Work Text:
https://open.spotify.com/track/5BUq9bdtsm3LWw5laJeJ4R?si=e94258a9e15c4201
—
Beauty is not absolute. It is not definite. Some people are held to beauty standards that demand their hair be long and sleek, and others are valued for the thickness of the soles of their feet. Humans are funny that way. They find beauty in the strangest things, and they push those values on everyone around them until their little island is homogenized, and their unique beauties are made to feel like scrapwood rather than the towering sequoias they really are.
There was a time when San thought he understood what beauty was. Where he grew up, they had their idols. Hairstyles and fashion trends came to them a little later than the big cities, but he knew about them all the same. He rarely followed the trends. He didn’t, and still doesn’t, care all that much about what others think of him.
Some people think only of what others will think of them.
Like Yeosang.
When Yeosang first joined the company, San was awestruck. Of course, he was. Everyone was. Kang Yeosang has the face of an angel, the voice of a volcanic eruption, and the personality of a kept kitten. He was perfect. To so many people, he was undeniably perfect.
But that’s the thing about perfection. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to maintain. San has seen his bandmates go hungry, bleach their hair until it burns, and dance until their toes are swollen and bruised. He’s watched every single one of them sing until their throat bleeds.
He’s watched Yeosang cry alone late at night. Even if he didn’t want to be seen. San followed him to the nearby park he had fled to for some alone time. San had expected to find him doing more workouts. Instead, he found Yeosang red-nosed with tear-streaked cheeks.
Being an idol isn’t for everyone. There are times when San wonders if being an idol is for him. He doesn’t know what else he’d do, though. At this point, it’s a part of his DNA—Choi San of ATEEZ.
Just like Yeosang is Kang Yeosang of ATEEZ. The face of ATEEZ. The beautiful dancer with lean limbs and smooth skin. Snow White with his Seven Not-So-Dwarves.
They had gotten closer that night. San approached Yeosang and let him pour his heart out. By the night's end, San’s jacket was covered with spit, tears, and snot, but it was worth it. He likes understanding how the people around him feel, so having Yeosang finally divulge that information was critical in bringing them closer together.
They walked home hand in hand. San ran Yeosang a bath and made him a big bowl of ramyeon. They watched One Piece together until they fell asleep on the couch with their legs entwined.
San always thought he knew Yeosang. He thought he understood him. San was proud of Yeosang when he started working out to feel more comfortable in his skin. They worked out together. As Yeosang’s muscles grew, San’s heart did too. It was bound to happen. San knew that he liked men. He always had. He had done an excellent job of pushing down those feelings around his bandmates and even other colleagues just to be safe, but sometimes it slipped through.
Like when Jongho arm wrestled some buff guy or when Hongjoong played tennis or when Wooyoung did squats and his quads tensed like God was wringing the muscles out himself.
San could usually brush it off. It was nothing. Just a little crush here and there. He’d jerk off and forget about it. It was easy, too. Most of the guys were just that… guys : lewd jokes, burps, and farts. Everyone was loud, and the smells they could produce were a little more than San could handle.
He was one to talk. He was one of the guys.
Yeosang was too, but he was… different .
San just didn’t realize how different Yeosang was.
Until now.
It’s just past midnight when San decides to stop over at Yeosang’s place. He’s living with Yunho now, but he’s still nearby. He knows Yunho is out of town, but Yeosang never sleeps before two in the morning, so San’s sure he’s awake playing some shoot-em-up game.
San lets himself in. He has a key. They all do. Safety measures and all that. San isn’t really sure what he’s expecting when he lets himself into Yeosang’s room without calling out a warning. At most, he thinks Yeosang might be asleep already. But San rarely thinks things through. Seonghwa often chastizes him for his spontaneity. And Hongjoong.
And everyone else in the group.
Yeosang never criticizes San, though. He likes how adventurous San is when he’s brave enough to leave his room.
The second San pushes open Yeosang’s bedroom door, he wishes he wouldn’t have gone on an adventure tonight at all.
The room is so bright. San swears Yeosang has ten different glowing lights going in all directions—pink, purple, and blue—and so much white light. It’s absolutely beautiful. San is stunned, speechless.
