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The afternoon sun spills through the curtains like warm honey, turning San’s old bedroom into this soft, glowing little world that feels like it belongs only to them. The house is quiet—his mom’s probably downstairs humming while she folds laundry, his dad out in the garage tinkering with something—and the only sounds are the faint tick of the wall clock and Wooyoung’s voice, low and happy, wrapping around San like a favorite blanket.
They’re tangled on the bed the way they always end up: San on his side, head pillowed on his own arm, one leg thrown lazily over Wooyoung’s thigh. Wooyoung’s sitting up against the headboard, knees drawn up a little, playing with the drawstrings of San’s hoodie while he talks. His fingers keep brushing San’s collarbone every time he gestures, light and absent, like he can’t help touching.
“—so the wedding has to be perfect, okay?” Wooyoung’s saying, eyes sparkling even though he’s trying to sound casual. “Not too big, not too fancy. Just… us and the people who matter. Maybe outside, under some big trees? Or that little rooftop garden we saw last year—the one with all the string lights. You in a white suit, me in black, or maybe we both wear the same color so we match like idiots. I’d cry the second I see you walking toward me, Sannie. Full-on ugly crying. You’d have to hold me up.”
San’s smiling, small and fond, the kind that makes his eyes disappear into crescents. “You’d ruin your makeup in ten seconds.”
“Worth it.” Wooyoung leans down, presses a quick kiss to the tip of San’s nose. “And then after, we’d sneak away during the reception. Just disappear for a bit. Find a quiet spot, steal some cake, kiss until we forget everyone else is there.”
San hums, thumb tracing slow hearts on Wooyoung’s knee through his sweatpants. “I’d rather elope on a mountain somewhere quiet where no one could bother us except maybe a stray deer.”
Wooyoung laughs so hard he nearly rolls off the bed, the sound bright and uncontrollable, then grabs the collar of San’s oversized hoodie and tugs him closer, pressing a soft kiss right to the tip of his nose like it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard. “You’re so ridiculous. My baby. Fine—tiny ceremony on some quiet trail, just us and maybe Yunho as witness because he’d never let us live it down otherwise. Wind in the trees, birds chirping, you looking all handsome and serious. And then right when we say ‘I do,’ a deer wanders out of the woods and photobombs us.”
San snorts, cheeks going a little pink. “It’d probably eat the flowers we brought.”
“Exactly! Our kind of wedding.” Wooyoung’s grin turns mischievous. He shifts closer, voice dropping like he’s sharing a secret. “And after we’re married… I’m gonna spoil you so much, baby. Every morning I’ll wake up early just to make you breakfast. Pancakes with the little smiley faces I know you pretend not to love. Or those cheesy eggs you like when you’re sleepy. And dinners—God, dinners. I’ll try new recipes every week. Fancy ones, simple ones, whatever makes your eyes go all big and happy. You’ll come home tired from work and I’ll have the table set, candles maybe, and I’ll pull you into my lap and feed you bites until you’re laughing and telling me to stop being cheesy.”
San’s cheeks are fully flushed now, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re gonna make me fat.”
“Good. More of you to hug.” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows, then gets softer again. “And the house… big backyard, like I said. Space for us to just… exist. Lazy Sundays where we lie on the grass and watch clouds. You planting flowers in neat little rows while I sit there and hand you tools and steal kisses when you’re not looking.”
He keeps going, voice dreamy and full of warmth, the words spilling out like he’s been saving them up. “And kids… I keep thinking about it lately. A little girl first, maybe. With your dimples—oh my god, Sannie, imagine her smiling at us with those deep little dents in her cheeks. Every time she grins it’ll be like the whole room lights up twice as bright. She’d have your eyes too, all sparkly when she’s excited about something small, like a butterfly landing on her finger or finding a shiny rock. And then a boy after, total troublemaker, climbing everything he can reach, making us chase him around the house while we pretend to be mad but we’re actually dying laughing. They’d fight over the last cookie I baked, but then two seconds later they’re hugging and sharing it because they’re softies, just like you.”
Wooyoung’s hands are moving now, painting the picture bigger and brighter with every gesture. “We’d have movie nights, all four of us squished on the couch under one big blanket, popcorn everywhere, them falling asleep on us halfway through because they’re too cozy. And Yunho—oh, Yunho would 100% be their favorite uncle. No contest. He’d show up with those massive stuffed animals that are bigger than the kids themselves, let them ride on his shoulders until they’re giggling so hard they can’t breathe, sneak them extra sweets when we’re not looking. We’d roll our eyes and act all grumpy about it, but deep down we’d love it because it means they’re surrounded by so much love. And every time he leaves they’d wave at the door yelling ‘Uncle Yunho come back soon!’ and we’d just look at each other like, yeah, we did good.”
San’s been listening quietly the whole time, but inside his chest something is twisting tighter with every word. He watches Wooyoung’s face—how his eyes go all soft and dreamy when he talks about the little girl’s dimples, how his voice gets even warmer describing the chaos of a boy running wild, how he laughs so easily at the thought of Yunho being the fun uncle. San knows that look. He’s seen it every time they’re around kids—Wooyoung crouching down to their level, making silly faces, letting them climb all over him like he was born to be their favorite person. San loves kids too; he melts just as fast. But watching Wooyoung like this… it’s different. It’s seeing the future Wooyoung wants so clearly, so happily, and knowing—deep down, aching—that he’s the one thing standing in the way of it being perfect.
