tw: mentions of self harm

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"Jesus, Woo," Mingi comments, features pained as he examines the surface of Wooyoung's left hand, "if this continues you're going to legit break a bone."

"Maybe that's what I want?" Wooyoung says with a bit of a smile. He grits his teeth though when the taller applies some antiseptic.

Yunho casts him an unimpressed look from where he is by his computer. It's just past dinnertime, and Wooyoung had put off seeing them all morning at Yunho's place because of the shitty state of his fingers.

"Don't look at me like that," Wooyoung whines, tears stinging the corners of his eyes when Mingi accidently presses too hard on a wound. "Just pretend it's nothing."

"There's no way we can do that Wooyoung," Yunho states. His math textbook's open since he's supposed to be doing homework. Wooyoung feels even worse for dragging his friends into this. "What did your mom say?"

Wooyoung shakes his head, dismissive. "Didn't tell her anything. You know how worried she gets already."

And it's true. Whenever he isn't staying home or is going to be later that usual, he has to let her know or else she'll go berserk. He's lucky she trusts Yunho's dad so much.

"We need some new bandages," Mingi says, and Wooyoung stiffens at how much he's been observing him.

"What?"

Mingi scratches the back of his head. "Since you came you've been a little... off. And it's not even because of your hand. You just look so mad." Wooyoung sees him exchanging looks with Yunho. "Did something happen?"

"...No."

Yunho exhales, and fuck, Wooyoung does not like the look on his face. "Did Choi San do something?"

Wooyoung's brought back to yesterday night, the things he did chilling him to the core. And how horrid he felt -- and still feels -- for being like the others and reducing San his body as always. He looks at his injured hand, jaw clenched.

Someone touches his arm, and it's hot. Too hot. "Are you okay?"

"I uh," Wooyoung hops to his feet, noting how appalled both his friends appear. "I'm gonna head out and go get myself those bandages. Anyone also feeling for some ice cream?"

Yunho looks so puzzled. "There's some left over in the freezer -- "

"But it's a leftover. I'll get something new and tasty."

"I'll go with you," Mingi says, and for that to happen he'll have to change out of his frilly skirt and jacket and it'll take way too much time and --

"Nah, it's okay. I just..." Wooyoung inhales a deep breath, "need some fresh air. I'll be back with everything in no time."

Mr Jeong's out making coffee when Wooyoung exits Yunho's room, and for a moment he wants to curse at the man for colliding his and San's worlds. But the moment doesn't last long because Yunho's dad is a really nice man, and San is...

"Want some coffee?" Mr Jeong questions, interrupting Wooyoung's train of thought. "To do some late night studying for the exams."

Wooyoung is glad he's donned on a large baby blue hoodie and sweatpants that allow him to hide his wounds pretty well. "No, sir. Just taking a walk to stretch my muscles."

"Alright." The man nods, but then asks in a much lower tone, "Also, is Yunho doing his homework in there?"

"Yeah," Wooyoung whispers back. And soon enough, he's out of the pristine house, the cold air invigorating his lungs. It's a stark difference to how stifled he felt in Yunho's room, subject to the interrogation from his friends. Them pointing accusing fingers at San once more just threw him over the freaking edge.

He luckily has his wallet already in his pockets as he strolls down the neighbourhood, glad his glasses aren't fogging up for once.

Wooyoung doesn't know how long he treks for as he glances at the twinkling stars from time to time, but he's now on the busier side of the streets, an abundance of supermarkets and restaurants livening up the area.

Wooyoung chews his lip as he contemplates what store to chose from, but quickly decides on one of the bigger ones to get more variety.

The bright bulbs take a second to get used to, especially when his clumsy self almost walks into the sliding doors before they even open.

Hopefully no one saw that, Wooyoung thinks to himself, grabbing the first empty shopping basket he sees.

He doesn't know the exact reasons why, but ever since he was little stores like these excited him. There are always so many things to choose from, so many options. And even if he doesn't get to buy anything, walking down the aisles calms him tremendously.

