Chapter Text
For all of San’s reluctance in going back to Namhae and taking a break, he finds that it’s incredibly easy to slip back into the sleepy cycle of life in the countryside.
The pace of life is so different from what he’s used to in Seoul. He helps out around the house, running errands for his mother, listening to Wooyoung fill the space with mindless chatter, noting the way summer settles fully in Namhae.
And when he’s not doing that, he sleeps. He sleeps a lot. When he’s with AURORA, his scheduled activities are stacked so closely to each other that it hardly leaves room for rest at all. There’s a certain distinct bliss in being able to fall asleep at a reasonable hour, and wake up only when his body is ready. And San must have racked up quite a bit of sleep debt, because he wakes up around noon most days.
He eats well, too. His mother’s cooking is warm and familiar, and the summer has brought with it an abundance of fruit — fresh, and perfectly in season.
The change manifests both physically and emotionally. The hollows of his cheeks fill out, his hair grows out long enough to skim his eyebrows. His skin has turned into a rich bronze, sunkissed and golden.
But the one thing he can’t seem to let go of is his group. At almost every opportunity he gets, San is perched in front of his mother’s television, keeping up with all the latest content from AURORA. He watches interviews and variety shows, vlogs and behind-the-scenes footage.
A lot of those videos were shot months in advance, when San was still with the group. But for the rare few that were made after San’s hiatus, he watches over and over, drinking in the sight of his members’ faces. They look good in them, as they always do. They look happy together. They’ve been keeping themselves busy during this pre-comeback season, but not for the first time San wishes that they had a little more free time on their hands, if only so he could have someone to talk to when the days stretched long in Namhae.
When he catches up with all of their current content, he watches recordings of their old performances. Fancams of himself. Picks out what he likes and what he doesn’t, reminiscing older times when things were both harder and better.
And so, for the first two weeks of coming home, nobody disturbs his newfound peace. It’s incredibly welcome — like the cracks that his body has been nursing all this time is finally having its chance to heal. Nobody interrupts him. Nobody tells him that he needs to be doing more.
San is determined to enjoy it for as long as it could possibly last.
☼
After dinner one night, San’s family decides to humble him by pulling out an old photobook to show Wooyoung.
“This is him taking a bath,” San’s mother says, pointing at the pictures that have been carefully arranged on the page. “Oh! And that’s him after he dropped a rice cake. He cried for hours after that.”
San’s eye twitches as the grin on Wooyoung’s face grows bigger and bigger. Baby pictures give way to his childhood pictures, which begin to fill with taekwondo and academic achievements.
“San was always such a good boy,” his father says fondly. “He works so hard at everything he tries.”
He gestures at a photograph of 7-year-old San in his taekwondo uniform, his face furrowed in a concentration that was almost at odds with his round face and youthful features. Pictures of San smiling as he holds up trophies and medals, evidence of his endless streaks of wins. His dimples flash in them.
Wooyoung plays his part with pitch-perfect accuracy. “San has the loveliest dimples. It’s a pity he doesn’t smile all that often.”
San’s mother gasps. “I say the same thing all the time!”
“I smile,” San grumbles. “Sometimes. When I have a good reason to.”
Wooyoung gives him a simpering grin. “Of course you do, baby.”
The photos in this particular volume lasts until around San turns twelve, or right around the time he meets Wooyoung for the first time, and any semblance of his pursuing taekwondo goes right down the drain. In fact, the very last photo is a picture of the two of them together on the podium after their first match. Wooyoung is smiling, holding up his gold medal. Next to him, San’s features have been twisted into a state of neutrality that looked painful, even to him ten years in the future.
“And that’s when he met you,” San’s mother says happily to Wooyoung. “Perhaps one of the best things that happened to him.”
San stuffs a piece of orange in his mouth, chewing slowly to suck out all of its juices. It’s probably best that he doesn’t speak right now. He doesn’t trust himself to say the right things if he does.
Wooyoung raises an eyebrow playfully. “If you were to ask San, he’d probably say his career was the best thing that happened to him.”
San’s father nods. “He’s a much better idol than he was a sparring athlete, that’s for sure.”
The words hit hard for San, even now. He feels himself shrinking into the couch. This conversation might as well have gone on without him.
