Chapter Text
The coffee machine hummed.
Yunho stood in front of it, sleeves rolled up, collar still pressed from the dry cleaners. The kitchen smelled like fresh grounds and expensive polish. No mess, no dishes in the sink. Everything in its place.
Just the way he liked it.
...Or so he used to think.
He leaned against the counter and waited, scrolling mindlessly through news headlines on his phone—market updates, property shifts, politics. None of it stuck. He wasn’t reading. Just killing time.
The machine beeped.
He poured the coffee, no sugar, no cream. Bitter. Efficient.
He took the first sip and exhaled quietly through his nose.
It was Sunday. No meetings. No clients. No fires to put out. And yet, the silence in the house pressed against his ribs like a vice.
Yunho walked to the living room, mug in hand. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast soft light across the room. The rain had stopped earlier that morning, but the clouds still hung low, like they couldn’t decide whether to leave.
He stood there for a while, watching droplets cling to the glass.
It was strange—how loud silence could be.
His phone buzzed once. An old colleague’s name. Yunho stared at it and let it ring out.
They’d probably want to talk about a merger. Or a new project. Or ask how he was doing.
He didn’t have an answer for that last one.
He sat down on the couch. Remote untouched. TV dark. No music. No podcasts. Just the soft tick of the clock on the wall.
He had everything.
At least that’s what people always said. “You’re living the dream, Yunho.” “Built everything from the ground up.” “You should be proud.”
And he was.
But pride didn’t keep you company when the only sound in your house was the echo of your own footsteps.
He picked up a photo frame from the shelf. A rare one. His foster parents were strict but kind in their way. They never smiled much, but in the photo, his mother’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he looked at it.
They’d worked so hard to give him a future. And he’d honored that, built on it, expanded everything they left behind. The Design was now a brand. The house was now a statement. He was now something people wrote about in business magazines.
But sometimes he wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up a little slower.
To be reckless. To be young.
To have...someone.
He set the frame back down gently. Drank the rest of his coffee cold.
Then, like every other quiet Sunday, he stood up and started cleaning things that were already clean.
Because if he kept moving, maybe the stillness wouldn’t swallow him whole.
The early morning air smelled like roasted beans and car exhaust.
San greeted it all the same with a smile that could make the clouds part. "Morning, boss!" he chirped as he walked into the café, apron already slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a rushed shower. He had exactly five minutes to clock in, two minutes to tie his apron, and zero seconds to waste on anything that didn’t involve getting that first espresso order out before 8 a.m. sharp.
It wasn’t the first job of the day, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Most people saw San as the guy who laughed too easily, who could juggle coffee cups and customer complaints like it was a party trick. The one who handed you your croissant with a wink, remembered your name even if you only came once, and somehow made Monday mornings feel survivable.
They didn’t see the second-hand textbooks crammed in his tote bag. Or the late nights folding sheets at the hotel two blocks down, or private house cleaning. Or the online tutoring sessions he squeezed in between classes just to make rent and maybe—maybe—save enough to fix his cracked phone screen that had started glitching like his life sometimes did.
And they definitely didn’t see the way he stood in front of the mirror some mornings, stretching his face into a smile like muscle memory, like armor.
San wasn’t sad, not really. He didn’t have time to be. And besides, joy was easier to carry when it made other people feel lighter.
He handed a caramel latte to a sleepy student with her hair in rollers. She thanked him, too tired to smile. He smiled for both of them.
By noon, he’d be off to campus for a class he couldn’t afford to miss. By five, he’d be cleaning hotel bathrooms like it was a competition. And at night, if he was lucky, he could collapse onto his mattress on the floor, watch one funny video, and forget how much his shoulders ached.
But right now?
He turned up the café playlist, spun once behind the counter just because he could, and greeted the next customer with a voice full of sunshine.
"Welcome in! What can I get started for you?".
Choi San was made of sunbeams and caffeine.
At least, that’s what his regulars at the café joked when he greeted them at the counter with that signature smile, dimples deep enough to sink a ship and eyes that always seemed like they knew a little secret.
To most people, San looked like someone who’d never known a bad day in his life.
But if anyone looked a little longer or maybe past the polished apron, the easy jokes, or the soft hums of songs he mumbled while cleaning tables, San was sure they’d catch it. The way his eyes darted at the clock a bit too often.
How he rolled his sleeves up not just for style, but to hide the bruises blooming from rushing across town. How he bowed and thanked the customers like his life depended on it.
Because maybe… it kinda did.
Between college, tutoring sessions squeezed in before sunset, and housekeeping shifts that stretched way past midnight, San was juggling enough hats to run his own circus. But he wore them all like it was nothing. Like he didn’t mind giving up sleep, or skipping meals, or celebrating his own birthday with a ten-minute break and a 3-day-old muffin from the staff fridge.
And still, he smiled.
Every shift. Every job. Every stranger.
Like if he stopped smiling, something would crack open. And he didn’t have time to deal with that. Not now. Not when he still had textbooks to highlight and bills to pay.
So he smiled a little harder.
And the world never asked why.
The world didn’t end the night his parents died.
It just stopped making sense.
San remembered the call. The sterile lights of the hospital hallway. The blood was drying under his fingernails because he had run barefoot out of the house, still in his pajamas, thinking somehow if he moved fast enough, he could undo fate.
But fate had already flipped the car.
And left Jongho, barely ten, hooked up to wires and machines that blinked where his voice should be.
They called it a miracle. San called it torture.
His parents were gone instantly, just like that no goodbyes, no final words, no more dad jokes or mom’s lullabies humming through Sunday mornings. And his little brother, his baby, the one he used to chase around the house pretending to be a dinosaur..
he just... stopped.
No words. No movement. Just a small, fragile thing lying still in a too-big hospital bed.
San hadn’t cried that night. Not really. He remembered sitting by Jongho’s bedside, holding his cold little hand, whispering, “It’s okay. You can sleep for a bit. Hyung will take care of everything.”
And he did.
Every shift he took, every call he answered, every ache in his spine from sleeping on buses between jobs, it was for Jongho. The café, the tutoring, the cleaning gigs… all of it funneled straight into hospital bills and care plans.
The barista tips kept the lights on.
The tutoring money paid for Jongho’s prescriptions.
The housekeeping job covered the hospital food he never had the appetite for but ordered anyway.
San lived on instant noodles and faith. The kind of faith that clung to routine, folding Jongho’s laundry every weekend even though no one wore them, singing to him every night like he was still awake to listen, holding onto his brother’s favorite snacks like he might sit up any day now and ask for one.
People called him resilient. Inspirational.
They didn’t see how he flinched when someone joked about sleeping in. Or how he froze whenever a kid Jongho’s age ran past him laughing.
San didn’t have time to break.
Not when Jongho might come back tomorrow.
And when that day came, San swore, he’d be ready. With open arms. With a full fridge. With a warm bed and a life that didn't just survive, but thrived. For both of them.
Because if Jongho was still holding on…
Then so was he.
The house was too quiet.
Just another day, usual same day but maybe this time it is a bit lonely.
Yunho never noticed it before—not really. Not until he stood in the kitchen with a glass of water he wasn’t planning to drink, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the echo of his own breathing.
He didn’t even look up when the front door opened.
"Hello?" A voice called gently, just loud enough not to be intrusive.
Yunho blinked. Right. The housekeeper.
"In here," he said, setting the glass down on the marble counter. He half expected a graying older man or woman, maybe someone silent and efficient. But when he finally glanced up—
Oh.
The kid was young. Not kid kid, but... too young. Early twenties, maybe. Hair a little wind-blown from the walk over, uniform slightly too big for his narrow frame. And smiling like life wasn’t a heavy coat to wear.
"Hi! I’m San," he said brightly, stepping into the kitchen with a polite nod. "I was told to come by at eleven?"
Yunho nodded slowly. "You’re early."
"Yeah, I like to scope out the mess before it scopes me out," San joked with a light laugh, already slipping off his shoes neatly by the mat. "I hope that’s alright."
Yunho just stared for a beat too long. Then cleared his throat. “You clean professionally?”
“I do everything professionally,” San replied with a wink, then immediately winced. “Sorry! kidding. I’m usually more filtered. First-day nerves."
Yunho huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve just been disbelief.
"This place is already clean," he said, crossing his arms loosely.
San looked around. "Looks clean. But clean and actually clean are two very different things. I promise I won’t judge you… unless I find a hidden sock graveyard under your couch."
That got a real laugh out of Yunho. Small. Barely there. But it happened.
"...Living room first, then, sir?" San offered, slinging his tote bag of cleaning supplies onto the table.
Yunho nodded again, stepping aside.
As San passed him, something caught his attention, just a flash. A scent. Clean linen and citrus and something warm underneath, like sandalwood and sun.
For a second, Yunho's throat tightened.
He told himself it was nothing. It was just a cleaner. He's just doing his job. But the smell lingered, and so did the thought.
Too young.
Too alive.
Too much.
Yunho didn’t mean to linger.
He told himself he was just grabbing his laptop. Checking emails. Refilling his water.
But somehow, thirty minutes passed, and he was still standing near the hallway, just far enough to stay out of sight, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a frown permanently glued to his face.
It wasn’t about distrust. Of course not. Mingi—his longtime best friend (still are) and assistant had vouched for the boy. Said he was reliable, hardworking, "a little weird, but sweet." Still, Yunho wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers into his house.
