[tw: mentioned past abuse]

☾

The rhythmic pounding on the door echoed through the dimly lit hallway, each thud a frantic drumbeat in the night stillness. The forceful impacts reverberated through the thin wood, the sound growing more insistent with every passing moment. He didn't care if it was three in the morning, he didn't care if the neighbours reported him, he needed to get inside that damn apartment.

His fists were raw and trembling, his desperation visible in the strained muscles of his arms. The door was solid and unyielding, but he hammered against it with relentless determination, his breath coming in harsh, uneven bursts. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of anxious energy that matched the rhythm of his fists. His mind raced with frantic thoughts, images of Wooyoung's face flashing before him with each desperate strike.

A muttered curse, followed by a grumble of annoyance, reached San's ears as the door creaked open. Yeosang's face appeared in the gap, his expression a mix of irritation and fatigue. The sight of Yeosang's frustrated eyes only fueled San's anxiety.

"Dammit, San! Do you have to act like you're trying to break the door down?" Yeosang snapped, his voice sharp with irritation as he yanked the door open. He shot San a withering look, eyes narrowing in clear displeasure. "My leg isn't exactly up for a spid right now, and you could at least pretend to have some patience"

San barely registered Yeosang's scolding, his eyes darting past him into the apartment, every muscle in his body taut with worry. He didn't have time for this. He had no idea why Yeosang always seemed to have such an attitude with him. San had never done anything wrong—he'd always been there for Wooyoung, so why did Yeosang act like he didn't trust him? They bickered like this often enough, but today, San forced himself to push it aside. He had something far more important on his mind.

"Where is he?" His voice cracked, hoarse and almost pleading as he pushed past Yeosang without waiting for an answer. His desperation hung heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on.

Yeosang's lips thinned into a hard line, and for a brief moment, his irritation flared even brighter. It was clear he didn't want San there. His eyes lingered on him for a second longer than necessary, his lips curling into a scowl. He sighed, his disdain barely veiled, before muttering, "He's in his room. Xiaolong's with him, but don't think you can just barge in there. I doubt they'll let you in"

San didn't understand why Yeosang had to be so nasty about it. Every time they interacted, it was the same coldness, the same friction. But he let it slide. He wasn't here to argue—he just needed to make sure Wooyoung was okay.

He didn't wait for more; he moved swiftly down the hallway, his footsteps echoing with the same sense of urgency that had driven him to pound on the door. The silence of the apartment was heavy, filled with a tension that only amplified San's growing dread. Each step he took seemed to drag on for an eternity, the distance to Wooyoung's room stretching out before him like an insurmountable barrier.

San reached Wooyoung's door, his hand hovering uncertainly over the handle. Just as his fingers grazed the cold metal, he froze. Through the door, he could hear voices—muffled, low, almost too soft to make out. But it wasn't just Xiaolong and Wooyoung. There was someone else in there, too. His heart clenched, and his breath hitched painfully in his throat.

He turned abruptly, eyes locking onto Yeosang, "Who's in there with him?" his voice was sharp, almost frantic.

Yeosang's gaze flickered briefly with something San couldn't quite place—maybe hesitation—but then he sighed and answered, "There's a doctor in there. Xiaolong called him"

A doctor. San's stomach twisted violently, a sickening wave of dread washing over him. His pulse pounded in his ears, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. He didn't know exactly what had happened to Wooyoung, and now his mind raced through the worst possibilities. The presence of a doctor meant that something was really wrong—more than he'd been prepared for.

Panic surged in his chest, clawing at his throat. "A doctor?" San whispered, almost to himself, his legs suddenly feeling unsteady. He turned sharply to face Yeosang, eyes wide with fear, "Why would Xiaolong call a doctor? What happened to him?"

Yeosang's expression hardened, crossing his arms as if bracing for the inevitable, "You don't need to know that, San"

The dismissiveness stung like a slap. San's panic flared into anger, sharp and immediate, "What do you mean I don't need to know?" His voice trembled, fists clenched at his sides. "I care about him just as much as you do. If something happened, I deserve to know!"

