Chapter Text
Choi San was a breathtaking thrill.
And Jung Wooyoung was left all out of breath.
***
“State your name and surname, please.”
“Jung Wooyoung.”
The line in front of the dance class this semester was insane. Even though Wooyoung was already a member, every semester required the same bureaucratic nonsense to renew his registration. It was a hassle, but there was no way around it.
“Oh, yes, our favorite.” The girl at the registration table looked up with a smile. It was Min Haewon. She loved step classes, and Wooyoung could appreciate that level of passion, even if he didn’t feel particularly friendly toward her.
“Can you put me down, too? I’m Kang Yeosang.” Wooyoung’s friend appeared beside him, a little out of breath, his sports bag slung over one shoulder.
Yeosang had been Wooyoung’s friend since they were five. When Yeosang’s family moved in next door, he was a quiet, almost invisible child—shy, unsure, and hesitant to speak. But Wooyoung, with his loud, uninhibited personality, quickly drew him out of his shell. What started as afternoons playing in the yard or passing notes in class grew over the years into a solid, unspoken bond. By the time middle school rolled around, they were inseparable.
They were there for each other through all the early milestones: first bad grades, first crushes, first heartbreaks. They laughed off the awkwardness of growing up, sometimes mocking their younger selves but always understanding what the other was going through. As different as their personalities were, they somehow fit together seamlessly. Wooyoung was the bold one, the one who’d grab Yeosang’s hand to drag him to some new place, or push him to talk to someone he had his eye on. Yeosang, in turn, was the steady one—the quiet force who’d calm Wooyoung down on his bad days and encourage him on his best.
To Wooyoung, Yeosang was a constant—a steady presence that soothed his fear of change.
“You’re cutting in line,” Wooyoung grumbled, ignoring Yeosang’s grin as he signed the registration form Haewon passed over. He didn’t particularly like Haewon. She was a little too clingy, a little too into the attention.
Yeosang ignored Wooyoung right back, smiling at Haewon as she handed him his own form.
A minute or two later, they walked into the dance room that Wooyoung held dear to his heart. Inside the dance room, everything was just as Wooyoung remembered—spacious, airy, flooded with natural light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and bouncing off the mirror wall opposite.
“I have great news!” a voice called from across the room. A tall boy with snowy white hair and a grin as wide as his shoulders waved at them. “Three tickets. For who? That’s right—the Harry Potter Symphony Concert, tonight!” he announced proudly.
“There are about three uninteresting parts to that sentence,” Wooyoung sighed, dropping to the floor.
Jeong Yunho was the life of their little trio, though he’d joined them a bit later. Unlike Yeosang, Yunho hadn’t needed encouragement to approach them. They found him passed out in front of their dorm room after a night of partying; he’d clearly overdone it. Wooyoung and Yeosang had dragged him inside, let him sleep it off on their couch, and made sure he had a bottle of water and a granola bar to nurse his hangover when he woke up. From that chaotic night forward, Yunho simply became part of them.
Yunho was like the laughter between them. He brought a contagious energy and a lightheartedness that matched Wooyoung’s but was entirely his own. Where Wooyoung was intense, Yunho was go-with-the-flow. His easygoing, boisterous humor softened Wooyoung’s sometimes sharp edges and coaxed even the quietest parts of Yeosang to open up. They became their own trio, and people knew them as such on campus—a strange, perfectly balanced team that everyone seemed to admire.
The three of them had fallen into a rhythm. They spent countless late nights in their dorm, talking about everything and nothing. They teased one another endlessly, but they’d do anything for each other. Yunho might roll his eyes when Wooyoung got caught up in a passionate rant about choreography, but he’d be the first to stay up late practicing with him when Wooyoung felt a routine wasn’t quite right. And Yeosang might pretend to be unimpressed with Yunho’s endless jokes, but he’d laugh quietly when Yunho wasn’t looking.
In a world that constantly changed around them, their friendship was an anchor—a constant Wooyoung cherished more than he let on. And if he was being honest with himself, he needed them. They were his family, his stability, his daily reminder that, no matter what happened, he was never truly alone.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a buzzkill.”
“You know I don’t do nerdy stuff, Yunho.”
“You love nerdy stuff. Especially in the form of Draco Mal—”
“Shut up.” Wooyoung pointed a warning finger at him. “It was Halloween, I was drunk, and that guy rocked that robe.”
