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The afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn blinds of their shared bedroom, casting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets where San and Wooyoung had collapsed approximately twenty-three minutes ago. University had been, in Wooyoung's eloquent words, "absolute fucking hell on toast," and they'd both practically torn their way out of their clothes the moment they'd stumbled through the door—jeans abandoned in the hallway, shirts forming a trail like breadcrumbs leading to their bed. Now they lay in nothing but their boxers, the AC humming its mechanical lullaby while they scrolled mindlessly through their phones in that particular brand of comfortable silence that came from knowing someone so well you didn't need to fill every moment with noise.
Wooyoung was sprawled on his back like a starfish that had given up on life, one arm thrown over his head, legs spread wide in that unselfconscious way he had when he was truly relaxed. His thumb moved lazily across his phone screen, occasionally huffing out a laugh at whatever meme or video had captured his attention. San lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, his own scrolling interrupted when a particular tweet caught his eye.
How clingy are u with ur partner?
The question hung there on his screen, accompanied by various photos of couples in increasingly attached positions. San's lips curved into a smile that could only be described as impish, the kind that usually preceded something either adorable or absolutely unhinged—with San, it was genuinely a fifty-fifty chance. His eyes drifted from his phone to Wooyoung's sprawled form, specifically to the inviting space between those spread legs, and something in his brain went click.
Without a word—because really, when had San ever needed a reason or permission for his particular brand of affectionate chaos—he shifted his position. His phone remained clutched in one hand as he maneuvered himself with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent considerable time mapping out every possible way to attach himself to his boyfriend. Wooyoung's legs provided the perfect frame, and San slid down, settling his head right there between Wooyoung's thighs like he was claiming his favorite pillow.
Then, with the gentle insistence of someone arranging a scarf, San reached up and pulled Wooyoung's thighs closed around his head. The muscled warmth of them pressed against his cheeks, his ears, creating a cocoon that was somehow both ridiculous and incredibly comfortable. It looked, objectively speaking, exactly like one of those leglocks from wrestling or MMA—the kind San had maybe watched a few too many videos of, the kind that made something in his chest go tight with feelings he didn't examine too closely in public. But here, now, it was just perfect.
San's smile could have powered a small city. His eyes crinkled into those characteristic crescent moons, dimples carving deep into his cheeks as he angled his phone camera upward. The tattoo on Wooyoung's right knee was perfectly visible in the shot, that matching design he and Wooyoung had gotten together—the one that made them grin like idiots every time they caught sight of it. He snapped the selfie, his face radiating pure joy despite (or perhaps because of) being quite literally trapped between his boyfriend's thighs.
i'm this clingy, he typed with one hand, the other keeping Wooyoung's legs gently but firmly in place. Posted.
Above him, Wooyoung continued scrolling, entirely unaware that he'd been recruited as a prop in San's latest social media adventure. His thumb moved, paused, scrolled some more. The minutes ticked by with San still happily imprisoned, making no moves to escape his chosen predicament. He'd actually closed his eyes, perfectly content to just exist in this weird, wonderful position, maybe dozing off a little because Wooyoung's thighs were warm and honestly, after the day they'd had, this was exactly where he wanted to be.
Then Wooyoung scrolled past something, backtracked with a sharp intake of breath, and San felt the exact moment recognition hit because those thighs tensed around his head.
"San-ah," Wooyoung's voice came from above, slow and dangerous in that way that meant he was trying not to laugh. "Choi San."
"Mmm?" San hummed innocently, eyes still closed.
"Did you just—" Wooyoung's scrolling stopped. San could practically hear him zooming in on the photo. "You absolute menace. You're using me as a neck pillow and posting it on main?"
"Not a neck pillow," San corrected, his voice muffled and content. "More like a very muscular, very handsome scarf."
"A scarf."
"The best scarf."
Wooyoung's laugh erupted sudden and bright, and then those thighs were tightening around San's head—not enough to hurt, never that, but enough to squish his cheeks together until San's face probably looked like a startled hamster. "You," Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with affectionate exasperation, "are unbelievable."
