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“Wonwoo said he’s sorry he can’t make it,” Chan says, with a soft smile and a consoling pat on Junhui’s back, “But he’s just as proud of you as I am, hyung!”
Junhui ignores the pat, and goes straight in for one of his signature back breaking hugs, forcing Chan to jump up and down happily with him as they embrace, coaxing a startled laugh out of him as he clumsily goes along with his hyung’s whim. Finally managing to get all of the required paperwork to open up his own dance studio sorted must’ve given him superhuman strength, because Junhui practically flails Chan around as they giggle unabashedly, elated.
“Thank you, Channie!” he says, gleeful after parting from their hug, before his tone takes on a sort of melancholic understanding as he asks, “Work again?” in regards to Wonwoo’s absence.
“Yeah,” Chan answers, with a sigh and a solemn nod. “He’s been swamped with it. It’s practically impossible to drag him out of the house,” he pauses for a second, and feels his frustration growing. “I just— I worry, you know? All they do is give him more work without, like, doing anything to reward him for it. I don’t know how to—”
His eyes widen slightly for a second as he realizes he’s been droning on for far too long, becoming wary of the fact that his negativity could definitely be ruining his friend’s celebratory mood.
“Ah— Sorry hyung!” he apologizes, his palm flying up to his face, embarrassed at his own inability to control his mouth. “I shouldn’t have dumped this all on you. I’m—”
“Let me guess—” Junhui interjects, smiling teasingly, “You’re sorry?” Chan laughs, his mood lightening a fraction, and delivers an equally teasing smack to his hyung’s chest, light as a feather.
“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically, albeit fond, his eyes narrowing, “You know me so well.”
Junhui laughs some more, before his expression turns back into something more serious. “I know he’s been swamped, though. I’ve heard it’s hell over at his department.”
Chan nods. “Yeah,” he says, and sighs out a wistful puff of air, “Sometimes— Sometimes I wish there were more of him so he could get the work done easier.”
“That’s so cute Channie,” Junhui says, placing a steady hand on Chan’s shoulder, “But it’s kind of funny how you’re not like—” he says, gripping his heart dramatically, “I wish I could help him carry this burden! or something. That’s more like you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Chan asks, blinking slowly. “I don’t even know how to, like, open Microsoft Word. He’d get fired within a day.”
“Damn. Like, actually?” Junhui asks, genuinely bewildered. Once Chan nods, he chuckles and with a shake of his head says, “You’re lucky you’re one hell of a dancer. Bad at office work, bad at magic—”
“Hyung!” Chan whines, shocked as he interjects, eyes rounded with surprise at the sudden jab, “Do not talk about my shit magic skills! I thought we had a deal not to bring that up anymore!”
He’d expect this from everybody but his Junhui hyung. Making fun of Chan’s lousy magic is more Jeonghan’s territory, even if he does it only because he’s just as bad. It’s not his fault, anyway!
It’s Seungkwan’s, if anything, since all he’d do at volleyball practice back in high school was hit the ball at Chan’s head every time they practiced. He , to this day, calls it accidental, but Chan wholly believes it was premeditated. He’s sure it gave him some sort of magic-ruining brain damage that now renders him incapable of running even the simplest of spells.
He spots Seungkwan, then, and decides to pick a fight with him for no particular reason other than the decade long grudge rearing its head just now. After a conversation with him that starts with a fist fight and ends with a hug, he drinks all of the assortments they forced Mingyu to bring, eats the food that, again, they forced Mingyu to make, and then after spending some well earned time with his hyungs, finds himself back home.
“Wonwoo-hyung, I’m home,” Chan calls out from the hyeongwan, toeing off his shoes haphazardly, wanting nothing more than to take the little makeup he has off and crawl into bed with his poor, overworked boyfriend.
He doesn’t get a response, but he sees that familiar tuft of dark hair peeking out above the backrest of their couch, and stifles a soft chuckle, thinking Wonwoo may have succumbed to sleep while waiting for him to come back from the party.
Chan pads over to him softly, still only seeing the back of his head, bending over to wrap his hands around his neck gingerly. “Hyung-ah,” he whispers out, his voice lightly teasing, “Your Channie is home. Wake u—”
“Chan,” a voice calls out from behind him, sounding scarily like the man below him, “I don’t know how to say this, but that’s not me.” Chan stills and blinks a few times, before turning around slowly, seeing Wonwoo— his Wonwoo— standing a few feet away, with what seems to be a third one right next to him.