Yeosang chuckled.
“What are you laughing at? You hooked up with a guy dressed as Alan from The Hangover.”
“Yeah, and I have no shame about it.”
“Look, if you don’t want to go, I’ll just take someone else,” Yunho said, grabbing his bottle and towel as he moved to the other side of the room to stretch.
“He’ll ask Mingi,” Yeosang observed, voicing exactly what Wooyoung was thinking.
“Maybe all those hours of the Harry Potter and the Philosophical Stone soundtrack will make them finally do something about the tension between them,” Wooyoung muttered.
“It’s Philosopher’s Stone.” Yeosang corrected with a smirk.
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
The dance class began as usual. The instructor was reviewing the semester’s outline when a soft creak from the double doors caught everyone’s attention. Wooyoung didn’t turn, but he saw in the mirror as a tall figure quietly entered and took a spot in the far-right corner, diagonal to Wooyoung.
The guy was tall, his dark hair shorter than Wooyoung’s, maybe closer to Yunho’s. His features were distinct, strikingly poised even from a distance, and Wooyoung was taken aback by his quiet intensity. He couldn’t help but stare until the stranger’s gaze caught his. Wooyoung quickly looked away.
“Jung Wooyoung? Jung Wooyoung, I’m talking to you.”
“Huh?” He looked up, the teacher watching him with mild annoyance. “Sorry, sir.” Wooyoung nodded apologetically, loking down hard at the floor.
“I was saying, would you care to demonstrate what we do here, since you and your friends aced this the classes last semester?” It wasn’t a question. Wooyoung stood, and so did Yeosang and two other students. People moved aside as they took their places, Wooyoung in the center, Yeosang to his right.
As the music began, Wooyoung slipped into the rhythm. Lie by Jimin. It was Wooyoung’s last year’s crown work. Each move was an extension of his being, smooth yet precise, bold yet graceful. Every spin and step was perfectly executed, every shift an intricate display of emotion. Wooyoung was here to dance. The focus wasn’t on the song, it was on every second of attention Wooyoung grabbed away so vigorously. It wasn’t that Wooyoung craved attention—he thrived on it. Out of everyone, he knew he’d earned it. He was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. His weekends were for practice, his summers spent in dance workshops and camps. Dance was his devotion, his passion. It was everything.
Everyone's gaze followed him like in a trance. But there was one set of eyes that didn’t follow him the way he expected.
At the back of the room, still in his corner, the tall, quiet guy sat with an air of something that made him stand out even in a room full of dancers. Wooyoung noticed him instantly—how could he not? There was something different about the way he sat there, unmoving, detached, as if he were watching something more than just the performance in front of him. While the rest of the class seemed lost in the fluidity of Wooyoung’s movements, this stranger sat still, his gaze not breaking, unwavering.
And then, in the middle of a particularly fluid turn, Wooyoung saw it—the unmistakable meeting of eyes in the mirror.
Time seemed to stretch, a breath caught somewhere between movement and stillness. For a moment, Wooyoung forgot the routine, forgot the audience, forgot everything but the quiet, steady gaze of the man at the back of the room. His eyes were unreadable—impossible to decipher. Yet there was something about the way he looked at him that felt different, that felt like more than just mere observation. It wasn’t admiration, it wasn’t judgment—it was pure, unfiltered attention, the kind that made Wooyoung feel like he was the only thing in the room, the only thing in the world.
It was intoxicating.
For the next few minutes, the rest of the class faded into a blur. Every time Wooyoung moved, every time he caught his reflection in the mirror, his eyes sought out the other's, that quiet, unwavering gaze. It was like a magnet, pulling him in with an invisible force. This wasn’t the kind of attention he was used to—the adoration of his classmates, the appreciative looks, the admiring whispers. This was something different.
Something more.
And so, Wooyoung did what he did best—he played to it. His movements slowed just a touch, each one more deliberate, more exaggerated, as though he were trying to draw out that gaze, to hold it just a little longer. His body arched and twisted with a fluidity that bordered on seductive, every motion designed to hold San’s attention, to keep him in this dance—this strange, magnetic dance—just a little longer.
But the stranger never broke. He didn’t smile, didn’t applaud, didn’t shift an inch. His eyes remained locked on Wooyoung, steady and focused, as though Wooyoung himself were the only thing in the room that mattered.
And that, Wooyoung realized, was the most powerful thing of all.
