Chapter Text
can’t you stay?
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Wooyoung struggled to catch his breath, his skin sticky, his mind fuzzy with alcohol and absolute bliss as he stared at the ceiling, hair clinging to his forehead. The reason for all of this lay beside him, an arm loosely draped around his bare waist, chest rising and falling in the same uneven rhythm as his own.
San. His name was San.
When Wooyoung had agreed to go out drinking with Mingi and Yunho, he should have known the couple would make him want to die within an hour of being there. As happy as he was for them, watching the way they leaned into each other, whispered things meant for no one else, touched like they didn’t even realize they were doing it, Wooyoung had to grip his drink tighter and force a smile.
He wanted that. Something real . Something that lasted beyond a single night.
But this is where his love life was. A cycle. A pattern. Pick up the hottest, most beautiful men in the world, let them worship him for a few hours, soak in the feeling of kisses pressed to his throat, hands tracing down his sides, voices murmuring pretty words in his ear.
But that was all it ever was, just that .
One night of lust. A fleeting illusion of something deeper.
And he had convinced himself he was okay with it.
Wooyoung swallowed, forcing himself to breathe past the tightness in his chest. He was used to this by now. The slow fade of warmth. The familiar ache of knowing that, soon, San would leave, just like all the others.
Except, when Wooyoung finally got up to shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of the night, he returned to find San was still there.
Not getting dressed. Not making excuses. Just lying in Wooyoung’s bed, scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere else to be.
Wooyoung hesitated in the doorway, gripping the edge of his towel. “You’re staying?”
San looked up at him, brows drawing together like the question didn’t make sense. “I can’t really drive right now…” he explained easily. “Is that okay?”
Wooyoung nodded automatically. “I don’t mind, I just didn’t expect it at all.”
The words sat heavy on his tongue, because they were painful. Because he wasn’t used to this.
He had always craved something real , something deeper . Someone who noticed the mole under his eye before the way his hips looked while he danced. Someone who cared beyond the thrill of the night.
But he knew better than to expect it. The world didn’t work like that. People wanted him for a moment, for the excitement, for the way he felt against their skin. And if he let himself think too much about how much it hurt, he feared he would fall apart.
So why was San staying? For a round two, maybe?
Still trying to piece together his emotions, Wooyoung dried off and changed into a loose t-shirt before slipping into bed beside San. Now that the heat of the moment had faded, he felt strangely self-conscious, hyper-aware of the space between them.
San felt unfamiliar now, this man who had been under his skin just moments ago, who had touched him like he knew him, who had kissed him like he wanted him, was now an unknown man laying in his bed.
Wooyoung let himself look properly this time. San was obviously attractive—under the lights of the club, the way he moved with insane body control, dancing like no one was watching yet somehow fully aware that every eye was on him. When he smiled at Wooyoung in the crowd, Wooyoung’s heart flipped.
And when San came up to introduce himself, Wooyoung, who knew he had attractive men wrapped around his finger, never would have expected someone like San to look at him that way. But when San started dancing near him, Wooyoung felt the pull.
San looked intense under the flashing lights, his gaze hungry, undressing Wooyoung right there without even touching him. And when he finally did, gripping Wooyoung’s arm, pushing him against the wall, hands roaming, lips ghosting over his skin, whispering filthy words into his ear like some kind of song Wooyoung never wanted to unhear, San was just so hot.
But now?
With the warm glow of the lamp in Wooyoung’s bedroom, San freshly showered, wearing Wooyoung’s snug t-shirt, tucked into his white sheets—he looked really pretty. Sweet. Almost innocent.
Wooyoung might have believed it, too, if he didn’t know better. If he didn’t still feel the heat of ten minutes ago lingering on his skin.
“You’re pretty, you know.” The words left him before he could think, his mouth loose from the alcohol still buzzing in his veins.
San glanced up from his phone, then set it aside, a slow smile curling his lips. “Yeah?”
Wooyoung’s heart stuttered.
San was cute. The little teasing, the way he looked at Wooyoung with something warm in his eyes—it was new. Unfamiliar, but not in a bad way.
They hadn’t talked much when they first met, for... obvious reasons. And now, Wooyoung felt a bit of whiplash at how different San was outside the heat of the moment. But it wasn’t a bad thing—just unexpected.
He never would have guessed that the same man who had absolutely wrecked his body earlier, who had left him breathless and drooling at the mere sight of him, could be such a sweetheart at heart.
But no matter how sweet, how interested they seemed, it always ended the same. They got what they wanted, and they left.
Wooyoung was always left to forget them before they forgot him .
So then why was San still here?
“You’re not too bad yourself,” San replies, smiling.
Wooyoung notices how sweet his smile is, a sharp contrast to the absolute filth he had been spewing in Wooyoung’s ear back at the club. It’s almost disorienting, the way this same man who had pressed him up against a wall, voice thick with want, is now looking at him like this. Like he actually sees him.
The thought unsettles him.
“Do you even remember my name?” Wooyoung asks, half-joking, because he already knows the answer.
San tilts his head. “Pretty boy.”
Wooyoung blushes despite himself, but something in his chest twists. Of course he didn’t.
Maybe it was better this way.
Wooyoung huffs out a small laugh, pushing away the sting of disappointment.
