Work Text:
“Delivery for Yeonjun-ssi.”
The voice is low, gentle, and tinged with a hint of weariness that sneaks past your ears and settles in deeper.
Yeonjun stands frozen for a moment, his hand gripping the edge of his apartment door, distracted as his phone balances between his shoulder and ear. His manager’s voice on the other end continues to drone about tomorrow’s schedule.
“And the brand deal meeting got pushed to eleven, so don’t stay up late again—”
“Mm,” Yeonjun mutters absently.
It’s hard to focus on deadlines when the man outside his penthouse is possibly the most striking person he’s ever laid eyes on.
Dark hair spills messily into eyes that practically radiate warmth. Broad shoulders are cloaked in the standard navy jacket of grocery delivery staff. Plastic bags dangle from his long fingers, and his cheeks carry a soft blush brought on by the bitter February chill.
Pretty.
Unfairly pretty.
There’s an awkward shuffle as the delivery guy notices Yeonjun staring unabashedly.
“Should I leave them here?”
Right. The groceries.
Yeonjun blinks, dragging himself back to reality, a reality where just hours ago, at two in the morning, he’d ordered groceries out of sheer desperation after finding nothing in his fridge except vitamin water and some yogurt that probably should’ve been thrown away last week.
“Yeah—wait, no," he stammers. "Sorry.”
Gathering himself a bit too late, Yeonjun reaches for the bags. Their fingers brush for a fleeting moment.
Embarrassingly cliché contact sets off a strange twinge in his chest. A spark of genuine curiosity, the kind he thought had burned out months, maybe years ago.
His manager’s voice presses against his ear once more, impatient and frustrated.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Nope.”
“Yeonjun!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yeonjun catches the delivery guy’s mask twitch slightly, it’s probably an attempt to suppress a smile.
Clearing his throat in a weak attempt at recovery, Yeonjun finally speaks up again. “Thank you.”
The man responds with a practiced bow. Polite, formal, distant, yet somehow everything about him feels unforced and natural.
“No problem,” he says smoothly before adding, “Have a good night, Yeonjun-ssi.”
It’s the way he says it, the way his name rolls off the man’s tongue, that sends an irritating ripple through Yeonjun's nerves. Before Yeonjun can think of another reply, the delivery guy gives one final nod and starts down the hallway with an effortless stride.
Long legs encased in black jeans.
A single earbud tucked into one ear. That neck.
God help him.
“HELLO?” his manager practically screams into the phone.
Slowly, Yeonjun shuts the door behind him. His mind reels at the encounter as he grips the grocery bags tighter and leans against the wall to collect himself. The realization hits all at once, ridiculous, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
He hangs up on his manager, not wanting to hear more of his voice.
…He might just be in love with his grocery delivery guy.
His name is Soobin, and Yeonjun discovers this fact just thirty seconds later, driven by a strange, impulsive urge to reopen the delivery app merely to confirm. This compulsion feels absurd even to him, but that doesn’t stop him from indulging it.
CHOI SOOBIN: Delivery completed.
The app offers more than just a name, it includes a small profile picture alongside his statistics. Yeonjun, entirely unfazed by his own audacity, zooms in on the photo with no trace of shame. Soobin looks younger in the image, boyish even, but there's something about him that suggests he’s no rookie. He seems like someone who’s been working here for quite some time.
"What the fuck am I doing?" Yeonjun mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he drops his phone onto the smooth surface of the kitchen island. The screen goes dark, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the neatly packed groceries he begins to unbag.
The apartment’s silence immediately wraps around him. With the groceries half-unpacked, he pauses to listen, to really hear it. His space is unnervingly quiet save for the distant traffic trickling in from outside.
It isn’t a lack of aesthetic, the place itself is stunningly curated, with soft ambient lighting spilling from well placed fixtures and sleek, modern furniture that sits against the backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking view of Seoul’s skyline. But at one in the morning, even the luxury loses its luster. The emptiness is pervasive, a hollow echo that Yeonjun can’t quite articulate when others ask about it.
But then again, explaining loneliness when you’re famous always feels like an act of ingratitude.
From the outside looking in, fans assume he leads a life filled with ceaseless excitement and companionship, or a whirlwind of people and events constantly revolving around him. They aren't entirely wrong, there is noise in his life, overwhelming and incessant. Yet it's only one half of the equation.
The other half? Silence so cavernous and intense it’s deafening. When he’s not speaking in interviews or projecting energy to fill livestreams, when he’s away from fansigns or brand engagements, when dance rehearsals and airports and cameras are all behind him, there’s this void. It rings louder than any screaming crowd.
Because despite being perpetually perceived, watched, analyzed, celebrated, he sometimes wonders if anyone sees him for who he really is.
Beneath the veneer of Choi Yeonjun the idol, there remains a person who still aches for connection.
As the last grocery bag is unpacked and tidied away, Yeonjun finds himself instinctively reaching for his phone again before he can stop himself. Once more, he opens the delivery app.
Choi Soobin.
A perfect five-star delivery rating.
Seven hundred and forty two completed deliveries, enough miles traversed to cross an entire country several times over. He clicks on Soobin's profile picture again without hesitation or restraint, fully embracing his own ridiculous behavior at this point.
“Wow,” Yeonjun whispers softly, almost to himself.
The tiny photo lacks detail but still manages to make one thing abundantly clear, Soobin is ridiculously attractive. The kind of good looking that makes Yeonjun’s exhausted brain wander into melodrama before reason kicks in again.
Maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept properly in days that this guy suddenly seems so enticing. Or maybe it’s because his last serious attempt at romance ended in heartbreak six months ago, a bitter dismissal delivered by an actress who had told him flatly that dating him was like dating an empty soul.
Or, if Yeonjun dared to be honest with himself, it’s simpler than any of these theories.
He’s lonely.
There’s no use pretending otherwise.
No friends in the industry that feel real enough to rely on when work takes over his entire existence. No family he visits often enough to maintain close ties with. And no partner willing to shoulder life’s burdens beside him, just a gaping hole full of quiet longing for something he never feels deserving of.
His thumb hovers over the "Reorder" button as if drawn by magnetic force. He immediately snorts at his own absurdity, because ordering solely to see Soobin again would cross every line into outright stalker territory. It’d be irrational, inappropriate… borderline delusional.
But still...
His gaze lingers on the screen longer than he’d care to admit. The internal battle is more amusing than harrowing as conflicting voices grapple over what social norms dictate versus what raw instinct craves.
“…I do need paper towels,” Yeonjun murmurs out loud, eyes still fixed on the phone screen as if daring himself to press that button anyway.
Another exhausting day, another heavy schedule. As soon as Yeonjun steps into his apartment, he sinks onto his oversized couch, letting his head fall back against the headrest. His body aches, but it's the gnawing hunger in his stomach that really bothershim.
The problem? He’s already hit his calorie limit for the day. Still, the hunger wins. A compromise forms in his mind, ramen. It’s light enough to soothe his stomach without guilt, he tells himself.
Grabbing his phone, Yeonjun opens the delivery app, selects the ramen he wants, and starts placing the order. And then, there it is, Soobin. The app has assigned his delivery to Soobin, again.