“Oh,” Chan says, eyes rounding with the confusion he’s desperately trying to blink away, “W— Wait, what?”
After a brief meltdown and a barely intelligible explanation where Chan confesses he’s probably the one to blame for this, Wonwoo— Chan’s Wonwoo— sat them all down so Chan could try to gather his wits and not succumb to the temptation of passing out. It worked, for the most part, but it also gave him the alarming visual of not one, but three Wonwoos sitting cross legged on the floor in front of him.
As of now, his confusion, along with an unknown emotion akin to terror have been successfully abated, which could be a good or a bad thing depending on how you look at it. Good, because that fear was initially replaced with an almost childlike wonder. Bad because now, it’s growing into a far more… worrisome sort of curiosity.
He gulps the last of his water down, trying desperately not to focus on the fact that there is now not only one horribly handsome man at his beck and call, but also two more who, horrifyingly enough, look just like him. Not only that, really, this goes beyond just sharing his appearance— they are him!
Chan can’t help it! He can’t not think about the possibilities of this arrangement. The idea of having two more sweet, lovely, hardworking boyfriends who are also all— hopefully— incredibly competent in bed, isn’t only mildly enticing, it’s genuinely the stuff of Chan’s wet dreams.
He finally sets the empty glass of water he was given to cool down back on the coffee table, and decides to act on a whim, as he always does.
“Sorry— Can I just,” Chan tries, the awe bleeding through his gaze, gingerly reaching out to run a hand through one of the Wonwoos' hair. It’s just the right amount of smooth, familiarly thick as he runs his fingers through it. “Wow. It’s— It’s just like the real thing.”
“Um. Thanks?” Wonwoo 2— as Chan has lovingly dubbed him— looks unimpressed, but gives into the touch nonetheless.
Chan was never quite the magician— recreationally, or traditionally— but it seems like even he can pull it off if he’s got the right motivation. He vaguely remembers the few times his brother tried and failed at teaching him card tricks, grimacing as he recalls the miserable wail Geon let out when he somehow managed to rip the five of hearts instead of finding it tucked underneath the sleeve of his hoodie.
God forbid he reminisces on his actual magical feats— or lack thereof— that put a temporary stint in his relationship with his beloved grandmother, who couldn’t handle knowing her darling grandson couldn’t execute a simple potion recipe that requires only two types of herbs and a medium sized cauldron.
His own incompetence makes him skeptical. Is this even magic?
It has to be. Chan is pretty sure science can’t explain why there are two more copies of his boyfriend with their hands neatly folded in their lap, as they sit on the floor in front of him. Physics, nor chemistry. These are themes you find as metaphors of greed, lust and the self in philosophy and psychology, usually subjects of hyperbole in What would you do if? types of scenarios that exist only to question our understanding of desire.
This is all, of course, written on the many pages of Wonwoo’s, quite frankly, ridiculous, amount of textbooks that remained in his possession after he graduated college. Chan would make Wonwoo read the passages out loud to lull him to sleep when the pre-competition jitters would render him incapable of surrendering to slumber, his brain firing up his neurological system like it's trying to power an entire city.
(Of course, the next morning he’d only end up with an abundance of knowledge on topics that don’t even particularly interest him, and not even a wink of sleep. Who would’ve thought?)
So, after scratching off science— natural and social— he comes back to magic. Freud and Nietzsche might have some strange bouts of knowledge, but Chan is pretty sure even they would look at the three boyfriends he now has under his belt with bewilderment in their eyes and say— It’s magic!
Chan won’t think about it anymore, though. Won’t waste any more time pondering over philosophy or psychology, or whatever strange social science constructs exist in between. He doesn’t know much about them, anyway.
However, if he really has to borrow anything from these studies, Chan chooses the concept of hedonism. In short, he'll just enjoy what’s been given to him to his full extent.
He blinks, and feels his lashes fluttering against each other, retracting his hand from Wonwoo 2’s hair. “You’re all my boyfriend?” They look at each other like they’re holding a silent conversation Chan can’t be privy to, before confirming with a solemn nod that yes, they are all his boyfriend.
“Wonwoo 1,” Chan calls out, making eye contact with his Wonwoo. “Do you feel any different, or—?”
“Why does he get to be Wonwoo 1?”
Chan blinks. “Because he’s the real one.”
“So what?” Wonwoo 3 asks, straightening his glasses. “Why does that make him number one? It’s awfully presumptuous.” Chan’s eyebrows draw together, confused by the sudden attitude.