The applause was loud, enthusiastic. Wooyoung was out of breath, smiling as he felt the thrill of the moment, knowing that someone—one person in particular—hadn’t looked away. The guy wasn’t clapping, but Wooyoung could swear he saw him smirk.
“Thank you for a graceful performance,” the teacher said. “I hope everyone’s ready to meet the challenge this semester.”
Wooyoung took his seat, steadying his breath. He’d missed this—the dance, the teamwork with Yeosang, the rush of an audience’s approval. He missed the claps, the eyes and the sheer boost of confidence he got from being in his element.
But when class ended, Wooyoung couldn’t help scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of that mysterious new face.
“So you’re really not going, Woo?”
“Huh? Oh, no.”
“Why are you so distracted today?” Yeosang asked, wiping his mouth with his water bottle in hand.
“I missed one question!”
“Two, actually,” Yunho pointed out.
“No, ignoring you was intentional,” Wooyoung replied, zipping up his gray hoodie.
“Bitch,” Yunho muttered, pretending to pout.
“Don’t be dramatic. Just take Mingi and hope he finally dicks you down. God knows you need it.” Wooyoung’s hand waved dismissively. “Besides, Yeosang will be there.”
“No, no.” Yeosang shook his head, a sly smile on his face. “Yeosang has a date.”
“Choi boy?” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow.
Yeosang nodded proudly.
“Okay, go get it, boy toy.” Wooyoung high-fived Yeosang, the grin on his face quickly turning into a smirk. “What’re you wearing?”
“You two suck,” Yunho sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder and dragging it as he left, displaying his mock annoyance.
***
“This is too much.” Yeosang said as he tried to adjust the huge white mesh flower on his black blazer. “The pearls I get, but this is too much.” He slumped his shoulders as he stared at himself in the mirror.
Wooyoung was on his phone, head dangling down from Yeosang’s bed, legs up and leaning against the white wall of their dorm room. “It’s a fashion statement Yeosang. Just ignore it and you’ll forget it’s there.”
“I do that with you and it also doesn’t work. You’re both annoyingly flashy.”
“Fuck you.”
“You can only wish.”
Yeosang’s phone buzzed and he moved to the bed sitting down next to Wooyoung, head where Wooyoung’s legs were. The huge smile on Yeosang’s face meant only one thing. It’s Jongho.
He quickly turned the screen toward Wooyoung “Hey, look at this,” Yeosang said, his voice a little softer than usual. A little too eager, maybe.
Wooyoung’s gaze flicked to the screen immediately, and a mischievous smirk appeared on his face. He sat up, inspecting the picture with exaggerated scrutiny. The picture Jongho sent was one that made Yeosang smile almost instantly. Jongho stood in a brightly lit café, dressed in a soft blue sweater that seemed to make his dark hair shine like velvet. His smile was easy, a little shy, but warm—those eyes, though, they were the thing that really caught Yeosang’s attention.
“Oho,” Wooyoung teased, his eyes lighting up. “Look at mister Choi Jungho. Choi boy's got style.” He teased, sentence ending in a higher-pitched voice. “What’s up with this little heart-eye moment?”
Yeosang felt his cheeks go hot, and he quickly swiped the phone away, but Wooyoung was already leaning closer, his grin widening. Yeosang was trying to keep it together—trying—but the way Wooyoung was poking at him only made his pulse quicken in a way that felt both frustrating and… oddly flattering.
“Stop, Wooyoung. He’s just… he’s just cute. I don’t know, okay?!” Yeosang tried to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying the nerves he didn’t want to show. “That’s all.”
Wooyoung saw right through him. He snickered, watching Yeosang’s flustered reaction with pure delight. “Cute, huh? You think Choi Boy is just ‘cute’?” He squinted at the photo like he was examining some rare specimen. “Mm, I mean, I guess I can see it. His sweater’s too bright for me, though. You’re into that kind of color, huh?”
Yeosang rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s not just the sweater, Wooyoung.”
“Oh, really?” Wooyoung said sarcastically. He moved to sit shoulder to shoulder with Yeosang, back against the wall. “Is it the way he’s holding his coffee cup? The slight tilt of his head? Or maybe his perfectly messy hair?” Wooyoung sighed dramatically. “You really do have a thing for that ‘I’m not trying too hard’ vibe, don’t you?”
Yeosang’s defenses started to crumble, and his shoulders relaxed, even though his words remained stubborn. “He’s just… charming. What’s wrong with that?”