He can’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.
This isn’t a coincidence, Yeonjun knows it. He’s been ordering food far more often than necessary, all for these fleeting interactions with Soobin. It’s ridiculous. He knows it too, but somehow he can’t bring himself to stop.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, the anticipated doorbell comes. Yeonjun leaps to open the door, stepping out to lean casually against the frame while waiting for Soobin to make his way up the stairs. But as he approaches, Yeonjun notices something different, Soobin isn’t wearing a helmet or a mask this time, and his face is fully visible, finally.
Yeonjun stares without thinking, every feature of Soobin’s face drawing him in irresistibly. The dimples catch his attention first, they’re heart-melting enough to undo him on the spot.
“Hello, Yeonjun-ssi. Here’s your delivery,” Soobin greets cheerfully as he hands over the bag.
Yeonjun accepts it with a shy smile, but before Soobin can turn to leave, he blurts out a question he didn’t mean to ask, “You work late?”
Soobin looks up with mild surprise but answers without hesitation. “Usually.”
“What time do you finish?”
What was that? Why the fuck did he just ask that? Yeonjun internally panics as soon as the words leave his mouth.
Luckily, Soobin doesn’t seem fazed. “Well…it depends. Sometimes around midnight.”
“That sucks,” Yeonjun replies before he can stop himself.
Soobin shrugs lightly. “It pays better at night.”
Yeonjun nods with an awkward slowness, entirely unsure why he’s still standing there staring at this boy who’s so dangerously captivating up close.
And that's when he notices more, the faint scent of Soobin's cologne wafts over to him, clean and comforting in a way that feels oddly intimate. There's a tiny mole nestled beneath his eye near the curve of his nose, something Yeonjun failed to spot before.
Cute, he thinks. No, not cute. Beautiful. He’s devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels completely unfair, like the kind of face someone would write poetry or songs about.
Lost in thought, it takes Yeonjun a moment to realize he's staring again when Soobin tilts his head slightly and asks, “…Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” Yeonjun blurts out so quickly that it makes Soobin chuckle softly, a gentle sound that lances straight through Yeonjun’s chest as if he's been physically struck. Oh, God.
“Okay then,” Soobin says warmly while slipping his phone out of his pocket to check for other deliveries.
And just like that, Yeonjun is hit with a terrible realization, he doesn’t want Soobin to leave yet. He wants him to stay, to talk more, sit down even, tell him something personal…anything at all. Just not leave.
But Soobin is already stepping back toward the stairs as he makes a careful apology. “I should get going before my next order gets reassigned.”
Right. This was work for him, it couldn’t be anything else.
With reluctance heavy in his chest, Yeonjun signs off on the delivery slip and hands it back, struggling to hide his disappointment.
Before disappearing down the stairs, though, Soobin pauses and turns back one last time. “Yeonjun-ssi?”
“Yeah?” Yeonjun's voice comes out more hopeful than he'd intended.
“You should eat real food sometimes,” Soobin says with a gentle smile that feels painfully genuine, calming yet cutting in its simplicity. Then he’s gone just as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving Yeonjun alone again with nothing but the ache of longing that refuses to go away.
Over the following weeks, it becomes almost habitual. Yeonjun begins ordering every single day, often things he doesn’t even need, purely to ensure Soobin is the one delivering to him. Their interactions are fleeting, three minutes at best,
but Soobin always humors Yeonjun’s seemingly pointless questions with kindness.
There was even one alarming occasion when Yeonjun canceled an order simply because another driver was assigned to deliver it instead of Soobin. Staring at the cancellation screen, guilt pooled over him, not for squandering money unnecessarily, but because he wouldn’t be seeing Soobin.
He starts imagining how all this must look from the other side. Surely Soobin notices. How could he not? Nobody orders this much, this often.
Heat creeps up Yeonjun’s neck as the thought takes hold, does Soobin think he’s a creep? Obsessive? Pathetic? The possibility twists something sharp and painful in his gut because perhaps he is all those things. Maybe he crossed the line into abnormal long ago, but stopping now feels impossible.
So here he stands again, staring at his phone screen in the silence of his upscale apartment, debating if ordering strawberries at eleven-thirty at night is far too obvious. And yet, before he can second-guess himself further, he submits the order.
The confirmation screen pops up immediately: Finding your shopper…
Yeonjun hates how loudly his heart pounds in his chest. It’s humiliating.
He’s in his twenties, successful, famous, widely admired. People have openly flirted with him, celebrities at glamorous afterparties have slipped him their numbers, models have sought his attention, actors have stolen glances his way.
None of that compares to the rush of waiting to see if one particular grocery delivery guy accepts his order.
The app refreshes.
Your shopper: Choi Soobin.
Relief floods Yeonjun instantly, and he exhales audibly, a breathless “Oh my god” spilling past his lips.
There’s seriously something wrong with him. He doesn’t know how many times he had thought of this now, for the past month.
Frustrated with himself, he tosses his phone onto the counter and rubs his hands down his face, yet the excitement bubbling beneath his skin refuses to dissipate, so impossible to suppress.
Exactly 18 minutes later, the doorbell rings.
Yeonjun opens the door unnecessarily fast. He always does.
And there he is, Choi Soobin, standing in the hallway with two plastic bags pressed gently against his chest and his cheeks flushed from the bite of the night air outside. Tonight, his damp hair is slightly ruffled as though he’d run through the rain, the dark strands pushed carelessly back away from his forehead.
Illuminated under the soft lighting of the hallway, Soobin looks effortlessly, almost unfairly stunning, not in the curated way Yeonjun is accustomed to after years surrounded by stylists, cameras, carefully crafted beauty designed for perfection, but like someone who doesn’t even realize how attractive they are.
Yeonjun finds himself staring too long, too obviously, long enough for Soobin to laugh and tease, “Did I grow a second head or something?”
This time, Soobin wears his mask tucked loosely beneath his chin.
“You’ve been keeping busy lately,” Soobin comments casually as he passes Yeonjun the bags. “I caught a few clips of your performance online.”
Yeonjun blinks in surprise. “You know who I am?” The words escape him before he can think better of them.
Soobin angles him a deadpan look. “Choi Yeonjun?”
“Fair point. That was… a stupid question.”
“A little,” Soobin replies with dry humor but soft laughter coloring his tone.
“I just figured you wouldn’t care,” Yeonjun admits after a pause. “About me being famous.”
Soobin shrugs lightly in response. “I mean, it’s kind of hard not to know who you are. But your music? It’s really good.” His smile deepens shyly as he rubs at his neck.
The compliment lands like lightning in Yeonjun’s chest, sending sparks of warmth spreading outward in a way that feels surreal, almost dreamlike. “Really?”
In the following heartbeat, he remembers his concert scheduled for tomorrow night and an idea flickers in him, he could invite Soobin. It’d be a chance to see him in a different setting, a chance bigger than these fleeting deliveries. But would it come across as weird to ask?
Hey, grocery delivery guy I might be emotionally projecting on, would you want free VIP access to one of the nation’s biggest concerts solely because I’ve somehow become mildly obsessed with having you pay attention to me?
