[tw: mentioned past death and self-harm]

☾

The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive in its weight. Wooyoung's body was stiff, his back straight but shoulders tense, as though any movement could shatter the fragile composure he had left. His fingers twisted compulsively at the hem of his sleeves, the fabric stretching under the pressure of his grip. He hadn't spoken since he entered, but his body was speaking for him—sharp inhales that didn't reach the depth of breath, the slight tremor in his hands.

Wooyoung stared past Doctor Choi, his gaze unfocused, hands curled into the fabric of his sweater. He had barely said a word since the session began, his thoughts knotted too tightly to untangle. Jongho wasn't rushing him—he never did—but Wooyoung could feel his quiet attentiveness, the weight of his patience. It was almost worse than being questioned outright.

He knew what Jongho was waiting for. Knew that the silence stretching between them wasn't empty, wasn't unnoticed. But what was there to say? That he had done what he thought was right, and it had left him feeling like this? That he had pushed San away so many times that now San had finally stopped reaching for him? Yeosang had tried to talk sense into him, Jongho had tried too, but none of it mattered. This was what he had chosen. He just hadn't expected it to hurt like this.

"Wooyoung," Jongho finally said, his voice soft but steady, reaching out for him in a way that wasn't invasive, but welcoming. "You've been quieter than usual today. What's on your mind?"

The question was simple enough, but it cut through the tension in the room like a knife. Wooyoung didn't answer immediately. Instead, he kept his eyes lowered, focusing on the frayed edges of his sleeves, as if looking anywhere but at Jongho could make the suffocating weight of his thoughts go away.

Then, just as Jongho was about to repeat the question, the words finally came, slipping from Wooyoung's lips in a barely audible whisper.

"San... is gone"

Jongho didn't react right away. He never did. He simply observed—the way Wooyoung's fingers twisted at his sleeves with growing urgency, the way his breath came uneven, shallow, like he was struggling to keep himself together. Wooyoung hadn't lifted his head once.

"I pushed him away," he admitted, voice raw, fraying at the edges. "I thought it was what was best. For both of us. But... I don't feel relief" His chest rose in a shaky inhale, but the air didn't seem to reach his lungs. "It feels like... it feels like I've lost everything"

Jongho didn't fill the silence. He let the words settle, let Wooyoung hear them out loud, let him feel their weight. And Wooyoung did—he felt it in the tightness of his throat, in the aching hollowness behind his ribs. His jaw clenched, like biting down on the words might stop them from unraveling further, but it was too late. The truth was already out.

"Tell me what it feels like," Jongho finally asked, his voice quiet, careful not to push too hard. "What's going on inside your head?"

Wooyoung's fingers twisted harder at the sleeve, as though trying to strangle whatever feeling threatened to surface. His mouth opened slightly as if he was about to speak, but nothing came out. His brow furrowed, and he looked like he was grappling with something that was too heavy to put into words.

"It doesn't make any sense. I should be relieved, right?" he muttered, more to himself than to Jongho. His voice was strained, flat, as though he had convinced himself of this truth and was still trying to make it real. "I pushed him away. I... made him leave. That's what I wanted. But... I'm not relieved. I'm just... angry. With myself"

Jongho's gaze never wavered. He remained calm, a quiet presence, letting Wooyoung navigate through his tangled emotions.

"What are you angry at yourself for, Wooyoung?" he asked gently, his voice a low hum, trying not to press too hard but wanting to give Wooyoung a chance to speak—if he was ready.

Wooyoung closed his eyes tightly for a moment, his hands pressing into his thighs like he was holding himself together. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, but Jongho didn't break it. He gave Wooyoung the space he needed.

When Wooyoung spoke again, his words were a mix of frustration and guilt, spilling out in a quick rush. "I... I don't deserve him. I've always been the one causing pain, the one who messes everything up. My mom... Kyungmin... San... I ruined all of them. If I hadn't been so... so fucked up, they'd be okay. And now I've lost him, too. I don't deserve to have him"

The words came out fractured, raw, as though they had been locked inside him for far too long, and now that they had finally escaped, there was no stopping them.

Jongho's heart tightened as he watched Wooyoung struggle with the weight of his words, but he didn't rush to reassure him. The silence that followed was heavy, but necessary. He needed to let Wooyoung sit with his feelings, feel the gravity of his pain, without jumping in too quickly.

