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He undid the first button, feeling the shirt tighten uncomfortably around his neck. The soft fabric clung to his skin, too foreign, too stiff, and he mentally cursed himself for not sticking with one of his usual t-shirts. Standing outside the bar, San wondered if he'd put too much effort into his appearance. The place he had chosen was a nice bar—upscaled, a bit trendier than the usual spots he frequented, but still casual. He wasn't someone who went out much, and when he did, he never bothered with dressing up. It wasn't his style. But tonight was different.

The black shirt, neatly tucked into dark jeans, still clung uncomfortably to his chest, a reminder of how much he was trying. He looked good—he knew that—but the sharp tug of anxiety was doing its best to make him feel out of place. He fidgeted, adjusting the leather jacket wrapped around him, the last barrier between him and the biting chill of early spring nights. He wasn't used to this—the waiting, the uncertainty, the dressing up for someone else. But for Wooyoung, he'd do it.

Arriving early had always been a habit of his—something he couldn't quite shake even if it meant standing outside alone, shivering as the night grew colder. His motorbike, parked a few meters away, gleamed under the streetlights, reminding him that he'd be freezing on the ride home. He wanted to mentally slap himself for having chosen a good looking outfit over a more comfortable and warmer one. But that as well was fine if it meant he would steal a surprised smile from Wooyoung's lips. San checked his phone, trying to distract himself. Five minutes until their agreed time.

Hey, I'm here. I'll wait for you at the door, he texted, thumb hovering briefly before pressing send.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, anxiety gnawing at his insides. He couldn't help but replay the last few days in his mind—their texts, short but sweet. Wooyoung had been more responsive than usual, though his messages still carried that same guarded tone, like there was always something left unsaid. Nothing too deep, nothing too revealing, just enough to keep San hopeful. Hopeful that tonight, things would be different. That maybe, finally, he'd get a glimpse of the Wooyoung that laid hidden beneath all the mystery and the walls.

He could still feel it, that distance between them, as if Wooyoung was holding something back. Whenever San asked about his past or pried a little too much, he'd watch Wooyoung retreat. It wasn't obvious—just a flicker in his eyes, a slight tightening of his jaw—but it was enough. Enough to make San realize there were wounds Wooyoung wasn't ready to reveal. The shadows in his eyes hinted at something deeper, something darker, and San was willing to wait if it meant understanding him better.

He wasn't naive. He knew Wooyoung had his struggles—struggles San couldn't fully comprehend. But there was something about Wooyoung that drew him in, something that made him want to stick around, even if he didn't know exactly what that "something" was yet.

Still, San couldn't help but feel a lingering uncertainty between them. The lines were blurry, their connection undefined. Part of it was Wooyoung's emotional distance—how he always seemed to retreat just when things got a little too personal. But at the same time, San could see the cracks in that wall. He didn't miss the stolen glances, the way Wooyoung's lips would curl into a smirk when San flirted with him, or how, not so rarely, he flirted back. It felt like more than just friendship, didn't it? Those fleeting moments of connection, however subtle, hinted at something deeper. Maybe Wooyoung hadn't said it outright, but there was something there... wasn't there? This alone gave San enough hope, a reason to go all in and see where things would take them.

But there was something else San couldn't forget, something that nagged at his mind without giving him a moment of peace: Wooyoung's life, his work. That was something San couldn't just ignore. Wooyoung was bound to other men, to his clients, in a way that went far beyond what San could understand. And what troubled San the most was that Wooyoung didn't seem to have any intention of stopping.

It made San question everything. Was he really ready to accept Wooyoung's world for what it was? Was it even fair to expect Wooyoung to have something more with him when he was tied to those other men? Could Wooyoung have a romantic relationship at all? San had no idea. But the thought nagged at him, making him question his place in Wooyoung's life. Maybe this night would give him some clarity, or maybe he was setting himself up for disappointment.