What on earth was he even doing?
In his daydream like state, reality comes crashing back when Soobin says something utterly grounding yet characteristically kind, “Yes, I think you’re amazing.” The words were so simple, yet they carried profound weight, causing Yeonjun's thoughts to scatter.
Before he could second guess himself into oblivion or mock himself further with internal monologues, the words blurts out of him, “Do you maybe want to come to my concert?”
And then came silence. A heavy kind of silence that was both fleeting and endless. Soobin just stared at him.
Yeonjun freezes in horror, his expression surely betraying how much he wanted to claw the words back. Internally, he screamed at himself.
In pure panic mode, he lashes out with a frantic defense. “I mean—not like— in a weird way— not that this is weird— I just have extra passes and you mentioned seeing clips online and—“
Stop. Stop talking! For the love of everything good and holy, he urgently pleaded with himself. Just shut up now.
To his dismay (or maybe his fortune), Soobin’s eyes widens slightly, not in discomfort but in what looked like quiet surprise, and then his expression softens with something else entirely. Slowly, almost tentatively, a smile curvs on his lips. It starts small and hesitant, and grew until it radiated warmth, the kind that forced Yeonjun’s treacherous heart into a series of giddy missteps against his ribs.
“You’re inviting me?” Soobin’s voice is gentle but incredulous, as though he can’t quite believe what he just heard.
Clearing his throat and hating how rushed he sounded, Yeonjun mumbles defensively, “I had extra tickets.”
Coward. You complete and utter coward, his mind screamed again. Be honest.
Soobin doesn’t miss a beat, observing him with this piercing clarity that hinted there was no hiding here. Of course Yeonjun had tickets, that was a given. But Soobin seemed to know that wasn’t the real reason for this moment.
“I’ve actually never been to a concert before,” Soobin admits, his voice dipping into a shy honesty that strikes Yeonjun like lightning.
“What?” Yeonjun blurts, unable to mask his surprise.
The shy smile plays on Soobin's lips again as he chuckles at Yeonjun’s wide eyed reaction. “I work most nights.”
“Still...” Yeonjun pauses to process this revelation, shaking his head in disbelief. “Never?”
A soft laugh escapes from Soobin's lips as he shrugs lightly. “Nope.”
In an instant, some part of himself ached to give Soobin everything wonderful in the world, every front-row ticket, every backstage pass, every breathtaking and magical thing he could offer. It was an unfamiliar feeling, intense, frightening even, but very impossible to ignore.
Acting before hesitation could stop him again, Yeonjun quickly retreats inside for a moment. He rifles through his things and pulls out one of the VIP passes he had reserved for friends, sacrificing plans without hesitation, and then returns to where Soobin is waiting at the threshold.
Carefully cradling the glossy black and gold card in his hand, he presses it into Soobin’s palm and lingers a second longer than needed. His voice is quieter now but more genuine than it had sounded all night, “Come tomorrow. Please.”
For a few heart stopping moments, Soobin stares down at the tickets before looking back up into Yeonjun’s face. Then his brilliant smile returns, filled with kindness as always. “Thank you.” He took them from his hands.
As Yeonjun grins back at him, filled with a newfound thrilling confidence, he blurts out in the rush of the moment, "Hey, can I get your number? You know… just so we can find each other tomorrow."
Soobin chuckles softly before taking Yeonjun’s phone and entering his digits with ease. "Done," he said, handing it back to him.
"Awesome," Yeonjun replies quickly, unable to stop the goofy grin spreading across his face.
Soobin laughs again, his tone teasing. "I can't believe the Choi Yeonjun is asking for my number and inviting me to his concert."
Matching his playful tone, Yeonjun shoots back without missing a beat, "Well, consider yourself lucky."
Smiling broadly, Soobin nods in amusement. "Alright, I’ll do that." He steps back a little, waving lightly. "Goodnight then… Choi Yeonjun-ssi."
"Goodnight, Soobin-ssi," Yeonjun responds, his voice carrying a warmth he rarely allowed himself to show to others. He stays rooted to the spot, watching as Soobin descended the stairs, disappearing in the darkness of the apartment building.
He’s the happiest he’d ever been since a while now, all thanks to Soobin.
Backstage, a kaleidoscope of color pulses and shifts across enormous screens as the crew hustles through narrow corridors, their headsets pressed tightly against their ears while snippets of urgent conversations flow between them. Security guards flank every entrance, their stances firm and watchful, ensuring no one disrupts the carefully orchestrated chaos. Stylists weave through the crowd with makeup palettes in hand, tossing a rainbow of powders and hues onto faces while maneuvering steaming racks packed with pristine designer outfits. Somewhere in the distance, the thunderous roar of thousands of fans echoes, rising in intensity until it feels as if the walls themselves might give way under the pressure.
The building vibrates with a palpable tension, alive with an electric pulse of excitement and nerves colliding in perfect discord. Amid this buzzing storm of activity,Yeonjun finds himself utterly unable to concentrate.
"Hyung," someone calls, a faint attempt to draw his attention.
Silence stretches thin in response.
"Hyung," the voice repeats, more insistent this time.
Still nothing.
A light tap from a soft makeup sponge lands on Yeonjun's cheek, dragging him back to reality as his stylist lets loose a theatrical sigh of exasperation.
"CHOI YEONJUN," he finally barks, breaking through the fog that had settled over his mind.
"Huh? What?" Yeonjun stammers, jarred as he blinks and refocuses on the mirror before him.
Standing nearby with an expression of growing concern, his manager fixes him with a piercing gaze. "You've been out of it all day. What's going on?"
Yeonjun grabs a decorative cushion that had somehow found its way into the dressing room and lazily chucks it at his manager without so much as pulling his eyes up from his phone. "I'm fine. Not distracted," he mutters.
But his phone screen betrays him. The message still shines bright:
Soobin:
I’m here. I think I’m at the right entrance?? There are so many security guards.
Below the text sits a photo that Soobin just sent, a hasty, slightly grainy shot showing him bundled in a dark hoodie and black face mask, VIP lanyard slung around his neck. It’s endearing, adorable even. Yeonjun doesn’t hesitate to zoom in on the image shamelessly, each detail stealing pieces of his focus.
He can practically imagine Soobin standing near the backstage entrance, looking timid yet out of place amidst the chaos of screaming fans, photographers flashing their cameras at absurd angles, and staff darting from one end to the other in an endless rush of controlled chaos.
Something visceral stirs within Yeonjun’s chest, a bittersweet ache that grows faster than any rational thought can suppress it.
God.
Soobin is actually here.
That truth hits harder than Yeonjun expects it to. Perhaps it's the sharp contrast between their worlds, Soobin’s gentle, grounded existence that's so far removed from this glittering circus act of fame, but the idea that he crossed that barrier just to be here now sends Yeonjun spiraling into feelings he wasn’t prepared for. And suddenly, he cares far too much, more than he cares to admit, about what Soobin thinks of this frenzy that defines his life.
"What are you grinning at?" his stylist pokes, narrowing her eyes at him with growing curiosity.
"I'm not grinning," he lies reflexively.
"You totally are."
