Work Text:
“San…”
Hongjoong.
“What’s taking him so long?”
Yunho.
“He’s holding us up...as usual.”
Jongho.
“We’d be better off going to practice without him.”
Yunho, again.
“Hurry, Sannie...before I leave you.”
...Wooyoung?
San shot up from his bunk in a cold sweat, his body stiff, shaking like a fragile autumn leaf caught in a winter’s night. His eyes darted to his one side, then the other, then back to the door, where nothing but a dark, empty door frame resided.
A deep, silent sigh filled and fled San’s lungs before his body grew limp, his head toppling over, resting against the boring, white wall beside him. He squeezed his eyes shut—slightly too tight for comfort—and held his one hand with the other.
He could feel the wall pressing against his temple, the sheets surrounding him like a warm ocean, his own flesh against itself.
So that meant he was okay.
He was awake, here, in this moment.
It took San about another five minutes before he could bring himself to cautiously descend from his top bunk and stand on the familiar, cold wooden floor; even if every molecule in his body pleaded to retreat back under his heavenly covers, San embraced the feeling. It was reassuring in a strange way no one but him would understand.
It made things seem real. It distracted him from his mind. It was what he needed, especially now.
Noting Yunho had already made his leave, presumably to join the other members for breakfast, San sluggishly thudded his way down the stairs, stifling several yawns during the short journey.
And there it was: the smell of hot, morning beverages and fried foods, lingering just a few minutes longer before they were devoured by the eight members. It was comforting in an odd way, the scents wrapping around San like a light blanket, gently holding him.
“Look who decided to show.”
Mingi.
“It couldn’t have been anyone else? He’s the last person I want to talk to right now.”
Seonghwa.
“All he does is sleep nowadays. What happened to him?”
Hongjoong.
“-want some?”
“Huh?” San rubbed his eyes in a panic, shaking his head to bring himself back to the conversation he wasn’t aware had started, or who it had started with.
Residing on the other side of the small, kitchen island was Hongjoong. He wore a tired—yet friendly—look of sympathy, a soft smile resting on his lips.
Hongjoong let out a soft chuckle before repeating himself: “Jongho, Yunho, and I made everyone some smoothies—they turned out pretty good, actually!” Hongjoong took a quick glance down at his almost emptied cup through his rounded glasses before continuing. “Do you want some?”
San rubbed his hands over his face as he nodded, letting out a soft sigh of relief.
“Yeah. Thanks, Hongjoong.”
With a friendly nod, Hongjoong made his way over to the blender to pour San a glass of the green beverage.
San’s head spiked up at the faint whispers and laughter coming from another room, his heart pounding like a drum: first in his chest, then in his ears. He felt his skin begin to crawl with fear. He couldn’t make a scene. He couldn’t worry the other members.
Especially him.
They had shows to perform, fan meets to attend, rehearsals to conquer. San wanted to be there to experience it all. He needed to be there, even if it drained every last drop of energy from his body, even if it drove him mad.
Reluctantly, San shuffled his way out to the living room, where Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Mingi resided, chatting amongst themselves until Yeosang noticed San’s presence.
“Hey, San,” he casually greeted the fatigued member, “How are you feeling?”
San eyes widened at the inquiry, like a deer who just noticed the bright headlights blinding their vision.
“...What?” It felt so out of place, so sudden. It wasn’t like Yeosang knew about the voices...right? San had never told him; it wasn’t possible.
“Don’t push it; you’ll just embarrass him.”
Yeosang.
“Everyone knows he’s losing it.”
Mingi.
“Obviously.”
Jongho.
“You left game night early, remember?” A voice behind him questioned, causing San’s head to whip around.
San’s eyes rapidly traced over the owner of the voice—Jongho—taking in the reality of his presence. He wore a harended look of concern for his elder.
“Said you got a random migraine,” the youngest finished before passing off a tall glass of the homemade smoothie to San.
The elder held the bottom of the glass in both hands, his head quietly nodding up and down as if his mind had wandered somewhere else long ago.
“Right, yeah,” San agreed, “I’m feeling a lot better.” He forced himself out of his racing thoughts, to return to the present where he stood, planted on the living room floor. San pressed a toothless smile on his face.
“Good, because I don’t think I can take another evening of Wooyoung whining for you to come back.”
“Sannie, Sannie~!” Yeosang mocked, lacing his fingers together and placing them below his chin like a movie damsel, “Come back and cuddle your wittle baby Woo!”
“I do not sound like that!” Wooyoung yelled, playfully shoving Yeosang’s shoulder.
“That’s exactly what you sounded like!” Mingi exclaimed through his booming laughter, his head now thrown back into the back of the couch.
San’s fake smile faded as he watched the three jokingly argue about the events of the prior night. His focus was on Wooyoung, whose cheeks and ears had become a bright, burning red.
“What’s wrong with him today?”
Yunho.
“He looks even worse than usual.”
Hongjoong.
“Can you believe someone like San has feelings for me?!”
Wooyoung, I—
When San abruptly returned to reality, he found his gaze still locked on Wooyoung, only this time the younger was returning the stare.
