Archive of Our Own

They’d hardly been in the new dorms for a full week the first time San had made himself at home in Mingi’s bed. 

He had been taken aback by it at first, though he probably shouldn’t have been, knowing San as well as he does. It was one of those weird moments that makes a person question reality. Had he walked into the right room just then? He had backed up through the doorway, eyes tracking the length of the doorframe with furrowed brows as if it had somehow betrayed him by transporting him to the wrong place. 

No, he had been exactly where he’d meant to be, clumsily trudging back to his own bedroom after a late night at the studio. He had become conscious of the heaviness in his steps straight away, careful to switch to a softer padding as he moved toward the bed to investigate the unexpected situation he’d suddenly found himself in. 

He’d noticed just in time to not immediately and instinctively flip on the light switch beside his door. It had been nearly pitch black thanks to Mingi’s blackout curtains, only a sliver of ambient light from the door he’d left cracked open shining a faint beam across the lump in his covers. Although he had been covered completely by Mingi’s duvet pulled up and over his head, Mingi knew who was beneath his covers instantly. He would never readily admit it, but he could recognize the soft sound of San’s even breathing anywhere. Not to mention that he had been able to identify the faint smell of San’s new favorite cologne soon after crossing the threshold into the room. 

Mingi stood in stunned silence for a few moments, unsure how to proceed. That… that was Mingi’s bed, and he had been sleepily stumbling toward it only moments earlier, until his brain had been shocked into unwelcome alertness at his new and unexpected reality. Before he had even realized it, he had found himself backing quietly through the doorway and softly closing the door to get settled instead on their living room couch. As he wrapped himself with their communal throw blanket, woefully small for his frame and leaving his feet exposed to the elements, the thoughts had occurred to him: why should he have to sleep in the living room in his own dorm? Why should San get to displace him for the night when he’d been so world-weary and exhausted? How long should he have to stay in the living room?!

Somehow he had ended up drifting off to sleep, the question of whether he should wake San up or just surrender and go sleep in San’s overly soft bed instead the last coherent thought he remembered having. He’d woken in the morning with a stiff lower back, unpleasantly frigid toes, and a grogginess that had lingered for the better half of the day. The two of them hadn’t spoken about it, and Seonghwa hadn’t asked any questions about it either even if he had undoubtedly seen Mingi asleep in their common area, with his habit of early rising. 

It turned out that it wouldn’t be a one-time occurrence. Over the course of the next few weeks, Mingi had found San sleeping soundly in his bed on a number of separate occasions. Always when Mingi had found himself staying out later than usual, and always without a single word to him before or after the fact. Each time, Mingi would frown in confusion at the sight before him, and carefully make his way back to their living room in order to avoid disturbing him. He felt just slightly wronged, somehow, even as he felt emotionally incapable of disturbing someone so gentle and sweet as San. 

A couple of months after it had all begun, he had trudged back in sometime around midnight after a late workout session at the gym, only to find his bed once again occupied. Overwhelmed with a sudden sense of stubbornness after an indescribably long day, he had decided firmly right away that he wasn’t going to let San’s presence stop him from getting a good night’s sleep. The couch was out, San’s overly soft mattress was just as likely to flare up his back, and that was his goddamn bed! 

Despite his mild annoyance, Mingi could never truly be bothered by San’s presence. On the contrary, he had always had a remarkable soft spot for him. Or, like… if asked on a particularly vulnerable day, he would probably even call it more of a deep and all-consuming longing for him. Due to that fact, in spite of the way he had been inconvenienced, he had been oh so careful as he climbed into bed between San and the larger space he had left beside the wall. San had stirred slightly as Mingi had pulled back the covers and slipped underneath, a soft sound of complaint as the cocoon of heat and comfort that had rightfully belonged to Mingi in the first place was disturbed, but he hadn’t fully woken. 

It had only taken long enough for Mingi to settle in before San had been drawn to his warmth like a magnet, snuggling closer too fast for Mingi to truly evade him, and latching himself firmly to Mingi’s side. Though Mingi had initially startled and stiffened up in alarm, he had known that escape was futile the moment San had sleepily smacked his lips and nuzzled into Mingi’s chest, tangling one of his legs with Mingi’s. Resigned to his new and personal hell, he had only shivered slightly as he allowed San’s sleep-heavy arm to settle across his chest and let his own arm fall awkwardly back down into what could only be considered a reciprocation of the cuddling to any third party observer. 

He had woken the next morning on his side, fully spooned by a sleepy but unmistakeably awake San. “Morning,” he had purred, voice slow and rough with sleep. His breath had been warm on the back of Mingi's neck, yet somehow Mingi found himself wracked by an undeniable chill at the sensation. “Thought you were gonna leave me in here alone again.” 

“Yeah, well… It’s my bed, Sannie,” Mingi had offered weakly. As if that had excused the way they had ended up attached in the night. 

San had hummed in agreement as he’d nuzzled impossibly closer, the sound not unlike a contented cat. There was a smile audible in his voice, even with the lingering rasp to it. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I like it here so much.” 

Mingi hadn’t had a response over the dramatic way his heart had skipped a beat, his silence probably just as incriminating as his refusal to push San away or to move. 

After that night, as if Mingi had given some sort of unspoken blessing, the occurrences only got more frequent. Against his better judgment, every time he wandered to his room a little later than usual, he found his heartbeat kicking harder against his ribcage as he reached for his door handle. Heart in his throat, he found himself only disappointed every time he’d been greeted by a silence that could only signify another night of feeling colder than he’d grown accustomed to hoping for. 

It turns into something of a routine. Some nights, Mingi finds himself purposefully dawdling if he stays out until the evening, a shameless means of inviting a reoccurrence. San never lets himself into Mingi’s bed when Mingi is home, so if he wants it to happen, he has to keep himself away long enough for San to have a reasonable hope of falling asleep. If Mingi ends up losing sleep over it because he stubbornly refuses to go home when he’s tired some nights, no one ever has to know. 

They don’t talk about it, not really. At least, not in the direct or intentional sense. More than once, San will make a passing comment: just kick me out if you want me to leave, or I hope you’re not just letting me stay here for my sake. As if Mingi ever has a response for something like that, one that could make him sound less like a hopeless sap than his true thoughts on the matter would reveal. Instead he only stays silent, letting San draw his own conclusions as he allows San to maintain their cuddling even once they’re both fully awake. 