Yeosang met San's gaze, his own frustration flashing across his features, "This isn't about what you think you deserve," he said, his voice low and cold. "You're not family, San. This isn't your place"

The words hit like a punch to the gut. San felt his jaw tighten, every muscle in his body tensing as his heart hammered in his chest, "You're not family either," he snapped back, the bitterness clear in his tone, "And don't act like I don't have a right to be here"

Yeosang's eyes flickered with something—anger, maybe, or just exhaustion, "I've known him longer," he said, quieter now but no less sharp, "You think just because you care about him, that gives you the right to—"

"I do have the right!" San interrupted, his voice rising with raw frustration. "I was there when he needed someone. You think this is about you? About some contest of who knows him better?" His breath came out ragged, his mind spinning, caught between panic and fury. "I just want to know if he's okay. I just need to see him"

Yeosang's gaze softened for just a moment, his eyes flickering with something unspoken—a brief glimpse of shared pain—before the wall came back up. His voice lowered, almost too quiet to hear, but the weight of his words hit hard. "You don't understand," he muttered, turning his head slightly as if deflecting the pressure of San's plea. "Wooyoung's been through hell. He doesn't need you barging in and making things worse" there was a slight tremor in his voice, something fragile beneath the sharpness. San caught it, but before he could process the meaning, Yeosang's expression hardened again.

"You're only here because Xiaolong allowed it. So stop being so fucking annoying or I'll kick you out myself"

San's chest tightened with the surge of guilt and anger. "You're the one being annoying! I'm not trying to make things worse!" His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling over, "I couldn't even reach him last night. Do you know how scared I was? He was with Woobin, and I—"

But his words broke off, breath catching in his throat, as the door to Wooyoung's room creaked open.

"Enough," Xiaolong hissed, his voice a sharp whisper, cutting through the tension like a blade. His gaze darted between the two of them, heavy with disapproval. "Do you want to wake him up? He doesn't need this right now"

San froze, guilt washing over him in an instant. He hadn't realized how loud they'd gotten. He glanced down, feeling the weight of Xiaolong's reprimand settle in his chest. His shoulders slumped, the fire of his anger extinguished, replaced by the gnawing worry that had driven him there in the first place.

"I just..." San's voice wavered, quieter now. "I need to know he's okay"

Xiaolong's expression softened ever so slightly. "He's resting. That's what he needs more than anything. Give him time"

Yeosang stayed silent, arms crossed, his earlier sharpness muted by Xiaolong's presence. He cast a quick glance at San, but didn't speak again.

San swallowed hard, feeling the helplessness gnawing at him again. "When can I see him?"

Xiaolong's sigh was heavy, but he didn't snap, "Not yet. He's stable, but he's been through enough. When he's ready, you'll see him"

San's eyes were wide, pleading, as he stepped closer to Xiaolong, "He's stable? What happened? Please, if I can't see him, at least tell me what happened!"

Xiaolong's face hardened slightly, the lines of worry etched deeply into his features. He looked over at Yeosang, who remained silent, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was a long pause, filled only with the soft hum of the apartment and the muted sounds from Wooyoung's room.

Xiaolong finally spoke, his voice low and controlled, "It's not my place to share details without his permission. Just know that he's safe now, and we're doing everything we can to help him. He's been through a lot, more than you know"

San's fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with a mix of fear and frustration. He could hardly believe Xiaolong's vague reassurances. The urgency of the night's events surged through him, and he struggled to contain his mounting anger, "Tell me what happened!" he demanded, his voice breaking with raw emotion. "He was with Woobin, you promised he would be safe. So what the fuck happened?"

Xiaolong's face darkened, his patience fraying as he tried to maintain control over the situation, "San, I need you to calm down. Wooyoung's stable, but—"

"Stable, stable, stable... What does that even mean?" San's voice cut through the room, sharp and accusatory, "What did he do to him? Tell me!"

"San, for fuck sake, can you—" Yeosang tried to intervene, grabbing his arm to pull him back, but San shook him off with a violent motion.

