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When Wonwoo wakes up, the screen of his phone is still lit up by the side of his pillow. He remembered to plug it in the charger before he fell asleep, apparently, and some low-volume 11-hour playthrough of a game is still playing now. The phone was never turned off. What was he even watching, he wonders, as the random dialogue of NPCs fill the space besides him. It’s probably what woke him up too. The cutscene between the actions is way too loud compared to the rest of the game.
Otherwise, the room is quiet. Sun is filtering from the window directly into Wonwoo’s rapidly blinking eyes, because the same way he didn’t turn his phone off before drifting off, he never closed the shutters either. It was raining last night, he remembers. February can be surprising like that, with heavy rainfall one day and crystal-clear sun the next.
That’s how he wakes up this Saturday. With in-game footsteps, familiar gunshots by his ears, and the warmth of the sun over his cheeks.
The first thing he does is check the time, still not used to waking up with neither an alarm clock, nor ruckus from a different room. The phone, quite overheated by now, displays 10 AM and for a bit, he merely keeps blinking at the screen, finding the heat pretty pleasant on his hands.
Otherwise, the room is cold. Wonwoo groans to himself as he pushes his double-blanket combo aside and goes to turn the heating on. He doesn’t trip on any clothes on his way out of the room. Last night, he wasn’t in any rush to discard them, and so they’re neatly folded on a chair instead of thrown all over the floor. The hallway, the bathroom, the living room, they are all empty. Similarly tidy too, as the cleaning lady visited yesterday.
All prettied up and stagnant, immobile.
The house is as peaceful as it ever gets.
An hour later, Seungyoun texts, as he does. I have a new album and a tour coming up, you’ll never see me again, he says, and so Wonwoo doesn’t dare ignore him. He doesn’t have anything to do, either way. He’s curled up on the couch with his phone still in hand, watching the same gameplay video of before. Or more accurately, skipping around different timestamps in an attempt to figure out at what point exactly did he fall asleep watching it.
Seungyoun🪵
“are you going to busan today”
The text makes him blink again, and he realizes how dry his eyes have gotten after spending so long in front of a screen. Also, this must be a pretty boring game, if it almost got him falling asleep again.
Wonwoo👾
“no. you wanted something?”
Seungyoun🪵
“wait you’re not?”
Next thing he knows, Seungyoun’s calling. Wonwoo’s ringtone is even louder than the gameplay video in the vastness of the empty living room.
“Morning,” he says, his first words of the day.
“Why are you not going to Busan?” Seungyoun instantly asks him.
“I went to Japan last week,” Wonwoo reminds him.
“Exactly. Last week. I thought for sure that today of all the dates you’d want to go to the concert again.”
Wonwoo exhales. “Did you want something from Busan?”
“I did but nevermind about that, I’ll ask someone else. Wonwoo, why aren’t you going to Busan?”
“Why would I go to Busan?” Wonwoo asks back.
“Why would you not?”
Wonwoo pulls the phone away from his ear for a moment to stare confusedly at the screen. Perplexed, he presses it back to his ear.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Are you okay?” is the question he receives back. “Have you bought any chocolate today?”
“No.”
“I see,” Seungyoun sounds deadly serious all of a sudden. “Do you need to go out for a walk or something and talk?”
Wonwoo can’t even begin to pretend to understand. But the weather is nice for now, and perhaps a walk will finally wake him up. It’s rare for Seungyoun to offer to leave his house anyway, and more than that, it’s the spontaneity. How long has it been since he had the freedom to simply go out on a Saturday morning? After this year ends, how long will it be until he can do it again?
“Sure,” he replies, sliding his legs off the couch.
There are no slippers waiting for him on the floor. He didn’t bring them over when he lay down, and nobody was there to bring them over for him anyway.
~~~
In summer, it was harder to keep anonymous. A simple mask rarely ever did the trick, and even though Wonwoo wanted to simply walk around in privacy, he knew he never would be able to.
Winter is different. Bundled up in jackets and coats, scarves and hats, he could argue that he doesn’t even need the mask. He wears it though, a layer of protection thin and fragile, but so vital for his peace of mind. There’s nobody in his circle of friends that is comfortable without it nowadays, and Seungyoun is no different.
For his final trick, he takes his glasses off. At some point he figured that this simple trick did way more for people not recognizing him than masks ever did. If he can’t see anyone, then nobody sees him either.
He meets Seungyoun at a street busy enough that they don’t stand out, especially as it’s nearing noon and everyone is rushing around them to either get home a second sooner, or find a place to eat.
“Hi,” Seungyoun links their arms together when he spots him. “Do you want anything to eat? My treat.”
“Your treat?” Wonwoo raises both of his eyebrows.
“I’m sensing you’re having a hard day.”
“Huh?”
“It’s okay,” Seungyoun pats his back. “Your friend is here, you’re not alone. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you Seungyoun,” Wonwoo tries to not let the confusion show. “But I’m okay. I’m not alone.”
“That’s the spirit!” Seungyoun tugs at his arm to get him walking, and sure, it is bizarre, but it’s not like Wonwoo’s going to question this man’s kindness.
“What do you want to have?” Seungyoun asks. “I saw this boba place that has a discount for single people today, should we go there?”