He may be a practiced liar, but he’s hardly the most convincing when it comes to heartfelt things like this. Better to stay silent and keep the last shreds of his dignity, lest he accidentally let slip just how comforting San’s presence is, how beautiful his soundly sleeping face is whenever he allows himself the guilty pleasure of watching it. 

Had things stayed like this, soft and warm longing in the PG sense, perhaps Mingi would have been better equipped to handle it. 

Unfortunately, human biology is a cruel and funny thing. As much as Mingi tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything, that San can’t help it, the fact remains unchanged: more mornings than not lately, Mingi wakes not only surrounded by the heat and scent of San, but pressed up close and personal to his morning wood. The threat of it would be bad enough on its own, but Mingi’s body seems to have developed some sort of Pavlovian response to his presence after so many recurrences. 

More days than not, Mingi wakes harder than he has since puberty, shivering with a sense of anticipation for what could come of it even as he knows nothing ever will. 

They don’t talk about that, either. Although Mingi is fairly certain he should count that as a massive blessing, considering how conspicuous his own arousal must be most mornings, he can’t help feeling as though he’s losing his mind about it all on his own the longer it all goes unacknowledged.

Well, maybe not entirely on his own. Mingi would rather die than suffer silently without making it someone else’s problem as well, to share in the brunt of his agony. Perhaps foolheartedly, he’d figured there was no better option than San’s own evil twin to gather inside intel from. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s come with some unwanted side effects. 

“I have updates,” Wooyoung announces as he bursts through the door to Mingi's bedroom with zero warning and his arms raised in a truly unnecessary surplus of ceremony. 

Mingi sighs bodily. He's long since given up on trying to teach Wooyoung to knock. He’ll still let himself right into their dorm, and learning to knock isn’t going to stop him from shoving his way into Mingi’s room. “Sure, okay. Come right in, and share your great wisdom while you're at it.”

“It’s so nice to have my genius recognized,” Wooyoung muses as he closes the door and takes the liberty of sitting on Mingi’s bed. He gets awfully comfortable awfully quickly, pressed up against Mingi’s side with his head resting on Mingi’s shoulder. “Sannie finally straight-up admitted to me that he's interested.” 

“What? Wooyoung-ah! You've been letting me think for months that you knew for a fact that he was!” Mingi moves to sit up in alarm, but Wooyoung refuses to be dislodged, so he ultimately gives up. Apparently, Mingi’s muscles don’t mean jack shit when Wooyoung’s become a surprisingly beefy little gremlin beneath all of those baggy clothes. Instead, he injects as much venom as possible into his whisper as he hisses out, “You told me he was sneaking into my bed damn near every night because he liked me!” 

“Aish. Technicalities,” he responds with a shrug. Mingi could throttle him sometimes, and he’d probably get away with it, too. The others would surely understand. Thank him, even. “He’s been saying so all along, with his actions and his silly little heart-eyes. I just finally got him to say it with his actual words, too.”

“You do know you’re the world’s worst wingman, right?” Mingi decides to flop to the side as a means of escape. His plan is foiled when Wooyoung falls with him easily, becoming something closer to a cuddle pile than Mingi had ever really intended. Wooyoung nuzzles up to him happily from his new spot halfway atop him, and Mingi grumpily raises his arm to allow him to snuggle closer. 

“I think I’m doing a great job,” he says cheerfully, squeezing his arms around Mingi’s middle to emphasize his point. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to bring you such perfectly personalized advice.” 

“I don’t want your advice,” Mingi whines, but it morphs into a shriek when Wooyoung bites his waist. It may be the closest body part to him, but it’s still a dick move, so Mingi grabs his discarded notebook from before his intruder had arrived and whacks him with it like the rabid little raccoon he is.

“You’ll get it anyway, you ungrateful ass,” Wooyoung responds with only a hint of irritation, easily grabbing Mingi’s notebook and flinging it to the other side of the bed. Mollified by his sudden lack of weapon, Mingi slumps into the mattress, defeated. “As I was saying, Sannie told me he is very much interested in you.” 

“Okay, and me thinking that was the case before hasn’t changed the fact that he hasn’t said anything to me,” Mingi complains, lips falling into a pout before he can even reign it in. 

“That’s the important update! Not him liking you, that was already so goddamn obvious.” Pressing his dagger paws directly onto Mingi’s freshly bruised side, he pushes himself up to look Mingi in his wincing face. He looks irritatingly smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and he also knows he holds the power here. “He told me he’s not planning on acting on it at all, because he’s under the impression that you only want to hook up with him.”

“What-” He tries to sit up, alarmed, but Wooyoung only presses him back down. It hurts, but it also weirdly serves to ground him a bit.

“I know, I know! Listen, don’t worry. I told him he was blind and stupid if he didn’t realize just how long you’ve been hopelessly and pathetically pining for him.”

“Thanks,” Mingi deadpans, pout returning with a vengeance. 

“It’s just that it’s completely not in his nature, you know? He wants more than that from people, from you specifically. You’re gonna have to put some work in, dude. Get it through his thick romantic skull that you’re just as disgustingly sweet as he is, deep down.” 

“At some point, I think this stops being advice or wisdom and starts becoming bullying,” Mingi warns, but Wooyoung only smiles back at him as if it had been some sort of veiled compliment. It’s the last straw, and Mingi lets himself fall flat back on the bed with a groan. “Can’t we just skip the confession and jump to the part where we go on romantic dates together, and he pampers me and tells me how pretty I am and how much he likes me? Preferably while or adjacent to him holding me down or folding me in half, but I’m not picky.” 

“That’s another thing,” Wooyoung responds, never rising to the bait of Mingi’s feeble attempts to make him uncomfortable with his oversharing, the way Wooyoung does to all of the rest of them on a regular basis. He jabs a finger into Mingi’s solar plexus. “I think you’re also giving Sannie the wrong idea of what you want from him on that front, what with you always crowding all up on him and wrapping these big dumb hands around his waist.” 

Mingi pulls his hand away from where Wooyoung is examining it with something like distaste on his features, but not before flicking him in the forehead with it. “I just like how much smaller he is than me in some ways, while he’s so much bigger in others,” Mingi defends, voice meek. Despite the hubris of his strong start, he still feels awkward being this forward about things like this with Wooyoung. Or with anyone, for that matter. “And that he could still hold me down, despite our height difference.” 