But to his surprise, Wooyoung shakes his head. “No, no. San was amazing. The best sparring partner I’ve ever had.”
And here he is, San’s old rival, the one he cursed out as a child, over and over and over again, trying to defend him in front of his parents. The worst part is that Wooyoung sounds completely sincere, like he actually believes every word he’s saying out loud.
“Stop,” San says quietly. “Don’t do that.”
Wooyoung glances up at him. “Do what?”
“Tell me white lies.” He forces a smile on his face, even as his chest begins to tighten inextricably. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment that it happened, but this picture is evidence enough of the biggest turning point in his life, firmly pressed together between the pages of his mother’s dusty old book. “We both know the truth. I never stood a chance against you.”
☼
5 years ago
If San couldn’t beat Wooyoung on the mat, he decided early on that he would beat Wooyoung at every other thing imaginable. For all his attempted indifference, he couldn’t deny that he was incredibly petty in his youth. Wooyoung simply managed to bring it out of him.
Everything became a competition to San, no matter how one-sided. If Wooyoung was going to do ten push ups, San would be sure to do twenty. If Wooyoung ran a kilometer during cardio training, San would be sure to run two. If Wooyoung chose to blast pop music for the class during warm ups, San would be sure to change it to something he knew grated on Wooyoung’s nerves. Most of the time, that meant listening to classical orchestral music while doing jumping jacks.
But it wasn’t as if Wooyoung was blind, either, because he caught on pretty quickly to what San was trying to do. And he retaliated, in his own little ways.
“That’s my towel!” An enraged San would say after an afternoon of intense drills. “You took it on purpose.”
“Did I?” Wooyoung said innocently. The purple towel lay on his shoulders, and he used one corner to wipe his brow. “Sorry. Must have gotten it mixed up with mine.”
San resisted the urge to strangle Wooyoung right then and there. Everyone knew that the purple towel was San’s.
But he simply set his jaw and turned away. This was no mistake, and San was determined not to let Wooyoung get away with it.
Revenge came later, when San moved Wooyoung’s shoes to an unnamed, empty locker in a dingy corner of the studio. It was childish to do so, but watching Wooyoung open every single locker in a search for his shoes after a long day of training brought San more satisfaction that he was willing to admit.
When Wooyoung caught his eye a full twenty minutes later, shoes finally secured on his feet, he raised an eyebrow. “Really, San? My shoes? How petty can you possibly get?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” San returned. “You must be getting more forgetful lately.”
“My faculties are perfectly intact, last time I checked,” Wooyoung said. “But you seem to have a really perverse idea of fun.”
“And you don’t?” San snorted.
“Not particularly.”
“Could have fooled me. I thought you bullied little kids at the playground in your free time.”
Wooyoung let out a single, high-pitched cackle. “Only on weekends.”
Everyone in their little studio was now staring at them. But for once, San couldn’t find it in him to care.
“You know, you really love to talk a big game for someone who’s always in second place,” Wooyoung said wryly. “I used to be worried that you would eventually catch up, but I think I can relax a little more now.”
“Stop.” This was dangerous territory. San could feel his body start to shake from his barely compressed rage, threatening to find an out if he didn’t walk away right this minute. If he didn’t disengage. “Don’t.”
“You know why you never could beat me?” Wooyoung continued. “Because you always fight like you’re trying to prove you’re worthy.”
“And you,” San spat out before he could even register what he was saying, “You fight like you’re scared you never will.”
☼
San finds himself sitting on the patio outside the house alone. Reminiscing once again. It’s late — perhaps a little too late for any reasonable person to still be up, but he relishes the stillness and the silence. It’s hard to come by during the day.
“Is this seat taken?”
Ah. Nevermind. Whatever semblance of silence he had been holding on to has now vanished in a poof of smoke.
San glances up. “Wooyoung?”
“Hi.” Wooyoung stands there barefoot, enveloped in a large grey hoodie. He holds up a couple bottles of beer and offers San a self-satisfied smile. “I come bearing gifts.”
San squints at the bottles, droplets of condensation dripping down the side of the glass. “Is that my dad’s beer?”
“He told me to help myself. So I did.”
