san's chin is perched upon the pages of solitaire when his periphery catches a bouncy silhouette approach him.

a light beams in his eyes as he trails after wooyoung, snaking through the library desks, an exhilarated skip in his step until he reaches the lone chair beside san. wooyoung's smile is charming, his teeth gleaming, and his voice is as sweet as honey." sannie — hi!"

san, too, smiles. by now, it's almost a reflex caused by the sight of wooyoung like this: looking like the personification of the sun at midday. "hi, wooyoung," he says contently. he watches as the boy plops into the spare seat. "aren't you meant to be having your lunch?"

"well, yeah, but— i  just wanted to see you," wooyoung reasons. his smile shifts into one much smaller, more timid. "there's no harm in that, is there?"

"then, thank you. thank you for coming to see me."

shaking his head, wooyoung chuckles. simultaneously, fondness and disbelief mingle with the sound. "there's no need for that. i missed talking to you, so here i am. it's no biggie."

a flustered yet relentless smile finds san's mouth, lifting his cheekbones and crinkling his nose. his dimples pop, showcasing the joy he doesn't have the capability to hide when he's around wooyoung — that is, if he wanted to, if he tried to.

san feels a dainty sense of relief when wooyoung finally decides to avert his gaze from his flushed cheeks. he doesn't know if he'll ever grow accustomed to that tender look in his eyes. wooyoung looks around, at the rows of chairs tucked beneath tables to the aisles of unorganised bookshelves, so thoroughly it's as if he's assessing the surroundings.

"do you... always spend your lunch in here, sannie?"

san is sure wooyoung holds only good intentions, what is most likely built from curiosity and care. so when that voice in his head translates the question as something meant to be degrading, insulting, hisses at san that wooyoung is mocking him for being such a miserable fucking loner, san screams at the top of his lungs that they're wrong. because wooyoung is his friend, wooyoung does care about him; he's said so himself, after all.

"yeah, i mean—" san shrugs, like he doesn't care, like it doesn't bother him. that's only partially true, however. "i don't really have anywhere else to be."

wooyoung returns to san's direction, looking almost sad. sorry. pitiful. "i wouldn't mind if you hung out with me. i only spend my lunches with yeosang, anyway, and i'm sure he wouldn't be bothered by it, either."

there's this desperation eluded in wooyoung's voice, his words, a desperation to be listened to. san forces himself to see past it, and think rationally. though, he's pretty much forgotten how to do so these past few weeks. "thank you, wooyoung," san starts, urging to sound as sincere as his small, feeble voice can manage. "but i dunno... i don't want to be a nuisance."

"san," wooyoung says, adamant. "you could never be."

san just looks down at his lap, the colour in his eye unconvinced. he hears wooyoung sigh, a soft, but sad, exhale, and san sees it, too, from the corner of his eye. he sees the heave of wooyoung's chest, and he sees the brief jut of his lips.

"aren't you going to have something to eat?" wooyoung asks next, his head tilting to one side.

san nips at his teeth. "i, um, i can't. i— i don't have any money on me, so i— yeah. but it's fine," he lies, the smile he forces just as blatantly dishonest. "i'll just eat later on."

that doesn't seem to be enough for wooyoung, because his lips droop into a frown. in utter silence, he just looks at san for a long moment, before suddenly slipping his backpack from his shoulder. the bag is black, coupled with a few red accents here and there, and a drink is pocketed at its side: the liquid slushes against its plastic surface, a thick, unappealing green which san reckons is probably a smoothie.

when wooyoung unzips the bag, and starts to rummage through its contents, san protests quickly, "what— no— i said it's fine. you don't need to—" just how much will the boy do for him? "wooyoung—"

before san can reassure wooyoung with yet another lie, however, the latter has slid something over the table to him. wooyoung's hand silently returns to his side, and san, dumbfounded, examines the cereal bar before him. the packaging is a vibrant yellow, glistening with silver beneath the orange of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. a cartoon of a grinning monkey wearing a blue cap, whose thumb is stuck up as if for advertisement, is printed at the front of it.

