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Wooyoung’s heart sank when Yunho chose him as the last person to sleep in the “winner’s” room. He didn’t understand why Yunho didn’t pick Mingi, who had been staring at Yunho with his most convincing puppy eyes, practically begging.
“Look at Wooyoung’s face!”
Wooyoung knew Jongho didn’t mean it like that, but it hurt Wooyoung’s feelings. They made plans to stay up late and sneak any leftover food they could find. Now, thanks to Yunho, they wouldn’t be able to, and Wooyoung was upset. But cameras were pointed at them from every angle, so instead of cursing Yunho out like he wanted, he forced a smile and hoped the twinkle in his eyes wasn’t too see-through.
He didn’t get any looks from the producers, and no one pulled him aside when they were changing into their pajamas, so he figured his attempt to shift the focus to Mingi’s disappointment worked well enough.
“You look soft.” San told Wooyoung after they were changed, tugging on the material of the sleeves that were too long for Wooyoung’s arms.
Wooyoung had grabbed the first shirt and pants he saw, a long-sleeved top with tiny gray stripes and white joggers. White socks covered his feet because he was not about to show the world his feet. There were way too many weirdos out there.
San dressed in dark gray sleep pants that were hemmed in white and flared out around his feet and a red and white striped top. The stripes were the same shade as the streaks in San’s hair.
“You match.” Wooyoung knew San didn’t like the red in his hair, preferring no dye at all. He tried to give San lots of compliments all the time, but when the hair wasn’t what San thought, he tried extra hard. “It’s cute.”
“He’s like Waldo,” Yunho cut in.
San laughed, but Wooyoung was still feeling petty. He didn’t say anything, resting his chin on San’s shoulder with his arms around San’s waist. Tension surrounded the trio, and Wooyoung knew it was coming from him, but he didn’t care. It was Yunho’s fault. Still, he could feel some sort of weird roommate telepathy going on behind his back.
The director called for them, interrupting any other potentially awkward or damning conversations. Wooyoung wasn’t hating their first real variety show. Going to the sky diving place was fun, and watching San fail to pick an outfit was hilarious. And he looked oddly good in that shirt.
Better than Mingi, anyway, in his contrast-stitched jeans.
They were scheduled to play games for their dinner. If they succeeded, they got to eat the food assigned to the game, but if they failed, the food was taken from them. There was a lot of food: pizza, chicken, kimbap, ramen, and other sides. Wooyoung didn’t think his members, who, of course, he loved very dearly, were very good at games. Well, games that weren’t dependent on WASD or mouse skills.
Wooyoung and San sat next to each other, little cushions under their bums. Yunho sat far away, seemingly unbothered, and none of the others appeared to care. He let himself be bitter until the cameras turned on.
At least San was at his right-hand side. People on social media liked Wooyoung and San—Woosan—and it happened to work in their favor. Wooyoung was on Twitter once and saw an account that focused purely on the two of them, their bio reading: “Don’t separate them!” He thought it was cute, and he wanted to reassure them it would never happen, never in a million years. Not if he had anything to say about it.
The games the director planned were actually fun—group poses, wordplay games, singing relays. All very chatty and casual. They weren’t doing well , but they were having fun. And Wooyoung wasn’t feeling as sorry for himself as before.
Even as they lost another round of singing relay, Wooyoung was smiling, leg overlapping San’s, San’s hand on his calf. That was one different thing about San, compared to the other members, he wasn’t afraid to be affectionate on camera. On and off-camera, they were glued together, after a very short period when they were still getting to know each other.
Yeosang told him once that they were like magnets. And then Jongho made fun of them, going on about another post he saw online that said the two were soulmates. They laughed it off, of course, but the words stuck in Wooyoung’s head. Magnets. Soulmates. Best friends. Wooyoung didn’t know what word described them best.
They were just Wooyoung and San.
They ended up getting to eat all the food, winning the dishes they lost in bonus rounds that they totally didn’t see coming. And San, who had been moved to the end of the semi-circle the group was sat in, found his way back to Wooyoung side when it was time to eat, feeding him nibbles of fried chicken every few minutes.
After eating, they had some free time, and then it was time for bed. Wooyoung begrudgingly laid a blanket on the ground, throwing his pillow on top.
“Why are you pouting?” Hongjoong asked, already tucked into his makeshift bed, laptop on his thighs.
Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “I’m not pouting.”
“Is it because you aren’t with San?” Seonghwa followed-up softly, knowing all too well.
Yunho, who until then had been engrossed in his tattered copy of Harry Potter , looked up with round eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, Wooyoungie.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Hongjoong countered with a snort.
Wooyoung exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched.
“If you’re going to be a brat, just go.”
It wasn’t really permission, Wooyoung knew. If he had listened, he wouldn’t have heard the end of it. From Hongjoong, from Seonghwa the next morning, from the staff throughout the remainder of filming. It’d be a tirade about “the one-time Wooyoung listens” which would be a load of bullshit.