“Okay, normally this is where I’d say TMI, but that’s actually super hot. I’m into it,” he decides, folding his hands beneath his chin so that he’s now propped on Mingi’s chest by his awful, pointy elbows. “I think he’d do anything you ask, but something tells me that’s more his speed.” He pauses for a fraction of a second, but still sighs like he’s giving in to the urge to say more. As if Mingi had begged him to continue, which he notably has not, for the record. “Fine, he tells me that’s more his speed." At Mingi's skeptical look, he hesitates. "Well, sort of. He refused to tell me no matter how much I pestered him about it, so in the end I just starting listing off scenarios and watching his reaction to see what made him the most flustered. So what I can say is that he would very much be interested in that.” 

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be telling me all of this?” The creeping suspicion that has been building throughout this fairly one-sided conversation finally building up to a breaking point, Mingi swipes Wooyoung’s elbows out from beneath him. He catches himself without missing a beat, and Mingi resolves to give up for real. “Do people usually just casually out their best friend for not only their alleged sexual fantasies, that he definitely didn't intentionally share with you, but also their feelings for another mutual friend?” 

“Under normal circumstances, no,” Wooyoung says, suddenly serious. “Our code prevents it. But the code is null and void if the party in question is being a total moron.” At Mingi’s dubious eyebrow raise, he finishes, “We agreed on those terms.” 

If that’s the case, San got himself into this situation. They both sort of invited all of this by being friends with Wooyoung, to be totally fair. “You know that I’ve tried to tell him how I feel before,” he reminds Wooyoung, all remaining playfulness draining from him. He glances at Wooyoung to find his eyes already on Mingi, expression sobering as if he senses that it’s what Mingi needs. Deep beneath all of his constant teasing and tomfoolery, he is a deeply empathetic human being at his core. “There’s only so many times I can do that before I start to lose confidence, no matter how much people assure me he feels the same.” 

“You obviously need to be clearer about the intention behind it.” He smiles sweetly at Mingi, propping himself on Mingi in a way that is marginally less uncomfortable for him. Then, he ruins it. “See, I’ve been paying attention. I know the truth: you had a big fat embarrassing crush on the tiny, dorky, plushie-loving twink version of Sannie from way back when, and you’re only down so much worse these days.”

“This is why I never seek out your help,“ Mingi complains. Whether or not Wooyoung is entirely correct is irrelevant if his phrasing makes Mingi feel bad about himself and his mortifyingly transparent feelings. 

“Then it's a good thing I bring it right to you, free of charge. Listen, you know you’re never going to get anywhere with our Sannie just by flirting with him or letting him cuddle with you in your bed. You need to confess, for real. If you’re not honest about your actual feelings, he’s going to go on thinking that you just want to get into his pants, and you’re going to break his heart.” 

“I know, I know! I get it, I do. I’ll figure something out.” Wooyoung is giving him a frankly offensively dubious look, so Mingi promptly trips over his own words in an effort to defend himself. “I will! I’ll plan something out, make it romantic like Sannie deserves. Leave no room for doubt that I want more than just… god, probably the most incredible sex. That I’m in it for real.” 

At this, Wooyoung finally seems satisfied. He gives Mingi a big, close-lipped grin, his eyes nearly squeezed shut with the force of it. “Good,” he decides, letting his upper body fall back onto Mingi so he can squeeze him in a hug that is equal parts comforting and vaguely threatening. “If you hurt him, I’ll literally kill you.” 

Things don’t exactly work out the way that Mingi had hoped. 

It’s been less than forty-eight hours, and Mingi has actually been spending a lot of time considering how he’s going to approach San. He’s been sort of agonizing over it, to be completely honest. San is so sweet and kind, and he adores love and romance to an almost fairytale level. All Mingi wants is to give him the confession he deserves. If he’s to believe Wooyoung, which he unfortunately does as a general rule, San’s own feelings mean he won’t make a fool of himself no matter how all-in he goes with it. 

Instead, any progress he’s made on the plan is interrupted by Jongho casually walking into his bedroom unannounced. Mingi sighs, resigned. “Does literally no one in this family knock? You don’t even live here either.” 

“I’m going to level with you,” Jongho says by way of answer, sitting down in Mingi’s desk chair like he owns the place. With the way Mingi had been lying on his bed, the new angle feels uncomfortably like Jongho is towering over him. “I’m here to steal Seonghwa-hyung. Wooyoungie-hyung and I are going to keep him entertained and far away from here for the evening. You’re going to take that time and space to finally talk to Sannie-hyung.” 

Mingi is understandably instantly suspicious. “I don’t like where this is going.” 

“You’re right to feel that way,” Jongho responds cryptically. “If you don’t spit it out tonight, Wooyoungie-hyung and I are going to do it for you. And I promise you, you won’t like our approach.” His tone of voice suggests he’s being sympathetic to Mingi instead of blatantly threatening him. He stands from Mingi’s desk chair and ruffles Mingi’s hair with a small smile before walking back out the door just as abruptly as he'd entered it, leaving Mingi both mentally and physically disheveled.

Mingi steels himself for the evening ahead, he truly does. He haunts their dorm like a dead man walking, counting down the time left until his predetermined doom. He wracks his brain for something charming to say, something adoring and romantic enough to be deserving of San without also scaring him away with the overwhelming desperation and longing that Mingi is really feeling about the entire situation.

Yet when San walks through the door looking soft and uncharacteristically tiny with all of his muscles hidden in an oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, seemingly half asleep where he stands in spite of the way he clearly tries to shake himself awake with a sweet smile at the sight of Mingi, all of Mingi's anxiety just floats away. In its place is something fond and warm, something gooey that melts in his chest as San's dimpled smile heats the room like the sun peeking its way through the clouds.

God, Mingi is such a lovesick loser. The others tease San for his romanticism, but that's only because they can't see inside Mingi's hopelessly cheesy mind. Had Mingi been half as open about all of his frilly and flowery thoughts as San is on a daily basis, he certainly would have been the one to end up with that reputation instead. He can feel his own ears heating just imagining saying any of this out loud, and he has to fight his answering smile from wavering with embarrassment.

Of course, San notices anyway. "You okay?" He tilts his head like a curious cat, lips falling into a pout that only adds to Mingi's raging cute aggression. "You look nervous."

"You look cute," Mingi blurts out, halfway between deflection and unintentional confession.

San smiles again, pleased, before falling onto the couch beside Mingi and curling into his side. "Of course I do. It's your clothes that I'm wearing, after all," he says proudly, and Mingi nearly chokes on his own spit at the declaration. "I hope you don't mind. They were right there, folded on top of your dresser when I woke up, and they just looked so cozy that I couldn't help myself."