"Did he rape him?" it burst out from San's lips, his voice trembling with raw fear and desperation. His head was throbbing, his body shaking as the question hung in the air—heavy, unanswered. It was the silence and Xiaolong's grim stare to give San the reply he feared the most. San shook his head, unable to process, "No..."

It hit him like a physical blow. He staggered back, his breath catching in his throat as he processed the reality of what Xiaolong's silence implied. The room spun around him, his vision blurring with the force of his anguish. He crouched on the floor, his hands gripping his hair tightly, fighting to keep himself together. His vision wavered, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as the overwhelming agony took hold. The world felt like it was closing in on him, every breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of his own helplessness.

It came out ragged, in shallow gasps that only heightened the sense of panic tightening around his chest. Wooyoung had begun to feel better. It was the only concrete thought he could process. He was doing better, but now... His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each beat a harsh reminder of how terribly he had failed. The walls seemed to press in on him.

He wanted to lash out, to rip apart the reality that had left Wooyoung in such a state, but all he could manage was to clutch at his hair and try to ground himself. If he didn't go to Hongdae, if only he had insisted Wooyoung went with him, if he didn't sign the contract. If... If... If... His mind raced with a thousand frantic thoughts—regret, anger, and a helpless desire for retribution.

Through the throbbing pain and the fog of his emotions, one question cut through the chaos with brutal clarity. He looked up at Xiaolong, his face a mask of anguish and fury, "What happened to Woobin?" he demanded, his voice raw and trembling, a desperate cry for justice in the midst of his own unraveling sanity.

Xiaolong's expression hardened, his voice steady and controlled, "I took care of Woobin. He won't be bothering Wooyoung anymore"

San's rage simmered, but the vague reassurance wasn't enough, "That's it?" his voice cracked, a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "You're not going to tell me what really happened? Did you call the police? Woobin should be in jail for what he did!"

Xiaolong's gaze remained steady, unflinching, "The police won't be involved. We handle our own affairs here. Woobin's not a concern anymore"

The finality in Xiaolong's words struck San like a physical blow. His anger surged uncontrollably, a storm of frustration and helplessness that made his vision blur red, "You can't just let him go! He needs to pay for what he did!" San shouted, his voice echoing with raw fury.

In a blur of motion, San lunged at Xiaolong, grabbing his collar with a desperate, shaking grip, "How can you just let him get away with this?" His eyes were wild, the intensity of his emotion spilling over as he tried to confront the one person who seemed to hold the answers.

Yeosang, moving quickly, pulled San back with a firm grip, "Enough!" he shouted, his voice edged with a mix of frustration and concern, "You're not helping Wooyoung by causing more chaos here!"

Xiaolong remained unperturbed, his demeanor a stark contrast to San's frantic energy. He held San's gaze with a steely calm, unaffected by the outburst, "I understand you're angry, San. But lashing out won't change what happened. Woobin paid for what he did, we're doing what we can to ensure Wooyoung's safety"

San's breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps as Yeosang held him back. His body shook with the force of his emotions, a tempest of anger, guilt, and desperation. His heart pounded erratically, each beat a painful reminder of his inability to protect Wooyoung, "It's not enough! He can't get away with this," San managed to choke out, his voice a strained whisper. "He hurt Wooyoung! He—"

"San, you need to calm down," Yeosang's voice was sharp but laced with a hint of pleading. "Xiaolong's done what he can"

San's eyes, wild with rage and anguish, darted between Yeosang and Xiaolong. His breath came in ragged gasps, the raw intensity of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to lash out, to demand justice, to—

"San..."

San's head whipped around, his breath catching in his throat. The sound was so soft, so frail, it nearly broke him. His eyes darted to the door, which he hadn't noticed silently creaking open. It was only slightly ajar, and there, in the dim light spilling in from the living room, Wooyoung stood—his figure fragile, barely more than a shadow.

Wooyoung's face was a map of pain. Dark bruises stained his pale skin, deep purples and blues marring his cheeks and the space beneath his eyes. His split lip was raw and swollen, a painful reminder of how much he'd endured. His arm hung awkwardly in a sling, the sight of it twisting a knife deeper into San's chest. Wooyoung's whole posture was hunched, as if he wanted to disappear, to fold into the shadows where no one could see him.