So, he sat down on his blanket and pulled another over his lap. He wasn’t tired. Not when he first plopped down, not two hours later. Not when Hongjoong snored so loud he jolted awake, mumbling an apology to no one, and then falling back asleep, another snore sounding through the room in less than a second.
There was a soft glow from the other room, creeping under the bottom of the sliding door, and Wooyoung heard the others’ hushed voices. He should’ve been with them. Irritation seeped into his mind again. It didn’t have to be four and four. Yunho split the rooms the way he wanted. And he didn’t want Wooyoung with San.
He rolled onto his side and shut his eyes again, urging sleep to take over. But San’s high-pitched laugh cut through the wall, followed by a sharp hiss, and Wooyoung’s eyes flew open again. He couldn’t do it anymore.
He stood and gathered his things, stuffing his pillow under his elbow and throwing his blanket over his shoulder. Narrowly avoiding tripping over Seonghwa’s legs, he managed to get to the door, sliding it open just enough to fit through the gap.
Yeosang spotted him first, sitting upright, back flat against the wall. “Wooyoung? Are you okay?”
San turned faster than lightning, a cute smile pushing his cheeks up. His expression morphed from joy to concern.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung said with a nod, sitting cross-legged next to San on his blankets. The blankets that were suspiciously wide enough for two, like San knew Wooyoung would somehow end up here.
Maybe he did.
Jongho and Mingi went back to their debate on which video game was best. Not that Mingi even played, choosing to watch Yunho or San over getting behind the controller or keyboard himself. Yeosang watched with a semi-amused, semi-bored expression, head resting on Jongho’s right thigh.
The point of San’s finger smooshed into Wooyoung’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”
Wooyoung shrugged and leaned to bump their shoulders together. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
It wasn’t a lie, but he decided to keep the part about not wanting to sleep without San to himself. Whether it was late in the dorms or an afternoon nap on one of the company couches, sleeping with San was easier. Even the plane rides were more comfortable with San beside him.
San’s arm found itself around Wooyoung’s shoulders, as it did so many times before, and Wooyoung finally started to feel sleepy. As he sat and listened to the others talk, he tried to remember when it started being like that, when he reached the point where he no longer wanted to sleep by himself.
It happened so quickly, the way his feelings for the other boy bloomed from a tiny sprout into the tallest sunflower.
San rubbed the back of Wooyoung’s neck, letting the others carry the conversation. The pressure of his warm, soft fingers drew a yawn from Wooyoung’s mouth. Followed by another. And another, until Wooyoung’s eyes watered as he tried to keep them open.
“Should we get some sleep?” San asked.
After some grumbled agreements, Yeosang turned off the light. No one was phased when Wooyoung didn’t sneak back into the other room. No one blinked when he crawled under the covers with San in the center of the room. When everyone was comfortable, Wooyoung curled against San’s side, as close as he could get without being on top of the boy. San’s chest made a nice pillow, and their legs fit together like puzzle pieces. San hugged him tight, an arm moving to cradle Wooyoung’s shoulders.
When Jongho’s soft snores filled the room, San leaned down, lips almost touching Wooyoung’s ear. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I was just...” He didn’t know how to word it. “I didn’t want to sleep in there.”
San sighed. “I’m glad you’re here. I sleep better when I get to hold you.”
Sometimes Wooyoung wondered if San realized how his words, his phrasing, sounded. If he knew that when he said stuff like that, Wooyoung’s stomach did somersaults. San was a poet, whether he tried or not, saying the loveliest, most romantic things without even thinking.
San had a lightness about him, always cheerful and bright. And if you asked San, he’d say the same about Wooyoung. One time, when they were alone in the practice room, Wooyoung put his head on San’s shoulder, and San told him that if Wooyoung was the sun, then San was the moon. Perfectly opposite but always complementing the other. Wooyoung had argued back, insisting that it was the other way around. They had agreed to disagree, then San linked their pinkies together.
I can’t be me without you, Wooyoung-ah.
San’s words had echoed through Wooyoung’s head and into his heart, a fluttery rush of warmth from head to toe.
Wooyoung hadn’t said anything back. He didn’t need to, instead burying his face in San’s neck to hide the blush on his cheekbones from the world.
Maybe that’s when it happened—when Wooyoung started looking at San like he put all the stars in the sky.
San was a soft soul. Wooyoung didn’t think he, himself, was very soft, more jagged around the edges, quick to come back with a sharp tongue and snappy sentences. Wooyoung was loud and harsh.
I can't be me without you, San-ah.
He didn’t say it.
“I sleep better, too.” Wooyoung murmured the confession against the stripes of San’s shirt. He let his hand tuck under the bottom hem, the skin of his side like fire under his fingertips.
San tensed for a fleeting moment, relaxing again and curling even closer. “No tickling.”
“I won’t.” Wooyoung promised.
Their legs slotted together more, and San’s cheek grew heavier on the crown of Wooyoung’s head. They fell asleep just like that, San’s fingers buried in Wooyoung’s hair, holding him close, and Wooyoung dreamt of a time when they would get to go to bed together every night, and wake up together each morning, happy to spend every living moment with his San.