"Oh, that's- that's fine," Mingi manages, though if the wild way his heart is pounding is anything to go by, it's very notably not fine. He can pretend to be normal for five fucking minutes.

"Plus, they just smell so nice," San sighs, burying his face into the collar of the sweatshirt - Mingi's sweatshirt - and inhaling deeply, his eyes slipping closed in contentment. "Smell like you. Jus' like your bed." His words are slurring slightly with exhaustion, though it's hard to tell with San whether the blunt honesty can be attributed to it as well, or if they're simply a product of his almost naive trust in those close to him. Trust that is misplaced in Mingi specifically, for example, as his imagination and libido run wildly away from him at San's innocent words.

"It's- you're welcome to be in my bed literally, like, whenever," Mingi offers pathetically with a shrug to try to minimize the transparent sincerity, belatedly realizing that it could be perceived as more suggestive than he meant to sound. In an effort to steer the conversation somewhere more controlled and hopefully safe, he course corrects. "I like it when you sleep there. With me. It's- nice."

Great. Mingi is the pinnacle of eloquence. He can't help the cringe he tries to fight, hoping desperately that it doesn't disturb where San is still snuggled into his shoulder.

"Good, because I wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon," San replies, smile audible in his tone. He giggles quietly before dropping his voice, almost conspiratorial. "Between you and me, it's probably my favorite spot in the whole world. Especially when you're there with me."

Mingi's mind short-circuits spectacularly, and he's fairly certain he loses a few moments while it slowly comes back online. By the time his soul has returned to his own body, he finds that San is looking up at him, sleepy and smiling eyes filled with cautious optimism.

"In fact, you should go to sleep now," Mingi rushes out. He watches with distant horror as San's contented expression seems to begin to drop, so he's quick and determined to make it better. "In my bed! Obviously, I meant in my bed. It's just- you look exhausted, and you said you like sleeping in my bed, so I was just thinking it would be nice if you were there right now because you already look so cozy in- in my clothes." When San just stares back up at him, expression now something close to neutral, he's quick to offer amends. "I could even tuck you in, if you wanted."

The way San's face lights up is almost painfully beautiful to watch, with this little distance between them. His eyes disappear behind the force of his smile, and Mingi feels like all of the embarrassment of this evening is worth it for that sort of reaction.

"I'd like that," San agrees quietly, leaning away from Mingi to stretch out like a sleepy cat with a soft groan that threatens to have Mingi's cheeks matching the steady pink color of his ears.

It's hardly the confession that Mingi had spent the entire day steeling himself up for, but climbing into bed together feels like its own sort of confession. They've never done this before, not really. Certainly not with the understanding between them that it's a mutually agreed upon act, something they are both entering into consciously.

Well, consciously at least in Mingi's case, as it's probably unfair to say San is fully in his wakeful right mind. When Mingi considers it this way, he can almost make himself feel braver. Sure, maybe he didn't get to give San his romantic confession tonight, and maybe Jongho really is going to murder Mingi, but he has at the very least taken a step forward. They finally spoke about it! Out in the open between them at last, it feels heavier. More real, more meaningful.

San stands aside to let Mingi climb into his own bed first, sparing him his usual trouble of having to carefully climb over San to his spot by the wall. In a rare feat of bravery sparked by their tiny mark of progress, he allows himself to settle on his side, facing San. It doesn't go unnoticed, San's smile growing sweetly in the moments before he hits the light switch and plunges them into darkness. It's a blessing, Mingi is certain, because it spares him seeing San's reaction to what is certainly a tellingly nervous expression that Mingi wears.

Always the more outwardly cuddly of the two, San is quick to climb in after Mingi, and he's far from shy about the way the crowds into Mingi's space. It feels so very intimate like this, the two of them breathing into each other's space, facing each other from mere centimeters apart in the dark of Mingi's bedroom. For an eternal few minutes, there is silence that stretches almost long enough that Mingi is worried that San must have fallen asleep already.

"You know, I'd sleep here every night, if I thought I could get away with it," San admits with a hint of mischief in his tone. It's hardly more than a whisper, as if San feels it like Mingi does that the atmosphere here and now is something delicate. Something that might crack and shatter, might disappear if they're not careful about it.

It's ludicrous that San thinks there's any world in which Mingi wouldn't let him. Even at the detriment of Mingi's mental health, he's beyond certain he'd allow it each and every time.

"I want you to," Mingi's mouth decides to confess, and no speed of slamming it shut again immediately after can lock the words back inside again.

Even in the darkness between them, Mingi can see the sleepy surprise on San's face. It only lasts for a moment before it's replaced by a soft peal of laughter pressed suddenly into Mingi's collar bone. His arms snake their way around Mingi's body, strong and secure, and Mingi's own make a shaky attempt at reciprocating the embrace. The feel and the warmth of it is enough to have Mingi's heart pounding hard enough that he's certain San must feel it like the boom of a rapid bassline against his ribcage.

"Be careful, Song Mingi, or you'll never get me to leave," he warns with a tiny bop of his index finger to Mingi's nose before he only snuggles closer. It's too much, he's too cute, and Mingi feels like he's going to explode. He's so overwhelmed, so far in his own head that he doesn't even catch himself soon enough when he actually begins to.

"I don't want you to leave!" It's far from a shout, but it's far too loud and sudden for the atmosphere they've cultivated, and he feels the way San flinches slightly at his volume but he finds that all he can do is lower his voice a little before the words continue to pour right out of him. "I told you, Sannie, I want you here all of the time! If I had my way, you'd sleep here every single night. Half of the time, I stay out late just to give you more time to sneak into my bed. When you're not here, I don't sleep as well. Which is completely crazy, by the way, because when you are here, I can hardly even think straight, let alone hold myself together long enough to fall asleep."

"Oh," San says quietly, pulled back far enough from Mingi by now that he can make out his careful expression. He looks a little more alert now, and Mingi hates himself a little for unintentionally ripping him away from the call of sleep that must have been so close at hand only moments earlier. His eyes glint in the darkness, something like realization, and Mingi feels his stomach drop. He sucks in a cautious breath. "Mingi-yah, that sounds like…"

Mingi whines, terrified but also fully aware that he's said too much to go back on it now. He's suddenly so certain that everyone was right, that he needs to get this out in the air between them and use his words, lest he pine not so silently forever.

