Talking; one of the most fundamental elements that made human beings who they were. But, Jung Wooyoung felt like some people shouldn't be allowed to talk. Because maybe if they didn't, the world would feel like a better place, even if it had already gone to shit.

And if there was someone on top of his 'Never talk again' list, it would be his parents. They always talked, picking and tearing apart whatever they felt was unacceptable. And apparently, their second child was included in it as well.

"Take school seriously," They said. "Stop hanging out with those friends of yours," They said. "Stop wasting your time with painting," They said. "Fix your attitude," They said. "Why can't you be more like your older sister?" They said.

They always had something to say. Keeping their mouths shut wasn't in their vocabulary.

And Wooyoung, naturally, rebelled against them. He did whatever he wanted outside the house, because a part of him truly could not give two fucks about what his parents thought of him. But another part, a very, very stupid part, wondered if his parents would ever accept him for him. It just seemed like a lost cause.

He didn't eat anything during dinner, but his parents never commented on it. They chatted eagerly with his sister Yebin, looking happy that at least one child of theirs didn't turn out to be such a disappointment.

Wooyoung exhaled a breath, looking at the phone he hid underneath the dinner table. His grip on it especially tightened when his mother's gaze found his from across the table. He was glad the table was huge enough to give him a bit of space away from his relatives, because just being with them for a prolonged amount of time really fucking drained his will to live.

"Not a bite tonight?" His mother asked. Her face was dolled up, hair straightened to perfection as she was expecting a few of her business friends over in an hour, but no amount of makeup could liven up the dead look in her eyes.

Wooyoung's thumbs pinched his fingers. He remembered the many times he'd seen San pick at his nails, so much so that the skin around them peeled, and Wooyoung had never seen the appeal then. But now, trapped underneath his mother's expectant gaze, he suddenly understood the other male's actions more and more.

"Wooyoung?" she probed, and the way his name sounded in her mouth made him want to cut himself open and sink into the ground. Stop it. Don't say my name. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

"I'm not eating anything tonight," Wooyoung answered, immensely relieved that his voice was levelled.

His mother smiled, but it looked more like a sneer. "Good."

Wooyoung held his phone so tight, he feared the screen would crack under the pressure. Just like how he felt right now.

* * *

When San's phone vibrated that night, he'd grabbed the device quicker than he'd like to admit. He straightened up once he read Wooyoung's contact name on the screen.

- wooyoung
san, u there?

That was like, the first time Wooyoung had ever said his name, and even if it was through text, it made San's ears really warm.

- san
yeah

- wooyoung
good.

San flung himself over his bed, raking hard through his brain for what he should say next.

- san
everything okay?

- san
did you
try that ignoring thing?

- wooyoung
i tried

- wooyoung
thought of you too, in like, a
bro way, and it kinda worked

San dropped his phone over his face. Fuck. He winced in pain, wiping his clammy hands against his shirt. Goddammit San, you're so dumb.

- wooyoung
you there?

- san
i am

- san
but i just dropped my phone
on my face

San wanted to hit himself. Why did he send that?

- wooyoung
fuck

- wooyoung
i caCKLED

- wooyoung
goddammit choi, you just made my night :))

- san
is that a good thing?

- wooyoung
duh

- wooyoung
where are u rn

- san
in my room, on my bed

- wooyoung
cool

- wooyoung
guess where i am

- san
in your room, on your bed?

- wooyoung
bingo!

And then Wooyoung sent him a picture. And it wasn't just any pic, no, it was a selfie of himself.

It was kinda grainy, since it seemed to be taken in the darkness of his bedroom, but his eyes, those round, brown eyes of his, shone like the stars in the night sky. His pale lips were set in this calm, satisfied smirk that heightened San's heart rate, and he looked more than comfy in the grey sweatshirt he had on.

San chewed on his lower lip. Wooyoung looked really good.

- wooyoung
save that as my contact pic

- san
okay

- wooyoung
and, how do i look?
cute and honest version

- san
what?

- wooyoung
cute version: what i want to hear
honest version: the truth

- san
uhm, well

- san
you look handsome

- wooyoung
thanks, grandma

- san
:(

- wooyoung
whatever

- wooyoung
u said i look handsome, right?

- san
yeah?

- wooyoung
was that the cute, or the honest version?

San contemplated what he should reply. If he chose the cute version, then Wooyoung would think he was an asshole. If he chose the honest version, then he would risk Wooyoung thinking of him as a creep. Why am I overthinking this?

- wooyoung
hurry up, choi

- san
uh, the honest version
thats what it is

- wooyoung
so u think i look handsome

- san
yeah...

- wooyoung
so ure gay then

- san
uhm

- wooyoung
god, san

- wooyoung
its so hard to get a reaction out of you through text

- wooyoung
but its fine though,
if u are gay i mean

- san
okay

- wooyoung
🙃

San smiled. The nervous feeling he'd had while texting Wooyoung was almost completely gone, but that mushy feeling had only grown.

- san
🙂

- wooyoung
u freakin weird weirdass weirdo

- san
u always call me names

- wooyoung
because i like you, asshole

- wooyoung
in a bro way
n ur my servant now, so

San laid his phone over his chest, and stared right at the ceiling. And, slowly but surely, his smile transformed into a dopey grin.

* * *

a/n: thoughts?