San’s smile has been fading slowly. He’s still looking at Wooyoung, but his gaze is distant now, fixed somewhere past the other boy’s shoulder. Wooyoung keeps talking for a few more beats—“And they’d call you Appa and me Papa, or whatever cute names we decide, and—” before he stops. Notices the quiet.
“Sannie?” Wooyoung’s voice goes gentle. He reaches out, fingers curling around San’s wrist. “Hey… where’d you go?”
San doesn’t answer right away. Just blinks slowly, turns his face toward the window. The light catches the shine in his eyes.
Wooyoung scoots closer, thumb stroking over San’s pulse. “Did I ramble too much?”
San shakes his head, small. “No. It’s… nothing.”
“Baby.” Wooyoung tugs lightly until San looks at him. “Talk to me. Please?”
A long silence. San’s throat bobs. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely there.
“I can’t give you that.”
Wooyoung’s brows furrow. “Give me what?”
“The kids. I—” San’s breath hitches. “We’re both guys. It’s not gonna happen like that. Not… biologically. And you want it so bad. I see how happy it makes you just thinking about it. Your whole face lights up. And I want you to have that. Everything you dream about. But I can’t be the one who gives it to you.”
His voice cracks on the last word. He tries to pull his hand away, but Wooyoung holds on tighter, gentle but stubborn.
San keeps going, quieter now, like the words hurt coming out. “You’d have to… settle. Or find someone who could. And I don’t want you to settle for me. Not when you could have the whole thing. The perfect little family. I love kids too, you know that. I want them too. But I can’t—”
He stops, eyes filling fast. One tear slips free and tracks down his cheek.
Wooyoung makes a soft, heartbroken sound. In an instant he’s moving—kneeling up, hands coming to cradle San’s face like it’s something precious and fragile. Thumbs brush under San’s eyes, catching the tears before they fall too far.
“Shh. No. Stop that right now.” Wooyoung’s own voice is thick, eyes glassy. “Look at me, Sannie. Please look at me.”
San does, slow and reluctant. His lashes are clumped, cheeks flushed and wet.
Wooyoung leans their foreheads together, noses brushing. “You listen to me, okay? Really listen.”
He takes a shaky breath. “I’m not dreaming about some perfect storybook family that only exists if there’s a baby with your dimples. I’m dreaming about you. About waking up next to you every morning and seeing your sleepy smile first thing. About coming home and smelling whatever ridiculous thing I tried to cook for you. About lazy kisses on the couch while we argue over who gets the last slice of cake. About holding your hand when we’re old and wrinkly and still stupidly in love. That’s my dream, baby. The rest is just… details. Pretty ones, yeah. But they’re not the point. You’re the only part I can’t live without.”
San’s hands come up, trembling, clutching at Wooyoung’s wrists like anchors.
“We can adopt if we want,” Wooyoung continues, soft and earnest. “Or surrogacy. Or foster kids who need a home. Or just be the cool uncles who spoil everyone else’s babies rotten. Or… or nothing at all. Just us. Forever. And I’d still wake up every day feeling like the luckiest person alive because I get to love you. Because you chose me back. That’s more than enough. That’s everything.”
A sob catches in San’s throat. Wooyoung pulls him in then, arms wrapping tight around San’s shoulders, tucking San’s face against his chest. San’s shaking, hands fisting in the back of Wooyoung’s shirt, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.
“I’ve got you,” Wooyoung whispers into his hair, rocking them gently. “I’m not letting go. Not ever. Promise.”
He keeps rocking, slow and steady, one hand stroking through San’s hair, the other rubbing warm circles on his back. Every few seconds he presses a kiss wherever he can reach—soft ones to the top of San’s head, lingering ones to his temple, gentle ones to the shell of his ear.
“You’re my whole world, Sannie,” he murmurs between kisses. “My silly boy who wants deer crashing our wedding. My baby who blushes when I make you seaweed soup. My safe place. My home. I love you so much it hurts sometimes—in the best way. And nothing is ever gonna change that. Not kids, not anything. You’re perfect to me. Exactly like this. Exactly as you are.”
He pulls back just enough to tilt San’s chin up with careful fingers, thumbs wiping away the fresh tear tracks. Their eyes meet—San’s red and raw, Wooyoung’s shining with tears of his own but so full of love it’s almost too much.
“I choose you,” Wooyoung says again, voice steady now. “Every single day. Every single version of our future. With kids, without kids, in a tiny apartment with burnt pancakes—doesn’t matter. It’s you. Always you.”
San lets out a small, broken laugh-sob. Wooyoung smiles through his tears, small and wobbly and so tender, then leans in slow. Their lips meet gentle at first—salty, careful—then deeper, slower, like they’re sealing every word with the kiss. Wooyoung’s hands slide to cup San’s jaw, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, keeping him close. San’s fingers thread into Wooyoung’s hair, tugging him nearer, kissing back desperately.
When they part, foreheads pressed, breaths warm and mingling, Wooyoung keeps holding San’s face, noses bumping softly in little eskimo kisses.
“We’re gonna be so happy,” he whispers. “You and me. That’s the only promise I need to make. And I’m keeping it forever.”
San nods, tiny and sure, then buries his face in Wooyoung’s neck again. Wooyoung wraps him up tighter, kisses raining down—soft, endless—murmuring “I love you”s and “my baby”s and “you’re mine”s until the shaking fades and the room feels like the safest place in the world.
Outside, the sun keeps shining. Inside, they stay tangled together, hearts pressed close, dreaming the same quiet, perfect dream—one where the future is bright and full and theirs, no matter what shape it takes.