Shifting his gaze back to his reflection in the mirror, Yeonjun catches himself red handed. Against every fiber of his resistance, or perhaps even because of it, the faint tug at his lips confirms everything he refuses to admit out loud.
Well, damn. He really is.
The concert is set to start in twenty minutes.
Yeonjun should be warming up by now, focusing, getting his head in the game.
But instead, he’s lingering backstage near the VIP access corridor, trying, badly, to seem like he’s not waiting for someone.
Every so often, staff members zoom past him in a flurry of activity.
“Five minutes until soundcheck!”
“Costume change has been moved to stage left!”
“Where’s Yeonjun?”
None of it registers. Yeonjun isn’t paying attention to anything or anyone else. His eyes keep scanning the area, searching. Waiting. And then his breath halts, catches hard in his chest when he finally sees him.
Just for one fleeting moment, Yeonjun forgets how to breathe.
There Soobin stands, near the security checkpoint, somehow managing to both blend in and stand out all at once. He looks impossibly out of place and yet effortlessly beautiful.
He’s dressed simply, black hoodie under an oversized denim jacket, dark hair tousled, no doubt from the wind outside. A VIP pass dangles around his neck as he shifts awkwardly, hands buried in his pockets while listening politely to a staff member explaining something to him.
He seems nervous, almost small despite his height towering over most of the crowd. Strange how his frame could be so imposing and yet his demeanor feel so unassuming, almost delicate. His careful glancing around, thoughtful not to block anyone’s path, reveals a softness Yeonjun can’t resist.
Then, Soobin’s eyes meet his.
And just like that, his expression softens.
That subtle moment, a flicker of recognition lands harder than a stadium full of screaming fans ever could.
Soobin smiles first.
Yeonjun? He’s completely doomed.
When Yeonjun approaches him, his voice remains steady despite the riot inside him. “There you are.”
“You weren’t kidding about this being intense,” Soobin says softly, taking in the whirlwind of activity around them.
Backstage is an absolute cacophony, staff members dart around shouting instructions and the distant roar of fans drifts from the arena is so loud.
“It gets better once the show starts,” Yeonjun offers with ease he doesn’t feel.
Soobin laughs a quiet laugh then, a simple but devastating sound that lodges itself directly in Yeonjun's chest like a hook he doesn't know how to remove.
Now that they’re this close, Yeonjun picks up on Soobin’s familiar cologne, subtle but so achingly him. Every little thing about him, from the way he tilts his head while listening, to his faintly flushed cheeks, is quickly becoming a problem.
“You look…” Soobin trails off suddenly, hesitating mid thought.
Yeonjun raises an eyebrow at him. “I look… what?”
Soobin’s gaze dips fleetingly over him, taking in every detail of tonight’s stage outfit, which is insane honestly, a sleek black jacket embroidered with intricate flashes of silver, polished rings gracing nearly every finger, smoky eye makeup bringing sharpness to his gaze, and blond hair swept back without a strand out of place. It’s an edgy perfection designed to dazzle under stage lights, and Yeonjun knows he looks stunning. He always does.
But strangely, hearing Soobin say something about it seems terrifyingly important right now.
“…Different,” Soobin finishes, almost hesitantly.
Yeonjun narrows his eyes playfully. “Different good or different bad?”
That earns him another slight smile from Soobin. “Dangerous.”
The word sends a thunderous stutter through Yeonjun’s heart that only irritates him more than it should. He masks it by quirking a cocky grin. “You think I’m dangerous?”
“I think everyone here is scared of you.”
“That’s because I’m amazing,” Yeonjun retorts with mock confidence.
“No,” Soobin says simply, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I think it’s because you look like you bite people.”
Yeonjun sputters, nearly choking on air at the unexpected reply. “What kind of observation is that?”
“A correct one?” Soobin counters, smirking just enough to challenge him further.
“Oh my god,” Yeonjun groans in mock exasperation.
Soobin laughs again, not loud this time, softer but somehow more devastating in its sincerity.
And Yeonjun can feel it, that warm dizziness pooling inside him again, like something that doesn’t belong but refuses to leave.
This moment, right here… This exchange… It’s different from their rushed exchanges at his door, And suddenly Yeonjun understands something deeply unfortunate, he likes Soobin even more when he talks.
A voice calls out from across the hallway, interrupting Yeonjun’s conversation. "Two minutes!" someone shouts.
"Coming!" Yeonjun replies, his tone hesitant as he turns back to face Soobin.
"You can stay backstage during the show if you want," he suggests. "Or watch from the VIP section."
Soobin looks taken aback. "Backstage too?"
"Yeah."
"Is that even allowed?" he asks, skepticism shaping his features.
Yeonjun smirks faintly. "I can do whatever I want."
The response seems to shift something in Soobin's perception, even if just for a moment. His expression becomes subtly different, as though he’s finally acknowledging the weight of Yeonjun’s status.
Before the moment grows too heavy, though, Soobin speaks again, his voice unexpectedly soft.
"It still feels strange."
"What does?" Yeonjun asks.
"That someone as famous as you keeps ordering stupid ramen from me."
Yeonjun can’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out helplessly. "Maybe I just like seeing you."
The words escape before he can stop them, unfiltered, raw, startlingly way too genuine. And suddenly, they’re both frozen in place.
Yeonjun feels an immediate pang of regret. But where Yeonjun expects awkwardness, Soobin doesn’t look uncomfortable. Instead, he studies Yeonjun carefully, his expression shifting slightly, softening, even, like something tender is taking shape behind his gaze.
Then, with a quiet sincerity that takes Yeonjun entirely off guard, Soobin murmurs, "Well... I like seeing you too."
Oh. Oh.
It’s a reply that sends an unmistakable pulse through Yeonjun’s chest, a dangerous confession cloaked in warmth. The kind of truth that threatens to pull him under in ways he isn’t ready to face.
Before he can dwell on it further, the staff springs into action once more, a flurry of motion breaking the fragile moment.
"Positions!"
"We’re live in thirty seconds!"
Noise from the crowd swells into a thunderous roar, shaking the arena.
Instinctively, Yeonjun turns toward the stage entrance, prepared to step into his world. But before his feet can carry him completely away, he hesitates and glances back.
Soobin remains standing under the backstage lights, his attention entirely on Yeonjun. There’s a puzzling expression on his face that’s hard to decipher, some combination of wonder, maybe affection, definitely warmth.
It ignites something fierce inside Yeonjun, a longing so intense it feels like a flame consuming him whole. But it isn’t just desire, it’s not that simple.
He wants Soobin entirely. All of him.
His undivided attention. His quiet presence at odd hours of the night. His laugh filling silences that need breaking.
He wants to know everything, what music plays through Soobin’s headphones during deliveries, what his apartment looks like on lazy Sundays, whether he mumbles in his sleep, or blushes when kissed for the first time.
The realization crashes over him, and Yeonjun feels himself unraveling with its clarity.
Oh god.
He’s already lost, completely and utterly consumed by Soobin.
After the show, Yeonjun is buzzing with a heady mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. Sweat clings to his hair, plastering it to his forehead as staff members swarm around him, detaching microphones and adjusting bits of his costume.