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Charming? You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re falling for him, Yeosangie.” The teasing tone was light, but there was something warm about Wooyoung’s voice too. He was genuinely happy to see his best friend like this.
“I’m not falling for him,” Yeosang huffed, though his gaze lingered on the picture for a moment too long. “I don’t even know him that well yet.”
Wooyoung leaned into him a bit, his grin turning into something more affectionate. “I don’t know, man. I’ve never seen you act this way over anyone. You’re all soft and flustered, like a puppy.”
“I am not a puppy!” Yeosang shot back, though the comparison made his heart flutter a little. He didn't mind the idea of being seen as soft in front of Jongho. The idea of him—of what Jongho might think of him—was suddenly more important than he cared to admit.
“Sure you’re not,” Wooyoung said with a wink. “But it’s cute, I guess. He is cute too.” He leaned towards the phone again, squinting at Jongho’s smile in the picture. “He’s got the ‘I’m good at making people like me’ thing going on. So, what’s his story? You two had a heart-to-heart yet?”
Yeosang paused, lips curling. Wooyoung knew that face. Yeosang was always reserved, so he knows it’s not teasy for him to open up about himself. Still, he’s never seen Yeosang like this before, so maybe, he at least tried. “Well… we’ve talked a bit,” Yeosang admitted, his voice softening. “He’s just… really easy to talk to.”
There it is. Wooyoung didn’t tease him anymore. Instead, he gave a knowing smile. “Yeah, I can see it. I hope you’re not about to make me go full protective mode and keep an eye on Choi Boy though.”
Yeosang shot him a sideways glance. “You’ve never been protective over me before, Wooyoung.”
“That's a blatant lie." Wooyoung looked at him with an annoyed glance. "It’s just because no one else ever made you go all soft and puppy-like.” he grinned, his teasing tone slipping into something a little more sincere. “But, seriously. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”
Yeosang smiled back, though it was a little sheepish. “Thanks, I guess.”
Wooyoung’s eyes softened. “And don’t worry. If he’s half as cool as he looks in this picture, I’ll definitely approve.”
“Alright, alright,” Yeosang muttered, finally managing to swipe the phone back to himself. He looked at the picture one more time, his heart settling into something warm and content. “Just don’t make fun of me too much, okay?”
Wooyoung winked. “No promises, but I’ll try.”
***
Wooyoung lay sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, mindless scrolling through a social media feed that he barely registered. The glow of the screen illuminated his face in the dimly lit room, the only light besides the occasional streetlamp flickering outside his window. His friends were all out on their dates—Yunho with Mingi, Yeosang off with his 'too cool for school' Jungho guy…
It wasn’t that he minded. He had his routines, his own quiet moments to recharge, especially after a day like today. He’d told himself he was just unwinding, nothing more. But still, his mind drifted back to the events of earlier. To him.
The moment the new guy had walked in, Wooyoung hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something had shifted. If it was something in him, or something in the whole wide universe that shifted, Wooyoung didn’t still understand. But the feeling was there. At first, it had been nothing more than curiosity, the kind Wooyoung often felt when someone unfamiliar entered his space. But that quickly turned into something else. Something almost unsettling in its intensity. And Wooyoung liked it. Maybe even too much.
Wooyoung sighed, dropping his phone onto the bed next to him as he stared at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he shake the memory of those eyes? That moment had lingered with him, the way the stranger’s attention had felt like a weight on his chest. Not heavy in a bad way, but suffocating in the best way, the kind that made him want more.
The thought made him shift restlessly. It wasn’t like Wooyoung to get caught up in someone so quickly, to let the pull of someone else’s gaze affect him so deeply. He wasn’t the type to get hung up on anyone—there were always others, always someone else to turn his attention to. But this? This felt different.
He could still see it, in the back of his mind—the steady, unfaltering gaze. The way the man had just... watched him. It had felt like a challenge, almost, but in a way that he didn’t understand.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft buzz of his phone. Wooyoung glanced at the screen—Yunho? At this hour? It was nearly midnight.
He answered.
“Yunho?”
“Hey, is this Wooyoung?” A voice came through the receiver, warm yet rushed, deep and strangely familiar. “This is Mingi… I’m calling from Yunho’s phone.”
