Chapter Text
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Why so early? San’s phone blared right next to his ear and he never pressed the answer button so fast in his life. Oh wait. He was supposed to decline it. He groaned and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Who on God’s green earth is this?” San grumpily spoke.
“Sannie—”
San ended the call. Why Jung Wooyoung was calling him at ten in the morning would forever remain a mystery because Choi San intended to sleep without calling back. He needed his sleep on Saturday. But when his phone rang again, he still answered it from the goodness of his heart.
“What do you want, Wooyoung-ah?”
“I want,” Wooyoung said, his voice breathless over the phone. “I want to do something for April Fools.” Oh, so he was excited about something. San thought something else entirely, but he would never voice that aloud. Mother Seonghwa would murder him on the spot.
“What are you plotting?” San asked, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. Goodness, he was so tired. Can a boy not get sleep on the weekend?
“I’m planning like, for us to swap personalities for the day,” Wooyoung explained hurriedly. “So on Wednesday, 1st April, turn up wearing like, a hoodie or something. Because that’s what I primarily wear.”
San blinked. No way Wooyoung was calling him on a Saturday morning to tell him something this irrelevant. Also why did it sound like Wooyoung was outside?
“Wooyoung-ah, where the heck are you?”
“Out. I'm coming to your place because Kyungmin’s sick and I don’t wanna catch anything.”
“Sick in March? It’s not even that cold anymore.” San ignored the first part because surely Wooyoung was joking.
“He picked up a bug. Unfortunate— OW!” Wooyoung suddenly shrieked, breaking San’s eardrums.
“Was that necessary?” San groaned, detaching his phone from his ear and rubbing it. He put the call on loudspeaker. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just bashed into a post box, the one at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment.”
Wooyoung had a terrible habit of crashing into things. And randomly showing up at San’s place whenever he felt like it. San wanted to slap Wooyoung. So he ended the call, got out of bed with nothing but fury behind his pretty eyes, put on his jacket and opened the door to be met with the frosty cold that was unusual for March. As San walked across the landing to go down the stairs, he found that Wooyoung was standing at the bottom.
“Go home!” San told Wooyoung bluntly. “I don’t wanna invite you to my place right now.”
“But Sannie, you’re all alone,” Wooyoung said, pouting childishly. He was infuriating in the cutest way possible. San involuntarily felt heat on his nape. Not again.
San had been experiencing random bursts of heat recently when Wooyoung did his usual stuff like kiss all his friends on the cheeks. It had begun to feel like more than just a friendly peck to San, and he hated it. He wanted the feeling gone.
“I want to be alone,” San responded.
“You a lone alpha or something?” Wooyoung said snarkily, making his way up the stairs.
“Go away, Wooyoung-ah.”
“Uh-huh.” Wooyoung was soon standing in front of San with his hands in his pockets. He wore a puffy black coat with the hood on his head, and San could see gloves sticking out of his pockets. He was fully covered up, as if it was snowing.
“It’s not snowing, you know,” San had to comment.
“I’m aware, but it seems my mother is not.”
San sighed, seeing he had no choice on the matter. He reluctantly turned on his heel and walked towards his apartment door, gesturing for Wooyoung to follow him (though he didn’t really need the gesture).
As soon as they entered, Wooyoung closed the door behind them and hugged San from behind, causing him to yelp. And a rush of heat to climb his neck, of course.
“You’re so warm,” Wooyoung said, snuggling his head into San’s back.
“Get off of me, you ass,” San snarled and wriggled out of Wooyoung’s arms. He took off his coat and hung it on the hook behind the door after taking off his shoes, ignoring the rapid beat of his heart.
“Now that’s quite mean, y’know. I’m a guest,” Wooyoung said, taking off his shoes.
“An unwelcome one,” San grumbled. Well, to be fair…
“To be fair, you gestured for me to follow you.”
Yeah. That. Why was Wooyoung always reading his mind?
“And I’m kinda on an empty stomach, so some breakfast would be nice,” Wooyoung added, moving to go and sit on San’s bed. San’s apartment was small: a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. No living room. He kept a desk and shelf on the left of his bed for his university books and laptop and he hated clutter, so the design of the place was plain and simple.
