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The thing about living with Yunho was that it always felt easy. Natural. Like San had slipped into a second skin he didn’t even realize he was made to wear. From the very beginning—when they signed the lease over cheap vending machine coffee and that one pen Yunho kept having to click while thinking too hard—it had just clicked. One oversized bedroom, one shared bathroom, a cramped kitchen, and enough space for the type of chaos that comes with being in your early twenties and not entirely sure what you’re doing with your life. They didn’t have a ton of rules between them, just the unspoken kind: don’t steal the last yogurt, rinse the shower after shaving, this only applies to San since he keeps things neat and tidy, and always, always wait until the other person has paused their game before asking a question.
They were comfortable. Maybe too comfortable.
San knew it wasn’t normal—how his heart fluttered every time Yunho wandered into the living room shirtless on hot summer days, lazily rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand and complaining about how the fan never hit his bed right. It wasn’t normal to know exactly what kind of shampoo Yunho used, or how his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck when it dried naturally, or the sound he made when he laughed at something he really found funny. It definitely wasn’t normal to memorize the slope of his back, the line of his waist, the low dip of his voice when he was just barely awake. But San did. He noticed all of it. Held it in his mouth like candy he didn’t know how to spit out.
And no one ever said anything about it. Not Yunho. Not their friends. Not San himself.
Because it was easier that way.
San watched him sometimes when he shouldn’t—when Yunho was lying back on the couch, legs spread like he owned the whole room, phone propped on his stomach as he scrolled endlessly. San would sneak glances over the rim of his book or from behind the open door of the fridge, and something about how careless Yunho was in his own body made San ache. Not even sexually, not always—just this dull, heavy ache like he wanted to crawl inside his skin and rest there, close enough to hear his heartbeat.
Yunho was beautiful. Not in the way that was soft or delicate, but in that quietly breathtaking way that crept up on you, unannounced and unrelenting. And San noticed it all the time. Noticed it so much it made him feel like a thief, like he was stealing glances and storing them away somewhere private, somewhere Yunho would never see.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
They were just friends. Roommates. Best friends, even. They shared takeout, bickered over whose turn it was to vacuum, stayed up way too late on weeknights watching dumb horror movies neither of them actually liked. They had this rhythm—San would cook, Yunho would wash. Yunho would forget the laundry, San would hang it up. It worked. They worked. And still, San wanted more.
He didn’t even know when it started, if he was honest. Maybe it was that night a few months ago when Yunho had come home from a date and collapsed onto San’s bed instead of his own, face buried in a pillow, mumbling about how exhausting it was to talk about favorite movies and career goals like it actually mattered. He hadn’t gone on another date since. San remembered lying there beside him, back-to-back, and thinking about how nice it felt. How warm. How safe. How Yunho had mumbled, “Wish I could just date someone who already knows me.”
And how San hadn’t slept a single second that night, heart pounding with the ridiculous hope that maybe— maybe —
But nothing ever came of it. Yunho didn’t flirt. He didn’t tease. He didn’t pull away either, which only made it worse. The touches that lasted a little too long, the thigh pressed to San’s on the couch, the way he’d casually ruffle San’s hair after a long day. None of it meant anything. Not to Yunho.
To San, it meant everything.
~
And it didn’t help that Yunho never brought anyone home. Not since that one date. Not ever. San told himself it was just coincidence. That Yunho was probably seeing someone casually, that maybe he just preferred privacy or discretion or whatever else made it feel less like a painful kind of hope. But sometimes he’d catch Yunho looking out the window late at night, the kind of stare that said something was missing, and San would sit on the couch and pretend not to look at him, because it hurt too much to think he could be that missing thing but wasn’t.
San would never say it out loud, but it felt like such a waste. Someone like Yunho—sweet, gentle, stupidly handsome, warm in the quiet way that snuck into your bones—shouldn’t be alone. Shouldn’t be going to bed with no one curled up beside him. Shouldn’t be spending his best years doing laundry with San and falling asleep to reruns of sitcoms neither of them cared about.
But he was. And San was right there .
And lately... lately it had been getting harder to ignore. Every thought was Yunho. Every dream, every twitch of arousal late at night when San rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, trying not to imagine what it would be like to wake up to Yunho pressed against him. To let him in—not just into his body, but into all the places San kept locked away. It was exhausting, carrying that kind of want around like a second skin. Especially when he knew he could never say anything. Because Yunho was his roommate, his best friend, the one constant in a life that had always felt a little too uncertain.