"i know it's just something small, but it's the only thing i have on me right now, and—"

"wooyoung," san repeats, at a loss for words. he just wants wooyoung to stop. stop acting like— like this. like his actions don't matter, like he doesn't matter. "you... thank you."

sort of stiffly, san leans forward, and rests his palm over wooyoung's hand. he feels somewhat foolish when the tips of his fingers rub a circle onto wooyoung's knuckles. san can't say he's any confident in whatever it is he's trying to do, but the overflowing portion of gratitude filling his insides won't let him just sit there pathetically, even if the gesture is nowhere near enough to express how he's feeling. all he can do is hope wooyoung understands.

and the smile in wooyoung's mouth tells san that there's a chance he does.

"it's nothing, sannie. actually, uhm—" all of a sudden, wooyoung's face is drawn in this peculiar-looking nervousness. "i didn't just come here to talk to you. i— i have to pick up some things for dinner after school today. do you... maybe wanna tag along?"

"oh." perhaps san is blowing things massively out of proportion and wooyoung does this with all of his friends; regardless, san feels like he must've been some kind of prophet in his past life to be offered such an invitation. for a split second, he thinks about his father, and the things he'll say and the things he'll do once he returns home, but — "yeah," san answers, "i wouldn't mind that at all" — he doesn't care.

how can san care when wooyoung makes him feel this important, this worthy? when wooyoung makes him feel like a person, somebody apart from the reputation his family holds? when wooyoung is the most beautiful person san has ever met?

and when wooyoung grins, flashes his pearly teeth at him, san realises then that he will do anything to see him like this.

"it must sound like just boring old grocery shopping, but i swear i'll make it fun!"

"i doubt you even need to try, wooyoung."

wooyoung giggles, and slightly leans forward. "wow, sannie. i didn't realise you thought of me so highly."

"i wouldn't say i think of you highly," san says, a somber feeling in his voice. "i just think of you as you are. how you— how you treat me, and how you perceive the things around you."

a shadow of disapproval darkens wooyoung's eyes. "there's no way you think of me like that without exaggerating."

"well, i do." san doesn't know why wooyoung refuses to believe him, but it strikes a nerve in him; in result, courage arises somewhere inside him to continue, "i think you're one of the best people i've ever met. you're— you're kind, and you're caring, and you're selfless. sometimes i feel like it's unfair to you. that you should prioritise yourself more."

the bafflement reflecting upon wooyoung's expression, the widen of his eyes and the parting of his lips, makes san feel quite sad. and he... he really wishes wooyoung could see him how he does. just so, even if it be for a brief moment, he might realise how important he is, how much he matters — at the very least, to san. because, to san, wooyoung is a reason. a reason for every step he treads.

before wooyoung says anything, his hand reaches forward. he grasps into san's arm, the space just below his elbow, and gently snakes down his wrist. once he's close enough, wooyoung intertwines their fingers beneath the table.

perhaps he doesn't plan to say anything whatsoever in response to san's words, because all he does, and for an awfully long time, is stare at san. wooyoung stares at san like he's the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

thankfully, however, at some point, wooyoung's gaze leaves san's cheekbones, finding intrigue in the pink book resting before them. "ah, you're reading this again," he says, so casually, as if the last time he spotted san with it, he didn't—

"i just finished it, actually," san explains. a nervous notch shifts in his voice, because his palm is sweating in wooyoung's hand. why does wooyoung not care? shouldn't he care? "it's, um—" perhaps ignoring it will discard of san's fear. "it's called solitaire.

"sounds cool. did you enjoy it?"

"yeah, it was a ride," san says amidst a chuckle. "the main character, her name's tori — victoria spring. she..." reminds me a lot of myself. "... goes through a lot."

wooyoung hums, thoughtfully. "i'm honestly not much of a book person, but would you mind if i borrowed it, sannie? i wanna give it a try."

"yeah, sure."

something in san's tummy twirls happily, giddily, and he has to compose himself with the reminder that wooyoung just wants to read the book. it hasn't anything to do with him.

"does it belong to you?"

"yeah." a small smile lifts san's lips. "one of my cousins bought it for me. he thought i'd like it."

"not that cousin, i hope," wooyoung grumbles, almost a distasteful scowl, at the mere thought of hyunsuk.

san laughs shortly, both due to the absolute absurdity of the idea, and how admittedly endearing he finds wooyoung's annoyance to be. "there's a higher chance of one of us being abducted by jupiter's aliens than that being the case," says san, lips twisted into disbelief. "so no, it wasn't him, it was seonghwa. don't worry — complete different people."