“I’m not –” Wonwoo tries to say, but his words get lost in the crowd around them.
Wonwoo understands what’s happening after he pauses to look at the menu of a new restaurant and note the delivery number on his phone. He supposes it’s a new restaurant at least, because if it wasn’t, Mingyu and he would have known about it. It is exactly the type of hole-in-the-wall diner that balances quiet and fancy, and from experience, these are the places that work best for their taste. And the food does taste a particular way, when it comes from a place like this. Or when you share it with a particular person.
“Oh Wonwoo,” Seungyoun says, sounding sad for some reason. “Are you ordering food tonight?”
“Yes,” Wonwoo replies mindlessly, pocketing his phone again. “Thinking of getting japchae.”
“That’s good. No reason to not celebrate, even if it’s not ideal,” Seungyoun smiles at him sympathetically. “I’m so proud of you.”
And that’s when it hits Wonwoo.
“Uh,” he says. “I’m not eating alone.”
“You’re not?” Seungyoun tilts his head. “Have you made plans with your friends?”
“…No,” Wonwoo stares at him. “It’s Valentine’s day.”
“Yes, but…” Seungyoun looks around them, as if anyone would be able to eavesdrop on them in the middle of this busy street. “You said you’re not going to Busan. And you haven’t gotten any chocolate.”
Wonwoo huffs a laugh. Fourteen years, and everyone still misunderstands. Perhaps that is their fate, after all. Maybe this world was not made for them to be understood.
But it’s okay, because Wonwoo understands. It’s okay because Mingyu understands as well, and even if it’s only the two of them who will ever understand each other, that is more than enough.
~~~
In the afternoon, Wonwoo’s brother calls. He finds Wonwoo on the couch yet again, at the 8-hour mark in the same gameplay video.
“Hey, are you in Busan?” he asks and Wonwoo throws his head back on the couch, heaving a big sigh.
“No, I’m not in Busan,” he replies.
“Good, when you come back, could you bring me– Wait what?”
Wonwoo frowns. “What’s in Busan that everyone is asking me to bring back today?”
“Nevermind about that,” Bohyuk, just like Seungyoun, instantly sounds worried. “The concert is starting in a few, are you not going?”
“No,” Wonwoo replies, and then swiftly changes the subject. “What about you? Any plans for tonight?”
“Yes, I have a reservation at a restaurant.” But Bohyuk has spent an entire childhood with him, and he knows of his evasion tactics way too well. “But hyung, does that mean you’re alone today?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie,” Bohyuk says. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about if you had a fight, you know? You can talk to me.”
Even after all these years, it still manages to surprise Wonwoo how easily people are ready to assume that he and Mingyu are fighting. Not all of them, of course, and not those who know them both the most. Seungkwan sent him a link to some chocolate advertisement during lunch, without any context whatsoever. Wonwoo merely gave it a thumbs up without even opening it, but the intent was there. Seungkwan thought Wonwoo might need chocolate today, and that is all the acknowledgment Wonwoo’s and Mingyu’s relationship needs, really.
Bohyuk is not the same. He is Wonwoo’s first family. He has spent an entire childhood with him, but he spent neither his adolescence or his adult years by his side.
“I’m okay Bohyuk,” Wonwoo says after a small pause.
“That didn’t sound believable,” Bohyuk comments, and it does sting a bit now, all these years spent away from each other while Wonwoo was stuck in a green training room.
“Would you focus on your own date now?” Wonwoo once again changes the subject. “What restaurant are you going to?” he asks, because he’ll always make an effort to know his little brother. Meet him again and again, until it no longer feels like it’s the first time.
But how do you get to know a person that isn’t melded with you by circumstance? Wonwoo is rusty at it, he knows. He knows, because all his relationships growing up had one thing in common, and that was closeness, almost suffocatingly so. So how do you reach for a person that is not an arm’s length away from you?
Wonwoo’s getting better at it, he is. He speaks for half an hour on the phone with his brother while staring at nothing, with nobody next to him. He speaks, he listens, and it’s fine, but at some point, he reaches his hand forward in this emptiness and he clutches at air. His nails dig into his palm, when there should have been a hand to hold.
That night finds Wonwoo rearranging the pillows on the couch, the gameplay video is finally complete. The wall of magazine photoshoots behind him is the only part of Mingyu he’s seen today. And they are good pictures of course, incredible even, but at this point, they too have become furniture. Lovingly picked to be put on display, in this home that has been lovingly chosen and decorated, so neither of its occupants would ever feel alone.
And Wonwoo doesn’t feel alone per se, because he’s used to this. Schedules not aligning, now more than ever. Going days, sometimes weeks without seeing each other. It’s not really lonely, but in the same way eating food he dislikes never really makes him feel full. It fills the stomach, but ultimately, furniture is furniture, and it’s the person that put it there that is his true home.
His home must have wrapped up his concert by now. Wonwoo glances at the clock on the wall, and he goes to take a shower. There’s only a couple of hours left now.
Only a couple, but there will always be a part of Wonwoo that still counts them down by the minute. A part of him that will keep checking the clock, willing it to tick faster. It is anxiety left over from long ago, when everything was in the air and he didn’t know that at the end of the day, Mingyu was always going to return to him.