That contrasted severely with Wooyoung’s room: he had junk everywhere, barely ever clearing anything out. There had been one time where San and a couple of other friends, Yeosang and Mingi, had gone to Wooyoung’s place for a study session. That study session turned into a three-hour cleaning session because Yeosang and San were so triggered by the mess. Mingi was exactly the same as Wooyoung, according to Jeong Yunho, a senior who was close to Mingi because of both their parents.
“I’m not making you breakfast,” San said coldly. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“What? Sannieeeeee,” Wooyoung whined.
“Wooyoung-ahhhhh, get off my bed,” San groaned back.
“But it’s so comfy.”
“That’s just because of the fat blanket. Get off.” San physically grabbed Wooyoung’s shoulders and yanked him off the bed. Wooyoung yelped and clutched San’s forearms before he fell over.
“Fuck you, Choi San! I’m moving!”
“Fuck you,” San said, exasperated. He could not believe he was having to do this on a Saturday morning when he could’ve been fast asleep for another hour or two. Wooyoung finally stood up with a huff, giving San the ability to flop back onto his bed. He wrapped his fluffy blanket tight around his body and hid under the thing, completely burying himself in the warmth and comfort only his bed gave him.
“You look really cosy there,” Wooyoung said huffily. “Can I join you? I’m cold.”
“Put your jacket back on or something,” San mumbled.
“Wow. I’m gonna go make myself some breakfast.”
“If you make a mess, I swear to God I’m gonna kill you.”
“You wouldn’t, you love me too much.”
“You mean nothing to me.” San’s entire body lit up on fire at the blatant lie. He was grateful in that moment to be under the blanket.
“You’re lying.” San heard something clutter in the kitchen.
“How would you know? I could be telling the truth.”
“You wouldn’t have let me in here, you wouldn’t have been friends with me, and you wouldn’t have agreed to that April Fools prank.”
Right. “Hang on, I never said yes.”
“You sounded quite happy with the idea over the phone earlier.” Another clutter, then the sound of the hob turning on.
San wanted to throttle Jung Wooyoung because in no way did he recall sounding ‘happy’ over that phone call. Now San had to get up to look at Wooyoung, just to fight him. He had his sleeves pulled up, showing off the tattoo on his right forearm as he rummaged through San’s mini-fridge.
“Anyways, I initially just came to ask for a book I wanted to borrow from you, and then I would’ve gone straight home,” Wooyoung explained, taking out a block of butter from the fridge. He put it with the other ingredients he laid on the kitchen worktop. What the hell was Wooyoung planning to make with onions, tomatoes and mushrooms so early in the morning?
“I’m sorry, you started reading when?” San asked, raising an eyebrow and hoping with all his life that Wooyoung could not hear the slight tremor of his voice, because his eyes were still locked on that tattoo. It looked so hot.
“Like, last week or something,” Wooyoung hummed.
“Uh-huh. What the heck are you making?”
“You said you didn’t want breakfast.”
“I never said that.”
“You said you were going back to sleep,” Wooyoung said, his brows creasing as he stood straight to look at San.
“That doesn’t mean no breakfast. I never skip breakfast, you of all people should know that.”
“True.”
“Asshole.”
Wooyoung ignored the jab. “I’m making omelette. You want some?”
“You took everything out of the fridge except eggs.”
“Do you want it or not, Sannie?” Wooyoung said, just as San saw that he’d already taken out the eggs and put them near the stove.
“I do.”
“Great.”
So the boy got to work. San watched from his bed as Wooyoung chopped up mushrooms, tomatoes and onions and put them in a bowl. He then turned on the hob and put a pan on top of the flame. He cracked three eggs and stirred all the ingredients together expertly, the muscles of his arm flexing. Then he put some salt and sprinkled a bunch of cheese into the bowl and stirred again. Wooyoung hummed as he poured the mixture into the pan and let it cook. It smelt so good, but San would never say that out loud.
He forced himself out of bed and walked over to the kitchen space with the blanket wrapped around his form like a cloak. Wooyoung stood tapping his foot and singing softly as he spun a spatula in his right hand. He was singing ‘Crazy Form’, San realised as he got closer. It was their most recent group song that they’re currently working on the choreography for.