"Kissth," San attempted to say, though with his face compressed it came out more like "kiffth." He tried again, making his eyes as pleading as possible even though Wooyoung couldn't see them. "Kisses. Need kisses. Payment for being cute."
"Oh my god, you're actually—" But Wooyoung was already releasing the pressure, already shifting, and San scrambled up eagerly. The position change was graceless and chaotic, all awkward elbows and knees, but then San was hovering over Wooyoung, and Wooyoung was grinning up at him with that specific look that made San's heart do gymnastics in his chest.
"Hi," San said, dimples still on full display.
"You're ridiculous," Wooyoung replied, but his hands were already coming up to cup San's face, thumbs tracing over those dimples like he'd done a thousand times before and would do a thousand times more.
"Yeah, but you love it."
"Debatable," Wooyoung said, and then pulled San down into a kiss that was anything but.
It started soft, a gentle press of lips that tasted like the afternoon and contentment and home. But San made this tiny sound in the back of his throat, and Wooyoung's fingers slid into his hair, and suddenly soft wasn't quite cutting it anymore. San's mouth opened against Wooyoung's, deepening the kiss with the kind of enthusiasm that came from being absolutely, ridiculously in love with someone. Wooyoung's other hand traced down San's bare back, mapping out the planes of muscle there with familiar appreciation, and San shivered despite the warmth of the room.
They broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath and small smiles. San's eyes were dark and fond, and Wooyoung's lips were already slightly swollen, and they were just about to dive back in when—
"OH MY GOD."
The door to their bedroom slammed open with the force of someone who had absolutely no respect for privacy or closed doors or the general concept of knocking. Jongho stood in the doorway, his phone held aloft like he was brandishing evidence at a crime scene, and behind him crowded the rest of their household—Yeosang looking vaguely resigned, Hongjoong with his hand over his mouth clearly trying not to laugh, Yunho towering over everyone with his grocery bags still in hand, Mingi with his gym bag looking bewildered, and Seonghwa bringing up the rear with the expression of someone who'd long ago given up on having a normal living situation.
"What," Jongho said, his voice climbing to levels usually reserved for spotting natural disasters or finding out someone ate his labeled food from the fridge, "is THIS?"
He thrust his phone forward, displaying San's tweet in all its glory—San's gleeful face, squished between Wooyoung's thighs, that matching tattoo visible, the caption broadcasting their clinginess to the entire internet.
San and Wooyoung, still in their compromising position with San hovering over a shirtless Wooyoung in their bed, turned to look at their assembled roommates with the kind of casual shamelessness that came from months of cohabitation.
"It's called being in love," San said matter-of-factly. "You should try it sometime."
"Oh absolutely not," Yeosang interjected before Jongho could explode. "Don't you dare 'you should try it' us. You two are a menace to single people everywhere."
"The photo has 50,000 likes already," Hongjoong added, squinting at his own phone. "There are people in the replies asking if this is a kink thing."
"It's not a kink thing!" San protested, though the speed and defensiveness of his response made literally everyone in the room look at him with identical expressions of skepticism.
"San-ah," Seonghwa said gently, "you posted a photo of yourself trapped between your boyfriend's thighs with the biggest smile I've ever seen on a human face. People are going to ask questions."
"I was being affectionate!"
"You were being insane," Jongho corrected. He gestured wildly at them, nearly dropping his phone in the process. "This is—I can't even—how are we supposed to live in this house when you two are out here making single people feel like we're missing out on fundamental human experiences?"
"That sounds like a you problem," Wooyoung said, finally sitting up properly and causing San to have to shift back. He fixed Jongho with a look that was pure mischief. "Maybe if you weren't such a coward, you wouldn't be single."
The room went silent. Even the AC seemed to pause in its humming.
"Excuse me?" Jongho's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Oh, here we go," Mingi muttered, moving to set his gym bag down like he was preparing to watch a show.
San, sensing an opportunity for chaos and never being one to back down, sat up fully and pointed an accusatory finger at Jongho. "You know exactly what he means! Maybe if you found the courage to actually ask out Seonghwa-hyung instead of pining like a Victorian maiden, you could be posting couple photos too!"
