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Wooyoung's head was pounding as he woke up, rubbing at dry eyes, groaning as he came to, the room still pitch black around him. What time was it? His phone was ringing, he realised then, a little belatedly, and blindly answered, dragging the phone up to his ear as he closed his eyes again. "Mmfm?"
"Hello?"
Wooyoung grunted, damn close to falling back asleep. He didn't recognise the person's voice, at least not by the greeting, and the number was listed as Unknown. Great, at a little past two in the morning, this was precisely what he needed.
"Is this call for t4t?"
Now that woke Wooyoung up a little more, searching his brain for a response, not that he could find one, as much as the words had certainly piqued both his interest and his attention. "Huh?"
The caller didn't seem put off by the ineloquent tone. "You graffiti'd your number on a bathroom stall in Fantasy, right? Tell me I didn't fuck up digit."
"Uh, no --" Wooyoung scrunched his nose. Whilst he didn't exactly remember doing such, he was more than familiar with the club, and wouldn't put it past his drunk self to scribble something desperate on the walls. Now that he was listening closer, he could here the faint sound of muffled music from outside the bathroom where this stranger presumably was calling from. "No, you got it right."
"Oh, cool. I kinda didn't expect anyone to answer."
Wooyoung let the silence drag, unsure of how to respond. He was now, for better or for worse, wide awake, and just a little curious. Maybe he should have predicted that someone would have called at night, whilst advertising his availability at a club of all places.
"I'm San."
"Hi San. I'm Wooyoung."
San giggled, the sound light and sweet. "You seem very unprepared for this conversation. I think I woke you up, right? I'm sorry Wooyoung-ssi."
"Nah don't worry about it, I fall back asleep fast anyway." Not exactly true, but Wooyoung didn't want to guilt trip this stranger beyond reason, not when what little he'd heard from the other gave him such a sweet impression. "So. . . what made you call?"
San made a long humming noise on the other side of the line, rustling heard through the call. "Pretty self-explanatory I think. It's nice knowing there's other trans people out there. Guess that's what fuelled me."
Wooyoung made a noise of agreement like he understood, and he did, whilst playing with the string of his sweatpants. "A club like Fantasy is a good place to find more people like us." The club in question was a queer one, albeit a little more lowkey than some of the others available. Wooyoung preferred it for that reason. There was fewer chances of random cishet men in poor attempts of hitting on cishet women who were only there to avoid cishet men in the first place. A whole mess, if you ask him.
Not that he was the type to gatekeep, but more cishet people in queer spaces inevitably meant the queer spaces lost what made them popular in the first place. Safety. Particularly for the trans and gender non-conforming folks in the crowd. So yeah. Sue him. Wooyoung preferred keeping queer clubs queer. A little exclusionist, but could you blame him? San took long enough to respond that his thoughts ran far, and when he responded, it was simply.
"Yeah," and the conversation grew stilted again, a pause dragging. Wooyoung couldn't seem to find it uncomfortable though, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling as he waited for one of them to come up with another talking point. San was the one to do it. "I'm still at the club."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Wooyoung chuckled slightly, readjusting the pillow beneath his head. "Sorry to disappoint, baby, but I don't think I'll make it out to keep you company tonight. I've got a morning shift at the café tomorrow."
"That's okay." San said, and Wooyoung had a feeling the other truly meant the words, content with just the bare bones conversation they were having. Without having a clue as to what San looked like, Wooyoung almost imagined what the other was doing. Was he sitting or standing still? Wooyoung couldn't hear any pacing. Was he the type to fidget when on a call, like he was? Or was he comfortable staying still? There wasn't exactly any need for answers here, but Wooyoung couldn't help but wonder.
That being said, San might be okay with chilling at a club in the middle of the night, but Wooyoung figured you had to feel pretty lonely to call a number scribbled on a wall in the bathroom whilst still there. San wasn't really giving off clubber vibes, at least, though really, what did he know?
Nevertheless, he didn't expect the words that next left his mouth, whatever prompted him to say, "Wanna come over?"