“Why were you on your phone? Texting your wife that you won’t be home tonight?”
San’s eyes widen for a second, he hesitates. Wooyoung notices , but then he bursts into laughter.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, shaking his head. “That’s so funny. You have some dark humor.”
Wooyoung just smirks, masking whatever else he feels. “Yeah, well, next time you pick up a pretty boy from a club, don’t assume he’s all sunshine.”
San chuckles at that, and from how close they are, Wooyoung notices the little details—the creases by his eyes when he smiles, the way his dimples deepen just slightly when he laughs. The small things Wooyoung always notices in people.
The details he wished someone would stick around long enough to notice in him. That someone would pay enough attention to point out and love about him, too.
But life didn’t play out that way for him. It never did.
“No assumptions,” San says, voice quieter now. “I like you however you are.”
And then, before Wooyoung can process it, San leans in and presses a soft kiss to his nose.
It’s subtle. It’s intimate. It’s cute.
And it completely wrecks him.
Wooyoung feels his ears burn, and then—before he can stop it—his eyes well up.
Fuck.
Don’t cry. This is a literal stranger. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t—
But the tear slips free anyway, trailing sideways into the pillow.
For a moment, San just looks at him. No teasing, no flirting, just watching , his expression shifting into something softer.
“You’re crying…?” San asks, cautious but gentle.
Wooyoung exhales slowly, forcing a smirk. “My bad.”
He doesn’t wipe the tears away, doesn’t try to hide them. Just looks straight into San’s eyes, and suddenly, San sees it.
The darkness. The loneliness . The gnawing desire to be loved.
It’s clear as day, and San doesn’t know this boy but for some reason, it makes him ache.
“What’s up?” San asks gently.
His gaze stays locked on Wooyoung’s, steady and comforting, not the way a lover might look at you after a night like this, but the way a stranger with a good heart might look at someone crying alone on a park bench.
Except somehow, with San, it felt like a mixture of both.
Wooyoung exhales sharply, trying to get a grip. “Nothing, I—” He stops, voice catching in his throat. “I’m sorry, I just feel sad.”
San frowns, his brows pulling together like he actually cares.
“Well, don’t be sorry,” he says, reaching up to wipe the tears that Wooyoung hadn’t bothered to stop. “You can’t control that.”
Wooyoung hates how soft San’s touch is. Hates how easy it is to lean into.
“Do you want a hug?” San asks, and that is what finally breaks him.
San was so sweet. It sucked.
Why couldn’t he be an asshole? Why couldn’t he just get up, put his clothes back on, and leave before Wooyoung could notice all the small things, his honeyed voice, the dip of his dimples, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he frowned.
Why did he have to be like this? It made it so much harder. So much harder for Wooyoung to accept the inevitable.
Wooyoung lets out a small, sad laugh. “Probably not a good idea.”
San looks dissatisfied but doesn’t push. “Well… I’m all ears.”
Wooyoung turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why?”
San shifts beside him, studying him carefully. “Why not? You’re sad. I’m here. Talk to me. Maybe it’ll help loosen up the knot in your chest.”
Wooyoung sighs.
“That’s true,” he murmurs, voice low. “I’ll probably never see you again anyway…”
A pause. The kind that lingers a little too long.
Then, San’s voice, quieter now. “Oh. Well… if that’s what you want, sure.”
It’s so subtle, but Wooyoung hears it. The way San says it like he doesn’t want that.
Like maybe, just maybe, he’d want to see him again.
But Wooyoung doesn’t get his hopes up. He knows how this works. Even if San did want to see him again, it would be for this. For a night. For nothing special.
And Wooyoung wanted more . Not particularly from San, he just wanted more in general.
He wanted a person who brought him food when he was too busy to eat, who wiped his sweat and fed him medicine when he was sick, who held his hand and guided him to bed when he was too tired to stand.
He wanted it all.
But he knew he would never get it.
So instead, he spent his time watching shitty K-dramas and reading romance novels, letting himself believe in the illusion of it. The fiction of it. The lie of it.
“Wooyoung?”
San’s voice breaks through the storm in Wooyoung’s mind, pulling him back to the present. He blinks, turning toward him, but then—
His heart skips a beat.
“Wait… you remember my name?”
San laughs softly, completely unaware of the absolute turmoil brewing in Wooyoung’s chest.
“Of course I do. I was just flirting with you, earlier.”
Oh.
Wooyoung shifts slightly, turning onto his side to face San properly.
“That’s cool, San,” he says, voice light, but the way San looks at him makes his chest feel tight.
San just gives him a small smile, tilting his head slightly.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on…” He reaches up, running his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, pushing the messy strands off his forehead. “In here?”
Wooyoung freezes.
Another gesture that is too much, too kind, too intimate, too dangerous.
“I don’t know, San,” he mutters. “It’s a lot and… we just met.”
San just nods, unfazed. He doesn’t get offended, doesn’t push, just accepts it.
“I get that,” he says easily. “Well, if what you said is true, then this is our first and last time meeting, right?”
Wooyoung doesn’t know why that sentence makes his heart hurt.
“Right,” he confirms.
San hums thoughtfully. “Well, then we need to get all the stages of knowing someone out of the way in one night.”