San and Wooyoung were part of a friend group of eight: Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Yunho who were a year above San, Wooyoung, Yeosang and Mingi. Then they had Jongho who was a year below those four, still in his first year of university. The eight of them found solace in music and began to work together to produce original songs. They’d not performed any of them live nor officially posted them, but it was fun just to make songs and design choreographies and sing with everyone in their spare time. Though with Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Yunho preparing for exams, it left the atmosphere a bit empty the last couple of weeks. Practicing ‘Crazy Form’ has been scarce, to be honest.
“Put ‘em up, put ‘em up, make ‘em run, ja ige michin pom,” Wooyoung sang loudly, finishing the chorus with a flourish.
“Was being that loud necessary?” San sighed and shook his head.
“Yeah, because you had to hear it, obviously. Sing with me.”
“No.”
“Sing with me.”
“Not in a million years.”
“You duet with Yeosang-ah and Yunho-ah and Mingi-ah.” San physically winced at the absence of honorifics since Wooyoung never used them, even with their seniors.
“Yeah, because they’re not you.”
“Ok fine, sing for me instead,” Wooyoung said, smirking. He held the pan’s handle and professionally flipped over the omelette. The other side was perfectly cooked and a beautiful shade of brown.
“I’m not singing for you, what the hell,” San faked a puke and nudged Wooyoung’s arm.
“Hey, not when I’m flipping the omelette!” Wooyoung cursed and hurriedly fixed the almost-ruined omelette. After a satisfied nod, he picked up a plate and waited patiently for the other side to cook. A moment passed before he turned off the hob and slid the perfectly cooked omelette onto the plate.
“That looks really good,” San said grudgingly, and Wooyoung gave him the biggest grin.
“Ma taught me how to make it, I’m getting really good at cooking you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just wait till you try this!”
So San did. The two sat on the floor on the side of San’s bed and ate breakfast. It’s really good, San thought as he took the first bite. Warm cheese melted on his tongue, the spongy, juicy mushrooms gave it texture, and the tomatoes made it a bit tangy with the salt evening out all the flavours. The egg was soft and chewy and went really well with the toasted bread and butter.
“...Wooyoungie.”
“Sannie?” Wooyoung said with his mouth full, causing the ‘s’ sound to come out as a ‘th’ sound.
“This is really good. Really, really good. I hate you. Why do you make good food?”
Wooyoung burst out laughing. “I’m just the ace, huh? An all-rounder, good at everything.”
“No, Yeosang-ssi wins that title.”
“He’s terrible at cooking! He can’t even make a sandwich for himself without fear of burning the place down.”
“Okay, but his singing and dancing is way better than us all, and you know that,” San said with his mouth stuffed with a rather large cut piece of mushroom.
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean he’s good at everything,” Wooyoung persisted.
“You’re not.”
“Everyone likes my singing and dancing style! And my cooking, clearly. And my good looks, of course.”
“What good looks?” That was a lie, obviously. Wooyoung was gorgeous: clear skin with only one beauty spot beneath his left eye, slim build, hair in a wolf-cut that he did impulsively, and his two uneven eyes. San envied Wooyoung’s spotless face because he himself had beauty spots all over: two on his left cheek alone, one on the left of his collarbone and one on the underside of his chin, to the left.
“You know I’m good-looking. More than you at least,” Wooyoung smirked. He held out his hand and gestured for San to hand him his now-empty plate. San did. Though he didn’t know why, because this was his house and Wooyoung shouldn’t be the one getting up to go and wash the dishes. So out of the goodwill of his heart for the second time that morning, San stood up and went to the already-washing-the-dishes Wooyoung.
“Wooyoung-ah, give that to me,” San said with a pointed look at Wooyoung. The boy looked down at the plate he was washing and then back up at San, winked, ignored San, and continued washing. So San snatched the plate and nudged Wooyoung out of the way harshly with his hip and picked up the sponge, silently washing.
“Well, that was unnecessary,” Wooyoung said. But he shrugged and left a kiss on San’s cheek before exiting the kitchen space. The kiss was normal, the kiss was normal, the kiss was normal. For Wooyoung, it was normal. For San, it was not. Not anymore, at least.
