Archive of Our Own

The office was already awake when Yeosang stepped inside.

Soft conversation hummed through the open space, keyboards clicking in uneven rhythms, the smell of coffee lingering in the air from the small kitchen down the hall. Yeosang adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and let himself breathe for a moment before heading toward his desk. Mornings like this had become familiar in the past few months. Not easy, but manageable. Predictable in a way that made his chest feel steady instead of tight.

He greeted a few coworkers quietly as he passed, small nods and shy smiles exchanged without pressure. His desk waited for him near the window, sunlight spilling across the surface and catching on the sketches he had left pinned to the corkboard the night before. Color palettes, half-finished layouts, notes scribbled in his careful handwriting. His space. His proof that he belonged here.

Yeosang sat down, powered on his computer, and wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup. Still warm. He took a sip and felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

A good morning, he thought. A rare one.

He opened his design software and lost himself in the quiet focus of adjusting lines and spacing, refining something he had been stuck on for days. Time slipped by gently. His breathing stayed even. His thoughts stayed where they were supposed to.

Then a voice spoke beside him.

“Hey, excuse me.”

Yeosang startled, fingers twitching on the keyboard as he looked up.

The man standing there was unfamiliar. Tall, well dressed without looking stiff, sleeves rolled up just enough to suggest comfort rather than formality. He had an easy smile, the kind that reached his eyes without effort, and a warmth to him that filled the small space between them immediately.

“Oh, um, hi,” Yeosang said, pushing his chair back slightly so he could face him properly.

“I’m new,” the man said, chuckling softly. “Still figuring out where everything is and who everyone is. I was told you’re Yeosang.”

Yeosang nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“Nice to meet you.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Minjae.”

Yeosang stood halfway, shaking it carefully. Minjae’s grip was gentle, not overpowering, and he let go quickly like he was mindful of Yeosang’s space.

“I heard you’re one of the designers here,” Minjae continued, glancing briefly at Yeosang’s screen and corkboard. “Your work looks really good. Clean, but emotional. That’s hard to balance.”

Yeosang felt his ears warm instantly. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You’re… you’re a designer too?”

“Yeah,” Minjae said easily. “That’s why I wanted to say hi. I’ll be working pretty close to your team. Figured it’d be good to introduce myself before I start asking a million questions.”

He laughed, light and unforced, and Yeosang found himself smiling back before he could stop himself.

Minjae talked like it was the most natural thing in the world. About the office layout, about how confusing the printer system was, about how he already managed to spill coffee on his shirt before nine in the morning. He spoke with his hands, expressive but not overwhelming, and every time Yeosang responded with something short or awkward, Minjae never made it feel strange. He just flowed around it, filling in the spaces gently.

Yeosang realized, distantly, that he felt comfortable.

That realization alone made his stomach twist.

“Well,” Minjae said after a moment, glancing at the clock on the wall, “I should let you get back to work. I just wanted to say hi properly.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Yeosang said quickly. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.” Minjae hesitated, then smiled again, softer this time. “Also, just so it’s not weird later.”

Yeosang blinked. “Not weird?”

Minjae rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that somehow made him look even more relaxed. “I used to date Wooyoung.”

The world seemed to tilt.

Yeosang felt it first in his chest, a sharp, quiet drop like missing a step on the stairs. His fingers curled slowly against the edge of his desk.

“Oh,” he said, the sound barely more than air.

Minjae nodded. “I figured you’d know who I am eventually. You and the others are kind of hard not to recognize.” He laughed again, clearly trying to keep things light. “You’re all pretty famous, after all.”

Yeosang’s mind struggled to catch up. Wooyoung’s ex. Standing right in front of him. Here. At his job.

Minjae didn’t seem tense or bitter. If anything, he looked genuinely calm. “Don’t worry,” he added, like he could see the panic beginning to bloom in Yeosang’s eyes. “That was a long time ago. I’m really happy for him. For all of you.”

Yeosang nodded again, too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Minjae smiled, warm and sincere. “I’ll see you around, Yeosang.”

And just like that, he walked away.

Yeosang stayed standing for a few seconds after Minjae disappeared into the sea of desks and voices. Then he slowly sat back down, his movements careful, like if he moved too quickly something might break.

The office noise rushed back in all at once.

Wooyoung’s ex.

Minjae’s smile replayed in his head. The confidence. The ease. The way he spoke without hesitation, without shrinking. How naturally he fit into the space around him.

Yeosang glanced down at his hands. At the faint smudge of graphite on his thumb. At the coffee cup he suddenly felt too aware of holding.

He thought of Wooyoung’s laugh. His bright presence. His warmth.

And then he thought of himself.

The comparison crept in quietly, settling deep in his chest. Minjae was everything Yeosang felt he wasn’t. Confident. Funny. Open. Someone who didn’t second-guess every word before saying it.

Someone who had been loved by Wooyoung before.

Yeosang swallowed, staring at his screen without seeing it. His good morning dissolved into something tight and fragile, thoughts spiraling faster the longer he sat there.

What if Wooyoung missed that version of love.
What if he was only enough because he was different, not because he was better.
What if this was the beginning of realizing that.

The cursor blinked on his screen, patient and unaware.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, heart racing, and tried to remember how only minutes ago he had felt okay.

Lunch crept up on Yeosang without warning.

One moment he was staring at his screen, pretending to work while his thoughts ran in frantic circles, and the next his phone vibrated softly against the desk. The sound made his heart jump instantly.

Wooyoung.

He didn’t even have to look to know.

Yeosang picked up the phone with careful fingers, like it might burn him.

Wooyoung
I’m nearby for a fitting. Wanna grab lunch together? I miss you

Yeosang’s chest tightened.

Normally, the message would have made him smile. Normally, he would already be halfway out of his chair, imagining Wooyoung’s grin, the way he always leaned too close, the way he stole fries off Yeosang’s plate and acted innocent about it.

Today, it felt like panic crawling up his spine.

His eyes flicked across the office instinctively, even though Minjae was nowhere in sight. Still, the thought of Wooyoung sitting across from him, bright and affectionate, while Minjae existed somewhere in the same building, made Yeosang’s breathing go shallow.

He typed, deleted, typed again.

Yeosang
I can’t today I’m running behind on a deadline. I’ll probably just grab something small and keep working.

The message sent before he could overthink it more.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Wooyoung
Really? You sure? You sounded tired this morning.

Yeosang swallowed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Yeosang
Yeah. I’m okay. Just one of those days.

There was a pause. Longer this time.

Wooyoung
Okay… if you’re sure. Don’t overwork yourself, angel. I’ll see you tonight?

Yeosang stared at the screen, guilt blooming heavy in his chest.

Yeosang
Yeah. Tonight

He set the phone down and pressed his palms lightly against his eyes, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Wooyoung had half believed him. That was worse than if he had questioned it.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

I just need space, he told himself. Just for today.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened his messages again and scrolled until he found San’s name.

Yeosang
Are you free for lunch? I kind of don’t want to eat alone today.

The reply came almost instantly.

San
Always free for you. Where?

Yeosang let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

They met at a small place a few blocks from the office. Casual, quiet enough that Yeosang didn’t feel like the walls were closing in. San arrived first, already waving enthusiastically when Yeosang stepped inside.

“There you are,” San said, grinning as he stood and pulled Yeosang into a quick hug. “You look like you forgot to breathe.”

Yeosang laughed weakly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Very,” San replied, sitting back down. “What’s going on?”

Yeosang shrugged, sliding into the chair across from him. “Nothing. Just tired.”

San hummed, clearly unconvinced but kind enough not to push. They ordered food, and for a few minutes they talked about work, about a show San had started watching, about absolutely nothing important.

But Yeosang’s mind kept circling back.

Minjae.
Wooyoung.
Togheter.

He poked at his food, appetite dull, and finally glanced up at San like he had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head.

“Can I ask you something kind of… random?”

San smiled. “You can ask me anything.”

Yeosang hesitated. “Do you think… past relationships ever really go away?”

San blinked, surprised, then leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “That is random. But yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang said quickly. “I just mean… like exes. Do you think people always still think about them?”

San shrugged. “Sometimes. But thinking about someone isn’t the same as wanting them back.”

Yeosang nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “What about Wooyoung?”

San laughed softly. “What about him?”

“He’s… dated a lot,” Yeosang said carefully. “Before us.”

“True,” San said easily. “But none of them mattered the way we do now.”

Yeosang’s fingers tightened around his fork. “There was one,” he said, heart racing. “The one who… left.”

San tilted his head. “Minjae?”

The name hit harder than Yeosang expected.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “What happened between them?”

San didn’t notice the way Yeosang’s shoulders tensed. “Oh. That.”

He took a sip of his drink before continuing. “Minjae got an offer in Paris. Big one. He didn’t want to do long distance, and Wooyoung’s career was really starting to take off here. So… they broke up.”

Yeosang looked down at his plate. “Was it bad?”

“No,” San said without hesitation. “It was sad, but clean. No cheating. No fighting. Just wrong timing.”

Wrong timing.

The words echoed in Yeosang’s head like a sentence he couldn’t escape.

“So Wooyoung didn’t want to break up,” Yeosang said softly, more to himself than to San.

San frowned slightly. “I mean… I don’t think either of them wanted to. But wanting something doesn’t mean it works.”

Yeosang nodded again, but his chest felt tight, heavy with something he couldn’t name.

If it hadn’t ended badly.
If it hadn’t ended at all because of love fading.
If it was just timing.