The silence that followed was the kind that could be weaponized. Seonghwa's eyes went wide. Jongho's face cycled through approximately seven different colors, settling on something between scarlet and burgundy. Hongjoong made a sound like a kettle about to whistle. Yunho's mouth dropped open. Yeosang looked like he'd just witnessed a murder.
"I—what—I don't—" Jongho sputtered magnificently, his usual composure completely shattered.
"Oh please," Wooyoung said, warming to the topic with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting for this moment. He shifted to sit cross-legged, completely unconcerned with his state of undress or the fact that their entire household was crammed in their bedroom doorway. "We all heard your little bathroom speech at 4 AM last week."
"That was PRIVATE," Jongho's voice cracked on the last word.
"The bathroom isn't private when San has to pee!" San added helpfully. "You were literally rehearsing your 'hey hyung, want to study together and maybe get dinner after' speech in front of the mirror!"
Jongho pointed an accusatory finger at San. "You said you'd fuck off and lock the door!"
"I did fuck off! But I also have ears! And you were in there for twenty minutes!"
Seonghwa, who had been frozen this entire time, finally found his voice. "You... wanted to ask me to study together?"
The entire room collectively held its breath.
Jongho turned to look at Seonghwa, his face still that magnificent shade of mortification, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to form words and completely failing. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and for a moment it looked like he might actually bolt from the apartment entirely.
"I—" Jongho started, stopped, closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something had shifted in his expression. The embarrassment was still there, but beneath it was something raw and honest and brave. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. I do. Want to study together. And get dinner. And maybe do literally anything else you want to do because apparently I'm completely pathetic and obvious about it."
"You're not pathetic," Seonghwa said softly, and the gentle way he said it made something in the room shift. "You could have just asked."
"I was scared you'd say no," Jongho admitted, and the vulnerability in his voice made even San and Wooyoung shut up for a moment.
"I wouldn't have said no." Seonghwa stepped into the room properly, moving past Hongjoong and Yeosang. "I've been waiting for you to ask for three months."
"THREE MONTHS?" Yunho's voice came out as a squeak. "You've BOTH been—and none of us knew—actually wait, we all knew, never mind."
"Everyone knew except them," Yeosang confirmed, his tone absolutely done with everything.
"I have the group chat receipts to prove it," Hongjoong added, pulling out his phone. "There's literally a betting pool on when one of you would make a move. Mingi's out fifty thousand won now."
"That was supposed to be ANONYMOUS," Mingi protested.
While chaos erupted around them with accusations about betting pools and how long everyone had known and who owed whom money, Jongho and Seonghwa stood in the middle of it all, just looking at each other. The noise faded to background static as Seonghwa smiled—that soft, genuine smile that he usually reserved for quiet moments—and said, "So. Dinner tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jongho breathed out, his own smile breaking free like sunrise. "Yeah, dinner tomorrow sounds perfect."
"This is the worst day of my life," Yeosang announced to the room at large. "First I have to see San's thirst trap, then I lose fifty thousand won, and now I have to watch another couple being born in this godforsaken household. I'm moving out."
"You say that every week," Yunho pointed out.
"This time I mean it!"
"You absolutely don't," Hongjoong said. "Your lease isn't up for another six months and you hate apartment hunting."
San, watching all of this unfold from his position on the bed, turned to Wooyoung with a grin that could only be described as triumphant. "We did that," he whispered.
"We're heroes," Wooyoung agreed, equally pleased with himself. Then, louder, "You're all welcome, by the way! Our clinginess and complete lack of shame has brought two more souls together!"
"I'm still mad about the photo," Jongho said, though his protest was significantly weakened by the fact that he couldn't stop glancing at Seonghwa with this dopey expression.
"You'll get over it when you post your own couple photos," San said confidently. "Give it two weeks. A month, tops."
"I'm not posting—"
"One month," Wooyoung interrupted. "I'm calling it now. One month and you'll be doing the same sappy shit we do."
"Absolutely not."
