Chapter Text
It was a fucking mistake.
It was just a one-night stand, yet Wooyoung finds himself stuck between the blurred lines of love and lust.
He’s reached rock fucking bottom.
☕️
Wooyoung sits in the break room, aggressively tapping at his screen as his eyes frantically search for whatever he’s looking for. His eyebrows furrow while his entire face scrunches fail after failure. He hears a disappointed click of a tongue, which catches his attention. “You never know when to give up, do you, Wooyoung-ah?” Wooyoung didn’t even need to look up to guess who it was. The deep voice accompanied by the full on ‘I’m judging you’ tone was enough for him.
He glances up with a frown creasing his lips, if only he could grow another pair of eyelids if it meant he could keep searching on his phone. “Give him a rest, Sangie.” Finally a voice Wooyoung could sometimes stand. Much sweeter and smoother than his best friend’s.
“Thank you hyung. You should learn from his sympathy, Sangie,” he remarks mockingly, his cocky smile growing even more. Yeosang only rolls his eyes, “At least I’m not the one trying to find some guy’s socials just because he fucked me so well I saw the light,” he counters back, his grin even wider than Wooyoung’s originally before it dropped the second Yeosang mentioned him. He attempts to retort back, but his voice croaks and slowly fades back down his throat in acknowledgement that he is indeed just a sucker for a good dick. In his response, he would say that San wasn’t just any other dick to sit on, maybe it was just the aftercare that rubbed Wooyoung the wrong way, however he would rather be crushed to death than admit he enjoyed the aftermath more than the actual sex.
So yes, Wooyoung is pathetic. Out of all the men he has slept with, one in particular stuck out to him exceptionally. San. That was all the broad shoulders, jet-black hair and eyes that could kill with a single look, man told him. That was all Wooyoung could work on because if he wasn’t such a pussy after one-night stands, he could’ve gotten his socials in a better and more efficient way. If he wasn’t so stubborn to follow his assigned rules of ‘no staying the night after sex’, he could’ve been with him for much, much longer.
“Not everyone has a boyfriend where they can just have sex with everyday and everywhere,” Wooyoung pouts, clearly directing it to Yeosang. The oldest one shoots him a glare, certainly not having his attitude, especially not on work premises. Yeosang just giggles, bathing in Wooyoung’s absolute misery, “You’re so never gonna find him, Young-ah,” he comments, quickly slipping his apron on. Seonghwa waves a hand to cut the tension between them, “C’mon, stop sulking over Good-Dick San and focus on getting your rent paid off,” he scoffs. He is definitely more biased towards Yeosang if he was simply letting him off the hook like that. Wooyoung groans, clearing the tab and raising a hand to swipe through his hair. For now, he could reminisce of the night long ago. He wishes to punch himself, mentally and physically by all means.
He shouldn’t be stuck on a man right now, but he is.
Now he finds himself playing with the heart strings San left, tangled and snapped. There was something wrong with this, why did he feel like this? Was it the way San had caressed him so gently as if he was fragile glass? Or when San kissed him so carefully that Wooyoung could only squirm beneath? Could it be when San embraced him lovingly, holding him tight like Wooyoung was a shooting star bound to fly away? He didn’t know.
It doesn’t matter anymore, because Wooyoung will never see him again. They were just strangers after all, strangers that came together with just a single glance, strangers that melted into each other as if they were just meant to be.
He snaps himself out of the trance, frantically searching for his apron that he recklessly threw on the counter a while ago. Seonghwa is already shouting for him to hurry up, then the melodic bell that was attached to the door rings softly.
Wooyoung was fucked.
☕️
The shift continues normally, that’s just how Mondays are. Everyone is too tired to pick fights and be picky, too fixated on the fact that they need a cup of coffee down their throat. Wooyoung loves and hates Monday the most. For the most part, he loves seeing his (only) friends again, but of course, it’s Monday and he’s back at work.
Wooyoung taps at the counter, patiently waiting for someone to step in and begin to order like some mad man. It’s awfully quiet at the cafe, only the blender filling the noise painfully loud. Seonghwa is sitting on one of the seats, kicking his feet playfully as he watches one of the customers, who was busy on his computer. Wooyoung clicks his tongue, eyeing Seonghwa and he could only flusteredly stutter that he’s just keeping an eye on their customers. Right. Wooyoung would buy that if he wasn’t directly having tunnel vision on the blonde guy, who was immersed into whatever he was doing. Thick headphones wrapped around his ears as he sways to a beat Wooyoung doesn’t fail to catch on.
Working at a cafe wasn’t entirely the most boring, but they wouldn’t prefer rush hours either. Wooyoung was lucky to be in this position of his life. He was living off of Yunho, his flatmate that he somehow managed to get him to allow Wooyoung to slide with only paying 38% of rent. He was also still in touch with his childhood friends too, Yeosang and Jongho, though Wooyoung knew deep down they both had feelings for each other. He swears he must’ve used up all his luck in his life to be blessed so easily. He could also rely on Seonghwa, a senior he met in college. After all, Seonghwa was the one that recruited Wooyoung and gave him a job that pays decently if it meant he could still owe Yunho back. So yeah, his life was going great before he agreed to go to the club with Yeosang and Jongho, the two lovebirds that just kept giggling when Wooyoung went heart-struck upon seeing Choi San for the first time.