He knows now. He knows, and slowly but surely, anxiety is starting to turn into a giddy anticipation.
When the keys finally turn and the front door is pushed open, it’s almost midnight. Almost.
“I made it!” is the first thing Mingyu speaks in their home, quickly locking the door behind him. “Twenty five minutes to spare!”
And he must be tired, exhausted even, but giddy anticipation is quite the dominant emotion. Quite easy to reciprocate, too.
“You made it,” Wonwoo walks up to him, and then Mingyu’s arms are around him, their chests press together, and their heartbeats meet again.
Wonwoo closes his eyes as the warmth of the embrace washes over him, as he once again has Mingyu’s solid form in his grasp. Mingyu’s bundled up in all kinds of layers, makeup smudged at the corners of his eyes and hair sticking awkwardly over his forehead. He still breathes like he’s gone through three hours of non-stop dancing and singing. He still smells like he was doused in stage lights and thousands of people have been screaming his name.
“Is there hot water for a shower?” Mingyu asks. “I kind of rushed to get back.”
“There’s water,” Wonwoo reassures him, brushing a hand down his back. “Take all the time you need. I found a new restaurant this morning, should I order food while you shower?”
For a moment, Mingyu squeezes him tighter, before relaxing altogether. He sighs and closes his eyes too, burying his face in Wonwoo’s hair. His throat bobs as he swallows down emotion, and it’s always so satisfying, seeing him relieved to be home. Seeing him so happy to return.
“I’d like that,” he says, voice a little choked. “I brought makgeolli from the airport too.”
“Perfect.”
So Wonwoo takes care of the food as Mingyu freshens up. In the end, it takes more than 25 minutes. Just like that, Valentine’s Day passes, just like all the other days before it did, and just like all the others will after it.
Wonwoo’s sitting at the kitchen table by the time Mingyu joins him again, clad in gray sweatpants and a faded shirt that Wonwoo has genuinely forgotten who originally owned it. His hair is soft and unstyled, skin plum and moisturized, and nobody gets to have him like this anymore other than Wonwoo.
“Valentine’s over and I didn’t get any chocolate,” Mingyu says as he comes to sit opposite him, still radiating warmth from his shower.
“I didn’t either,” Wonwoo says, and for a moment, they simply look at each other.
“…Ah,” Mingyu is the first to break into a grin, once again realizing the blunder.
Wonwoo shakes his head. It’s always the same blunder. Every year, they realize that they are both men. Every year, they both think they’re supposed to give chocolate on White day. Every year, they promise they’ll figure it out next year, and then they forget the next day.
“We’ll get it one day,” Wonwoo nudges him with his foot.
“Seungkwan did text me some chocolate advertisements too,” Mingyu laments.
“Me too,” Wonwoo smiles. “Do you think he’ll be disappointed in us now?”
“Do you think he ever stopped?” Mingyu asks back, and Wonwoo huffs a laugh.
The food arrives, and Mingyu goes to pick it up. While he’s gone, Wonwoo gets an idea. He rummages through their kitchen drawers, a vague memory of stuffing candles in there once playing in his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time to search. The moment he hears Mingyu closing the door, he grabs the first candle he finds and hurries to light it up.
Mingyu pauses at the doorway, plastic bad clutched in hand.
“Candle-lit dinner,” Wonwoo leans against the table, gesturing at the singular tea-light now resting on top of it. It is already half melted.
Mingyu snorts. “So romantic. I applaud the effort.”
They spread the plastic containers around the candle and they don’t bother grabbing plates. Before Wonwoo sits again, he fills two glasses of water and places one in front of Mingyu.
“Waiter!” Mingyu looks up at him, eyes as big as his smile. “Can I have ice with this please~?”
Wonwoo’s smile twitches at the edge. “I’m afraid the ice machine is broken~”
“Can’t you try to fix it? I’ll give you a huge tip,” Mingyu winks.
Wonwoo sighs, quite loud, quite performative, but he gets him his ice. And sure, it’s not a traditionally romantic dinner. They didn’t cook together, there’s no music playing, and there’s no red wine to drink, or even dessert to have. The japchae is not the best they’ve had either, and a brief look between them is all it takes to realize that they’re probably not going to order from this restaurant again.
But this home was not built on grand romantic gestures, and it certainly wasn’t built traditionally. They built it brick by agonizing brick, with endless conversations and endless understanding. They kept stabilizing it through floods and earthquakes, somehow pushing forward through it all. They built it just the way they needed to reach a hand and find someone always reaching back.
Mingyu’s yawning by the time they finish eating, so Wonwoo cleans up the table for him. He throws all the empty containers and tosses their chopsticks to the sink. Surely someone will wash them tomorrow. Surely.
Meanwhile Mingyu stands up and prepares the makgeolli for them. He takes two glasses in the living room and sits down on the couch, throwing his feet up on the little table they have in front of it. From afar, Wonwoo watches him breathing again, a loud exhale as he throws his head back, and even when nobody’s supposed to be looking at him right now, he smiles at the ceiling.
What could ever be more romantic than that?
