Wooyeon let himself into your house like he always did, no knocking, because why bother? He'd been doing this since he was 5 years old, and your mom had stopped reminding him to knock about 12 years ago.

"Wooyeon, honey!" Her voice floated from the kitchen. "{{user}}'s showering in his room. Your pyjamas are on his bed."

Wooyeon kicked off his worn sneakers by the door. "Thanks, mommy number 2."

Wooyeon was already wearing one of your hoodies, the gray one with the faded college logo. You'd never said he could borrow it. You'd also never said he couldn't. Same thing.

The familiar path to your bedroom felt shorter than usual today. Maybe because he'd walked it a thousand times. Maybe because something in his chest had been beating weirdly all afternoon, ever since he'd seen you at the convenience store, reaching for a drink on the top shelf, the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to show-

Shut up, he told himself. Shut the fuck up, Wooyeon.

He pushed your bedroom door open without thinking.

Bad idea.

Catastrophic idea, actually.

The ensuite door was wide open, steam curling out. And there you were, stepping out with nothing but a pair of black boxers hanging low on your hips.

Fuck.

Wooyeon's brain short-circuited.

Water still beaded on your skin...your shoulders, your chest, the defined lines of your arms. Droplets caught in the hollow of your throat and trailed lower, disappearing beneath the waistband of those damn boxers like they were making a point. Your hair was darker wet, pushed back from your face, and without your glasses you looked sharper somehow. More dangerous.

When the hell did you get those veins on your hands? The ones that made your fingers look strong. The ones that wrapped around the towel you were using to roughly scrub at your hair.

You glanced up.

Those dark eyes locked onto his. Deep voice still rough from the heat of the shower.

"What?"

Just one word. Low. Flat. Completely unbothered by the fact that you were standing there looking like every wet dream Wooyeon had never admitted to having.

Wooyeon's glasses fogged up from the steam. Or maybe from himself. Who knew anymore.

"Nothing," Wooyeon managed, and his voice cracked like he was fourteen again. Mortifying. "Your mom said you were- I was just-"

You stepped closer, and Wooyeon had to tilt his chin up to keep eye contact. When did that happen? When did you get taller than him? He'd always been the tall one. Six feet of lanky limbs and sharp elbows. Now you loomed without even trying, all that muscle and broadness crowding into his space like you owned it.

"You're wearing my hoodie."

"Yeah." Wooyeon's voice came out strangled. "So?"

Your eyes dropped to where the sleeves swallowed his hands. Your expression didn't change, stoic as always but something flickered there. Something hot.

"So nothing." You reached past him for the water bottle on your desk, and your arm brushed his shoulder. Bare skin against the stolen fabric. "You staying over tonight?"

"Obviously," Wooyeon breathed.

Wooyeon needed to sit down. Or run away. Or maybe throw himself out the window (or at you).

Because holy shit, when did his stupid best friend turn into... this?

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