Wooyoung sat up, already alert. “Yeah, it’s Wooyoung. Why do you have Yunho’s phone?” He couldn’t help sounding wary; Yunho was notoriously private with his phone, always guarding it like some top-secret vault.
There was a pause, then a muffled laugh, Yunho’s laugh, unmistakably in the background. “Uh, yeah… about that,” Mingi continued, chuckling a little. “Yunho’s, um… well, he’s a bit… let’s just say he’s not exactly able to call himself right now.”
Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, not able?”
“Yunho’s… really drunk,” Mingi admitted, lowering his voice. “Honestly, I’m a little worried. He asked me to call you to come pick him up. He’s on the couch here, and I don’t think he’s gonna be able to make it back on his own.”
Of course. Yunho didn’t drink often, but when he did, he went all out. Only, Wooyoung hadn’t expected him to get hammered at a symphony concert of all places. “Hold on,” Wooyoung said, exasperation creeping in. “Weren't concerts supposed to be some fancy thing? Y’know, elegant music, tailored suits, tiny sandwiches?”
“I know, I know,” Mingi laughed, clearly a bit tipsy himself. “We went to the concert. But Yunho took my roommate San along, and afterward, we thought, ‘Hey, why not grab a drink or two?’ And, well… you know how drinks go—never just one.”
Wooyoung couldn’t help but snort. “Right, because a night of symphony wasn’t complete without getting wasted.” He sighed, trying not to let his annoyance show too much. “So… you’re telling me he’s out of it?”
“Pretty much.” Mingi chuckled, but his tone softened. “Look, I’d drive him home myself, but… well, to be honest, none of us are exactly in the best shape right now. We’re all a little… you know, past the limit.”
“Perfect,” Wooyoung muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Midnight, his bed, all cozy, and now he had to fetch his drunken friend.
There was another shuffle on the other end, and then he heard Mingi again, a bit more seriously this time. “Look, if it’s too much trouble, I could try to get him an Uber, but he’s been asking for you. Doesn’t want to stay here and insists on getting home.”
“Yeah, sounds like Yunho,” Wooyoung replied, resignation settling in. “I’ll come get him. Just… text me the address, alright?”
“Thanks, Wooyoung, really. And… sorry to wake you up like this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wooyoung sighed, softening a little despite himself. “I’ll be there soon.”
A minute later, the address arrived in a flurry of typos, but he managed to decode it. With a deep, resigned sigh, Wooyoung dragged himself out of his warm sanctuary, mumbling about the sheer hassle of friendship as he got dressed, fully prepared to lecture Yunho all the way home.
***
Wooyoung took a deep breath as he arrived at Mingi's place. The soft buzz of his phone confirmed the address he’d hastily punched into the GPS, and he sighed, looking up at the apartment building. This was not exactly how he’d planned to spend his night. Still, he was here now, so he might as well get this over with.
He climbed the stairs, and Mingi was already at the door, looking as if he’d been waiting. Wooyoung doesn’t really know Mingi, they never officially met. He just knows him from the countless photos and stories Yunho told them about the guy. And seeing him in real life, honestly, Wooyoung understood why Yunho was obsessed with this guy. His hair was a little tousled, his shirt partially untucked, a grin tipping up one corner of his mouth. The whole effect made him look like he, too, was feeling the after-effects of a few too many drinks. “I'm guessing you're Wooyoung,” Mingi greeted him, voice low, chuckling. “Thanks for coming to get Yunho.”
Wooyoung waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. That's me, always happy to help.” He stepped in as Mingi moved aside, glancing around the room. Mingi's apartment was spacious, very modern, very boyish. It was messy, but not in a dirty way. It was a typical boys' apartment. It served a purpose, not a single flower in sight.
Yungo was slouched on the far end of the couch in the middle of the room, gazing vacantly into space with a silly grin plastered on his face, visibly more than a little drunk.
But it wasn’t Yunho who immediately caught Wooyoung’s attention. On the couch, just a couple of feet away, was the mistery new guy, lounging in a way that exuded effortless allure. ‘So this is San? Mingi’s roommate?’