Wooyoung's breath hitched again, and his shoulders trembled as he tried to force the next words out. "I thought... if I pushed him away, it would stop the pain. But it didn't. It's worse now. I can't breathe without feeling like I've fucked everything up. I always fuck everything up, everything I do... I'm only good at ruining people's lives!"

Jongho was quiet for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. He knew how deep Wooyoung's guilt ran, how the pain of losing Kyungmin and his mother still haunted him. His eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though every word carried the weight of understanding.

"Wooyoung..." Jongho's tone was steady, but his words were careful. "Kyungmin's death... your mother's overdose... none of that is your fault. You didn't cause any of that"

Wooyoung's fingers twisted harder at his sleeves, eyes flickering down to his lap. His breath was shallow, as though he couldn't quite inhale the truth of what Jongho was saying.

"I shouldn't have let Kyungmin leave that night," Wooyoung said in a strained whisper, the words heavy with self-recrimination. "If I hadn't been so selfish... if I hadn't pushed him to follow me, maybe... maybe he'd still be here"

Jongho's expression tightened with the effort it took to contain his own rising frustration. He forced himself to remain calm, careful with every word.

"You weren't selfish, Wooyoung," he said softly. "You were just a kid and you were trying to save both of you. It was an accident, something no one could have predicted. You were both running, yes... but you were running for your own freedom, your own life. That's not a crime"

Wooyoung shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "But if I hadn't been so—so scared, so damn weak, I could have endured it, my father, I could—" his voice cracked as he said the words, and the tears threatened to spill over, but he refused to let them fall.

Jongho stayed quiet for a long moment, then gently, carefully, spoke again, his voice warm and patient. "You did the right thing, Wooyoung. You can't carry that weight." he paused, letting that sink in, his gaze never leaving Wooyoung. "And your mother... her overdose... that's not on you either. You can't blame yourself for things that were out of your control. You didn't cause those things, and you can't fix them by carrying that guilt. It's not yours to carry"

Wooyoung's body was stiff, his chest tightening with the effort to suppress the tears that wanted to come, but Jongho could see the shift. A slight tremor in Wooyoung's hand, the brief flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"Then... why does it hurt so much?" Wooyoung's voice cracked again, but this time, there was something else in it—a break in the armor he had so carefully constructed. "Why can't I let it go?"

Jongho sighed, his voice softer now, almost like a quiet plea. "Because you're human, Wooyoung. You've carried this burden for so long that it feels like a part of you. But it's not. It doesn't define you. You have to let yourself grieve, let yourself feel that pain—but you don't have to carry the blame. You're not responsible for everything, Wooyoung. You didn't cause your mother's death, and you weren't the one who killed Kyungmin. And you're not the reason San was fired"

"San... he was fine before all of this," Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper. He clenched his fists tighter, trying to steady himself. "He had everything going for him, and then he got involved with me. I... I ruined it for him. If I'd just been stronger, maybe he wouldn't have lost everything. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten kicked out of the agency" his eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and self-loathing, and his shoulders sagged, as though the weight of his words was too much to bear. "I did this to him," Wooyoung added, his voice thick, but his gaze never met Jongho's. "He didn't deserve to lose everything, and it's all my fault"

Jongho leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "You keep saying San lost everything, but that's not true, Wooyoung" his words hung in the air, heavy and quiet. "San still has his talent. He still has his drive. And most importantly, he still has people who care about him. He hasn't lost everything. He might be going through a hard time, but he's not... broken, like you think"

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his grip on his sleeves tightening. The silence between them stretched, but Jongho didn't let him retreat into it.

"Tell me something," Jongho continued, his voice gentle but deliberate. "Do you really believe San stayed by your side all these years out of pity?"

Wooyoung's breath caught. His eyes flickered, but he didn't answer. He couldn't, because he knew the truth. San hadn't stayed because he felt obligated. San had stayed because he wanted to. Because, despite everything, despite the nights Wooyoung had pushed him away and the walls he had built between them, San had chosen him over and over again.

"People don't hold on for that long unless they see something worth staying for," Jongho said, his words slow, intentional. "You think you've only given him pain, but Wooyoung, if you were nothing but a weight in his life, do you think he would have stayed? Do you think he would have fought so hard?"