San frowns as Wooyoung sits opposite him, placing the beers on the table and popping both of them open. “You know, you are technically still on the clock.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wooyoung says, taking a swig. “Don’t worry too much about it. I’m a terrific drinker, and a really mean drunk.”
San doesn’t drink much. But he takes a sip anyway, grimacing as the bitter liquid hits his tongue. The buzz of cicadas fill the air, harmonising with the wind rustling through the tall grasses around his family’s home.
“I meant what I said,” Wooyoung says, without turning to look at him. “Earlier.”
“Oh,” San says. “Yeah.”
“Because it’s true. You know that.” Even though every part of Wooyoung’s body language is relaxed, almost sleepy, San feels his gaze piercing through him, like his head is suddenly transparent, his thoughts visible to anybody who stares at him long enough. “You were an incredible athlete. If you had kept it up longer, you would have excelled.”
But he didn’t. That was the whole point. He had this one love — entirely all-consuming and all-encompassing — and he gave it up. It nearly killed him, until he stumbled into a different world entirely. And it was just as easy to lose himself into his role as an idol, because that was just how he operated.
Choi San didn’t do things in halves. He had way too much heart for that.
“I could say the same for you,” he says instead, turning the focus back to Wooyoung. “Didn’t you quit earlier than me?”
Wooyooung scoffs. “Yeah. By, like, a few months.”
San shrugs. The weight of the past hangs over them like a stormcloud, but neither of them are quite ready to say anything about it, so they drink their beers in silence instead.
“Have you been… alright?” Wooyoung eventually asks. And maybe it’s the warm humidity from the late summer night, or the slight buzz from the alcohol, but Wooyoung’s voice is more tender than San has ever heard. “The past few weeks, being back in Namhae again… are you coping with everything ok?”
Is he? San can’t tell anymore, but Wooyoung is still waiting for a response, and the very last thing San wants is to make Wooyoung worry about him. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” Wooyoung says, not sounding very convinced at all. He turns to face San, resting his cheek on his hand in a way that makes him look immensely huggable. “Ok.”
Wooyoung goes to take another sip from his beer bottle, but finds it empty. San wordlessly slides over his bottle, still more than three-quarters full.
“I am going to say something, and you’re going to listen,” Wooyoung eventually says.
“Mhmm.”
“As your bodyguard,” Wooyoung says, “I’m honestly just here to protect you. But as your friend—”
“You are not my friend,” San interrupts.
“—As your fake boyfriend, then,” Wooyoung continues, undeterred, “Perhaps I could offer you some advice.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“You know what you really need, San?”
“To go to bed?”
“Well, yeah. But apart from that.” Wooyoung takes a swig of San’s beer, placing the bottle on the table gently.
“Do tell.”
“I think you’d really benefit from having a hobby.”
San lets out a bitter laugh. And that’s how he knows that he’s hit rock bottom. When the advice he gets from his own bodyguard is that he needs to get a life.
“You’ve been sleeping nearly twelve hours every day. All you do is sit around the house, eating snacks and scrolling through your phone. You don’t go outside, you don’t run errands. You’ve even stopped working out!”
“You’re worried because I’m finally able to eat and sleep like a regular unemployed human being?”
Wooyoung lets out a long exhale. “No, I’m worried because contrary to what you may tell yourself, I actually do know you. And I know that you only ever thrive on a challenge.”
“Gee, thanks,” San says, deadpan. “You should really consider a career as a therapist.”
Then he snatches back his beer bottle and downs the rest of the content in a single gulp.
☼
Wooyoung brings San to his father’s taekwondo studio early the next day, with Yeosang and Seonghwa right at their heels. They’re all dressed in activewear, loose and sweat-wicking, and when San catches Seonghwa’s eye, the quiet bodyguard gives him an assuring smile.
“Did you bring me here to make me relive my childhood trauma?” San says.
“No,” Wooyoung says. “I’m staging an intervention.”
He picks up one of the kick pads that San’s father keeps in the back cupboard, holding it out for a second as if assessing its heft. San simply eyes him warily.
“Are you going to beat me up?”
Wooyoung shrugs at that. “Maybe.”
“It’s probably not a good idea to do that with eyewitnesses around.”