"Want to bet on it?" Hongjoong asked, already pulling up what was presumably the group chat. "Because I think we can add this to the existing pool."
"There's already an existing pool about this?" Seonghwa asked, caught between amusement and exasperation.
"There are pools about everything in this house," Mingi explained. "We have one about when Yunho will finally clean out the fridge, one about how long Yeosang's current minecraft world will last before he rage quits, one about whether San and Wooyoung will actually get any studying done this semester—"
"Hey!" San protested.
"—and one about when you two would finally get together," Mingi finished, gesturing between Jongho and Seonghwa. "This house runs on betting pools and chaos."
"And love!" San added brightly.
"Mostly chaos," Yeosang muttered.
"Chaos and love are not mutually exclusive in this household," Wooyoung said philosophically. "In fact, I'd argue they're intrinsically linked. We're all unhinged, but we're unhinged together."
"That's actually kind of sweet," Yunho said.
"Don't encourage them," Jongho groaned, but he was smiling. Actually properly smiling, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle and his whole face soften, and it was directed at Seonghwa who was smiling back with equal dopey fondness.
"Oh god, they're already doing the thing," Hongjoong observed. "The looking-at-each-other-like-nothing-else-exists thing. It's terminal. There's no cure."
"The cure is being bitter and single," Yeosang suggested.
"Or," San said, rolling off the bed with grace that immediately abandoned him as he nearly tripped over his discarded jeans, "you could find someone who makes you want to post embarrassing photos on the internet because you're just that happy."
He padded over to where Wooyoung had also gotten up, immediately tucking himself against Wooyoung's side in that automatic way they had, like satellites drawn into orbit. Wooyoung's arm came around San's waist just as naturally, and they stood there in their boxers, completely unselfconscious, radiating the kind of comfort that came from being utterly secure in what they had.
"That was almost profound," Yeosang admitted grudgingly.
"I have my moments," San said.
"Very brief moments," Wooyoung added, then squawked when San pinched his side.
"Anyway," Hongjoong said, clearly trying to regain some control over the situation, "as delightful as this intervention has been, some of us actually have things to do. Yunho, those groceries probably need to go in the fridge before everything melts. Mingi, you're tracking gym sweat all over the hallway. Yeosang, I know you have that paper due tomorrow that you haven't started."
"Don't call me out like this."
"And San and Wooyoung—" Hongjoong fixed them with a look that was trying for stern but was undermined by the fond exasperation in his eyes. "Maybe put on some actual clothes before dinner? We have standards in this house."
"Since when?" Wooyoung challenged.
"Since right now. New rule. Clothes at dinner."
"Tyranny," San declared. "This is tyranny and oppression."
"This is me trying to maintain some level of household sanity," Hongjoong corrected. He started herding people out of the doorway, shooing them back toward their various tasks and rooms. Mingi went willingly, Yunho followed with his groceries, Yeosang slunk off muttering about papers and unfair deadlines.
Jongho and Seonghwa lingered, still caught in their own little bubble until Hongjoong cleared his throat meaningfully. They startled, exchanged bashful looks, and Seonghwa said, "Seven tomorrow? For dinner?"
"Seven's perfect," Jongho confirmed, and then they both seemed to realize they were still standing in San and Wooyoung's bedroom and quickly shuffled out, though not before Jongho shot one last half-hearted glare at San that was completely undermined by his obvious happiness.
Finally, blessedly, the door closed.
San and Wooyoung looked at each other in the sudden quiet of their room. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting longer shadows now, the golden light deepening into something amber and warm. Without the audience, the energy shifted too, becoming something softer and more intimate.
"We're good at this," San said.
"At what? Being menaces?"
"At being us." San moved back toward the bed, dragging Wooyoung with him. They collapsed back onto the sheets in a tangle of limbs, San immediately seeking out his previous position. "At being happy. At helping other people be happy."
Wooyoung carded his fingers through San's hair, gentle and rhythmic. "Your photo has 75,000 likes now, by the way."
"Good." San tilted his head into the touch, closing his eyes. "Let them see how clingy I am. Let them see how much I love you."