But it was his eyes that hit San the hardest. They were vacant, hollow, robbed of the light and fire that had always been so uniquely Wooyoung. Now they seemed distant, as though he wasn't really there—like he was trying to shut out the world entirely.

The sight of him, so broken, so far away, felt like a punch straight to San's gut. His hands trembled, barely able to keep himself steady under the crushing weight of seeing Wooyoung like this. "Oh my god," he whispered, his voice cracking on the words, a sob escaping before he could stop it.

He saw Wooyoung flinch just from hearing him speak. He should've stopped, should've held himself back, but he couldn't help it—a small, instinctive step forward, as if closing the distance might somehow fix what was broken. But Wooyoung took a step back, shrinking further into the shadows, like he was trying to hide from San's gaze. The message was clear: don't come closer.

San's breath hitched. His mind reeled with a mixture of pain and confusion. He froze in place, though every fiber of his being screamed to close the distance between them—distance that now felt insurmountable. Without realizing it, he took another step, clearly one too many, because Wooyoung stepped back again, and this time it was unmistakable.

San's heart wrenched. Even though Yeosang's hands went back to hold him, it didn't matter. His knees buckled as the horrible realization sank in. Wooyoung wasn't just retreating from the room. He was retreating from him.

"Woo, what—" San's voice broke, the words dying in his throat.

"Sanie, please..." Wooyoung's voice—weak but relentless—stopped him, "Go away..." the exhaustion was evident in his every word, every movement, and yet, he didn't flinch as he quietly closed the door, retreating into the darkness behind it.

San's body shook violently, and this time, he couldn't stop himself as his knees gave out completely. Yeosang didn't try to hold him up as San collapsed to the floor, sobs tearing from his chest like nothing he'd ever felt before. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, over and over, the words spilling out without direction or purpose.

He didn't know who he was apologizing to—or why.

For everything, he guessed. For being helpless. For not protecting Wooyoung. For being unwanted now, left outside the walls that kept Wooyoung safe.

The rejection stung deeper than he wanted to admit. It hollowed out the remnants of his heart, leaving him raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt since the first time he realized how much Wooyoung meant to him. And now, despite all his love, all his desperation, he couldn't fix this. He couldn't reach him.

The memory of Wooyoung's haunted eyes, the distance in them that hadn't been there before, replayed in his mind like a punishment. He had been pushed away, not just physically but emotionally, and it was unbearable. Each breath felt like he was breathing through broken glass, jagged and painful. His chest constricted so tightly it hurt to inhale, but the sobs wouldn't stop. He clutched at the fabric of his shirt, as though by doing so, he could somehow hold himself together, even as everything around him—everything inside him—was unraveling.

He didn't care that Yeosang was watching. He didn't care about the harshness of the floor beneath him. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming, suffocating guilt. The guilt of not being enough. The guilt of not knowing how to be what Wooyoung needed right now.

Suddenly, rough hands grabbed his arms and pulled him up with surprising force. San blinked through the blur of tears, barely registering the movement until he found himself standing, albeit unsteadily. Yeosang's grip on his shoulders was firm, almost bruising, and his voice, sharp as ever, sliced through the fog of San's breakdown.

"Stop being so pathetic," Yeosang growled, his expression a mix of frustration and disgust, "Get your shit together. Wooyoung doesn't need you like this. He needs you to be strong, not some crybaby collapsing on the floor"

San swayed on his feet, the words hitting him like a slap. He wanted to be angry, to throw Yeosang's hands off him and scream in his face, but he felt too shattered to muster the strength. His chest tightened, more tears threatening to spill, but he bit them back, swallowing the sobs that still trembled in his throat.

"I—I'm trying," San managed, his voice weak, cracking at the edges, but Yeosang was having none of it.