“Who’s to say they aren’t my accomplices?”
“We aren’t,” Yeosang assures him quickly. “You’re good, San.”
“Choi San,” Wooyoung says. “I am going to make you a deal.”
San crosses his arms. “I hate this already.”
“Let’s train together,” he says. “And if you can finally beat me in a spar, I will tell Hongjoong that you’re ready to go back to Seoul.”
He opens his mouth to tell Wooyoung no, the excuses already rising up his throat. He has another nap to catch. His mother’s television is calling his name. He’s not really in the mood to break a sweat, especially as the weather gets hotter.
But they’re so flimsy that they die even before they even reach his tongue. As much as he’s enjoyed the break, perhaps Wooyoung is right. He’s been wasting himself away to nothing, and if he keeps this up much longer, he doesn’t know what he might end up becoming by the end of the summer.
And there’s a small, hidden part of him, buried deep amidst the bruises of his childhood that simply cannot help but wonder.
There’s that glint in Wooyoung’s eye as he watches San struggling with himself. But he doesn’t say a thing, merely standing there, waiting.
Wooyoung is baiting him. Like he’s been doing ever since they were kids.
Can you do this?
You should compete with me.
I bet I can do it better than you.
I’m a thousand percent confident you’ll lose.
And, just as in every single one of those situations, San can’t help but let himself fall for it.
He tells himself it’s because he really wants to go back to Seoul.
“Deal,” he says. His voice rings out with surprising clarity. “Deal.”
☼
“Now, before we get into taekwondo,” Wooyoung says, “It would probably be good for me as your bodyguard to remind you of some self-defence tactics that would come in useful.”
San rolls his eyes. “Is this really necessary? I didn’t forget everything.”
Wooyoung ignores him. “Taekwondo, as you and I both know, is an art. We carry a lot of pride and respect in our movements, both for ourselves and for our sparring opponent.”
He gestures for Yeosang to come over, which the other bodyguard obliges with a small smile. “But during an actual attack, there are absolutely no rules. No time for pride. The first thing you should do is try to run away, but if that isn’t an option, the next best thing you can do is to play as dirty as you can.”
Without warning, Yeosang strikes, aiming for Wooyoung’s wrists. Wooyoung reacts just as quickly, letting Yeosang get a firm grip on him. Using Yeosang’s momentum, Wooyoung twists his arm out at an awkward angle, simultaneously bringing his knee up towards Yeosang’s nether regions. He stops just a few inches shy.
San gasps. Everything happened so quickly.
Yeosang immediately breaks his character, unable to stop himself from giggling. “Hey! That was not what we agreed to.”
“Sorry, Sangie,” Wooyoung says, grinning. “Couldn’t resist. Especially when we have an audience.”
“You’ve really got no shame,” Seonghwa says, shaking his head like a disapproving mother. But the corners of his lips tip up with fondness.
“But Wooyoung is right. Violence and love tend to be two sides of the same coin,” Yeosang says, shaking out his wrist. “When it comes down to it, always aim for the soft parts.”
“Exactly!” Wooyoung beams. He catches San’s eye from across the room. “Right, San. Your turn.”
☼
San limps the rest of the day.
It’s hard to admit to himself that his body is way past its sparring prime. He’s kept fit, for sure. He benches more than Wooyoung weighs. He can dance for three hours straight while looking sexy in front of hundreds and thousands of people.
But sparring… is a different thing entirely. It takes time for the right skills and instincts to work themselves back into his muscles. And despite his initial awkwardness in finding his flow in moves that he hasn’t attempted in almost five years, there’s that familiar fire in his belly that he gets when he dances, that he used to get before big taekwondo competitions.
Still, it does nothing to tamper the sting of humiliation when Wooyoung reaches out a hand to help him up from the floor for the umpteenth time. San blatantly ignores it, wincing as he pushes himself off the ground. His tailbone must be bruised by now.
“Not bad for a start,” Wooyoung says. “I can definitely work with this.”
When they get home, San runs a bath as hot as humanly possible before sinking inside it. His limbs feel like jelly, but this is the most alive that he’s felt since… since he was kicked out of AURORA.
