Work Text:
SAN
On his way to his first class on Monday, San stumbles into the lamp post of a street light.
It’s the fourth time he’s lost his footing today without any evident reason or obstacle and San can’t really grasp what is going on. Yes, he was out late last night, drinking one more margarita than would have been responsible, but he’s certain that ten hours later he should be able to maintain a straight walk.
After staggering from his bed into the opposite wall of his bedroom first thing in the morning, San had pinned the blame on the aftermath of his drunken weekend escapades and the fuzziness swirling around in his head. But then he had tripped into the front door on his way out and barely saved himself from a painful encounter with the door frame, and a peculiar feeling had begun to settle beneath his breastbone.
San usually likes to take the stairs on his way down to exit their building, but halfway down the first flight the pull in his chest had returned with enough force to throw him forward and cause him to lose his footing, slipping down the last four steps. Baffled by his unusual wobbliness this morning, San had decided to not take the risk of a serious injury. Waiting for the decade-old elevator to ride down at a snail’s pace made his skin itch with the need to move, but he did prefer the painful agitation over a potentially deadly fall from the fourth floor staircase.
His shin collides with a public trash can as he rounds the last corner to his grad school building, chest pulling together tightly, and San can only manifest for the day to take a turn for the better as he hisses in pain and awkwardly hobbles into his educational psychology class.
–
San is no doubt a clumsy person.
His proneness to bump into objects is all but facilitated by his usual restlessness and the ever-present urge to jump for the leaves of any tree San walks beneath. But when he sits down in the evening to count a total of twenty-two bruises and scratches lining his legs, arms and the side of his face, he realizes that this level of inadvertent self-injury can hardly be considered normal. Neither can the incessant and increasingly unpleasant feeling of something pulling at his sternum that sends San jumping in surprise and by its sheer force every time it flares.
“Are you okay?” asks his roommate Yunho later that night when San loses his balance for the upteenth time over the last twelve hours and tips forward, noisily landing with his head in their washing drum.
San pulls back with a pained groan. He blinks up at Yunho through the black eye forming from when he ran into the door to the lunch hall earlier, clueless as to what is currently happening to him.
“I don’t know.”
Yunho looks down at him with mild concern in his eyes.
“Seriously San, I can’t imagine what the other guy must look like.”
“Ha, ha. I didn’t get into a fight.” San rolls his eyes and winces when all that does is send a dull pain along his swollen eyelid.
“No shit,” answers Yunho, turning back to the water of his late-night ramen that has started boiling over and snatching a rag to frantically wipe at the stove. “What I want to know is what really happened for you to look like you’ve been mobbed in a back alley. Don’t think I didn’t hear the way you kept dragging your foot along the carpet when you came home earlier.”
San lets out a dejected sigh. “I slipped from the curb and twisted my ankle.”
He decides it is safest to slump down into a position that doesn’t require him to stand on steady feet for now, sitting cross-legged as he pulls out his freshly cleaned laundry from the washing machine.
“I have no idea what’s happening. It’s been going on all day—I’ve been running into things, tripping over nothing and falling.”
San’s hand settles over his chest, rubbing at the aching spot between his pecs. Yunho’s eyes catch onto the motion as San’s fingers curl into his shirt, bunching up the fabric before his heart, like he’s trying to rip away the piece of clothing.
“It’s like someone is holding a firm grip over my body and playing me like a puppet. Like I’m being pulled forward. And it doesn’t make any sense.”
Yunho looks at him like he’s not sure San is entirely sane.
“Not to alarm you, but that sounds like a serious health concern.”
This time around, the heavy feeling in San’s chest has nothing to do with whatever had him tripping up all day. His throat tightens at the thought of all the physical catalysts that could be the cause for his sudden lack of coordination and inaptitude to walk—or stand for that matter.
Breathe, he reminds himself.
This could be nothing, don’t start panicking.