"so he's not a piece of shit?"

san laughs, again. louder and longer. he shakes his head, assuring, "hwa is great. too great. honestly— he's, like, my mom."

for some reason, that makes wooyoung smile. it's small, yet so contagiously sincere that san feels a little, almost unnoticeable, scrape against his heart, like he's just had a paper cut.

"good." wooyoung's fingers squeeze san's own. even despite how unbearably clammy they've become. "you deserve family like him."

———

turns out, grocery shopping with wooyoung is one of the funnest experiences of san's life.

it's fairly ridiculous, he finds, how loitering in the aisles of a relatively small supermarket just a few neighbourhoods from his home can be this fun — this thrilling and carefree. at some point, san even has to remind himself that they're only shopping for a few ingredients wooyoung's mother requires for a celebratory meal she's planning for one of her co-workers. it's not that big of a deal, it shouldn't be that big of a deal.

yet, san can't help but feel as if he's floating on cloud nine when wooyoung's laughter chimes, occasional inaudible squeaks, as he clutches onto his arm. something in the back of san's head questions the fuzzy contact, but, really, he doesn't care at all.

because he's happy. san is happy here, surrounded by a fascinating variety of herbs and spices, with wooyoung squeezed by his arm.

san doesn't have the best memories of grocery shopping. sometimes he thinks it sounds silly — the tide of nauseating nostalgia that washes over him, of his mother's critical glance, of his father's degrading words. the pressure to eat well, healthy, small. not enough. because, according to his parents, that's the only way for san to keep in shape, keep fit and socially presentable, even at the ripe age of seven years old. snacks were never an option, neither were desserts, nor anything smothered with sugar and oil. san was taught they were unacceptable, disgusting. that they ruined you.

san believed them. they were his parents, and he was a measly, vulnerable child. he didn't think to have any reason not to.

however, san's perspective on food, on his body, on his parents, begun to shift the day he turned eleven. seonghwa came over, knocked hesitantly on his door, and asked in his petrified, high-pitched, fourteen-year-old voice if he could take san to the park.

they didn't go to the park that day, though.

seonghwa carried san on his shoulders, a light piggyback ride, to the city centre. there, san recalls brightly and vividly the warm colours of the café they entered. everywhere he turned, treats ranging from cookies and cakes to pretzels and macarons were displayed in all their glory, and san didn't understand at first. this was... this was bad. he was always told this was bad.

there was this upset frown on seonghwa's face as he garnered san's reaction. he kneeled to his height, and spoke to him as if he were about to crumble at the lies being spewed to him his whole life.

san definitely felt like it.

that day, san tasted chocolate for the first-ever time, and mint ice cream and his favourite caramel sweets. seonghwa bought for him a little cream cake to celebrate his special day, topped with strawberries and wafers and sprinkles of every colour in the rainbow. they sat on a park bench as the two of them tried to scoff down as much as their small appetites could cope with so that the money wouldn't go to waste.

it's honestly sort of preposterous when san looks back at it now, in hindsight. if he was still that naive, that blind, to his parents' true intentions, he thinks things would be a lot better than they are right now.

still, san is grateful he was able to open his eyes to the brutal reality of his family at such an early age. otherwise, growing accustomed to the life he didn't realise he was living would've been a lot more difficult.

so abrupt that it startles san, wooyoung's eyes widen in what appears to be excitement, before he dashes across the store. san is pretty much dragged along in favour of wooyoung's arm draped securely around his own, and he has to brace himself on his heels as to not trip over his feet. or potentially even knock over a shelf of milk. or worse — embarrass wooyoung.

san's knees halt at an aisle of snacks, alongside wooyoung, where the latter squeals. squeals. "sannie, have you ever tried these before?"

eyes scanning over the letters along the bag wooyoung rattles before him, san raises a confused brow. "honey... butter chips?"

"they're so, so good, sannie — you have to try them!" wooyoung proclaims, urgently, as if the matter decides life or death.

san thinks it's cute.

plopping the bag into the basket hooked over his spare arm, wooyoung continues, "when we finish here, we can have them together. 'kay?"

"okay," san complies through a giggle. he doesn't think he could ever say no. "as long as this isn't your attempt at poisoning me."

"i must be pretty messed up if ever wanted to poison you."

"and i speak of you highly?" san snorts ridiculously.

"i'm going to quote you from earlier, and say i only think you as you are," wooyoung responds, leaning closer to san with a smile. "you're too cute for anyone to poison. any normal person, at least."

if wooyoung is right, which san would honestly like to believe, that must make an awful lot of the people in san's life not normal. whatever that means.

on an especially bad day, that would include himself.

