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San walked through the small beachside apartment, the faint scent of saltwater drifting in through the open windows. He grabbed his guitar and headphones, slipping them over his shoulder as he headed toward the porch. It was the perfect time to go over the latest song he'd recorded. He could feel that he was close—a few more adjustments, and the demo would be just right. Besides, he realized he could use the distraction.

The warmth of the sun greeted him as he stepped outside, and he took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. The ocean stretched out before him, calm and steady, its rhythm a gentle lull that contrasted with the quiet unease humming inside him.

Settling down on the porch steps, San placed his guitar beside him and stared at the waves for a moment. There was a peaceful happiness in the air, the kind that came from simply being here. The September air was still warm, but not stifling. Everything felt close to perfect—being here with Wooyoung, even if just for a couple of days, felt like a dream. San hadn't expected Wooyoung to agree to come with him, half-expecting something to go wrong at the last minute. But Wooyoung hadn't changed his mind. And now, they were spending two whole days together, alone, surrounded by the sound of the ocean and the music of San's guitar. He realized he was living one of the happiest moments of his life.

Yet beneath that happiness, there was a subtle current of anxiety. His thoughts kept circling back to his mother, her worsening condition, and the lingering fear that something might happen while he was away—condemning him to a future of guilt and regret.

As if sensing his thoughts from miles away, San's phone vibrated softly in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a new message from his mom. She asked if he was enjoying his time off, attaching a selfie of her with her best friend—the kind woman who had offered to help care for her while San was away. She told him not to worry about her. San couldn't help but smile, but underneath it, his heart ached. Her disease was worsening, and when they spoke on the phone, her voice seemed a little frailer, her laugh quieter. San knew it was inevitable, but he still couldn't shake the anxiety completely.

With a heavy sigh, he scrolled through his phone and found the picture Wooyoung had taken of him the day before. Bare-chested, guitar in hand, sitting on the white sand, staring out at the ocean. He looked happy, carefree—without a worry in the world. He knew his mom would love it. San sent it to her with a message: "Having a good time, omma. Wish you were here. Love you"

It felt like a half-truth. He was enjoying his time with Wooyoung, but the weight of everything—his mom's health, Wooyoung's struggles, his own helplessness—made it hard to fully relax.

He glanced back into the small rented apartment. Wooyoung had gone out to pick up dinner and drinks, leaving San some rare time alone with his thoughts. San wore his headphones and played the demo he saved the day before leaving, then grabbed his guitar and strummed a few soft chords. His fingers danced across the strings with a practiced grace, but as the song kept playing inside his ears he realized he couldn't really focus—his mind wasn't on the music. It was on Wooyoung.

Six months. Six long, beautiful, painful months. He hadn't planned on falling in love, but how could he not? Wooyoung wasn't like most people. From the very first moment San met him, he could see it—there was a sadness, a heaviness in Wooyoung that lingered just beneath the surface, as if life had worn him down before he ever had a chance to fight back. It was something anyone could notice if they looked closely enough—the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the quiet sadness in his eyes, the way he sometimes looked past people instead of at them.

But for all his pain, Wooyoung loved fiercely. In a world that had broken him down, he still gave what little he had left to the people he cared about. San could never understand how someone so wounded could be so selfless, so willing to bleed for others without a second thought. Even on days when Wooyoung was barely holding himself together, he'd show up for his friends with a quiet strength, offering them pieces of himself without ever asking for anything in return.

It broke San's heart, really. Wooyoung, who deserved love more than anyone San had ever known, couldn't see it. Couldn't see how much he was worth. It was as if Wooyoung had convinced himself that love wasn't something meant for him—that it was something to give, not to receive. And so, San tried. He tried every day, in small ways, to show him love. Because San truly loved him with everything he had, even if he never said it out loud.

And then there were the rare moments when Wooyoung would let his guard down—when the weight of the world seemed to lift just enough for him to breathe freely. Those moments were like magic to San. Wooyoung's laughter, usually so rare and fleeting, would spill out like sunshine breaking through clouds. It was the kind of laugh that could heal wounds, even if just for a moment. It was those moments when Wooyoung became someone else—someone lighter, someone unburdened, someone who made San believe that maybe things could get better.