Wooyoung stares at him.
He was so interesting.
A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Well, sex is done.”
San smirks right back. “Well, it doesn’t have to be done.”
Wooyoung snorts. “Yes, it does. I’m so sore I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
San laughs, eyes crinkling, dimples deepening.
“My bad.”
Wooyoung shakes his head, amused. “What’s next, then?”
San hums, thinking. “I guess… basic stuff. Getting to know each other.”
Wooyoung lets out a laugh, shaking his head. This was so not how he expected his night to go. But San was right. If this was the only night he’d ever have with this sweet, kind, dangerously charming man, then he might as well enjoy it.
For once, he tries to silence the little voice in his head warning him not to get attached.
“Sure,” he says, settling into the pillow. “Ask me anything.”
San grins, rolling onto his side to face Wooyoung properly, propping his head up with his hand. “Alright. Let’s start easy. Favorite color?”
Wooyoung huffs a small laugh. “Really? That’s your first question?”
“Hey, gotta ease into it.”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes but plays along. “Black.”
San hums. “Black suits you.”
Wooyoung fights the way his chest flutters at that. “Alright, your turn. Favorite food?”
“Kimchi jjigae. Nothing beats it,” San answers easily. “You?”
“Bulgogi,” Wooyoung says. “Especially when it’s grilled just right.”
San nods in approval. “Good choice. Alright, let’s see… if you could have any pet, what would it be?”
Wooyoung thinks for a second. “A cat. Independent, but still affectionate when they want to be.”
San grins. “That also suits you.”
Wooyoung raises a brow. “What does that mean?”
San just chuckles. “Might sound a little weird, but you kind of remind me of a black cat.”
Wooyoung furrows his eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me you’re a furry.”
San just blinks at him and then bursts into laughter. It’s contagious, pulling a laugh from Wooyoung too.
Wooyoung narrows his eyes but moves on. “What’s your guilty pleasure song?”
San groans, covering his face. “Ugh. Don’t judge me.”
“No promises.”
“…‘Call Me Maybe.’”
Wooyoung loses it, laughter spilling out before he can stop it. “You’re kidding.”
San pouts dramatically. “What? It’s a banger.”
Wooyoung wipes at his eyes, still grinning. “Alright, fine, I'll respect it.”
San gives him a victorious nod. Wooyoung shifts onto his side, facing San properly.
“What do you do for work?”
San smiles a little at the change in direction. “Photographer.”
Wooyoung’s brows lift in interest. “Oh? Like, what kind?”
San smirks. “That’s two questions, Woo.”
Wooyoung freezes for half a second. The nickname. It shouldn’t make his face heat up the way it does.
He covers it quickly, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Just answer.”
San chuckles, but he does. “I do a little of everything, fashion, events, portraits. I like capturing people in moments they don’t even realize are beautiful.”
Wooyoung stares at him for a second. Something about that answer, about the way San says it, makes his heart ache a little.
He looks away. “That’s cool.”
San watches him for a beat before speaking again.
“Alright. If you could relive one moment in your life, what would it be?”
Wooyoung blinks, caught off guard by the question.
“Oh. Uh…” He thinks for a long moment. “Maybe when I was a kid, my mom used to make hot chocolate for me whenever it rained. I’d sit by the window, just watching the storm, feeling… safe.”
San smiles, soft and warm. “That sounds nice.”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung murmurs. “It was.”
San studies him for a second before speaking again.
“What’s something you want, but don’t think you’ll ever have?”
The question knocks the air out of Wooyoung’s lungs.
He doesn’t answer right away. A lump forms in his throat, his fingers curling slightly against the sheets. He tries to swallow it down, but the weight of it lingers.
San doesn’t push. He just waits, his gaze steady, patient.
Wooyoung forces out a breathy laugh, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling instead.
“Damn, San,” he mutters. “That’s not a fun question.”
San watches him for a moment longer, his voice softer when he speaks again.
“Sorry. Just… curious.”
Wooyoung swallows.
He knows the answer. He’s always known.
But saying it out loud? That was another story.
“Too soon for that,” Wooyoung answers quickly, brushing past the question.
San pouts. “Hmm, okay. I’ll come back to it, though.”
Wooyoung just nods, hoping San forgets. They continue.
San hums in thought before asking, “What’s your biggest pet peeve?”
“People who chew with their mouth open,” Wooyoung says immediately.
San snorts. “That was fast.”
“Because I’m passionate about it,” Wooyoung deadpans. “Okay, what about you?”
San thinks for a moment. “When people cancel plans at the last minute. Like, if you don’t wanna go, just say so in advance.”
Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, I get that. Alright, what’s your favorite kind of weather?”
San looks at him, amused. “Warm, overcast days. Like when the sun isn’t too bright, but it’s still nice out.”
Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, that’s a good one.” He pauses before asking, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance?”
San’s expression turns thoughtful. “Travel solo for a while. No schedule, no work, just me, my camera, and wherever I wanna g—, that's two questions again, Woo."
“That sounds kind of lonely,” Wooyoung admits.
San shrugs. “Maybe. But I think it would be freeing, too.”
Wooyoung hums but doesn’t argue. “Okay, what’s your biggest fear?”