"You killed it tonight."
"The crowd was wild."
"That fancam's going to blow up."
The words barely register.
His focus is elsewhere, on Soobin, waiting near the dressing room door, holding a bottle of water someone must’ve handed him. Just seeing him there fills Yeonjun with an inexplicable happiness.
"There he is, the celebrity," Soobin says softly as Yeonjun approaches. Without hesitation, Yeonjun snatches the bottle from him, their fingers brushing in the process.
"So?" Yeonjun lets the question slip before he can think twice.
"So what?"
"How was it?"
He hadn’t meant for it to sound so vulnerable, but there it is. Somehow, Soobin’s opinion matters far more now than he can admit. Soobin stares for a moment, then chuckles quietly, like he can hardly believe what’s about to come out of his mouth.
"I think I finally get why people lose their minds over you."
Heat races up Yeonjun’s neck in response.
This is ridiculous. Compliments usually roll off of him without a second thought. But coming from Soobin? It always feels different.
"You looked..." Soobin hesitates, searching for the right word. "Huge."
Yeonjun blinks at him. "Huge?"
"Not physically," Soobin clarifies quickly, laughing. "I mean your presence. It’s strange, in a good way. Offstage, you seem..." His gaze wanders across Yeonjun’s face, softening. "...smaller."
The words hit Yeonjun square in the chest and settle there, lingering. Nobody talks to him like this. They talk about his looks, his fame. But Soobin? Soobin sees him. The person beneath all the glitter.
Yeonjun wants him. Fiercely. More than he’s wanted anyone before.
He wants to kiss him. He wants to press him against that dressing room wall with no space left between them. He wants to hear Soobin’s real self when exhaustion melts away his guard.
Wants and wants and wants.
It’s intense, too much to handle all at once.
"You hungry?" Yeonjun blurts out, desperate to diffuse the building tension.
Soobin blinks, caught off guard. "Right now?"
"It’s late," Yeonjun says quickly, scrambling for a reason that doesn’t sound as transparent as it feels. "But I know a spot that’s open even now."
The statement is technically true and absolutely an excuse to keep Soobin close just a little longer.
Soobin tilts his head, considering, then smiles gently. "Okay."
At that moment, Yeonjun feels a quiet and unexplainable triumph, like he’s won some indescribable prize, and it’s everything he could want, yet not enough all at once.
“Alright.”
The restaurant Yeonjun chooses is tucked away three streets from the arena, hidden beneath a narrow building with fogged-up windows and a flickering sign, a place most would pass by without giving it a second thought.
And that’s exactly why Yeonjun likes it. No cameras. No fans loitering outside. No hovering staff pretending not to eavesdrop.
By the time they step inside, it's already nearing one in the morning. Yeonjun instinctively pulls his hood lower as Soobin follows close behind, still wearing the VIP lanyard around his neck since neither of them remembered to remove it.
The restaurant owner spots Yeonjun right away, of course, but thankfully keeps things lowkey, offering a polite bow before leading them to a secluded corner booth without any fuss.
"Do you come here often?" Soobin asks softly once they're seated across from each other.
Yeonjun shrugs lightly. "Whenever I want to feel... normal."
He says it casually, but Soobin’s expression softens, as if he caught something deeper beneath the surface of those words.
Which, well, maybe he did.
The lighting in the booth casts shadows on Soobin's face as he flips through the menu at a leisurely pace. His sleeves are pushed up just slightly now, revealing delicate wrists and hands that Yeonjun notices immediately because, honestly? Soobin’s hands are beautiful. It’s ridiculous how beautiful they are. Not that Yeonjun would ever admit that out loud. He really needs to get himself together.
"You’re staring again," Soobin says, still focused on the menu.
Yeonjun doesn’t even try to deny it this time. "You’re pretty hard not to stare at."
That earns him a glance from Soobin, who seems to be fighting off a grin. "You're surprisingly good at flirting for someone who nearly passed out while inviting me to his concert."
Yeonjun freezes mid thought. "What?"
"You were sweating."
"I had just performed for twenty thousand people!"
"You were nervous before the concert too."
Yeonjun stares at him, utterly mortified. Soobin just keeps watching him, his calm demeanor somehow maddeningly attractive in its own right.
"You notice a lot about me," Yeonjun says carefully.
The moment those words leave his lips, something shifts between them. This time, Soobin doesn’t laugh. Instead, he meets Yeonjun’s gaze evenly, holding it for a steady beat before replying softly, "You notice me too."
Oh.
The waiter interrupts before Yeonjun can find a coherent response, which is probably for the best because his brain has officially short circuited anyway.
They end up ordering enough food for four people because Yeonjun always goes overboard when stressed, and tonight apparently qualifies as stressful. He can’t seem to stop himself from noticing every small thing Soobin does.
The way he thanks the waiter with quiet politeness. The way he absentmindedly brushes his hair aside when he's listening. How intently he listens when Yeonjun speaks, truly listens, not waiting for his turn to say something but soaking up every word like it matters.
It’s strange, really.
Most conversations these days feel fractured somehow, like people are either talking to the public version of him or so nervous they can’t manage anything authentic.
But with Soobin, everything feels different. Disarmingly easy. He makes it feel real.
As the food arrives in a swirl of steam and crackling heat, Yeonjun leans forward. “Alright,” he says with a grin, “tell me about yourself.”
Soobin chuckles softly, and it stirs something in Yeonjun’s chest, something he’s starting to recognize as dangerous. “You ask me.”
“What do you study?” Yeonjun asks then.
“Literature.”
He blinks, genuinely caught off guard. “Really?”
Soobin raises an eyebrow. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“I don’t know,” Yeonjun admits with a laugh. “I guess I pegged you for a business major or something.”
Soobin snorts. “I like books.”
“What kinds?”
“Mostly poetry,” Soobin says with a casual shrug. “Novels too. Honestly, anything sad enough to wreck me emotionally.”
Yeonjun stares, trying to suppress a grin. “You’re into poetry?”
Soobin’s expression shifts to mock offense. “You say that like it’s offending.”
“No, no, it’s not that—” Yeonjun laughs despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re just... full of surprises.”
“What? Because I carry people’s groceries for a living?”
The words aren’t laced with bitterness exactly, but there’s something unspoken beneath them that makes Yeonjun sit up straighter in his chair. “No,” he says quickly. “That’s not what I meant—”
“I’m joking,” Soobin cuts in softly, though his gaze lingers on Yeonjun for a beat longer than usual. “Mostly.”
The conversation lapses into a brief but comfortable silence.
Outside, snow begins to drift lazily onto the streets, Yeonjun feels at peace, he had always loved snowy days. As Soobin takes a slow sip of water under the warm light, something clicks in Yeonjun’s mind. The thought surfaces with startling clarity:
I want this man so much it’s starting to feel like an actual problem.
“So,” Soobin says after setting his glass down, “what about you?”
Yeonjun blinks at the question. “Me?”
“What else do you like? You know, besides being on stage.”
He hesitates for a second before answering. “I like dancing,” he offers.
“That’s still work though,” Soobin points out, tilting his head slightly.