Presumptuous? Why did they have to inherit Wonwoo’s pretentious dictionary too?
“Chan, if I may, the reasoning behind your naming system is not logical.” Wonwoo 2 says, pushing his glasses up with an elegant hand. “Realistically, the fact that he is the Wonwoo would make him Wonwoo 0. That would make us,” he continues, pointing towards himself and the Wonwoo next to him, “Wonwoo 1 and 2.”
The other two Wonwoos nod— his Wonwoo included— like they agree, and Chan’s jaw hits the ground. “Okay. You—” he says, after regaining his composure, pointing a finger at him. “Wonwoo 3. You don’t get to talk anymore. I’m serious.”
“He’s Wonwoo 2,” his Wonwoo responds, in an act of treason so devastating it has Chan clutching his chest. He looks dissatisfied by his betrayal as well, his shoulders deflating. “I’m sorry baby. Unfortunately, it makes sense.”
“Thank you Wonwoo 0,” Wonwoo 2— or is he 1 now?— says, followed with a grateful nod. “I felt like you’d understand.”
After getting over his initial shock, Chan scoffs at this exchange, somehow becoming more and more exasperated by how things have been going. “Of course he understands,” he mutters out, pouting all the while, “He’s you.”
Chan is starting to realize, as the three of them ignore him in favor of chattering among themselves, that this is turning out to be quite the troublesome situation he’s found himself in. Instead of falling at his feet, it’s more like they’re starting to unionize against him.
Wonwoo— Chan’s Wonwoo— excuses himself to the kitchen with the empty glass of water that’s been sitting on the coffee table uselessly, and Chan finds himself curious at the complete and utter silence that ensues once patient zero leaves. He narrows his eyes suspiciously at the two, noting how strange their relentless fidgeting is.
They’re squirming from where they’re sat on the floor, looking strangely uncomfortable by the prospect of being left alone with Chan. It’s not the usual awkwardness that was present when Wonwoo liked him and didn’t know what to do with himself. This is almost like— like they aren’t even vaguely interested in Chan.
Realistically, if they’re copies of his boyfriend, they should share the sentiment of liking him, no? Are there any rules regarding this? Are the other two Wonwoos even capable of love, considering they aren’t, technically, human?
Chan is aware that he promised he’d abandon all philosophical ruminations before, but these questions really do bug him more than he thought they would.
Is there really a Wonwoo out there that doesn’t love Chan? This thought, somehow, feels awfully upsetting.
“Wonwoos,” Chan calls out, voice deceptively sweet. “Can I ask you something?” They nod in unison, albeit hesitant.
“Do you two even like me?” Chan asks, curious. “Like— romantically?” He’s not sure why he feels so awkward right now, but he pushes through, his interest getting the best of him, “I feel like you don’t. Which is, honestly, strangely off putting.”
Suddenly, the two Wonwoos grow almost worryingly anxious.
Wonwoo 1— since Chan has been forced into following their logic— only gulps at first, but ultimately chooses to speak, which shows that at least some of the Wonwoo authentic weakness for all things Chan does take up space in their hearts as well.
First, he checks if the original Wonwoo is still in the kitchen, and after confirming he’s a safe distance away, lowers his tone, and to the other Wonwoo’s apparent utter horror, admits, “He told us we can’t.”
Chan blinks. What? He tilts his head, confused, as he processes the information. “Can’t— Can’t like me?”
“Correct,” he says, still unnecessarily eloquent even when clearly unnerved, “He was quite persuasive, too.” The Wonwoo next to him nods fervently, his hair bouncing along with the movement, but keeps quiet, like he’s scared Wonwoo might pop up from the kitchen and hear him agreeing.
Chan’s eyebrows scrunch together. “What do you mean by that?”
Wonwoo 2 looks like he’s about to continue and explain, finally getting over his initial fear of being heard, seemingly unconsciously enveloping Chan’s hand in his. However, the very person he was afraid of came back at that moment, forcing his eyes to flicker to the original Wonwoo’s form, his words stuck in the back of his throat.
Chan follows his gaze and manages to catch how Wonwoo skewers him with a glare so fierce, it forces Wonwoo 2 to immediately retract his hand from Chan’s grasp like he’s been burned.
Immediately, as soon as his eyes fixed onto Wonwoo’s, it became crystal clear to Chan what Wonwoo 1 meant when he said they've been told they “can’t” like him.