San kept talking, unaware. “Honestly, I think it was one of the healthiest breakups Wooyoung’s ever had. They wished each other well.”

Yeosang forced a small smile. “That’s… good.”

But inside, the thought twisted painfully.

If Minjae hadn’t left.
If Paris hadn’t happened.
If timing had been kinder.

Wooyoung might still want him.

Yeosang swallowed hard and focused on his food again, the taste bland and distant. San chatted on, comfortable and relaxed, completely missing the way Yeosang’s thoughts spiraled deeper with every second.

He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t betrayed.

That was the worst part.

There was nothing ugly to hold onto. Nothing to reassure him that he was different because the past had failed.

Yeosang smiled when San looked at him, nodded when appropriate, laughed softly at the right moments. But inside, a quiet fear settled deep in his chest.

That Wooyoung’s past love had not been a mistake.

That maybe, if given the chance again, Wooyoung would choose that confidence, that ease, that version of love that had simply been paused by distance.

And Yeosang walked back to work afterward with that thought clinging to him like a shadow he could not shake.

Yeosang went back to the office with his stomach still knotted, the afternoon light slanting through the tall windows in a way that usually calmed him. Today it did nothing.

The moment he stepped inside, he heard laughter.

It wasn’t loud or obnoxious. It was warm. Easy. The kind of laughter that didn’t demand attention but somehow gathered it anyway.

Minjae’s voice.

Yeosang froze for half a second before forcing himself to keep walking. He told himself not to look. He told himself to act normal. He told himself he was being ridiculous.

None of it worked.

Minjae was standing a few desks away, sleeves rolled up, leaning casually against a table while a few coworkers crowded around him. He was smiling, eyes crinkling slightly as he spoke, hands moving animatedly as he explained something. Someone laughed again, and Minjae laughed with them, unguarded and confident, like he had been there for years instead of hours.

Yeosang sat down at his desk quietly.

He opened his laptop. He pulled up his design files. He placed his hands on the keyboard.

Nothing happened.

Behind him, Minjae kept talking.

Yeosang caught fragments without meaning to.

“…so I thought, why not just flip the layout entirely?”

“That’s actually genius.”

“You fit in fast,” someone said. “Feels like you’ve always been here.”

Minjae laughed again. “Guess I just got lucky.”

Lucky.

Yeosang stared at his screen until the letters blurred slightly. He tried to focus on the lines of his sketch, the colors he had chosen earlier that morning. They felt wrong now. Too soft. Too unsure.

Minjae didn’t feel unsure.

Minjae was tall, confident, effortlessly charming. He spoke like he belonged in every room he entered. He didn’t shrink himself. He didn’t hesitate before speaking. He didn’t overthink every word after it left his mouth.

Yeosang’s fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.

He thought of Wooyoung. Of the way he laughed loudly, loved boldly, took up space without apology. Of how Minjae fit into that memory far too easily.

Of course Wooyoung had loved him.

The realization pressed heavy against Yeosang’s chest.

It wasn’t just Wooyoung either.

His mind betrayed him, pulling up images of all his partners. Confident smiles. Strong personalities. People who shined without trying.

Seonghwa, composed and admired.
Hongjoong, magnetic and brilliant.
Yunho, warm and steady.
San, fearless in his affection.
Mingi, loud and unapologetic.
Jongho, grounded and sure.

They had all lived full lives before him.

They had all loved before him.

Yeosang swallowed hard.

What did he bring that someone else couldn’t?

Minjae’s laughter drifted over again, closer this time. Yeosang tensed without realizing it.

“I love this place already,” Minjae said. “You all make it easy.”

Someone replied, “That’s just your energy.”

Energy.

Yeosang glanced down at his hands. They were clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles pale.

He had never been easy energy.

He was quiet. Awkward. He needed time. He needed reassurance. He needed space to open up and even then, he was afraid he would say the wrong thing.

Minjae didn’t need any of that.

The thought slid into his mind, cruel and uninvited.

What if they get bored of me?

Yeosang’s chest tightened painfully.

What if one day Wooyoung realized that loving him was work? That being patient, gentle, reassuring all the time was exhausting? What if Wooyoung remembered how easy it had been with Minjae, how natural, how uncomplicated?

What if the others felt it too?

He imagined it against his will. Conversations he wasn’t part of. Laughter that came easier without him there. A slow realization that Yeosang was something they had outgrown.

His throat burned.

He forced himself to type something, anything, just to prove he was still functioning. The words came out wrong. He deleted them. Tried again. Deleted again.

Minjae’s voice faded as the group dispersed, footsteps moving away, chairs scraping softly against the floor. The office settled back into its usual hum.

Yeosang felt none of the relief.

Instead, the silence made his thoughts louder.

I don’t deserve them.

The sentence settled deep inside him, heavy and absolute.

He thought of how Wooyoung loved loudly, publicly, without shame. How Yeosang still flinched at attention. How he hid behind hoodies and silence and apologetic smiles.

He thought of how Minjae stood in the center of a room and belonged.

Yeosang lowered his head slightly, eyes fixed on his screen even though he wasn’t really seeing it.

What if this is temporary?

What if I am just the quiet phase before they realize they want something brighter again?

His chest ached with the effort of holding himself together. He stayed perfectly still at his desk, posture polite, expression neutral, while inside everything twisted and pulled apart.

No one noticed.

Minjae passed by once, offering a quick friendly smile in Yeosang’s direction before continuing on.

Yeosang managed to return it.

As soon as Minjae was gone, his smile collapsed.

He sat there for the rest of the afternoon, surrounded by people, surrounded by noise, feeling smaller by the minute, convinced that loving him was something that could only ever be temporary.

Yeosang was the last one left in the office.

The lights above the desks had dimmed automatically, leaving only a soft glow near the exit. His coworkers had gone home one by one, their goodbyes echoing briefly before disappearing into the quiet. Even Minjae had left hours ago, waving cheerfully as he headed out, completely unaware of the way Yeosang’s chest tightened the moment the door closed behind him.

Yeosang stayed.

He stared at his screen long after it stopped making sense, moving his mouse without purpose, pretending that he was still working when really he was just delaying the inevitable. Going home meant facing people who loved him. It meant answering questions. It meant pretending he was fine.

Eventually, there was nothing left to pretend with.

He saved his files, shut down his computer, and stood up slowly. The office felt too big now. Too empty. His footsteps sounded loud as he walked around, checking that everything was turned off, straightening a chair that did not need to be straightened, fixing a stack of papers just to give his hands something to do.

When he finally locked the door behind him, the click sounded final in a way that made his throat tighten.

Outside, the air was cool and heavy with evening. Streetlights reflected faintly off the pavement, and the city felt quieter than usual. Yeosang pulled his jacket tighter around himself and started walking home, his steps slow, measured, like he was afraid that moving too fast would make everything spill over.

His thoughts followed him relentlessly.

Minjae’s smile.
Minjae’s laughter.
Minjae fitting in without trying.

He replayed the day over and over, every interaction magnified until it hurt. Every comparison felt sharper in the quiet of the night. By the time he reached the apartment, his chest felt tight and hollow all at once.

The door opened softly.

Warm light spilled out into the hallway, along with the familiar sounds of home. Voices. Movement. The clink of dishes.

Mingi and Yunho were in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Mingi said immediately, turning around. “You’re late. Everything okay?”

Yunho looked up too, concern settling on his face. “Did something happen at work?”

Yeosang didn’t answer.

He barely slowed as he slipped past them, shoes still on, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead.

“Yeosang?” Yunho called, sharper now. “Hey, wait.”

Mingi took a step forward. “Do you want to talk? You look really tired.”

“I’m fine,” Yeosang said quietly, the words automatic and thin. He did not look back.

They exchanged a glance behind him, worry written clearly across both of their faces, but neither followed. They let him go, the way they had learned to when pushing would only make him retreat further.

Yeosang closed his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it for half a second, breathing shallowly.

Then he crossed the room and collapsed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and that was all it took.

He curled slightly onto his side, burying his face into his pillow as everything he had been holding back finally caught up to him. His chest felt tight, like there was something pressing down on it from the inside. His thoughts spiraled freely now, unchecked.

I do not belong.
I am too quiet.
I am too much work.

He stared at the wall, unfocused, as the ceiling light cast a soft shadow above him. This room was safe. It had always been safe. And yet tonight, even here, he felt like an outsider to his own life.

He thought of Wooyoung again. Of how easy his smile had been this morning when he texted about lunch. Of how effortlessly Wooyoung loved.

Why would someone like that choose someone like me?

The question settled heavily in his chest.

Yeosang pulled his knees closer, fingers twisting into the fabric of his sleeves. He wished he could stop thinking. He wished he could turn everything off the way he had turned off the lights at the office.

But the thoughts stayed.

He lay there in the dim quiet of his room, breathing slowly, letting the weight of the day press down on him, wondering how long it would take before someone realized that loving him was harder than loving someone like Minjae.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

Yeosang does not remember falling asleep, only that at some point the tightness in his chest dulls enough for his thoughts to blur. He sleeps curled on his side, fingers still knotted into his sleeve, brows faintly drawn together even in rest.

The knock on his door pulls him back too fast.

He jolts awake, heart slamming hard enough that it hurts. For half a second he does not know where he is, only that something is wrong. Then he hears it again, softer this time.

“Yeosang?”

Wooyoung’s voice.

Yeosang’s body tenses instantly. His stomach drops, cold and sharp. Instinct takes over before logic can catch up. He scrambles upright, running a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to his phone on the bedside table like it might betray him.