"You're impossible," Wooyoung said, but his voice was warm enough to melt honey.
"Impossibly yours."
"Oh my god, that was so cheesy."
"You love it."
"I really do," Wooyoung admitted, and when San opened his eyes to look up at him, the expression on Wooyoung's face was so full of affection it made San's chest ache in the best way. "I really, really do."
They stayed like that for a while, San's head pillowed on Wooyoung's stomach now, fingers tracing idle patterns on Wooyoung's legs while Wooyoung played with San's hair. Outside their door, they could hear the sounds of their household resuming its normal chaos—Yunho's voice raised in protest about something Mingi had apparently done in the kitchen, Hongjoong's exasperated response, Yeosang's grumbling about his paper. Somewhere, probably in Seonghwa's room or maybe Jongho's, two people were having a very different conversation, taking those first nervous steps into something new.
But in here, in their room with the amber sunlight and rumpled sheets and comfortable silence, San and Wooyoung existed in their own little universe. One they'd built together through months of moments like these—silly and sweet and sometimes chaotic, but always, always filled with love.
San's phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.
"You should probably check that," Wooyoung said lazily.
"Don't want to move."
"It might be important."
With a dramatic sigh that would have made theater directors weep with pride, San reached for his phone. The screen lit up with notification after notification—comments on his photo, messages from friends, someone from their university asking if they were actually that clingy in person (yes), someone else asking for relationship advice (bold of them), and buried in there, a message from Jongho in their group chat.
Jongho: I hate you both but also thank you
Jongho: Dinner tomorrow is happening because you two are insane
Jongho: Still mad about the photo though
Hongjoong: ^^^ He's been smiling at his phone for five minutes
Mingi: SEONGHWA IS DOING THE SAME THING
Yunho: This house is going to be unbearable now
Yeosang: "Now" implying it was bearable before
San showed the messages to Wooyoung, who laughed bright and pleased. San quickly typed out a response.
San: You're welcome. Also the photo stays up
Jongho: I'm getting you back for this
Wooyoung: You can try
Wooyoung: But we both know we're the chaos champions of this household
Hongjoong: Can we not turn this into a competition
Mingi: Too late, I'm making a betting pool
San turned his phone face down on the bed, cutting off the incoming flood of messages. The group chat would continue its chaos with or without them—that was just the nature of their household. But right now, he wanted to exist here, in this moment, with Wooyoung's fingers in his hair and the comfortable weight of happiness in his chest.
"What are you thinking about?" Wooyoung asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
San tilted his head to press a kiss to the inside of Wooyoung's knee, right over that shared tattoo. "About how I'm exactly this clingy," he said, echoing his tweet. "And how I never want to be any different."
"Good," Wooyoung said simply. "Because I love exactly this much clinginess. Wouldn't change a thing."
Outside, the household chaos continued its familiar symphony. But inside their room, San and Wooyoung were already drifting, lulled by afternoon warmth and each other's presence and the bone-deep contentment of being exactly where they belonged. San's hand found Wooyoung's, their fingers interlacing automatically, and somewhere between one breath and the next, they both thought the same thing:
This. This was everything.
And if the internet wanted to see just how clingy they could be, well—San was already thinking about tomorrow's photo opportunity. Maybe Wooyoung could return the favor, trap San in a similar position. Or maybe they could get even more creative. The possibilities were endless when you were this comfortable being absolutely ridiculous together.
But that was tomorrow's chaos. For now, there was just this: the quiet comfort of being together, the gentle drift toward sleep, and the absolute certainty that no matter how unhinged their household got, no matter how many betting pools Mingi created or how much Yeosang threatened to move out or how many new couples emerged from their chaotic brand of matchmaking—they had this.
They had each other.
And really, San thought as sleep began to pull him under, that was the only clinginess scale that mattered.
From the hallway came a crash, followed by Yunho's "IT WASN'T ME!" and Mingi's "IT WAS DEFINITELY YOU!", and both San and Wooyoung smiled without opening their eyes, because yes, this was their household, and yes, it was completely unhinged, and yes, they absolutely wouldn't have it any other way.