San exhales, the mood shifting slightly. “Losing the people I love.”
Wooyoung stills. The weight of the answer sits between them. “That’s a good one,” he says quietly.
San watches him for a moment before asking, “What about you?”
Wooyoung swallows. His throat feels tight. The lump is back. He tries to push past it, but the words won’t come out as easily as before. He looks away, staring up at the ceiling instead.
San notices. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he says gently.
Wooyoung forces out a small laugh. “Nah, it’s just… a lot.”
San doesn’t push. He just nods, waiting. Letting Wooyoung decide if he wants to say it.
And for some reason, Wooyoung kind of wants to.
Wooyoung lets out a breath, still staring at the ceiling. His fingers twitch slightly where they rest on the blanket.
“I think…” He hesitates, voice softer now. “I think my biggest fear is being forgotten.”
San doesn’t say anything right away. Wooyoung doesn’t look at him, but he can feel San watching him, the warmth of his gaze pressing against his skin.
“What do you mean?” San asks carefully.
Wooyoung exhales through his nose, a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” San says immediately.
Wooyoung finally turns his head, meeting San’s eyes. They’re steady, patient. It makes something in his chest squeeze.
“I just…” Wooyoung sighs, eyes flicking away. “People come and go, you know? They take what they want from you and then move on, and it’s like you never mattered at all.”
San is quiet.
Wooyoung forces a smirk, though it feels weak. “It sounds dramatic, huh?”
San shakes his head. “No.”
Wooyoung swallows. His fingers grip the blanket tighter. “I guess I just don’t wanna be one of those people you forget about the second you walk out that door.”
San blinks, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he shifts closer, resting his chin on his hand as he studies Wooyoung like he’s trying to figure him out.
“I don’t think anyone could forget you, Wooyoung,” he says, voice soft but firm.
Something inside Wooyoung cracks. He looks at San, really looks at him, and wonders if it’s possible for a stranger to see right through him like this.
“You would be surprised, San,” Wooyoung says, voice light, almost teasing. “But it’s the way life is. People come and people go, we just have to go with it.”
San watches him for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? Are you saying you’ve never lost anyone before?”
“I have,” San says simply. “But I don’t think people just disappear the way you’re making it sound.”
Wooyoung exhales through his nose, rolling onto his back again. “They do, San. Maybe not right away, maybe not in a dramatic way, but they do. Eventually.”
San props himself up on his elbow. “So what? You just assume every person you meet is temporary?”
Wooyoung shrugs, lips curling slightly. “It’s easier that way.”
San frowns. “Easier, how?”
Wooyoung gestures vaguely. “You don’t get hurt. You don’t expect anything. You just… enjoy it while it lasts.”
San doesn’t say anything right away. Wooyoung expects him to let it go, but instead, he asks, “And that actually works for you?”
Wooyoung falters. His fingers tighten slightly in the blanket. “Yeah,” he lies.
San sees right through him. “I don’t think it does.”
Wooyoung scoffs, shaking his head. “Why do you care so much?”
San shrugs, smiling just a little. “I don’t know. You’re interesting.”
Wooyoung turns his head to look at him, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t have a quick response.
“Not sure what that means,” Wooyoung says, but there’s no bite to it—just quiet curiosity.
San shrugs, propping his head up on his hand. “It means I want to know more about you.”
Wooyoung exhales a soft laugh. “You already know the important stuff.”
San tilts his head. “Do I?”
Wooyoung pauses. He isn’t sure why, but the way San is looking at him—calm, patient, like he’s in no rush—makes him want to say more.
“…What else do you want to know?” he asks, voice quieter now.
San doesn’t hesitate. “Why does it sound like you don’t think you deserve more than temporary?”
Wooyoung tenses for half a second before forcing himself to relax. He turns onto his side, facing away from San. “That’s a weird thing to assume.”
“It’s not an assumption,” San says easily. “It’s just what I hear when you talk about people leaving.”
Wooyoung’s fingers tighten slightly in the blanket. “…Maybe it’s just what I’ve learned.”
San hums, nodding. “Okay. That makes sense.”
Wooyoung blinks. He expected San to challenge him again, but he doesn’t. He just accepts it.
“…You’re not gonna argue with me?”
San shakes his head. “No. If that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel.”
Wooyoung turns his head slightly to glance at him. “…Huh.”
San just smiles. “What?”
Wooyoung shrugs, feeling oddly warm. “Nothing. You’re just… not what I expected.”
San chuckles. “Good. Expectations are overrated anyway.”
“You sure you’re not a therapist?” Wooyoung asks, raising an eyebrow.
San chuckles. “Nah, I’m not smart like that. I just have lots of friends who are a little dumb and need to be given advice.”
There was something about the way San talked that made Wooyoung want to hear more. Although they had met through a hookup, he wondered if he and San could be friends. San was sweet, funny, and kind.
Besides, Wooyoung had good luck with friends. He had known Mingi since high school, then met Yunho in college. His best friend Jongho had been by his side since he was six years old. His friendships were strong, unwavering. It was just his love life that was lonely.
“Give me an example,” Wooyoung says, wanting to hear San keep talking.
“Of my friends being dumb?”
“Yes.”