But it was more than that now. It wasn’t just a passing crush or a physical need—it had sunk in deep, like roots. Every time Yunho leaned too close, every time he laughed with his whole body, every time he fell asleep on the couch and San found himself covering him with a blanket at two in the morning—it added another layer to the ache. Another inch of longing.
He wanted to touch. To be touched. Not just with fingers and skin and sweat, but with meaning. With knowing. He wanted Yunho to see him the way he saw Yunho— wanted to be wanted back.
And it wasn’t fair. Because Yunho had no idea.
But maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better this way. Safer .
Still, sometimes, when the apartment was quiet and Yunho was out, when the light filtered in soft and golden through the blinds and the scent of his shampoo lingered in the bathroom air... San let himself pretend. Just a little. Just enough.
~
San wasn’t sure when it had become a routine.
Maybe it started the first time Yunho had walked past him after a shower, hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck, a towel slung dangerously low around his hips, golden skin beaded with drops of water that traced down the carved muscle of his abdomen. Maybe it was the night Yunho had fallen asleep on the couch with his head on San’s lap during a late movie, soft exhales brushing against San’s thigh, hand subconsciously gripping his knee like even unconscious he craved that closeness. Or maybe it was just… inevitable.
Because living with Yunho meant being surrounded by Yunho. It meant late-night ramen slurped from the same pot. It meant brushing shoulders while brushing teeth. It meant the scent of him soaked into every corner of the apartment—soap, cedar, and something warmer, muskier, entirely him—and that was the thing San couldn’t get out of his head.
Or his system.
He tried to keep it contained. The thoughts, the feelings, the aching want that curled inside him like something greedy and monstrous. He told himself it was just a phase, that he’d get over it. That eventually Yunho would bring someone home and it’d shatter the fantasy completely.
But Yunho never did. Not once. Not a single partner, hookup, or even a flirty text he’d seen. He was private, maybe, or just shy—but to San it felt like Yunho was waiting, and the thought made his heart do that thing again, skipping and stumbling and then racing, like a warning bell and a plea all at once.
And now, the apartment was empty. Yunho was gone for the afternoon, out meeting a friend for coffee, and San had the place to himself. The tension had been building all morning—hell, all week—and he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else. Every time he closed his eyes, Yunho’s face swam behind his lids. His voice. His smile. His body. The way he laughed when San said something stupid. The low, sleep-rough sound of him yawning in the mornings. It was too much.
His whole body buzzed with need.
He padded toward the bedroom, heart pounding like he was doing something forbidden—because he was. But that only made it worse. Or better. He didn’t know anymore.
Their beds were across from each other, divided by a short gap and nothing more. Intimacy disguised as convenience. But San’s eyes zeroed in on Yunho’s side of the room, more specifically, the hamper tucked near the foot of his bed. The lid was askew, clothes haphazard and soft and lived-in. And on the very top, just barely folded over the rim, were a pair of pale gray boxers he’d seen Yunho strip out of two nights ago, when they were both tipsy from beer and laughing about some terrible horror movie.
His breath hitched.
He didn’t think. He just moved.
~
The fabric was still warm with the memory of him—soft, worn, stretched at the waistband. San brought them to his face and inhaled, a sharp, shameful gasp filling his lungs with the scent he craved more than anything. It was musky, not exactly fresh, but real. Intimate. Intoxicating .
His knees went weak.
He stumbled backward to his own bed, falling onto the mattress in a needy sprawl before flipping onto his stomach, the boxers clutched in his hand like a lifeline. His hips ground down against the sheets, friction barely dulled by his sweats, and a moan spilled from his lips before he could stop it.
“Fuck… Yunho …”
It felt filthy. It was filthy. But it also felt right.
San rolled onto his side, dragging the boxers up to his face again, rubbing his nose and mouth into the fabric like he could absorb him through scent alone. His cock throbbed against the front of his pants, already leaking, already desperate, and he shoved the waistband down to free himself, groaning as the cool air hit him.