"Trying isn't enough," Yeosang snapped, his grip on San's arms tightening for a moment before he shoved him toward the hallway. "Come on"

San stumbled, barely managing to catch his balance, and followed Yeosang down the corridor, every step feeling heavier than the last. His mind was still spinning, a mess of guilt and exhaustion, but he couldn't stop the flood of emotions crashing over him. As they passed Wooyoung's room, San's heart clenched painfully, his feet almost stopping on instinct. He wanted to see him, to feel like he could still help somehow, but Yeosang didn't slow down.

Instead, they came to a halt in front of a door San had never been through before—Yeosang's bedroom.

San blinked in confusion. "What... what are we doing here?" his voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Yeosang shot him a look filled with the usual bitterness that never seemed to leave his face. "You think I'm gonna make your bed for you? My leg hurts. I can't reach the blankets in the upper part of the wardrobe"

San's frown deepened as he tried to make sense of Yeosang's words, "Why?" his voice cracked, still not quite understanding.

"Because unless you want to sleep on the couch without blankets, you're going to get them yourself," Yeosang said, rolling his eyes. His tone was sharp, biting. "Don't expect me to make you comfortable"

San's head was spinning, "Wait, I thought... don't you want me out of here? Wooyoung said—"

"I know what he said," Yeosang interrupted coldly, cutting him off, "I heard him. But it's pretty obvious he's not fine right now. And, well, it would be too cruel, even for someone like you, to kick you out right now" his eyes flicked to the floor for a moment, then back to San. "So stop asking questions and get the fucking blankets before I change my mind"

San stood frozen for a moment, the weight of everything catching up with him all over again. He didn't know if he should thank Yeosang or lash out at him, but either way, the exhaustion in his bones left him unable to do either. All he could do was nod and move toward the wardrobe, reaching for the blankets.

He returned to the main room not much after, pausing when he noticed Yeosang and Xiaolong at the isle of the kitchen, whispering to each other. Their voices were too low to hear, but the tension between them was palpable. As soon as they spotted him, Xiaolong turned, his expression uncertain, a flicker of something—hesitation, maybe?—in his eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" Xiaolong asked Yeosang quietly, but loud enough for San to catch the words.

Yeosang nodded, his face set in that familiar mask of cold resolve. Then, raising his voice, he addressed San directly. "He won't bother Wooyoung again or make a scene, right?"

San froze, the weight of the blankets pressing awkwardly against his chest. His throat tightened, too embarrassed to form a proper response. He could feel the heat of their gazes on him, the weight of their judgment hanging in the air. Instead of speaking, he shook his head quickly, his voice barely above a whisper when he muttered, "Thank you for letting me stay"

Neither of them responded. With his heart still pounding in his chest, San walked past them and busied himself with arranging the blankets on the couch. His movements were slow, methodical, as if the simple task could distract him from the mess in his mind.

Behind him, Yeosang and Xiaolong sat at the bar, the sound of liquid pouring into glasses followed by the soft clink of glass against glass. They didn't invite him to join, not that San expected them to. After all, he wasn't their friend. He wasn't part of their world, not really. He was just... there. An unwelcome guest, tolerated only because of Wooyoung.

San's fingers lingered over the edge of the blanket, his mind drifting as he caught glimpses of the two men drinking in silence. It felt strange, being so close yet so distant from everything happening around him. His thoughts spiraled, guilt twisting in his gut again. What would Wooyoung think if he knew he was still here, despite being told to leave?

Suddenly, the door to Wooyoung's room creaked open. San's head snapped up, and he froze as a man stepped out—someone he hadn't seen before. The man didn't look like a typical doctor. His movements were too casual, too calculated, and the way his eyes briefly swept over the room before focusing on Xiaolong sent a shiver down San's spine.

This man wasn't here just to treat Wooyoung. He was clearly part of the darker side of the business Xiaolong was involved in, the underworld that seemed to shape everything around Wooyoung's life. The doctor walked straight to Xiaolong, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. San strained to hear, but the low murmur of their conversation was too quiet, too distant for him to make out the words. All he could see was Xiaolong nodding occasionally, his expression unreadable.

San's fingers tightened on the blanket as he watched the exchange. His mind raced, filled with questions, but he knew better than to ask. This was a world he didn't belong to, a world where secrets thrived in the dark.