Not because of the light, though.
Right in the middle of it all sits Yeosang. He’s…the way he’s dressed…it’s—
“Oh my God, San— what— oh God No—”
The world is spinning at a speed that San can’t comprehend. His head feels like it’s swollen to the size of a watermelon. In his chest, his heart thumps violently.
“Wait, wait, Yeosang—just—calm down—it’s okay—WAIT!”
Across the room, Yeosang is crying. San feels like he always sees Yeosang crying. This man never cries in front of anyone, but San has seen him cry multiple times for some reason. It’s an honor to be trusted this way, but it also feels like a knife to the gut every time.
He doesn’t want Yeosang to cry.
Yeosang looks different. He had been growing his hair longer for a while, but now it’s tied up in a bun. Little strands are falling all around his face. And his face is made up. Not just the normal makeup they wear for promotions. It’s, as the kids say, beat.
His eyes look massive framed by long, dark lashes. The blush on his cheeks blends beautifully with the natural shine of his skin. His lips are pouty and pink, glossed and gorgeous.
He looks…
“Just go,” Yeosang whispers, heart shattered and mind wiped.
San can’t just go, though. There’s no closing Pandora’s Box once it’s been opened. And San isn’t sure if he wants to close it. He can’t deny that he was shocked upon opening the door, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. If anything, he really likes it.
"But,” San takes a few slow steps in Yeosang’s direction, voice low. “You look so pretty.”
The only sound in the room is some girl group track playing on Yeosang’s phone. It’s bubbly and sweet; just like the outfit and makeup gracing Yeosang’s form.
“Don’t lie,” Yeosang sounds heartbroken. It makes San sick. He crosses the room quickly, falling to his knees right in front of Yeosang. Yeosang tries to turn away, but San reaches out to place a gentle hand on his chin to get his attention.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” San corrects him with a frown. Their eyes meet. The tears in Yeosang’s eyes are threatening to pour over, so San reaches out to dab them with his sleeve, before continuing, “Your makeup looks amazing. Don’t cry. I’d hate to see you mess it up.”
Yeosang pouts, but he also reaches up to wipe some tears away too, before looking right at San. “You won’t tell anyone?”
“Tell anyone what?” San grins, tone light. Before Yeosang can get worked up again, San lets his eyes roam down Yeosang’s body, appreciation bright in his eyes. “Seriously, Yeosang, you look good . Where did you even get this stuff?”
This makes Yeosang really shrink in on himself. “Jihan.”
“Oh.” San feels a little faint. He knows Yeosang has friends from being an MC on The Show, but it makes him a little lightheaded thinking of his friend talking about something like this with someone outside their little bubble. “And she was okay with it?”
“She taught me how to do my makeup, so yeah. I guess.”
San nods before reaching out to push some hair from Yeosang’s eyes. “So are you…does this mean you’re gay?”
Bright red races across every inch of Yeosang that San can see. He clears his throat awkwardly a few times before replying, “Not—I’m not—this isn’t like that. I’m…I’m not—”
“It’s okay if you are, Yeosang. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, as a matter of fact—”
San can’t believe he’s about to finally come out to someone. It’s a secret that grows bigger in his chest with every passing day. He’s just about to continue speaking when Yeosang interrupts him.
“I’m not gay, San!”
All the air leaves San’s lungs. He slumps forward, defeated. Yeosang looks almost disgusted as he says it. He turns away from San before standing up and crossing the room. This gives San a full view of the outfit adorning Yeosang’s frame.
There’s so much… fluff. Yeosang has gained so much musculature over the past few months, and that isn’t lost under the layers of pink and purple tickling his swollen arms and legs. San’s mouth starts to water despite himself. He tries to ignore it. He tries to stop looking, but how can he?
“You look so pretty,” he repeats himself. He must look like an idiot right now, gawking at his friend.
Despite Yeosang’s body facing away from San, he sees it when his friend stiffens for a moment. He pushes his foot, covered in a pale stocking, into the carpet beneath him. The sight is enough to make San want to keep going.