He spit into his hand and wrapped it around his cock, pumping slowly at first, just enough to make his toes curl. The boxers were clutched in his other hand, and this time he bit them—sank his teeth into the waistband, sucked on the worn cotton, tasted Yunho’s sweat and groaned around it.
His strokes quickened.
“Yunho… oh my god, Yunho, please …”
He didn’t realize how loud he was being. Didn’t care. The apartment was empty, and all that mattered was the desperate fantasy unraveling in his mind—Yunho walking into the room, eyes dark, mouth curved into that little smirk he wore when he was amused or curious or something else entirely. Yunho leaning over him, staring down at him like he knew what San had been doing with his boxers all along, and whispering, Is this what you want, baby? You want me to fuck you like this?
San whimpered.
His hips lifted off the bed as he chased more friction, grinding up into his fist. It still wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed something inside.
~
Still working himself with one hand, San reached blindly with the other, grabbing the lube from under his pillow. He slicked up his fingers, panting, trembling, and then reached back between his legs, searching, prodding, pressing.
But he was too tight, too tense, and ultimately, his fingers were too short. He couldn’t get the angle right.
“Fuck, fuck, come on—”
He was whining now, hips jerking with every twist of his wrist. The boxers were practically stuffed into his mouth, muffling his cries, catching spit and moans and wet, needy pleas.
“Please, Yunho… fuck me, please, please—your cock, I want it, I want you so bad, please —”
The bed creaked. His thighs trembled. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. Couldn’t breathe—
And he didn’t hear the front door open.
Didn’t hear the click of shoes kicked off at the entrance. The soft thud of a jacket tossed onto the couch. The quiet voice that said, “Hey, I’m back early. Soobin wasn’t feeling—San?”
Yunho’s footsteps had started casual. Then cautious. Then urgent.
The sounds were strange at first—moans, wet noises, the creak of a bedframe, a low voice begging for someone. Begging for him?
Yunho’s heart kicked into overdrive.
He stepped toward their bedroom, hand on the doorframe—and froze .
His breath caught.
San was on his bed, pants tangled around his ankles, thighs spread wide and flushed pink, one hand jerking himself off fast and rough, the other buried between his legs, slicked with lube and still not deep enough. His head was thrown back, cheeks stained red, and Yunho’s own boxers were shoved into his mouth, soaked through with spit and desperation.
Yunho couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t breathe.
He should’ve stepped back. Closed the door. Said something—but he just watched, rooted to the floor as San cried out around the cotton in his mouth, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, so close and so frustrated and still so fucking hot.
Then he heard it.
“Please, Yunho… want your cock… I want it so bad… need you to fuck me…”
Yunho’s jaw dropped.
San didn’t know he was there.
Not yet , at least.
~
Yunho stood frozen in the doorway, the soft creak of the hinge long forgotten as his brain struggled to process what his eyes were showing him. He had come home early, bags in hand, heart light from a cancelled outing, ready to maybe make lunch and drag San into a movie marathon—but instead, he was met with this. San, his roommate, his quiet little shadow, the boy who always seemed so cool and detached except for those brief, warm flickers of emotion—he was on his back, pants tangled around his ankles, a familiar pair of grey boxer-briefs half shoved into his mouth as he rutted against the sheets, his other hand desperately working his cock while his hips twitched up, searching for something deeper.
Yunho’s breath caught in his throat.
He should have said something immediately—should have backed out, should have respected his friend’s privacy, should have closed the door and pretended he’d never seen—but he didn’t. He couldn’t. His feet rooted to the floor as his eyes swept over the scene, pupils dilating with every trembling moan that fell from San’s lips.
San looked wrecked. And beautiful .
His cheeks were flushed, his hair stuck damp to his forehead from how hard he was panting, and his eyes were squeezed shut like he was chasing something just out of reach. The boxer-briefs were unmistakably Yunho’s—he’d only worn them two days ago, post-gym, and had meant to toss them in the wash—and now they were being clung to like a lifeline, shoved between pink lips like they held salvation. Yunho couldn’t look away. His own cock throbbed in his jeans, and he swallowed thickly, heat rising from his stomach up to the back of his ears as San let out another sobbed moan, fingers barely slipping past the rim of his hole.
“Please… please Yunho, want your cock so bad,” San whimpered, a high, needy noise that shattered Yunho’s restraint like glass under a boot. “Want it in me—need it— please —”
Yunho stepped forward before he could think better of it, his voice gravelled and low, pushed up from somewhere deep and molten inside him.