Rather than irritated or flustered, Wooyoung looked...worried. His eyebrows were slightly knit together, eyes wide with fear for San’s well-being.
San, too, bore the same expression, his eyes sad, tired. He had zoned out again, and this time it seemed to be attracting attention.
“Was wittle wonwy Woo missing his Sannie-Wannie?”
So he had to play it off as though it were nothing. It was an act to tease Wooyoung, nothing more. They just had to believe that much and San was home-free.
Yeosang and Mingi erupted once again, repeating San’s words to express the amusement they had added to the conversation.
“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!”
Wooyoung...
“Why?”
Why? Woo, what—
“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
No, Wooyoung, please.
“When have I ever talked like that?!” San almost missed the slight difference between Wooyoung’s real voice, and...the other one: the one that grew stronger by the minute, constantly morphing from one member to the next. But when it was Wooyoung’s, it was always the most painful.
This wasn’t a new occurrence. About a year ago, San could easily ignore the deprecating thoughts, brushing them off his shoulder like a harmless house fly. But as time passed—as San grew closer to his fellow members—they grew louder and louder.
What worried him most was Wooyoung. San and Wooyoung had grown close over the past couple years, closer than he had become with any other member. While he held other members and lovingly squeezed their shoulders, San held Wooyoung just a little closer and just a little tighter.
Wooyoung didn’t seem to mind. In fact, something in his eyes sparkled when San looked his way, though maybe San was just making things up. It pained him to avoid Wooyoung any more, but San had handled it alone before, so another day shouldn’t make much of a difference.
Not for Wooyoung, anyway.
San forced out another chuckle with Yeosang and Mingi before excusing himself to the bathroom as casually as possible. It wasn’t a total lie: he was going to the bathroom, just the one connected to his room, where he could distance himself from the others. It was better that way for everyone.
Each step up to the second floor grew more difficult than the last, the weight in his chest practically pulling him down. San’s body grew nauseous, his stomach churning, as though almost forcing him to throw up.
“Hey, San?”
“San.”
“San?!”
Wooyoung.
It was just the voices. San was sure of it. He just needed to escape the living room and hide under his covers, clutching Shiber like there would be no tomorrow.
“Where did San go?”
Seonghwa.
“Just to use the bathroom.”
“Or did you lie to us, just like last night?”
Yeosang.
The farther San climbed, the softer the voices grew. So he climbed. Faster, and faster. The moment San reached the top, he practically sprinted into his room, slamming the door shut behind himself.
San’s body began to tremble, his teeth chattering rapidly. He forced himself to take deep breaths, to feel the familiar floor under his feet once again.
It was real. It was quiet. It was safe. The room was dark, barely visible, but he preferred it that way. It was comforting in its own, peculiar way, like he could tell the darkness any secret, any desire. The darkness was a beautiful secret keeper, and San trusted her sealed lips more than anyone else.
After taking a few more breaths to calm his heart rate, San lethargically climbed the bunk bed ladder to the top and slipped himself under the messy covers.
As he got situated to sleep, San lazily felt around him for his loyal stuffed companion, Shiber, but turned up empty handed. Even after unhappily throwing the covers off of himself, exposing him to the cold air, there was no sign of the plush puppy. San was certain he had seen Shiber before making his way downstairs this morning.
Defeated, San wrapped the covers around himself, sinking deeper into their warmth each passing moment. Fatigue and despair swept over him the second his back hit the mattress, draining him of every last bit of energy he had been clutching onto.
And he cried. He shoved his head into the pillow and wailed, throwing his fist into the wall beside him over and over until blood spilled from his knuckles and his hand throbbed from the pain.
San heard a commotion coming from downstairs, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be free from this fucking curse in his mind, forcing him deeper and deeper down a dark pit of solitude, and San despised it.
His head pounded like crazy.
“It’s karma for your lies.”
At this point, the voices in his head were talking over one another, some snickering at San’s pain, others scolding him for his shortcomings.
“Weak.”
“Pathetic.”
“Selfish.”
“Liar.”
“Disappointing.”
"Failure.”
“Unlovable.”
“SHUT UP!” San screamed through his sobs, his voice growing more strained by the second. With a loud THUD, San slammed his forehead into the white wall. Then again.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
THUD!
“Unlovable.”
Was he really unlovable? If thoughts like these circulated and thrived at the sight of people so kind and caring, then something had to be wrong with him. San wasn’t even sure how he expected someone like Wooyoung to reciprocate any sort of feelings for his elder.
“Failure.”
What kind of elder was he, anyway? What kind of idol was he? All he did was hide away, praying that each day will pass by faster than the last.
The sound of footsteps quickly rushed towards San’s current location, an accompanying worried panting growing louder. The bedroom door slammed into the wall, a sound now too familiar to San.
“San?” Wooyoung cried out in a panicked tone, “San?! Is—” At the sight of his older member, Wooyoung fell dead silent, his lips unable to form any words, his throat tight and dry.
“Oh, my God.”
“Please…” San choked out, letting his bruised head rest against the cracked, red-stained wall, “Go away.”