His black suit was rumpled, his tie missing, and his white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at his collarbone. His gaze met Wooyoung’s, and for a heartbeat, the room felt smaller, as if it held only the two of them. His face was flushed, probably from the alcohol, but his gaze… that was something else. When their eyes met, Wooyoung felt a flicker of recognition mixed with curiosity. San’s gaze was as intense as ever, but there was a softness in it now, like the sharp edges had dulled a little under the influence of alcohol. San’s gaze wasn’t like the one in class, that cool, calculating look. This was warmer, a bit unguarded, as if San had let something slip and wasn’t in a hurry to hide it. Wooyoung could feel it—a slow, steady intensity in the way San’s eyes seemed to linger. Almost like he was studying Wooyoung again but savoring the moment in a way that didn’t quite make sense.
“Right…” Wooyoung muttered, turning his attention away from San with a slight smirk and back to his mission: Yunho. Yunho, who was currently slumped over on the other side of the couch, giggling at something. “He looks like he’s had… quite a night,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in his friend’s glassy-eyed grin.
Mingi laughed, running a hand through his hair. “You have no idea. After the symphony ended, we thought it’d be fun to grab a few drinks. You know, something casual. But then…” he chuckled, trailing off as if the details were a little hazy. “Well, Yunho has no concept of ‘just a few’ when he’s in a good mood.”
Wooyoung huffed. “Typical.” With another sigh, Wooyoung crossed the room and got to Yunho.
“Yunho, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Wooyoung crouched down, giving Yunho a soft nudge. “Come on, big guy, we’re going home.”
Yunho’s eyes cracked open, and a dopey grin spread across his face. “Woo!” he slurred, reaching a hand out to clap Wooyoung on the shoulder, missing entirely. “You came!”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a faint grin. “Of course, I did. Someone has to save you from yourself.”
“You know, Yunho wouldn’t stop talking about you all night. How you’re this amazing dancer, how you’ve got this ‘fire’ or whatever. He really looks up to you.” Mingy spoke as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Really?” Wooyoung replied, raising an eyebrow as he shifted Yunho to lean a bit more securely against him. “What did he say?”
“Oh, nothing but praise,” Mingi softened, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. “Honestly, I think I could recite your life story by now. Yunho kept going on about how dedicated you are, how no one could touch you on the dance floor, how funny you are…”
Yunho stirred, smiling dopily. “Woo’s the best,” he slurred, his words slurred but sincere. “Told you… the best…”
Wooyoung felt a pang of warmth hearing that. Yunho’s compliments weren’t new, but they usually came with some teasing edge, so it was touching to hear him be so open, even if it was the alcohol talking.
While they spoke, Wooyoung could feel San’s gaze still heavy on him, intense and unwavering, as though he were silently assessing him. Every glance toward San revealed those dark eyes fixed on him, unblinking, almost as if San could see past the casual demeanor Wooyoung put on, right down to something more vulnerable. It was unnerving and a little thrilling, the way San seemed to hold him in place with just a look.
Mingi must have caught onto something because he chuckled again, waving his hand aimlessly through the air. “San doesn’t talk much, but he’s all eyes when he wants to be, isn’t he?” He smirked, adding a little teasingly, “I think he’s impressed.”
San, overhearing, didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth lifted in the faintest smirk as he leaned back against the couch cushions, his gaze still locked on Wooyoung. He looked both relaxed and alert, like a predator at rest, biding his time. The unspoken pull between them was impossible to ignore.
Wooyoung swallowed, feeling his heart quicken, though he masked it with a smirk. “Well, I’m not here to impress anyone. Just doing my duty and hauling this guy home.” He glanced at Yunho, whose head lolled against the arm of the couch, humming to himself in a tipsy daze.
“Of course, of course,” Mingi said with a slight slur, his grin widening as he stumbled slightly, catching himself. “You’re a good friend, Wooyoung. He’s lucky to have you.” He paused, his gaze growing softer, almost wistful. “Just take care of him, yeah?”
Wooyoung nodded. “Yeah, I will.” He gently lifted Yunho to his feet, feigning nonchalance, grinning as Yunho leaned heavily against him, mumbling incoherently. “You really went all out, didn’t you?” Wooyoung commented to Yungho and then glanced back at San, who was watching them with an amused but attentive expression.
The weight of that gaze lingered as Wooyoung maneuvered Yunho toward the door, and Wooyoung felt something in his chest tighten—a flicker of excitement he hadn’t anticipated.
After a short goodbye, Wooyoung somehow managed to get the drunken giant that was his friend into the car. “You better fucking marry that guy after the embarrassment you put me through today.” Wooyoung mumbled as he turned on the car.
Yunho smiled. “You love me.”
“Right now, I really don’t.”
“Whatever you say.”