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The muffled laughter and clinking glasses from the living room drifted through the slightly ajar sliding door, but in the kitchen, the air felt thicker, quieter, almost electric. The bass from the living room thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, but Wooyoung barely noticed it anymore. His head buzzed softly around the edges. Too much beer. Weird, he was certain he made sure he didn’t drink more than three glasses but hell, he didn’t even remember at what point he started lighting blunts.
He stumbled into the kitchen, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gripped the edge of the sink for balance. Wooyoung leaned against the marble counter, the cold making him shiver. Moonlight filtered through the window above the sink, pale enough to outline the sheer fabric stretched across his torso, the intricate lace down on both sides of his pants, the soft definition of muscle beneath translucent black. His breath was steady but uneven, a cocktail of nervous excitement and that unfamiliar buzz from the earlier drinks (although it may be the effects of the drugs he took but he would never admit that).
His shirt stuck faintly to the small of his back, warm from the press of bodies and the thick air of sweat and smoke. The kitchen was empty, mostly dark except for the fridge light that someone probably forgot to close all the way. He reached toward the higher cupboards, fingers trembling slightly, fumbling once, twice. His thoughts moved faster than his hands.
Fuck it.
No glass.
Wooyoung leaned forward, turning on the faucet. He cupped water in his palms, before immediately giving up on that too, ducking lower to drink straight from the stream. What a good idea.
Cold hit his tongue like a slap.
It sliced through the stale taste of alcohol in his mouth, clinging to the back of his throat. Sharp enough to almost burn, unforgettable. For a second, he could only focus on that feeling. The shock of it. The intimacy of it. He wondered how would it feel to be bitten from the inside.
Would it feel as good as this ? Probably not. The thought settled strangely in his chest. He found himself sad at the idea of never getting to experience this kind of proximity. Unfair, really. Lips got kissed. Thighs got bitten. But this part of him, hidden somewhere deep behind bone and flesh, would stay untouched forever. Lonely in a way nothing should be.
Maybe he was more gone than he thought, it made him giggle to himself a little.
The realization sobered him. Like the night was trying to rinse itself out of him one drop at a time.
He drank greedily, water splashed against his lips, dribbling past the corner of his mouth, cold rivulets trailing down his chin. It hit the skin of his chest, damp, cooling the heat still pulsing under his collarbones. He didn’t bother wiping it away. Didn’t care. Just let it run, soaking the thin edge of his neckline, before sliding beneath his shirt. He stayed bent over the sink for another moment, eyes half-lidded, listening to the water run like a distant thought. He was sure it was murmuring secrets but nobody really took the time to listen carefully, to decrypt its language. He promised he would pay attention next time.
When he finally straightened, his spine stretched with a quiet pop, breath steadying, chin wet, shirt clinging lightly to his chest. The room still spun faintly, but clearer now. The alcohol hasn’t let go yet, not fully but he decided it was enough water for now. He blinked slowly while his hands rested on the edge of the sink, gripping it lightly like he was still deciding if he wanted to steady himself or let go.
His breath tasted clean now. Cold.
He rolled his jaw and exhaled through his nose. As if rooted to the spot, he remained against the counter, fingertips cool against the marble, eyes fixed on the trickle of water that dripped down from the faucet. The haze in his head remained, but his thoughts had cleared enough to think clearly. And that, somehow, was worse but enough to notice things
Like the feeling of someone stepping behind him.
A body pressing close without quite touching, arms bracketing either side of the sink, warmth spreading against his back. Not forceful, just there, anchoring him without warning.
Warm breath brushed the side of his neck.There was a beat where he thought he imagined it. Then the scent hit him, a faintly sweet mix with alcoholic and faint cologne. Familiar. Comforting. Off. He froze. He knew that scent.
His stomach tightened before his brain even caught up. San.
Of course it was him, he could’ve picked that scent out from hundreds.
San didn’t say a word, just closed the last bit of distance between them like it meant nothing at all. Which was ridiculous, because it shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, Wooyoung’s heart thudded in his chest, for unknown reasons, a wild rhythm that threatened to betray his cool facade.