San wasn't sure if he should ask Wooyoung directly about what they were, or if he should just observe and let things happen naturally. He didn't want to push Wooyoung away by being too forward, but at the same time, he didn't want to linger in uncertainty forever. The thought of hoping for something more was both thrilling and terrifying. He just wanted to know where he stood—if he was allowed to hope for something deeper between them.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts with his hands buried deep in the jacket pockets, minutes began to stretch out like hours. Every passing second felt heavier than the last, as if time itself was mocking him. San's breath came out in shallow puffs of vapor in the cool night air, and the warm, hopeful energy he had carried with him began to dissipate.

Then, his phone buzzed. For a brief moment, hope flared in his chest, a flicker of light in the gathering darkness. He fumbled for it, heart leaping at the thought that maybe, Wooyoung was just running late. But when he saw the name on the screen, his stomach dropped.

I can't come, I'm sorry. A customer booked an appointment last minute, I can't leave.

San blinked at the message, his heart pounding with disbelief. The words didn't make sense at first, as if they belonged to someone else's reality. Not his. Not tonight. His fingers trembled slightly as he re-read the message, but the words didn't change. They were final, cold, stripping the evening of its warmth and leaving him feeling exposed.

"No..." San whispered under his breath, his thumb already pressing the call button. The phone rang in his ear, the sound echoing louder than it should in the silent night. Once, twice—and then, the line went dead.

Another message popped up on his screen: Don't call me, I'm with him.

San stared at the words, his throat tightening as a wave of nausea rose in his chest. His pulse quickened, panic lacing through his veins. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. This wasn't supposed to happen tonight.

A second message followed, as though to hammer the final nail into the coffin of his hope: Maybe this is a sign that you'd better leave me alone, San. This was a mistake. I'm so sorry for wasting your time.

San stared at the screen, at the abrupt coldness in Wooyoung's message, his heart sinking. The change was unsettling, especially after days of texting where Wooyoung had seemed warm, even if reserved. San's mind raced, struggling to understand the sudden shift. The last thing he wanted was for Wooyoung to push him away, but this message felt different. It wasn't just about their feelings—it hinted at something more, something troubling. San's thoughts flashed back to that night outside the pub, where he had seen Wooyoung's fear, the way his eyes darted around nervously as that man hovered over him. The memory of Wooyoung's frightened expression gnawed at him. Something felt terribly wrong. Was there more to Wooyoung's cold message than a simple change of heart? It felt like he wanted to keep San away, but from what? Was Wooyoung in danger?

San's hands shook as he tried to call Wooyoung again, desperate to hear his voice. But each time, the call was cut off after a single ring, as if Wooyoung was blocking him out, sealing the distance between them with an impassable wall. He tried again, and again, his frustration mounting with every failed attempt until finally, the line didn't even connect. His phone screen flashed with a new notification: Wooyoung's phone is switched off. San stood there, frozen in place, staring blankly at the dark screen. The world around him felt heavier, colder. The soft hum of the city that had once been so alive blurred into a dull, distant noise. Everything—the anticipation, the nervous energy, the hope—had dissolved into nothing.

San swallowed hard, the sting of rejection cutting deeper than he had expected. But beneath the disappointment, beneath the ache in his chest, there was something else—something more than frustration or anger. It was an overwhelming concern, a need to understand. Because despite Wooyoung's messages, despite the coldness, San couldn't bring himself to believe this was really what Wooyoung wanted. Not after everything they'd shared, even if it had been brief. No. This wasn't over. It couldn't be. He wouldn't let it end like this.

Then, like a distant echo from a few nights ago, a memory surfaced. A name—The Nest—slipped into his thoughts. He remembered the man mention it while talking to Wooyoung, his voice hushed, thretening almost and that made Wooyoung shiver. San hadn't thought much of it then, but now, it felt like the only clue he had left.