San laughs, shaking his head as he thinks. “Okay, so—my friends Seonghwa and
Hongjoong? They liked each other for a whole year. A whole damn year.”
Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And?”
“And instead of, I don’t know, telling each other, they would come to me separately and talk about how much they liked the other.” San rolls his eyes fondly. “Hongjoong would be like, ‘What if he doesn’t feel the same way?’ Meanwhile, Seonghwa was asking me, ‘What if I ruin our friendship?’”
Wooyoung snorts. “God, that’s painful.”
“Right?” San laughs. “It was ridiculous. I had to be so patient. Kept telling them both that the other one obviously liked them back. But nope. They wouldn’t believe me. Eventually, I got tired of it and told Hongjoong to just confess already, and he did.” San smiles at the memory. “They’ve been together for three years now.”
Wooyoung hums, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Three years is crazy,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.
San tilts his head, curious. “Have you ever dated someone before?” he asks. Then, a teasing smirk appears on his lips. “Hopefully, you’re not dating anyone right now…” he throws Wooyoung’s own humor back at him.
Wooyoung huffs a laugh but doesn’t answer right away. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, debating how much to say. Finally, he shrugs. “Not really.”
San raises an eyebrow. “Not really?”
Wooyoung sighs. “I mean, I’ve talked to people, I’ve had… things. But nothing serious, nothing real.”
San stays quiet for a moment, just watching him.
“Is that by choice?”
Wooyoung hesitates. “Yes. I’m convinced I’m too pretty for anyone in this world.” He jokes, flashing a smirk to cover up the split second of hesitation.
“That’s true.” San agrees easily.
Wooyoung snaps his head to look at him, eyes wide, face heating up. “What do you mean!” He whines, smacking San’s arm playfully. “You’re not supposed to agree, I was being dramatic.”
San laughs, the sound warm and full. “It’s true though. I’m surprised you agreed to dance with me.”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Is this a way to get me to tell you how hot you are?”
San doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes, it is.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “Not happening.”
San sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow. “I figured. But I’ll get it out of you someday.”
Someday . A casual word. A simple, playful tease. But it lodges itself in Wooyoung’s chest like a blade.
Because there won’t be a someday.
He forces out a laugh, ignoring the ache in his chest. “Bold of you to assume there will be a someday.”
San tilts his head, watching him closely. “You say that like it’s set in stone.”
“It is,” Wooyoung says simply. “That’s how these things go.”
San hums, considering him for a long moment before leaning back against the pillow.
“Maybe. But maybe not.”
Wooyoung scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re optimistic.”
San shrugs. “I just don’t think everything has to be so temporary.”
Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep looking at the ceiling instead of at San. “That’s nice,” he mutters. “But life doesn’t work like that.”
San doesn’t argue, but he also doesn’t agree. And for some reason, that unsettles Wooyoung more than anything else.
“What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Have you been in relationships before?”
San barely hesitates. “Yeah, I’m married.”
Wooyoung’s heart drops. He stares at San, wide-eyed, before immediately snapping out of it and glaring. “Give me your phone right now. I’m calling your wife.”
San smirks. “What are you going to say?”
“That your husband is a filthy cheater.”
“Good luck with that.” San’s smirk deepens. “And who did I cheat with?”
Wooyoung glares harder. “You’re joking… right?” His voice is half suspicious, half hopeful.
San suddenly bursts into laughter, covering his mouth like he can’t believe Wooyoung even questioned it. “Oh my god, yes. I’m sorry. It was a joke. I don’t have a wife.”
Wooyoung exhales, shaking his head but smiling a little too. San had picked up on his energy so quickly, matching his teasing without hesitation. It was nice.
“What’s the actual answer?”
San shifts onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Wooyoung, without meaning to, follows the line of his neck. His eyes catch on the moles there, the smooth tan skin, the defined dip of his collarbones. Wow.
San exhales through his nose. “I dated a girl for two years. Gave her everything I could. But at the end of the day, she didn’t like how… clingy I was.” He huffs out a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Or maybe she just lost feelings. Either way, she left.”
Wooyoung frowns, his fingers moving before he can think. He rests a comforting hand on San’s bicep, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry, San. You don’t deserve that.”
San tilts his head toward him, smiling softly. “It’s okay, Woo. It’s in the past.” Then, with a little smirk, “Besides, now I’m up late talking to a cute boy, so… it gets better, right?”
Wooyoung’s heart stutters, then swells.
This San guy was something else. Even if Wooyoung was just a cute hookup, even if they never saw each other again after this, San was still happy to be here, happy to be talking to him, happy to make him feel seen.
It was cute. It was sweet.
It was abnormal.
And it made Wooyoung feel scared and sad, but also happy and—maybe—just a little hopeful.
“For someone who wouldn’t shut up when we were dancing, you’re really in your head right now.”
San’s voice breaks through the haze of Wooyoung’s thoughts, and that’s when he realizes—he’d completely spaced out.
He blinks, trying to shake it off. “Yeah, my head can be louder than me. Shocking, right?”
San doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he sits up, and Wooyoung follows without thinking. Then, San reaches out, gently taking Wooyoung’s hands in his own, guiding him to meet his gaze. It’s not forceful. It’s comforting. Grounding.
“You can’t sleep with a loud brain, so…” San closes his eyes as if he’s deep in thought.