After a few moments, Xiaolong reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of notes, handing them to the doctor. The man accepted it without a word, offering a quick bow before turning to leave. As he did, his gaze flicked over San briefly, but he said nothing, disappearing into the night.

Xiaolong's eyes followed the man's departure, but before he left the room himself, he glanced over at San. His gaze was cold, detached, but there was something sharper lurking behind his eyes.

"If he misbehaves, call me," Xiaolong stretched the word into a mocking tone, his voice flat but firm. Then, without waiting for Yeosang's answer, he left the house, the door closing with a finality that left San feeling even more isolated.

After Xiaolong left, the silence between San and Yeosang stretched long and heavy. The air in the room felt dense, almost too thick to breathe. San sat there, his hands awkwardly resting on the blanket he had arranged, unsure if he should say anything at all. The quiet wasn't new—Yeosang had always been cold and distant—but tonight, the tension felt different, more fragile, like something was simmering just beneath the surface.

Without a word, Yeosang reached for the bottle that sat on the bar, his movements deliberate but slower than usual. He poured a drink, the liquid catching the dim light as it splashed into the glass. For a moment, San thought that was it—that they'd sit there in silence forever, never acknowledging the chaos of the night. But then, Yeosang slid the glass across the bar toward him.

San hesitated, glancing from the glass to Yeosang's face, but Yeosang didn't meet his eyes. There was no invitation, no warmth, but there was no rejection either. It was as close to an olive branch as San had ever gotten from him. Tentatively, he stood and took the drink, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass and taking a long, slow sip. The alcohol burned its way down, but it helped, if only to take the edge off the emotional turmoil swirling in his chest.

The silence lingered, each sip of alcohol amplifying the things San had tried so hard to suppress. He wasn't sure how much time passed—minutes, hours? The alcohol blurred the edges of his thoughts, loosening the tight hold he had on himself. Every breath felt heavy, every beat of his heart too loud in his ears.

He turned his gaze to Yeosang, who was still sitting in quiet contemplation, his fingers tracing the rim of his own glass. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his features, but San noticed something different tonight. Yeosang's usual icy demeanor was slipping, his exhaustion clear in the way his shoulders sagged slightly, in the faint darkness beneath his eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the strain of everything catching up with him, but Yeosang looked less put-together, less invincible.

San's mind buzzed with questions, with feelings he didn't know how to voice. The alcohol had softened his defenses, his normally careful words slipping away from him. His throat tightened as he looked down at his half-empty glass, the weight of the moment pressing in from all sides.

Finally, unable to bear the silence anymore, San's voice broke through, low and rough, "Why do you hate me so much?"

Yeosang didn't react at first, his gaze still fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. San half-expected the usual biting retort, some snide remark to cut him down. But instead, after a moment, Yeosang let out a soft, breathless laugh—a sound that seemed almost foreign coming from him.

"I don't hate you, San" His voice was quieter than usual, and there was something raw in it, something vulnerable, "I really don't"

San blinked, surprised, his mind struggling to catch up with the words. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss. For so long, he'd been convinced that Yeosang's disdain was rooted in hate. But now... now the certainty he had felt for so long was slipping away, leaving behind only confusion.

"Then why—" San's voice faltered, but he forced himself to continue, the alcohol giving him just enough courage to push through. "Why are you always so mean to me?"

Yeosang lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long sip before setting it down with a quiet clink. For a moment, he didn't say anything, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass as if searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with something San couldn't quite place—frustration, maybe, or resignation.

"Because..." Yeosang exhaled, his breath shaky. He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with San for the first time that night, and there was something sharp and intense in his stare, "Because I can tell that you're in love with him"

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. San felt his heart stutter in his chest, the breath catching in his throat. He could only stare back at Yeosang, his pulse thundering in his ears. The accusation—no, the truth—hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Yeosang's gaze didn't waver, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn't say it with malice, or cruelty. He said it like a fact, like something he'd known for a long time but hadn't bothered to speak aloud.