“True,” Yeonjun concedes with a small smile. “But I loved it before it became work.”
Soobin studies him intently, and before Yeonjun can overthink it, the words start spilling out.
“I like late night drives,” he starts, speaking slowly as he considers the things he never usually shares. “I like action movies. I like falling asleep listening to music on my headphones.” He pauses to laugh lightly. “I love dogs... and writing in my journal.”
There’s a flicker of change on Soobin’s face as he tilts his head again. “Well,” he finally says, voice low but steady, “you’re still just Yeonjun to me.”
The warmth spreading through Yeonjun’s chest is almost unbearable this time. He drops his gaze to the table, cheeks flushed with something that feels like vulnerability.
It hits him all at once the overwhelming realization that he can’t remember the last time someone made him feel so wholly understood in such a short amount of time.
Maybe no one ever has.
By the time they step out of the restaurant, the city feels unusually still, hushed under a sky spitting snow. Soft white flakes flutter gently through the glow of streetlights as their breath steams in the frigid air.
Yeonjun knows he should probably head home alone, that would be the sensible thing to do. But instead, the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Do you want to come over for a bit?"
Soobin glances at him, curiosity flitting across his face. "To your place?"
"Yeah."
There’s a pause. Just a moment where Soobin seems to weigh his options. Then he nods, once. "Okay."
And just like that, Yeonjun's pulse skyrockets, as if he’s just pulled off something monumental.
Something about the apartment feels different with Soobin in it. It’s warmer. Or maybe fuller, less lonely.
Snow falls beyond the massive windows, while Seoul stretches out below them, bathed in soft gold lights. The room feels cocooned in that quiet magic.
Yeonjun tosses his keys on the counter and watches as Soobin wanders through the living room. His gaze roams over the shelves, the framed records, and out to the sprawling windows that slice through the night like portals.
"You really live here," Soobin murmurs, his voice carrying a mix of awe and disbelief.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"I don’t know." A faint smile tugs at Soobin’s lips. "It just… still feels strange sometimes."
Yeonjun leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed, quietly observing him.
"What? How famous I am?"
Soobin shrugs slightly. "Yeah."
But there’s no bitterness in his voice. No discomfort. Just candor. Like he’s stating a fact, nothing more.
"You looked different tonight," Soobin says. Bringing that up again.
Yeonjun freezes for a fraction of a second; his heartbeat stutters. "How so?"
Turning toward him slowly, Soobin holds his gaze with a new kind of intensity. "Like everyone belonged to you."
The knot in Yeonjun’s throat tightens instantly. It’s such a foreign thing to hear, nobody has ever said anything like that to him before. "You make me sound like some kind of villain," Yeonjun says, voice just a bit hoarse.
Soobin shakes his head, his expression unreadable but soft. "No," he murmurs. "Just... this insanely powerful energy."
For a moment, silence grips the space between them. There’s an unwavering focus in Soobin’s eyes now as he edges closer, each step heightening Yeonjun’s awareness.
His wanting, tangled and slowly burning, has been creeping its way into everything for weeks now. Each accidental touch feeding it until tonight, standing here together in the dim intimacy of Yeonjun’s apartment, it feels like they’ve reached some invisible threshold.
And Yeonjun is teetering on its edge.
"You’re staring again," Soobin says softly.
But this time, his tone has shifted. It carries a different weight, like each word is soaked in unspoken desire. Breathier, almost.
Yeonjun steps closer before he can overthink it. "So are you." His voice drops into something quieter but charged. "Why? Why are you staring at me like that?"
Their proximity now borders on unbearable, a space so small it almost ceases to exist. Yeonjun can catch every detail this close, like the tension tightening Soobin’s shoulders, the way his breathing has shuddered ever so slightly now that there's barely any distance between them.
"Yeonjun…" Soobin whispers his name like it’s something fragile yet sacred.
And hearing it like that, like it's been on the tip of Soobin's mind for hours or days or maybe longer, it undoes Yeonjun completely.
In an instant, restraint crumbles. All of it, the longing kept carefully in check, the persistent ache comes crashing through him with potent urgency.
And then Soobin makes a move to break it. His hand reaches for his jacket as he murmurs, hesitant but firm, "I should probably go—"
Without thinking, Yeonjun reacts instinctively. His hand closes gently around Soobin’s wrist before he can turn away.
"You don’t have to," Yeonjun says. His voice is barely above a whisper.
Soobin’s gaze flickers down briefly to Yeonjun’s hand gripping his wrist, then back up to meet his eyes. The intensity of the moment nearly overwhelms him. His voice comes out quiet. “What?”
“I don’t want you to go,” Yeonjun blurts out, unable to hold the words back anymore. At this point, everything feels so natural, like he’s crossed a line and doesn’t care where it leads.
Fully committing to the moment, Yeonjun steps closer.
His grip on Soobin’s wrist remains firm while his other hand rises hesitantly, brushing his fingers up against the soft skin beneath Soobin's jaw. It's instinctive, as if drawn by gravity he can’t explain.
Soobin sucks in a sharp breath.
And Yeonjun suddenly feels lightheaded.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, the admission tumbling out like a confession he never planned. His name leaves his lips like a prayer. “Soobin... I want you.”
The words are out before Yeonjun can hold them back. Soobin’s surprise is evident, not repelled or shocked, but something far softer. Genuine excitement flickers across his expression, faint yet unmistakable. And it tells Yeonjun enough.
Without allowing hesitation to grip him again, Yeonjun leans in, his head tilting upward to close the distance and press his lips against Soobin’s, finally, after what has felt like weeks of longing and restraint.
The kiss lands messy at first, rushed by a tide of pent-up emotion and weeks of unbearable tension. But then, when Soobin begins to kiss him back, slowly at first, tenderly, it becomes something else entirely. Yeonjun feels his thoughts scatter as his lungs fill with breathless yearning.
Oh.
Fuck.
He barely registers when his back bumps against the kitchen island because all he can focus on is the way Soobin follows him without hesitation, the flush of their bodies pressed close together like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly into place.
Soobin’s uneven breaths warm against Yeonjun’s lips, delicate urgency vibrating between them like an unspoken language. His hands tremble where they settle cautiously at Yeonjun’s waist, unsure yet deeply present.
“Come here,” Yeonjun breathes against Soobin's lips, even though there’s hardly space left between them.
Still, Soobin instinctively steps closer, a slight motion that presses him between Yeonjun’s knees as he’s sitting halfway against the counter now. The motion is small yet impossibly consuming, and it steals Yeonjun's breath all over again.
Because Soobin came willingly. Like he was waiting for this moment too.
Yeonjun’s hands slide beneath the hem of Soobin’s hoodie, fingers tracing over warm skin at his waist. Soobin shivers under his touch, almost imperceptibly. But Yeonjun notices.
It’s unbearably, too much. Too cute for Yeonjun to handle with any semblance of restraint.
Without pause, he kisses him again, this time slower. More deliberate. Savoring the softness of Soobin’s lips now that the panic and desperate heat of their first kiss have subsided just a little. And it surpasses everything Yeonjun had imagined, which is saying something because he’s imagined this moment far too many times in excruciating detail.