When Wonwoo’s done with the minimal kitchen cleanup needed, he takes himself next to Mingyu and sits close to him. They lean against each other as Mingyu hands him his makgeolli, in the silence of a home that is not silent at all. With Mingyu’s shoes discarded on the front door and his jacket messily hung up on a coatrack. With his presence making the entire house breathing and alive again.
Wonwoo takes a sip of his drink. “How was the concert?” he asks.
“Great,” Mingyu replies. “I could keep going forever, you know,” he lies.
“I know,” Wonwoo lies back. He pulls his legs up on the couch, brings his knees close to his chest. Mingyu’s shoulder is as solid as ever against his own. How many times have they sat like this? Side by side late at night, talking quietly as if they’re still afraid they’re going to wake the others. Hiding below blankets, hearts begging to be poured out. Only their pinkies touching, because they never could tell when holding hands crossed a line.
Now, at least in the privacy of their home, it is okay to hold hands. Mingyu reaches over and does just that, pulling Wonwoo’s hand on his lap and holding it there. He looks down at it as he strokes Wonwoo’s knuckles, with a kind of reverence that still makes Wonwoo’s heart ache.
“It’s not lonely without you,” Mingyu says, in the exact same voice Wonwoo has been using to convince himself the entire day. “Even if you don’t come, you’re here every time.”
Wonwoo curls his fingers around Mingyu’s palm. More than a home, they kept choosing to build a life so inextricably tied together, that it’s a wonder they’ve ever managed to be anything other than this.
Wonwoo smiles. “Can’t believe that I was here the whole time?”
Mingyu lets out a quiet chuckle. “Who said that?”
Wonwoo shrugs. It is still surreal that Mingyu performs this song now. That people have heard it, that they know everything while knowing nothing at all.
Without a word, Wonwoo gets up. He feels Mingyu’s eyes trained on him as he leaves the room and opens the door to their shared closet. Inside, it’s heaps upon heaps of clothes from sponsored brands and personal purchases alike, mixed beyond separation now. But at the corner, tucked behind a shelf so it doesn’t take much space, they have kept a trinket from the old times.
Every time they tune the guitar now, it only takes minutes for it to go out of tune again. The strings probably need changing. The wood makes ominous creaky noises when Wonwoo tries to move it. But it’s one of the very few things they have left from when they were children, from when they had nothing at all.
Wonwoo brings it back with him to the living room, and Mingyu’s face lights up when he sees it. He keeps looking at Wonwoo as he takes his seat again, so close that their thighs are touching. It’s the way they’ve always sat, after all.
Wonwoo gently hands Mingyu the guitar. “Play it for me?”
Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice.
His hand curls around the worn neck of the guitar and he shifts on the couch, turning slightly so he can face Wonwoo better. For a second, he studies the strings as if reacquainting himself with an old friend, then he places his fingers onto the chords and looks up at him, smiling in the same tender way he used to do when they were seventeen and terrified of being caught.
The first strum is soft. The sound hums low through the living room, blending with the faint hum of the heater and the city outside their windows. Mingyu adjusts his fingers, presses down harder, and the next chord rings clearer.
“You got me floating like a butterfly,” he signs, voice roughened by hours of performing. “Keeping me warmer than sunrise.”
Wonwoo feels it instantly, the way his heart stutters then speeds. The same ridiculous adolescent flutter that has never quite left him.
Butterflies, yes. Always butterflies.
Because it had always been like this with him.
Mingyu circling him so loud and impossible to ignore, a presence that hovered just at the edge of Wonwoo’s carefully built walls, then closer, even closer. Until his warmth stopped being something startling and became something expected.
Wonwoo doesn’t remember the exact moment he fell in love. There is no single memory he can point to and say, here. It happened here.
Was it when Mingyu shoved half his sandwich into Wonwoo’s hand because he “wasn’t that hungry anyway”? When he stayed up whispering about impossible futures beneath scratchy dorm blankets? Or had he always loved him and maybe that same love had simply been waiting until Wonwoo was brave enough to recognize it?
Mingyu’s gaze doesn’t leave him as he continues playing. The melody is simple, the strings buzz faintly under his calloused fingertips. “Baby you’re my flower, flyin’ to you every day.”
Wonwoo swallows hearing that. Home once had been a cramped practice room, then it became shared taxis, hotel rooms, then that whole apartment with mismatched mugs and that ridiculous blue couch. But in reality, home had always been wherever Mingyu reached back.
The song falters slightly when Mingyu’s voice catches. He laughs under his breath, a little embarrassed as he shakes his head. “Wait, I forgot the next line,” he mutters.
“You wrote it,” Wonwoo replies with a chuckle.
“I know, but I’m distracted.”
“By what?”
“By you.”
Wonwoo huffs a breath that it’s almost a laugh and he watches Mingyu playing again, slower this time but with no lyrics, just the melody. The notes sound warmer now, the imperfections don’t matter at all. His hands press smoothly into the metal string, the same hands that held microphones in front of thousands, that trembled when they first intertwined in secret, that reached for him the second he stepped through the door that night.
“You know,” Wonwoo says quietly when the melody fades, “I really don’t remember when it started.”
Mingyu tilts his head, “When what started?”
“This. Us.”
He considers it for a moment. “I do remember.”
Wonwoo’s heart skips a beat. “You do?”