The sharp pain sparking up his left hand like static guides him to where he presumes the bandages are. He's nearly there when he spots someone kind of familiar at the end of the juice aisle.

They linger in front of an option, a tanned hand soon reaching for it. They move, their black hood revealing a sharp jawline, high cheekbones and pursed lips.

Wooyoung's heart drops to his stomach. San.

Like San can hear him, the guy turns, but Wooyoung scurries off before he notices him.

Mind screaming obscenities at him, Wooyoung rushes to get those bandages and get the hell out of there, ice cream be damned. That guilt returns and festers in his gut, deep and heavy and soul-crushing, and all Wooyoung wants to do right now is disappear before San somehow sees him.

His hands shake as he grabs a pack, alarm bells whirring in his head when some fall to the floor as a result of his antsy movements. He seizes them and shoves them back in, every footstep that isn't his filling him with dread.

"Wooyoung."

Wooyoung freezes in place, hoping that he's hallucinating this time around. Maybe if he thinks all this is fake, it'll become that way.

"Hey?"

Wooyoung shoves his left hand into his pocket, only for him to get turned around, his eyes now looking at a chest.

"There are cameras around if you're thinking of shoplifting."

At this, Wooyoung nearly chokes on his spit. He stares at San with wide eyes, too shocked to note how the taller is still touching him.

"Why the hell would I shoplift?"

San gestures at his hidden hand, and Wooyoung wonders when he got so near. "You just pushed your hand into your pocket."

"Oh, this?" Wooyoung clears his throat, not looking San's way when he pulls the hand out. He can't bear to see how grossed out the taller probably feels at seeing that mess. "Came to get some bandages -- not to steal."

It's obvious San is curious about it, but when the silence gets too much, he points at San's basket. "Drinks?"

"Yeah," San nods, rubbing one eye. The bags aren't as bad anymore, but he still looks exhausted. "I'm going to get something cold too. Like ice cream."

"Oh." Wooyoung should leave now, bid his goodbyes to San before whatever he's starting to feel when he looks at the guy rears its ugly head again, but his mouth won't say the words.

He follows San to the frozen section, watching as he takes two popsicles instead of ice cream.

Wooyoung's eyes meet his, and then San grabs some more.

"Are -- are those for me?" He just has to ask.

"If you fancy them tonight, then yeah," San tells him.

Wooyoung stomps down that darned guilt and smiles. "Thanks. Popsicles sound good."

Strangely, San doesn't go back to wherever he lives after they leave the store (if he even lives around here), and neither does Wooyoung. His phone is devoid of any text messages, and at that moment he's glad his friends are giving him some space.

As if they've made a silent agreement, Wooyoung walks alongside San until the taller slinks into a bench that overlooks a garden.

"You don't live around here." San asks, passing a rainbow coloured popsicle to Wooyoung. He takes one himself, ripping open the packet.

"Yeah. I'm staying over at Yunho's until Monday," Wooyoung says, nervous if San would feel a type of way at the mention of his friend's name. But his face betrays no emotions.

"Then he's most likely waiting for you."

"So you want me gone?" It's supposed to be a joke, but Wooyoung falters at the end and, all of a sudden, the atmosphere turns serious. "I was just kidding -- "

"Do you want me gone?" San repeats, facing Wooyoung, something like amusement glinting in his eyes. "Cause you started running off when I saw you at the store."

Wooyoung panics. "No! No, I -- "

San laughs, dimples deep in his cheeks. It's so unexpected, so out-of-the-blue Wooyoung is left speechless. He looks on as San leans into the bench and tilts his head to look at the sky, exhaling softly. He looks gorgeous like this.

"No, I don't want you gone," San says, taking a large bite of his popsicle. "I like that you're here. With me."

Wooyoung's quiet until his popsicle starts to drip. He hurriedly sucks on it so it won't collapse on itself, but flinches when some of it stings his bruised knuckles.