“Where did you go for so long, I was worried,” he said, voice coming out low and soft, the same tone he usually used when approaching stray cats.
Wooyoung turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back,and instantly regretted it,the sight making something stutter in his chest. San looked wrecked in the prettiest way possible. Flushed, heavy eyes, hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it all night. And that slow, tilted grin he only wore when he’d had too much to drink, when he’d crossed the line past tipsy and stopped caring about how he came across. But this felt different. There was something looser about him tonight, reckless in a way that made him look a little too bold, too sure of himself.
“Come on,” San said, a little breathier this time, a proper smile now curled around the edges. “Look at me in the eyes Woo, stop stealing glances, it's disrespectful ”.
“You okay ?” he asked quietly, not moving yet, still half-caged between his arms. San never let himself drink that much, it was kind of unusual.
“Mhm.” San hummed lazily . “You, on the other hand look like you just walked out of a daydream though. Water helped ?” He nodded once, trying not to focus on the way their bodies were almost touching, on the way San leaned in a little more, just to make sure they did.
“You never drink more than two glasses,” he says, voice careful. Measured. “Are you–?”
“I’m fine”, the other cut in, grinning wider. “Actually, I feel amazing”. He paused, looking over his shoulders, to the still-damp collarbones, to his clinging shirt. His hand slid from Wooyoung’s waist up along his ribs, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns that made his skin tighten with anticipation. San’s thumb brushed under the hem of his sheer top, making the cool air of the kitchen collide with the heat of his touch, like a slap and a kiss at once.
“You look very distracting right now.” San whispered, amusement softening his voice, “ I can’t stop staring.”
His breath caught.“San…Don’t be like this” he replied, low, part warning, part plea.
“Like how” his best friend whispered back, moving even closer, pressing his chest fully to his back now. His lips hovered near the shell of his ear, warm and reckless. “I can’t help myself, you never let me see you like this.”
He didn’t know what this meant. Didn’t ask. Didn’t even want to ask. His brain snagged somewhere between turning around and staying where he was, safe from his stupidly beautiful face. San nudged his nape gently with his nose.
“Turn around,” he said again, quieter this time. Almost like an order. And who was Wooyoung to disobey ?
Suddenly the water sitting heavy in his stomach felt miles away. Like he never drank in the first place. He contemplated turning around. Not because he didn't want to. Because he knew the second he turned around, something would shift between them. Something would slip . Maybe something would break ( certainly not his self-control ).
A drop of water hit the sink. Right, this is real.
But San was still there, waiting, faithful to himself. Still wrapped around him like a heat he couldn’t shake. Grinning like he wasn’t even aware he was lighting matches just by standing there. He exhaled once, slowly, and turned. And it was worse. The visual more brutal than whatever mental image he unconsciously made up in his mind while listening to his sultry voice.
Face to face, their bodies barely an inch apart, the space between them sharp with tension. San was watching him like he was something to study. Like he was unfamiliar in all the ways that felt intimate. He wondered if he looked at San this way when he was the one drunk and he immediately felt like he was watching this interaction from a stranger's view; it was disturbing. But that was just his opinion.
San’s gaze dragged downward again, tracing a road only he knew the destination, unapologetically – to his neck, collarbone, the soft curve of his throat, wet with the water that had time to vanish but somehow still lingered, glistening against the moonlight. He leaned in, breath ghosting over Wooyoung’s ear.
“You really look like you just got fucked,” he murmured under his breath, so low Wooyoung could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to the other’s words.
Wooyoung’s fingers tightened against the counter, and he swallowed hard, trying to ground himself, but San’s proximity was magnetic. He was drunk on it, on San. He didn’t think a cure existed, and he secretly hoped there wasn’t.
“San… you’re drunk,” he said, voice firm but gentle, aching to create space between them.
Wooyoung’s pulse was hammered. He held his breath as San’s fingers drifted lower, inching toward dangerous territory, his touch nothing but daring, almost tempting. Fingers tiptoeing along the edge of his pants. The pants in question were black, low-slung, and laced like a corset down both hips that left slivers of skin visible through the threading. No room for modesty. No room for underwear.