“That can be arranged.”
The words hit the air like a thunderclap.
~
San jolted upright with a sharp gasp, the boxer-briefs falling out of his mouth and into his lap like a dropped secret. His wide eyes locked onto Yunho’s, and in the space of a heartbeat, all the color drained from his face. Horror crashed over his features as his hand reflexively kept pumping his cock, even as his brain caught up to what was happening.
“Y-Yunho—no, no, shit, fuck, I’m sorry , I didn’t—!” San cried out, mortification twisting every syllable as he scrambled to pull the boxers off his lap with trembling fingers, but he never stopped stroking himself. “I didn’t mean for you to see this—I-I’m sorry, I—fuck— fuck, please don’t hate me—!”
His voice cracked, and tears started to well in his eyes, clinging to his lashes before slipping down his cheeks. The raw panic, the genuine terror in his expression made Yunho’s chest ache, even as his cock pulsed from the filthy beauty of the scene. He moved forward quickly but calmly, crouching at the side of San’s bed, reaching out to gently brush the tear-trails from his cheeks with his thumbs.
“Hey. Hey , shhh,” he murmured, voice soft, deep, and soothing like warm honey. “It’s okay. San. Look at me—it’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad.”
San whimpered, hands still twitching at his lap, eyes wide and shimmering as he struggled to believe what he was hearing. Yunho leaned in a little closer, brushing their foreheads together, his hand smoothing back San’s hair with slow fingers.
“You want me that badly, huh?” Yunho asked, voice barely a whisper. “You could’ve told me, sweetheart. I would’ve listened.”
San’s breath caught. The pet name. The tone. He swallowed hard and nodded quickly, not trusting his voice, his hips twitching up needily toward Yunho's presence. “I-I didn’t know how to say it,” he managed to choke out, blinking up at him. “It just… it hurts. It’s so much. I think about you all the time. Even when I try not to. I can’t stop. Please —”
Yunho silenced him with a kiss, brief and feather-light.
“Can I kiss you properly?” he murmured against San’s lips.
San nodded—fast, desperate , like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
~
The second kiss was nothing like the first. It was needy and wet, all tongue and gasping breath, their mouths crashing together like waves in a storm. Yunho slid his hands over San’s flushed body, mapping every inch of warm, trembling skin, fingers grazing the line of his jaw, his throat, his chest—until San moaned into his mouth and clutched at Yunho’s shirt like he might float away without it.
Yunho pulled back just enough to press kisses to San’s cheeks, his neck, his temple, grounding him with gentle touches as his hand reached out for the small lube bottle that had been cast aside,
“Let me take care of you,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’ve been trying so hard on your own. Let me give you what you really need.”
San whimpered, already nodding again, his body arching like a bowstring, trembling with anticipation as he laid back and spread his legs for Yunho. His cock was red and leaking, twitching against his belly, his hole glistening from his earlier attempts. Yunho slicked his fingers slowly, letting the sound of the bottle cap and the soft squelch of the lube heighten the tension as he brought his hand between San’s thighs.
The first finger went in easily, and San let out a sharp gasp, his hips jerking upward immediately.
“Oh—fuck, Yunho —!”
“Shh, I got you,” Yunho whispered, dragging his mouth down San’s throat. “Just breathe, baby. You’re doing so good.”
The second finger stretched him better, and Yunho curled them just right, watching San’s expression crumple into something like joy and agony all at once. His moans pitched higher, hips rocking back into Yunho’s hand shamelessly, thighs trembling as Yunho scissored his fingers gently, prepping him slow and deep.
San could barely think. The long fingers inside him filled him in ways his own never could, pressing against the sweet spot he could only fantasize about before, and it was driving him wild.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he sobbed, voice cracking again. “Your fingers—your voice—your smell—I need more, Yunho, please, I’m gonna lose my mind —”
“You’re okay,” Yunho whispered, kissing along his collarbone. “You’re doing so good. Just let me take care of you, yeah?”
San whined, humping against Yunho’s palm like a man starved, his body strung so tight it felt like a single wrong move would unravel him entirely.