Until Yunho had brought them up, San had chalked today’s pain-inflicting incidents up to bad luck paired with his lack of concentration from deficient sleep and wrong alcoholic choices. Right now, he truly hopes his bad decisions are all that accounts for this hapless situation.
San focuses on taking a couple of deep inhales, concentrates on tracing the wrinkles in his damp laundry, the discoloration of his formerly white sports socks, the washed-out elastics of his underwear, until his racing mind has slowed to a halt and the anxiety has lifted.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be fine,” he says eventually, hooking the laundry basket under one arm as he straightens up a little too fast and almost topples over again–this time out of sheer rush to get rid of his afflicting feelings.
“Careful,” says Yunho and pokes his used chopsticks into San’s side in a feeble attempt to steady him.
He can only hope tomorrow will mark an end to his clumsy streak.
–
San narrowly avoids a bloody disaster at the gardening store on Tuesday.
He and Yunho are shopping for a new house plant as well as a gift for their friend Seonghwa’s upcoming birthday, when another sudden pull in his chest causes San to lose his balance and very nearly crash into the shelf with the cacti.
Yunho’s hand shoots out in time to save him from the spines by mere centimeters, and San spends the rest of their shopping trip reliving the scene in his head, trying not to think of all the ways in which it could have played out, had his roommate’s reflexes not been quite as quick to catch him from falling. He shudders in horror every time the sequence before his inner eye ends with him sprinkled in cactus spines and bloody scratch marks.
The weight of his recently developing balance issues slowly begins to settle in when he almost trips into traffic and is run over by Seoul’s angry rush hour on their way back to the apartment. San can feel Yunho’s scrutinizing eyes on him as he darts off to his room the second they have placed down the plants and taken off their outside clothes, trying his best not to slam the door behind him too loudly as to not raise his roommate’s suspicions any further.
The pulling had stopped after he escaped the traffic incident, but in its stead abides a feeling San finds hard to describe. There is a flutter in his chest akin to the anxiety that washes over him whenever he needs to let blood or speak in front of larger groups of people, except this time there is no imminent cause for his anxiety to spike.
san: should i be calling a doctor??
Yunho’s words from the previous night and today’s borderline dangerous events have sent San spiraling into the depth of the internet. After googling his symptoms and reading about the six different diagnoses that could be sending him to an early grave, he does the next best thing he can think of: text Seonghwa.
Too scared to address the issue with anyone other than Yunho, who had inevitably caught on and shown honest concern, San had avoided bringing up his bruises and fickle steps to anyone else he crossed paths with during the day, evading his friends’ curious eyes at lunch and ignoring his classmates’ careful inquiries.
Now San finds himself sitting on his bed, chewing on the nails of one hand as he stares at his chat with Seonghwa, a year older and at least five years wiser, finding relief in the way the little ‘1’ next to each chat bubble disappears seconds after he sends it, knowing that Seonghwa’s instant replies mean that he is taking him seriously.
His usually so collected friend is sending texts dripping with increasing concern, which does nothing to stifle the muted panic bubbling under San’s skin.
seonghwa: idk sannie
seonghwa: i don’t mean to make it worse and scare you but
seonghwa: if the pain is located in your chest
seonghwa: and in your heart area no less
seonghwa: it may be worth getting yourself checked, just to be sure
The words blur before his eyes. San’s mind is elsewhere, momentarily straying off to darker paths and furthering the heavy feeling in his chest. His hand moves on its own accord, settling over the sore spot in his thorax to press soothing warmth into the skin beneath his sweater.
He is ripped from his grim thoughts when a new jolt jerks him forward. This time, with his fingers hovering over his sternum, it is not only the pull he can feel tugging at his chest. Something soft flutters against San’s fingers and his eyes snap down so fast that a sharp pain shoots up his neck. The ache is quickly forgotten when his eyes land on the reason for his knee-jerk reaction, something so out of the ordinary that his breath stalls for the fracture of a second.