"Like I'm in love with you? I am, Sannie, of course I am. I have been for ages. Don't you know that already?" He probably looks crazed, knows he sounds it, but he can't hold back the intensity in his eyes as he glances between San's.

"Wow," San breathes, and even in the darkness, Mingi can see the way stars dance in his eyes. He's so beautiful that it hurts, the look of wonder he wears something that Mingi feels in his very soul. He pushes Mingi's hair away from his eyes, delighted laughter bubbling out of his lips as his head is tipped back with the force of it. "I can't believe Wooyoungie was telling me the truth."

"Well he wasn't very nice about it, from what he tells me," Mingi complains, lips falling into a pout naturally. Without Mingi even noticing it, he finds himself leaning into San's hand that still carefully rests on the side of his face.

"Don't worry, he teased me, too," San admits fondly, his thumb tracing delicately along Mingi's heated cheekbone. "We got here eventually, though, didn't we?"

"Here, as in…" Mingi trails off, needy from the way he's become suddenly hyper aware of the way that San has yet to say the words himself.

"In my favorite place, with my favorite person," San offers, voice still soft in the quiet around them, even as Mingi can hear the way he's hardly containing his excitement. It bubbles over by way of San surging forward to press a firm kiss to Mingi's cheek, so close but still not anywhere near enough to the corner of Mingi's mouth. His lips are curved at the corners, evidence of his giddiness that Mingi can feel on his skin.

When Mingi feels San start to lean in again, certain he's not about to change his frustrating trajectory, he can't help himself. He turns his face at the last possible second, and he meets San's lips unevenly as Mingi clumsily hurries to capture them. San gasps into the kiss, like he somehow failed to predict this exact course of events even despite how well he knows Mingi, and Mingi takes his chance and runs away with it.

San doesn't hesitate to reciprocate Mingi's eagerness, his hand coming to clutch at the fabric at the front of Mingi's sleep shirt as his other buries itself into Mingi's hair. Both are so very delicate, and even though Mingi has known himself to enjoy a little bit of roughness, he finds he can't help but feel weak at just how very quintessentially San it is to treat someone so big and sturdy as Mingi as if he's something fragile.

Mingi's own hands are slightly more adventurous, sneaking beneath barriers like San's shirt in places such as beneath the bottom hem and inside his sleeve. San trembles as Mingi's greedy fingers drag along his sculpted abdomen, but he doesn't protest when Mingi decides to course-correct and instead rest them at the curve of San's tiny waist. It takes all of the chill Mingi possesses to resist the urge to dig his fingers in, to leave a mark, to channel all of his overwhelming need into their tentative press to San's unblemished skin.

Though it takes every last ounce of Mingi's self-restraint, their kiss stays unhurried and gentle. It's still absolutely doing things to Mingi, San overwhelming every last one of his senses, but he is doing the gentlemanly thing of very politely attempting to keep its effects to himself. It's all for the best, Mingi thinks with more than a touch of disappointment that he refuses to let San see, when San breaks away from the kiss with a loud and sudden yawn.

"'M sorry," he whines, leaning back in to press his now pouty lips against Mingi's spit-slicked mouth. It's not long before another yawn wracks his body, and he almost seems to slump in defeat the second time around. "I think my body is sabotaging me. I just wanna keep kissing you, but I'm so sleepy."

He's so cute when he pulls back that Mingi can hardly be upset about it. He looks like a rumpled, half-asleep kitten. Mingi's heart still hasn't come anywhere near close to calming down, so he can hardly relate, but he definitely doesn't want to deprive San of the good night's sleep he clearly needs.

"You don't need to apologize. You were half-asleep when you walked in the door. I'm sorry for keeping you awake so long," Mingi comforts, and he means it, even if the relief he feels at finally having his feelings reciprocated openly seems more than worth it. He guiltily wants to keep San's attention and hands on him all night, but he knows that they have the day off tomorrow, and that they will find time to get back to this eventually. Mingi only need suffer through one more torturous night first. No big deal, really, after the countless he's endured thus far.

"You're so sweet," San sighs, his head falling back to the pillow. Wordlessly, he moves slightly backwards and opens his arms. Mingi tilts his head at first, unsure what to do when they had already been so close, but it comes to him quickly considering the number of times he's woken up wrapped in San's embrace.

Mingi turns in place before scooting back into San's arms. He's quick to wrap them around Mingi, their legs tangling together beneath the covers. San's breath is warm on the back of his neck as he nuzzles into Mingi with a contented sigh. Mingi feels like it'll be a miracle if he can sleep at all tonight.

After a moment with his eyes shut stubbornly tight, the absent tracing of San's finger over the material of Mingi's shirt finally catches his notice. He hums curiously, heart skipping a beat once again as San chuckles against him.

Oh, Mingi remembers suddenly. He's wearing the sleep shirt San's mom had made for the three of them, with Mingi's initials embroidered in cute little mouse-and-giraffe shaped letters. He never dresses in things like this to actually sleep, tending to run hot. He definitely is running way too hot right now, holy shit. He wonders if he can blame the way he's starting to sweat on the pajamas, instead of the way his cheeks are getting rapidly redder, or San's steady and heated breath on his neck. For their first kiss to happen with Mingi wearing something so ridiculous… It truly is so very like them, isn't it?

"I love when you wear these," San comments, voice laced with sleepy amusement. "Makes me happy. 'S cute. Like you."

Mingi smiles in spite of himself. "It's why they suit you," he protests weakly. "Really, though. It was sweet of your mom to make them for us."

"Oh, yeah," San says, a hint of giddy sarcasm. "I practically had to beg her to make a pair for Seonghwa-hyung, too. Even after I told her it would have been way too obvious if she just made you a pair to match with mine."

Obvious? Wait. "Do, uh. Do your parents know how you feel about me?" He asks it carefully. It seems ridiculous. Mingi's mom knows how he feels for San, but that woman knows every rogue thought that's ever managed to pass its way through Mingi's head. There's no hiding from her, not that Mingi has ever truly wanted to.

San, bafflingly, only lets out another muffled giggle. "Of course, my mom knows. I didn't even have to tell her. She's known practically since I first joined that you were special," he says, like it's not a surprise. Like it's not a huge revelation, like Mingi won't be spending the rest of the night or maybe his entire life rethinking every single interaction he's ever had with her. Like he won't be overthinking whether or not she's been quietly observing the pathetic heart-eyes Mingi has been sending her son for just as long.