~
Yunho’s fingers worked San open with deliberate precision, the kind that came from both instinct and overwhelming desire—curious but reverent, reverent but hungry—and the soft squelch of lube mixed with the sound of San’s breathy moans made the room feel unbearably hot. San’s thighs were trembling with each curl and twist, sweat collecting at the small of his back, and his chest was flushed a deep, almost fevered red as his body rocked helplessly against Yunho’s hand.
“Yunho—fuck, please , I can’t take it anymore,” San whimpered, his voice breaking around each word as he pawed desperately at Yunho’s chest, then down, fingers grasping at the waistband of Yunho’s jeans like a man drowning. “Need you inside—I need your cock, please—wanna feel you—wanna be full.”
Yunho’s cock throbbed hard behind the denim, already aching from restraint, from the painfully erotic way San’s hole clenched around his fingers like it never wanted to let go. Yunho pressed one more kiss to San’s shoulder before slowly withdrawing his fingers, watching the way San’s hips chased the motion even as he mewled at the loss, so open and desperate and ruined already.
“You want it that bad, sweetheart?” Yunho murmured, hand cupping San’s flushed cheek as he leaned in to kiss his temple, voice trembling with the weight of his restraint. “You wanna be stuffed full, hmm? You gonna take it all like a good boy for me?”
San nodded, frantic, eyes wide and glossy as he pawed again at Yunho’s pants, this time more insistent.
“Please—Yunho, I’ll be good, I promise , I’ve been thinking about this for so long, please, let me have it—need to feel you.”
Yunho finally moved, hands going to the button of his jeans, and he shimmied out of the denim and his boxers in one motion, cock slapping up hard against his stomach, flushed red and already leaking precum at the tip. He didn’t miss the way San’s eyes locked on it, wide and hungry, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left, his brain melting a little bit when he noticed just how much bigger Yunho was than him. Yunho bent to grab the crumpled pair of boxers he'd just dropped on the floor and held them out.
“Wanna hold these while I fuck you?” he asked, voice rough and dark, and San let out the kind of moan that made Yunho’s blood burn. He snatched them from Yunho’s hand with trembling fingers, burying his face in the fabric and inhaling like his life depended on it.
“Oh my god—” San gasped into them, voice muffled, “fuck—Yunho, you smell so good , I c-can’t—”
Yunho gently shifted him onto his back, sliding a pillow beneath his hips to elevate him, spreading his legs just a little more with broad hands until San was laid out perfectly, glistening and needy, the tip of his cock still dripping where it curved toward his belly. San was flushed from head to toe, the dark fabric clutched against his face as he inhaled again and again, hips twitching up in helpless want.
Yunho lined himself up, breathing hard through his nose, gripping the base of his cock to guide himself as he leaned over San, close enough that their bodies brushed. He kissed him again, slow and grounding, a hand cupping the back of San’s neck to keep him steady as he pressed in.
The stretch was immediate, slow and steady and perfect.
~
San let out a guttural, broken cry that turned into a high-pitched whimper as Yunho slid inside, the thick length parting him inch by inch, stretching him wider than his fingers ever could. His legs wrapped around Yunho’s waist, ankles locking behind him as his entire body trembled with the overwhelming sensation of being filled.
“Oh—fuck, fuck —it’s so much,” San sobbed into Yunho’s shoulder, still clutching the boxers to his face. “So good—oh my god, you’re so big—Yunho, I can feel everything—”
“I know, baby,” Yunho whispered, voice cracking from how tight and warm San was around him, his arms bracing on either side of San’s head as he finally bottomed out, hips flush against San’s ass. “You’re doing so well—taking me so perfectly, look at you.”
He didn’t move at first, just stayed still, letting San breathe through it, letting his body adjust while Yunho buried his face in San’s neck and inhaled deep. San smelled like arousal and desperation and something sweeter underneath that Yunho couldn’t put words to, and it made his hips twitch involuntarily, grinding in just a little more.
San moaned, loud and wrecked, dropping the boxers to instead wrap his arms around Yunho’s back, dragging him closer.
“Move—please, Yunho, please, I can take it, I want it— just fuck me already—”
Yunho didn’t need to be told twice.
He started slow, careful thrusts that pulled halfway out before sinking back in with delicious pressure, but the heat between them was molten, too intense to keep control for long. Each push forward made San cry out, the stretch burning so good, so right, and the drag of Yunho’s cock against his walls made his whole body jolt.