San’s weak plea was to no avail. In a matter of moments, Wooyoung had swiftly climbed up to the top bunk and placed himself as close to San as he could manage.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. He placed a hand on each of San’s shoulders, his trembling fingers gripping San tighter, pulling him closer.
San weakly shook his head before letting it hang down. His gaze was blurred, the white sheets mixing with the red dripping from his forehead, ruining the bed just as he had his friends' lives.
“I can’t.” San’s response was barely above a faint whisper. He shook his head again, letting out a soft sob. The tips of his bangs had begun to grow damp with blood and tears.
“I’m a hopeless coward, Wooyoung.”
“San…” Wooyoung’s hand moved to San’s nape, rubbing small, soft circles into the back of his neck.
The comforting touch of Wooyoung’s skin against San’s own spread a warmth throughout San’s body, and only then did he become aware of how tired he truly was. It was as though he hadn’t slept in months.
“You know you can talk to me, right? I won’t tattle to Seonghwa.”
A small exhale escaped San’s nose, the faintest trace of a smile appearing on his lips before fading away.
“It’s gonna sound stupid,” San mumbled.
“You always sound stupid,” Wooyoung teased, eaning a tired, playful shove from San. A soft laugh left Wooyoung’s lips for a brief moment. It was different than when he laughed with the others. It felt more genuine, caring, and beautiful. San had missed it so much, even in such a small dose.
A small silence lingered in the dark room for a moment too long.
“San, did something happen between us?” The question caught the elder off-guard, his battered head turning to face Wooyoung at last.
The pain on Wooyoung’s face was far from subtle, but San couldn’t blame him. He could feel the stream of blood slowly dripping down his forehead, sliding off the side of his nose and resting on his lips. San hadn’t looked well in months, and he had made as many precautions as possible to avoid Wooyoung seeing him this close up for this specific reason.
“B-because you can tell me if I did something that—”
“No, you didn’t do anything, Wooyoung,” San reassured the younger, his tone low and lifeless, “Really.”
San let out a soft sigh and took a moment to gather his thoughts and any courage he could muster in such a state.
“I—...” Wooyoung waited with wide, teary eyes for San to speak. Without breaking eye contact, Wooyoung gently grabbed one of San’s hands and weaved San’s fingers between his own. Wooyoung’s other hand pressed San’s fingers down onto his soft, smooth skin.
“A lot’s been weighing on me for a while now. I didn’t bring it up because I knew everyone would be worried.”
Wooyoung’s grip on San’s hand tightened.
“I could ignore it at first, but after we started getting closer, the thoughts just spiraled out of control. I was so afraid—hell, I’m still afraid that I’m just clinging on to some fantasy where you feel the same as me. I felt too ashamed to ask, so...I just sucked it up and tried not to think about it. Obviously that didn’t work out, huh?” San let out a weak laugh, too tired to stop the pooling tears from streaming down his cheeks.
“Sannie, I…” The name from Wooyoung’s lips made San’s heart flutter, just enough for it to be felt through the dread eating away at his chest. He felt his ears grow warmer, and warmer still as Wooyoung began to gently thumb away the tears on San’s pink cheeks.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” San reassured his other half, unable to look away from his wide, estatite eyes.
“I just wish you had said something sooner.” Through the layers of concern and sympathy, a small, relieved smile spread on Wooyoung’s lips. San watched Wooyoung’s eyes begin to water, Wooyoung’s throat tightening up to prevent him from letting out a sob of any kind. “We could have avoided all of this and spent more time together.” Wooyoung chuckled, a sob quickly sneaking its way into the lighthearted laughter.
San’s eyes fell back down to his hand, still tangled in Wooyoung’s own. Wooyoung hadn’t made one attempt at letting go, at backing away, or putting San down gently.
“You know I feel the same, right?” San’s eyes shot up at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice, vulnerable, soft.
“Really?” Wooyoung nodded lightly in response.
“I thought I was pretty obvious about it, spending so much time cuddling with you and all. Well, it seems like I was, but someone apparently needed a lot of prep time before asking this handsome someone out, didn’t they?”
San’s face grew a deep red, his cheeks hot enough to burn someone if they weren’t careful. But he was always one to enjoy some goofing off, and, come to think of it, he hadn’t felt this happy and this grateful in a long, long time.
San dramatically hit chest, loudly clearly his throat.
“My most majestic, most graceful Princess Jung Wooyoung,” San rose their laced hands up between the two figures, pulling Wooyoung’s own close to his chest, “would you do me the highest honors of becoming the Woo to my Woosan?”
The largest, brightest grin San had ever seen beamed on Wooyoung’s face.
“Nothing would make me happier.”
After cleaning up San’s face and hand as best as they could manage, the two of them squeezed together on the thin bunk bed, San’s body wrapped around Wooyoung’s own. Even though his head continued to throb from the pain, it was the best San had felt since his feelings for Wooyoung had begun to bud in his heart. The silence of the room hovered over them, keeping them safe, happy.
Not a single voice ran through San’s mind, and he was grateful.
Even in such a disheveled room as the one they had created, Wooyoung and San happily drifted off in the warm, protective hold of the other. An explanation for the mess could wait until tomorrow, anyway.