With shaking hands, San unlocked his phone again, this time searching for any mention of The Nest online. His fingers fumbled over the keyboard as he typed in the name, on the map first and then on the research button, scanning the sparse results with growing frustration. There wasn't much—no official listing, no clear directions, just vague mentions on obscure forums. But eventually, he found a rough idea of where the place might be located, tucked away in a part of town that wasn't easy to find unless you were looking for it. He had never been there, but he had heard some of the customers of the pub talk about it. San searched the street name and tried to memorize its location and shoved his phone back into his jacket, feeling his pulse quicken. The uneasy feeling in his gut only grew stronger. Wherever this place was, it wasn't somewhere most people just stumbled across. That much was clear. With a deep breath, San made his way over to his bike, pulling his helmet on and gripping the handlebars tightly. The engine roared to life, and without hesitating any longer, he sped off into the night.

San drove through the dimly lit streets, the hum of his bike the only comfort against the rising tide of anxiety in his chest. The neighborhood was unfamiliar, far from the more well-lit, busier parts of town. Instead, it was a maze of narrow alleyways and old, weathered buildings, a place that seemed to come alive only at night, with shadows creeping around every corner. He slowed his bike when he reached the general area mentioned online. Parking near an old convenience store, he scanned the surroundings, eyes darting between neon signs and flickering streetlights. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the occasional waft of cheap food, but there was something else—a feeling of unease. He noticed a few people lingering on the sidewalks, their gazes hard and unfriendly, as if they were sizing him up.

San approached a middle-aged man standing near a lamppost, trying to force a polite smile onto his face "Excuse me," he started, "I'm looking for a place called The Nest. Do you know where it is?"

The man glanced at him, his eyes narrowing "Never heard of it," he muttered, turning away before San could ask anything else.

San tried again with a woman passing by, but she gave him a wary look, clutching her bag tighter to her chest as if he was a threat, "I don't know anything about that," she said curtly, hurrying off before he could say another word.

A knot formed in San's stomach. He was already tense, but now a layer of frustration added to the mix. The more he asked, the more people seemed to close off, their expressions guarded, as if they were trying to hide something. The street felt like it had eyes—dark, secretive eyes watching him with suspicion. Realizing that asking for directions was getting him nowhere, San sighed, running a hand through his hair. He felt lost, both literally and figuratively. For a moment, he wondered if this whole thing was pointless. Maybe The Nest was a dead end, a place better left in the dark corners of the city.

But then, as he turned down yet another dimly lit alley, his eyes caught on something—a small, black arrow barely visible in the gloom. It was spray-painted haphazardly on the side of a cracked brick wall, worn down by time and neglect. Beneath the arrow, faded white letters spelled out The Nest. The paint was chipping, blending into the weathered bricks as if trying to disappear. If San hadn't been scouring every corner, desperate to find some clue, he might have walked past it without a second glance.

Just below the arrow was a narrow staircase, half-hidden in shadows, leading down into the earth. The entrance looked more like the back door of an abandoned building than the way to a club. The stairs were steep and uneven, their edges worn smooth by years of foot traffic. A dull, flickering lightbulb hung overhead, casting long, sinister shadows across the steps as they disappeared into the darkness below. The smell of damp concrete and stale air rose from the stairwell, filling San's lungs as he hesitated at the top.

For a moment, San's heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out along the back of his neck. Everything about this place screamed danger, secrecy, like it was a hidden part of the world only known to those who had something to hide. It was as if the staircase was inviting him into a world where people and their troubles vanished, swallowed up by the shadows beneath the city. Still, he took a deep breath and forced himself to take the first step down—if Wooyoung was there he would find him.

As San reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself face-to-face with an enormous man guarding a heavy black door. The man loomed over him like a wall, broad shoulders nearly blocking out the dim light of the narrow stairwell. His clothes were as stark as his presence—a black button-up shirt stretched tightly across his muscular chest, tucked into dark pants. It was crisp and clean, contrasting sharply with San's own black shirt, which now felt uncomfortably tight around his neck, a poor attempt to blend into a world he wasn't sure he belonged in. Where San's shirt was an effort to impress, this man's attire was intimidating, like a uniform that came with the job of keeping out unwanted guests.

"ID," the guard demanded, his voice rough and low, resonating through the narrow space.

San fumbled with his wallet, quickly pulling out his ID and handing it over. The guard inspected it briefly, his eyes scanning the card before flicking back to San with a frown, "You're a new face," he said, his tone cold and assessing, "You a member?"