Now that he has though, Wooyoung’s deep down the rabbit hole. He hasn’t even found his instagram yet.
The door’s bell charms, pulling Wooyoung back from whatever existential crisis he was facing. His eyes sweep to the person who walked through the front door, only for him to drop his jaw.
There’s no fucking way.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t real.
It can’t be.
Wooyoung rubs his eyes once to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
This was real.
He wasn’t in a dream.
Those broad shoulders with a black compression shirt tightly wrapping around his body, his pecs standing out and his arms flexing with every movement. That playful stare that can switch from being a sweetheart to the absolute devil. That filthy mouth that whispered wonders, casting Wooyoung under a spell.
Wooyoung freezes, his eyes widening in horror. Like a deer in headlights, his hands fail to even try to twitch. The man approaches him, predator to a prey.
“Hi,” he breathes out rather calmly, unlike Wooyoung who was having his life (and that night) flash through his eyes. San blinks so innocently that Wooyoung might think he’s gotten the wrong person.
“Wooyoung?” He calls out, the name sending chills down his spine. San is now smirking, making Wooyoung experience the time he felt firm hands grip his waist in a lock, those vicious eyes centimeters away, just eating him alive. Wooyoung feels his heart skip, he really needs to see a cardiologist one day because he’s had this problem since he laid his eyes on San. He bites his lips, aggressively scrunching his face to get himself to focus. There wasn’t any time trying to find the words to apologize to San for leaving that night. Right now, he just needs to focus on getting that paycheck his boss threatened to take away if he kept slacking off weeks ago.
“How can I help you?” Great, Wooyoung actually knows how to speak! He cringes at his customer-service voice, especially the way San flinches at the foreign tone. He doesn’t realize he’s tightly gripping the cash register, his nails attempting to claw in if it could. A concern flashes on San's expression when he notices this, casually lifting his hand to place it on Wooyoung’s, reassuring and affirming him. Just like he did days ago.
“I’ll have an americano,” San says, his eyes softening when Wooyoung releases the tension in his hands. Wooyoung breathes in, slipping away from San’s grasp to put his order down, before placing it behind the cash register, a gap created between the two. His throat is locked, only saliva managing to slip past. His mind is racing with words, this wasn’t the right place to apologize yet there wasn’t any other chance to see San again too.
When did it get so hot? He swears he turned the air conditioning on beforehand. Or was it just him? No, no… the air felt weird and suffocating that’s for sure. Wooyoung, pull yourself together. This isn’t the time to have a breakdown, especially in front of San!!!
Wooyoung hums, confirming San’s order one more time while deliberately avoiding eye contact. He grabs a nearby cup and a black sharpie, “The name is…?” C’mon Wooyoung, he’s just some random stranger ordering americano. San tilts his head in slight confusion, “Already forgot the man who fucked you so well?” He rasps, voice as soft as a whisper, and Wooyoung swears he might piss himself the second he hears his low tone, husky and deep.
(“Beg for it,” He muttered, his tone commanding yet smooth. His hands began to roam around, roughly grabbing onto Wooyoung’s ass causing a moan to knock out his lungs.)
“Sorry, do I know you?” He coldly asks, not really a question but rather a ‘stop acting like you know me’ type of tone. The man chuckles, throwing a hand to cover his smile and those stupid dimples. “Sorry, sorry,” he pulls himself back, “It’s San, Youngie.”
(“Such a good boy for me, Youngie.” Two fingers plunge into the back of his throat, forcing him to gag while a pool of saliva and drool coats his fingers.)
If Wooyoung had two bullets and a gun and he had to shoot someone in the store right now, he would pull the trigger twice on San. No way Wooyoung was going to let some hobo with a good dick make him lose his job over a simple americano that’s taking ages to just put into the system. He inhales, holding back the urge to throw the cup at San’s dreadfully handsome face, “It’s Wooyoung to you, San-ssi.” He hopes Seonghwa or Yeosang can see him right now, because he can pull himself together in front of his one-night stand. Take that. He blurts to himself when he sees San, standing all flustered. “Sorry, Wooyoung.”
(His shirt is peeled off with ease, the fishnets snapping with every rough tug. “Wooyoung, you’re just gorgeous,” he breathes raggedly, subsequently nipping at the younger’s neck, peppering his collarbone to his adam’s apple with bruises.)
God, he hates how he’s a sucker for voices that just dig right into his soul. “Your order will be right with you, number 473.” Usually it was unprofessional for Wooyoung to call a customer by their order number, especially when he’s written their name in big bold ink on the cup. But it’s San, besides Wooyoung technically wasn’t obliged to call him by his name.