Especially ones that looked like that.
Pretty even..
San had music playing from his phone just low enough to be polite, but still audible. Something upbeat. He swayed a little while vacuuming, lips mouthing the lyrics, like he was in his own little world. At one point, he even twirled the vacuum cord around his wrist like it was choreography.
Yunho’s brow ticked up.
What the hell was this? Dancing?? While cleaning?
San didn’t half-ass it either. He was thorough. He lifted the couch cushions, wiped the baseboards, even dusted the tops of the doorframes—who the hell does that?
Yunho hadn’t realized he was still watching until San turned suddenly toward the hallway. He ducked back like a guilty teenager, heart skipping for no reason.
When he peeked again, San was stretching, arms above his head, shirt riding up just slightly to reveal a sliver of his waist.
Yunho cursed silently and turned away.
Nope. Absolutely not.
He stalked into the kitchen, already regretting this whole setup. He could clean his own damn house. He didn’t need some overly cheerful, beautiful, barely-adult whirlwind showing up and making the place smell like lemons and sunshine.
He was pouring himself another cup of coffee when he heard footsteps padding up behind him.
"Mr. Jeong?" San called softly.
Yunho didn’t turn immediately. “Hm?”
"I finished downstairs. I was wondering if you’d like me to cook something for you? Mingi-hyung told me that I could cook for you too... I like meal prepping when I can—it helps me stay on budget for the week."
That made Yunho pause. He turned slowly, eyebrow raised. "You cook, too?"
San shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Only if you’re okay with it. Some people don’t like strangers touching their kitchens. I totally get it."
"I didn’t hire you to cook," Yunho said carefully.
"Right. Of course. It’s just.. Well, you looked kind of tired earlier. And I already wiped down the counters, soooo technically I’d be cleaning while cooking."
Yunho stared at him.
San stared back.
With that same damn smile. Those damn dimples!!
Cheeky. Open. Like he hadn’t just cracked something Yunho had tried very hard to keep sealed.
"...What were you thinking of making?" Yunho asked finally, his voice a little lower than before.
San lit up like a sunrise. “I saw ingredients for kimchi fried rice. If you have eggs, I can top it with a sunny-side-up.”
Yunho’s lips twitched. He didn’t smile. Almost did. But didn’t.
“Fine,” he muttered, turning away again. “Just don’t burn my house down.”
“Sir, I’d never disrespect fried rice like that,” San called behind him.
Yunho pretended not to hear the laugh that followed.
He also pretended not to feel the shift in the air and the way the silence didn’t feel so lonely anymore.
The fridge was… sad.
Not “there’s nothing in here” sad. No—this was rich people sad. Pristine glass shelves. Artisan sparkling water. A whole lineup of single-serve Greek yogurts. A jar of imported mustard that probably cost more than San’s weekly groceries.
But real food? Nothing. No leftovers. No meal prep containers. No signs of cooking, or anyone trying..
San chewed his bottom lip, then reached for the vacuum-sealed pack of steak tucked neatly in the back corner.
“Uhh, Mr. Jeong?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder.
Yunho appeared a moment later, half-shadowed in the hallway like some hot cryptid. “What?”
“Is this okay to use?” San lifted the steak slightly. “I was just gonna fry up half to put on the side. It’s good protein.”
Yunho tilted his head. “You really do take this whole ‘cleaning’ job personally.”
“I said I clean thoroughly, I didn’t say I clean soullessly,” San grinned. “But seriously, only if it’s okay.”
Yunho nodded. “Fine. Just don’t overcook it.”
“Sir,” San said solemnly, “I may be young, but I’m not a monster.”
That got a faint twitch of a smirk before Yunho disappeared again.
Once the steak hit the pan, San exhaled, letting the sound of sizzling fill the silence. He moved with an easy rhythm while adding rice to the wok, stirring in kimchi, soy sauce, and a touch of sesame oil.
The scent warmed the space like magic. He was halfway through flipping the egg when he paused.
Yunho had walls. Tall ones. Not just “I’m a private person” kind of walls. More like “I live in a clean, beautiful house with nothing in the fridge because I don't care enough to feed myself” kind of walls.
San wasn’t dumb. He didn’t miss the way Yunho watched him from the hallway earlier, all silent and guarded. Like he was waiting for something bad to happen. Or someone to fail him.
The intrusive thought came without warning.
I want to make him smile.
He blinked at it. Shook his head.
Too much. Way too fast. He barely knew the guy. This was literally his first day here. But still...
Food never failed. It brought people comfort. It made hard days softer. It gave something warm to hold onto.
And Yunho looked like he hadn’t held onto anything warm in a long time.
So yeah. San was going to season that steak with love and fry that egg like it was sacred. If food was a small happiness, then hell—he’d serve happiness on a damn plate.
For him.
Just a little bit.
"Alright! All clean," San announced cheerfully, wiping his hands on a cloth and slinging his tote bag over his shoulder. "And your lunch is plated. It’s still warm."
Yunho emerged from wherever he’d been hiding—maybe his study, maybe just giving San space. His gaze flicked briefly toward the kitchen island, where a neatly arranged plate sat steaming: golden egg, crispy-edged steak slices, kimchi rice perfectly molded into a dome.
“I didn’t expect… all this,” he said, a little quieter than usual.
San gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Well, I didn’t expect your fridge to look like it was haunted by the ghost of a diet plan, so we’re even.”
Yunho huffed. Close to a laugh.
San flashed a smile, but it softened as he adjusted the strap on his bag. “Anyway. I’m heading off. Mingi-hyung said cabs are easier to catch on the main road?”
“I’ll walk you,” Yunho said without thinking. “Just in case.”
“Oh,” San blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
Yunho just looked at him. Said nothing.
“…Okay, then,” San mumbled, ears tinting pink.
Outside, the air was still thick with that post-rain freshness. Yunho walked beside San in silence, hands in his pockets, and gaze forward.
San didn’t try to fill the space with chatter. He didn’t ask questions or push for small talk. Just walked calmly next to him, humming something under his breath. The melody was light, familiar. Maybe a song Yunho knew years ago.
The cab finally pulled up, and San opened the door, turning back with a grin.
“Thanks for not throwing me out for raiding your steak stash,” he teased.
“You did okay,” Yunho said, eyes flicking down, as if shying away. “...Thanks for the food.”
San looked stunned for a heartbeat. Then he smiled wider. “See you next week?”
Yunho nodded once.
The cab door shut, and then he was gone.
The house felt too quiet again. But not quite the same quiet.
Yunho wandered back inside, loosening his collar. The scent of soy sauce and sesame oil still lingered in the air. For a moment, he stood by the dining table, looking at the plate like it was something foreign.
He rarely ate there. It felt too formal. Too… lonely.
So he picked it up and carried it to the living room instead, setting it gently on the coffee table. He plopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote, flicking through his streaming apps until he landed on a random nature documentary. Something with forests and a slow voice narrator.
Then he took the first bite.
And blinked.
It was—good. Really good. The rice had just the right spice. The steak was juicy. The egg yolk oozed over everything like it was made to be eaten by someone who hadn’t tasted real food in days.
He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.
Or that he was smiling.
He didn’t even register that he’d scraped the plate clean until the spoon hit ceramic.
Yunho leaned back, the low murmur of the documentary still playing, and stared at the empty plate.
Something small and quiet unfurled in his chest.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Like maybe—just maybe—he was going to start looking forward to weekends.
He flicked the towel over his shoulder, hands moving with practiced ease as he prepared the next order. The espresso machine hissed to life like an old friend, steam curling into the air, thick with the scent of roasted beans. The shift was quieter than the lunch rush, but his body still ached like he’d climbed a mountain backwards.
The muscle patches helped. Barely.
His wrist throbbed every time he twisted the milk jug just right. His shoulder twinged whenever he stretched for mugs on the top shelf. Every part of him begged for rest and he ignored all of it.
Because rest meant time.
Time meant silence.
And silence meant remembering that Jongho hadn’t opened his eyes in nearly five years.
But now wasn’t time for grief.
Now was time for a caramel macchiato and three americanos.
The bell above the cafe door jingled.
San looked up with a smile already in place, it had to be.
Four men walked in. The one in the middle with tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in an expensive coat and a quiet sort of confidence, he looked familiar. But San’s eyes shifted past him quickly, landing instead on the man beside him.
“Sannie!” Mingi beamed, all sunshine and chaos, waving like they hadn’t seen each other just last week. “No way! You work here too?!”
San laughed, surprised, his cheeks dimpling in that way people always seemed to comment on. “Hyungieee! Wow, what are the odds?”
He didn’t mention he’d only picked up this job last week. Just another part-time gig. Another shift. Another quiet corner of his day to save a little more.
This café paid decently. If he budgeted right, he could add a bit to Jongho’s house fund. When Jongho woke up, San would make sure he had everything. A room filled with warmth. A life that didn’t feel paused anymore.
“Fate,” Mingi said with a wink.
San just smiled again—bright, easy. Practiced.
And Yunho couldn’t look away.
He hadn’t meant to stare.
Honestly, he’d just looked up because Mingi was waving like they were at a concert and not a softly lit cafe playing indie jazz. But the moment his gaze landed on the barista, something in him stilled.
San.