“Mh-mh,” Mingyu replies, setting the guitar aside and reaching for Wonwoo’s hand again to thread their fingers together. “Not really when, but more when I knew the love I felt for you was real. Every time you… waited for me after practice even though you said you were tired, when you saved the last bite of your food without making it obvious to the others. When you… looked for me in every room before you sat down,” he smiles softly. “You’ve always chosen me the same way I chose you.”
The butterflies in his guts don’t settle, they actually never do when Mingyu speaks like that.
And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe love was never meant to feel calm, but it’s supposed to flutter and warm and ache all at once.
Wonwoo blushes slightly and leans forward to press his forehead against his shoulder, just as Mingyu wraps his arms around him by default, pulling him closer and resting his chin against his hair that smells of his favorite shampoo.
“You’re really cheesy tonight,” Wonwoo murmurs into his shirt, after a long moment.
“It’s Valentine’s Day after all.”
“It’s past midnight, though.”
“Still counts.”
Wonwoo laughs softly and lifts his head to dive into those dark and deeply wonderful eyes. He might not remember when he fell in love, but he knew perfectly when loving Mingyu stopped feeling scary and started being inevitable. Like the sunrise in the morning, warmth after a rain. Like that same butterfly that once hovered at his edges, only to settle gently and decide to stay.
If he had to choose again, every single day, in every crowded room and empty apartment, through every concert and every midnight return, Wonwoo would still reach out to him.
And probably Mingyu would still be there, right next to him.
The makgeolli glasses sit forgotten on the table and Wonwoo pulls away from his embrace only to close their distance even more. He swings one leg over Mingyu’s lap and settles there naturally, as if that’s simply another way they have always known how to fit together. Mingyu inhales sharply and his warm palms find Wonwoo’s hips under his shirt without hesitation.
The contact sends a visible shiver through his body, also because Mingyu looks at him the way he always does, like Wonwoo is something precious and entirely his. It’s a type of gaze no stage lights have ever seen, no cameras have ever captured, as it belongs there in the privacy of their home only.
“Are you tired?” Wonwoo asks, just checking.
Mingyu’s thumbs trace small absent circles against the curve of his back beneath the fabric. “A bit,” he answers, just as quietly. “I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
“You ran off stage and straight into a cab just to make it back before midnight. I don’t blame you.”
Mingyu huffs a small laugh, “I didn’t rush for Valentine’s, but because you were here,” he says softly, tilting his head. “Why? Do I look exhausted?”
“Not really,” Wonwoo admits, fondly rather than concerned. “But you know, you can just sleep it off or we can just sit here. We don’t have to do anything special.”
Mingyu’s hand slides a little higher, “I’m not too tired for you.”
Wonwoo’s heartbeat quickens at that. He traces his thumb along Mingyu’s collarbone absentmindedly, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“Not even a little?” he asks.
Mingyu shakes his head once. “Not even a little.”
Wonwoo nods once, almost imperceptibly. His gaze drops to his lips. “Then kiss me,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut as he says it, just certain that Mingyu will meet him halfway.
And he does. Mingyu leans in slowly, as if savoring the closeness of their bodies, the warmth of Wonwoo’s breath, the way their noses brush before their lips do. The kiss is just a careful press at first but the softness doesn't last long. It never really does with them. Wonwoo exhales into his mouth and it deepens naturally, like a tide pulling them both further in. Mingyu’s grip tightens slightly, tugging Wonwoo flush against him, erasing what little space remained.
There is no concert to take care of, no schedules worth of attention at that moment, but only this. Mingyu’s warm mouth against his, happy he is finally back, Wonwoo’s heartbeat racing madly in his chest, welcoming him home.
Mingyu parts slightly and tilts his head only to caress the column of Wonwoo’s neck with his lips, leaving a path of soft kisses. “I missed you,” he whispers into his ear, “So much.”
“I know,” Wonwoo replies, closing his eyes and letting out a heated sigh. “I missed you too.”
Mingyu’s breath warms his sensitive skin, sending shivers racing down his spine. Each of his touches is tender, mapping out that body he knows so well and igniting sparks wherever his lips land.
Wonwoo arches into the contact, feeling a growing heat pooling between his legs, that delicious ache building slowly but also urging him to seek more. He shifts his hips, grinding forward instinctively, pressing his arousal right against Mingyu’s thigh for a sweet friction. A soft moan escapes his lips at the pressure, the subtle rub easing the tension just enough to make him crave for a deeper contact.
Mingyu responds with a low hum of approval, his hands tightening on Wonwoo’s waist to guide the motion, encouraging the intimate rhythm without rushing at all because for the first time in a while, they actually have all the time in the world.
Wonwoo’s eyes lift, locking onto Mingyu’s gaze, and he leans in to capture his mouth in a deep kiss. Their tongues slide together in a dance of rediscovery while Mingyu finds the hem of his shirt that he slowly tugs upward, peeling the fabric away and exposing inch by inch the toned line of his chest. Wonwoo breaks the magic just long enough to lift his arms, letting Mingyu slide the shirt off completely and toss it aside.