“Let’s see… we had sex. We talked about the basics. I told you about my ex…” He starts counting the moments off like a list, his tone light but purposeful. Then, he exhales softly, tilting his head.
“What’s something you want, but don’t think you’ll ever have?”
His voice is gentle, careful, and his eyes remain closed—like he’s giving Wooyoung space to answer, to rant if he wants, without the weight of being watched.
It’s such a small thing. Such a simple gesture.
But it’s so kind.
Wooyoung doesn’t know what to make of the emotions it stirs in him.
Wooyoung opens his mouth, then closes it. His throat feels tight, like something is lodged there, something thick and unspoken.
He knows the answer immediately. He’s known it for years, felt it in the quiet spaces between laughter, in the ache of watching love bloom around him but never for him.
But saying it out loud?
That’s different. That makes it real. That makes it something San can hear, something he can react to.
Wooyoung swallows.
“Love,” he finally admits. His voice is quieter than he intended, and it almost doesn’t sound like him. “Like, the kind that sticks. The kind where you just… know. Where it’s safe, and you don’t have to wonder if you’re too much or not enough. The kind that doesn’t leave.”
San stays quiet, letting the words settle. His hands are still on Wooyoung’s, warm and steady.
“You don’t think you’ll ever have that?” he asks, finally opening his eyes.
Wooyoung lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.
“I don’t know. I mean, people love me. I have friends who love me. But that kind of love? The real thing? It just…” He shrugs. “It’s not for me.”
San watches him, his expression unreadable. And then, he squeezes Wooyoung’s hands, just slightly.
“I think it is.”
Wooyoung blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“I think love is for you,” San says simply, like it’s a fact. “I think you just haven’t met the right person yet.”
Something about the way he says it—the quiet certainty, the utter lack of hesitation—makes Wooyoung’s heart ache.
“You seem very confident about that.”
San grins, lopsided and easy. “I just have a good feeling.”
“You suck at being a one-night stand, you know.” Wooyoung says, but then San opens his eyes.
“Why?” he asks softly, genuinely curious.
“Because… of this.” Wooyoung gestures to their hands. San just squeezes them, his touch warm and comforting.
“Because I care?” San’s words are quiet but intentional, and Wooyoung feels his heart skip again.
“Yeah, weirdo .” Wooyoung teases, but there’s an underlying vulnerability in his voice. “I could be a murderer or something. You don’t even know me.”
San chuckles lightly, unfazed. “All of my best friends, I didn’t know at one point.” He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing. “Why is this any different?”
Wooyoung thinks for a moment, then hesitates. “Because… you know, you’re supposed to, like, hit and dip .”
San furrows his brows. “Is that what usually happens to you?” He asks, and his tone is gentle, but the question still lands heavily on Wooyoung’s chest.
Wooyoung doesn’t have to say it aloud. The truth is clear: yes. That’s been his reality for a while. But before he can respond, San pulls him into a light hug, careful not to push too far, but enough to offer comfort.
“No one should ever have to feel that way.” San’s words are soft, almost like a promise. Wooyoung doesn’t know why, but they hit him deeper than he expected. His throat tightens, and before he knows it, his tears start to fall.
“What way?” Wooyoung whispers, his voice shaking even though he knows the answer already.
“Like… the way it feels for someone to just ‘hit and dip,’ or spend all this time with you just to forget about you after. That’s cruel, Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to hold back the emotion. “It’s not cruel…” He tries to convince himself, but his voice cracks. “It’s how a hookup works. I kind of sign up for that when I agree to take random people home.”
San shakes his head, gently pulling Wooyoung back to look at him. “No, you don’t. Maybe that’s how it’s been until now, but it shouldn’t be that way.” He looks into Wooyoung’s eyes, his expression sincere. “Tell me… would you have wanted me to leave after what we did tonight?”
The question hangs in the air, and Wooyoung freezes. The answer is sitting on the tip of his tongue, but his mind scrambles for something to say.
“If I said yes?” Wooyoung challenges, testing the waters, trying to hide the truth.
“I’d know you’re lying.” San’s voice is gentle but sure.
Wooyoung’s heart skips again. “How?”
“I can see it in your eyes.” San replies, his gaze unwavering.
“We just met. You don’t know me.” Wooyoung’s voice is quieter now, a soft protest.
“I want to know you.” San says it again, this time with more weight. It’s not just a statement. It feels like an invitation, like a promise.
Wooyoung feels his mind and heart clash. The battle inside him is intense. His mind is telling him to run, to protect himself, to keep his distance. But his heart… his heart is drawn to San in a way he can’t quite explain. The sincerity in San’s voice, the warmth in his touch, it’s disarming.
Wooyoung feels like he’s being pulled in two different directions. Part of him wants to believe in this. To let himself have something real. But another part is terrified. Terrified that this could be another fleeting moment, another person who will eventually walk away, leaving him alone.
His eyes flicker between San’s, searching for something—some sign that this is real, that maybe it could be.
“I don’t know if I can let someone in like that,” Wooyoung admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy, but he knows they’re the truth.
San’s eyes soften, and he reaches up to brush a stray tear from Wooyoung’s cheek.