“Wonwoo!” Chan reprimands, wholly shocked, “What is wrong with you? He’s—” he sputters out, tripping over his own words, unable to process how ridiculous this whole situation is as he looks between the two identical men, “He’s you!”
“No,” Wonwoo says, crossing his arms, not looking like he’s going to back down. It’s almost comically petulant, how he tips his chin up and continues, “He’s a copy of me. Nothing more.”
He sits down on the couch casually, completely ignoring Chan’s bewildered attempts at replying, and flickers his gaze towards his copies. Something shifts in the air, that makes Chan pause his sputtering.
“You two,” Wonwoo calls out, stern. “Don’t move from that spot.” His eyes suddenly zero in on Chan. “Chan-ah,” he says, voice taking on a softer tone, “Come.”
The atmosphere has definitely shifted rapidly, and the way Wonwoo seems to command it has Chan feeling off-kilter.
It’s never a smart idea, to give Wonwoo the upper hand, and it’s obvious that is exactly the situation they’ve found themselves in, since the copies seem to listen to him without questioning his demands. The final verdict is Chan’s to make now, if he’ll lean into whatever this is turning into, or not.
Usually, Chan is the one who dictates these moods, with Wonwoo following along wordlessly, acting on his every whim and beckon. This is unusual, in a way that, again, sparks Chan’s curiosity in a manner it most definitely shouldn’t. Wonwoo in charge is a Wonwoo off his leash— and, frankly, that’s usually not the most favorable situation to find yourself in.
After quite literally being able to only think of cons on his ‘pros and cons of actually heeding Wonwoo’s call’, Chan decides that its exactly the absence of pros that makes him want to venture into this situation and abandon all common sense. It’s not every day that your boyfriend throws a jealous fit over, well, himself.
Chan gets up slowly, his eyes on Wonwoo— his Wonwoo— for the entire duration of the movement, gaze neither analytical or calculating, just simply watching for any tells that he could sort into his assortment of carefully curated boxes labeled with his boyfriend’s name in bold, in an attempt to get a better grip on the situation at hand.
The boxes end up empty as he walks over to Wonwoo, forced to forego analysis in favor of letting himself be overcome with equal parts caution and excitement, the mix of emotions bubbling over into something so adrenaline inducing that Chan almost stumbles over as he climbs into Wonwoo’s lap, eager to wrap his hands around him. Chan was stupid to think he could focus on anything but getting closer to him.
Wonwoo doesn’t waste any time, concealing his smug grin coaxed into existence by Chan’s pliant obedience, by placing feverish kisses everywhere but on Chan’s lips; his cheeks, his jaw, his neck— until he finally relents after drawing a breathy whine from Chan’s slack mouth and claiming it, kissing him deeply and wrapping his arms tighter around his waist.
Chan gasps into the kiss as Wonwoo slowly starts guiding his hips to grind into his crotch, encouraging him to find his own pace under his sturdy grip, knuckles turning white from the force of it. Wonwoo uses this opportunity to suck on his tongue, the sound sloppy and wet, groaning as he bites on his lip next, the raw sound of it forcing Chan’s hips to stutter as they move.
Chan can’t lie and say he’s not into this. He hates that he is— hates how much he likes this, but how could he not? As his thoughts overtake him, his attention must flicker to the men sitting obediently on the floor forced to watch Wonwoo’s display of possessiveness, because Wonwoo chuckles and separates from his lips, his gaze lazily following the path Chan’s eyes made.
“You like it, hm?” Wonwoo asks quietly, as he trails a featherlight touch across Chan’s arm, fingers disappearing underneath the sleeve of his shirt, “I thought you might.” He sighs woefully, and retraces his route as his hand reappears, touch still deceptively sweet.
He doesn’t specify what Chan likes, and somehow that makes everything feel even more dangerous, more charged, that false sense of uncertainty when they both know what— or, more accurately, who— Wonwoo is insinuating, even if he doesn’t directly address it, which brings the coil in his gut dangerously close to snapping.
The truth is, Chan really does. This fit of jealousy is so— so infuriatingly ridiculous, so insanely depraved paired with the knowledge that the two copies are watching, their palms gripping onto their knees to prevent themselves from getting up and directly going against Wonwoo’s orders.
It’s all turning Chan’s gaze sticky, the blurriness remaining no matter how hard he tries to blink the haze away, everything seemingly foggy except the growing pressure in his stomach that feels almost debilitating.
Wonwoo’s hands turn even more incessant on his hips, a direct reaction to Chan’s silence, his unwillingness to answer, as Wonwoo guides his movement harshly in a way that’s making his head spin.