Logically it wasn't a smart move. Putting aside the fact that San was a stranger was easy enough, Wooyoung tended to trust other trans folk a little too easily by method. What made it a bad idea was more so that inviting someone over wasn't all that different from going out, in the sense that either way, he'd get no sleep and show up at work half-dead to serve coffee tomorrow.
"You want that? You'd let me?"
Well, he wasn't gonna back out now, that was for sure. "Sure. Why not?" He shrugged, knowing full well the other couldn't see him, but the gesture made the conversation feel more real. He pinched his arm without putting much thought into it. Huh. Still awake. The line was silent for a few seconds again, and Wooyoung idly wondered if San was usually the quiet type. He knew he wasn't, it was only the woken from sleep - stranger combo that had left him a little short on words.
"Okay. Yeah. You're not gonna kidnap me or something right?"
Wooyoung had to laugh at that. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that, San-ssi? Since I'm sharing my full address with a stranger?"
"It could be a lure tactic!" San protested across the line. "Pretend you're trans and lure actual trans people into your home so you can quarter them! Or something. . ."
Any remnants of humour left at that, as much as he was sure San was only trying to make a joke, of sorts. The line of thought played a little too close to reality in a way that Wooyoung would never quite be used to. San was being playful, sure, but both of them knew the playfulness came from real hesitation, real worries based on real stories. Wooyoung cleared his throat a little, voice softening without any real intention. "I wouldn't do that, San-ssi."
"Hm. I probably shouldn't believe you," San trailed off, and Wooyoung was holding his breath, for some reason, waiting on an answer. "But I do. Send me your address, yeah?"
"Kay." Wooyoung drew the phone from his ear, squinting at the brightness as he unlocked it again, putting San on speaker, misclicking KakaoMaps a good three times. "Can you get here okay? Do you need me to call a taxi or something?"
"Do you live by a N-bus stop?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'll be fine, thank you anyway though, Wooyoung-ssi."
He nodded to himself again, chewing his lip, finger hovering over the send button. Hell, San's contact didn't even have a name attached to it yet, still just an empty string of numbers. Dwelling on it now was pointless, though, he'd just edit the contact when they hung up, he supposed. "I sent it."
"I'll be on my way then."
Wooyoung took a deep breath, preparing to hang up. He could never end calls coldly, though, always ending with a million I love you's. He figured that wasn't quite appropriate yet, settling for something in between. "Get here safely, yeah? It's late."
". . . Yeah. Okay."
"See you soon, San-ssi."
"See you, Wooyoung-ssi. Don't fall asleep on me before I get there."
Wooyoung was smiling as he hung up, his heart a little anxious in his chest, a mix of conflicting emotions rising within him. Seonghwa certainly would have called it dumb, letting a stranger inside without even seeing them, without getting a feel for their character, face to face, but thankfully, his beloved noona and roommate was still on her mini stay-cation with her boyfriend, Hongjoong, so really, no one was there to dissuade or scold him.
He lay back down onto the bed, his now shoulder-length hair fanning out on the pillow, but he wasn't tempted to return to slumber, not when San was -- however far away he was. It took about 20 minutes to arrive from Fantasy, depending on how lucky you got with the bus, and how fast you walked. Realistically, he should probably be a good host and clean up a little, but Seonghwa was enough of a clean freak that he knew the rest of the apartment was spotless, and whilst Wooyoung's own room was a little cluttered, it wasn't dirty.
Save for the outfit he'd worn today, very much on the floor next to his laundry hamper, as opposed to inside of it. Wooyoung would handle that when he got up to answer the door, though.
Butterflies. That's what it felt like. Tens of wings fluttering around his tummy. He wasn't sure why he was so excited. He'd had plenty of hook-ups, and having friends over was a regular occurrence, but something about the thrill of letting a stranger into his space felt new in a way he'd never explored.
Oh yeah. There was no way he was falling back asleep now.
Really, Wooyoung had no idea what to expect when he opened the door to his apartment after hearing a few knocks, the doorbell gone ignored. That being said, he really didn't expect San to be so. . . well, cute. So his type. He blinked. "Hi. You made it."