“You don’t have to let anyone in all at once, Wooyoung,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe you don’t have to shut everyone out either.”
And in that moment, Wooyoung feels a shift. He’s not sure what it means, but something about San’s words makes him feel like it’s okay to hope, even just a little bit.
“Don’t say stuff like this, San,” Wooyoung says weakly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “Who’s gonna tell me this stuff after we wake up and you’re gone?”
San’s expression falters, a frown forming on his face. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Wooyoung’s hand.
“If you don’t want me to leave, just say the words.” Wooyoung glances at him, the quiet weight of the moment making his heart race a little faster.
“I hate begging,” he says, trying to play it off, but his voice wavers just enough for San to catch.
San’s gaze softens, his fingers tightening slightly around Wooyoung’s. “Well, if you want to know, then… I don’t want to leave either.”
A flicker in Wooyoung’s chest, warmth spreading like a soft burn. He can’t help but smile, a little unsure of what to make of this sudden shift. But before he can dwell too much on it, he teases.
“But what about your wife and kids?” he jokes, smirking.
San swats at him playfully, and they both laugh. It’s light, it’s easy. A shared moment of humor that somehow settles between them, the tension lifting just a little.
They settle back into bed, facing each other now. The space between them is comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding of what just passed.
“Woo,” San says softly, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?”
“How’s the brain?” San asks, his voice gentle, his gaze steady.
Wooyoung realizes, with a quiet exhale, that his thoughts have quieted. His mind is no longer running in circles, no longer weighed down by everything he couldn’t make sense of earlier.
“Lighter,” Wooyoung says with a soft smile, and it’s the truth. He feels like he can breathe again.
“Good,” San murmurs, his eyes warm and understanding. And for a moment, Wooyoung allows himself to believe that maybe things don’t always have to be complicated. Maybe, just maybe, there’s room for something simple between them after all.
The room is quiet now, save for the soft sound of their breathing. Wooyoung feels a sense of calm he hasn’t felt in a long time, the kind that doesn’t require explanations or apologies—just the simple presence of someone who, for once, doesn’t seem like they’re about to disappear.
San shifts a little, closing the small space between them, his hand brushing against Wooyoung’s. The contact is gentle, just enough to send a rush of warmth through Wooyoung’s chest.
"Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” Wooyoung asks, the question slipping out before he can think it through. He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s something in the air now, something more vulnerable than he’s used to.
San doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he reaches up, his hand brushing the hair from Wooyoung’s face, tucking it behind his ear with a tenderness that catches Wooyoung off guard. The gesture is so simple, yet it feels so intimate, like it says more than words ever could.
“Well, that depends, Woo,” San says, his voice soft, his eyes steady. “Do you want to see me again?”
Wooyoung pauses, feeling a strange tug in his chest. His gaze drops for a moment before meeting San’s again, searching his face for something he can’t quite name.
“It’s not about me,” Wooyoung mutters, trying to avoid the question. He tries to hide behind the old habits of pretending to not care. But San isn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
“Why not?” San asks, his voice still gentle, but persistent. “It’s about what you want too .”
Another long pause hangs in the air. Wooyoung’s mind races, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he tries to make sense of the words. For the first time in a long time, he’s faced with the question of whether he wants something more than just the fleeting connection that has always felt so temporary in his life.
“Do you?” San presses, his eyes still soft but searching, like he’s waiting for Wooyoung to say the one thing that could change everything.
Wooyoung feels his chest tighten as he thinks back to his past hookups, the ones where he’d let them walk away without saying anything, without even asking them to stay. He’d always assumed that if someone wanted to leave, they would. That was the deal. That was the pattern. They came, they went, and he never reached out. Maybe he thought it was too much effort, or maybe it was just easier to think that no one ever wanted to stay.
But now, with San looking at him like this—so open, so willing to stay if only Wooyoung asked—he realizes something he’s never fully considered before.
It’s not about whether they want to stay. It’s about whether he wants them to. It’s about whether he has the courage to ask them to.
San was opening doors in his brain he didn’t even know existed.
“I… I don’t know,” Wooyoung admits softly, feeling vulnerable in a way he’s not used to. “I never thought about it like that. I guess I just assumed they would leave, and I never asked them to stay.”
San’s expression softens even more, and he brushes his thumb over Wooyoung’s knuckles, grounding him in the moment.
“It’s not easy, Woo,” San says quietly, his voice like a warm breath against the cool air. “But if you want me to stay, I will. You just have to tell me.”
Wooyoung swallows, unsure of the words to say, but somehow knowing that whatever happens, he has the chance to choose this time. He doesn’t have to let it slip away.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, the idea of wanting someone to stay feels less terrifying and more… possible.
“I don’t know about this,” Wooyoung answers, his voice hesitant but sincere. “But I am glad you stayed tonight.”
San smiles, his eyes softening. “Me too.”
He pulls Wooyoung into a hug, and for a moment, Wooyoung tenses against his chest, the vulnerability of the gesture almost too much to bear.
“Sorry, sorry,” San apologizes quickly, pulling away a little, sensing Wooyoung’s discomfort, but before he can step back, Wooyoung wraps his arms around San’s waist, pulling him in closer.
