET on me and Jongho getting together?
creep: yo not just me, Wooyoung did too
it was his idea not mine
the hot one: NO IT WAS YOUR IDEA!
ALSO YEOSANG IF YOU DONT CALL ME IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS IM CALLING YOU.
hehetmon: please don’t
Jongho bit back a laugh as Yeosang’s phone started to ring, Wooyoung’s contact picture appearing on screen as a FaceTime request came through. “Go on,” he murmured. “He’s not gonna leave us alone until he gets to talk to you.”
“Hi,” Yeosang muttered in annoyance as he swiped into the call, flinching away from the phone when Wooyoung started shouting.
“YOU GUYS FUCKING HOOKED UP?” Wooyoung exclaimed, eyes wide. “Oh my fucking god, this is absolutely fucking insane, holy shit, Sangie! I’m so fucking happy for you, oh my god!”
“I’m happy too,” Yeosang smiled. “We both are.”
”Jesus christ, I’ve been waiting for this day for fucking forever,” Wooyoung beamed. “Oh my god. You have no idea how many JongSang fics I have saved to my AO3 bookmar—”
“—Dude, oh my god, no,” Yeosang groaned, exasperation carved into his features. “I thought you stopped with the fanfics…”
“Fuck no,” Wooyoung snorted. “Atiny are creative as hell, and some of those stories deserve a fucking Pulitzer prize. I can send you some good ones, if you need ideas for ways to spice things u—”
“—Nope,” Yeosang shuddered. “No, I will not be reading what Atiny think my sex life is like.”
“Send me the links,” Jongho grinned, earning himself a slap on the chest. “What? Fanfics were how I got through the worst of my pining. Not all of them are filthy, y’know. There are some really sweet, PG ones, if smut isn’t your thing.”
“Oh holy hell,” Yeosang muttered. “Not you too.”
Jongho chuckled as he took him by the chin, tugging him into a gentle kiss. Wooyoung started screaming incoherently on the other end of the line. Yeosang sighed against his lips, fingers splaying over Jongho’s chest.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Wooyoung shouted, the clatter of him dropping his phone startling Yeosang out of the kiss. “Jesus Christ, don’t fucking DO that! Oh my god!”
“You’re the one that FaceTimed me after we told you not to bother us tonight,” Yeosang rolled his eyes. “It’s just gonna get worse from here, so either shut up and get used to it or hang up.”
The line went dead immediately, and Jongho couldn’t help but laugh. He was sure Hongjoong was having a wonderful time dealing with Wooyoung’s outbursts right about now; he captured Yeosang’s lips once more, letting the kiss convey every unspoken ounce of love he had in his body. Hands wandered, and hearts raced. Everything was right in the world.
“I love you,” Jongho breathed as they parted for air. “I love you so much, Yeosang.”
Yeosang smiled up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “I love you too, Jongho. Always have.”
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Jongho marvelled as Yeosang tugged the covers over them, curling closer into his side. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
“Believe it,” Yeosang grinned. “You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”
“Good,” Jongho hummed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Because I’m not letting you go. Never.”
“Hmm, promise?”
“I promise.”
Jongho sighed with relief. One problem down, a million more to go... I’ll make it just fine, though. Everything will be okay.