He tries not to think about AURORA. He was just getting used to a life without them. So he closes his eyes and dunks his head under the water, letting the heat seep into every inch of his body.
The banging on the bathroom door just about shocks his soul out of his body. “San, are you drowning in there or something?”
San groans, rising from the surface of the water. “What do you want now?”
“Your mom’s asking when you’ll be ready. She wants to go to the market before it gets dark.”
He lets out a long and heavy sigh. “Tell her fifteen minutes,” he says, dragging a hand down his face.
Wooyoung makes a short humming sound. “I’ll tell her ten,” he says. “Chop chop!”
San slides down the side of the tub, burbling as he dips back into the water to drown out Wooyoung’s incessant chatter ringing down the hallway.
☼
The market, though small, is so packed with people that it appears to be bursting at the seams. Vendors sit in front of their stalls, pedalling their wares with an enthusiastic vigour. San stands closely behind his mother, trying not to get separated. But the sheer amount of hustling and bustling means that he often bumps into Wooyoung, standing right next to him.
After a while, Wooyoung simply grabs hold of San’s hand, gripping his fingers tightly. When San turns to look at him, Wooyoung merely raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to lose you in the crowd,” he says, by way of explanation.
So San fixes his gaze on the back of his mother’s head and says nothing. He tries not to think too much about the feeling of Wooyoung’s hand in his, the contact of skin against skin, the pressure of Wooyoung’s fingers around his. The market is overwhelming enough as it is.
But it was probably better for them if they were able to sell their act on a public level. San had worried about keeping up pretenses, earlier, just before they left the house.
“My mother tends to talk,” he said. “About me. To all of her friends around the neighbourhood.”
“Ok?” Wooyoung replied, nonplussed. As if he was wondering why San was even bringing this up in the first place. “So let her.”
“The entire town will probably already know that we’re… dating.” It was a mortifying thought, but also a terrifying one — the knowledge that they would now have to prove their relationship to a bunch of people San only knew by proxy.
But Wooyoung merely raises his eyebrows in response. “Isn’t that the whole point?”
The three of them come across a small deviation in pathway. San’s mother glances down the right side. “I’m going to head down to the butcher’s this way,” she says. “Do you think you could go find some spinach for me? It’ll be a lot faster if we split up.”
“Of course, Eomeoni,” Wooyoung pipes. “But will you be alright going there alone?”
San’s mother giggles, pleased at his concern. “Of course! I come here alone once a week. I’ll be just fine.”
“We’ll meet back here in twenty minutes then,” San says. After waving his mother off, the two of them head down the opposite end, making a beeline for the vegetable stalls.
It doesn’t take very long for him to be recognised.
“How much?” San asks the stall owner as Wooyoung picks up bundles of spinach, checking to make sure each leaf is in good condition.
“1500 won per kilogram.” The stall owner, Mr Park, responds without glancing up. He’s been selling fresh vegetables in the market since San was a student. But the sound of San’s voice must have sparked some kind of recognition, because he perks up immediately. “Sannie! My goodness, I haven’t seen you in so long!”
San offers him a bashful smile. “Ah, yes. It’s certainly been a while. How have you been?”
“Much better now that I’ve seen you.” He peers over the tops of his glasses to Wooyoung. “And Wooyoung, too. I must admit, I was surprised when San’s mother told me that the two of you started dating.”
Ah. Just as San feared. “Really?”
“Yes!” Mr Park lets out a chuckle. “Never would have thought.”
San opens his mouth, about to stammer a flimsy excuse. “Oh, we actually—”
“I was under the impression that the two of you have been dating since you were still taekwondo students, but I suppose I was wrong.”
Whatever San expected him to say, it definitely wasn’t this. He shuts his mouth, the damage control he was mentally preparing for dissolving into ash. “Oh. Um…”
“I mean, you two were practically joined at the hip! And the way you bickered — just like a married couple. The entire town thought you were dating.”
“Oh. I… I had no idea.”
“We’ll take it as a compliment, then,” Wooyoung says graciously. He hands over the bundle of spinach, which Mr Park weighs.
“That’ll be 6000 won.”
San begins to fish the cash out, but is interrupted when Wooyoung puts a hand on his wallet, shoving it down gently. He puts on his sweetest smile, eyes tilting up at the corner like a cat’s. “Can’t we have a little discount? 4000 won?”