His fingertips were already tugging gently at one of the laces, like this was just another casual day. The tip of his index finger brushed the exposed skin between the crisscrossed strings, soft and slow.
"I’m not drunk, I’m just happy”. His thumb slid against bare skin again.
“ And these pants look very good on you Wooyoung" San added, giggling softly, amused by something he didn’t care to share. His eyes dropped to his hands, still lazily working the side threads like he was tightening secrets.
The tension thickened instantly, lazy, syrup-thick, stretched thin by booze and something they never cared to talk about. The room could be spinning, or it could be still. He didn’t know. Time has been acting strange since he entered this kitchen. San’s thumb dragged up the outer side of the hip where skin peeked through.
Another drop hit the sink. Right, this is real.
He swallowed hard, torn between reason and the ache building in his chest. “You’re not thinking straight, you’re so annoying when you’re drunk.”
He huffed a breath, nervous, waiting for the other boy’s response. San laughed. “But you know I’m telling the truth right?”
Wooyoung lifted a hand to press his palm lightly against his best friend’s chest. Just enough to create space and to attempt to think straight, not that he succeeded."You're not gonna remember half of this tomorrow,” he said, voice now flat.
He looked up to make eye contact with San, wanting to support his words, but he sensed the weight of that look before he fully registered it, the slow, passionate and heated stare from San, eyes heavy with something that shouldn’t be there between them. There was a soft sheen in his dilated pupils, two black holes staring at his soul. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but the words got tangled in the heat of the moment.
A flicker of surprise cut across him, quick and sharp like a jolt. Because he knew that look. It wasn’t just casual or friendly – it was the kind of gaze loaded with something more. But seeing it now, locked in his best friend’s eyes, unsettled him in the worst way.
“San, seriously. You shouldn’t-”Wooyoung whispered, voice trembling. The tip of San’s thumb traced the shell of his ear, sending sparks shooting down his spine despite the warning bells ringing in his head.
Another drop hit the sink. Right, this is unreal.
He looked away first. It was too much. The eye contact. The hands. The words that felt like traps. But the other didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, one leg slipping between his slightly parted ones, thigh brushing against thigh like it was usual.
“I like seeing you like this,” echoing his words from earlier. “Flushed. Quiet. Wet.”
Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to push him back, putting both hands on his chest though it lacked any real conviction. San tipped forward instead, a little sway in his movement, down into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, licking a fat, slow stripe up one of his prominent neck veins, licking away all traces of water, but somehow leaving it a lot more wet.
“Fuck” he moaned against his will, his hand flying into San’s hair. His neck has always been sensitive and today was no different; he doubted San didn't know.
Lips ghosting just above skin, he hears it, almost broken:
“Young-ah…please”
It spilled out against his neck in a half-whimper, the syllables soaked in need. Barely a sound, like his name tasted too good to say out loud but it spilled out anyway, dragged from the back of his throat with heat and surrender.
“No,” he said trying to sound convincing, but it wasn't, even to his own ears and Wooyoung’s body betrayed him, responding to the proximity, to the pressure of his touch and to the way San’s breath warmed his skin. He tried to resist, to push away, but his limbs felt like they no longer belonged to him. This was wrong.
A last drop hit the sink. Right, this is too real.
“San-ah ! Please, you’ll regret this tomorrow, don’t do this to yourself,”he heard himself shout.
“So what?” he whispers, his lips hovering just inches from Wooyoung’s, his eyes searching, daring. “Let me kiss you once,” he murmured. “Then we stop, I promise”.
For a moment, the kitchen, the beach house, the entire world fell away, leaving just the two of them tangled in heat and words unspoken.
Suddenly, a burst of laughter echoed from the living room, followed by a chorus of familiar voices.
“Hey! You two making out in the kitchen or what?” Hongjoong's teasing voice carried through the open doorway. Wooyoung pulled back just enough, cheeks burning. San only smirked, stepping back with a slow stretch, his hand trailing down Wooyoung’s chest before releasing him completely. Yeosang’s voice followed: “Come on, don’t leave us hanging, let’s play a game.”
Back in the living room, as always, truth and dare kept the party alive.