And San lived for those moments. He cherished every one of them, held onto them like precious memories, because when Wooyoung laughed like that, San could almost forget the sadness. And in those rare instances, he saw the man Wooyoung could be—the man he already was, underneath all the pain. That's the man San loved. The man who needed love so much but didn't know how to accept it. And no matter how much it hurt, San wasn't going to stop showing him that love, in the hope that one day, Wooyoung might finally believe he deserved it.

Wooyoung was definitely doing better, but San wasn't blind—or delusional. He knew there was still a long road ahead. The bad days had lessened, but they still came often enough to keep San on edge. The pain lurking beneath Wooyoung's surface was still there, and sometimes it flared up with a ferocity that terrified him. On those days, it was as if Wooyoung became unreachable, slipping away behind a veil of silence and distance. There were moments when Wooyoung would stop answering his calls, or refuse to open the door until San was on the verge of breaking it down. In those moments, the fear that gripped San was a cold, suffocating thing, a gnawing dread that he might not be able to pull Wooyoung back from the edge.

San wasn't oblivious. He saw the signs, even if Wooyoung tried to mask them. He noticed the bandages Wooyoung would awkwardly conceal, the faint lines of old cuts on his skin that peeked out from under his long-sleeved shirts, even in the sweltering heat. Despite his best efforts, the truth was always just beneath the surface. San saw the way Wooyoung would flinch sometimes, a brief, involuntary reaction that betrayed the hidden pain. And when San asked if he was okay, Wooyoung would brush it off with a casual shrug that only deepened San's concern.

It frightened him more than anything else. The thought of pushing too hard and driving Wooyoung further into his shell was unbearable. He feared that if he pressed too much, Wooyoung would build an even higher wall around himself, shutting San out entirely and leaving him helplessly outside, watching as the person he loved more than anything slipped further away.

San had tried to reach out in every way he could. He had attempted to talk to Wooyoung during moments of calm, maybe while they were sharing a beer together, or in the throes of Wooyoung's darker moments, when he laid curled up in his bed as if trying to disappear. San tried to be patient, but sometimes his frustration seeped through, making him lash out in anger. The hurt, the fear that Wooyoung might not trust him enough to open up, made him shout and slam doors. Yet, each time he realized his mistake, he understood that he didn't fully grasp the depth of Wooyoung's pain or the difficulty it would cause him to reveal those scars. And so, he returned each time, seeking forgiveness and trying to care for Wooyoung in the way he needed.

San wished with all his heart that Wooyoung would open up to him someday, but more often than not, he feared it would never happen. The worst part was knowing that Wooyoung might never share the truth behind those scars—not just the physical ones, but the invisible ones he carried inside. San had his guesses, but he preferred not to dwell on them; the possibilities were too unsettling to confront. Moreover, he could see how Wooyoung's job was weighing heavily on him. Kim Woobin. The very thought of him made San's stomach churn with anger and jealousy. Woobin, the man who was always around Wooyoung, the one San was certain was the source of much of Wooyoung's pain.

Every time San saw Woobin's name pop up on Wooyoung's phone, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. The rich, good-looking man who seemed to have all the charm in the world, yet San felt an undeniable urge to hate him with every fiber of his being. He knew that Woobin was the only client Wooyoung slept with, a detail that made his stomach clench with a mix of fury and helplessness.

Woobin didn't care about Wooyoung—San was sure of that. He didn't see the kindness or the hurt behind Wooyoung's walls; to Woobin, Wooyoung was just another object, a body to be used whenever it suited him. It made San sick. He knew how much Wooyoung hated being touched, how he flinched away from even the gentlest brush of a hand as if it burned him. San never forced it even if sometimes he wished he could just take Wooyoung between his arms, hide his face in the crook of his neck and inhale that sweet fragrance that San grew so addicted to. But he never did, instead he always gave Wooyoung the choice, extending a hand and letting Wooyoung decide whether he wanted to accept it or not. But Woobin... Woobin slept with Wooyoung, and the thought of that made San's stomach churn, not just with jealousy but with a deep, gnawing hatred. He knew Wooyoung must hate those moments, and that realization tore him apart far more than anything else.