“Want to know how hyung feels about it?” he asks, trailing his lips along the column of Chan’s neck, suckling and biting at the skin lightly. Chan moans, the sound broken and faraway, as he bares his neck for Wonwoo to take.
“I fucking hate it,” he spits out, the expletive rolling off his tongue crudely in a way that sparks Chan’s spine alight, “Because I know what they’re thinking—” he says, his eyes flickering once more to the two Wonwoos, still as statues, “Even now, as they’re watching.”
“Wonwoo—” Chan tries, on a strangled moan, as Wonwoo guides his hips harsher into his own, “Please—”
“You said it yourself, Jungchan,” he interjects, not letting Chan finish his desperate plea, “They’re me. It’s because they’re me, that I can’t let them touch you. You know the things I want to do to you,” he continues, tone maddening, "Think they don't want the same?"
“They’re probably thinking about fucking you, now. Having you squirm in their lap like you’re squirming in mine,” Wonwoo scoffs, annoyed, his words and demeanor distracting Chan from the fact that he’s reaching into his sweatpants, “I’d cut their hands off before they could even lay a finger on you.”
“God— You’re so—” Chan tries, on a breathy laugh that takes way too much air out of him, “Ah— That’s so fucked up.”
“Tell him.” Wonwoo orders the copies suddenly, voice stern in a way that has Chan shuddering involuntarily, as he makes him lean back a little so he could grip his dick properly through his underwear, cruelly, “Tell him what I said I’d do if you touched him.”
“He—” Wonwoo 2 starts, voice rough from misuse, “He said he’d find a way to kill us.”
Chan shouldn’t, really, really, really shouldn’t encourage Wonwoo’s behavior, but the moan that escapes him is so pornographic, so irrefutably true to what he feels, that he ends up doing the exact opposite. Wonwoo chuckles into his ear dryly before biting on the lobe, coaxing another surprised gasp out of Chan’s mouth.
“I’d do it,” Wonwoo confesses into Chan’s ear, “I’d kill them.”
“Fuck, Wonwoo—” Chan says, on a crazed laugh, breathy, “You’re sick—”
Chan grinds his hips harder after the confession, moaning filthily, his hands clutching onto Wonwoo’s shoulders harshly as he, honest to God, feels himself tipping closer to orgasm just from the thought of Wonwoo being ready to kill anybody justfor brushing shoulders with him.
It’s— it’s heady, and dangerous, and everything Chan likes, drawing another whine from his throat as he lets the feeling of being so thoroughly possessed run through his nerves.
“Will them away,” Wonwoo urges, suddenly, through a whisper, his palms moving to Chan’s ass, still urging him to move. “Find a way to make them disappear. Won’t let you come until you do.”
Chan shakes his head, “I— Hyung— I can’t hold it—” he says, eyes glassy, “I really can’t. Please—”
“My sweet Jungchannie,” Wonwoo says cutely, rubbing Chan’s cockhead through the cotton material, gripping his hip tighter to the point it turns painful as he tries to squirm away from the pleasure, “Do this for your poor hyung, yeah? The idea of sharing you— I can’t stand it.”
Chan squirms some more, Wonwoo’s words hitting all the right synapses in his brain— It’s everything Chan craves to hear, disgustingly morbid at its essence, and everything he can’t admit to wanting.
It’s sick how much he likes this, so overwhelming in its nature that he tries to get out of Wonwoo’s grasp, but is stopped as Wonwoo redoubles his efforts at rubbing his length through his underwear, his grip on his hip tightening, caging him in.
“Play nice, Chan.” Wonwoo orders, “Hold still.”
It doesn’t take much longer for Chan to start spill real, jelly tears, the embarrassment and pleasure mixing into an explosive concoction that feels almost too big to understand, too fast acting to control, as Wonwoo finally reaches into his underwear and strokes him hard and fast, using his precum to help the glide.
He finds himself really thinking about it, now, biting on his lips as he genuinely tries to find a way to get rid of the copies, repeating different mantras in his head, but his head is so jumbled, so perplexed by the pleasure, that he drops it onto Wonwoo’s shoulder in defeat.
“Hyung—” Chan chokes out, sniffling and gasping as he tries to fight off his orgasm, “I’m g— I can’t—”
Wonwoo’s eyes flicker behind Chan, and then back to him. “Come.”