San couldn’t stop touching—his hands roamed Yunho’s back, his arms, his shoulders, then up to cup his face, then down again to paw desperately at his waist. He buried his face in Yunho’s neck, mouthing at the skin there with trembling lips, his moans getting louder each time Yunho shifted just a little deeper.
“Smell so good,” San breathed, voice muffled. “Yunho—you smell so fucking good—I can’t—gonna come—oh fuck , I’m gonna—”
And then he did.
San came hard and fast, body seizing up beneath Yunho’s as his cock twitched and spilled between their stomachs, warm and sticky and messy. His breath came in ragged gasps, tears slipping down his cheeks as he clung to Yunho like he was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
~
Yunho didn’t stop moving.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, pressing kisses to San’s cheeks, his forehead, his neck. “That’s it. Let it all out. You’re doing so good for me.”
San didn’t have the strength to speak—only nodded, whining high in his throat as he clutched at Yunho tighter, his body still trembling from the intensity. But the pressure, the fullness, the scent—none of it had dulled. If anything, it was worse now. He was oversensitive, overwhelmed, but so greedy for more.
“More,” he whimpered. “Yunho, don’t stop, I need it—need you to come inside me—please— fill me up, please—”
Yunho let out a low groan, adjusting the angle of his thrusts just slightly, and suddenly San was sobbing into his shoulder again as the head of Yunho’s cock dragged over that perfect spot with every deep, slick push.
Then it happened.
San’s body convulsed beneath him, a gush of warm fluid spilling from between his legs, soaking the pillow beneath him and the backs of his thighs as he gasped for air, completely undone.
“Shit—San, you’re squirting ,” Yunho breathed, awestruck, slowing for a moment to stare as another wave of it followed the next thrust, glistening as it soaked through the hem of San’s shirt. “You’re so sensitive, baby—fuck, that’s so hot—”
San could only moan in response, eyes glassy and unfocused, body shaking uncontrollably as Yunho gripped his hips and drove in again, harder this time, desperate for his own release now, his body moving on pure instinct.
The sound of skin slapping, the wet squelch of every thrust, the scent of sex and sweat and Yunho’s body—everything was too much.
Yunho buried his face against San’s neck and finally let go with a strangled groan, thrusting in deep and holding it there as he came, cock pulsing hard inside, his whole body tense with release. San sobbed again at the feeling of being filled, his fingers digging into Yunho’s back as he clung to him, needing to feel every drop of it, every twitch, every pulse of warmth inside.
Yunho stayed there, buried deep, his breath coming in hard pants against San’s neck, arms wrapped around him protectively, holding him still as the aftershocks ran through both their bodies.
San trembled beneath him, overwhelmed and wrecked, but still sighing in bliss, chest heaving with every breath. Yunho didn’t move, didn’t pull out, just stroked San’s hair gently, whispering soft reassurances as the storm of sensation slowly started to fade.
“You’re okay,” Yunho murmured against his skin, voice soft and low. “I got you.”
~
Yunho kissed his hair, then his forehead, his heart pounding hard enough to shake them both as he helped him recover from that earthshaking orgasm.
He didn’t pull out right away. He stayed close, letting San feel every throb of his release inside, every inch of closeness they could possibly share in that moment, knowing that the younger man was craving that feeling as if it was part of his life force, and who was he to take that away from him so soon?
Once San give a little whimper that it was time to move, Yunho did just that, pulling out with a quiet pop from the lube and then cleaning them both up, as well as doing the best he could to clean up the bed even though he knew he'd have to wash the sheets as soon as possible if he didn't want them to be stained.
And then, softly, as the afterglow started to set in and the tension drained out of San’s body as they cuddled, he heard it.
“...Will you be my boyfriend?” San asked, voice barely above a whisper, muffled against Yunho’s throat.
Yunho laughed, full and warm and stunned. He leaned back just enough to look into San’s eyes—still glassy, cheeks stained red, lips kiss-swollen and hopeful.
“Yeah,” Yunho murmured, smiling like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Yeah, I will.” And then their lips were together again, this time being much softer and kind, the sort of kiss that feels like you could melt into it if you tried hard enough.
And then once the kiss broke, grinning like he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You ready for round two?”
~