Cool air caresses the newly bared skin but Mingyu’s palms are quick to cover him again, stroking up his sides and over his ribs, thumbs brushing teasingly close to his nipples without quite touching yet. His lips descend to his bare chest, pressing a lingering kiss right over his heart, making Wonwoo gasp and thread his fingers into his hair.
“It’s incredible, you know?” Mingyu rumbles low, “I can never get enough of you. Every single time feels like the first, like I’m discovering you all over again.”
Wonwoo isn’t one for elaborate words, never had been, but the way his mouth falls open and the subtle nod he gives him, tells Mingyu everything. He understood completely what he was implying. It’s the same fire burning him, the same insatiable pull. They'd explored each other's bodies countless times in stolen moments across hotel rooms, in the familiar safety of their own space. Yet here, now, their forms draw together like magnets, craving that inseparable lock that only deepens with every touch.
Wonwoo pushes his hips forward with a needy roll, seeking more of that intoxicating pressure. His arms tighten around Mingyu's shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer.
"Min," he breathes out. "Please."
Mingyu’s response is immediate, “How do you want me?”
“Here, now,” Wonwoo babbles with urgency in his tone. “I don’t care.”
With a gentle strength, Mingyu lifts himself just enough to maneuver them, easing Wonwoo back onto the couch cushions. The fabric is soft beneath him, a stark contrast to the firm press of Mingyu's body hovering above, and his legs part instinctively, making room as his fingers hook into the waistband of his pants.
Mingyu tugs them down, sliding the material over his slim hips and down the toned thighs, freeing Wonwoo's hardening cock that springs up against his lower abdomen. The pants pool at his ankles before Mingyu kicks them aside, leaving Wonwoo completely bare in the low dim light.
His own arousal strains against his clothes and his eyes roam hungrily all over his lover’s frame, ready to give him whatever he wants.
Mingyu straightens up for a moment and peels off his own shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the defined lines of his abs, before leaning down again and capturing Wonwoo’s lips hungrily. He caresses his hip, tracing the curve in that possessive but habitual way he’d always done, and gives him a gentle nudge with his thumb, Wonwoo instantly catches the cue.
Without a word, he rolls onto his stomach and arches his back just a fraction, lifting his hips to expose himself fully to his gaze. Mingyu shoves down his gray pants and underwear, his cock appearing already hard and throbbing, and he spits into his palm, slicking himself up with a wet stroke before positioning himself behind Wonwoo. His length slides between his buttocks, the friction teasing them both as Mingyu rocks forward slowly.
Wonwoo’s eyes roll back, a low groan escapes his throat at the sensation. “The cleaning lady will hate us if we stain the couch once again,” he murmurs, half-joking.
“I bet she has seen worse,” Mingyu replies with a deep chuckle. He aligns the tip of his cock against his entrance, pressing just enough to feel the give but Wonwoo is looser than usual, relaxed and ready. “You had fun without me?”
“I just got ahead of you,” Wonwoo shoots back with playful defiance but it dissolves into a sharp moan as Mingyu starts to push inside. “Fuck–”
The tip breaches him slowly, stretching in a perfect burn as Mingyu's hips inch forward to bury himself into Wonwoo’s heat deeper and deeper. He stills once he is fully inside and they linger like that for a little, their bodies connected and breaths syncing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
It hasn't been long since their last time they'd been together, but every reunion carries that same thrill, the luxury of losing themselves in each other without interruption. Mingyu's thumbs trace soothing circles over his waist and he leans forward to press his lips to the smooth expanse between his shoulder blades, feather-light at first then warm and reverent.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, laced with wonder.
Wonwoo relaxes around him, the tension easing into a welcoming hold, and Mingyu waits, content to let the world fade until his lover is ready.
A subtle nod from him, barely a tilt of his head, signals the go-ahead and Mingyu responds with a gentle thrust, sliding just a little deeper to taste the waters with care. But closeness calls to them stronger than any pace, and Mingyu's arms wrap around Wonwoo's torso, muscles flexing as he lifts him effortlessly, drawing his back flush against his own chest.
Wonwoo melts into the embrace, head falling back onto his shoulder, while Mingyu sinks in further. One hand splays across his stomach, feeling the taut muscles under his palm, then trails upward, skimming over his chest to tease a nipple before continuing its path. It reaches Wonwoo's neck, then his jaw, fingers curling gently to guide his face toward him.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat — Wonwoo's dark and hazy with desire — before Mingyu captures his lips in a consuming kiss. Wonwoo moans into his mouth, so muffled and desperate, and their tongues tangle, turning the raw heat of their joining into something profoundly tender.
Mingyu rolls his hips with more urgency, each thrust driving his cock deeper into Wonwoo's heat, the rhythm building like a shared heartbeat quickening toward its peak. The air between them thickens with the raw sounds of their union — wet skin slapping against skin, Wonwoo's gasps blending with Mingyu's low grunts — as they chase that edge together in a desperate harmony.
Wonwoo arches further into him, one hand lifting to thread through his messy hair, fingers curling tight on his locks as he guides Mingyu down to the sensitive crook of his neck. The pressure of his lips there sends sparks racing down his body, and Wonwoo lets his eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation.
“Fuck, yes, harder,” he moans huskyly, bracing against Mingyu’s thigh to push himself back and meeting every plunge with equal fervor.