“I can help you get more clothes, ya know. My sister always has hand-me-downs. She won’t ask any questions if I ask her to send me some. She has a really nice body type too. Kinda like you.”
Slowly, Yeosang turns to face San again. He looks nervous. “You mean it?”
“Yeah. Of course. I can call her tomorrow—”
“No,” Yeosang takes a deep breath and pushes through his own obvious surge of anxiety, “Pretty. You said I look pretty. Did you mean it?”
San’s eyes widen. He can’t believe Yeosang even has to ask. “Uh… duh. Yeah. I mean, yes. You’re—you’re more than pretty honestly. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
Yeosang might not be gay, but he’s certainly not immune to praise from other men. For the first time since San barged into his room, Yeosang smiles.
“Wow.”
San doesn’t say anything else. He just lets the word hang in the air between them before standing up abruptly and heading for the door.
“San,” Yeosang calls out.
When San turns around, his friend is right in front of him. “Are you sure you’re not…we’re okay, right?”
The truth is San isn’t okay. Even though Yeosang thinks he’s the one who got hit the hardest tonight with shame, he isn’t. He can choose to wipe away his makeup and pull on a suit at any time.
San doesn’t have that luxury.
He will never be able to hold hands with the person he loves in public.
He will never be able to walk down the aisle and kiss the love of his life.
When San really thinks about it, there’s a good chance he won’t even find the love of his life. The stakes are just too high.
He extends his arms in front of him and cocks his head to indicate that Yeosang should come in for a hug. Yeosang easily complies with a shy smile on his face. San hugs him until his own heart stops crunching in his chest and he can look at Yeosang with more than just sadness on his face.
—
“I thought you said you liked the miniskirt?”
Yeosang is frowning at San, his lips bright red and his hair done up in curlers.
It’s a crazy look, only partially complete, but Yeosang manages to pull it off. He can pull off anything.
San growls low in his throat, eyes rolling. “I do. I like the miniskirt. I just like the maxi dress on you more. It shows your body line more.”
Yeosang looks like he’s about to try on another combination of clothing before San whines, distressed, “Yeosang, I’m starving! You said we’d go get chicken hours ago.”
“I know. I know,” Yeosang pauses to pout at San. “But we only get so much time to do this together, and I don’t know. I just don’t want to lose this time together.”
This causes San’s heart to shake in his chest. “You know we can do this anytime, right? In bits and pieces? You can come to my place too. If I lock the door, Mingi and Seonghwa leave me alone.”
This doesn’t seem to satisfy Yeosang who looks halfway to tears again.
“Hey, why don’t we room together for the next tour date? The other guys do that stuff all the time. We would have all the time we want to play around!”
This does seem to satisfy Yeosang. His eyes look bright as the city skyline at sunset.
“Yeah?” San approaches him slowly, hands reaching out to brush over Yeosang’s hard arms. He tries not to let his desire to suck Yeosang’s muscles into his mouth like sweet treats show too plainly on his face. “That sound good?”
“Yeah…yeah, that sounds good,” Yeosang concludes, face pink from the heat of the day. He turns away for a second before adding, “Help me with my zipper?”
A friendly request. Something most people, especially women, have heard in their lives. For San, though, it feels like an indecent proposal. Swallowing hard, he inches toward Yeosang. Luckily, Yeosang can’t see how affected San is by the mere thought of touching the clothes on his back.
Not even his back. The clothes on his back.
He holds his breath while his fingers fondle the zipper at the base of Yeosang’s neck. It’s cold and hard under San’s fingers. He tries to focus on that feeling, not the glowing warmth of Yeosang’s skin that peeks out more and more as San drops his zipper.
He tries to think of anything but the way Yeosang’s shoulders have more muscles than most entire bodies belonging to normal guys.
He really tries not to look when the zipper reaches just above Yeosang’s ass, a peek of thin, white panty glaring bright and obvious against the warm tone of Yeosang’s skin.
“Um, ah—you’re—you’ve got on lace—uhh—”
This is why San had promised himself not to say a word. His skin must look the same color as autumn leaves at their darkest red.