San nodded, a little shy, posture-wise. "I made it."
Fuck. His voice. The phone call hadn't done it justice -- done any of him justice. San was both taller and bigger than him, muscles on firm display through a, quite frankly, fucking sinful crop top. This was unfair, surely. Wooyoung had been on testosterone for seven years already, and gone through big gym phases multiple times; nothing had gotten him anywhere close to that width.
San was still shuffling awkwardly in the hallway, hands clasped, and only then did Wooyoung realise he was blocking the door for the other. "Shit. My bad," He stepped aside, gesturing a little towards the inside of the apartment, trying to be as welcoming as possible. "Come in."
A few things were immediately apparent about San. One, he was dangerously attractive for Wooyoung's sanity, he could already see himself fucking up latte art tomorrow thinking about that waist; and two, San was shy, like, a kitten coming out of the cage in his new home for the first time shy.
"Are you hungry?"
San bit his lip, looking around politely before his eyes landed on Wooyoung again. "It's 3AM."
"Didn't know stomachs had working and closing hours." He muttered in response, he was certainly going to make something for himself. San laughed, and fuck, Wooyoung was really in trouble here.
"Mm. . . what do you have?"
Now here, Wooyoung could really shine. Whilst any of his friends would most definitely agree that he certainly wasn't the type to ever brag -- sarcasm, it was a well-known fact in their friend group by now that Wooyoung was an excellent cook. "Whatever you want, baby."
San was hard to read, Wooyoung was also realizing, the other having gone from shy to coy in split seconds. "Surprise me?"
He could work with that. "Sit down then." He pulled out a chair on the kitchen island, rubbing his hands together a little, before racking his brain. "You're not too hungry right. . . pajeon?"
"Chinese style?" San asked, sidling up to him to nudge his shoulder.
Wooyoung scoffed, jokingly. "You just want to give me more work," Then got to pulling out ingredients without further complaint, trying to get into his zone. The scenario was a new one, and he was still trying to gather San's vibe, but from what he could tell, the other was at the very least not going kidnap him. Hurray. The thought made him giggle, unsurprisingly piquing San's curiosity, head tilting like a puppy's. "No, it's just a little funny. I don't think either of us is the kidnapping and quartering type."
San flushed pink. "I didn't actually think you'd do it."
Wooyoung shrugged, shaking water off his hands, before grabbing some kitchen roll, remembering how much Seonghwa hates having water droplets dry everywhere. "I wouldn't blame you for considering it."
But San shook his head again. "You're like me. You wouldn't."
"I wouldn't."
San watched quietly as Wooyoung got his ingredients out, a big enough bowl, too, leaning forward to get a better view. If Wooyoung had ulterior motives rolling up the sleeves of his pyjama top, then no one would have to know.
"How do you make Chinese pajeon, anyway? I never really got it when my mother showed me."
"Come here then. Wash your hands, I'll teach you."
San looked hesitant again, but got up to do as he was told, washing his hands well whilst Wooyoung, ah. . . organised the ingredients, so to speak. Vying for time so he didn't just stand there and look awkward.
Wooyoung clapped once San returned to him, glancing at the time on the oven, then firmly deciding to ignore it. "Now, pajeon is actually very easy, no matter which style you choose, but the main difference between the Korean and the Chinese ones is the base, I guess."
He continued. "So whilst Korean pajeon uses a batter, Chinese pajeon uses a dough. So that's our first step. You get your flour, and you mix in your hot water."
"How much flour?" San whispered, leaning closer to his ear. Wooyoung whispered back.
"That depends on how much you wanna eat."
"What?" San objected, with what honest-to-god had to be the cutest pout of all time forming on his face. "What happened to grams? Millilitres? Units of measurement? These things are important you know, I can't make dinner without them."
Wooyoung waved his hand dismissively. "Measure with your soul. Pajeon is impossible to fuck up. Worst case scenario you add too much water at this step. All you'd need to do is add more flour again, thus, more pajeon. Not exactly something to complain about."
"Make too much and it will go bad."
"You're forgetting it's the season of giving, San-ssi. Now get to stirring, I believe in you."