Wooyoung's throat tightened. He knew San. Knew his heart, his stubbornness, the depth of his love. He knew San would never force himself to bear something that only hurt him. He had stayed because he had wanted to. Because, for all the darkness Wooyoung carried, there had been light too. There had been laughter, warmth, love—things that had mattered.

Jongho let the words settle before speaking again, softer now, but no less certain. "You keep making decisions for other people, pushing them away as if you know what's best for them. But Wooyoung... that's not your responsibility. You don't get to decide for San whether his life is better with or without you. That choice has always been his, and he made it every time he chose to stay."

Wooyoung's breath stilled.

Jongho didn't look away as he continued. "You're not responsible for his choices. You're not responsible for his career. You didn't make him lose his job, just like you didn't make Kyungmin die or your mother overdose. You need to let go of this burden, Wooyoung. You're carrying a weight that isn't yours to bear"

There was a pause, a long silence where Wooyoung's hands twitched, the familiar tension in his shoulders returning. Jongho softened his tone, his next words a whisper. "I know it feels like you have to punish yourself, that you have to distance yourself from people to protect them... but that's not what's happening. You're just hurting yourself in the process"

Wooyoung's breath hitched again, but he didn't respond. Jongho could see it, the resistance flickering in his eyes. Still, he couldn't let this moment slip by.

"I know pushing San away felt like it would fix things, but it's just another way for you to hurt yourself. It's the same thing as the self-harm you've struggled with. You're punishing yourself for things you can't control, things that happened long before you even met San" there was a shift in Wooyoung's expression, but it was faint, like the first crack in an ice-covered lake, too small to trust.

"You're not a bad person, Wooyoung. You're not to blame for any of this. You need to allow yourself to heal—allow yourself to grieve without making yourself the villain in your own story"

Wooyoung sat there for a long moment after Jongho's words, the silence stretching between them like a heavy blanket. He could still hear Jongho's voice echoing in his mind: You're not a bad person. You're not to blame for any of this. But it felt like those words were floating just out of his reach, something he couldn't quite grasp.

His mind raced, replaying the conversation over and over. You're not responsible for San. The words didn't bounce off him like they would have before. They sank in, deep and undeniable, and the more he let them settle, the worse it felt.

Because Jongho was right.

Pushing San away hadn't been for San's sake—it had been for his own. Not to protect him, but to punish himself. And in doing so, he hadn't just hurt himself. He had hurt San, too.

The weight of it pressed down on his chest, raw and inescapable. He had spent so long convincing himself that leaving was the right thing, that he was sparing San from something ugly, something broken. But San had chosen to stay, over and over again, and Wooyoung had thrown that away.

His arms closed around himself, shielding him from the still-warm autumn breeze, but the cold he felt came from the inside. The guilt didn't come as a sharp stab but as a slow, crushing ache. It wasn't just regret—it was grief. For what he had done. For what he had lost. For the way he had pushed away the person who had only ever wanted to love him.

And now... now he had to live with that.

He started walking, his steps quick and restless, like moving forward could somehow quiet his mind. He knew that going home would only make it worse—there was nothing waiting for him there. Just silence. Yeosang was at his second job, having found work at a nearby café. Wooyoung knew his best friend was trying to build something resembling a normal life, away from the weight of their past. It wasn't easy, though. Yeosang came back each afternoon with a limp, his leg sore from hours of standing and working in the café, ready for another shift behind the bar of The Nest. Wooyoung always took care of him, just like he had in the past. He'd rub Yeosang's leg, working out the knots from the injury, trying to ease the ache that had become a part of their routine. They didn't talk much about it, but Wooyoung could tell that Yeosang's effort to hold onto some sense of normalcy was important and he admired him for that.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa would probabaly be gone too. They were always gone, tied up in their own lives. Wooyoung knew they had their own burdens to carry, but it still left him feeling abandoned in the silence of their shared apartment. It wasn't as if they didn't care—Wooyoung knew they did, in their own way. But they had their own worlds, too, worlds that didn't always align with his.

Wooyoung usually didn't mind the silence of the apartment, but now, with the weight of Jongho's words still clinging to him, the quiet would feel suffocating.