The thought draws a fleeting smile against Soobin’s mouth before Yeonjun can help it.
“What?” Soobin breathes out quietly when their lips part for a second.
Yeonjun shakes his head with a faint smirk before leaning in to capture him in another kiss.
Because how could this be real?
How could Soobin be here now, in this very apartment, kissing him back like he wants this just as much as Yeonjun always has?
“You’re beautiful,” Yeonjun whispers in awe before he can stop himself, the words escaping on instinct.
At once, Soobin ducks his head slightly as if the compliment is too much, as if it flusters him to hear it directly from Yeonjun.
And that? That ruins Yeonjun entirely. There’s no coming back from that shy tilt of Soobin’s head. It feels devastating in the best way, the way in which someone so undeniably exquisite could still find himself bashful about hearing it aloud.
Reaching out softly, Yeonjun tilts Soobin's chin upward with gentle fingers until their gazes lock once more.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says quietly, his words carrying a promise as much as an instruction.
Soobin doesn’t respond verbally, but he closes the distance between them, capturing Yeonjun’s lips in a move that catches him off guard.
This time, Soobin’s hands are no longer hesitant, they find their purpose. One glides beneath Yeonjun’s shirt, resting firmly yet tenderly against his waist, while the other lays warm and steady at the back of his neck. The touch sets Yeonjun aflame, he leans closer, kisses trailing from Soobin’s lips down to the soft curve of his jawline. His mouth lingers against the sensitive skin there, drawing a sharp inhale from Soobin that nearly undoes him in an instant.
"Right here?" Yeonjun murmurs, voice teasing but low. "Sensitive?"
Soobin answers only with a small nod and a delicate sound, his vulnerability clear in the way he reacts. The simplicity of it makes Yeonjun chuckle softly before leaning in to give him another gentle kiss. His lips hover for a beat, as if savoring the closeness. “Tell me, Soobin. Do you want me?”
There’s no hesitation in Soobin’s reply. He nods again with fervor, his voice lightly strained as he manages, “Yeah. I do.” His throat works around a swallow, almost like speaking those words aloud leaves him shaken yet resolute.
Yeonjun’s lips twist into a smirk, confident but playful. “Then…” Without hesitation, he practically springs upward, arms locking tightly around Soobin’s neck and legs wrapping snugly around his waist. The boldness catches Soobin off guard yet anchors his footing. Yeonjun tilts his head toward the nearby door and points nonchalantly. “The bedroom’s right there,” he says, motioning for Soobin to carry him the rest of the way.
Yeonjun possesses a beauty and confidence that completely unravels Soobin, leaving him dazed and brimming with uncontainable excitement, though he barely lets it show.
Soobin carries Yeonjun into the room he had gestured towards. Yeonjun’s bedroom is spacious and shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the glow of the cityscape visible through the large windows.
Careful and deliberate, Soobin lays him down atop the expansive bed, his movements hesitating as if unsure, revealing traces of nervousness he can't quite hide.
But Yeonjun is the picture of calm, exuding an effortless ease. In fact, amusement plays on his lips as he watches Soobin's lingering uncertainty.
Hovering slightly above him, Soobin hesitates still, his mind grappling with disbelief. The sight before him feels surreal, Yeonjun sprawled out across his own bed, gazing up at him with an air of belonging, like this moment is meant to be.
“You seem nervous,” Yeonjun remarks, his voice soft yet teasing.
Soobin responds with a subdued laugh, shaking his head gently. “I’m not.”
“Liar,” Yeonjun retorts with quiet conviction, tugging him closer by the collar of his hoodie.
When their lips meet again, it’s no longer hurried nor tentative. Yeonjun’s hand finds its way to Soobin’s hair without hesitation, his fingers curl within it as though this intimacy has always existed between them, natural despite its unfamiliarity.
After a few lingering moments on Yeonjun’s lips, Soobin trails his kisses lower, aiming for the exposed curve of his neck. Without hesitation, Yeonjun tilts his head back to offer more space, his adam's apple shifting with the motion. A raw, unfiltered moan escapes him, filling the room with unashamed vulnerability.
“Soobin… Oh god, please. I need you now.”
As Soobin lifts his eyes to meet Yeonjun’s, he feels caught in the intensity of his gaze. He can feel how hard he’s getting from all of this. “What do you need?”
“You, baby. Please. I need you to fuck me right now.” Yeonjun whispers, shamelessly. He cups Soobin’s face, “I need you inside me.”
His resolve, already fragile, crumbles completely, leaving only the desire to melt into Yeonjun and give him everything he’s asking for. "O-okay…" he stammers, the nerves in his voice impossible to hide, but his actions speak louder than his words.
Determined now, Soobin rises to his knees, hands trembling slightly while tugging his hoodie over his head with hurried movements. Beneath it, his t-shirt clings to his skin before he pulls that off too, carelessly discarding both garments onto the floor.
Yeonjun watches him with unblinking focus, taking in every subtle motion. He barely suppresses a gasp at the sight before him. Soobin’s lean frame illuminated by the faint city lights streaming through the window. Mesmerized, Yeonjun reaches out on instinct until one hand rests against Soobin’s chest.
His fingers trace an absentminded path over smooth skin, exploring every dip and plane. When he finally tilts his head back up to catch Soobin’s expression, those heavy-lidded eyes stop him in his tracks. They’re otherworldly, dark and intense, and yet shining with something so tender it almost stops Yeonjun’s heart. Beneath the low glow spilling into the room, Yeonjun swears he’s never seen anything more gorgeous than Soobin right now.
“You’re shaking,” Yeonjun murmurs.
Soobin laughs quietly under his breath, embarrassed. “Can you blame me?”
“A little,” Yeonjun teases. His fingertips drift lazily over Soobin’s skin, tracing along his collarbone like he’s trying to memorize him. “You act calm, but your heart’s beating so fast.”
Soobin finds himself swallowing hard again, he could deny it, but even he knows it would be useless with how vulnerable he feels at this moment. His hands begin moving instinctively toward Yeonjun now, seeking permission without even speaking it aloud. Slowly but deliberately, he starts undoing the buttons of Yeonjun's shirt, each one revealing more of that smooth skin that seems to glow.
His fingers fumble slightly as nerves creep in, but after what feels like forever, though it can’t have been more than a few moments, he finishes unbuttoning the shirt entirely. Yeonjun shifts forward, sitting up just enough to allow Soobin to slide it off of him completely. The fabric pools on the floor at his side as their gazes meet again.
Gently but with a confident pull, Yeonjun brings Soobin down into another distracting kiss. His hands wander playfully to the waistband of Soobin’s sweatpants, toying with the strings before tugging them loose with deliberate ease.
Moments later, barriers fall away entirely. Both are stripped completely bare, off of their pants and boxers as well.
With a teasing smirk curling his lips, Yeonjun shifts their positions to take control. Hovering above Soobin, he dips down to brush feather soft kisses down his chest. Each touch is maddeningly slow, an intentional pace that only adds to the magnetic pull between them. Both shiver slightly as Yeonjun continues his artful teasing that leaves them both breathless.