He craves it all. The slick slide of his cock stretching him wide, the possessive way he claims every inch inside, leaving invisible marks that brands him as Mingyu’s alone. No one else could ever touch this, own this. It’s their, eternal and unbreakable. After long days apart, with Mingyu finally home in his arms, nothing can be compared to this endless devotion they have for each other. Wonwoo could lose himself in it forever, night after night, no matter the world pulling them away.
Mingyu’s breath hitches hot against Wonwoo’s ear, a deep moan rumbling from his chest as his control frays at the edges. His thrusts turn frantic, hips snapping forward with unrestrained need as his cock goes in and out, chasing the coil of pleasure tightening low in his guts. He is teetering on the brink, every muscle taut, but Mingyu wouldn't go without Wonwoo.
Reaching around, he wraps his large hand around Wonwoo’s needy cock, fingers stroking in firm and twisting pulls that match the tempo of his hips. The dual rhythm – thrusts syncing with the slide of his palm – pushes Wonwoo higher on the edge, pearly pre-cum slicking his grip as Mingyu works him toward release.
“Together,” Wonwoo begs, his body trembling in Mingyu’s hold.
Mingyu nods against his neck, swollen lips brushing the flushed skin there in a fervent agreement, his own moans growing ragged as he drives them both over the very limit. Their pace shatters suddenly into bliss and Wonwoo releases hot stripes of cum that spills all over Mingyu’s hand and fingers, while he buries himself deep one last time, pulsing inside with a shuddering groan, filling him completely in that claiming rush.
Their breaths come in heavy ragged bursts, their chests heaving in unison as the waves of ecstasy retire, leaving them both spent and sated in the afterglow. Wonwoo tangles his fingers lazily in Mingyu's sweat-drenched hair, gently caressing his scalp in a soothing rhythm that brings them both back to earth despite the lingering tremors. He feels Mingyu's cock soften inside him, the heat of his pleasure slowly dripping as their bodies press together on the couch.
Mingyu nuzzles closer and presses his lips to Wonwoo’s nape in a gentle imprint. His arms tighten around his back, pulling him back against his chest as if anchoring him there forever with no space, no separation left.
“Wait here,” he murmurs huskily against his ear, and he eases out with a slide, his length withdrawing inch by inch from Wonwoo’s stretched hole.
Wonwoo lets out a low whine at the sudden emptiness, his body clenching around nothing at the ache of loss mixing with the satisfied throb deep within. He shifts slightly on the cushions, propping himself up on one elbow to watch Mingyu rise and disappear down the corridor. The little absence feels too long, even for those few seconds, but soon Mingyu returns with a damp washcloth clutched in his hand that steams faintly from the warm water.
Kneeling beside the couch, Mingyu’s touch turns tender as he unfolds the cloth and begins to gently wipe it over Wonwoo’s body, first along his thighs, cleaning the slick tails of cum and sweat that had gathered there, then up to his lower back.
When he’s done, Mingyu doesn’t pull away but lingers there for a bit longer. Wonwoo feels the warmth of him still hovering close, the soft brush of his breath against his skin, the quiet weight of his gaze lingering like something tangible. It makes his heart stutter in his chest.
Wonwoo doesn’t need to look to know that Mingyu is watching him. He always does.
There’s this particular silence that settles between them in moments like this, the kind that makes Wonwoo feel exposed in the most tender way. He blinks, with his lashes slowly fluttering, and he feels his cheeks warm, they surely are flushed. He can feel that tiny crease forming between his brows too, the one that betrays him whenever he’s confused or overwhelmed, and he loves how easily Mingyu can read him, how effortlessly he can unravel him with nothing but a look.
This is the part Wonwoo secretly cherishes most. That pause.
That suspended second where the world shrinks to just the two of them, where Mingyu studies him like he is something precious and worth memorizing. Wonwoo can almost see in his eyes that devotion, that soft awe that makes his throat tighten.
It makes him feel beautiful in a way he has never believed about himself. It makes him fall in love again and again. A hundred thousand times more than before.
He lifts his head and chases him, leaning in to peck his lips in succession and almost playful this time. He waits for Mingyu to shift back against the couch, and when he does, Wonwoo slides down naturally between his legs, settling against his chest as if he was a planet drawn by gravity and Mingyu is his sun.
Mingyu then reaches to the armrest, grabs the yellow blanket folded neatly there – a kind gift from the latest Dior campaign he took part in – and shakes it out to drape it over them, tangling it around their bodies until the outside world disappears beneath the soft fabric and shared warmth. Wonwoo lets himself sink fully into his embrace. The fit is perfect indeed, and he slides his arms around Mingyu’s waist to snuggle even better.
The warmth settles quickly. Wonwoo exhales, content as he feels the steady thump of Mingyu’s heartbeat beneath his cheek. It’s strong, grounding, and it beats all for him. He presses small affectionate kisses along his collarbones, as if he can’t help himself.
Mingyu hums quietly in response. His fingers trace lazy, wandering lines over Wonwoo’s bare back, up the curve of his spine then down again, slow and soothing.
“I love when you’re this clingy,” he says, though there’s nothing but fondness in his tone.
“I am not,” Wonwoo replies, punctuating the denial with another kiss beneath his jaw.