He cannot let Wooyoung know.
Not yet.
Not like this.

“Yeah,” he calls, voice already trying to sound normal. “Come in.”

The door opens, and Wooyoung steps inside with an expression Yeosang cannot immediately read. It is not soft. Not playful. There is something unsettled there, something pulled tight beneath the surface.

Wooyoung closes the door behind him and leans back against it, arms crossing over his chest.

“Okay,” he says. “I am confused. And a little annoyed.”

Yeosang swallows. “Why?”

Wooyoung lifts an eyebrow. “You told me you were too busy to eat lunch. Deadlines, stress, the whole tragic artist thing. And then San casually mentions that you two had lunch together.”

There it is.

Yeosang’s fingers curl into the blanket. His heart starts racing all over again, panic buzzing under his skin. He forces himself to meet Wooyoung’s eyes.

“I did not lie,” he says carefully. “I just… changed my mind. I really was busy, and then San asked and I thought maybe it would help me focus after.”

Wooyoung studies him, gaze sharp, searching. Yeosang feels like glass under that look, terrified that one wrong word will shatter everything.

“You could have just told me,” Wooyoung says, not raising his voice but not softening it either. “You have been distant all day.”

“I am tired,” Yeosang says quietly. “I did not mean to make you worry.”

Wooyoung exhales through his nose, the tension easing just a little. Then his expression shifts, lips tugging into something more familiar, something teasing.

“Well,” he says, pushing himself off the door. “I guess I could forgive you.”

Yeosang blinks. “Just like that?”

Wooyoung walks over and stops right in front of him. “Maybe not just like that.” His eyes sparkle now. “If you let me sit here and give me a kiss, I might consider it.”

Before Yeosang can respond, Wooyoung climbs onto the bed and settles himself right into Yeosang’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs. The warmth of him, the weight, the familiar closeness, all of it hits Yeosang at once.

His hands come up automatically, resting at Wooyoung’s waist.

“You are impossible,” Yeosang murmurs.

“And yet,” Wooyoung says smugly, leaning in. “You love me.”

Yeosang gives him a soft, lingering kiss. It is not rushed or desperate, just gentle and warm, lips fitting together the way they always do. Wooyoung hums quietly, clearly pleased, and pulls back with a grin.

“See?” Wooyoung says. “Forgiven.”

Then his expression shifts again, more serious this time. He cups Yeosang’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly under his eye.

“One more thing,” he says. “You kind of snapped at Mingi and Yunho earlier. I know you were tired, but you should apologize in the morning, okay? They were worried.”

Guilt twists in Yeosang’s chest. He nods immediately. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Wooyoung presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now.” He straightens, eyes lighting up again. “Do you want to shower with me and sleep in my room? I feel like you need company tonight.”

The offer feels like a lifeline.

“Yes,” Yeosang answers without hesitation. “I would like that.”

The shower is warm and quiet. Wooyoung chats idly about his day, about something funny Jongho said, about a shoot that went longer than expected. Yeosang listens, nods, laughs in the right places. He lets himself lean into Wooyoung’s touch, into the familiar rhythm of being together.

He does not mention Minjae.
He does not mention the office.
He keeps everything locked away where it cannot be seen.

Later, they crawl into Wooyoung’s bed, clean and warm, limbs tangling naturally. Wooyoung pulls Yeosang close, one arm draped securely around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

“You are acting weird,” Wooyoung says lightly, voice half amused, half fond. “But I will let it slide tonight.”

Yeosang forces a small smile. “I am just tired.”

“Mhm.” Wooyoung presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “You are safe here, you know.”

Yeosang nods again, throat tight.

He focuses on being convincing. He murmurs soft replies, presses closer, lets his breathing slow to match Wooyoung’s. He tells him he loves him. He lets Wooyoung kiss his temple, his cheek, his hair.

Wooyoung relaxes completely, trusting, content, falling asleep with ease.

Yeosang does not.

He lies there in the dark, wrapped in the safest arms he knows, listening to Wooyoung’s steady breathing. His body is warm, held, loved.

And still, his thoughts will not quiet.

Minjae’s smile slips back into his mind.
The word ex echoes louder than it should.
Fear coils low in his stomach, heavy and unrelenting.

He stares at the wall, eyes burning slightly, heart aching despite everything around him telling him he should be fine.

Held tightly.
Loved deeply.
And still afraid.

Yeosang stays awake long after Wooyoung falls asleep, staring into the dark, wondering how something that feels so safe can still leave him feeling like he is about to lose everything.

———

Yeosang wakes slowly, drifting up from sleep instead of jolting awake the way he usually does. For a few quiet seconds he just lies there, eyes half open, staring at the ceiling while his body catches up with his mind.

Something feels off.

Then it hits him.

The space beside him is empty.

His chest tightens instantly and he turns his head, fingers brushing over cool sheets where Wooyoung should be. Panic flares before he can stop it, sharp and familiar, until his eyes land on a folded piece of paper resting neatly on the bedside table.

He blinks.

Carefully, like it might disappear if he moves too fast, Yeosang reaches for it and opens it.

Good morning, sleepy angel.
You looked way too peaceful to wake up, so I let you sleep.
Do not get any funny ideas though. You are not getting out of lunch today.
I am picking you up. No work excuses, no disappearing.
Eat something. Be nice to Mingi and Yunho.
I love you more than you think.

Wooyoung

Yeosang reads it once.
Then again.

His fingers tremble slightly as he folds it back up, pressing it against his chest like it might anchor him there. His throat tightens, warmth spreading through him even as something uneasy curls underneath it. Wooyoung sounds so sure. So confident. Like there is nothing in the world that could possibly go wrong between them.

If only he knew.

Yeosang exhales and sits up, suddenly very aware of the time. His eyes widen and he scrambles out of bed, heart racing as he rushes through his morning. The shower is quick and barely warm. He dresses with clumsy hands, pulls on clothes that feel slightly wrong, like they always do on days when his thoughts will not slow down.

His phone buzzes while he is tying his shoes.

Wooyoung: Awake yet or should I start planning my dramatic rescue?

Yeosang types back quickly, fingers hovering a second too long before hitting send.

Yeosang: Awake. Running late. See you later.

The kitchen is already full of sound when he comes downstairs. The smell of coffee hits him first, then laughter. San is leaning against the counter, mid story, hands moving dramatically. Mingi sits at the table with a bowl of cereal, half of it already gone, while Yunho scrolls on his phone beside him.

All three of them look up at once.

“There he is,” San says, smiling. “We were starting to think you vanished.”

Mingi narrows his eyes playfully. “You kind of did yesterday.”

The words land heavier than they should. Guilt tightens in Yeosang’s chest and he slows, shoulders curling in on themselves.

“I am sorry,” he says softly, bowing his head a little. “I was stressed and I should not have snapped. I did not mean to take it out on you.”

Mingi stands so suddenly his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. Before Yeosang can react, arms are around him, warm and tight.

“That is literally nothing,” Mingi says, squeezing him. “You are allowed to have bad days.”

Yunho is right there too, wrapping them both into a bigger hug, his presence solid and grounding. San steps closer and presses a gentle kiss to Yeosang’s temple.

“We were worried,” Yunho says quietly. “That is all.”

Yeosang swallows hard. His eyes sting just a little and he nods, letting himself lean into them. Mingi presses exaggerated kisses against his cheek until Yeosang huffs out a tiny laugh. Yunho squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. San rests a hand at the small of his back.

“I will try to do better,” Yeosang murmurs.

“That is all we ask,” San replies warmly.

They let him go and Yeosang fixes himself something small to eat, barely tasting it. He listens as the conversation drifts to plans for the day, to work complaints and jokes. On the surface, everything is normal.

But inside, his mind is already spiraling again.

Wooyoung is picking him up for lunch.
Minjae will probably be there.
Wooyoung will smile like he always does.

Yeosang keeps his head down, clutching the folded note in his pocket like a secret. For now, he lets the warmth of the kitchen and the easy affection around him hold him together.

Yeosang slid into the passenger seat of San’s car with a soft exhale, the door clicking shut behind him. The morning air was still cool, the sky pale and undecided, and for once his chest did not feel like it was caving in on itself. San glanced over at him, smiling in that warm, grounding way that always made Yeosang feel seen without being questioned.

“You sure you’re okay today?” San asked gently as he started the engine.

Yeosang nodded, fingers twisting together in his lap before he forced himself to relax them. “Yeah. I think so. Just… tired.”

San hummed like he accepted that answer fully, which Yeosang was grateful for. The drive was quiet in a comfortable way, the radio low, the city slowly waking up around them. When they pulled up outside the office building, San parked and turned toward him again.

“You’re doing good,” San said, like it was a fact, not encouragement. “Even on the days it feels messy.”

Yeosang smiled, small but real. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to San’s lips, brief and familiar, grounding him before he pulled away. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

San watched him go with an affectionate look that followed him all the way to the entrance.

Inside, the office smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink. Yeosang dropped his bag by his desk and powered on his computer, rolling his shoulders as he settled into his chair. As the screen lit up, he realized something felt different today. Lighter. The tight knot that had lived in his chest since yesterday had loosened, not gone, but quiet.

Of course Wooyoung wants me, he thought, the realization arriving softly instead of crashing down. Of course he does.

The thought felt almost fragile, like it might break if he examined it too closely, but it stayed. Wooyoung’s note from that morning replayed in his head, the teasing tone, the affection threaded through every word. Yeosang let himself hold onto that as he opened his design files and began working.