Not long ago, he would have gone home. Sat in the dark. Let the thoughts consume him, gnaw at him like they always did, because that's what he thought he deserved. Maybe he would have welcomed the pain, let it seep into his skin until the blood covered the bathroom floor.

But not this time. Something in him—something fragile but determined—refused to let him slip back into that cycle. He couldn't go back to that empty apartment, to the silence that would swallow him whole. He couldn't be alone. Not now.

So he turned around and walked to the direction of the other place that had always felt like a second home. The familiar path to The Nest felt like a strange kind of refuge. That place had always been a kind of salvation after all, somewhere he could go when he felt scared or lost. The Nest—its very name evoked something comforting, like the warmth of feathers wrapped around you, a place where you could rest, find shelter, and even heal. Wooyoung had never really thought about it like this before, but it was undeniable now.

Wooyoung stood in front of club, his hand hovering over the door. It was still early—barely 4 PM—and the club wouldn't open for a few more hours. He wondered if anyone would be there at this time of day, or if he had made the walk for nothing. For a moment, he considered turning back, but the thought of being alone again made him hesitate. He knocked, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the quiet street. It felt a bit silly, but before he could second-guess himself, the door swung open.

Xiaolong stood there, a surprised but amused look crossing his face. "What's this? The little bird comes knocking in the middle of the day?"

Wooyoung offered a small smile, relieved to see him. "I wasn't sure if anyone would be here"

Xiaolong chuckled, stepping aside to let him in, "You know the door's always open for you, even if it's not quite time for the show yet"

Wooyoung walked in, feeling the familiar sense of home wash over him. The Nest was quiet now, but it still had that same warmth. As he stepped further in, Xiaolong raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Wooyoung's face. "Everything okay, kid?" he asked, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer, like he could sense there was more behind Wooyoung's quiet entrance.

Wooyoung nodded, sliding into one of the booths, the soft leather creaking beneath him as he let out a quiet breath. He stared ahead for a moment, his hands resting on the table in front of him, fiddling with the edges of his sleeves. He wasn't sure why he'd come here, but now that he was inside, the familiar atmosphere of The Nest was a comfort. It felt like the first breath he'd taken all day, like he could finally relax, if only for a little while.

A few moments later, Xiaolong appeared with a bottle of water in hand. He set it down in front of Wooyoung with a quiet, knowing smile. Wooyoung gave him a small, appreciative nod before twisting the cap off and taking a long sip. The cool water felt good, though it didn't quite settle the knot in his chest.

Xiaolong slid into the booth across from him, resting his elbows on the table, his expression softening when he saw the exhaustion in Wooyoung's eyes. "What happened?" he asked, his tone easy but concerned.

Wooyoung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nothing much, just a tough session with the therapist," he took another sip, avoiding Xiaolong's gaze for a moment. "I'm overthinking everything. I can't shut it off"

Xiaolong studied him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "How's it going? Do you feel any better, at least?"

Wooyoung hesitated before giving a small, sincere nod. "I think so. I mean, I made some progress, I guess" he paused, his fingers tracing the outline of the bottle. But there was something in his eyes—a cloudiness, a hesitation that Xiaolong recognized all too well.

The older man tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting from concern to something a little more probing. "So what are you overthinking about?"

Wooyoung's throat tightened at the question, his fingers tightening around the water bottle. For a moment, he wanted to lie, wanted to say something else, but the name came out before he could stop it.

"San..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Xiaolong's brows raised slightly, though he didn't look shocked. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully, taking a slow sip from his own water bottle. As he lowered it, Wooyoung's eyes caught the thick scar that ran across his neck.

Noticing Wooyoung's gaze, he let out a small, knowing chuckle, without a word, he reached up, his fingers brushing against the pale line, tracing it slowly as if the act could somehow soothe the ache of the past. He took another sip from his bottle before lowering it again and lighting up a cigarette appearing in between his fingers from nowhere, his gaze meeting Wooyoung's.

"You remember that story I told you the first time we met?" Xiaolong asked, his voice quiet but knowing, as though he were pulling at a thread that could unravel something deeper.

Wooyoung, still caught in the weight of the moment, nodded. "Yijin," he said softly, the name lingering in the air.