The same boy from the cleaning gig—the one who’d left warm food on his table and a strange, lingering thought in his mind ever since. Still dimpled. Still polite. Still wearing that same impossible brightness like armor.
And this time, Yunho could see more.
The flesh-toned patch wrapped around his wrist. Another peeking beneath the sleeve cuff on his arm. And when he stretched reaching for a takeaway cup, the shift of his shirt revealed yet another across his shoulder.
Not one-off injuries.
Not accidents.
That was wear. That was repetition. That was someone pushing their body beyond the limit because stopping wasn’t an option.
And yet… San smiled. Like he wasn’t carrying exhaustion under his skin. Like he hadn’t likely skipped meals just to afford the better pain relief patches.
Yunho felt something twist deep in his chest. It wasn’t pity.
It was something else.
Recognition, maybe. That silent kind of resilience Yunho remembered from his own past. From nights spent alone in an empty apartment, trying to build the life his foster parents had left behind. Sacrificing his youth just to survive.
But with San, it was more than that. That stubborn light in his eyes wasn’t just survival. It was hope. The kind Yunho thought he’d forgotten how to have.
“That’s San,” Mingi murmured beside him to Seonghwa and Hongjoong when they asked who he was.
Yunho’s eyes lingered on the busy figure across the room, like he needed to explain what he was already feeling.
“He’s a beast. Works, like, five jobs, maybe more. Smart, too. He handled logistics on a shoot once. Quietly, like he didn’t want anyone to notice, a part time since he's still studying. He worked as yunho’s housekeeper too. Replaced Priscilla.”
Yunho hummed low, agreeing, eyes still locked on San.
Why does that make me want to notice him even more?
He’d come for coffee and some light conversation. A break from his usual silence. But now, watching San wipe a glass with aching arms and that damn quiet smile…
Yunho didn’t want to leave.
Yunho wasn’t counting the days, of course not. He just happened to anticipate Saturdays… a little. Especially today. It was raining, and he found himself glancing at the window more than once, frowning at the downpour.
Would San still come?
Should he cancel the housekeeping altogether? The kid could probably use a break.
He hovered by his phone for a second, thumb brushing the screen. But then he sighed, setting it down. If San didn’t show, that was fine. But if he did—well, maybe Yunho could at least do something decent this time.
Maybe he adjusted his morning routine a bit. Maybe he made sure he was home instead of meeting up with his friends like he usually did. The weather helped, it gave him an excuse to bail without having to explain.
And maybe he even swapped his usual threadbare pajamas for a clean shirt and joggers that hugged his arms just enough but didn’t scream “I planned this.” Totally casual.
Then the bell at the door rang.
Yunho practically tripped over himself getting to it.
San stood in the doorway, clad in his usual housekeeping uniform and carrying the same overstuffed tote bag. His sleeves were damp, hair a little mussed from the wind and rain. And yet, of course, he smiled. That tired little dimpled smile he wore like armor.
“Hi, Mr. Jeong. I’m sorry—I was late by two minutes. The bus was running slow because of the rain.”
Yunho blinked. Late? He hadn’t even noticed the time. “You’re soaked,” he said instead, stepping aside quickly. “Hang on, I’ll grab a towel—”
San waved him off with a small, practiced smile. “It’s fine. I’ll get started now, sir.”
Before Yunho could protest, San had already cracked his neck, rolled up his sleeves, and disappeared down the hallway toward the downstairs bathroom.
Yunho stood there, door still half open, wondering when exactly he’d started making excuses just to be around this kid.
He settled on the first floor, totally not hovering, pretending to watch some documentary that he’d already seen twice. But his ears kept tracking every little sound, the soft clack of cabinet doors, the whoosh of the mop bucket, the low shuffle of tired shoes.
And then San reappeared.
Sleeves rolled, patches visible along his wrist and forearm. One peeked from beneath the shoulder seam when he stretched to reach something on the shelf.
Yunho’s chest tightened.
Those weren’t just “oh-I-slept-weird” patches. They were the kind used by athletes and dancers. People who pushed themselves. And San? He looked like he hadn’t stopped moving in weeks.
But still—he smiled when he noticed Yunho watching. A soft, polite little bow. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Not disturbing,” Yunho said quickly, straightening a little. “You’ve already made this place smell a hundred times better.”
That got a light laugh from San.
“You’re not this talkative last week, Mr. Jeong,” he teased gently.
Yunho stiffened. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah… I had a bad experience with housekeepers before. And… young people. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
San blinked. Then grinned. “No offense taken. It’s actually nice seeing you this comfortable.”
He turned back to his work, grabbing the vacuum.
Yunho hesitated, then blurted, “Wait—uh, have you eaten?”
San glanced back, surprised. “I’m good, thank you.”
“You sure? I was thinking of ordering something. You could sit down and take a break.”
San’s posture stiffened. He looked Yunho over for a second, guarded. “Sir… if this is some kind of extra request—I don’t do… those services.”
Yunho's brain just blipped out.
“What?! No—God, no, that’s not what I meant!” he said, practically tripping over his own words. “I meant, like—food! Pizza! Cheese, bread, marinara! Carbs! Not—God—not that!”
San’s brows lifted in amusement. His lips twitched like he was dying not to laugh.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Just carbs.”
Yunho let out a breath and nodded, face burning. “Just carbs.”
They stood there for a moment in awkward silence.
Then Yunho cleared his throat. “I just thought… if you had ten minutes, you could sit. You don’t even have to talk. I’ll pay for the food. Or for time lost. I just…”
He didn’t finish.
You deserve to breathe for once.
San studied him for a second. There was something unreadable in his gaze. But then, he softened. “You really don’t have to pay me, sir.”
“But I will,” Yunho said, already scrolling through food apps. “Call it a selfish bribe. I want company. Not... services.”
That made San laugh, full and bright. “Okay then. But only because I’m curious what kind of bribes involve mozzarella.”
Yunho smiled.
Progress.
He placed the order. Or, he tried to.
No restaurants were delivering. The storm had turned from background ambience to full-blown logistical nightmare.
Yunho frowned. “Huh. I didn’t think the storm would hit that bad.”
“Storm?” San asked, eyes wide.
Yunho turned his phone around, showing the weather alert. “Heavy winds. Flood warning in the next hour.”
San’s brows furrowed. “Oh. I guess I’ll need to catch the next bus out, then.”
Yunho stared. “San, no. You can’t go out in that.”
“I’ll be okay,” San said, smiling too fast. “I’ve done worse.”
Which only made Yunho trust him less.
“No, really. Just stay. Please.” He was already halfway down the hall. “You can’t stay in those wet clothes either. Give me a second.”
San was still stammering in protest behind him, but Yunho ignored it. He reached his closet and dug around for something soft, warm, oversized. His hoodie, maybe. Something that would feel like comfort.
Because no matter how tired San looked, he still kept showing up like he had something to prove.
And Yunho was starting to really, really want to give him a reason to slow down.
Yunho didn’t mean to stare.
But he was staring.
San had come out of the bathroom, his damp hair pressed flat at the sides, skin still flushed pink from the hot water. Yunho had given him one of his oversized sweatshirts—he didn’t realize until now just how oversized it would look on someone smaller. The hem nearly hit San’s thighs, sleeves bunched around his fists, and the collar hung slightly off one shoulder like he was in a soft-boy fashion shoot.
He looked... unfairly good.
Yunho quickly turned back to the pot, pretending to concentrate like his life depended on those boiling noodles.
Keep it together. He’s just tired. He just showered. He’s a guest.
A guest wearing your clothes. A guest who smells faintly of your shampoo now.
Yunho exhaled through his nose like it could physically blow those thoughts out of his head.
Behind him, San cleared his throat.
“You okay? You’re just... hovering over the pot like you’re about to interrogate it.”
Yunho jumped. “What—no, I’m just making sure it doesn’t bubble over.”
San raised a brow, a little amused, stepping closer to peek. “You’re that serious about ramen?”
“I won’t deny I’m bad at cooking,” Yunho muttered, grabbing the seasoning packet, “but I am good at making ramyun. That’s my peak culinary skill.”
San chuckled softly. “Well, as long as it doesn’t come out as spicy-flavored soup glue, I think I’ll live.”
Yunho bit his cheek to suppress a smile. The conversation was easy, light, but his heart was still doing 3AM anxiety sprints.
Because he noticed.
He noticed how San kept fidgeting with the sleeves like he didn’t know what to do with them.
He noticed how San’s eyes kept drifting to him—like he was studying Yunho the same way Yunho had just studied him moments ago.
God, he hoped he wasn’t reading too much into this.
He plated the ramen in two bowls, setting them down carefully. “It’s nothing fancy. Just… ramen.”
San blinked as he standing across the table. “It’s warm. It smells good. That’s already a luxury for me.”
Yunho paused mid-pour, his chest twisting a little at that. Luxury? He wondered how often San really had warm food. Or sleep. Or moments like this, where someone just… cared.
So he said, softly, “Then let me spoil you just a little.”
San’s eyes flicked up to meet him, shy and a little guilty.
The silence lasted barely three seconds. But it lingered. Heavy, loaded, quiet. Something unsaid drifting between them.
Then San looked away, cheeks pink. “You’re really weird, you know that?”