He fell into a rhythm quickly. Lines made sense again. Colors worked together instead of clashing. His hands moved with purpose instead of hesitation. He was so focused that he barely noticed someone stop by his desk until a shadow fell across his screen.

“Yeosang.”

He looked up, blinking, and found his manager standing there with a knowing smile. She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at him.

“You know,” she said, arms crossing loosely, “I’ve been watching you lately. You work too hard.”

Yeosang flushed immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “That’s not a complaint. But it is a concern. You’re always the first one in and the last one out. That’s not sustainable.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again when she raised a hand.

“So,” she continued, “I’m making an executive decision. You’re taking tomorrow off.”

Yeosang stared at her. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. No emails. No sketches. No checking in ‘just for a minute.’” She smiled pointedly. “And you can go home today by lunch.”

“But I still have—”

“You’re ahead of schedule,” she interrupted, glancing at his screen. “And your work speaks for itself. Take the win.”

Something warm bloomed in Yeosang’s chest, unexpected and overwhelming. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

She gave him a small nod and moved on, leaving Yeosang staring at his screen again, stunned in the best way.

With his head clear and his thoughts no longer spiraling, the rest of the morning flew by. He refined his designs, made final adjustments, sent off files with a confidence he had been missing lately. By the time the clock crept toward lunch, he realized he was done. Not rushed. Not forced. Just finished.

He leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath, the office hum surrounding him. For the first time since Minjae’s voice had cut into his day yesterday, Yeosang felt steady.

Everything is okay, he told himself, and this time, he believed it.

The soft click of the office door opening barely registered at first. Yeosang was still looking at his screen, saving his last file, when a familiar presence seemed to shift the air around him. Laughter. Confidence. That unmistakable energy that always pulled his attention whether he wanted it to or not.

He looked up.

Wooyoung stood in the doorway like he owned the place, dressed head to toe in luxury. Perfectly fitted trousers, an expensive jacket casually draped over one shoulder, jewelry catching the light every time he moved. He looked unreal. Effortlessly beautiful. Like someone who belonged on magazine covers and red carpets, not in Yeosang’s quiet little corner of an office.

For a second, Yeosang just stared.

The thought hit him without warning. He is mine. And the others. He chose us.

It made his chest tighten in a way that was almost painful.

Wooyoung spotted him instantly and his face lit up, breaking into a wide, delighted smile. He walked straight over, confidence in every step, and leaned in to press a quick, playful kiss to Yeosang’s lips before perching on the edge of his desk like he had done it a hundred times before.

“There you are,” Wooyoung said brightly. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.”

Yeosang huffed a soft laugh despite himself. “No hiding today. I’m all yours.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? That sounds promising.”

“I finished my work early,” Yeosang said, feeling a small spark of pride. “I’m free this afternoon. And apparently tomorrow too.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened, genuine happiness flickering across his face. “That’s amazing. See? I told you things would settle.” His voice softened as he added, “You look better today. I love seeing you like this.”

Yeosang swallowed, warmth spreading through him. Maybe today really was going to be okay.

Then a voice spoke behind Wooyoung.

“Wow. This place hasn’t changed at all.”

Yeosang felt it before he fully processed the words. His stomach dropped, a cold wave rolling through him so fast it made him dizzy.

Minjae.

Wooyoung froze for half a heartbeat. Then he turned around so fast his jacket shifted on his shoulder.

Their eyes met.

The recognition was instant.

“Minjae?” Wooyoung breathed, disbelief melting into something bright and excited. “No way.”

Minjae smiled, just as easy and confident as ever. “Hey, Woo.”

Wooyoung crossed the space between them in seconds and wrapped his arms around Minjae in a tight hug, laughing into his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here. When did this happen?”

Minjae hugged him back just as warmly. “A few weeks ago. New position. I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Yeosang sat frozen at his desk, fingers gripping the edge so hard his knuckles ached.

His chest felt hollow.

Watching them together felt like looking through glass. The way they fit. The familiarity. The ease. Wooyoung’s laugh sounded different when Minjae pulled it out of him. Louder. Freer.

He couldn’t breathe properly.

Wooyoung didn’t look back. Didn’t notice the way Yeosang’s shoulders had gone stiff, or how his face had drained of color. He was too busy catching up, words overlapping, smiles too wide.

Then came the moment Yeosang had not been prepared for.

“We were just heading to lunch,” Wooyoung said casually, glancing at his watch. “You should join us.”

The words landed like a blow.

Yeosang’s heart stuttered, then sank straight into his stomach. Heat rushed to his face, followed by nausea so sudden he had to swallow hard to keep it down.

Lunch. Together. The three of them.

He stood up too quickly, chair scraping softly against the floor. “I just… I need to use the bathroom,” he said, his voice sounding far away even to himself.

Wooyoung hummed distractedly. “Okay, angel. I’ll wait.”

Yeosang didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He turned and walked as steadily as he could, every step feeling like it took all his strength.

The bathroom door closed behind him and the moment it did, everything collapsed.

He barely made it to the sink before the nausea won. His hands shook as he braced himself against the counter, body folding in on itself as he retched. His throat burned, eyes stinging with tears he had not given permission to fall.

He stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing hard, staring at his own reflection. Pale. Shaking. Small.

Of course he would want him, Yeosang’s mind whispered cruelly. Of course he would miss him. Minjae is everything you are not.

Confident. Easy. Beautiful in a way that demanded attention.

Yeosang pressed his palm to his chest, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. He had thought the spiral was over. Thought he was okay.

He wasn’t.

Not even close.

And out there, Wooyoung was smiling, laughing, inviting his past back into his present, completely unaware that Yeosang was falling apart just a few walls away.

The restaurant Wooyoung chose felt like a quiet kind of cruelty.

Yeosang recognized it the moment they stepped inside. Warm lighting, soft music, the familiar layout that had once felt safe. This was one of their places. A place where Wooyoung used to reach across the table and steal bites from Yeosang’s plate. Where he used to tuck Yeosang’s foot between his ankles under the table, press kisses to his knuckles, murmur pet names like secrets meant only for the two of them.

Now it felt like a stage he had been dragged onto without his consent.

Wooyoung was animated the second they sat down, leaning toward Minjae with bright eyes, laughter spilling freely as they talked about everything. Fashion weeks, old coworkers, cities they had both lived in. Paris came up more than once. Yeosang felt each mention like a small cut, sharp and precise.

He tried at first.

He really did.

He nodded at the right moments, smiled when he was supposed to. He tried slipping comments into the conversation, small things, gentle jokes, little observations. Each time, the conversation rolled right past him like he had never spoken at all. Not intentionally cruel. Just effortless neglect.

Wooyoung did not touch him.

Not once.

No hand on his thigh. No knee brushing his under the table. No absent-minded thumb tracing circles on his wrist. No kiss pressed to his temple while waiting for their food. Not even a glance that lingered longer than a second.

Yeosang sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and yet he might as well have been invisible.

By the time the food arrived, something inside Yeosang had gone frighteningly quiet.

He stared down at his plate. It looked good. It smelled good. Normally, Wooyoung would have already commented, teasing him about how slowly he ate, reminding him to take proper bites, threatening to feed him himself if he did not behave.

Instead, Wooyoung was laughing again, elbow resting on the table, chin propped in his hand as Minjae talked.

Yeosang picked up his fork.

He nudged the food around. Cut a piece he did not eat. Lifted it once, then set it back down. He chewed on nothing, swallowing air, pretending.

He waited.

Nothing.

Wooyoung did not notice.

The realization hit him so hard it made his chest ache. Even this. Even this small thing. He used to care. He used to watch. He used to know.

Yeosang felt pathetic for wanting it. He was an adult. He knew that. He told himself that again and again as his stomach twisted. He should not need his boyfriend to tell him to eat. Should not crave the soft scolding, the fond exasperation, the attention.

And yet here he was, sitting perfectly still, heart in pieces, wanting nothing more than for Wooyoung to look at him and say, Angel, eat your food.

He felt like a child. Worse. Like a pet.

Sitting. Waiting. Loyal and quiet. Hoping for affection that never came.

Minjae laughed at something Wooyoung said, leaning closer, their shoulders nearly touching. Wooyoung smiled back at him in that open, easy way that Yeosang rarely got to see anymore. The kind of smile that came without effort.

Of course he still looks at him like that, Yeosang thought, the jealousy sour and burning. Of course he does. Why would he not?

Minjae was everything Yeosang was not. Confident. Loud. Comfortable in his own skin. Someone who filled space without apologizing for it.

Yeosang shrank into himself.

He barely tasted the water when he took a sip. His fork rested uselessly in his hand. The noise of the restaurant blurred together, plates clinking, voices overlapping, laughter everywhere except where he was.

He had never felt smaller.

Sitting there, beside the man he loved more than anything, in one of their places, watching him fall back into an old rhythm with someone from his past, Yeosang realized something with a cold, sinking certainty.

He did not think he could feel worse than this.

And the scariest part was how easily he believed that he deserves it.

When lunch finally wrapped up, Yeosang felt hollowed out.

He stood beside Wooyoung as they said goodbye to Minjae, his body stiff, smile strained. The hug lingered a second too long for Yeosang’s comfort. Wooyoung’s arms wrapped easily around Minjae, familiar and warm, like muscle memory. Yeosang looked away before his face could betray him.

The car ride home felt endless.