As Yeonjun’s teasing reaches its peak, he lets his mouth ghost over Soobin’s rock hard length, brushing the barest of kisses along the tip. The teasing restraint drives Soobin to let out a soft whine, his fingers tangling in Yeonjun’s hair with an almost desperate tug, silently pleading for more.
In response, Yeonjun's smirk deepens. He parts his lips and takes just the head into his warm mouth, humming in satisfaction as the sound vibrates through him, deliberately loud and calculated to inflame the tension between them.
“Oh my god, Yeonjun,” Soobin’s breath catches as he groans, the wet heat around him leaving him no room to hold back. His hips instinctively shift forward, urging Yeonjun closer, unable to contain his desire.
Meeting Soobin’s urging head on, Yeonjun relaxes and takes more of him into his mouth. sucking it all the way down, and up again. Now bobbing his head with a newfound pace that makes Soobin whine and whimper.
“Y-Yeonjun, wait.” Soobin tries to pull Yeonjun away when he feels that he’s close to reaching his climax. Understanding that, Yeonjun pulls away from him, licking his lips.
Taking in the sight before him, Yeonjun can't help but smile. Soobin lies there, utterly undone, a vision that stirs something deep within him. “You like it?” His voice drops to a hushed tone as he leans closer, brushing his lips against Soobin's briefly, an intimate gesture that shares a taste of what lingers with him.
Soobin gives a slight nod, using his larger hands to pull Yeonjun closer by his slim waist. "I love it. You're incredible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with an air of breathless awe.
Yeonjun smiles softly, reaching for the bedside table to rummage through the drawer quickly. He retrieves a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms, tossing them onto the bed within arm's reach. Staying close, he looks at Soobin with a playful glint in his eyes. "Do you want me to handle this, or are you going to prep me?" he asks, his tone light but charged.
Soobin hesitates for just a moment before responding, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with endearing shyness. "I want to take care of you... if you'll let me."
Yeonjun's heart races at the sincerity in Soobin’s words. With a breathless smile, he whispers, "Yeah… I’ll let you."
Shifting onto his back beside Soobin, Yeonjun helps guide him closer until Soobin is hovering over him once again. Determined yet slightly nervous, Soobin reaches for the bottle of lube. He squeezes out a generous amount onto his fingers, taking a second to rub them together and warm the slick substance. Gently, he begins to trace soft circles around Yeonjun’s sensitive entrance, taking his time with deliberate care and tenderness.
Soobin slowly slides two fingers inside of him, drawing a sharp gasp from Yeonjun, who instinctively grips his upper arms. A low curse escapes Yeonjun’s lips as Soobin begins moving his fingers in and out with a steady rhythm.
Yeonjun feels overwhelmed, lost in the sheer intensity of sensation. He had always imagined that being with Soobin would be everything he ever dreamt of, but he never expected this level of pleasure, the kind that leaves every nerve alive and quivering.
As Soobin picks up the pace, his fingers expertly finding Yeonjun's most sensitive spots, the overwhelming waves of bliss leave him teetering on the edge of control. “Fuck, Soobin… I—I’m ready, I need you now.”
With that confirmation, Soobin pulls put his fingers, reaching for a condom. He rips it open and swiftly rolls it onto his aching cock. He pours lube onto his hand and covers his member with it quickly. He’s just as impatient as Yeonjun now, trying his absolute hardest to stay composed.
Soobin leans down to kiss Yeonjun who seems so out of it now, to distract him from the painful stretch as he suddenly pushes all the way into him. Yeonjun let’s out a loud moan which is swallowed as quickly by Soobin’s impatient mouth.
Feeling Yeonjun’s ring of muscles relax and loosen up around him, Soobin starts moving his hips slowly, the pace growing quicker gradually.
Yeonjun’s uncontrollably moaning now, dragging his nails all across Soobin’s back and arms, not being able to say anything else other than Soobin’s name, over and over again like a prayer.
If there was a moment Yeonjun would like to capture in his entire existence, it would be this moment, he thinks in his mind. Because he feels like he had found everything he needed in this guy, Soobin, who is just as simple as a delivery man.
He loves him. He loves him so much.
“Soobin-ah… I love you.” Yeonjun whispers into his ear as he teeters on his edge, finally reaching his climax and painting all over his own stomach.
Soobin groans at the words, so honestly spoken in such a vulnerable moment, he can’t stop himself from saying “I love you.” so quietly, even more quiet than a whisper. He finally so pleasurably reaches his own climax, collapsing right onto Yeonjun’s spent out body. They stay just like that for a few seconds to get a grip and stabilize their own breathing.
Soobin pulls out of him eventually, discarding the condom and throwing it into the trash can next to the bed. He lays back down right next to Yeonjun, wrapping his arms around his body.
Yeonjun hums softly at the contact, relaxing deeper into Soobin’s arms, scooting just as much as he can if he belongs there. As if he’s been waiting for it. He whispers, “Are you serious?”
“Hm?” Soobin hums, looking down at him. “What do you mean?”
“About… About loving me?” He asks it so innocently and simply, like they did not just so something so very unholy. Looking into Soobin’s eyes like he needs a proper answer.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replies quietly. “So yes. I mean it.”
Something in Yeonjun’s face breaks in relief so pure it almost looks overwhelming. A bright, unguarded smile spreads across his lips before he can stop it.
“I love you too,” he says, like it’s been sitting inside him for too long. “I’ve been insane about you for so long, Soobin.”
Soobin lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I think I knew that already. You’re not exactly subtle, Choi Yeonjun-ssi.”
“Hey.”
The instant pout earns another laugh from Soobin, warmer this time. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Yeonjun’s lips, cutting off the protest before it can fully form.
Yeonjun melts instantly. He is just that easy for him.
“Better,” Soobin mumbles afterward, still close enough that their foreheads almost touch. He smiles faintly, idly playing with a strand of Yeonjun’s hair between his fingers. “So…”
“Hm?”
“Should I ask you out properly?”
Yeonjun hums thoughtfully, pretending to consider it with exaggerated seriousness. Soobin actually holds his breath for a second, which makes Yeonjun grin.
Then, completely deadpan, he says, “I think we should get married.”
Soobin laughs, a sound that Yeonjun had started loving the most in this world. “What?”
Yeonjun nods like it’s the most reasonable suggestion in the world. “I’m serious. Dating feels unnecessary. Let’s just skip to the important part.”
That makes Soobin pause for half a second. Then he hums thoughtfully, playing along with exaggerated seriousness, as if they’re negotiating something far more official than they actually are.
“Okay,” Soobin says at last, voice calm. “I accept.” Soobin adjusts the blanket over them without thinking, pulling it higher as Yeonjun settles against his chest. He presses a light kiss into Yeonjun’s hair.
Yeonjun chuckles quietly then, leaning closer to into him to get more comfortable in as his arms. He can feel the exhaustion finally starting to reach his body after this incredibly long day, also the bestest day of his life.
Sleep starts to creep in slowly, wrapping around them comfortably. Yeonjun is almost gone into it when he suddenly shifts slightly, as if remembering something very important at the edge of consciousness. He can’t stop himself from asking:
“Soobin, should we have a daughter too?”