"And what's so wrong if I love him?" there was no point in denying it. San's voice trembled, a mix of defiance and vulnerability. The alcohol had emboldened him, but it also stripped away the layers he usually hid behind. His heart raced as he challenged Yeosang, a need to defend his feelings surging within him.

Yeosang's expression shifted, the sharpness softening for just a moment. He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, the tension in his body still evident, "It's not about what's wrong with loving him, San. It's about what that love might cost"

San shook his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. "You think I don't know what I'm getting into? You think I don't understand?" He couldn't hide the hurt in his voice, the desperation that clung to each word, "You don't know anything about me or what I feel for him"

"Maybe I do," Yeosang shot back, the tension rising again. "You think this is some fairytale? Our life isn't like yours. Wooyoung's caught up in things you can't even begin to understand"

The truth in Yeosang's words stung, and for a moment, San felt the weight of their reality pressing down on him. The shadows of Wooyoung's past—of his present—loomed large, and the fear of losing him clenched like a fist around San's heart. "I just want to be there for him," San admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "Even if it means being just friends"

The words hung between them, fragile, vulnerable. San's chest tightened as he spoke, the weight of his own admission suffocating. Loving Wooyoung, in any form, was enough—at least, that's what he told himself. But Yeosang wasn't swayed. His eyes, sharp as ever, narrowed in concern. He leaned forward, placing his glass down with a deliberate thud, the sound punctuating the silence between them.

"That's the problem," Yeosang said quietly, his voice almost too calm. "You say you want to be there for him, but you don't understand what that means" he stood up, pacing slowly in front of San, tension building with every limping step, "You're not like us, San. You're not part of the world we live in. It's going to chew you up and spit you out, and when that happens—" Yeosang paused, his voice catching, "When that happens, you'll leave. You'll give up. And when you do, Wooyoung's the one who'll be left to pick up the pieces"

San flinched at the harshness of Yeosang's words, but deep down, he couldn't deny the truth behind them. He knew Wooyoung's world was dark, filled with secrets and sufferings San could barely comprehend. But still, the thought of abandoning him, of leaving Wooyoung even more broken than he already was, felt like a betrayal of everything he felt for him.

"I wouldn't leave him," San insisted, but even as he said it, his voice wavered, "I— I couldn't!"

Yeosang looked up again to face him, his expression raw, almost pleading, "You say that now, but the weight of it... it's going to crush you, San. You can't carry his pain forever. You don't know how heavy it is—I don't even know how heavy it is for fuck sake. Do you understand how much it costs to stay by his side when things get worse?"

The words sliced through the air, cutting deep into San's resolve, "What are you saying?" he whispered, his throat tightening, "That I should just walk away now?"

Yeosang's gaze softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "No. I'm saying that if you become someone Wooyoung needs... someone he relies on, and then one day you realize you can't handle it anymore... when you break and walk away, it'll destroy him. Completely. The love you think will help him? It could end up being the thing that shatters him for good"

San's heart clenched painfully at the thought, "But I don't want to hurt him. I never want to hurt him"

"Then think carefully about what you're offering," Yeosang said, his voice firm but not unkind. "What happens if you become famous? What if they move you to the US? What if you won't have the time to be with him... Wooyoung can't take this, San. He's barely holding on as it is. If you're going to stay, if you're going to be there for him, you need to know what that really means. It's not just love—it's sacrifice. It's watching him spiral, it's carrying his darkness, and it's knowing that you might never be enough to save him"

Yeosang stepped closer, his gaze locking with San's, heavy with the weight of his words. "Can you handle that?"

"Why are you telling me this? Do you have such a little trust in me?" he hissed more wounded than he expected to sound.