San could see it in the forced smiles, the way Wooyoung's shoulders slumped whenever Woobin's name was mentioned. It all spoke of the unhappiness Wooyoung kept buried deep inside. San couldn't shake the feeling that Woobin's charm was a facade, hiding a cruelty that chipped away at Wooyoung's already fragile spirit. The very idea that Wooyoung, who deserved nothing but love and tenderness, was trapped in this toxic relationship filled San with rage. It was more than just jealousy—it was the pain of seeing someone he loved being reduced to an object by a man who didn't care for him at all.

But what could San do? He was just the friend—the one Wooyoung leaned on when he needed someone, not the one who could pull him out of the world he was trapped in. It was painful to accept, but San knew he couldn't interfere. He couldn't ask Wooyoung to quit, to give up the one thing that gave him any sense of control, even if it meant staying in a life that was breaking him down. That would mean asking him to give up his independence, his livelihood. And as much as San hated it, he understood that.

He had tried before, though—not directly, but in careful, roundabout ways. He'd brought it up in conversations, gently nudging Wooyoung to see that there could be something better out there for him. Wooyoung had shut him down every time, his voice steady but carrying a quiet finality that cut deep. He'd say there was nothing else he could do, that this was the only thing he was good at, the only way he knew how to survive. The defeat in Wooyoung's words haunted San long after their conversations ended.

San had pushed, thinking that maybe he could make Wooyoung see himself differently, make him realize that he deserved so much more than this life. But it wasn't long before San realized that trying to change Wooyoung's mind wasn't just futile—it hurt him. Every attempt only seemed to wound Wooyoung more deeply, as if San was questioning his very existence, his choices, his worth. So, eventually, San stopped. He swallowed his frustration and tried to accept Wooyoung's decision, even if it tore at him inside. He told himself he could live with it, that respecting Wooyoung's choices was the right thing to do. But deep down, the thought of Wooyoung being stuck in that world felt like a weight he'd never be able to shake.

He tried not to think about it—about how much it all hurt—but sometimes, late at night, when the weight of it became too much and he'd had one too many drinks, the floodgates would open. That was when he'd find himself reaching for his phone, dialing Mingi or Hwasa in a haze of frustration and pain. And on those calls, San would break. He'd cry—not just soft tears, but the kind of sobbing that came from deep within, from a place where all his fears and helplessness had been buried for too long. He cried about the unfairness of it all, about how much he wished he could be enough for Wooyoung. He cried about how badly he wanted to be the one to take away Wooyoung's pain, to carry the weight for him, to be more than just a friend standing on the sidelines.

Not a single one of those calls ever ended without his friends coming to him. It didn't matter how late it was or how tired they were—Mingi and Hwasa always showed up. And for that, San was endlessly grateful. He was grateful for their quiet presence, for the way they never judged him when he fell apart, for the way they shared his tears without saying much at all. Mingi would pat his back awkwardly, the discomfort clear in his clumsy attempts to console, while Hwasa, always more direct, would tell him in her no-nonsense way to just confess his feelings already. But it wasn't that simple, and they both knew it.

San knew that spilling his heart wouldn't fix anything. It would only complicate things more. Wooyoung didn't need the added pressure of a relationship—he didn't need the burden of San's love on top of everything else he was already dealing with. Not now. Maybe not ever. And that was the hardest part of all. Knowing that no matter how much he loved Wooyoung, no matter how desperately he wanted to be the one to save him, love alone wasn't enough to fix what was broken.

He paused the music, fingers brushing against the chords until he got the melody he was looking for and he wrote it down on the small notebook next to him. He was about to strumm a few more notes when he heard silent steps walking down the driveway. Wooyoung stopped in front of him, arms full of bags, and it was like his face lit up the second he saw San with his guitar.