It's not long at all before San's breathing evens out in sleep, and Mingi can't help but to reach up to tangle their fingers together, tentatively so as not to wake San right back up. It's comforting, grounding when Mingi feels like he could float away if he isn't careful. San's fingers tighten around Mingi's automatically, and a surprised huff of laughter pushes its way past Mingi's still swollen lips. His other hand comes up to touch them absently, a subtle tingle still lingering to remind him of what they'd only just been doing.

He must drift off at some point by some sheer miracle, because it's light behind his blackout curtains when he blinks his eyes open again. San is still wrapped tightly around Mingi's body, but his hands have wandered. They've ended up beneath Mingi's sleep shirt somehow, seeking warmth perhaps against Mingi's overheated skin. Not that they need the extra heat, always seeming to stay so warm in spite of whatever coldness they find themselves in.

It would be ticklish, if Mingi weren't so immediately on edge. Instead it feels dangerous, those soft hands Mingi spends unholy amounts of time fantasizing about so close to the hem of Mingi's pajama pants. He's sweltering, the heat overwhelming, but he's terrified to make any sudden movements. With San holding him so closely, it's impossible for Mingi to ignore the press of his morning wood against Mingi's ass.

On the one hand, it's not the wholly forbidden concept it would have been even yesterday. That's dangerous in and of itself. The knowledge that he's maybe allowed to want it is eating away at him the longer he lies there. It's a different breed of guilt than he's used to feeling in this situation, because San surely knows that he's desperate for that sort of intimacy as well, even if he's not certain he's allowed it quite yet.

His thought spiral is interrupted when San seems to wake with a stretch and a soft groan all too close to Mingi's ear. He can't suppress the way he instinctively shivers quick enough to hide it, but whether mortifying or reassuring, San only laughs softly in response.

"Good morning," he murmurs, the low register of his morning voice only making Mingi's situation more dire by the moment. He doesn't seem to see any reason to move his hands from where they still rest over Mingi's stomach, nor does he seem bothered by the conscious knowledge that he's pressing his hard-on against Mingi, as he only nuzzles into Mingi's neck before dropping a kiss against the skin there. When Mingi's breath hitches, San seems to hesitate. "Sorry. Inhibitions are down, cause I'm still half asleep. You can tell me if I'm being too forward."

"No such thing," Mingi chokes out, and there's no hiding how affected he is in the rasp of his own voice.

San hums in interest. "Is that so," he purrs, confidence seemingly sparked by the clear interest Mingi has shown. The next kiss he presses to the back of Mingi's neck is open-mouthed and wet, and Mingi can't stop the whine that rises high in his throat. San huffs a breath against the back of his neck, something between a laugh and disbelief, the rapid temperature shift across the damp skin raising goosebumps in its wake. "Oh, you weren't kidding, were you?"

"Afraid not," Mingi admits breathlessly, shamelessly arching his back to bring San's cock closer to where he wants it. He's certain that San can see and feel the flush on the back of his neck and ears even in the low light of his room, but he can at least pretend to be capable of asking for this confidently. "After waking up like this and not being able to do anything about it for so long, I'm pretty sure there's no way I can just pretend not to notice again."

San nuzzles into the back of Mingi's neck. "Thank you for pretending not to until now," he whispers against Mingi's skin before pressing another kiss there. "So we could talk first," another kiss, lower, to punctuate the thought. "So I could know what it means to you," another. "So I didn't have to wonder whether it meant that you love me the same way that I love you."

It's the first time he's actually said the words out loud, and Mingi can't help the way his body responds. He shudders and presses back more firmly against San, and San's hand lowering dangerously across Mingi's abdomen only seems meant to encourage him. He's already so hard that it's painful, and he's pretty sure he might actually die from overheating if he doesn't get out of these stifling pajamas soon.

"Okay, but now that you know that I've literally been in love with you for years and want us to be together for real, you can fuck me, right?" His voice comes out a touch more petulant than he would have preferred, but hey, he supposes it helps to portray the urgency he feels.

San's fingertips twitch, digging in to Mingi's skin, as he draws in a short breath. "You want me to- oh, yes, yeah. Of course," he quickly agrees, but Mingi doesn't miss the way his hands tremble as they move carefully over his skin to catch at the hem of Mingi's shirt. "Can I… could I help you with this?"

Mingi nods fervently, his own hands scrambling to help San get it off of him even before the sentence has finished making its way out of his mouth. Before San's hands have even met Mingi's skin again, Mingi already has his pants shoved down to his knees. He's probably not the most graceful vision as he kicks them the rest of the way off, but he is efficient about it by reaching back to tug at San's pants at the same time. San doesn't stop him, and despite Mingi's clumsy ministrations, it's only a matter of moments until the heat of San's hard cock is smacking back to rest against the bare skin of Mingi's ass.

It's almost impossible for Mingi to make himself lean away from it, even for a task as crucial as reaching to the crevasse between his mattress and the wall to dig out his poorly stashed bottle of lube. When he leans back after grabbing it, San's cock slides between Mingi's ass cheeks and draws matching gasps from the both of them. As mind-numbingly addictive as it is to let himself grind back against it and feel the way it drags against where he really needs it, they'll never even get to that point if he doesn't get them back on the right track.

San takes the bottle from his fumbling fingers, and blessedly doesn't take any time at all before Mingi hears the slick sound of him spreading it over his fingers. "Is it okay, like this?" His voice sounds rougher now, affected, and the fire within Mingi surges at the sound.

"Yeah, please, just like this," Mingi pleads, reaching blindly behind himself to paw at San's hand, grabbing at his wrist to guide his hand where it should be. He lets himself be guided, giving no resistance at all before he has two fingers dragging steadily over Mingi's rim. It feels intentionally teasing, how long he traces the sensitive skin there, but something in Mingi knows with complete certainty that it's out of careful concern instead of anything intentional.

With the grip he still holds on San's wrist, he pulls him closer and closer until fingertips dip inside of him. It's tentative at first, but when Mingi can only groan desperately in response, it becomes purposeful. With what sounds like a winded breath at Mingi's ear, San dips two thick fingers into the tight heat of his ass.

The moan that's pulled from Mingi's throat at the sensation is enough to have San groaning into the back of his neck. "You're so tight, Mingi-yah," he protests, Mingi only clenching around his fingers at the desperation in his voice even as he has to hold San in place to stop him trying to pull out and presumably try again with one. Mingi pushes back against him to instead force him deeper, a whine escaping at the resulting stretch.