“It’s okay, I want to hug you,” Wooyoung murmurs into his chest, feeling the warmth of San’s body seep into his own. He feels a gentle kiss at the top of his head, right into the soft strands of his freshly shampooed hair, and it makes his heart flutter unexpectedly.
After a beat, Wooyoung pulls back slightly, but still stays loosely in San’s arms. He looks up at him, searching his face with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.
“What stage are we in now…?”
San raises an eyebrow, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let’s see… we’ve shared insecurities. So I’d say we’ve gotten pretty far.”
Wooyoung smiles tiredly, the exhaustion from the emotional conversation and the night’s events catching up with him. “Guess we have.”
San watches him, studying his face. “Are you tired?”
Wooyoung feels his pulse quicken, embarrassed at how quickly he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to admit how much his body is already craving rest. The truth is, he’s exhausted, but he doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want to wake up to an empty, cold bed tomorrow, with the ache of soreness in his limbs from a night with someone who never thought twice about him afterward.
“No, are you?” Wooyoung asks before he can stop himself, his voice almost too eager to keep the night going, even if it means lying to himself.
San smiles, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“No,” he lies softly, his voice steady but the warmth in his gaze betraying him.
For a long moment, they simply hold each other, the silence comforting in its familiarity. Neither of them speaks, but the unspoken words hang between them, filling the space with a quiet understanding that neither is ready for this night to end just yet.
The weight of sleep drapes over Wooyoung’s body, but he fights it, his fingers curling into the fabric of San’s shirt like an anchor. If he closes his eyes, morning will come.
And morning means goodbye.
San watches him, something unreadable in his expression. Then, he reaches up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from Wooyoung’s forehead. His touch lingers, soft and deliberate. “Don’t look so worried.”
Wooyoung scoffs weakly. “I’m not.”
San hums, unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he just keeps running his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, a slow, steady motion that makes it even harder to stay awake.
Wooyoung wants to say something. He wants to ask if San will still be here when he wakes up. But he doesn’t. He lets the thought fade, lets himself sink into the warmth of San’s body.
And when his eyes finally flutter shut, he doesn’t stop San from slipping away.
Because some things are meant to stay in the night.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ┊ ★⋆
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★
The next morning, Wooyoung wakes up to an empty bed.
His heart plummets. His throat tightens. His eyes sting as the reality settles in.
How did he fall for it again?
A bitter laugh bubbles in his chest, but it never makes it out. Instead, he shoves his face into the pillow, his body curling in on itself as he lets the tears come. He cries until his head pounds, until exhaustion weighs him down again, making it impossible to move.
He doesn’t hear the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen.
He doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps approaching the bedroom door.
“Woo?”
His head snaps up so fast it makes him dizzy. His swollen eyes meet San’s, standing in the doorway, concern written all over his face.
“Wh—? San?”
“What’s wrong?” San asks immediately, stepping forward, closing the distance.
Before Wooyoung can even think, he’s being pulled into a hug, San’s arms wrapping around him, warm and steady. Wooyoung buries his face into San’s shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping him together.
“I thought you left,” he mutters, voice muffled.
San holds him tighter. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited for you to wake up.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Wooyoung whispers, but the ache in his chest lingers.
San pulls back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t leave. But I do have to soon—I have work.”
Wooyoung’s stomach twists. He knows it’s inevitable, but it still stings.
“But first,” San smiles, “breakfast?”
Wooyoung blinks, noticing for the first time that the air smells like food—savory and warm. When he follows San to the kitchen, he sees the neatly plated dishes waiting for him. Traditional Korean breakfast, simple but comforting. His chest tightens all over again.
They eat in comfortable silence, but Wooyoung notices San finishing first, placing his dishes in the sink before walking back toward him.
Before Wooyoung can say anything, San leans down, wrapping his arms around him from behind, his chin resting atop Wooyoung’s head. The hug is firm, lingering. Then, just as softly, he presses a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead.
“I have to go,” San murmurs, pulling back.
Wooyoung only nods, forcing a small smile, even as his chest aches. He watches as San grabs his things, throwing one last glance over his shoulder before stepping out the door.
And just like that, Wooyoung is alone again.
The spiral threatens to start all over. He stares at his half-eaten food, at the empty space San left behind. His fingers curl into his lap, bracing himself for the familiar hollow feeling that always comes after nights like this.
But then—he notices something under his plate. A small note.
His brows furrowed as he picked it up, unfolding the paper.
It’s San. Here’s my number. It’s your choice this time, Woo. I would love to see you again.
A startled laugh escapes him, quiet but real. He shakes his head, wiping at his eyes as he reaches for his phone. He adds San’s number, hesitates for just a second, then types.
Wooyoung: Got your number, loser.
It only takes a few seconds for the reply to come in.
San : Good. I was hoping you’d text. Can I come back over after work?
Wooyoung : What are you, bored?
San: Not bored. More like, interested.
Wooyoung exhales, something unnameable swelling in his chest.
Maybe this time, things would be different .
Maybe this time, he wouldn’t be left behind again.
He would let San come back over—because that’s what he wanted too. He already missed him, despite meeting him just last night. But Wooyoung was going to keep his heart sealed. He would let this play out, take his chance at whatever it could be.
And inevitably, when it all went up in flames, at least he would have preserved his heart just enough to move forward after.