Yunho grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
San wrapped his arms around himself as he padded back into the small living area, the scent of boiling noodles and garlic anchoring him to the present. Yunho was still by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring the ramyun like he actually knew what he was doing. The man looked so casual, like this was just another Tuesday night. Like San belonged here.
He caught himself staring.
Clearing his throat a little too sharply, San winced when Yunho startled and glanced over.
“You good?” Yunho asked.
“I hope you didn’t burn the food?” San joked quickly, trying to wave away his own awkwardness.
Yunho scoffed. “I—...”
San gave him a tired smile, but his eyes didn’t quite match it. The sweatshirt swallowed his frame, and though his hair was still damp from the shower, he hadn't bothered to towel it dry properly. It clung to his forehead in a mess of waves.
From Yunho’s side, he couldn’t stop watching him.
How can someone look this good in clothes ten sizes too big? Yunho thought. San looked soft. Fragile, even. But there was a tension in his shoulders like he was trying not to let the exhaustion slip out and flood the room.
He was beautiful in a way that unsettled Yunho. Not just physically, though yeah, sure, that too but in how quietly he was unraveling right in front of him. Like a thread that no one else had noticed was loose.
San pulled his knees up to his chest on the couch, fingers nervously tugging at the sleeves of Yunho’s hoodie. He should be at the hospital right now. It was Jongho’s time. That was what he called it. His weekly ritual of sitting beside his little brother’s bed, talking to the quiet body that never responded, making sure Jongho still felt real, even if it was only through stories.
Instead, he was here. Dry. Fed. Safe.
And he hated himself for liking it.
The guilt crawled up his throat like bile. Jongho would understand, wouldn’t he? The storm was awful, the buses had stopped. But even knowing all that, it didn’t stop the rot building in his chest.
Because deep down, a part of him was relieved. A part of him liked this too much.
Liked the way Yunho kept checking if the water was warm enough. Liked the way he handed him clothes without a single question. Liked that for once—just this once—he wasn’t juggling three jobs and pretending he was fine.
And that disgusted him..
Because the world doesn’t stop for grief. Or kindness. And he was betraying Jongho just by letting himself breathe.
San sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, one hand cradling a mug that had long stopped steaming. He hadn’t taken a sip. Just held it like a lifeline, like it might keep his hands from shaking if he gripped it hard enough.
Rain battered the windows with a steady rhythm, thunder rolling in the distance like the sky was stretching in its sleep.
“You know,” Yunho said from the kitchen, voice light but threaded with something careful, “most people would be a little more excited to be saved by a guy like me. Handsome. Great cook. Excellent with umbrellas.”
San gave a dry huff, barely a breath of a laugh. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You did great with the umbrella.”
“That almost sounded like a compliment,” Yunho teased, walking over and settling across from him. “You sure you’re not warming up to me?”
San didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the mug again, thumb tracing over the chipped ceramic edge. There was something about the quiet here, not silence, but quiet. Safe. Like the world wasn’t trying to chew him up and spit him out for once.
“I forgot what it felt like,” he said softly, almost like he didn’t mean to speak out loud.
Yunho tilted his head. “What?”
San blinked, catching himself. He shook his head with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing.”
But Yunho didn’t let it drop. “San-ah.”
There was a beat of thunder, then San finally looked at him. He wasn’t crying, but he looked like he could. Just tired. Pulled taut. A balloon one pinprick away from popping.
“It’s been a long week,” San said. “I guess I forgot how to just… be somewhere safe.”
His voice cracked on the word safe, like it betrayed him. And Yunho, to his credit, didn’t press. Didn’t poke. Just leaned back slightly, watching him with something softer than concern. Something like understanding.
“Well,” Yunho said after a moment, “lucky for you, I make killer ramen. And I don’t charge for the therapy session.”
San let out a tired laugh, this one a little fuller. “You’re annoying.”
“I will try.”
And maybe, just for tonight, San let himself sink a little deeper into the couch. Let his shoulders drop. Let the tea go cold.
The bowls sat empty on the coffee table, both scraped clean down to the last noodle. San hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until he’d taken the first bite. Then his body took over, starving, aching, like he hadn’t had a real meal in days.
Yunho had watched him eat with quiet amusement, spooning his own food at a leisurely pace while keeping one eye on the kid curled up on his couch like he was trying to take up as little space as possible.
Now, the only sound was the low hum of the storm outside and the occasional crackle of the heater kicking in.
“You eat like a man who’s been fighting for his life,” Yunho said softly, tilting his head.
San chuckled, then winced. “It was good.”
Yunho smiled. “Told you I’m good at ramen..”
San stretched, arms above his head, and let out a soft groan as his muscles protested. Yunho’s eyes flicked to the way his shoulders rolled—like even that small movement cost him something. He didn’t miss the stiff way San settled back against the couch, like his joints had made a silent pact to betray him the second the food hit.
“San-ah,” Yunho said slowly, “you don’t have to keep pretending.”
San blinked. “Pretending what?”
“That you’re not about to fall into a food coma right here on my couch.”
San scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m fine.”
“You’re swaying, kid.”
“I’m just digesting!”
Yunho narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. He leaned back in his chair, watching San with a kind of quiet patience.
“Lie down for a bit,” he said. “You can nap if you want. It’s still storming out.”
San shook his head, stubborn. “No, I—I should go. I’ve already stayed too long. I’m not… I didn’t plan to be here this long.”
Yunho didn’t say anything, just stood up and walked to the closet. He came back with a soft throw blanket and dropped it gently over the back of the couch. Then he moved to the kitchen, giving San some space.
San sat up straighter, blinking rapidly. The storm outside rumbled again. The warmth of the food, the softness of the fabric, the safety of the room—it was all weighing down on him like gravity was personal tonight.
I should leave, he thought. I can’t relax here.
But his body had already made the decision.
Yunho turned back around after rinsing the dishes and froze in place.
San had slumped sideways on the couch, head resting against the cushion, breathing slow and even. One arm draped across his stomach, the other barely clinging to the edge of the blanket he hadn’t even meant to pull over himself.
He was out cold.
Yunho didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
He just stood there, watching. Letting the quiet settle.
He didn’t understand what this was—this soft ache blooming in his chest, this magnetic pull to the boy who’d made his home smell like lemon cleaner and warmth. But whatever it was, it was steady. Gentle. Certain.
Yunho exhaled slowly and reached over to pull the blanket up properly over San’s shoulders, careful not to wake him.
Then he sat down again.
Just to keep watch and to be here. Just in case San needed someone to be safe with—even if he didn’t know it yet.
San woke to the soft glow of morning light seeping through the curtains, his body wrapped in a comfort he hadn’t felt in weeks. The ache in his bones had dulled, and for once, he didn’t feel like the world was pushing down on his chest.
He blinked blearily, realizing he was curled up on Yunho’s couch, a blanket pulled up to his chin. For a moment, he just… stayed there, listening to the quiet. There was a cup of water left on the side table for him. His shoes were neatly placed by the door. Someone had even tugged the blanket higher in the middle of the night.
Warmth bloomed in his chest but then he glanced at the clock and his heart nearly stopped.
“Oh no no no,” he whispered, already half up and hunting for his hoodie. “I’m late—again!”
He rushed quietly, trying not to wake Yunho, who was still asleep in the armchair, long legs tangled in the throw blanket, mouth slightly open in the softest snore San had ever heard. It was dumb, but the sight made his steps pause.
He didn’t want to leave without saying anything.
But he didn’t want to wake him either.
So, San found a pen near the fridge and scribbled on the back of a flyer, biting his lip as he wrote. He folded it once, twice, then tucked it next to the coffee machine. As a finishing touch, he left a small paper crane folded from a napkin beside it, something his mom had taught him when he was little.
By the time Yunho stirred awake, stretching out with a sleepy groan, San was already gone.
His eyes landed on the note first.
“Thanks for the rescue (and the blanket). I owe you one, or maybe like ten.
If you ever want someone to organize your pantry or just… hang out.
Call me, okay? — San :)
[xxx-xxxxxxx]”
Beside the note was the little crane, leaning a little to the side but still standing.
Yunho read it twice, smiling so wide it hurt.
He didn’t know what exactly this was yet.
But he was sure of one thing:
He didn’t want this feeling to end anytime soon.
San sprinted toward the nearest bus stop, legs pumping as fast as his heart. He barely made it onto the bus, breathless and clutching his glitching phone in one hand.
“Come on, come on!! work, please,” he muttered, tapping at the screen furiously as the call finally went through.
“San-ah?! You’re late, again!” his supervisor’s stern voice rang out the moment the call connected.
“Yeonjun-ah, I’m so sorry! Please cover for me, just fifteen minutes, I swear!” San pleaded, already preparing to bolt the moment his stop arrived.
He could hear Yeonjun’s heavy sigh through the line. “You owe me coffee for this. And not the cheap kind!”
“You got it! Thank you, thank you!! you're the best hyunggg!” San beamed, even if the bus was shaking with every turn.
As soon as his stop arrived, he leapt off and dashed down the street toward the coffee shop, dodging pedestrians like it was a race.
By the time San shoved the café door open, his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and his apron was barely tied on. The smell of roasted beans should’ve been comforting but all it did was remind him that he was already an hour behind on prep.
Yeonjun shot him a Look from behind the counter, already working the espresso machine like a god of multitasking.
“Clock in, coffee boy,” he muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.
San bowed dramatically. “Coffee boy reporting for duty!”