San watched as something shifted in Yeosang's expression. The usual cold sharpness was still there, but beneath it, San could sense a heaviness, a kind of pain Yeosang had kept hidden. It was subtle, just the smallest crack in the armor he always wore, but enough for San to feel the bitterness that clung to every word he pronounced. "I'm telling you this because I've been there myself," Yeosang's voice was sharp, but the vulnerability beneath it made San pause, "And look where I ended up. A fucking cripple who can barely sleep at night. You think I want that for Wooyoung? To see him spiral like I did? To watch him lose everything until all that's left is this—" he gestured vaguely toward his leg, his expression tightening, "A life that's barely worth living"

San blinked, caught off guard by the rawness of Yeosang's admission. He could see how hard it was for him to say those words, to expose that part of himself. The sharp edges Yeosang usually kept up so fiercely seemed dulled now, a heaviness clinging to him that San hadn't fully noticed before.

For a moment, San didn't know what to say. He poured another glass of alcohol, his hand steady despite the whirlwind inside him, and passed it to Yeosang. "What happened to you?" San asked quietly, the question slipping out before he could think better of it.

Yeosang hesitated, staring at the glass in his hand, his jaw clenched. The tension between them thickened, but this time it wasn't just anger—it was something deeper.

For the first time, San saw the cracks in Yeosang's armor, the shadows of a past that had clearly broken him.

"It's not something I like to talk about," Yeosang muttered, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long drink. His fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles white, "Let's just say... I trusted someone I shouldn't have. Gave them everything, and when it fell apart—when I fell apart—there was no one left to pick me up. No one gave a damn about me, not the way you care about Wooyoung"

San stayed silent, his chest tightening as he listened. This wasn't the version of Yeosang he knew—the sharp, bitter version that always pushed him away. This was something deeper, more wounded.

"I got involved in things I shouldn't have. Made choices that can't be undone," Yeosang continued, his voice quieter now, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a warning. "I ended up in this... mess. My body—" he paused, his jaw tightening and his hand flying to his leg as if he could recall a past physical pain, "You don't want to know the details San... But I'm scared that Wooyoung will head down my same path and it terrifies me"

San stayed silent, absorbing the weight of Yeosang's confession. He could see how much it took for him to admit it, the cracks in his tough exterior showing for the first time since San had known him. It was unnerving, seeing Yeosang—usually so cold and bitter—reveal this level of vulnerability. He could almost feel the tension in the air tighten as Yeosang's words sank in.

San swallowed hard, not sure how to respond. He felt out of his depth, a mixture of guilt, sorrow, and frustration brewing inside him. Pouring another glass, he took a long sip, the alcohol burning down his throat.  The question formed before he could stop it, "How did you recover from all that?"

Yeosang scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping before he shook his head, "Recover?" he took a long sip from his glass, staring into it as if it held all the answers. "I didn't recover, San. I survived. There's a difference"

San frowned, but before he could respond, Yeosang continued, his tone more subdued, "It wasn't just time that helped. Xiaolong... he convinced me to see a doctor. Not just any doctor—someone I could actually talk to. They helped me understand that what happened wasn't my fault" he paused, his expression hardening slightly, "Doesn't mean I always believe it. But now, I've got people around me who care, people who don't let me drown in it"

San listened closely, the unexpected openness from Yeosang striking a chord within him. It wasn't some miraculous fix, no sudden relief from the pain, but it was something—an admission that even the strongest people could accept help.

"Sometimes," Yeosang added, his voice softening further, "just knowing you're not alone makes it a little easier to bear"

"Yeosang-ah," San said, filling his glass again before looking straight at the boy. "Wooyoung isn't alone either. And I swear to you, I'm not like that person. I won't leave him. I'd rather risk breaking than never knowing what it feels like to be with him"

Yeosang's gaze met San's, a flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe skepticism—passing between them. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. There was a tension in the air, a weight of shared pain and unspoken fears.

San leaned in slightly, his voice low but firm. "I know what's at stake, Yeosang. I know it's not just about love. It's about being there when it counts. And I won't let him face it alone"

Yeosang's expression softened, but the shadows in his eyes lingered, "Just... promise me you'll be careful, okay? This isn't a game. It's real, and it hurts like hell"

"I promise," San replied, his heart racing as he felt the gravity of his words. "I won't let him down"

Yeosang scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his glass and mader it clink against San's, "I have to admit, you're not so bad, Choi San"

☾

A/N—Def a doberman in this chapter, curious about Yeosang's story?