Wooyoung was in a good mood, humming softly as he drove, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. He talked about nothing and everything, about how funny it was running into Minjae like that, how small the world felt sometimes. Yeosang nodded when he was supposed to, murmured soft acknowledgments, then leaned his head against the window and let his eyes fall shut.

He pretended to fall asleep the second they pulled out of the parking lot.

It was easier that way. Easier than risking his voice cracking. Easier than letting Wooyoung hear the jealousy clogging his throat, the fear gnawing at his chest. He focused on breathing slowly, evenly, hoping Wooyoung would believe it.

He did.

By the time the car stopped, Wooyoung gently brushed his hand over Yeosang’s arm. “Angel,” he murmured, voice fond. “We’re home.”

Yeosang stirred, blinking like he had just woken up. He nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry. Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Wooyoung studied him for a moment. “You okay?”

Yeosang’s instinct was immediate. “Mhm. Just… long day.”

Wooyoung seemed to accept that, lacing their fingers together as they walked inside. The door barely shut before voices reached them.

Everyone was home.

Too early for that.

Hongjoong’s laugh drifted from the living room. Yunho and Mingi were arguing about something trivial in the kitchen. San’s voice chimed in, warm and familiar. Seonghwa hummed along to something on his phone.

Wooyoung brightened instantly.

“You guys are home already?” he said, excited, pulling Yeosang along with him. “You will not believe who I ran into today.”

Yeosang gently slipped his hand free.

“I think I’m gonna head to my room,” he said quietly, already stepping back. “Just… need to lie down a bit.”

Wooyoung barely glanced at him, already turning toward the others. “Okay, baby. Rest. I’ll come check on you later.”

And just like that, Yeosang disappeared.

He moved through the hallway like a ghost, heart pounding as Wooyoung’s animated voice carried after him. “Minjae. Remember Minjae? He works with Yeosang now apparently.”

No pause. No tension.

The others reacted normally.

Too normally.

“Oh wow,” Hongjoong said.
“That’s wild,” Yunho added.
“Is he doing well?” San asked, casual.

Casual.

No jealousy. No concern. No sharp edges in their voices.

Yeosang closed his door quietly and leaned against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. His hands trembled.

How can they be so calm?

The thought crept in slowly, insidiously. What if they were not threatened because they did not need to be? What if Minjae fit too well? What if all of them saw it already, saw how much better he was, how much easier he would be to love?

Designer. Confident. Funny. Beautiful.

Replaceable.

The word echoed in his mind, ugly and relentless.

What if they want him instead?

The panic rose fast, breath shortening, chest tightening until it hurt. Yeosang pushed himself up and stumbled into the bathroom, flipping on the light like it could chase the thoughts away.

His gaze fell to the drawer.

He froze.

For a brief, terrifying moment, his hand moved on its own. Fingers brushing the edge of the counter, hovering. His mind screamed for quiet, for anything to stop the spiraling, the comparisons, the certainty that he was too much and not enough all at once.

He hated that part of himself. Hated how his brain reached for pain when fear grew too loud.

Tears blurred his vision.

No, he thought, sharp and desperate. Not this. Not again.

He pulled his hand back like the drawer had burned him. Pressed both palms flat against the sink. Focused on the cold porcelain. On breathing. On the fact that this feeling, as unbearable as it was, would pass.

It has before, he reminded himself shakily. It will again.

He stayed there until the shaking eased, until the noise in his head dulled to something manageable. Then he turned away, deliberately, and went back into his room.

Getting ready for bed felt mechanical.

He changed clothes slowly. Washed his face. Brushed his teeth. Each movement grounded him just enough to keep him upright. Outside his door, Wooyoung’s laughter rose and fell as he talked with the others, happy and carefree.

Yeosang crawled into bed alone.

He curled onto his side, pulling the blanket tight around himself, staring at the wall. His chest still felt heavy, but exhaustion finally began to outweigh the panic.

As his eyes closed, one thought lingered, quiet and painful.

Please don’t leave me.

And with that whispered fear, Yeosang drifted into an uneasy sleep, hoping morning would feel kinder than today had.

Yeosang woke before the sun.

The first thing he felt was not confusion or grogginess, but the familiar tightness in his chest. Anxiety. It sat heavy and sharp, like it had been waiting patiently for him to open his eyes.

He glanced at his phone. 04:57.

Too early for anyone normal to be awake.

He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around him. Then he heard it. Soft sounds drifting up through the walls. Low voices, muffled laughter, breathy noises that made his stomach twist.

From the home gym.

Yeosang swallowed.

There were only two people in this house who were ever awake this early by choice. Jongho and San. Always disciplined, always energized, always saying they liked to start the day right.

He squeezed his eyes shut when the realization hit him.

They were not working out.

His throat tightened, tears burning instantly. Not because of jealousy. Not because he was angry. But because it hurt in a way that felt deeper than that.

They loved each other so openly. So easily.

The sounds were not crude or graphic, just intimate enough to make it unmistakable. Soft moans, quiet encouragement, the kind of closeness that came from comfort and trust. From being safe with someone.

Yeosang pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, trying to stop the tears before they spilled.

He loved this. All of it. The way they touched each other without shame. The way love in this house was loud and soft and messy and real. The way everyone fit together in their own strange, beautiful way.

What if I lose this?

The thought made his chest ache.

What if I mess this up so badly they break up with me?

He imagined the house without the laughter. Without Mingi sprawled across the couch. Without Yunho’s quiet presence behind him when he cooked. Without Seonghwa’s gentle hands. Without Wooyoung’s warmth, his voice, his love.

Without belonging.

Yeosang turned onto his side, curling in on himself as silent tears soaked into his pillow. He felt ridiculous. Dramatic. Weak. But the fear was real and it clawed at him relentlessly.

He stayed like that for a long time, listening to sounds fade as the gym eventually went quiet again. Only then did he force himself to sit up.

His body felt heavy as he slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited until steam filled the room before stepping under the spray.

The hot water hit his skin and he sagged slightly, palms braced against the wall. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, over his hair, his shoulders, his face.

Yesterday clung to him.

Minjae’s smile. Wooyoung’s laughter. The way he had disappeared at lunch without anyone noticing. The way he had pretended to sleep in the car. The way he had almost hurt himself just to make the thoughts stop.

He scrubbed at his skin like he could rinse it all away.

“I must’ve fallen asleep so early,” he whispered to himself, voice barely audible over the water. His body ached with exhaustion that felt more emotional than physical.

When he finally stepped out, his fingers were wrinkled and his eyes red. He dried off slowly, dressed quietly, choosing soft clothes that felt safe.

He skipped breakfast on purpose.

He knew if he went into the kitchen there was a chance he would run into someone. A concerned look. A gentle question. A hand on his shoulder.

He could not handle that right now.

So he slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket, moving silently through the house. The front door clicked shut behind him without anyone noticing.

Outside, the air was cold and fresh. Early morning light painted the sky in pale blues and soft gray. Yeosang breathed deeply, filling his lungs until it almost hurt.

He started walking.

Around the block. Then again. Letting his thoughts run until they tired themselves out. Letting his body move even when his mind felt stuck.

He hugged his jacket tighter around himself, footsteps steady against the pavement.

Please, he thought quietly, not sure who he was asking. Please let this just be fear. Please let me still belong here.

The morning remained quiet as Yeosang walked on, trying to outrun the anxiety that followed him like a shadow.

Yeosang walked until his legs ached and the tightness in his chest dulled into something quieter. By the time he finally stopped, nearly an hour had passed. The sky had brightened, morning properly awake now, birds daring to be loud.

He sank down onto a bench tucked between a few trees, shoulders slumping forward as exhaustion caught up to him all at once. His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them together, breath still uneven.

He stared at the ground.

Then the bench shifted.

The weight beside him was familiar before he even looked. The warmth. The presence. And the scent. Clean, soft, comforting. The kind of smell Yeosang was sure he could pick out in a crowded room without trying.

Seonghwa.

Yeosang turned his head slowly. Seonghwa was already looking at him, worry written openly across his face, eyes gentle in that way that always made Yeosang feel seen.

“You’ve been gone a while,” Seonghwa said quietly. “Why are you up so early?”

Yeosang opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. His throat closed instead.

Seonghwa did not push. He simply shifted closer, one arm sliding around Yeosang’s shoulders, pulling him into a warm, steady hug. His thumb brushed slow circles against Yeosang’s arm.

“Hey,” Seonghwa murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Yeosang’s temple. Then another, softer, lingering against his cheek. When he kissed Yeosang’s lips, it was slow and careful, like he was afraid Yeosang might shatter if he moved too fast.

Seonghwa pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered. “Inside and out.”

That was it.

Yeosang’s composure crumbled completely. A broken sound tore out of his chest as he surged forward, climbing into Seonghwa’s lap without thinking, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He cried like something inside him had finally given up, sobs shaking his entire body, breath hitching so badly he could barely inhale.

“I can’t,” Yeosang gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

Seonghwa held him immediately, arms locking around his back, one hand cradling the back of his head. He rocked him gently, lips brushing through Yeosang’s hair again and again.

“Shh,” Seonghwa whispered. “You’re okay. Breathe with me. I’ve got you, angel. You’re safe.”

He murmured soft things nonstop, sweet pet names and reassurances pressed into Yeosang’s ear. Beautiful. Love. Baby. Mine. Words meant to anchor him.

Slowly, painfully, Yeosang’s sobs eased. His breaths came easier, though his body still trembled as Seonghwa kept holding him, never loosening his grip.

When Yeosang finally spoke, his voice was raw.