Maybe that belief was a little misguided though, considering San almost immediately spilt flour over the tip of the bowl. Ah. . . No matter, Wooyoung prided himself on being a good enough teacher, after all. He'd already taught his younger brother the basics of cooking and baking, what was another person?
"You're stirring too aggressively, San-ah." Wooyoung notices the slip-up just a little too late, honorifics being replaced with something softer, more affectionate. He wasn't about to take it back though, not unless San wanted him to.
Though San, it seemed, barely even noticed, huffing and slowing down his stirring speed, only for his movements to turn jagged and over-exaggerated. It was almost impressive, actually, how poor a job he was doing, when Wooyoung's younger brother had taken over stirring whenever they baked since he was three years old. Not that it bothered Wooyoung in the slightest, really, it was more than a little endearing.
All that muscle and he's pouting over some dough. Cute. "Yah, San-ah, it's never going to properly incorporate if you do it like that, here -- look." Wooyoung moved slowly, giving San plenty of time to move or protest, pressing himself closer to the others' back, placing his hands on San's, wrists intertwined, guiding him through the circular motions. "Just. . . like that. . . good, good."
He pulled away, not allowing himself to properly feel the loss when now wasn't exactly the time. San was a quick learner, at least, his stirring showed drastic improvement after the hands-on example. "Now what?" San asked.
"Just keep adding water, until it balls up." Wooyoung kept his eyes on the dough as he talked, then moved to physically slow the pour of water by holding San's arm, guiding him carefully, his other hand on the small of San's back, and this amount of physical touch was by no means necessary, Wooyoung could use his words, fully capable, but why would he do that when San was clearly responding so well to touch?
His reasons were a little selfish, too. Wooyoung wasn't touch-starved at all, his friends receiving more than ample amounts of love and returning just as much, but, well. He would never complain over more, just a touch greedy, you could almost call it hedonistic.
"Perfect. Now we let it sit for a few."
San frowned then. "Don't we have to knead it? I remember my mother kneading it."
"Well yes, but also no." Wooyoung said, hand on his hip. "It's late, and I really cannot be bothered to knead twice. We let it rest for five, ten. . . fifteen minutes maybe? Just let her grow a little, then we get to the kneading." San nodded slowly, and Wooyoung gave a self-satisfied hum. "In the mean time, San-ah, would you like something to drink?"
San thought about it. "Sure. Nothing too strong though, I'm not the best with alcohol."
"Somaek?" Wooyoung offered, waiting to bring out the cups until San nodded, pouring him a drink. "So what brought you to the club today? Or really I should ask how old you are, pardon my lack of conventionality."
San cracked a smile, taking a sip from the drink he was given, shivering a little. Wooyoung asked if he was cold, but only received a shake of the head. "I'm a 99'er. Nothing particular brought me there, just one of those nights, I guess."
"You went on your own?" Wooyoung asked, furrowing his brows, setting out some nuts and crackers to snack on so the alcohol wouldn't sit on empty stomachs. "Do you usually do that -- same year bros by the way."
"Felt like going incognito, I guess. It was my first time there."
Wooyoung whistled. Not that he'd never gone to the club alone, far from it, but someone who's, by their own terms, not good with alcohol, going to a club on their own, a queer club at that, wasn't exactly standard. He understood the sentiment, though, of wanting to go somewhere where you felt free and alone, without having to spend a bunch of money or cross city borders. There was something about neon lights intercepting the dark, and music that you had to shout over, loud enough to block out your thoughts, that felt private. Gave you a sense of breathing space, instead of suffocation, ironically.
"Or maybe I wanted to meet someone, I don't know. Everyone there already seemed to have a group though, I wasn't about to barge in."
Now that, Wooyoung could relate less to. "How come? Most people in those clubs are open to making friends. . . usually. Save for a few mean gays, but they don't count. Their make-up usually sucks anyway."
San giggled, and Wooyoung thought there must surely be a way to bottle the sound, to keep it for later consumption, to hear it again whenever he wanted. Someone had to find a way. "I've met them, but I can't say I'm any better at make-up. I don't have any practice since I don't wear it. Do you?"