Yeosang merely laughs off the question before dropping the outfit to the floor at his feet.
San stands completely stunned staring at Yeosang’s hard body bare of anything but a pair of lacy boyshort briefs that work like magic to emphasize what little ass Yeosang has.
His mind seems to have been replaced by yowling cats in heat. Try as he might, he can’t move. The sight of Yeosang’s perfect form has frozen him in place.
Again, luckily, Yeosang seems unfazed by his own bare body. He smiles back at San and sends him a brief thanks , before pulling back on his gym shorts and muscle tank.
And if San thought it was hard being attracted to Yeosang before, he learns that watching Yeosang at a dinner table with all their bandmates and CEO, knowing he’s wearing tight, white panties under his boy clothes. That’s not just difficult. It’s an insurmountable feat. There’s no way he’ll make it out of here alive.
San chokes at least five times during dinner. Unfortunately, Yeosang is sitting beside him, so the reason for his choking has to slap it out of him every time.
Pretty smiles, polite laughs, hand brushing over San’s bouncing knee under the table.
Every part of Yeosang has ensnared San.
And despite his love for fancy dresses and over-the-top makeup, every part of Yeosang is, unfortunately, not gay.
—
It’s the last night of the tour. The current leg of the tour, at least. God knows they’ll be back out on the road sooner than San can even think up a vacation he wants to take in the meantime.
He stayed true to his promise to Yeosang. His bags were packed with pretty clothes from his sister, and some of them even fit Yeosang’s slowly growing body.
The more Yeosang’s body hardens and swells, the more San’s heart starts to crack in his chest.
Of course, he’s attracted to Yeosang. Who isn’t attracted to Yeosang?
The man has the entire world wrapped around his little finger, whether he knows it or not.
But it’s more than just lust when it comes to Yeosang. San feels like he can’t breathe around him. The more Yeosang becomes the kind of beautiful he longs to be, the more San can’t resist him. It’s excruciating. The beauty of Yeosang’s confidence ripe and close to bursting drives San wild in ways he never could have anticipated when he first walked in on him in drag all those months ago.
They sleep in separate beds, but San swears he can smell Yeosang on his pillow in the night when he’s trying to rest.
They shower at different times, but San feels like he can hear Yeosang’s low laughter in his ear while he’s soaping up his body.
There are traces of Yeosang all over and around him, and it’s getting to a point that he can no longer ignore. It’s not a crush. It’s not a thing he can will away. Not when Yeosang is everywhere he looks.
Right now, Yeosang is lying with his face shoved into his mattress, completely immobile. He’s making a sound like a dying whale, but San isn’t phased by it. This seems to be Yeosang’s post-concert ritual. It freaked him out the first time he saw it. It cracked him up almost every time after that.
But now, it just makes San feel completely hollow. Soon, they’ll go back to their own rooms. They’ll go back to their normal routine of rushed meetings in the night, like businessmen rushing away from their wives to have affairs.
Except they weren’t having an affair. Yeosang was playing dressup. And San was losing his ever-loving mind in love with Yeosang.
When Yeosang finally rolls over to face him, he looks completely empty of anything. It happens. The concerts take every part of them. San gets it. He’s just as exhausted. His body feels like he’s been assaulted by a van full of sugar-high schoolchildren.
“You okay?” Yeosang’s voice is nearly shot. Low and scratchy and driving San absolutely insane.
He is slouched over in an armchair in the corner, exhausted and forlorn. He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Not really.”
The television is on beside them, so his response is barely audible, but Yeosang somehow manages to catch it. He rolls off the bed and pads over to San, frown growing with every step.
“Anything I can do?”
He’s freshly showered and beautiful. San wants to ask Yeosang to sleep with him. Not sexually. Just sleep. He’s so tired, and it’s so hard to sleep when all he can think about is the smell of Yeosang’s hair or the way his long fingers feel when they hold hands on stage.
“Yeah, actually.”
San is suddenly sick of it all. He’s drained of any semblance of sense, and all he can think about is how angry he is that he has to keep this secret all to himself. All he can think of is the face Yeosang made when San asked if he was gay. Like it was disgusting. Like San is disgusting.