"Hey, what are you playing?" Wooyoung asked, his voice bright, though San could see the fatigue underneath.

San smiled softly, setting the guitar down beside him, "Just messing around, nothing special"

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye "Oh yeah? I couldn't recognize those notes though, I thought it was a new song" He dropped the bags onto the counter and came back to sit beside San, "So, what are you working on?"

San shrugged, trying to hide the flustered feeling in his chest. Wooyoung always made him feel like he was a kid with a crush, and it was both exhilarating and painful, "It's nothing really, I recorded it a few days ago, but it's far from finished. Do you—" he hesitated, he could feel the flush expand on his cheeks and neck, "Do you want to hear it?"

"Always," Wooyoung replied instantly. He reached out and grabbed one of San's headphones before San could even offer them. He slid it into his ear, leaning in close to San as he listened to the demo on San's phone.

San held his breath for a moment. The song playing in Wooyoung's ear was one of the most personal songs he'd ever written. It was about love—the kind of love that consumed you, that made you want to give everything for someone even if you knew you'd never get the same in return. He'd written it with Wooyoung in mind, though he'd never told him that.

As Wooyoung listened, San observed his expression closely. His eyes were closed, and he was nodding slightly to the beat, a small smile tugging at his lips. If San could, he would have stared at him forever, lingering on every small detail—the little mole under Wooyoung's left eye, right next to the pale scar that became visible only when his skin was slightly tanned. He took in the beauty mark on Wooyoung's lower lip, the one Wooyoung hated and always tried to cover with makeup. San wished he could tell him how cute it was and how it made him want to kiss it until it grew darker and swollen. The faint remnants of past bruises lingered under his eyes, subtle but present, adding depth to his gaze. Wooyoung's long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, which looked as soft as the fluffiest bread. San's gaze traced his cheekbones, noting a slight unevenness where his skin had healed from old wounds, the prominent jaw, and the nose, slightly crooked as if it had been broken.

There was no detail San didn't love. Wooyoung was the most beautiful person in San's eyes. When a strand of hair fell across Wooyoung's face, San was tempted to tuck it behind his ear. But then the song ended, and Wooyoung opened his eyes. When he did, he looked at San with such open admiration that it took San's breath away.

"That was beautiful, San," Wooyoung whispered, his voice full of awe, "You... you're so talented. I don't think I tell you that enough"

San felt his face heat up, and he had to look away for a moment to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks, "Thanks," he murmured, his voice sounding rougher than he intended.

But Wooyoung didn't stop there. He reached out, placing a hand on San's arm, his touch so rare and gentle that it made San's heart stutter in his chest, "I mean it, San. You... you're amazing. I don't think I'd get through half of the things I do without you by my side"

San swallowed hard. He wanted to say something, anything, to let Wooyoung know how much that meant to him. But the words caught in his throat. How could he tell Wooyoung that his entire world revolved around him? That every song he wrote in the past six months was for him? That he stayed up at night worrying about him, wishing he could protect him from everything, even the things that lived inside his own mind? Instead, he just smiled, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"I'm always here for you," he said softly. "Always"

Wooyoung's eyes softened, and for a moment, San wondered if Wooyoung knew. If he could sense the depth of San's feelings. But if he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he gave San's arm a small squeeze before standing up and heading over to the kitchen.

"Okay, let's eat!" Wooyoung said cheerfully, breaking the tension as if it had never existed, "I got all your favorites"

San let out a small laugh, shaking his head. He admired Wooyoung's ability to move past heavy moments so quickly, but at the same time, he wished Wooyoung would let him in just a little bit more. There was so much pain hidden behind that bright smile, and San wanted nothing more than to be the one to take it all away. But for now, he would settle for this. For the small moments of laughter and the stolen glances. For the way Wooyoung looked at him like he was the only person in the world when he played his guitar. San could live with that. Even if it meant hiding his feelings a little longer.