San hesitated for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in his shirt. "No," he admitted, "But I'm here to see someone"

The guard arched an eyebrow, "That's not how this place works," he muttered, handing back the ID. "If you're not a member, you don't get in. Simple"

San took the card back, his heart beating faster. He stepped forward, determination driving him, "I'm here to see Wooyoung," he said quickly, "He's expecting me"

The guard's expression remained unmoved, his eyes narrowing with something between boredom and suspicion. "Wooyoung?" he repeated and for a second San hoped that the name would give him a sort of pass through that thick door, but suddenly the man's eyes turned cold and distant again, "Never heard of him"

San's frustration bubbled up. He wasn't going to let this slip away, "Please," he said, his voice lowering, almost pleading now, "I need to see him. It's important"

The guard, towering in his spotless black shirt that seemed to magnify his authority, leaned forward slightly. "This isn't the kind of place where you just walk in," the man growled.

Before San could find another argument, a voice came from behind him, cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Well, well, what's all the commotion here?"

San spun around to see an older man emerging from the shadows at the top of the staircase. His appearance was commanding despite his short height and distinctly out of place amidst the crumbling brick walls and gritty surroundings. His hair was thinning, slicked back with precision, and his deeply etched wrinkles suggested a life long-lived, though not without hardship. He had a cigarette between his lips and the red ember highlighted his mouth and chin. What immediately drew San's attention, however, wasn't the man's face but the thick scar that ran from the man's neck to his collarbone that the richly embroidered silk shirt failed to hide.

San's eyes flickered from the man's scar to his eyes, trying to gauge what kind of person he was dealing with. The guard beside him bowed deeply before he straightened, his stance stiffening at the man's presence. It was clear he held rank here—perhaps the owner of the establishment or something more sinister.

"He says he's looking for Wooyoung," the guard grunted, deferring to the older man.

So you do know him, San wanted to bite back but he held his tongue.

The man's dark eyes, sharp and calculating, fixed on San, and a faint, almost entertained smile curled at the corners of his lips. He took his time appraising San, his gaze flicking from his too-tight black shirt to his face, studying him as if trying to piece together a puzzle, "You're looking for Wooyoung..." he finally repeated, his voice a rich baritone. He took another step closer, allowing San to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, musky and sophisticated. He seemed amused by the situation, as if this wasn't the first time some naive outsider had come stumbling into his domain, pleading for someone inside.

San swallowed, feeling the weight of the man's presence pressing down on him, "Yes," he said, his voice steady but nervous. "I need to see him"

The man tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips, though his eyes remained shrewd. The scar along his neck flexed slightly as he moved, a visual reminder of just how dangerous this man might be. His hand reached up absently to remove the cigarette from his lips and let a cloud of smoke fill the space between him and San. For a moment, he said nothing, just studied San with that unreadable gaze.

"How do you know Wooyoung, and what do you want from him?" his voice was calm, almost soft, but there was an edge beneath it—a warning. A shiver ran down San's spine, and he realized that whatever he said next would be critical. He only had one chance to get this right, one chance to prove himself, or he could very well end up in a situation far worse than he'd imagined.

San straightened his back, swallowing the lump in his throat "Wooyoung... he's a friend," San said, his voice steady but tense, "I just want to see him, to make sure he's okay. I know things are complicated for him, but I'm worried, I care about him"

The man raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied San's face. The silence stretched, thick with tension, and San could feel his pulse quickening under the older man's scrutiny. Finally, he let out a low hum, his expression unreadable.

"A friend, huh?" his tone was skeptical, almost mocking, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—perhaps curiosity or amusement. He seemed to consider San for another moment, then shook his head slowly, his voice dropping to a more soothing, almost gentle tone, "Listen, kid," he continued, his voice sickly sweet now, like a parent trying to convince a stubborn child to give up on a foolish idea, "I get it. You think you're helping him, but this isn't your world. You don't belong here. Go home. Forget about this place, forget about Wooyoung, and save yourself the trouble"

San felt his heart sink, but his resolve hardened. He wasn't going to back down, not after coming this far. He couldn't just leave Wooyoung behind. He clenched his fists at his sides, his voice coming out firmer than before, "I'm not leaving. I'm not giving up on him"

The man's eyes darkened slightly, and his smile faded into something colder, more calculating. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could get another word out, the black door creaked open.