And just like that, the chaos began.
The morning crowd didn’t let up. Orders piled in like an avalanche. Someone spilled a whole iced mocha on the floor. The blender jammed. A child screamed bloody murder over a cake pop. And to top it off, San’s hair tie snapped mid-shift, leaving curls in his face and coffee on his sleeves.
He barely had time to breathe, let alone text anyone. His stomach growled pitifully, but his break kept getting pushed back. By the time the lunch rush slowed, San leaned against the back sink, eyes fluttering shut for half a second.
Buzz buzz.
His phone lit up in his apron pocket.
A message from Wooyoung.
“He’s asking for you. Jongho’s fever came back.”
San’s eyes widened. All exhaustion vanished, replaced with adrenaline and worry. He didn’t even tell Yeonjun properly, just tossed his apron on the hook and called out, “Family emergency, I’ll make it up, I promise!”
“Text me when you’re alive!” Yeonjun shouted after him, but San was already halfway down the street, feet moving on instinct.
San rushed into the hospital after practically sprinting from the bus stop, lungs burning and breaths coming out uneven. Sweat dampened the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, the sleeves of his oversized hoodie pushed messily to his elbows after the run. His sling bag bounced painfully against his side as he hurried past familiar wards and nurses’ stations, shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
Honestly, nobody even blinked anymore.
Everyone in the hospital knew him.
The nurses who worked night shifts knew the exhausted college student who survived on convenience store coffee. The doctors knew the boy who always looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even the security guards greeted him with small smiles whenever he appeared breathless at odd hours.
“San-ah, he won’t run away. Slow down.”
The familiar voice stopped him just before he nearly barreled straight into the ward door.
San stumbled to a halt, bent slightly at the waist as he tried to catch his breath. He quickly fixed his hoodie and brushed back his damp hair, attempting to look less frantic than he actually was.
“Well, Wooyoung-hyung told me Jongho was having fevers again,” he said between breaths, guilt already creeping into his voice. “I had to rush here.”
The taller man in the white coat chuckled softly, eyes warm behind his glasses.
“I think it’s just a slight fever,” Do-hyun replied, patting San’s shoulder gently. “Wooyoungie tends to dramatize things.”
San rolled his eyes tiredly, though the corner of his lips twitched upward.
“You know how he is, hyung.”
Still, the worry sitting in his chest refused to ease.
He adjusted the strap of his bag before walking toward the familiar room at the end of the hallway, the one he could probably find blindfolded by now.
The moment he stepped inside, his expression softened completely.
The steady beeping of machines filled the quiet room while a nurse adjusted Jongho’s IV drip carefully. Wooyoung sat slouched beside the window with a cup of vending machine coffee in his hand, looking far too awake for someone who probably hadn’t slept properly.
“You came, San-ah,” Wooyoung greeted quietly this time, teasing voice more gently than usual.
“Hyungieee, I was worried,” San admitted immediately, already moving toward the bed. “Is he okay?”
His hand instinctively reached for the familiar face resting against the pillow.
Jongho looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
His cheeks were slightly pink from the fever, lashes resting softly against pale skin while he remained deeply asleep, completely unaware of the world moving around him.
San’s chest tightened painfully.
God, he wanted Jongho to wake up already.
He wanted to drag him outside to see everything he’d missed. Jongho would love the convenience store snacks San kept seeing online. He would love late-night walks and loud arcades and ridiculous TikTok trends. He’d definitely force San to play soccer with him again until both of them collapsed on the grass laughing.
Jongho loved soccer or any kind of sports.. when they're kids, jongho always said he wanted to try taekwondo.. just like San and their father. Jongho was still small that time.
San still remembered how bright his smile used to get whenever he won.
The accident had taken so much from him.
Jongho’s leg had broken badly back then, but Do hyun promised that with enough rehabilitation, he would run again someday. San held onto those words desperately, like they were the only thing keeping him together.
Because Jongho had already been sleeping for too long.
Too many birthdays.
Too many seasons.
Too many moments passing without him.
He would be fifteen now.
Fifteen.
There was still so much left for him to experience.
And San was ready to give him all of it.
Money had never really been the issue at first. Their parents had left enough behind before they passed away, enough to keep them comfortable for years if San ever allowed himself to touch it.
But he never touched Jongho’s share.
Not once.
That money belonged to Jongho’s future.
For school trips. For college someday. For stupid things teenagers wasted money on. For a life Jongho still deserved to have.
So San worked instead.
Scholarships, part-time jobs, overnight shifts, he juggled all of it while studying harder than everyone around him. Sometimes because he had to.
Sometimes because exhaustion distracted him from thinking too hard about the possibility of losing his little brother.
He sat down carefully beside the bed and reached for Jongho’s hand, thumb gently caressing the bruises left behind from needles and endless blood tests.
The skin felt warm from the fever.
“Baby bear,” San whispered softly, voice immediately cracking with affection, “hyung’s here.”
The machines continued their steady beeping.
“I’m sorry about last night… I wasn’t really in the right state of mind.” He let out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to their intertwined hands. “There were storms, and you know I hate storms.”
A small laugh escaped him, though it sounded more tired than amused.
“I’m not making excuses, though.”
He rubbed circles against Jongho’s knuckles gently.
“Were you worried about me?”
Silence answered him.
Only the soft hum of hospital machines and the rain beginning again outside the window.
“Where were you last night?” Wooyoung asked suddenly, sipping lazily from his vending machine coffee. “Yeonjunie told me it wasn’t your shift. You left for your other part-time job… housekeeping, right?”
His tone wasn’t accusing.
Just worried.
Wooyoung had always been like that.
Even though he had a full-time job himself, he still volunteered at the hospital whenever he could, especially around the long-term wards. Somehow, he always ended up becoming a caretaker for patients who didn’t have parents visiting every week or family members staying overnight beside them.
And Jongho…
Well, Jongho practically became everyone’s little brother at this point.
Last night, Wooyoung had been doing his usual rounds through the ward when he noticed something strange immediately.
Jongho’s room was quiet.
No soft rambling from San beside the bed. No complaints about college assignments. No dramatic storytelling while feeding Jongho ice chips he obviously couldn’t eat yet.
Just silence.
And honestly?
That worried him more than the fever.
San let out a quiet sigh, fingers absentmindedly smoothing out Jongho’s blanket. But despite himself, the corners of his lips twitched upward slightly.
He couldn’t help it.
Last night had been… nice.
For once, he had relaxed.
The guilt still lingered in his chest for leaving Jongho alone, but every time he remembered the older man’s careful words and patient gaze, warmth crept back into him before he could stop it.
Wooyoung noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His eyes narrowed mischievously before a grin spread across his face.
“Ah,” he dragged out dramatically, pointing his coffee cup at San. “So it’s someone special?”
San nearly choked on air.
“N-no!” he sputtered instantly, ears turning red. “It’s just the person whose house I clean! He’s just… weird.”
He ducked his head quickly, pretending to fix Jongho’s blanket again to avoid Wooyoung’s knowing stare.
Wooyoung gasped theatrically.
“Oh my god. You called him weird with a smile.”
“It’s not a smile.”
“It is absolutely a smile.”
San groaned under his breath while Wooyoung looked far too entertained for someone drinking terrible hospital coffee at nearly midnight.
“Okay then,” Wooyoung continued, leaning back in his chair. “Good weird or bad weird?”
This time, San caught the slight concern hidden beneath the teasing.
Because as much as Wooyoung joked around, he always worried about San. About the people around him. About whether San was letting dangerous strangers into his already exhausting life.
San’s expression softened a little.
“I promise he’s kind,” he said quietly. “Just… lonely, I think.”
The image of the older man sitting alone in that large apartment flashed through his head again. The silence in that place felt heavy somehow, like the walls had gotten too used to emptiness.
“I think he’s around your age, hyung, might be slight older.. you like older people..” San added after a second, now grinning mischievously himself. “Should I introduce you two? Maybe your tragic single life will finally end.”
Wooyoung immediately threw a packet of instant coffee at him.
“I told you already, I’m meeting someone!”
San caught the packet easily before rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Are you sure it’s not another hallucination?” he shot back. “Hyung, you barely leave your studio. When exactly do you even meet people?”
Wooyoung looked personally offended.
“Hey! I do go out!”
“Buying ramen at 2 a.m. does not count as social interaction.”
“It absolutely counts!”
San snorted while Wooyoung continued rambling indignantly.
“And he’s a busy man, okay? Busy people exist!”
“Yeah, yeah,” San waved dismissively, laughter already slipping into his voice.
Wooyoung let out an outraged squeal before lunging from his chair dramatically.
“YAH, CHOI SAN—”
San barely had time to react before Wooyoung jabbed his fingers into his side mercilessly.
“HYUNG— NO—”
The room immediately filled with laughter.
San nearly doubled over as Wooyoung continued tickling him while loudly demanding respect for his nonexistent love life. Even the nurse passing by outside the room peeked in briefly with an amused smile before shaking her head.
For a moment, the hospital room didn’t feel so heavy.
The soft chuckles, Wooyoung’s dramatic whining, San’s breathless laughter, it all wrapped around the quiet night warmly, filling the sterile room with something that almost resembled home.
And beside them, Jongho slept peacefully through it all, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor continuing like a calm heartbeat in the background.
It had been another hectic weeks.