Of course Wooyoung is a bargainer. He’s probably adept at it, too, what with his big mouth and stubborn determination, and his most curious talent at making everybody he meets fall in love with him.
Well. Everyone except San, that is.
But Mr Park humours Wooyoung. Bargaining is a real art around here. “5500.”
“5000 won and we’ll throw in some signed posters by San.” Wooyoung leans in closer, as if to share a secret with the stall owner “They’re probably worth a lot more.”
Mr Park grins. “Deal.”
There’s still some time before they are supposed to meet San’s mother again, so they wander down the length of the market to do some window shopping. Wooyoung drags him forward to a shop in a shadowy corner behind the vibrant stalls, where the sign in front reads “Fortune Teller”.
Wooyoung looks at San, who folds his arms across his chest.
“No.”
“Come on, San,” Wooyoung wheedles. “It’s practically calling out to me.”
“These are probably just scams.”
“Yeah, but you have way too much money to spend, anyway. So why not have a little fun with it?”
San holds up the plastic bag full of spinach, carrots, and garlic — courtesy of Wooyoung and his enthusiasm for bargaining, and way more than they actually needed at home. “Have we not spent enough money?”
“Psh.” Wooyoung waves a hand in the air. “Vegetables are cheap. They would have been much cheaper, too, if you paid the vendors the price I managed to get for you.”
Every single time Wooyoung managed to get them a discount, San would wait until his bodyguard’s back was turned before stuffing a generous wad of cash into the vendor’s hand, muttering something about keeping the change.
Wooyoung must have caught on to what he was doing pretty quickly. Nothing could ever get past him.
“Of course I noticed,” Wooyoung says, almost as if he’s offended that San believed otherwise. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
A voice crackles out suddenly. “You. In all black. With the big guy next to you. Are you just going to stand there talking all day, or are you going to come in?”
San startles, jumping backwards. It’s only then that he spots a small intercom and camera on the side of the door. Evidently, they are being spied on.
Wooyoung’s eyes light up with wonder. He brandishes his arms towards the door. “San, we have to. It’s literally calling out to me.”
San sighs. Why does he always get into these kinds of circumstances when he’s around Wooyoung?
The shop is small, but richly decorated. Amber lanterns hang from the ceiling, and thick curtains drape across the entrance, blocking out all of the day’s light. It smells vaguely of lavender and bergamot, incense trailing in wispy streaks, inviting them further inside.
San pushes past the crystal beads hanging from the doorway and comes face to face with the fortune teller, leisurely sipping a cup of tea. She glances up when San enters. “Welcome.”
San blinks. “You’re the fortune teller?” It’s a bit of a crude question, but it wouldn’t hurt to be certain. He’s never been to a fortune teller before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. Someone dressed in a robe perhaps, someone adorned in necklaces and rings that clank together with the slightest of movements.
But the lady in front of him is dressed in a loose, unassuming dress, her curly hair loose over her shoulders. She probably could have passed for San’s aunt. “Who else would I be?”
Wooyoung breezes past him. “I’m so excited. This is probably the best thing I’ve ever spent money on.”
“It’s not even your money,” San grumbles.
The room is big enough to fit a single wooden table, with a couple of stools arranged around it. Without further prompting, they both sit, awkwardly arranging their legs under the short chairs. San tries not to sit too closely to Wooyoung, but in a shop this small, it’s hard not to even bump knees or elbows.
The fortune teller appraises them from the top of her glasses. “Now, everything here is strictly confidential, so feel free to be honest during this session. Are you two a couple?"
“No,” San says, at the exact same time that Wooyoung says, “Yes.”
They turn to glare at each other. “It’s complicated,” Wooyoung says, with a sheepish smile. “Relationships, right?”
The fortune teller looks between them, unimpressed, as San tries not to seethe too evidently. “You first, then,” she says to San, spreading out the deck on the table before her. “Pick three cards.”
Each card is covered in illustrations, rendered in colours that are vintage and nostalgic. Looking at them feels like looking at a painting from a time long gone.