The red string protruding from his chest is vibrating–like it has just been set into motion. San reaches for it, runs his fingers along the faintly transparent thread, but the string is as abstract as ever. He can feel little fluttering moves on his palm, but when he tries to cup his hand around it, he reaches into nothing.
San finds himself at a loss, his brain jammed with the bizarre newfound information. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of his soulstring having something to do with his off week, simply because he has never heard of anything similar happening before. Soulstrings connect you to the person(s) destined to be with you, in one form or another, but they don’t do things. They don’t move or haul you into one direction or the other. In fact, San is pretty certain that soulstrings aren’t supposed to act on their own accord at all.
His chest jerks again and this time, San can see it clearly. The string ripples between his fingers, sending a breath of air across his skin. He jumps back into his avidly ongoing stream of google searches, browsing through the first-page results pulling up on his screen and swiping away the notifications of Seonghwa’s still incoming texts.
He types in soulstring moves.
A number of results flood his screen, but nothing immediately catches his eye.
He tries all kinds of word combinations, soulmate pains and loss of balance due to soulmate, but not one of them leaves him with a satisfactory answer. According to google, his new discovery could be anything ranging from a well-constructed illusion to a physical condition, as much as everything in between.
The realization that something may be harming his soulmate leaves San almost more horrified.
If San’s chest is hurting, what does that mean for his soulmate? Are they in danger? Are they hurting?
San finds a fraction of hope in the fact that the string is moving under tension, the other end seemingly tied to someone, which hopefully indicates that whoever is on the other end of his soulstring is still alive and the connection isn’t severed.
The weight in his chest pushes down harder and San sits on his bed petrified.
All he can think about is the person on the other end of the string. His soulmate.
–
By Friday, San has scraped his shin, stabbed his toe, tried to cover up the morbid bruises that decorate his arms and that begin turning an ugly green-yellowish color, and diligently dabbed iodine ointment on all open cuts and scratches he could find and reach.
He has been on edge all week, waiting for the other shoe to drop and something, anything out of the ordinary to happen to his soulstring. He catches himself glancing down and chancing a look at the red thread more often, half-expecting and dreading to see it loosely dangling from his chest, knowing that the tie to his soulmate has been cut and the person on the other end of the string has taken their last breath on this earth.
When nothing of the likes happens, San’s leeriness wears off a little.
His soulstring continues to haul him places like it is living its own best life, bouncing avidly between his chest and where it disappears from San’s sight. San on the other hand does his best to take precautions in order to avoid any more precarious incidents. He tries to sit down as often as he can and when standing he makes sure to keep his weight on both feet, so as to not be thrown off balance too quickly. He carries around bandaids and petroleum jelly to tend to all minor scrapes and makes sure not to walk too close to the curb.
So, when the monthly trivia night at the nearby pub rolls around and Yunho appears at their table with three big mugs of beer, San can momentarily let go of the ever-present fear that something is very, very wrong. He has managed to get a concerned Seonghwa and a perpetually skeptical Yunho off his back for the night by promising to go see a doctor come Monday, should the symptoms of his fluttering heart not wear off by the end of the weekend. From the corner of his eye San can catch Seonghwa throwing him worried glances, but for now the subject matter is off the table in favor of the ongoing pub quiz and their combined competitive spirits to outperform as many other teams as possible.
They bullshit their way through the first category—poisonous plants—and make up grounds on the team sitting right before the bar during round two—extreme sports—solely by the power of Yunho, who somehow single-handedly manages to carry them to a full score. The quiz host takes the opportunity to call for a ten-minute break and San is sent on a quest for more beers. He hasn’t felt another tug in his chest for hours now, so he doesn’t think twice before taking all three glasses and beginning to make his way through crowded tables and people caught up in drinks and conversations.
He reaches their table and places down his friends’ mugs, raising his own for a toast to a successful second half of trivia and–hopefully–victory. Before he can lift his glass any higher and take a first foam-filled sip of beer, however, he is jerked forward. San isn’t prepared this time; neither for the blow nor the sheer force with which it lands. It appears to have at least doubled since earlier, when he tripped and fell into a public trash can, the impact only cushioned by his puffer jacket.