Multiple presentations back-to-back, assignments piling endlessly, and college lectures that felt like listening to a language he barely understood half the time. Most days, San simply attended class physically while surviving off lecture slides and notes sent by classmates afterward.
Thankfully, he was gifted.
Even exhausted, concepts came easily to him. He could memorize entire chapters after one sleepless night and still score higher than students who actually rested properly.
But even gifted people had limits.
And maybe, just maybe, San had been pushing himself too hard these past few weeks.
His shoulders ached constantly now, hidden beneath layers of muscle patches stuck across his skin. His back burned whenever he bent too quickly. Even the nape of his neck throbbed from tension, while his wrists screamed every time he carried trays at work.
Today had been particularly awful.
Fatigue clung heavily to his body, slowing his thoughts until even simple tasks became difficult. He kept making mistakes during his café shift, wrong orders, forgotten syrups, nearly dropping cups twice.
Barely awake.
Barely functioning.
Barely eating.
Actually… had he eaten today?
San frowned slightly as he tried to remember while walking out of the café. His smartwatch buzzed against his wrist, notifying him about his next housekeeping shift.
His heartbeat skipped instinctively.
Yunho.
The thought alone softened some of the exhaustion sitting inside him.
Over the past few weeks, they had somehow become… close.
Or at least close enough that San no longer felt awkward sitting in the older man’s massive kitchen while folding towels or organizing shelves. Yunho had this strange gentleness to him, like awkward and quiet sometimes, but always kind.
He never pried.
Never pushed.
But he cared in a way San still didn’t fully understand.
Like he noticed things nobody else did.
San sighed quietly as he removed his apron and clocked out before heading toward the bus stop. The evening air felt cold against his sweaty skin.
Crack.
He tilted his neck with a grimace before rubbing at his sore wrist carefully. His fingers brushed against the fresh bandages wrapped around it, and he hissed quietly.
Today really had been an event.
First, he accidentally burned himself while steaming milk because his mind blanked out halfway through his shift. Then later, an already angry customer spilled an entire hot latte onto his wrist while yelling about an order mistake that wasn’t even San’s fault.
Honestly, maybe the universe hated him a little today.
By the time he arrived at Yunho’s house, the sky had already darkened.
The large home stood quietly at the end of the street, lights glowing warmly behind tall windows. It was beautiful in an almost intimidating way, sleek architecture, expensive furniture, perfectly designed spaces.
But somehow…
It always felt empty.
Like the house had forgotten what it meant to be lived in.
San rang the bell before immediately putting on his usual customer-service smile out of habit.
The door opened quickly.
Yunho stood there in loose sweatpants and a dark hoodie, soft hair slightly messy like he had been running his hands through it absentmindedly.
And then he smiled.
That soft, awkward smile San was slowly getting too attached to.
“Come in, San-ah” Yunho said immediately, stepping aside.
San nodded politely as he entered.
“I’ll start immediately, Mr. Jeong.”
But Yunho stopped him almost instantly.
“Actually…” the older man hesitated awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can just be informal with me. ‘Mr. Jeong’ sounds too serious. I'm not that old..”
A faint blush spread across his cheeks while he coughed awkwardly into his fist.
“Just call me Yunho. Or hyung, if you want.”
San’s lips twitched upward immediately.
God, this man was cute when embarrassed.
“Are you sure, Mr. Jeong?” he teased lightly.
Yunho visibly malfunctioned.
“Y-yeah,” he mumbled, ears turning red. “I’m sure.”
San couldn’t stop the small grin spreading across his face.
“Then okay, Yunho-hyung.”
The older man looked weirdly pleased by that, he blatantly ignoring the splashes of pink cheeks dotting the older man.
San set his tote bag down near the entrance before rolling his sleeves up again, preparing himself mentally to start cleaning despite how badly his body wanted to collapse.
But before he could move further..
“San-ah.”
Yunho’s voice turned quieter.
San blinked before feeling gentle fingers carefully reaching for his arm.
“Your wrist…”
Yunho cradled his hand carefully, eyes immediately narrowing with concern at the bandages wrapped around his skin. His touch was warm like ridiculously gentle, like San might break apart if handled too roughly.
“And your arm too,” Yunho murmured softly after noticing the faint redness disappearing beneath San’s sleeve.
San bit the inside of his cheek.
“U-um… just mishaps from work,” he said quickly. “It’s no big deal. It's one of the bad days..”
Yunho looked deeply unconvinced.
In fact, he looked upset.
Not angry upset.
The worried kind.
His lips pulled into a small pout while his brows furrowed together.
“Then don’t clean today,” Yunho said firmly. “The house isn’t even that dirty.”
San blinked in surprise.
“No, hyung,” he protested immediately. “I came here to work. I can’t just not do it.”
“Then I’ll still pay you.”
San stared at him.
Yunho stared right back stubbornly.
“No worries, San-ah,” the older man continued gently. “There’s nothing wrong with slacking off sometimes.”
Nobody had said something like that to him in a very long time.
You need rest.
The words settled strangely in his chest.
Before San could argue again, Yunho lightly grabbed his wrist as he carefully avoided the injured area and started pulling him toward the living room.
“Come on,” Yunho insisted, completely ignoring San’s weak protests already. “I’m not accepting complaints.”
“Hyung—”
“Nope.”
San barely had time to react before Yunho gently pushed him down onto the large sofa.
The cushions practically swallowed him whole.
A second later, Yunho disappeared briefly down the hallway before returning with a thick blanket bundled in his arms. He immediately draped it over San carefully, tucking the corners around him with surprising seriousness.
Honestly, San didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The older man looked ridiculously panicked over a few burns and bruises, but at the same time… strangely childlike.
Like someone excited to finally have company.
Like a lonely kid asking a friend to stay longer and play with him. He looks like a golden retriever puppy, who was excited seeing new people, he kinda resemble to one also.
“Do you want to play games instead?” Yunho asked suddenly, already crouching near the television cabinet. “I have a lot of games here. I usually play during my free time.”
Before San could even answer, Yunho’s expression shifted again into worry.
“But your wrist might hurt,” he muttered quickly. “Wait, I’ll get ice first.”
He immediately started standing up again in a rush.
San blinked before instinctively reaching out and catching Yunho’s hand gently.
Warm.
The older man froze instantly at the contact.
“Hyung,” San said softly, unable to stop the small giggle escaping him, “slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”
Yunho stared at him for a second.
And for some reason, that simple sentence made something in Yunho’s expression soften completely.
Like relief. Like he needed to hear that more than San realized.
“Oh,” Yunho mumbled quietly, sitting back down slowly. “Right.”
San smiled faintly, still loosely holding onto his hand before finally letting go.
The room fell comfortably quiet for a moment.
It was strange.
Usually silence made San anxious. Silence meant empty hospital rooms, sleepless nights, overthinking until sunrise. But here, sitting on Yunho’s couch wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like fabric softener and coffee, the silence felt… warm.
Safe.
Yunho cleared his throat awkwardly.
“I really don’t mind paying you without cleaning, you know.”
“I know,” San replied quietly.
“But?”
San looked down at the bandages around his wrist.
“But I don’t like feeling useless.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Yunho’s face changed immediately.
Not pity.
Never pity.
Just understanding.
“You’re not useless because you’re tired,” Yunho said softly.
San laughed quietly under his breath.
Easy for him to say.
“You sound like a motivational poster.”
That made Yunho snort unexpectedly.
“Wow. And here I thought I sounded wise.”
“You sound like someone who drinks iced americanos and stares out windows dramatically.”
Yunho gasped in offense.
“I do not stare dramatically.”
“Sure, hyung.”
“I’m serious!”
San giggled again, shoulders finally relaxing properly for what felt like the first time all week.
Yunho stared for a second before smiling unconsciously too.
There it was again.
That strange warmth settling quietly between them.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Just two exhausted people somehow finding comfort in each other’s company.
Then Yunho suddenly perked up.
“Oh! Wait.”
San blinked as Yunho hurried off again before returning with two game controllers in his hands.
“I have Mario Kart.”
San immediately narrowed his eyes.
“…Hyung.”
Yunho grinned.
“What?”
“You look competitive.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Okay maybe a little.”
San laughed softly as Yunho sat beside him on the couch, close enough that their shoulders brushed lightly beneath the blanket.
And for tonight at least, San let himself rest.
The Mario Kart session turned unnecessarily competitive very quickly.
At first, Yunho tried acting calm and mature about it.
That lasted exactly one round.
“YAH— HOW ARE YOU GOOD AT THIS?”
Yunho groaned dramatically as San’s character sped past him near the finish line.
San nearly wheezed from laughing, curled up against the couch while clutching the controller carefully with his uninjured hand.
“Hyung, you literally drove into the water three times.”
“That map is evil.”
“You threw a shell at yourself.”
“I panicked!”
San laughed harder, shoulders shaking while Yunho stared at him in betrayed disbelief.
The sound echoed warmly through the huge house, bouncing off walls that probably hadn’t heard this much noise in years.
Eventually, though, the energy settled.
The game music quieted into background noise while Yunho disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two steaming mugs of tea balanced carefully in his hands.
“Careful,” Yunho warned softly while handing one over. “It’s hot.”
San accepted it with a quiet thanks, fingers warming instantly against the ceramic mug.
For a while, they just sat there.