“He’s here,” he whispered.

Seonghwa stilled slightly, listening.

“Minjae,” Yeosang continued. “Wooyoung’s ex. He works with me now. He’s… perfect. He’s confident and funny and everyone likes him and I just keep thinking… what if that’s what Wooyoung really wants?”

Seonghwa’s arms tightened around him.

“And then I think about all of you,” Yeosang said, voice breaking again. “About how you’ve all had people before me. About how I’m quiet and awkward and boring and maybe one day you’ll all realize you deserve better.”

Tears soaked into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“I felt so jealous I hated myself for it,” Yeosang admitted. “And last night I thought… I thought about hurting myself just to make it stop.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched.

He pulled Yeosang closer, one hand firm against his back, grounding.

“Thank you for telling me,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’m so proud of you for saying it out loud.”

He waited until Yeosang nodded against his chest, then spoke again, voice steady but full of emotion.

“Everything you’re thinking right now is fear talking. Not truth. Not reality.”

Seonghwa lifted Yeosang’s face gently so he could look at him.

“You are such a catch,” he said firmly. “You are kind and thoughtful and gentle and you love so deeply it hurts sometimes. You are beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with confidence or being loud.”

He brushed his thumb under Yeosang’s eye.

“Your flaws are not things we tolerate. They’re things we love. Every single one.”

Yeosang’s lips trembled.

“I can’t speak for Wooyoung about Minjae,” Seonghwa continued honestly. “But I know this. Their relationship ended for a reason. And when Wooyoung chose us, when he chose you, he meant it.”

He leaned in, forehead pressing against Yeosang’s again.

“He chose you.”

Seonghwa kissed him once more, gentle and grounding.

“But you need to talk to him,” he added softly. “Not carry this alone. He loves you too much to not want to know.”

Yeosang nodded weakly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Seonghwa smiled, eyes warm and a little wet.

“We love you,” he corrected gently. “All of us. So much.”

Yeosang clung to him for a moment longer, breathing him in, letting the fear loosen its grip just a little.

“I love you too,” Yeosang said again, voice steadier this time.

And for the first time that morning, the weight on his chest felt lighter.

By the time they reached home, Yeosang’s legs were trembling from exhaustion and emotion, but Seonghwa guided him inside with that steady, grounding presence that always made him feel safe. The apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and clean linen, a small comfort that reminded Yeosang of mornings when everything felt simple. He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before collapsing onto the bed, letting Seonghwa gently settle beside him.

Seonghwa’s hands were everywhere, soft and careful, undoing the tension in Yeosang’s shoulders, tracing the lines of his arms, his back, his neck. Each touch was deliberate, full of affection, and Yeosang felt his body loosen against the weight of anxiety that had been holding him captive for days.

“I’ve got you,” Seonghwa whispered, leaning in to press a long, tender kiss against the corner of Yeosang’s mouth. His lips moved with patience, coaxing Yeosang into responding. Yeosang’s hands found Seonghwa’s chest, gripping lightly, almost desperately, as his mind finally began to relax in the warmth of this intimacy.

Seonghwa’s hands wandered lower, expertly guiding Yeosang’s body closer. The kiss deepened, urgent but gentle, and Yeosang’s mind spun, the earlier panic and jealousy melting away under the weight of Seonghwa’s care. Every touch reminded him that he was wanted, that he was safe, that he belonged.

Minutes passed in a blur of sensation, soft gasps, and lingering kisses, until Seonghwa shifted to cradle him fully, Yeosang half on top, half against him. The bed dipped under their combined weight, a comforting heaviness that grounded Yeosang entirely in the present. He nuzzled his face into Seonghwa’s neck, breathing in that familiar scent and feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his palm.

He could stay here forever, he thought, this perfect, tender cocoon of warmth and safety. But even as he let himself sink into the moment, a pang of longing hit him—he missed his other boyfriends, each of them. San’s laughter, Mingi’s teasing, Hongjoong’s steady presence, Wooyoung’s warmth. They were all a part of him, a part of this world he loved, and he hadn’t even noticed their absence until now.

Watching Seonghwa relaxed, half-naked beside him, a soft smile tugging at his lips, Yeosang realized something profound: he didn’t need anyone else to be happy. He didn’t need perfection, competition, or the shadows of past relationships. He only needed the love of the people who chose him every day, and they had all chosen him.

Seonghwa’s voice cut through the swirl of thoughts, soft and grounding.

“This relationship has no expiration date, angel,” he murmured, brushing a hand through Yeosang’s hair. “None of us do. We’re here, and we’re yours as much as you’re ours. Always.”

Yeosang’s eyes fluttered closed at the words. The weight of months of anxiety, fear, and jealousy began to lift, replaced by a deep, encompassing calm. He pressed his face against Seonghwa’s chest, listening to his rhythm, feeling the steady warmth of him.

“I love you, angel,” Seonghwa whispered again, just above a murmur, a soft promise that lingered in the air like a caress.

And for the first time in weeks, Yeosang let himself drift. Not into worry, not into spiraling thoughts, but into sleep—deep, uninterrupted, and healing. His last conscious thought before dreamland claimed him was of Seonghwa’s tender care, of the steady warmth beside him, and the unshakable love that surrounded him.

He slept curled against his perfect, beautiful boyfriend, safe in the knowledge that he was loved, wanted, and that no matter what came, he would never be alone.

Yeosang woke slowly to the warmth pressing against his back, the steady weight of Seonghwa still holding him tight. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Seonghwa was peaceful, hair falling across his forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips as he slept. Yeosang’s chest ached in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time—the comfort, the safety, the love—but there was also that familiar twinge of anxiety, a shadow at the edge of his thoughts.

He breathed carefully, trying not to disturb Seonghwa, the tenderness of the moment making him even more aware of the fragile hold he had on his own feelings. Slowly, quietly, he tried to slip out of bed, moving as softly as he could. Every movement felt deliberate; his heart hammered in his chest with a mixture of guilt and anticipation. Seonghwa stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and Yeosang exhaled quietly, relieved. He got dressed, each motion methodical, and softly closed the door behind him, careful not to let it creak.

The house was unusually quiet as he descended the grand staircase, the marble cool beneath his bare feet. His mind was buzzing with intentions—he had to talk to Wooyoung, to clear the air, to explain everything that had been swirling in his head the past couple of days. Wooyoung would understand, Yeosang was certain of it. Wooyoung always knew how to make things better, how to fix the turmoil in his chest with just words, touches, the sheer certainty of his love.

He reached the bottom step and froze. His stomach dropped.

There, bathed in the morning light streaming through the large windows, were Wooyoung and Minjae. Sitting together on the cozy couch that overlooked the garden, the little sunlit corner of the kitchen looked perfect, domestic, intimate. Wooyoung was smiling, eyes bright, leaning slightly toward Minjae as they shared a laugh over steaming mugs of coffee. Minjae’s presence was effortless, confident, charming, and horrifyingly close to his boyfriend.

Yeosang’s pulse skipped. His throat went dry. This was supposed to be a sacred time for him and Wooyoung, an intimate morning moment where they could exist only together, and now… now the man who had broken into his thoughts, into his insecurities, into his jealousy, was here, right beside him.

Every carefully rehearsed speech, every plan to tell Wooyoung how he’d been feeling, collapsed under the weight of seeing them together. Yeosang felt nauseous, panic crawling up his chest, suffocating him in a sudden, sharp wave. He could feel his hands shaking, the floor beneath him suddenly unstable, his heartbeat pounding so loud he feared it would betray him.

Wooyoung turned, eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of him. That warm, happy smile that always made Yeosang melt. But Yeosang had already seen enough. The sight of them, laughing, sipping coffee together, the easy closeness he could not interrupt—it was too much.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and fled, the echo of his own footsteps loud in the cavernous kitchen and hallway. Behind him, he could hear Wooyoung calling, confusion threading through his voice, but Yeosang didn’t stop. Every step took him further from the unbearable sight, and further from the panic clawing at his chest.

When he reached his bedroom, he slammed the door hard behind him, the sound reverberating through the quiet house. He leaned against it, breathing ragged, tears blurring his vision. He felt torn, confused, and small—like a shadow of himself. The jealousy, the insecurity, the fear that Wooyoung might want someone else, that he might have already, all crashed together in a tidal wave of emotion.

Wooyoung’s voice came faintly from the other side of the door, gentle, concerned, tentative. “Yeosang… wait. Please, come back. I—”

“I said leave me alone!” Yeosang’s voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Just… just go away!” He sank to the floor, pressing his forehead against the cool wood, tears streaking down his face. His body shook with the force of his emotions, his chest heaving as if he might not be able to breathe.

On the other side of the door, Wooyoung fell silent. He didn’t push, didn’t try to open it. Yeosang could hear him exhale, frustrated and confused, his steps retreating slowly down the hall. His boyfriend’s warmth, usually a balm to every insecurity, was replaced by a crushing sense of isolation.

Yeosang curled up on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, hands trembling, staring blankly at the wood grain beneath him. His thoughts spun endlessly: What if Wooyoung wanted Minjae? What if they were happier with him? What if I’m not enough? The panic, jealousy, and anguish coiled tightly in his chest, leaving him broken, scared, and utterly alone—at least for now.

Hours seemed to pass in silence, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the house returning to normal, but Yeosang remained huddled there, lost in a storm of feelings, unable to trust himself to be calm, unable to face Wooyoung, unable to untangle the mess of jealousy, love, and fear inside him.