Xiaolong's expression shifted, his eyes darkening slightly as he leaned back, letting the silence settle between them for a moment. "There's something I've never told you about that story," he began, his voice lower now, laced with years of regret. "I loved Yijin. More than I ever let myself admit. I never allowed myself to be with him, though, because I thought I could protect him better if I kept my distance, if I stayed strict with him. But all I really did was push him away"

He paused, looking down at his hands when ashes fell to the floor, Wooyoung noticed how his fingers were shaking slightly. "Sometimes I wonder if he would still be alive if we had been together. If I hadn't pushed him away, maybe... maybe he wouldn't have fallen into those things. Maybe he would've chosen a different path," his voice trembled slightly, though he quickly steadied himself. "I'll never know now" a bitter smile plastered on his face.

Wooyoung's brow furrowed as he listened, his mind reeling from the unexpected depth of Xiaolong's words. The older man's vulnerability was something Wooyoung rarely saw, and it shook him in a way he couldn't quite explain. But there was something in Xiaolong's pain that resonated with his own. He understood the deeper feeling beneath it all: that gnawing hesitation, the fear of choosing wrong, the guilt that comes with every moment spent wondering if you've made the right decisions.

It was in that moment that it hit him, the realization that he, too, was making the same mistake. By pushing San away, by insisting that distance between them was the only way to protect him, Wooyoung was slowly building his own kind of regret. It settled deep in his chest—the inevitability of regret. Xiaolong's story wasn't just a distant lesson; it was a reflection, a glimpse into what Wooyoung was setting himself up for. The future he was walking toward, step by step, was one filled with the same hollow questions, the same aching hindsight. He had already started collecting them—What if I had told San the truth sooner? What if I hadn't pushed him away when he needed me most? What if I had just let him love me?

The thought of living with that regret, never knowing how things could have turned out if he'd only fought for what he truly wanted, made his chest tighten. He didn't want to spend his life wondering what might have been. He didn't want to look back, years from now, with the sharp sting of "what if" hanging over him. But the fear, the fear that it might already be too late—that San might be too far gone, too hurt by everything Wooyoung had done—crushed him in a way he wasn't prepared for.

For the first time, Wooyoung felt the full weight of what he had been pushing away: the fear that he'd lost San for good, that all of his mistakes had driven them too far apart. What if San didn't want him anymore? What if all the things he'd done to protect himself had destroyed the one thing he cared about most?

Xiaolong's voice broke through the turmoil in his mind, sharp and grounding. "You're not me," he said, his tone soft but unwavering. It was as if he could see straight into Wooyoung's spiraling thoughts, could hear the silent panic that had been rising inside him. "You don't have to make the same mistakes I did"

The words hit Wooyoung like a lifeline, reminding him of the one thing he hadn't allowed himself to believe: it wasn't too late. He wasn't bound to the same fate as Xiaolong. He still had time to make things right, to take the leap and fight for what he wanted before regret took root.

The realization was both terrifying and liberating.

Wooyoung couldn't stop himself. The need to act on what he was finally understanding was overwhelming. Before he even realized what he was doing, he threw himself into Xiaolong's arms, hugging him tightly, a rush of emotion pouring out of him. It was raw, unfiltered, and it was the first time he'd let himself feel this vulnerable with anyone in a long time.

For a brief moment, Xiaolong's body went stiff in surprise. Then, just as quickly, his arms wrapped around Wooyoung, and Wooyoung could feel the older man's usual sternness melt away, replaced by something softer. Xiaolong's hand moved to Wooyoung's hair, gently caressing it as he held him close. Wooyoung could feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, and it gave him a sense of reassurance he hadn't realized he needed.

"You're not alone in this," Xiaolong murmured into his hair. "You've got a chance to fix things, and I know you will" after a beat, he pulled back slightly, eyes locking with Wooyoung's. "You can have the night off. Go make it right with him"

Wooyoung nodded, wiping away the trace of an emotion he hadn't meant to show, but couldn't hide any longer. He was ready now. Ready to stop running from what he felt. Ready to fix what he had broken. The daylight blinded him as he stepped outside but it didn't stop him, he took his phone dialing a number he knew by memory, he hadn't called him in so long, but he was ready to make amend for it.

San, wait for me just one more time, please. He thought as he pressed on the button call.