The city lights outside glowed faintly through the large windows while rain tapped softly against the glass. The television continued playing idle menu music quietly in the background, filling the comfortable silence between them.
San pulled the blanket higher around himself unconsciously.
“…You’re really good at taking care of people,” he said eventually, voice quieter now.
Yunho blinked slightly at the sudden comment.
“Hm?”
“You notice things quickly,” San explained. “Most people don’t.”
Most people saw him smiling and assumed he was fine.
Most people praised him for working hard instead of asking why he looked exhausted all the time.
Most people accepted “I’m okay” at face value.
But Yunho didn’t.
The older man looked down into his tea for a second before smiling faintly.
“I think it’s because people used to notice things about me too.”
San glanced at him curiously.
Yunho leaned back into the couch slowly, eyes drifting toward the rain outside.
“My adoptive parents,” he started quietly, “were good people.”
Something softened in his expression immediately when he mentioned them.
“They weren’t rich at first. We lived in a tiny apartment above their old shop.” Yunho chuckled softly under his breath. “The heater barely worked during winter.”
San smiled faintly at the image.
“But they took care of me well,” Yunho continued. “Too well, honestly.”
The older man traced the rim of his mug absentmindedly.
“They always worried about me. Whether I ate properly. Whether I slept enough. Whether I was overworking myself.” He laughed quietly. “I used to find it annoying.”
Now, though…
His expression dimmed slightly.
“…I miss it.”
The confession settled softly between them.
San stayed quiet, listening carefully.
Yunho had never really talked this much about himself before.
“You own a brand now, right?” San asked gently after a moment. “You mentioned it before.”
Yunho nodded.
“Yeah, Fashion and design mostly.” He smiled a little, though it looked tired around the edges. “It became more successful than I expected. Mingi helps a lot, my friends too..”
San blinked.
That explained the house.
The expensive furniture.
The endless rooms.
“You must’ve worked really hard.”
Yunho let out a small breathy laugh.
“I did.”
But strangely, he didn’t sound proud.
The older man stared quietly into his tea for a long moment before speaking again.
“I spent most of my youth surviving, I think.”
San’s fingers tightened slightly around his mug.
“I kept thinking…” Yunho murmured softly, “if I worked harder now, then someday I could finally relax. Someday I could finally be happy.”
His smile turned bittersweet.
“So I kept running.”
Long nights.
Endless meetings.
Design drafts until sunrise.
Barely sleeping.
Barely living.
“Then one day,” Yunho continued quietly, “I finally had everything I thought I wanted.”
The large house.
Money.
Success.
Recognition.
“But I realized I couldn’t turn back time.”
San looked at him silently.
Yunho’s eyes stayed fixed on the rain outside.
“I missed my twenties completely,” he admitted. “I don’t even remember most of it properly.”
Something in San’s chest tightened painfully at those words.
Because he understood.
Maybe not in the exact same way.
But he understood what it meant to spend your life surviving instead of living.
Yunho laughed quietly again, though it sounded more self-deprecating this time.
“Sorry. That sounded depressing.”
“No,” San said immediately.
Their eyes met.
“It sounded lonely.”
Yunho went still.
The room became quiet again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just honest.
And for the first time in a very long while, San felt like someone understood the exhaustion sitting deep inside him without needing every detail explained.
He looked down at his tea eventually, voice softer when he finally spoke again.
“I think…” he hesitated briefly, “sometimes I don’t know how to stop either.”
Yunho didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t pressure.
Just listened.
San swallowed quietly before continuing.
“If I stop moving, I start thinking too much.”
About hospitals.
About bills.
About losing people.
About fear.
He didn’t say any of that aloud.
Not yet.
But somehow, Yunho seemed to understand there was something heavy hidden beneath the words anyway.
The older man leaned back against the couch slowly, shoulder brushing lightly against San’s beneath the blanket again.
“Then maybe,” Yunho said gently, “we can practice resting a little.”
San let out a small laugh through his nose.
“Practice?”
“Yeah.” Yunho smiled softly. “You seem terrible at it.”
“…That’s rude.”
“It’s true.”
San finally laughed properly again, quieter this time.
And somehow, sitting there with warm tea in his hands and rain outside the windows, the world didn’t feel quite as unbearable for once.
The tea had long gone cold by the time exhaustion finally dragged San under.
He didn’t even remember falling asleep properly.
One second he had been curled into Yunho’s couch beneath the blanket, listening absentmindedly to the rain and Yunho’s quiet voice talking about random things. The next, his body simply gave up after weeks of running on caffeine, stress, and barely enough sleep to function.
Yunho noticed almost immediately.
San had fallen asleep mid-response, head tilted slightly against the couch cushion while his breathing softened gradually.
For a moment, Yunho just stared.
The younger looked… painfully tired.
Even in sleep, faint tension remained between his brows like his body had forgotten how to fully relax. His injured wrist rested carefully against his chest while the blanket slipped dangerously off one shoulder.
Yunho quietly adjusted it back over him.
“…You really don’t rest enough,” he murmured softly.
San didn’t stir.
The house stayed peaceful after that.
Rain tapping softly outside.
Television muted.
Dim kitchen lights glowing faintly down the hallway.
Yunho had almost fallen asleep too when—
RIIIING.
The sudden phone vibration shattered the silence violently.
San jerked awake instantly, disoriented and panicked.
His phone screen lit up brightly against the dark room.
Wooyoung hyung calling.
3:07 AM.
San’s stomach dropped immediately.
He answered so fast he nearly fumbled the phone.
“Hyung?”
“San-ah.”
Wooyoung sounded panicked.
Not teasing.
Not dramatic.
Actually panicked.
And suddenly San couldn’t breathe properly.
“Jongho’s fever spiked,” Wooyoung said quickly, voice shaky from rushing around. “He’s shivering really badly right now. Do-hyun is here already, but they’re trying to stabilize him—”
San was already standing before the sentence even finished.
His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“What happened?” he asked breathlessly, grabbing his bag with trembling hands. “He was okay earlier—”
“I know, I know,” Wooyoung replied quickly. “They think it might be an infection response, but San-ah.. ”
“I’m coming.”
The words came out instantly.
His hands shook so badly he almost dropped his phone.
“I’m coming right now.”
He ended the call before Wooyoung could even reply.
Panic swallowed him whole immediately after.
Keys.
Shoes.
Bag.
Phone.
His thoughts tangled together violently while his chest tightened harder and harder with every second.
No no no no.
Jongho hated fevers. Jongho used to cry from fevers as a kid because he always got chills too easily.
“San-ah”
Warm hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders gently.
San startled violently before looking up.
Yunho stood in front of him, still half-awake, hair messy from sleep and concern written all over his face.
“What happened?”
San opened his mouth, but nothing came out properly at first.
“My—”
His voice cracked.
Someone important.
Someone precious.
Someone he couldn’t lose.
“My brother,” he finally forced out shakily. “He’s at the hospital and something’s wrong.”
Yunho’s expression changed instantly.
Not hesitation.
Not confusion.
Just immediate action.
“I’ll drive.”
San blinked.
“No, hyung, it’s okay, I can just—”
“I’ll drive,” Yunho repeated firmly, already reaching for his car keys from the counter. No questions. No asking why San’s little brother was in the hospital at 3 a.m.
Just there.
Solid and steady beside him.
And honestly?
That almost made San cry more than the panic itself.
The drive felt endless.
San bounced his leg anxiously the entire time, fingers gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. Every few seconds he checked for updates even though no new messages appeared.
Yunho kept glancing at him quietly from the driver’s seat.
The younger looked terrified.
Completely terrified.
And Yunho suddenly realized this wasn’t just normal sibling concern.
This was deeper.
Heavier.
By the time they reached the hospital, San was already unbuckling before the car fully stopped.
“San— wait—”
But the younger was already running.
Yunho followed quickly behind.
The fluorescent hospital lights felt cold after the warmth of the house. Nurses moved quickly through the hallways while distant monitor beeps echoed softly around them.
And then Yunho noticed something strange.
People recognized San immediately.
“San-ah, they’re inside.”
“Do-hyun is with him already.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, breathe first.”
The nurses spoke to him gently, familiar with him in a way that made Yunho’s curiosity grow quietly.
San didn’t even slow down.
He rushed straight toward one particular room before pushing the door open hurriedly.
Yunho stopped just outside the doorway instinctively.
Inside, the atmosphere felt tense immediately.
Machines beeped steadily.
Wooyoung stood near the bed looking exhausted and worried while a doctor adjusted something near the IV stand.
And on the hospital bed..
A young boy.
Far too young.
Curled slightly beneath blankets while shivering weakly despite the fever burning across flushed cheeks.
San rushed to him instantly.
“Jongho—”
His voice broke completely this time.
He grabbed the boy’s hand carefully, panic written openly across his face while murmuring soft reassurances under his breath.
“I’m here, baby bear, I’m here…”
Yunho stood frozen near the doorway.
Brother.
That was his brother?
His chest tightened unexpectedly while watching San gently brush damp hair away from the boy’s forehead with trembling fingers.
The affection in every movement hurt to look at somehow.
Because suddenly, pieces started fitting together. He realized all the endless jobs San had work, the exhaustion San looked when he was doing the housekeeping, the rushed whenever he was done. No matter at what time.
The fear hidden beneath San’s smiles.