San's looking, eyes dark and narrowed. "I thought it started to heal."

"Um... well, I'll tell you the reason it's like that if you tell me why you look so tired." Shit. Why did Wooyoung have to say that?

San starts his next popsicle, the red on it staining his lips. "Can't fucking sleep."

"Oh."

San snorts, nudging Wooyoung's shoulder with his. It doesn't help how broad he looks like this, like he'd give great hugs. "Yeah, oh. Now tell me what's your deal."

"Well, uh," Wooyoung twists his hand. "I don't really have a deal. It's just something I do to...compose myself, I guess."

San's smile drops, recognizable worry in his brown eyes. "Compose yourself?"

Wooyoung glares holes into his popsicle. "When I'm mad -- or feel... repulsed by myself, I slam this hand on something to get rid of the feeling. Sometimes -- sometimes it's a wall, other times it's the floor," he rambles on, a lump in his throat. "I do it alone though, so I don't disturb anyone else. It's like my own punching bag. To de-stress."

Like Wooyoung had feared, San doesn't look too happy hearing this. In fact, he's fuming. Vexed.

"You look like you wanna punch me right now."

San's eyes widen slightly. "No, Wooyoung. I don't want to punch you. Um," he scoots in, hand awkwardly lingering beside Wooyoung's, "I can't tell you what to do and what not to do. But there are better...healthier ways to get everything off your chest."

Wooyoung sighs. "You're right. It's hard, though."

"You said you're repulsed by yourself."

Wooyoung wishes he'd never opened his mouth, but as San keeps on staring, he feels like elaborating. "It's a long story. But uh, the whole body thing is an issue."

"...How can it not be one?" San asks, attentive.

"If I can finally not give a crap what I look like -- not give a crap about everything, even, that'll be great," Wooyoung reveals, finishing off his popsicle. "Sorry for being so TMI all the time. I'm actually quite shy but I'm like a waterfall when it comes to you. Wait -- that sounds a little wrong."

But San doesn't crack a smile, though. He's thinking, long and hard about something. All of a sudden, his hand is on Wooyoung's knee.

"...How do you feel when I do this?"

A sweltering flush drenches both Wooyoung's ears. "A little shocked, b-but I'm alright."

What are you doing? He so badly wants to ask, but isn't brave enough to say it out.

San's hand drifts a little higher, now on his thigh. The entire area swells with heat, and Wooyoung's heart thunders in his chest. "How about now?"

He exhales a shallow breath. "N-Nervous..." But he also wants to touch San's hand. Wants to hold him.

San goes higher, till he gets to his hip, and it's at this point Wooyoung realizes how he's almost leaning into the taller. His breathing breaks at San's fingers lightly rubbing over his clothed waist.

"How does this feel?" San's lips are right next to his left ear, the gentle tone doing things to his tummy.

Wooyoung's eyes shut, not wanting whatever this is to end. "...It feels good."

"Good?"

"Yes," Wooyoung says, insides turning to mush at how San's holding him, the taller's hand now on the small of his back.

But then, San stops and pulls away. Wooyoung's eyes open, trying to will away his embarrassment at how freaking weird he was throughout.

San removes another popsicle from its packet, eyes avoiding Wooyoung's. "I think you're touch starved."

"Touch starved?" The shorter never thought he'd hear that.

"Yeah. And...and maybe something happened that made you feel bad for craving touches, forcing your frustration inwards until you began to hate your body," San further explains.

It's like Wooyoung's body turns to ice, because he's now rigid, palms shaking a little. He doesn't even feel like he's breathing.

San notices, of course he does. "Wooyoung?"

"I think I gotta go." Wooyoung gets off the bench and snatches his stuff.

San stands too, eyes alight with concern. "Wait -- "

Wooyoung runs off, on and on until he's sure there isn't a chance San has followed him.

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a/n: thoughts?