"wooyoung, do you..." inhaling a sharp breath, san blurts out without enough rationality to clear the misty train of his thoughts, "do you ever wonder why we exist?"

something in wooyoung's demeanour shifts. san curses himself with the belief that that was a foolish, foolish question, wondering where or why on earth he thought it was alright to ask it, until wooyoung faces him fully.

"it depends," he says. "as individuals or as a society as a whole?"

"as... individuals."

wooyoung stiffens, and straightens his posture, as if he really needs to think about it. slowly, almost going unnoticed, he nods his head. "yeah."

and that's all wooyoung says.

san understands. if anything, he thinks this was a stupid thing to do, ask. in a hefty attempt to restore the prior warmth of atmosphere, he stammers, "okay. uhm— you don't need to elaborate, or anything— i just— i was just asking. i don't— i don't know why, but yeah. me... me too."

although, surprisingly, wooyoung disregards san's words. "i think... i think we exist for each other. rather than existing for a sort of cause or movement, like a lot of people believe, i think we exist for the sake of the people around us. we... we exist to impact each other — each other's lives, each other's experiences, each other's feelings."

wooyoung's words bounce around in san's head, like a game of hopscotch. "that's why, to me," wooyoung continues, "to me, it's really important to be good to the people around you. to treat them with compassion and kindness. always. whether they're currently significant in your life, or not. we all need it, don't we?"

san doesn't think he's ever heard anything as wise, as respectable, as that. it's almost unbelievable it came from someone just as young as he. whenever san loses himself in an inescapable spiral of questioning his purpose here, it's always about himself: his feelings; his future; his life. he's never stopped these doubts to consider the people he's surrounded by, who could plausibly benefit from his presence. like seonghwa, perhaps even his parents. and now, maybe wooyoung, too.

perhaps such a mindset is expected from someone like san. someone who, for his entire upbringing, has been taught to prioritise and strive for money, success, and the perfect woman. according to his family, that's the only right way to go about living.

more than ever, san realises how unbelievably wrong their values are.

they near the counter at the back of the store quietly, a comfortable, trustful quiet. wooyoung greets the cashier at the till as if he's known him his whole life, a pleasant grin and an easy moment of small talk. the young man, maybe only a year or two older than them, smiles at san, a silent greeting, and san only somewhat returns the gesture before cowering subtly behind wooyoung's arm.

wooyoung tugs at san's sleeve as they exit the store. a droplet of rain thickly splashes onto the tip of san's nose, and a surprised squeak slips through the corners of his lips.

wooyoung turns to san, startled. "oh. do you not have a jacket on you, sannie?"

san shakes his head, counting the splatters of rain that rigidly tap at his head.

contemplating shortly, wooyoung looks at san, frowns, then shuffles out of the sleeves of his hoodie. it's jet black, an animation of a shark printed across the hood.

"wooyoung, no— you should keep that for yourself. it's only a bit of rain."

"my house is only around the corner, sannie," wooyoung argues plainly.

san opens his mouth to fire something protesting back, but when wooyoung steps forward, he finds that his voice has given up on him — throat dry, taut. carefully, and to the best he can without the latter's cooperation, wooyoung drapes the warm material across san's shivering figure, tucks san's arms into the sleeves, and folds the hood over san's damp hair.

"there," wooyoung announces happily, like he isn't practically sacrificing himself to the monstrous weather. "you're okay, now."

san blinks through the relentless rain pouring down over them. one of its furious droplets lands directly in the space above wooyoung's brow, and sort of gets stuck there. hesitance causing his movement to appear awkward, san leans forward on his heels, and catches it between his thumb and index finger.

wooyoung smiles at him, before gazing up at the gloomy sky. "it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. c'mon, let me take you home," he insists.

san only nods abashedly, prompting wooyoung to hook his arm around his shoulder. momentarily, he bonks their heads together. it makes him grin, foolish and wide.

san decides then, that if he's a helpless black hole amongst the endless space of the universe, and seonghwa is his bright, illuminating star guiding him throughout his way, wooyoung must be his moon. orbiting him unconditionally, shelter during his cold nights.

———

a/n: i fucking hate writing wdym after a week of struggling to get anything decent down i manage to do nearly 2k words out of pure impulse on a 2am school night

it's also december now like???? i might b sick time is not real