On the television, Olivia Newton-John sings ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’. It makes San feel like fate is whispering in his ear. Begging him to ruin his friendship and possibly everything else in his life.
“I’m gay.”
No fluffing. No pussyfooting. San hates drawing things out. His stomach drops when Yeosang pauses in his approach, eyes wide and face blank. He doesn’t look disgusted. He looks like he’s not feeling anything at all. For some reason, that makes San even more frustrated.
“Yeah. I’m gay. And you’re kind of really fucking hot all the time. And I like you when you’re pretty. And I like you when you’re strong. And I love the way your muscles look even bigger when you’re spinning in a skirt. Good God, Yeosang. I’m going fucking nuts over here.”
The melodramatic soundtrack of his confession makes him feel equal parts manic and righteous.
Yeosang’s eyes get bigger and bigger with each verbal hit. He’s taking a beating, and San can’t say he feels all that bad about giving it to him.
San keeps going. He stands up, annoyed and drained.
“And you know what? You may not like guys, but it was kind of rude to look grossed out when I asked you about it. Do you not think before you act? What if I was gay? Well, I am. But I mean…you’re best friends with Wooyoung, right? What if he’s gay? Would you make that face at him?”
This makes Yeosang’s face melt into a confused mess. He holds up a palm in San’s direction and shouts, “Stop yelling at me!”
San feels worse than he’s ever felt in his life. “I can’t! I’m upset!”
Yeosang looks like he is about to cry. Not this again. San can’t stand it. He can’t stand that he always has to mop up Yeosang’s tears, but no one is there to see him cry. San has to hide his tears away. In the shower, in his bed at night, anywhere no one can see them.
“San, why didn’t you just talk to me about this?”
A mean laugh bursts out of San. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure that would go great. Hey, Yeosang. By the way. Can you stop looking so fucking hot all the time so I can stop being in love with you? Yeah. Sounds like a great way to ruin our friendship. And our band. And my life.”
He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. His brain feels like it’s been pulled out through his nose and thrown on a griddle to bake.
“You…in love with me? San, what are you talking about? There’s no way—”
“—don’t. Please don’t say there’s no way I can be in love with you.”
“No!” Yeosang cuts in, eyes bright with anger. “No. Stop it. Stop putting words in my mouth. Stop looking at my face and deciding that you know what I’m feeling. I didn’t look disgusted when you asked me if I’m gay. I was scared, San. I’m always scared. I’m not gay, but I do like guys. And honestly, I think I only barely like girls. It’s scary, San. Why aren’t you more scared?”
The world tilts slightly. San is standing, so he feels it from the tips of his toes to the crooked set of his hips. Frowning, he attempts to speak, but Yeosang walks right up to him, finally ready to talk. He has his proverbial fists up, and he’s ready to strike back after the pummeling he had just received.
“I’m not good with emotions, San! I thought you realized that. It’s not like…I’m not trying to be this way. It’s just how I am. I’ve always been this way. It’s hard for me to feel things the way other people feel them. I’ve lost friends because of this. You’re angry? Well, I’m angry too.”
Yeosang walks up to San and pushes a hard palm to his chest. It knocks San off balance. He stumbles backward until the back of his knees hits the chair behind him.
“Do you really think I’d wear a pair of lacy panties and spin around in thigh-high stockings for anyone? Can you picture me trying on garters with Yunho? Asking Hongjoong to hold a mirror while I put gloss on my lips? San, I may be bad with my emotions, but you are an idiot.”
“Hey!” San tries to take a step forward, but Yeosang isn’t having it. He pushes San back again until he falls into the chair he had started in. Every speck of oxygen in his body pours out of him when Yeosang reaches down to tug his shirt over his head. His pants fall to the ground shortly after. He’s clean from the shower, and he smells like coconut and lime. His body is strapped tight into a gorgeous pair of black, satin panties and a cute bralette to match. “Hey…”
Eyes blazing, Yeosang rushes into San’s space, grabbing his hands and placing them on his stomach. He’s still standing, so San has to look up to make eye contact. He thinks he really likes the sight of Yeosang standing tall above him. There’s a new confidence in Yeosang that makes San feel… everything .