He runs his palm over the tops of the cards, unsure of what he’s supposed to be looking for. A magnetic pull to specific cards, perhaps? A voice echoing in his ear? But they simply lie there, as ordinary as can be, and after a moment, he simply lets out a sigh.
San picks them at random, while Wooyoung watches, spellbound.
The first one is a tower, being struck by lightning. The second, a figure sitting on a chariot. And the third…
San makes a strange noise in the back of his throat. The third card is the lovers.
The three of them peer at the cards, bending their heads together like they’re watching a loaf of bread rise in an oven.
“Huh,” Wooyoung says. “Interesting.”
The fortune teller nods, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Some recent changes happening in your life, huh?”
San doesn’t say anything, and pointedly ignores the awed look that Wooyoung is giving him.
“I get the feeling that you’re working through some conflict right now.” She purses her lips, thinking. “Someone has entered your life, tearing it open, and now you’re forced to stride through the wreckage remaining.”
Wooyoung leans forward, completely on the edge of his seat.
“I can tell you that good things are coming your way, once the storm starts to wane a little. The lovers card suggests a very special person may be entering your life soon.” The fortune teller cocks her head to one side. “In fact, they may already have arrived! You’re just one of those people.”
San frowns. “What people?”
“The kind who doesn’t know he’s in love until it hits him in the face.”
He gapes at her, while Wooyoung chokes on his laughter. “Excuse me?”
“But don’t discount yourself. I’m sensing a lot of dynamic energy here.” She looks up at him. “You’re a fighter when it comes to love.”
San snorts. “Trust me. I am really not a fighter.”
“Pity,” Wooyoung comments. “I guess you’re doomed forever, then.” He turns to the fortune teller, his eyes shining with eagerness. “Anyways, will you do mine now?”
He goes through the same process of picking out three cards, just like San. But Wooyoung takes his time, picking up the cards purposefully and laying them on the table before them. The fortune teller lists them out as Wooyoung flips them over.
“The six of cups. The two of swords. And the hanged man.” She nods, her eyes half-shut in concentration. “You’re in love.”
Wooyoung grins. “I am?”
She points at the first card, the six of cups. “This is the card of pastness. It suggests that an old flame has reentered into the forefront of your life.”
Wooyoung raises his eyebrows. “That could be anyone.”
“I highly doubt it.” The fortune teller gives him a small smile. “When they appeared, I bet it felt like deja vu.”
“Isn’t that an AURORA song?”
“The two of swords,” the fortune teller continues, “Is you, caught at a crossroads. Head and heart at war. You know exactly what you want, but for whatever reason, you’re not able to admit it.”
Wooyoung listens coolly, the look of amusement never quite leaving his face.
“And the hanged man is the universe asking you to look at love a little differently. Good things take time. Love can’t be rushed. Be prepared to wait, and be prepared to sacrifice for it.”
“Wow,” San says. “Who is that?”
Does Wooyoung have some secret lover that San doesn’t know about? And why does this realisation… burble uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach?
“No idea,” Wooyoung says. He leans back on his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “But he sounds insufferable.”
“He is,” the fortune teller confirms. “But you’re already used to it.” She pauses to take a sip of her tea. “Anyway, he likes you back. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
They sit in the silence, both still trying to wrap their heads around whatever they’ve just been told. When the fortune teller stands up abruptly, San jolts, taken by surprise.
“Well, that’s all I have for you.” Wooyoung and San immediately rise from their chairs, and she leads them both towards the front of her shop, parting the curtains for them, and unceremoniously shoving them back into the sun. “Come back when one of you stops being a coward. I don’t give refunds, because I’m never wrong, so don’t waste your breath asking for one. Goodbye.”
She slams the door shut behind them.
For a second, San and Wooyoung stare at each other, wide eyed. Wooyoung is the first to break the spell, his face splitting into a huge grin.
“That was so weird,” he says. “I loved it.”
“Yeah,” San agrees faintly. “Yeah.”
“Come on, I think I see your mom queuing up to get grilled squid.” He tugs on San’s arm, leading them away from the dimly-lit shop, their cursed fortunes already forgotten. “I want to get one, too.”
When San glances back at the shop they just left, he finds that it’s already half-hidden by the shadows. As if it were never even there in the first place.