San's breath caught in his throat as Wooyoung stepped through the door, looking worn and tense. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the usual light in his eyes was dimmed, replaced by a sadness that made San's heart clench. He barely noticed the man walking beside Wooyoung—the same man San had seen with him a few nights before outside the pub. San recognized him immediately, his broad frame and slicked-back hair unmistakable.

The client.

San's gaze flicked between them, and his heart twisted in his chest as he took in the scene. Wooyoung's eyes were downcast, his expression distant. But when San called his name—"Wooyoung!"—everything changed.

Wooyoung's head snapped up at the sound of his name, his eyes widening in surprise. For a split second, their gazes locked, and San saw a flash of something raw and vulnerable in Wooyoung's eyes. But then, just as quickly, that vulnerability was replaced by terror, and then something colder—anger. His expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. The man beside Wooyoung stopped, his gaze following Wooyoung's line of sight to San. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, waiting for Wooyoung's reaction.

"San... What are you doing here? How did you find me?" Wooyoung's voice was tight, strained, and there was an unmistakable edge of panic in his tone. He stepped away from the man beside him, his posture stiffening as if trying to shield himself from San's gaze.

San took a step forward, concern etched on his face, "Wooyoung, I—"

"Stop," Wooyoung snapped, cutting him off. His voice was harsher now, but San could see the fear lurking just beneath the surface "You shouldn't be here"

"I couldn't just leave it like this," San said, his voice pleading now, "I care about you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay"

Wooyoung glanced at the man beside him, his expression shifting slightly. The man's presence seemed to weigh on him, and San could sense the tension between them. But it wasn't just tension—it was something darker. The man wasn't merely observing; he was reveling in Wooyoung's discomfort, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smirk as Wooyoung struggled to maintain his composure.

There was a flicker of something in Wooyoung's eyes—hesitation, maybe even regret—but it was quickly buried beneath the mask of anger he was trying to keep in place. The man's hand rested on Wooyoung's arm in a way that sent a cold wave of fury through San. It wasn't just possessive—it was taunting, a silent reminder of the power he held over Wooyoung.

"This isn't your problem, San," Wooyoung muttered, his voice shaking slightly. He was trying so hard to distance himself, to push San away, but San could see the fear in his eyes—the fear of what would happen if he didn't.

San took a step forward, his chest tightening with every word, "I couldn't just leave you like this. I know there's more going on than you're telling me. Please, come with me"

Wooyoung shook his head, his frustration mixed with something more desperate. He stepped back, closer to the man, and San could see the way the man's grip on Wooyoung's arm tightened ever so slightly. His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something close to delight at the scene unfolding before him, as if Wooyoung's pain was nothing more than entertainment.

"You don't understand," Wooyoung muttered, his voice cracking. "I can't. I need to go"

San's heart ached, watching Wooyoung trapped between fear and anger, and he felt powerless, standing there in the alleyway, unable to pull him out of the situation, with no idea how to fix things. But suddenly he realized that there was one thing he could do.

"I'll wait," he stated firmly, crossing his arms and holding the man's gaze.

"What?" Wooyoung sounded tired, incredulous at San's stubbornness.

"If you need to go with him, I'll wait. I'll be here when you come back" he wasn't leaving Wooyoung, not without trying everything. He heard the old man's scoff from the other end of the alley where he was still observing the scene, another cigarette brought to his lips as he continued to smoke without intervening.

"Maybe I won't be back. You should go home" Wooyoung tried again, his last attempt to convince San before he pulled the man behind him and started walking up the stairs.

"I'll sleep here if I have to. I'll wait for as long as it takes. I'll wait for you!" he shouted to Wooyoung's retreating back, but Wooyoung had disappeared, and San felt his heart sink inside his chest.