After San finished the dishes, the two sat and did some work: they tried to write some lyrics together. When they saw it wasn’t working, they gave up and wrapped up to head out to the park.
The air was a frosty bite against San’s heated skin. Again, unusual for the end of March but completely and utterly possible. San did not complain because he much preferred the cold over the heat. Wooyoung hummed as they walked, and the world slowed. San absorbed their surroundings: cool air, like a rolling mist, trees getting ready to grow their leaves again and regrow their flowers in bright pink and white blooms, and some bushes were already full with bunches of vibrant green, showing off their colour.
There seemed to be brightness everywhere, and it lifted San’s mood greatly. By the time the two of them got to the park, both their voices were loud as they dueted heaven knows what. At least their voices weren’t bad. In fact, San thought they sounded quite good together.
Wooyoung sat himself down on the swing and gestured for San to sit beside him. San didn’t need the gesture because the first thing he did in any park was sit on the swings.
“So, for April Fools’,” Wooyoung said, making a duck face with his lips. “We swap personalities.”
“I’m too introverted to play you, though,” San said pointedly. Mostly because he was first excited about the idea, too, but the more he spent time with Wooyoung, the more he realised how much unalike they were.
“Oh, anyone can pull off my cringey-ness, Sannie,” Wooyoung said while blowing a raspberry.
“I think only you’re able to do that, unfortunately.”
“Let’s have some practice right now!” Wooyoung jumped off his swing and looked at San with all the excitement of the world in his eyes. So cute.
“Absolutely not,” San hissed. “We’re in public.” There was no-one in the park because nobody was crazy enough to be there with their children so early in the morning. Actually, it was 11am. Why was there nobody here? Odd, but not so odd that San had to think about it any longer than five seconds.
“Nobody’s here, Sannie, come onnnnn.”
San stood up reluctantly and sighed. “I don’t wanna.”
“Neither do I.” Wooyoung was suddenly acting like San, fixing his face into a stony expression and blank eyes. San’s own eyes widened: Wooyoung had just done a perfect impression of San; the posture, the tone, everything.
“You creep, how the hell did you do that?” San muttered, mostly to himself. He looked at Wooyoung who was looking right back at him, telling San to try a Wooyoung impression with the look in his eyes. San sighed and cleared his throat.
“Wooyoung-ah, why are you making me do this, huh?” San said in a whiny sort of tone. Wooyoung blinked before laughing hysterically. San went up to him and, on impulse, kissed Wooyoung’s cheek.
Wooyoung stopped laughing and stared in confusion. Too close, too close, too close, San’s brain yelled. What if I moved closer…?
“Sannie–” Wooyoung fumbled. Then he turned pink and backed away from San. “Uh– that was– yeah, that was fucking accurate. And you said you couldn’t do it?”
“I didn’t think I could,” San said rather breathlessly, though he did sound pretty composed unlike his roaring heartbeat.
“Okay, well, so are we doing this, then?” Wooyoung grinned. The red tint on his cheeks had vanished and left San wondering if anything happened at all. He’d kissed Wooyoung’s cheek because that’s what Wooyoung would do to him. San nodded before his thoughts went astray. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
“I wonder how the others are gonna take it, seeing you all touchy with them~” Wooyoung giggled, sitting on the swing again. San grimaced, taking the other swing. “Let’s not think about that now.”
But San did think about it. All of Sunday night. He couldn’t sleep. San’s mind strayed to all their friends and how Wooyoung acted around them, because that’s what he’d have to do come Wednesday. How should he behave with Wooyoung? San thought about how Wooyoung treated him: head-slaps, fist bumps, high fives, arm loops, cheek pecks.
Fucking cheek pecks.
When San had kissed Wooyoung’s cheek earlier that day, San couldn’t help but notice the soft curve of his lips, his smooth skin and his honest eyes. His eyes. San tended to notice a person’s eyes at first meeting, and that was how he separated them into categories: protect, be kind, be mean, love or hate. Wooyoung’s was in the ‘protect’ category. The moment they met left San stunned because he hadn’t seen such soft eyes before. The kind that seeked love and attention, a gaze that San wanted to have selfishly for himself. He wanted to be by Wooyoung’s side and give him all the love in this cruel world.
San wondered how he would survive Wednesday.
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