San stumbles backwards, past a row of nearby tables, until his foot catches onto the leg of a chair and sends him sprawling straight into the lap of someone sitting at one of the corner tables. The beer that he had been clutching onto in his desperate attempt to minimize damage spills over the rim and on the pair of jeans that have caught San’s fall.
His eyes shoot up. San can feel his cheeks burn—with shame and embarrassment, and the blood that his heart keeps frantically pumping through his veins. He doesn’t dare look around as his eyes find the stranger whose lap he is occupying, too afraid of the pitiful or amused eyes of others, who have come to witness his flailing performance.
He has stumbled his way to one of the bigger tables, San realizes. He had noticed this particular one on his way to the bathroom earlier, because it’s hogged by a group of guys equal parts noisy and dedicated to the game, much like his own friends and him. The man whose high-pitched laugh had caught his attention in the first place happens to be the one he crashed into. Their eyes cross and out of the many reactions he steeled himself for–anger, embarrassment, surprise–San isn’t prepared for the cheeky smile sent his way.
The man’s fingers brush over San’s arm just below the hem of his sleeve and a ripple of excitement trickles up his elbow, spreads up to his shoulder, into his head and torso. It’s an otherworldly experience that draws goosebumps from San’s skin, leaving the hairs on his arms and neck standing in rigid attention. Heat blooms in his chest and with a panicked look down, San can see his soulstring glimmer in a vibrant red. It no longer moves, but something else has changed significantly. Instead of vanishing into thin air a few meters before San’s eyes, it winds up in the chest of the stranger, whose lap San is still seated on.
“Hi soulmate,” says the man, long hair curling over his ears and dark eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the cozy Irish pub. San’s eyes are drawn to a mole under his eyelid that makes his smile wide and infectious. “How nice of you to show up.”
𓍯𓂃
WOOYOUNG
In hindsight, Wooyoung didn’t expect his plan to work out well enough for his soulmate to literally drop into his lap.
At the time he came up with the idea to hook his soulmate, Wooyoung had been well and truly fed up with the injustices of fate. First, he introduces his tall friend Mingi to his short friend Hongjoong, only to spark an unexpected but devoted romance between the odd pair. Granted, Mingi and Hongjoong have been together for over three years now, but then, more recently, his best friend Yeosang runs into his soulmate at the bowling alley in what has got to be one of the most cliché meet-cutes. When Yeosang reaches for one of the balls and accidentally bumps knuckles with a guy from the team playing in the neighboring lane, jerking back from the touch and failing to score anything better than a four for the remainder of their game, too busy sending love-struck looks the way of his newfound soulmate Jongho, Wooyoung feels equal parts amused and hysterical. Yeosang says the two of them have agreed to stay platonic for the time being, taking things slow, but they’re not fooling Wooyoung one bit.
Wooyoung knows that he is technically not that old. There is plenty of time left to meet his person. And yet, seeing his friends find love–in one way or another–, witnessing the way Hongjoong’s usually brusk exterior wavers in favor of his massive soft spot for Mingi, or how Yeosang’s usually so collected nature is pushed aside whenever he comes back from one of his non-dates with Jongho, makes Wooyoung want these things for himself. He wants someone who will hold him, who will bear with his silly antics, someone he can pamper and shower with all the affection he holds.
So, at one of their Sunday brunch dates, Wooyoung decides to take matters into his own hands. Mingi takes it upon himself to feed Hongjoong all of his own share of scrambled eggs and Jongho seemingly loses all appetite in favor of sneaking secretive glances at Yeosang, and Wooyoung decides that he has had enough.
It is time for his soulmate to show.