They were just strangers after all.
He’s quick on his feet, instantly pulling away from the weird tension to pass Seonghwa the bill. Narrowing his eyes, he whispers to Seonghwa, “Get this man out of our cafe.” The older jumps up, planting his two feet on the ground as he scans the order, “Go get Yeosang.”
Wooyoung does.
He dashes to the break room, where he finds Yeosang, who’s giggling while hanging off the ledge of the couch. The taps on his phone tells everything Wooyoung needs to know, that he’s texting Jongho. “Yeosang, code fucking red,” he announces, making the other flinch in his seat and almost makes him fall off by the way he’s just sitting. “Jeez— Wooyoung, give me a warning next time— Wait, what?”
Code Red was a term they used whenever there was someone they didn’t want to see at the cafe or anywhere in general. Sure, Wooyoung is exaggerating when he says that seeing San is the last thing he wants because in truth, he definitely wants to see San, and possibly even sleep with him again.
No, he’s thinking too far ahead.
Yeosang’s two eyes spark with fury, “Who’s the asshole?”
Having a Code Red on Mondays was unexpected to say the least. “It’s San,” he staggers, trying to hold back from trying to blurt the things he wants to do with San again. Yeosang’s jaw drops and his face relaxes, “You’re telling me the Code Red is Good-Dick San?” Wooyoung nods rapidly, his neck might snap off just the way he shakes his head. It takes everything to not throw a punch at Wooyoung. In the loud silence, Yeosang simply stands up and slowly makes his way to Wooyoung before grabbing his shoulders and pressing his face forward to make it only inches away from the other’s face, “You better fuck that man right now.”
Wooyoung blinks, stunned by his best friend’s simple thinking. “I— I can’t just fuck a customer just because I know he has a good dick?” He tries to retaliate, still collecting the pieces of his mind that the sight of San just shattered.
“Why can’t you?” Yeosang fires back at the question, putting Wooyoung on the spot, who just wants to go home and cry. The question makes his entire brain stutter and restart, why couldn’t he?
“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” The other is lightly shoving him out of the room, “Go get your man.” Wooyoung is left to his own devices when he meets Seonghwa, who is holding a paper cup and a lid with the name ‘San’ on it. It would be super unprofessional for him to just not serve a drink, simply because he’s stubbornly afraid to meet that man’s eye again. He tries to reach for it, only for Seonghwa to move back a little, lowering his eyes to meet Wooyoung as a silent ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
To be fair, Seonghwa was being overly dramatic. All Wooyoung needs to do is call San’s name, make sure he gets his drink and pretend he doesn’t exist. So he nods, firmly grabbing the drink and makes his way to the pick-up counter.
“Number 473! An americano for S—San!” You had one job, Wooyoung. Now he’s made a fool of himself for simply tumbling over a name.
San’s head perks up from the table he’s sitting on. Cute.
Oh my god, pull yourself together, Jung Wooyoung.
And San’s standing up, walking in slow-motion (or what Wooyoung thinks) while maintaining eye contact. His lips twitch, remembering the steamy and intoxicating make out they had. It’s like muscle memory, the way he clears his throat (Just like he did nights ago, when San approached him first. Through a sea of bodies, their eyes only seem to be focused on each other.), the way San darts a tongue to wet lips. It’s a much too familiar composition Wooyoung is used to.
“Thanks.” When did he get so close?
Wooyoung doesn’t realize he’s holding the coffee with a death grip until he feels cold yet soft, plush fingers hold his. “Thank you, Wooyoung,” He repeats himself, too much of a heart ache for Wooyoung to look at. The guilt and regret piles his heart even more.
(“You’re leaving?” A solemn voice echoed through the hallway. Wooyoung stumbled a little, he didn’t know San was awake. Before he can explain himself, San’s already throwing his hoodie in the younger’s direction.
“Here, in case it’s cold.”
“San, I—“
“I’m not upset, don’t worry.” Though the quirk in his eyebrows said otherwise. “I’m glad I met someone as beautiful as you, Wooyoung.” There’s a pause in the air.
“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmured underneath his breath, before turning the knob and quickly fleeing the room.)
“Listen, San—“ He doesn’t even need to look back to see San staring so lovingly into him, his doe eyes boring back with such affection. A familiar face that rings a bell, a face he remembers seeing when he stepped to the doorway, ready to leave.
Don’t mess up, Wooyoung.
“I’m… really sorry about that night,” it takes everything in him to hold back the tears threatening to fall any second.
Shortly after the brief silence, San gently holds Wooyoung by his sides, speaking in a hushed tone, “Let's take this somewhere else.” The burn in Wooyoung’s face is obvious by now, he trembles when the bare fingertips brush his elbows slightly. He inclines his head downwards, barely noticing the cup is gone from his grasp and San is already making his way back to where he sat originally.
Wooyoung knew he messed up big time.