"I like finding new ways to express myself," He shrugged. "The body is a canvas and all that."
"I think. . . I think I'm curious about it. . ."
"But?" Wooyoung urged, curious himself, about San's opinion.
"Is it silly to say I just want to pass? Like I know we're supposed to like, be who we are no matter what we look like, right? It doesn't matter, and anyway, anyone can wear make-up. . . but when I put it on, it's like. . . I don't know," San was scratching at his arm now, and Wooyoung held himself back from stopping him. "I look in the mirror and I see her. Who everyone wants me to me. I can't stand it."
Wooyoung took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say here. He wasn't sure how long it had been since San realised he was trans, accepted it, and he didn't want to assume, so he wasn't going to treat this conversation like it was one with someone new to transitioning, especially when San didn't look new to it at all, lacking that baby-face most trans masculine people had starting testosterone. Not that it really mattered, anyway, but Wooyoung sensed the other was, if not looking for advice, confiding in him, and he'd always take that seriously.
"I don't think it's silly," He started, enunciating slowly. "But I do think it kinda shows a lack of. . . self-affirmation? How to say this. . . I'm not going to bother saying you'd pass in a frilly pink tutu, because as much as I find it true, your brain is always gonna nit-pick at you in the mirror, point out all the features you hate the most, whatever, the features you find most feminine, in this case. Though, you really have to start believing in yourself more."
He continued. "What other people think about you is never going to outweigh your own opinion, never. I know that's easier said than felt but think about it this way. If you went up to my dad right now and said he's clearly not a man 'cause he's got birthing hips or whatever, do you think he's gonna leave that conversation questioning his manhood?"
"No. He won't, because he's a man and he knows that, he's confident in that. So what if some dick thinks his hips are too wide? That person doesn't have a place in his life anyway, so fuck him. You know what you are, no one else's opinion is gonna sway that. So San-ah, with love, if you think wearing make-up makes you look more like a woman, I kind of have to ask why you even give a fuck in the first place. I get that there's safety in passing, 100%; but there's also peace in doing whatever the fuck you want."
Wooyoung lifted the cloth he'd placed on top of their dough, pleased to say that it looked just about done, raised well and fluffy. "You already knew that, anyway, Sani. I'm sure you did, but it doesn't hurt to hear it again every once in a while."
Maybe his tangent had been a bit mouthy, Wooyoung realised he hadn't properly looked at San since he started, so he did, watching the way San's plump bottom lip had been bitten red, the way his tall posture had curled in a little, shy again as his arms crossed over the exposed skin of his tummy, and Wooyoung felt soft all over again, fond for the other. "C'mon, pretty boy. Your time to shine. Those muscles have got to be good for kneading, I'm willing to bet my new shoes on it."
Except when San stood up again, he was all wobbles. "Woah -- hey wait, sit back down, are you okay?" Wooyoung asked, concerned, stabilising the other until he got back in his chair. A quick glance told him that San had drunk his whole glass in the short span of Wooyoung talking, nuts and crackers untouched. He sighed. "You really weren't joking about the bad with alcohol thing, huh baby?"
San was a lightweight. Damn, that or he'd had more to drink at the club than he let on. He was whining though, leaning into Wooyoung chest from where he stood. "Wanna help. Kneading time. Big muscles."
Wooyoung snorted.
"Big muscles, right?" God, how San's eyes could be so small yet look so wide staring up at him was beyond reasoning.
"Yeah. Big muscles, San-ah. Don't worry. No one's taking that away from you." He hummed, wondering if letting San help was still a good idea. "Here," He pulled the dough closer to them. "You can knead, but you have to do it sitting, okay?"
San cheered quietly, and Wooyoung couldn't resist kissing his forehead, delighted by the smile it brought to San's face. He went to get the other a cup of water in the meantime, keeping a keen eye on San's movements, though thankfully, he was better at kneading than he was stirring, though Wooyoung would be surprised if he wasn't. It only took a few minutes.