He reads himself into a rabbit hole of soulmate strings and decides to give it a try. There is little scientific proof to help back his plan. Soulmate strings change their design and movement based on the soulmates’ fate and lifelines, not because one of the souls grows impatient to meet the other. But Wooyoung is convinced that through the means of manifestation, nothing is impossible. So he tries to get a grip on the lucent string and pulls.
Apparently, if the man in his lap is enough to go by, he has pulled hard enough.
“Soulmate–?”
The man looks at him. He has cat-like features, a perfect mixture of soft curves and sharp edges, and the thrum of excitement shooting through Wooyoung’s veins ignites another fire.
He is about to answer, repeat the word back to him for confirmation, when someone else breaks through the mass of people crowding near the bar, and beats him to it.
“San, dude, are you good? Did you feel that pull again?”
The man is tall, taller than Mingi, maybe, and his kind features crinkle in obvious concern. For the first time, Wooyoung considers that it may not have been his smartest move to practice force in order to rope in his soulmate.
“I–I’m good. I think I may know now–”
His soulmate–San–chances a self-conscious glance in his direction and Wooyoung feels the unexpected urge to reach out, smooth out the wrinkle in his forehead and replace it with something softer, like a smile or a pout.
Once again, before he has the chance to enter the conversation, another, louder voice calls out to announce the continuation of the pub quiz.
San jerks in his lap before finally climbing off his legs, sending him a mildly awkward but very darling glance. He looks at a loss for words and Wooyoung, positively endeared, decides that enough new information has been dropped on the guy tonight, and jumps to his rescue.
“Well, San. My name’s Wooyoung and I look forward to getting to know you better,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But first, I’ll have to kick your ass at trivia.”
(San and his friends win first place and though it’s a mild blow to his ego, the happiness and pride radiate off San in warm waves that make it difficult for Wooyoung to do anything but share his joy.)
–
Wooyoung meets San at a place that serves army stew the day after their first chance encounter.
Despite being caught off guard the previous night, San has had the mind to ask Wooyoung for his number before both groups of boys parted ways in front of the pub. They exchanged contacts and a few introductory greetings–Wooyoung learned that San shares a dorm with his tall friend Yunho, and that he’s a little timid in the face of new people–and promised to meet up at the earliest opportunity.
That opportunity arises when both of them have open dinner plans the following day. His impression of San proves true when the man sits down across from him, eyes wide and answers cut politely curt whenever Wooyoung asks him a question.
In the broad daylight, Wooyoung becomes alert to the bruises lining San’s skin for the first time. He raises an eyebrow at the sight, barely resisting the urge to reach out and offer some form of comfort against the little pangs of guilt nagging at him.
“I’m really sorry about those,” Wooyoung says, motioning down the side of San’s face that is sporting the remnants of a black eye and cut bottom lip. “I clearly wasn’t thinking it through, when I decided that I wanted my soulmate to literally fall for–well, on–me. I guess this may be part of the reason why my friends call me impulsive.”
“That’s okay,” says San. His eyes wrinkle at the corners until they all but disappear behind his dimples. “I’m just really happy that you’re okay. I was so scared that something had happened to you.”
Any feelings of guilt are ousted by the pleasant delight seeping into Wooyoung’s heart. He doesn’t know if it’s the red string glowing between their chests or San’s natural charm, but it’s easy to ignore all negative feelings when San sits this close and so flippantly dismisses the physical pain Wooyoung had caused him in his attempt to get San to enter his life.
“I almost perished by the hands of a cactus army that I face-planted right into, but lucky for you Yunho was with me and saved me from imminent death.”
San looks completely serious and Wooyoung’s stomach plummets. This time he reaches across the table to place a hand on San’s arm.
“Shit, I’m really sor–”
San’s facade breaks. He bursts into a fit of giggles, unfiltered and gleeful, and Wooyoung can’t help joining in, swatting at San’s arm with playful indignation.
“Are you making jokes now?” He raises an eyebrow, knowing that his smile betrays him.