Yunho bit the inside of his lip quietly, eyes lingering on the scene in front of him.
Curiosity tugged at him strongly now.
Not judgment.
It was never judgment.
Just understanding why San always looked like he carried the entire world alone.
San barely noticed the room settling down slowly after that. Everything around him had blurred into noise the moment he saw Jongho trembling on the bed.
He sat close enough that his knees pressed against the hospital rail, fingers wrapped tightly around Jongho’s hand while adjusted the medication carefully beside them.
“The fever’s lowering now,” Do-hyun said gently after checking the monitor again. “He’s stabilizing.”
San finally let out a breath.
Not fully relieved.
Not yet.
But enough that his shoulders sagged slightly from sheer exhaustion.
“You scared me,” he whispered softly toward Jongho, brushing his thumb over the younger’s knuckles. “You really scared me this time, baby bear.”
The room quieted after that.
Wooyoung exchanged a glance with Do-hyun before the doctor quietly excused himself to give them space. The machines continued their steady beeping while rain tapped faintly against the hospital windows outside.
Only then did Wooyoung finally notice the very tall stranger awkwardly standing near the doorway.
Blink.
Blink.
Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed immediately.
Well.
Well well well.
This is interesting.
He slowly walked toward San before dramatically leaning closer.
“San-ah,” he whispered loudly, obviously not whispering at all. “Who’s the handsome man standing outside your brother’s room at three in the morning?”
San nearly choked.
“HYUNG.”
“What?” Wooyoung blinked innocently. “I’m just asking.”
Yunho immediately looked startled at suddenly being perceived.
“Oh— um— hello,” he bowed awkwardly. “I’m Jeong Yunho.”
Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled instantly.
Ah.
Name basis already.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“And how exactly,” Wooyoung continued suspiciously, “did our Sannie acquire someone this handsome?”
“Hyung!”
San’s ears burned bright red immediately while Wooyoung looked utterly delighted by the reaction.
Honestly, teasing San was one of life’s greatest joys.
Yunho, meanwhile, looked like he wanted the hospital floor to swallow him whole.
“I-I just drove him here,” he explained quickly. “San was panicking, so—”
“Aww.”
“Hyung, stop making weird noises.”
Wooyoung ignored him completely.
“So you’re the mysterious person from housekeeping?”
This time Yunho blinked in confusion while San froze completely.
“You told people about me?” Yunho asked carefully.
San looked seconds away from flatlining himself.
“No! Not like that—”
“He smiled while talking about you,” Wooyoung added helpfully.
“WOOYOUNG-HYUNG.”
Yunho’s ears turned suspiciously pink.
“Oh.”
San immediately buried his face into one hand.
This was hell.
Wooyoung looked incredibly proud of himself. But beneath all the teasing, his gaze softened slightly while looking at San again.
Because honestly?
This was the first time in months Wooyoung had seen San arrive at the hospital with someone beside him. Not with the same alone and carrying everything silently by himself. He came with someone that worried enough to drive him here at 3 a.m. without asking questions first.
And that mattered more than San probably realized.
Wooyoung gently squeezed San’s shoulder.
“He’s okay now,” he reassured softly this time. “You can breathe a little.”
San swallowed hard before nodding quietly. Yunho watched the interaction silently from nearby.
The familiarity between them.
The way Wooyoung hovered protectively around both brothers.
The way San looked so small sitting beside Jongho despite carrying so much responsibility.
Something ached strangely in Yunho’s chest watching it. But then,
Twitch.
San froze instantly.
“…Hyung?”
Wooyoung blinked.
Twitch.
Jongho’s fingers moved weakly beneath San’s hand.
Everyone in the room went completely still.
San stared down at their joined hands like he’d imagined it.
“…Jongho?”
Another twitch.
This time stronger.
The monitor beeped steadily while Jongho’s brows furrowed faintly, expression tightening like someone trying to wake from an impossibly deep sleep.
San’s breathing stopped entirely.
“Do-hyun—” Wooyoung called immediately, voice suddenly shaking.
But San couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Slowly—
Painfully slowly—
Jongho’s fingers curled weakly around San’s hand.
And then his eyelashes fluttered.
Once.
Twice.
Before his eyes cracked open slightly beneath the harsh hospital lights.
The entire world seemed to stop.
San made a broken sound in the back of his throat immediately.
“Jongho?”
The younger blinked sluggishly, clearly disoriented, eyes unfocused as they moved slowly around the room before finally landing on San.
“H-hyung…?”
His voice came out hoarse.
Barely audible.
But it was enough.
San shattered instantly.
“Oh my god— oh my god—”
Tears spilled down his face before he could stop them while clutching Jongho’s hand tighter, shoulders trembling violently from relief.
“You woke up!”
His words broke apart completely.
“You actually woke up…”
Wooyoung slapped both hands over his mouth beside them, already crying openly too.
“OH MY GOD!”
Yunho stood frozen near the doorway, heart pounding painfully against his ribs while watching the scene unfold.
The raw emotion in the room felt overwhelming.
Years.
That realization hit him suddenly.
This wasn’t a few weeks.
This boy had been asleep for years.
And San…
San had stayed.
Every single day.
Jongho blinked weakly again before squinting at his crying brother in confusion.
“…Why are you ugly crying?”
Wooyoung let out a loud sob-laugh instantly.
And San actually laughed through his tears too, pressing Jongho’s hand against his cheek shakily while the room around them dissolved into chaos.
The room stayed chaotic for a while after that.
Nurses rushing in.
Do-hyun getting called back immediately.
Wooyoung crying dramatically into tissues while somehow still trying to explain what happened at the same time.
And through all of it.
San never let go of Jongho’s hand once.
Not once.
Even after Jongho’s eyes slowly started drooping again from exhaustion.
Even after Do-hyun gently explained that waking up after such a long time would take a massive toll on his body.
Even after Jongho could barely keep himself awake for more than a few minutes.
San stayed right there.
Thumb stroking softly across Jongho’s knuckles like he was afraid the moment would disappear if he stopped touching him.
“…He really woke up?” San asked quietly for probably the fifth time.
Wooyoung sniffled loudly beside him.
“Yes, you crybaby, he woke up.”
San looked toward Do-hyun again immediately, eyes still glassy with disbelief.
“He talked?”
Do-hyun smiled softly.
“He did.”
San swallowed hard.
Then his gaze returned to Jongho again instantly, like nothing else in the room mattered.
The younger one looked exhausted now.
Far too exhausted.
His fever had lowered, though faint redness still lingered across his cheeks while sleep slowly dragged him under again. But this time it was different.
This wasn’t empty unconsciousness anymore.
This was a rest.
Real rest.
Jongho’s fingers still curled weakly around San’s hand even in sleep. As if like instinct that he knew his brother was there.
San’s lips trembled slightly before he carefully reached up with his free hand to brush Jongho’s hair away from his forehead again. He's so warm, alive and awake..
He still couldn’t fully believe it.
“You talked to me…” San whispered shakily, almost to himself.
That voice.
God.
He wanted to hear it every single day now. The childlike voice, laced with a mature voice. He wanted Jongho to complain about hospital food. Wanted him to argue over soccer teams again. Wanted him to ask annoying questions at 2 a.m. and steal snacks from San’s bag like before.
He wanted every little thing back.
Even the annoying things.
Especially the annoying things.
Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks quietly before he leaned closer toward the bed.
“You called hyung ugly crying,” he mumbled with a watery laugh. “That’s so rude after making hyung suffer for years.”
Wooyoung snorted loudly through his own tears.
“See? Same brat. Definitely your brother.”
San laughed weakly again.
The sound cracked apart halfway through.
Because relief hurts too.
Years of fear and exhaustion suddenly had somewhere to go now, and San didn’t know how to hold all of it inside anymore.
He carefully pressed Jongho’s hand against his forehead for a second, eyes squeezed shut tightly.
“Thank you, thank you really..” he whispered brokenly. Nobody knew who he was thanking exactly.
The universe.
The doctors.
Anything listening.
Yunho stayed quietly near the back of the room, watching silently.
And honestly?
He didn’t think he’d ever forget this scene for the rest of his life. San looked wrecked. Eyes swollen from crying, hair messy from sleep and panic, hoodie half slipping off one shoulder.
But the way he looked at Jongho…
Like the entire world had just been handed back to him.
Yunho’s chest tightened painfully.
Because suddenly he understood something very clearly. San had not been living for himself all this time. He had been surviving for him.
For this boy.
For the possibility that someday Jongho would wake up and need his older brother waiting beside him.
And he had waited.
Through exhaustion.
Through loneliness.
Through endless shifts and sleepless nights.
He stayed.
Yunho lowered his gaze quietly for a moment, biting lightly against the inside of his cheek.
Then Wooyoung suddenly turned toward him with red swollen eyes.
“You,” he pointed dramatically.
Yunho blinked.
“Thank you for bringing him here.”
Yunho looked startled immediately.
“I didn’t really do anything—”
“You did,” Wooyoung interrupted softly this time.
San glanced up too finally, eyes still wet with tears.
Their gazes met briefly.
And Yunho’s heart did something incredibly inconvenient inside his chest.
“…Thank you,” San whispered quietly.
It wasn’t loud.
Barely even steady.
But Yunho could hear how genuine it was.
And somehow, hearing that while San sat beside his finally-awake little brother felt heavier than anything else tonight.