"Separate them into even balls now, Sani. Maybe five? It's time to let them rest again." San did as he was told dutifully, and once he finished, Wooyoung pressed the glass of water to his lip, slowly tilting it up so he could drink, wiping the few drops that ran down his chin. "Good boy," He teased, though if San's flustered reaction was anything to go by, he liked the praise a lot. "Let's go wash our hands now baby, up we go."
San was so pliant. Wooyoung was going to lose his mind at any moment, not that he'd do anything, not whilst the other was drunk, but by god was the other's behaviour just adorable. When they got to the sink, Wooyoung ended up washing San's hands for him. If asked, he'd say it's because he wouldn't trust a drunk person to wash off dough properly, really though, Wooyoung just loved taking care of others, and it was rare finding someone this eager to be taken care of.
He even dried San's hands.
Wooyoung went to put a cloth over the dough balls whilst they rose, but it was San latching onto his back like a koala that had his heart stuttering again, mouth close to his ear when he spoke, drawing goosebumps easily. "Wooyoungieee. . . I'm cold."
Lord have mercy on him. Wooyoung was a very weak man. He cleared his throat, trying to get his thoughts in order. "You can borrow some of my clothes, if you'd like."
San nodded against his shoulder, though Wooyoung was already practically dragging him to his bedroom, thanking his lucky stars that he like'd wearing oversize, since San was clearly much bigger than him. He opened up his closet and pulled out a sweater and some joggers, the same ones he slept in, since it had only just become more apparent that San wasn't going home tonight. Really, Wooyoung should cancel his shift for tomorrow, pray that someone can cover him, and that his boss won't yell at him again.
He turned back to San, who had sat on his bed to wait, staring out the window. Snow was falling, Wooyoung realised then, and once again had to ask himself how the fuck San had lasted even a minute outside without a jacket like this. Insanity. "Can I take off your top, San-ah? Get you ready for bed?"
San didn't answer, not verbally, at least, but he did raise his arms high, and that was good enough for Wooyoung to start pulling it off, not liking to see the other dressed so cold at this time of the year, even if it did look good.
San had had top surgery. Wooyoung had guessed as much, with how flat he looked in a crop top, no binder could achieve that, at least not without an A cup, so he wasn't surprised. Maybe he was moving too fast, the way he couldn't help but trace the scars that sat there with his thumbs, San shivering a little, whether from the cold or from the sensitivity, he didn't know, but still, he didn't pull away. "Pretty." He whispered, looking back up to meet San's lidded eyes. "You're so pretty. Let's get you changed into something warm now baby, okay?"
San let him put the sweater on him, head first, then one arm at a time. Wooyoung made quicker work of taking his jeans off, waiting for a little nod of consent at the zipper, sliding them off, and making San balance, hands on Wooyoung's shoulder as he lifted his feet, joggers being pulled up over his boxers.
His blue boxers. With lots of little yellow stars spaced out on them. Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute.
"You're sleeping here right, Sani?"
"Can I?" Was the mumbled response, and really, you couldn't have come up with a more ridiculous question. It'd be more valid to ask if Wooyoung was ever going to let San go again after this, helplessly enamoured.
"Of course you can, baby," He poked San's nose. "I wouldn't have given you my clothes if not."
"But what about the pajeon?"
Wooyoung cooed, he couldn't help it. San was adorable, it was decided. Really, he'd known that instinctively at the phone call, something about the other having called to him, but Wooyoung could confirm it now, loud and proud. "I'll put it in the fridge silly. It's no matter. Are you still hungry?"
San shook his head, and Wooyoung thought it was just as well. By now, it was closer to morning than it was night. There was no way in hell he was working tomorrow, if he could do anything about it.
"Go wait in the bathroom for me whilst I do that then, okay? Go pee."
San shuffled out to do exactly that, and Wooyoung put the dough in some glass tupperware (initially he'd pulled out the plastic cling-film, until he remembered they were supposed to be trying to use as little plastic as they could, him and Seonghwa. . . it wasn't going well) and put it in the fridge. He knocked on the bathroom door before he entered, finding San already leaning against the sink.