A broken sigh escaped his lips as he collapsed onto the last step of the staircase, exhausted, his head in his hands. He heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see the old man towering over him, the amused smile still on his lips.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you? What's your name, kid?" his eyes were now fixed on San with genuine interest.

"Choi San," he replied, too tired to add anything else.

"I'm Xiaolong, the owner of The Nest," he said, pausing to take another drag from his cigarette. He then extended his free hand towards San "Come," he ordered.

San accepted the hand, confused. "Are you letting me in? Why now?" he asked as he noticed Xiaolong holding the thick black door open for him, the large man moving aside to let him pass.

Xiaolong's face remained inscrutable, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes as he motioned for San to follow him inside. The old man's presence seemed to dominate the space, his authority palpable even in the dim light of the stairwell.

"Because you're persistent," Xiaolong said gruffly, "And sometimes, that's worth something"

San followed Xiaolong through the heavy black door, the sound of the city's distant hum fading away as they entered a new world. The atmosphere inside The Nest was a stark contrast to the cold night air. The room was warm, dimly lit with a blend of neon lights and subtle, ambient hues. The sound of music thrummed through the space, a rhythmic beat that pulsed beneath the surface, adding to the surreal atmosphere. As they walked through the club, San's gaze took in the surroundings. The Nest was a world apart from the upscale bar San had envisioned for his meeting with Wooyoung. The club's interior was vast, stretching across the entire basement of the building, and its size made it feel both grand and imposing. The space was a mix of opulence and grime, where luxury met decay in a unique blend. The décor featured lush velvet curtains that draped the walls, their rich, deep colors contrasting with the dim, ambient lighting. Mirrored walls reflected the soft glow of neon lights, creating an illusion of even greater depth and complexity. Plush seating areas were scattered throughout the room, their dark leather cushions inviting yet worn. The furniture was arranged in semi-private clusters, allowing for both intimacy and anonymity.

In one corner, a stage showcased a dancer who moved with fluid grace, his body—barely covered by any clothes—highlighted by the harsh, colorful spotlight. San's eyes were drawn to his figure moving through on the stage in a sensual dance; he couldn't spot his face clearly but was sure he had seen him somewhere else before. The boy on the pole seemed to notice San's gaze, flashing him a wicked smile and then winking at him. The boy's flirtatious behavior had the opposite effect, making San flush with embarrassment as he quickly looked away.

Xiaolong laughed, patting his shoulder and leading him to a plush, secluded couch in a corner. The old man's movements were deliberate, and he gestured for San to sit, offering him a drink from a nearby table. The glass was filled with a dark amber liquid and San took it gratefully, needing something to steady his nerves.

"So, what's your story, Choi San?" Xiaolong asked, settling into the seat across from him, his demeanor shifting from intimidating to mildly curious. "Why are you so determined to see Wooyoung? What's he to you?"

San took a deep breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair, "I met Wooyoung a while ago. He seemed like he was going through something, and I guess I just wanted to help. I don't know what's going on, but he's clearly in a difficult situation. I just wanted to be there for him, to offer support. I know he might not want it, but..."

Xiaolong studied him closely, a skeptical eyebrow raised, "And you think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? This place... it's not a simple situation. You might find out things you don't want to know"

San's expression hardened with resolve. "I'm not leaving until I know he's okay. Even if he pushes me away, I can see the cracks in the wall he's trying so desperately to build around himself. I need to make sure he's safe. I have to try"

Xiaolong took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the air. He looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding, "Alright, kid. You've got guts, I'll give you that. But be prepared. This isn't just about Wooyoung anymore. You're stepping into a world where things aren't always what they seem. Be careful not to get hurt"

San nodded, his resolve unshaken. "I understand. I just want to see him"

Xiaolong's expression softened slightly, a rare moment of empathy breaking through his otherwise gruff demeanor, "Fine. You can stay for as long as you want if you don't create any trouble for my little birds. Just remember, Wooyoung's not the only one with secrets in this place, so don't stick your nose where you shouldn't" and with that and a pat on San's thigh he walked away.