Chan comes so hard, that for a second, he thinks he willed himself away too. It rips through his body like lightning, as he spills into his underwear with a sweet moan, whining as he rides it out with the help of Wonwoo’s unrelenting fingers circling his cockhead and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.
Once he comes back to himself, his attention is immediately stolen. “Oh,” he says, as he’s trying to blink away the stickiness in his eyes, his head leaning against Wonwoo’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath, gaze landing on the empty spot on their carpet that the copies were sitting on. “They’re actually gone.”
Wonwoo sniffs, and leans his head against Chan’s. “They’ve been gone for a bit, actually.”
Chan stills. He leans back from Wonwoo’s shoulder, straightening up in his lap. “What?”
“Yeah. Like— A minute or two after one of them talked.”
Chan’s eyes widen. “That was ten entire minutes ago! Before I— Before I—!”
“Before you came?” Wonwoo asks, with an innocent tilt of his head.
“Y—yes!” Chan sputters out, embarrassed. “And you still made me do all of that?”
Wonwoo shrugs. “It was hot.”
He gets a light smack across his chest for that, and then another for how mean he was, and then a few more as retribution for soiling Chan’s underwear and favorite pair of sweatpants. The violence does calm his mind a bit, which gives him the clarity to assess Wonwoo’s behavior better.
Chan narrows his eyes then, realizing just how relaxed Wonwoo is, his deflatedness planting a seed of doubt in his mind. “Hyung.”
Wonwoo hums in question, busy watching his hands knead at Chan’s hips. Chan tries not to be swayed by the spark igniting in his gut at the touch, and asks, “Were you even jealous?”
“Honestly?” he says, lips pursed as he tests the give of the flesh there, infuriatingly casual. “Not really. I just thought it’d be fun.”
“You—!” Chan tries, bewildered even if he initially suspected this answer. “What if they didn’t— What if they never disappeared?” he asks, crossing his arms. “They’d be traumatized! How would they ever integrate into society?”
“I’d kill them, I guess,” he says, shrugging, like he’s talking about the weather. He stops kneading his hips then, and trails his touch up to his waist, resting his hands there. “And also, no offense, but you kind of suck at magic, Chan. I suspected they’d be gone within a few hours.”
Chan doesn’t even know where to start, so he settles for muttering as he fixes Wonwoo’s bangs with deft fingers, sighing all the while, “There is something very wrong with you,”
“And, I don’t suck at magic.” Chan continues, through a pout. “Like— Sure, maybe, I need some practice, but I have to be at least decent to summon two copies of you.”
Wonwoo chuckles and hums, the sound intensely sarcastic, immediately peeving Chan even as he nuzzles into his neck softly. “Yes, yes, my little witch. We’ll all be at your mercy, one day.”
“Whatever,” Chan mumbles out, baring his neck so Wonwoo could keep leaving kisses, “And to think I wanted to summon you a work force so you could get your stupid job done quicker.”
Wonwoo laughs unabashedly, his grip around Chan’s waist tightening, “Ah— You’re so cute,” he says, blowing a raspberry into the sensitive skin, coaxing a startled laugh out of Chan too, “Should’ve summoned me two more Chans, instead. Can’t get enough of you.”
Suddenly, Chan understands the sentiment, instantly frowning at the idea. “Immediately no,” he says, leaning back from Wonwoo’s touch, eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about it.”
“No magic in my blood, baby,” Wonwoo placates, leaving a kiss on Chan’s nose, not looking even a little intimidated. “Nothing to worry about.”
Chan hums suspiciously, scrunching his nose as Wonwoo places another kiss, and another, until all the tension leaves him and his shoulders deflate. “You can’t keep using your kisses against me,” Chan mutters out, just a little peeved, the flush on his cheeks giving his true feelings on the matter away.
Wonwoo looks like he didn’t even hear him though, as his expression, this time, takes on a genuine, pensive grimace as he, all off a sudden, fixates on their empty floor. His gaze flickers back to Chan’s face. “I am hotter than them though, right?”
Chan deadpans. “Not jealous” apparently means jealous, just not ready to admit to it. He rolls his eyes at the sentiment, and focuses his attention back to the question posed.
It’s saddening and he really doesn’t want to, but Chan promised his mom that he’ll always tell the truth and nothing but. He sighs, woeful, and resumes his place on Wonwoo’s shoulder with a miserable little plop.
“Yes,” he mutters out. “Unfortunately.”
And to think Chan was certain he could handle three Wonwoos, when he has trouble keeping even one in check.