San doesn't fight him on it, steady in the way he meets the next arch of Mingi's back, blessedly finally pushing all the way inside. His fingers are thicker than Mingi's, though not nearly as long, but the difference in the way it feels to take two of San's versus his own is impossible to ignore.

It's not long before he needs more, whining even as he's grinding back against San's hand. San seems to understand, pressing a heated kiss to the angle of Mingi's jaw before he pulls out and presses back in with three. He isn't unaffected, and Mingi doesn't miss the aborted motion of San's hips against his, the drag of his leaking cock against the curve of Mingi's ass even as San's breathing is getting heavier and heavier against the back of his neck by the minute.

Mingi will swear later that he didn't beg San for anything, but truthfully, he can see how it might come across that way. "San-ah, Sannie," he gasps out, his head turning just enough to have their lips brushing against one another. San doesn't let the opportunity pass, and Mingi indulges him in an oddly-angled but hungry kiss for as long as his patience allows before he breaks it enough to finish the thought even more desperately than it had began mere moments ago. "Sannie, please. I'm ready. I need it, can't stand another second of you rutting up against me when you could be inside of me, please."

"Oh, Mingi. I would never say no to you," San coos, but the underlying tension in his voice betrays just how close to his own limits he is. With his free hand trailing down Mingi's chest to rest warmly at his hip, trying and failing to sound casual about it, he continues. "How do you want to do this?"

The words haven't even fully left his lips before Mingi is blindly snatching the lube bottle from where it's landed in his sheets and pouring probably way too much into his palm. He can't even pretend to be as patient as San in literally any context, so he doesn't give any care to spread it or warm it up before he's wedged his hand between their bodies to finally touch San's cock. The high little moan that San gives him in response is more than enough encouragement for Mingi to take his over-indulgent time slicking up his cock. Mingi can't even help the way his head drops back onto San's shoulder, nor the way he tilts it to give San room as buries another moan into the side of Mingi's throat.

In lieu of a direct answer, Mingi uses his tentative grip to guide San's cock to his swollen rim. San sucks in a breath as his fingers slip free, and he freezes for just long enough of a moment after for Mingi to worry before it clicks. With an enthusiastic and overeager nodding of Mingi's head, San finally rocks his hips forward. They release corresponding moans as San's cock finally, finally presses inside. The stretch is more than Mingi had probably prepared for, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Still spooned the way they are, San is quick to snake his arms back up and around Mingi, crossing over his chest to gain leverage on either of Mingi's shoulders. He hardly needs it, his core plenty strong enough to give Mingi what he needs once he's had the time to adjust, but Mingi's heart kicks into overdrive anyway.

San shows him patience here too, attentive and caring in ways that are wholly unsurprising to Mingi. He's grateful to some degree, but he's feeling more than a little impatient about this whole thing.

"Mingi-yah, Mingi-yah," San soothes, pressing kisses to what parts of him he can reach, maybe misreading Mingi's squirming as discomfort instead of the desperation that it is. "Tell me when to move. Tell me what you need. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything."

"Anything?" Mingi repeats mindlessly, momentarily overwhelmed with possibilities before abruptly remembering that they presumably have infinite time to address Mingi's infinite needs pertaining to one Choi San. They can start small. They can start here. "O-okay. Want you to move, Sannie. Need to feel you more."

"Of course, anything," San agrees, breath sounding as though it's been punched out of him in the moments since he'd last spoke. Mingi can feel the way San's cock jerks inside of him before he's pulled bodily backwards, San using the grip of his arms to pull Mingi to meet the first smooth roll of his hips. It's overwhelming from the moment he's fully seated inside of Mingi, wrapped around him so tightly that there's virtually no space at all left between them. The sweltering heat of those godforsaken pajamas long forgotten, Mingi isn't sure he's ever burned quite so hot as this before.

He blessedly doesn't torture Mingi with his pace, hips building up to a slow yet steadily brutal cadence. It's torturous in its own way, the sweet grind of San's cock so very close to where he needs it, grazing Mingi's prostate with the occasional rogue tilt to Mingi's hips when he desperately presses back to meet him. San's sweat-slicked chest slides against the skin of Mingi's back as he moves, combining with the wet sound of the excess lube Mingi had used to add an obscene soundtrack to this moment.

Mingi doesn't even realize how loud he's being until San groans against his ear, voice gravelly as he grits out, "Ah, you sound so sweet for me, my love." Mingi can feel his ears heat, belatedly realizing just how abused his throat feels from the sounds that have been escaping. One hand drops down from Mingi's shoulder to instead spread across Mingi's hip to guide him to that elusive perfect angle and draw another desperate moan from Mingi's lips. He can feel the way San's lips twist in a grin where they're pressed at the edge of his jaw, even as San lets out a moan of his own at the way Mingi clenches around his length.

Mingi's back bows at the now relentless assault against his prostate, and San uses the minimal new space between them to grab Mingi's ass cheek and spread it. Mingi whines, his face pressing into the pillow beneath his head at the mental image of what San must see when he pulls back just enough to glance between them. The slide is messy, Mingi practically a vice grip around San's cock, and San lets out another groan as his thumb traces where they're connected. Mingi squeezes impossibly tighter at the feeling of San's careful touch against the swollen and sensitive skin of his rim.

"Beautiful," he purrs, and Mingi may be fairly shameless on the best of days, but something about it is more than a little overwhelming. It's followed up by San draping himself back along Mingi with his next thrust, his hand trailing from Mingi's ass to his belly as San presses open-mouthed kisses to Mingi's neck and jaw. "Love this, being so close. 's intimate. Romantic."

"Y-yeah," Mingi agrees, somewhere between mindless response and wholehearted agreement. San seems to have found a way to maintain that sinful angle, and Mingi's only true frustration is that he doesn't have enough space to work his hand over his own length with the way San has him pressed halfway into his own mattress. He whines, so close to the edge, but unable to give himself that extra push.

"What do you need, jagiya? I promise you, I'll give you anything," San breathes, hot and heavy against Mingi's throat even as he doesn't slow his pace. Mingi's hands can't seem to find purchase, a loose grip in San's hair as the other grasps at the hand San has so close to where Mingi needs it, but it's not enough.

"Need you closer," Mingi whines, petulant, an impossible request that even has San huffing a surprised laugh against his skin. Still, he seems to know what Mingi needs, pressing a placating kiss to his jaw before he's carefully pulling out.

"Turn over for me," he whispers with a nudge of his nose to Mingi's cheek, smile audible even in the soft tone.