“Sorry, I just–It’s okay. It was a little dumb, but it’s nothing more than a few scratches and in the end you did pull me towards you. How can I not be grateful for that?”
San’s shy smile has returned. The tips of his ears glow in a faint pink color and Wooyoung feels something queasy settle in his stomach.
He feels like he caught a glimpse of something special–San’s playful side, one that he may not be sharing with strangers very often. He will do his best to wiggle his way into San’s good graces, he decides then, to get him to open up a little more, to make him feel comfortable and like he can trust Wooyoung enough to be his own unapologetic self. He hopes for the chance to see as much of San as he can, as much as San will share with him, when he is already so intrigued by the amiable boy slurping his soup across the table.
“I’m very grateful to have pulled hard enough,” says Wooyoung. “And I know I am the one to sort of jump this on you with my impatience, but I want you to know–There’s no pressure. Like, at all. I would love to get to know you better, and to have you in my life of course, but I’m not saying–I’m not expecting anything to happen straight away. Or ever. I’m cool with taking things slow and seeing what the future holds for us. We can stop at any time. I’d just really like the opportunity to meet you and learn about you, and for you to get to know me, too. We can discover where things will lead us and decide where we want to take them. Together.”
He is out of breath by the time he finishes. San had let him ramble on for the past few minutes quietly, his neutral expression giving little away, but now the dimples return with enough force to make Wooyoung dizzy.
“That sounds wonderful, Wooyoung,” he says. “I can’t wait to see where life will take us.”
–
San doesn’t make it particularly difficult to fall in love with him.
The timid nature that had Wooyoung so endeared on the day he quite literally swept San off his feet slowly dissipates. Over the next weeks and months Wooyoung discovers parts of San he didn’t know to expect. He drinks up every little detail, greedily commits them to memory and indulges in San’s little quirks.
He learns that San is a bundle of energy, bouncing off the walls and leaving behind a whirlwind. He is affectionate and cuddly and though hesitant to ask for it, he basks under Wooyoung’s attention, whenever Wooyoung latches onto his arm or threads his fingers through his hair.
He finds out that San can’t hold his alcohol very well and that a tipsy, pink-cheeked San is a sight to behold. His silly but loud and utterly earnest rendition of old Korean ballads at the karaoke place Wooyoung drags him to fills Wooyoung’s heart with fondness.
He picks up on San’s morals, his strong sense of loyalty and sense of justice. In spite of his demure appearance in the face of strangers and large groups of people, San doesn’t hesitate to stand up to a rude barista, who seems to be having a terrible day and decides that Yunho is the person to take it out on. San gets wind of a couple of upperclassmen leeching onto Seonghwa’s good heart and hard work for a group project and jumps at the next opportunity to create a distraction, taking Seonghwa out to his favorite food place and showering him with well-meaning affection.
Together, San and Wooyoung discover that their friend groups match in their own peculiar ways. Their tall gangly friends collectively make up a force of chaos that no one but Yunho and Mingi themselves is equipped for. Seonghwa and Hongjoong join forces to become the parent friends to everyone else, chastising Wooyoung for his thoughtless plan to yank San around and endanger him with the hope to pull him close. Even Jongho, usually shy of physical affection from anyone but his own soulmate, develops an unexpected soft spot for San. Wooyoung is almost offended when he watches San drape himself across Jongho’s back the first time and instead of immediately shrugging the boy off and chiding him for it, Jongho simply lets him be.
In the end it’s the heartwarming knowledge that not only do his friends approve of San–they are starting to love San too–that outweighs the grudge about to settle.
–
The first time Wooyoung kisses San, they sit together on Yunho’s bed.
Yunho has ventured off to pop more popcorn, the movie that is pulled up on San’s laptop paused before them, and Wooyoung’s head rests on San’s shoulder.
He tilts his head towards San so he can see him better while he listens to San go on about the movie’s storyline and his predictions for the end. He watches a strand of San’s hair sway along when he moves and the way Yunho’s dim bedside lamp throws shadows on his face, painting him in mystery.