Mingyu’s chest vibrates with a quiet laugh. “You are. But I don’t mind.”
Wonwoo smiles, “Good.”
They fall into a comfortable quiet after that. The candle still flickers faintly on the table, its flame smaller now but casting a warm glow that dances along the walls anyway. Outside, the city murmurs on with distant cars drifting up from the street below, and they didn’t notice, but a light rain also began to tap gently against the window.
Mingyu presses his chin lightly to the top of Wonwoo’s head, holding him closer. “Next year we’ll remember the chocolate,” he mumbles sleepily.
Wonwoo huffs a quiet laugh, “Surely we won’t.”
“Yeah, probably not. You’re right.”
The rain grows heavier, gradually drowning out the city sounds until there’s nothing but the steady rush of water against glass. The world outside blurs into something distant and unimportant but here, beneath a designer blanket that has become just another part of their couch, in a home built more from quiet endurance than grand gestures, Wonwoo feels the realization settle in his chest.
They don’t need big gifts.
They don’t need elaborate surprises, public declarations, or proof laid out for the world to dissect. They’ve never needed to perform their love to make it real because it exists here. In shared warmth. In absent circles traced on bare skin. In this way Mingyu’s arms tighten unconsciously when Wonwoo shifts closer.
The rain erases and drowns out everything else.
But Wonwoo, wrapped up in the steady rhythm of Mingyu’s heartbeat, knows that there is nowhere else he would rather exist.
~~~
When the next morning comes and the sun rays filter through the window again, Mingyu is gone. Wonwoo allows himself only a moment to imagine he wasn’t, despite there being no adorable little snores at his back, no arm slung heavy across his waist, no warmth pressed along his spine.
Maybe Mingyu is just in the shower. Maybe he slipped out of bed early and will crawl back in, complaining about the cold floor tiles. Wonwoo wants to imagine it’s like this.
But then he turns slightly and reaches blindly across the mattress, finding only cool sheets greeting his palm. He exhales through his nose and rolls onto his other side, blinking against the brightness now spilling across the empty bed. That emptiness isn’t sharp anymore. It doesn’t ache the way it used to earlier, when departures felt uncertain, when every goodbye carried questions. Now it’s simply part of a rhythm they know they’ll endure.
The same way they endure everything else.
When he opens his eyes fully, Wonwoo notices that on the other pillow, stark against the white fabric, lies a single white rose.
He pushes himself up on one elbow and reaches for it. The petals are fresh and soft beneath his fingers, dew-like droplets still clinging faintly to the edges, and tucked beneath the stem is a small square of yellow post-it paper, handwriting slightly rushed but unmistakably Mingyu’s.
“Practice. Love you.”
Wonwoo smiles.
Of course.
He traces the letters with his thumb before setting the rose carefully on his bedside table. There’s something almost funny about it, Mingyu forgetting chocolate but remembering a rose. Mingyu leaving before sunrise yet still finding the time to stop somewhere and pick this up.
“It’s fine,” Wonwoo murmurs to the quiet room.
It always is.
There was a time when mornings like this felt heavier. When he would lie there staring at the ceiling, counting hours until the next message, until the next return. But they’ve grown into this life now, into schedules that overlap imperfectly, into loving each other through absence as easily as through touch.
And it won’t be long until he, too, has to give up slow Sunday mornings again.
Work will pull him back into its orbit. New rehearsals, filming, studio sessions and travels. The endless cycle back again, with their calendars tangling and clashing and rearranging themselves like they always do.
But for now the day stretches ahead of him, cozy and unclaimed, and Wonwoo rolls onto his back again, letting the sunlight caress his face. The bed is still faintly warm where Mingyu had slept. He allows himself one more minute of stillness, breathing in the quiet, before reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
The screen lights up instantly and a few notifications wait for him. The first chat he opens is the Seventeen group chat which, apparently, was incredibly busy last night.
Joshua
“@KimMingyu @ChoiSeungcheol there’s a chocolate store trending in Busan for selling special Valentine’s Edition Dubai Chocolate. Can you bring some over?”
Seungkwan
“I saw that!!! Everyone’s getting it this year. We have to try it!”
Seokmin
“yesyesyesyes”
Seungcheol
“Mingyu’s already gone and I’m omw to the airport”
Jeonghan
“ Please? 😇”
Seungcheol
“…Okay”
Wonwoo laughs at that exchange of texts, then he shifts to another chat, which at the very top, a message sent barely twenty minutes ago stays on there.
Mingyu 🐶
“Did you see it? Romantic, right?”
Wonwoo 👾
“Debatable”
Mingyu 🐶
“You smiled, didn’t you?”
Wonwoo’s lips curve. Yes, he did.
Wonwoo 👾
“Go practice”
Mingyu 🐶
“Bossy”
Wonwoo 👾
“Love you too”
Mingyu 🐶
“I know”
Wonwoo shakes his head softly, a fond exhale escaping him as he locks his phone and lets it fall back onto the bed beside him.
The city outside is fully awake now, life continues, as it always does.
And wrapped in quiet sunlight, with a white rose beside him and an entire unhurried Sunday ahead, Wonwoo feels perfectly content.
He is sure there couldn't be anything more perfect.