Mingi does, even as his aching body protests after being half-crushed in that position for this long. His effort is immediately rewarded, seeing the sight now above him: San in all of his naked glory. His chiseled body glistens with sweat, his hair tousled artfully, with his perfect cock hanging hot and heavy between his legs. With his cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated, he watches Mingi like he's something perfect. It's simultaneously too much and exactly what Mingi had been missing out on this entire time.

"Oh, Mingi-yah," he gasps, looking just as awed as Mingi feels. His hands are on Mingi's body again immediately, dragging down from his chest to his waist before traveling to his sensitive inner thighs. San groans as his fingers grip the skin there, pushing Mingi's legs apart even as Mingi whines at the stretch and again at the attentive way San stares at him. His eyes trace over every part of Mingi, licking his lips at the way Mingi's cock kicks and leaks precome over the already slick skin of his abdomen. "You're so perfect."

Before Mingi can even slur out a plea for San to come back, San is disappearing down the bed just far enough to trace his tongue up the front of Mingi's cock. It's immediately too much after being neglected for so long, and Mingi cries out at the sensation as San's tongue traces around the sensitive head before dragging across the slit to gather up the ever-increasing precome gathering there. Mingi's cock twitches against his tongue, his fingers instinctively curling back into San's hair. San hums, closing his lips around the tip of Mingi's cock with a moan of his own that reverberates around Mingi.

He doesn't linger for long, just enough for a teasing taste before he's releasing him with a pop, his swollen lips pressing a trail of kisses up Mingi's abs and chest until he's capturing Mingi's mouth with a level of desperation that mirrors Mingi's own. As if he hadn't just been demonstrating all of the patience in the world while Mingi lies here dying from need. Mingi wraps his legs around San and pulls him in by way of sending a message that San receives with a giddy peal of laughter between them.

"Okay, okay, I'm back," he soothes through his grin, reaching between them to line back up so he can push back inside Mingi as he watches carefully for any hint of discomfort. The angle is instantly better, both for the way San's cock grazes Mingi's prostate so much easier like this and for the way Mingi can paw all over San's chest from here. He can't help himself, dizzy with want as San picks back up to a steady rhythm, his gaze darting over San's body almost as directionless as his hands as he takes him in with all of his senses.

The intense way San watches him is almost too much, but Mingi would be lying if he tried to say he didn't crave the adoring attention. It's all too soon when Mingi feels himself nearing the edge once again, his legs constricting around San as his back arches off the bed.

"Sannie, please, I'm so close," he begs, voice halfway to a sob.

"I've got you," San promises fervently, and Mingi hardly has time to whine at the way he pulls ever so slightly away from him before his hand is wrapping around Mingi's wet and leaking cock. In the next moment, San is using his other hand to push at one of Mingi's thighs to spread Mingi wider for him. The change in the angle has Mingi's hips lifting off of the bed and his mouth dropping open in a cry, his hands falling to clutch at San's tiny waist for some small measure of purchase as he feels himself rapidly floating away.

"Oh, fuck, Sannie," Mingi gasps, eyes rolling back as he topples over the edge, crumpling in San's strong hold. San lets out a needy moan that's half as crazed as Mingi feels as Mingi spills over his fist, desperately working him through it even as San's own hips stutter at the impossibly tight way Mingi clenches around him.

Mingi is rapidly approaching oversensitivity when San follows after him, coming inside of him with a cry of Mingi's name that falls against Mingi's kiss-bitten lips. He's quick to frame Mingi's face with his clean hand, the other smearing wetly over Mingi's abdomen for leverage as he drags Mingi into another kiss. The combination of sensations gentle and primal, loving and somehow possessive, are enough to heat Mingi's cheeks anew as he lets San capture his lips until they're both panting against each other's mouths.

It's not easy to make himself break away, but Mingi is exhausted and covered in all sorts of fluids that are rapidly cooling and becoming far less sexy than they had been moments ago, so he gingerly pulls back. San's eyes blink open slowly, and he looks slightly confused and painfully adorable, so Mingi allows himself to press one more kiss to his newly pouted lips.

"You know I love you, but I have no idea what time it is, and we are almost definitely going to be interrupted any time now. I don't know about you, but I'd rather deal with everyone's taunting once I'm showered and have made you a cup of coffee and some breakfast," he placates quickly, San's smile stretching wider the longer he rambles until his eyes are nearly crescents.

"I'll never get tired of hearing you say that," he says dreamily, nuzzling their noses against one another with a crooked smile like he's fighting everything inside himself to stop from just leaning in to kiss Mingi all over again.

"That I'll make you breakfast? Because I'll do it every single day," Mingi promises, a lame excuse for a joke when he's feeling so oddly vulnerable. Still, San only giggles before kissing him on both cheeks and finally, gingerly pulling out.

"Yes, that. And I'll hold you to it," he promises, the look in his eyes so adoring that Mingi feels like he might finally burst into flames. He helps to clean Mingi up, a sweet but unnecessary gesture when Mingi has every intention of dragging San into the shower with him momentarily.

Mingi quickly surveys the dorm before he drags San towards his shower, but he was never promised anything past the evening alone, so any amount of time this morning has already been pushing their luck for privacy. Still, it doesn't escape San's notice.

"Did Wooyoungie threaten you with a deadline to confess, too?"

Mingi snorts. "It was our makdoongie with the deadline, actually," he admits sheepishly as he starts the water in the shower and tests the temperature. "He's probably going to be underwhelmed with how I went about it, though. You deserve all the romance in the world, and he definitely didn't mean for me to just blurt out the world's least romantic confession while I already had you in my bed."

"It was perfect," San denies, beaming like he really means it.

"But-" Mingi starts, turning to find San already much closer than he'd expected to find him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he says with all the finality that Mingi finds himself believing it. "It was a very Song Mingi confession," he adds fondly, bopping the end of Mingi's nose with a finger like he seems keen to do.

As Mingi pulls him under the water with him, he can't help but sulk just a little bit. "I wanted to give you everything you could ever imagine in a love confession, though."

"Well then, you succeeded," San soothes sweetly. "All I ever wanted was a Song Mingi love confession, after all."

Mingi can't help but press a mortified whine into San's shoulder, even as San lets out a delighted cackle and the water cascades unevenly over the mismatched silhouettes of their bodies. He's right, Mingi knows. This is exactly where they were meant to be, and it couldn't have happened in a way more imperfectly perfect to the two of them.