The song on the television is ending, but San can feel the words in every inch of his body.
Yeosang pours himself into San’s lap, graceful and long like a stretched-out housecat. His eyes are narrowed, still bright with fevered rage, but his lips are parted sensually. Ready to strike the moment San tells him he can.
“Way to ruin my surprise, you idiot. God. I hate men. You’re so dumb. I shouldn’t even be showing you this. You’re so mean. Mean people don’t deserve gifts.”
Swallowing hard, San’s hands start to explore. He feels like Yeosang is telling him that he doesn’t mind all that much, if anything he seems to want it. He looks like he’s trying to act unaffected, but his body still trembles as San’s fingers chart a path from his bared throat to his flexing stomach.
“You look good in black,” San mumbles, fingers tracing over the skin just above the shiny bralette. Yeosang’s hard pecs are pouring out of it. He looks better than any woman San’s ever seen. “And white. And pink. And purple.”
Yeosang may be trying his hardest to remain peeved, but San’s words are softening him. With each brush of his fingers, each polite word, Yeosang melts into San’s embrace.
“I’m not ready to do anything…like that yet,” Yeosang whispers, face bright red.
Ever the gentleman, San simply ignores the very hard outline in Yeosang’s tight panties. “Of course. We just got off stage. I can barely breathe. Do you really think I could do anything impressive after that?”
This makes Yeosang snort and bat at San’s wandering hands until they fall from his skin. He’s quick to grab San’s flailing fingers. He brings them up to his mouth and kisses each finger in turn while keeping his eyes on San’s.
San is back to square one. Brain like a monkey. “You’re so pretty, Yeosang.”
Again, Yeosang snorts, but this time he doesn’t stay silent. “So are you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” San says grimly.
Yeosang squeezes the fingers in his hands. Hard. “You have spent the past half a year giving me every single compliment a person can receive. I need you to listen to me. You seem to be a little confused. You think that if you give everyone else compliments, it’ll somehow make you bulletproof against them. San, you’re not just pretty. You’re beautiful. Your body is incredible. Everything about you inspires me to be better. To work harder. I want to be like you when I grow up.”
For a few seconds, San can only stare. Here is Yeosang, in his lap in black satin with eyes that look as serious as a housefire, telling San such pretty words. And San’s brain wants to reject them. It always does. He isn’t a fan of compliments.
This time, though, he decides to let it slide.
“You really think I’m pretty?” He sounds shy, childlike as he says it.
This makes Yeosang’s eyes shine and his smile grow wider. He leans forward to press his lips to San’s cheek before leaning back to look him up and now. “You’re more than pretty. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
The reminder of their first encounter in this regard makes San feel like he’s back on stage in front of hundreds of thousands of devoted fans. He takes a deep breath and nods. The only thanks he can muster with two billion butterflies taking flight behind his sternum.
Once he manages to catch his breath, he looks at Yeosang for a long moment. He wants to ask him. He’s still too scared to ask.
Luckily, Yeosang isn’t as scared as San.
“Wanna sleep in my bed tonight?”
San tries not to let his excitement show too much on his face, but Yeosang has a keen eye.
“Hands to yourself. Just sleep. Okay?”
He nods with even more excitement. His body is way ahead of his mouth, arms wrapping around Yeosang’s body to hold him close as he stands up and heads for the bed.
“Promise. Hands to myself. As soon as we’re in the bed.”
Yeosang can only shake his head and laugh, endearment apparent in the slow blink of his eyes.
They fall onto the bed together, bodies slotted together, foreheads touching. Lips so close they could touch.
Before he can do something he regrets, San forces himself to push off of Yeosang.
But Yeosang doesn’t let him.
His eyes hold the same confidence a cute skirt and high heels give him as he says, “Well maybe a little bit of hands-on. Maybe.”
San smiles shyly, his body lowering back onto Yeosang without another word. He presses his lips to Yeosang’s and lets himself melt away.