Yeosang was still curled up on the floor of his room, the weight of his own thoughts pressing him down like a physical force. His chest ached, a hollow, bitter kind of hurt that made every heartbeat a reminder of his insecurity and panic from the morning. He tried to steady his breathing, tried to tell himself that Wooyoung loved him, that everything was fine—but every time he thought about seeing Minjae with Wooyoung, the tight knot in his stomach only grew. He buried his face in his knees, trembling, and let himself feel small, broken, and completely helpless.

It was then that the door opened quietly, just a crack, and a familiar voice broke through the storm in his mind.

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong’s smooth, teasing tone called, immediately cutting through the haze of guilt and self-reproach. “You look like a little lost puppy. Did someone forget how adorable you are?”

Yeosang froze, head pressed into his knees, not sure if he should respond. Before he could even answer, strong hands gently—but insistently—gripped his shoulders, lifting him off the floor. Before he could protest, he felt the shift of weight as Hongjoong straddled him, pinning him gently but firmly against the bed.

“Hongjoong, I—” Yeosang tried to start, but Hongjoong cut him off with a playful grin.

“Shh, no talking right now,” Hongjoong whispered, lowering himself so his chest brushed against Yeosang’s. “I’m not letting you brood over that sad little face of yours.”

Hongjoong’s hands moved to press Yeosang’s own above his head, holding them in a firm, inescapable grip. Yeosang’s heart raced. He had never felt so restrained, so completely under someone’s control, yet the danger wasn’t real. It was playful, teasing, and wrapped in warmth.

“I know what happened,” Hongjoong murmured, leaning close enough for his lips to brush against Yeosang’s ear. “Seonghwa told me. And do you know what? I am furious… but also, I love you so much. You hear me? You are mine, angel, and you have no reason to sulk like this.”

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed, heat creeping up his neck, but before he could even respond, Hongjoong pressed a rough, teasing kiss to his lips, dragging him into it with just enough force to make him gasp. Hongjoong pulled back slightly, smirking, and whispered, “You’re way too cute when you pout like that. And that little giggle you’re trying to hide? Adorable. Absolutely irresistible. Do you hear me? I could tease you all day.”

Yeosang struggled weakly, but the way Hongjoong held him—arms pinned, body pressing him down, lips just brushing teasingly against his own—made him feel like resisting was impossible. His panic, his heartbreak, the jealousy that had been eating him alive—all of it melted into flustered, helpless laughter.

“Hongjoong…” Yeosang breathed, his voice trembling somewhere between laughter and pleading. “I… I can’t…”

“Oh, I know you can’t,” Hongjoong replied, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned closer again. “That’s the point. You’re mine right now, and I’m going to remind you just how much you are loved. How much I love you. And I think we’re overdue for some… serious attention, don’t you?”

He gave Yeosang another teasing kiss, this time longer, nipping playfully at his lower lip. Yeosang melted further into it, feeling heat flood his chest, the tightness in his stomach loosening slightly. His giggles slipped out, involuntary, escaping despite himself, followed by soft pouts when Hongjoong smirked and whispered playful criticisms between kisses.

“You’re ridiculous, angel,” Hongjoong murmured, tightening his hold just slightly, “but you’re perfect, exactly how you are. Even when you sulk, you’re mine. Even when your brain goes into panic mode, I love you.”

Yeosang’s laughter finally won over his despair, and though he was still flushed and breathless, he let himself sink into Hongjoong’s arms fully. His giggles softened, turning into small, delighted sighs, and when Hongjoong pressed another kiss to his forehead, Yeosang couldn’t help the little purr of contentment that escaped.

“See? That’s better,” Hongjoong said, softening his tone now, brushing a strand of hair from Yeosang’s face. “You’re safe, you’re loved, and I’m here. I’ve got you. No more sulking in the dark, okay?”

Yeosang nodded, letting his head rest against Hongjoong’s shoulder, his body still tingling from the teasing and kisses. For the first time since the morning’s chaos, he felt grounded, cherished, and completely held—not just physically, but emotionally too. The anxiety and jealousy weren’t gone, not completely, but for now, he was distracted by Hongjoong’s touch, his teasing words, and the overwhelming warmth of being loved so wholly.

“I… I love you, Hongjoong,” Yeosang whispered finally, his voice muffled against Hongjoong’s chest.

“I know, angel,” Hongjoong replied, nuzzling him gently. “And I love you so much more. Always. Now, let’s see if we can make you laugh even more before you start worrying about everything else again.”

Yeosang giggled again, soft and breathless, finally allowing himself to relax in the hold, letting Hongjoong’s playful, teasing energy wash away the heartbreak for the first time that day.

Hongjoong stayed close to Yeosang as they walked downstairs, his hand resting lightly at the small of Yeosang’s back like a quiet anchor. Yeosang could still feel the warmth from upstairs clinging to him, the teasing, the laughter, the way Hongjoong had pulled him out of his spiral. But the moment the kitchen came into view, the noise and movement crashing into him, that fragile calm wavered.

The dining area was already full. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, catching on glass and polished surfaces. Mingi was talking animatedly with his hands, nearly knocking over his own drink. Yunho laughed loudly at something Jongho said, while San leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, looking relaxed and content. Seonghwa sat close to Hongjoong’s usual spot, calm and gentle, sipping his drink. And then there was Wooyoung.

Wooyoung sat across the table, bright and beautiful as always, his presence impossible to ignore. He looked happy, energized, clearly riding the excitement of everyone being home and free on the same day. The sight of him made Yeosang’s chest tighten instantly.

They took their seats. Hongjoong sat beside Yeosang without question, brushing their knees together under the table. Plates were passed around, food piled high, the smell warm and comforting. Everyone talked at once, overlapping stories, teasing comments, laughter filling the room. It should have felt safe. It should have felt normal.

But Yeosang felt like he was sitting behind glass.

Wooyoung talked, laughed, leaned forward when Mingi said something ridiculous. He looked around the table, engaged with everyone, but every now and then his eyes flicked back to Yeosang. Small glances at first. Curious. Worried. Then longer ones, lingering just a second too long, searching Yeosang’s face for something Yeosang was too afraid to show.

Yeosang kept his gaze fixed on his plate.

He picked at his food, pushing it around more than actually eating. Each bite felt heavy, like it might get stuck in his throat. He could feel Wooyoung looking at him, could feel the unspoken questions pressing into the space between them. Why are you so quiet. What did I do. Please look at me.

He could not. If he did, he was terrified everything would spill out right there at the table.

“So we’re really all free today,” Mingi said loudly, grinning. “No schedules. No meetings. No shoots. This literally never happens.”

Yunho raised his glass. “A miracle.”

Everyone laughed. Even Yeosang managed a small smile, though it felt like it belonged to someone else.

Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to him again, softer this time.

Yeosang felt Hongjoong shift beside him, his knee pressing more firmly against Yeosang’s under the table, a silent reminder that he was not alone. Yeosang inhaled slowly and forced himself to lift his fork. He took a small bite, chewing carefully, even though his stomach churned with anxiety.

San noticed.

Yeosang felt it before he heard it. San leaned closer, his shoulder brushing Yeosang’s arm, his voice low and playful so only Yeosang could hear.

“You know,” San whispered, lips curving into a teasing smile, “if you do not eat properly, I might have to make you. And you will regret that.”

Yeosang startled, a quiet breathy sound leaving him before he could stop it. He glanced at San, who was watching him with gentle eyes, concern hidden behind his usual playful warmth.

San nudged Yeosang’s knee lightly under the table. “Eat. For me.”

Something in Yeosang’s chest loosened just a bit. He nodded and lifted his fork again, this time taking a real bite. Then another. It was not easy, but he pushed through it, focusing on the taste, on the warmth, on the fact that San was still watching him with approval.

“That’s it,” San murmured, satisfied, leaning back in his chair. “Good boy.”

Yeosang’s cheeks heated, but he finished the rest of his food, one bite at a time. San beamed like he had just won something important.

Across the table, Wooyoung noticed.

Yeosang could feel his gaze settle again, sharper now, confused by the interaction, by Yeosang’s sudden compliance. Wooyoung opened his mouth like he might say something, then hesitated, closing it again. He looked down at his own plate, jaw tight, fingers tapping restlessly against the table.

The noise around them continued. Mingi laughed too loudly. Jongho complained about something trivial. Yunho teased Seonghwa. It all flowed on, bright and alive.

And in the middle of it, Yeosang and Wooyoung sat in silence, a quiet tension stretching between them, unspoken and heavy. Yeosang finished his meal, set his fork down carefully, and kept his eyes on the table, heart racing.

He could feel it building. The conversation they could not avoid forever. The looks that would not stop. The truth pressing against his ribs, desperate to be let out.

But for now, he stayed quiet.

And Wooyoung watched him, worried and aching, waiting for the moment Yeosang would finally look up and let him in.

———

Wooyoung noticed the moment Yeosang slipped away.

It was subtle. Too subtle for anyone who was not already watching him. One second Yeosang was sitting there, quiet but present, and the next his chair was empty, the faint sound of footsteps already disappearing up the stairs. No announcement. No goodbye. Just gone.

Wooyoung’s chest tightened instantly.

He pushed his food around his plate, appetite gone. He barely registered Mingi laughing again or Yunho leaning back in his chair. All he could see was the empty space where Yeosang had been. The way he had not met Wooyoung’s eyes once. The way he had barely spoken. The way he had flinched at nothing and everything all at once.

Wooyoung stood up abruptly.

“I will be right back,” he said, already half turned toward the stairs.

“Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa’s voice stopped him.

Wooyoung turned, confused, and saw Seonghwa watching him closely. Not playful. Not relaxed. Serious in a way that made Wooyoung’s stomach drop.

“I think,” Seonghwa said gently, standing up as well, “we should talk first.”

Hongjoong was already on his feet too, his expression calm but firm. The kind of calm that meant something was very wrong.

Wooyoung frowned. “Talk about what? He is clearly not okay. I should go after him.”

“And you will,” Hongjoong said. “But not yet.”

Something in their tone made Wooyoung pause. Slowly, reluctantly, he sat back down. His leg bounced uncontrollably under the table.

They moved away from the others, into the quieter living room. The noise from the kitchen faded behind them, leaving an uncomfortable silence.

Wooyoung crossed his arms, defensive without meaning to be. “If this is about Minjae, I do not get it. I barely talked to him today. I did not even think it was a big deal.”

Seonghwa exhaled softly.

“That is exactly the problem,” he said.

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong leaned against the back of the couch, eyes steady on Wooyoung. “Yeosang told us some things. This morning. And yesterday.”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped painfully. “What things?”

Seonghwa sat down slowly, hands clasped together. “He broke down this morning. Completely. Crying so hard he could barely breathe.”

Wooyoung felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“What,” he whispered.

“He told me everything,” Seonghwa continued. “About Minjae. About yesterday. About the dinner. About how you barely looked at him or touched him once. About how he felt invisible sitting next to you.”

Wooyoung shook his head immediately. “That is not true. I just… I was catching up. I did not even realize…”

“I know,” Seonghwa said softly. “But Yeosang did not.”

Hongjoong spoke next, voice low and careful. “He thinks he is replaceable.”

The words hit harder than anything else.

Wooyoung stared at them. “What?”

“He thinks you still want Minjae,” Hongjoong said. “Because the breakup was not bad. Because Minjae left for work. Because there was no big fight. In Yeosang’s head that means the door is still open.”

Wooyoung’s chest burned.

“He thinks all of us might realize we had better partners before him,” Seonghwa added quietly. “More confident ones. Easier ones. Louder ones. People who do not spiral or need reassurance.”

Wooyoung’s eyes stung.

“He compared himself to Minjae,” Hongjoong said. “Over and over. His looks. His confidence. His career. He thinks he does not deserve any of us.”

“That is insane,” Wooyoung said hoarsely. “That is not true at all.”

“He knows that logically,” Seonghwa replied. “But his thoughts do not listen to logic.”

Wooyoung dragged a hand through his hair, breathing uneven. “I had no idea. I thought he was just tired. Or stressed. I thought if I gave him space…”

“He thought that space meant you were pulling away,” Seonghwa said.

The room felt too small. Too quiet. Wooyoung sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands.

“And the worst part,” Seonghwa said carefully, “is that he admitted he thought about hurting himself again.”

Wooyoung’s head snapped up.

“What.”

“He did not do anything,” Hongjoong said quickly. “But the thoughts were there. That is how bad it got.”

Wooyoung’s vision blurred.

He loved Yeosang. Desperately. Loudly. Completely. He loved the way Yeosang laughed when he forgot to be shy. The way he tucked his hands into Wooyoung’s sleeves when he was cold. The way he tried so hard, every single day, to be brave in a world that overwhelmed him.

The idea that Yeosang could ever think Minjae was better than him made Wooyoung feel sick.

“I do not want Minjae,” Wooyoung said, voice breaking. “I never did after it ended. I love Yeosang. I love him so much it scares me sometimes. I would choose him every single time.”

“I know, babe” Seonghwa said gently. “But Yeosang needs to hear that from you. Not us.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard. “I messed up.”

“You were unaware,” Hongjoong corrected. “That does not make it hurt less for Yeosang. But it means you can fix it.”

Wooyoung stood up abruptly again, this time with purpose. “I am going to him. Now.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Good. Be honest. Be gentle. And do not get defensive.”

Wooyoung took a shaky breath. “I will not. I just… I hate that he thought he had to carry this alone.”

As he turned toward the stairs, his chest aching with urgency and love and regret, Wooyoung had only one clear thought in his mind.

Yeosang was not replaceable.

He was irreplaceable.

And Wooyoung was going to make damn sure Yeosang knew that.

Wooyoung did not knock.

He did not trust himself to wait for an answer.

He opened the door slowly, quietly, like he was approaching something fragile that might shatter if he breathed too loudly.

Yeosang was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands resting limply in his lap, eyes unfocused and staring at nothing. His shoulders were slumped forward, body present but mind clearly somewhere far away. Not crying. Not moving. Just… gone.

Wooyoung’s heart cracked open.

“Baby,” he whispered.

No reaction.

Wooyoung closed the door behind him and crossed the room in a few careful steps, kneeling in front of Yeosang so he was at eye level. He did not touch him yet. He knew better than that.

“Angel,” he tried again, voice trembling. “Look at me. Please.”

It took a few seconds. Then Yeosang blinked once. Twice. His eyes slowly found Wooyoung’s face, unfocused at first, then painfully aware.

“There you are,” Wooyoung breathed, tears already burning behind his eyes. “I have got you. You are safe. I am here.”

Yeosang swallowed, throat bobbing. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“I know,” Wooyoung said softly. “And I am sorry. But I talked to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. And they told me everything. And I could not stay away after that.”

That did it.

Something in Yeosang’s expression cracked, like a thin layer of ice breaking under pressure.

“They told you,” Yeosang whispered.

“Yes,” Wooyoung said. “About Minjae. About lunch. About the dinner. About how you felt. About this morning. About everything.”

Yeosang looked away immediately, shame flooding his face. “I did not want you to know like that.”

Wooyoung gently lifted Yeosang’s chin, forcing him to look back. His touch was feather light, reverent.

“Hey. Hey,” he murmured. “Do not do that. Do not shrink. You did nothing wrong.”

Yeosang’s eyes filled instantly. “I felt so stupid,” he whispered. “Sitting there. Watching you forget I was even next to you. At our place. At our spot. You did not even touch me, Woo. You did not call me anything. You did not look at me.”

Wooyoung’s tears spilled over.

“I know,” he choked. “I know. And I hate myself for that.”

“I kept thinking,” Yeosang continued, voice shaking, “if this is how it feels when you see someone better. Someone easier. Someone you loved before. And I thought… maybe this is when you realize you do not need me anymore.”

“No,” Wooyoung said immediately, voice breaking completely. “No, no, no. Baby, listen to me. Please listen.”

Yeosang’s breathing grew uneven as Wooyoung’s hands trembled where they rested on his knees.

“I would never choose Minjae over you,” Wooyoung said through tears. “Never. Not in a million years. I love you. I love you so much it scares me. You are not a placeholder. You are not temporary. You are not second to anyone.”

Yeosang let out a broken sob.

“I thought you all might replace me,” he whispered. “That you would realize I am too much. Too quiet. Too sad. Too… broken.”

Wooyoung shook his head fiercely. “You are not broken. You are human. And you are ours. You are mine.”

Yeosang suddenly moved.

He stood up abruptly, grabbed Wooyoung by the sleeves, and pulled him down onto the bed with him. They landed awkwardly, side by side, knees knocking together, hands immediately finding each other like magnets.

Yeosang curled toward him, fingers lacing tightly with Wooyoung’s.

“Do not go,” Yeosang whispered.

“I am not going anywhere, angel,” Wooyoung said, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

They lay there, foreheads touching, both crying quietly now.

“I need you to know something,” Wooyoung said after a moment, voice softer, steadier. “Minjae breaking up with me was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Yeosang blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” Wooyoung said. “If I am being honest, my feelings for him were gone long before the breakup. I stayed because it was familiar. Comfortable. Not because I was in love.”

Yeosang searched his face desperately.

“He was important to me,” Wooyoung continued. “He was part of my life. He helped shape who I am. And I care about him as a friend. That is why I wanted to catch up. Not because I want him. Not because I miss what we had.”

“Then why,” Yeosang whispered, voice small, “did it feel like you forgot me?”

Wooyoung closed his eyes briefly, guilt washing over him. “Because I am an idiot who thought giving you space was the right thing. I thought you were stressed. I did not realize that space feels like abandonment to you.”

Yeosang nodded weakly. “It does.”

“I know that now,” Wooyoung said. “And I am so sorry, baby. I swear I will do better.”

Yeosang leaned forward first.

Their kiss was messy and wet with tears, mouths trembling, breaths hitching as they pressed together. It was not rushed or hungry. It was desperate and grounding and real.

Wooyoung kissed him again and again, murmuring between kisses. “My angel. My pretty boy. My heart. My Yeosang.”

Yeosang clutched at Wooyoung’s shirt like he was afraid he might disappear. “I love you,” he whispered into his mouth. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know,” Wooyoung whispered back, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his temple. “I feel it too, baby. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

They curled closer, legs tangling, hands still tightly linked between them. Wooyoung pulled Yeosang into his chest, holding him like something precious, something irreplaceable.

They cried quietly together, shoulders shaking, fingers tracing reassurance into skin.

“You are mine,” Wooyoung murmured. “And I am yours. Always. No one could ever take your place. No one would want to.”

Yeosang finally relaxed against him, breathing evening out slowly, face tucked under Wooyoung’s chin.

“Stay,” Yeosang whispered one last time.

Wooyoung pressed a kiss into his hair, holding him tighter.

“I am not going anywhere, angel,” he said softly. “Not ever.”