Nobody approached him as he sat in silence in the dark corner of the club, nobody tried to talk to him or even glaced his way. Only the boy behind the bar seemed to have noticed him because every once in a while his eyes moved subtly to San's direction, almost like he was trying to understand what San was doing there and who he was. San had noticed his gaze and when their eyes met he tried to smile, but the boy's lips remaind sealed in a straight line and soon enough he looked away. He didn't turn to San's direction anymore.

Hours seemed to drag one after the other and even if the club became emptier by the minute Wooyoung didn't make his way back. After a while Xiaolong came back offering him another drink, he apporached San with a wicked smile on his lips stating that if he was bored he could have just asked for one of his little birds, "Seonghwa would be more than happy to keep you company, I noticed how you looked at him, if you want—"

"I came here for Wooyoung" San replied firmly, that's the only thing that counted, that's the only thing he would have done: wait.

Xiaolong shrugged it, walking away and leaving San alone with his caos of thoughts. The ice in his glass had almost completely melted when he felt his eyes become heavier and he allowed himself to close them just for a brief second.

When he opened them again it was to a gentle touch on his shoulder. He blinked slowly, confused by his surroundings at first, he couldn't recognize the place, but then he turned and when his eyes met those of Wooyoung everything came back. The Nest was empty, only the lights of the bar were on, but the cute boy behind it had disappeared. It was just Wooyoung and him.

"You really waited for me" Wooyoung didn't greet him as he took a seat on the booth next to San, shining onyx eyes looking at him like they couldn't believe San was truly still there.

"I told you I would" he replied, his voice was hoarse for the brief sleep.

"You're a fool, what if I didn't come back?"

San noticed how Wooyoung was clenching at the hem of his sleevees pulling them down in a gesture that seemed almost desperate, his fingers were shaking against the thin fabric and San couldn't stop himself as he moved to put one of his hands on top of those of Wooyoung. The boy flinched, pulling them back as if the touch had burned him. His eyes looked scared and confused and San was taken aback for a second.

"I would have waited" he tried to recompose himself, "And if you hadn't come back, I would have turned Seoul upside down until I found you," he said, his tone steady. He turned his palm up, leaving it open in the air. He wouldn't impose himself on Wooyoung, it was clear he didn't like it, but he offered the chance for Wooyoung to touch him if he wanted to.

Wooyoung stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, his eyes lowered, "Why? What do you want from me?" His voice was barely a whisper, laden with vulnerability.

San took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Wooyoung, "I don't know all the answers, Wooyoung. But I do know that I care about you. I want to understand what's going on with you, and I want to be there for you. If that means waiting, then that's what I'll do"

He paused, letting his words sink in "I know your life is complicated, and I'm not here to judge or to make things harder for you. I'm not asking for promises or guarantees. I'm just asking for a chance to be a part of your life, however that might look. I don't want to force anything. I just want to—" he paused and Wooyoung looked up, "I just want to be friends"

Wooyoung's eyes searched San's face, still confused but softer now, looking for sincerity. The silence between them was heavy and San could feel his heart hammer against his ribcage.

"You're better off without me"

Maybe it was the way Wooyoung's voice lacked convincion that pushed San to immediately reply, "Let me be the judge of it"

"You don't understand. Happiness doesn't belong to me, I don't deserve it!"

"Everyone deserves it, Woo. You as well" You more than anyone else, screamed something inside of him but he didn't let the words out, "Give me a chance and if you can't stand my bad jokes and teasings anymore you can always kick me away"

San smiled, and when he noticed Wooyoung's lips curl a bit at the corners, he extended his hand once again, "Friends?"

Wooyoung's eyes looked at his palm, then he moved slowly, uncertain, his gestures holding the shadows of an old terror. But in the end, he grabbed San's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Okay" he sighed, "Friends" a little smile played on his lips.

And even though that night had started with a wish for something bigger, deeper, San realized he was happy with that first tiny step: friends. He hoped for more but the warmth of Wooyoung's hesitant but genuine handshake soothed his heart. He didn't lie; if that's what Wooyoung needed, he was willing to wait.