“Boba is on you next time, if I’m right with my predictions,” says San, bubbly with the excitement of a new challenge.
“Sure,” says Wooyoung. He sits up, head-butting San’s chin on his way into a proper seating position, without taking his eyes off San.
His soulmate glows despite the darkness, radiant with competitive joy and enthusiasm. Wooyoung feels warmth prickle in his fingertips, the need to reach out and touch San.
San turns to look at him, so Wooyoung takes his chance, leans forward and kisses him. It’s soft and nice. San feels familiar and exciting when he kisses back, a gentle press of lips, an angle to his face.
Wooyoung feels warm all over when San pulls back. He nudges Wooyoung’s chin with his fingers until he is faced with San’s radiant smile. When he leans forward a second time, San’s lips land on the corner of his mouth just as Yunho returns with a new bowl of warm popcorn.
–
It’s a bad mental health day and Wooyoung is sure, no–he knows–that soulmate or not, he is going to drive San away.
“I know I’m a lot,” he says. He is barely holding it together after having yelled at San to mask his awful defense mechanisms and he can tell that he is as close to tears as he is to ruining it all.
“I am loud and childish and obnoxious and I don’t know when to shut up. I am not patient enough and I am not kind like you. And on top of that–”
He gasps for air, but at this point he can no longer stop. All his insecurities are piling up and crowding him in, suffocating any rational thought.
“I have an unhealthy obsession with Too Hot To Handle. I care too much about stupid, miniscule things. And I get unreasonably upset when you forget to buy espresso shots, even though you said you would. And I–”
His voice fails him.
“Wooyoung.” San is in front of him. His hands are on Wooyoung’s shoulders. His touch feels warm and good, because that is how San always feels. He feels like Wooyoung doesn’t deserve him.
“I like that you’re so passionate about things. I could listen to you forever, when you yap my ear off about something, anything that makes you smile or upset, that you care to share with me, because it’s important to you. You get invested because you care, so much. None of these things make me want to be with you any less, they make me want to be a fixture in your life. You have such a big heart that sometimes you do get too invested. But Wooyoung, I love that about you.”
Wooyoung is in San’s arm now, a soothing hold that rocks him from side to side, draws gentle patterns down his back and makes him melt into San’s frame.
His breathing slows down, placated by the warmth of San’s words and the comfort of his arms, but his heart doesn’t. That’s when he knows.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, even though now is not a good time and he still partly feels like shit.
“Only if you’re not going to belittle yourself again. I won’t allow that.” San sounds amused, but Wooyoung doesn’t doubt for a second that he will whack him over the head as soon as Wooyoung spills another bad word about himself.
“I know we said we could try staying friends,” he says instead, winding both arms around San’s middle. “But that’s not what I want anymore.”
San’s hands settle between his shoulders. He can feel San’s fingers pluck at his shirt as he shifts his weight to burrow further into Wooyoung.
“Yeah,” San breathes, “me neither.”
They don’t need to look at each other. They both know they’re in love.
–
Wooyoung sits at his kitchen table, surrounded by the quiet rumble of the oven and the waft of warm cinnamon that is beginning to fill the room.
San and him are about to leave for their bi-weekly get-together at Mingi’s and Hongjoong’s place. All that is left to do is wait for his potluck dessert to finish baking.
He can hear the pitter-patter of footsteps as San appears in the door frame, dressed in some of Wooyoung’s cozier clothes and freshly showered. Strands of messy hair fall from his forehead into his eyes, still wet from his bath.
“Hey,” he says as he steps into the kitchen.
He moves quickly, crossing the room until he’s right in front of Wooyoung, close enough so he can drop into his lap.
“Hi soulmate,” answers Wooyoung with a cheeky grin, curling his arm around San’s middle. His fingers trail the inseam of San’s jeans. He leans forward to rest his cheek against San’s back. “How nice of you to show up.”