Wooyoung opened up the bathroom cabinet, rummaging a little before confirming what he already knew. "Here we'll use my toothbrush. I don't have a spare one." There were precisely three in the cabinet, and realistically, Hongjoong's was the least used, but Wooyoung kind of liked the idea of keeping his head on, so he ruled that option out.
San scrunched his nose. "That's icky."
"Yeah, baby, but we're ickier, and I want my lovely San-ah to go to bed with a fresh mouth, will he let me do that for him?" San accepted it faster than he had expected, after that. Wooyoung wouldn't have forced him, but it was nice knowing they didn't have to argue about it at all, or that San didn't call him disgusting just for suggesting it.
No, San let Wooyoung brush his teeth without a single word, allowed Wooyoung to hold his chin gently, spitting when told, then waited patiently whilst Wooyoung brushed his own again, humming softly, tracing little shapes onto Wooyoung's back. At this point, Wooyoung wasn't sure how much of this behaviour was pure San and how much of it was alcohol, but by now he could confidently say he had a crush. San had only been here for what, a little over an hour? He already fit into Wooyoung's life so well, his thoughts were getting carried away.
They made it to bed, eventually, and the sheets had already gotten cold, but now that San himself was feeling warm again, he was producing body heat like a beast. Wooyoung had never been more grateful to have a clingy partner in bed, happy to let San cuddle up against him, and for the first time. . . fuck, ever? Since Yeosang and him became friends, at least, Wooyoung didn't mind the feeling of someone resting on his very much still there chest.
He fell asleep almost immediately, cosy and comfortable.
. . . Which was precisely why his alarm going off at 6AM felt like a death sentence. Absolutely not.
He fumbled to turn his alarm off before San woke up, but thankfully, it seemed the other hadn't stirred once, a deep sleeper, arms still tight around Wooyoung's waist, he was surprised the other looked so comfortable. He'd be halfway through pins-and-needles hell in San's position. He squinted at his phone, the same way he had just hours ago when San called, and blindly clicked on his co-worker's contact, phone to his ear as he let it ring.
It took a few seconds. "Wooyoung?"
"Mingi, please."
Mingi didn't have to ask what he was begging for, at this time, it could only ever be one thing. "No."
Wooyoung wasn't having it though, he really couldn't stand the thought of leaving like this, not now. How much would San remember when he woke up? Wooyoung couldn't risk it. "Mingi, please. I met a guy and he's so sweet, a baby, like you. Please. He's trans."
Mingi sighed loud and drawn out, groaning towards the end of it, and Wooyoung knew then he'd won. "Yah. You really are a bastard, Jung Wooyoung."
"I love you tooooo," He replied, kissing noises following, but he wouldn't test him beyond that. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. I'll get you Yunho's number, no -- I'll give him yours. This guy's it, I'm telling you. You're saving my life here."
"You couldn't have asked Yeosang? I'm tired as fuck dude."
"He's got that date with Jongho today, I can't do that to him." Wooyoung pouted through the call. "I'll take up your next shift; and give you 50% of the earnings too."
"Keep your money. Go be disgusting and smitten or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. I hate you."
"Mwah. Next dinner's on me, yeah? Have a nice shift Mangi-yah, I love you so much~."
Mingi got in a few more grumbles before he hung up, and Wooyoung felt bad, truly he did, but at the same time, he'd never felt more relieved. Putting his phone back on the bedside table, he went back to snuggling close with San. A few more hours wouldn't hurt.
When San got up a few hours later, eyes groggy but memory very much still intact, thank the lords, it was to a plate of freshly made, still steaming pile of Chinese pajeon, the most delectable thing in the room lit up by morning streams of sunshine, maybe only second to the chef behind them, the one and only Jung Wooyoung, who stood more than prepared to serve San with some coffee or tea or chocolate milk -- hell, he'd just ordered juice to the house, among other necessities, just in case that was what San asked for.
Yet the brat, said oh so lovingly, still had the sheer audacity to sulk like a rain-sodden kicked puppy on the doormat and say he wanted to help make them.
(Wooyoung already knew. He loved San very, very much.)