the riptide thrashing against san's abdomen has yet to cease. despite how much he's prayed for the nauseating weight to disappear, the vigorous waves refuse to withdraw from his insides, as if revolted by the mere concept of giving him a break. san reckons the affliction is inscribed like black and white across his features — the extra distance his peers ensure to maintain from him, his teachers' silently troubled looks lingering in his direction, the warm presence awaiting him as the school day comes to a finish.

"hey," wooyoung says softly, the door to san's math class closing behind them. he smiles tightly, his cheeks round.

san doesn't mind the latter addition too much. his shoulders loosen, almost instantly, finding a sudden wash of serenity due to the male before him. "hi, wooyoung." a notch of contentment stretches his voice. however, he fails to match wooyoung's expression; and faking it just feels wrong.

whether wooyoung notices or not remains an enigma, for he only winds an arm around san's shoulders. he follows along as san begins toward his locker. "how were things today?"

heart dilating at the mindful question, san hums for a short time, quiet and contemplative. "it's been... okay," he concludes dully. twisting his locker open, san lets out a small breath, almost tiresome.

wooyoung's gaze follows san's fingers, fumbling with his notebooks. he perks up with a suggestion, "do you wanna do something together?"

"oh. like what?"

wooyoung shrugs. "anything. i could come over, or we could hang at my place. whatever you'd like."

"can we... go to yours?" san asks quietly. seonghwa works longer hours on fridays, and his customers often become quite rowdy — san couldn't bare dealing with their noise after such a draining day. his eyes widen out of nervousness, and he doesn't know why. wooyoung says it's okay, so why can't he just believe him?

"sure, we can, sannie."

"i— i have something i need to do first, actually," san announces, stammering. wooyoung spares him a questioning look, prompting him to elaborate. "my volleyball coach — he wants to see me."

conflict meshes with wooyoung's features. "is that a good thing, or...?"

"i don't know." san sighs, pressing his eyes shut briefly. "probably not."

"then, i'll come with you," wooyoung insists, bordering on an outright demand. his grip on san's shoulder tightens, holding him vigilantly as he examines the doubtful tension clenching his cheekbones. something in wooyoung's tone shifts. "would that help, baby?"

san doesn't need to think before he nods his head yes.

wooyoung practically fastens himself to san's shoulder, the quietness from the empty corridors echoing their synchronised footsteps against the walls. the proximity of their bodies reminds san of wooyoung's words only a few days earlier.

i'm here, and there's not a single thing you're going to do about it.

frankly, san is rather surprised that wooyoung has indeed stuck to his promise — if he could call it that. since, well, everything, wooyoung has made it his very own duty to be there for him as much as is possible. though san would argue excessively that he always has and nothing is obliged to change, he keeps the thought to himself, because he's found that they're spending more time together than they ever have. even in a hugely miserable episode, san finds no fault in that.

halting before the door to the sports office, wooyoung fondles a hand across the skin of san's jaw. "i'll wait out here for you, okay?"

anxiously strenuous, san nods. the quivering breath he undergoes tugs concern out of wooyoung, noticeably through the frown dilapidating his features; san squeezes the hand hanging from his shoulder, both assuring wooyoung that his worry isn't needed and assembling the confidence to budge from his side. 

the first step san takes is more of a stumble than anything. his grip on the door handle clammy, a faint shiver electrifies san's skin at the heavy, but comforting, weight lifting from his shoulder. regardless, he musters the courage to pull the door open. somehow.

surrounding san are walls grey and dull, the dim lighting only enhancing the unpleasantness of the room. he's face-to-face with a bulletin board, slathered with so many pieces of paper that none of the notes can be coherent in the slightest. san's gaze sweeps from the perplexing board to the figure beneath it, slouched on the chair before his desk, eyes trained on his laptop. the man doesn't seem to notice san, despite the clattering of the door upon his entrance.

san's breath hiccups in the cavern of his mouth as he opens it, inquiring, "s-sir?"

his volleyball coach rises at the sound of his paltry voice, and a profound desire to flee untimely blossoms in san. he looks up at san through the thin frames sitting on the bridge of his nose. "ah!" he finally exclaims, sounding abnormally pleased as he leans back in his chair. "i've been waiting for you, choi."

san only looks to the floor, scared for his life. despite the grin glorifying the man's asymmetric teeth, san sees right through the devious glint in his eye. there's no doubt about it — he's in trouble. and, to be frank, he deserves it. ever since the catastrophe that occurred alongside wooyoung, san hasn't attended a single one of his volleyball lessons. all interest, if any, for the sport dissipated at the very tip of his fingers, and he just couldn't endure it any longer. san is certainly a fool to think he could get away with it.

the man crosses his arms over his chest, folding over the zip of his expensive sports jacket. "do you know why you're here?"

a blatant lie, san shakes his head in response. he can't even open his mouth, let alone vocalise his wrongdoings to a guy who can't stand him.

"interesting," san's coach remarks, and his smile widens. whatever that could denote, san just hopes he appears convincing enough. "is there nothing at all you think needs to be brought to light? anything?"

san feels his leg start to jitter in its stationary position. not even a breath leaves his lips.

"c'mon, kid." the man sounds almost empathetic. but san has known him long enough to verse otherwise. "you're not an idiot," he continues, patronising. "there's no need to act like one."

tears brim the corners of san's eyes. hot. "uhm—" he tries. "i— i've missed a few— a few lessons. without letting you know."

san's coach hums, as if he needs a moment to register san's confession. he doesn't. it's simply a part of his intimidating act. "there you go: i thought you knew," he sighs strongly. "do you have an excuse?"

san gulps. "no," he says quietly, perhaps a whisper. he shouldn't, and doesn't, have a reason to lie anymore; he only ever did so in fear of his parents. by their words, san's actions don't concern either of them anymore. "i'm just... not feeling it anymore," he admits, his hands fidgeting. "sorry."

pursing his lips together, san's teacher huffs a disappointed breath. "i must say — i saw that coming, choi. as much talent and skill you hold, the passion has never met that same standard."

of course, not — san's never experienced a spark of passion for volleyball in his life. it was all his father's decision. bravely, san responds, "i know."

a lone brow raises out of bewilderment, before his coach scoffs. "ya know what, boy? i'm glad you do. because we've decided to let you go."

perfect, something in san's head chimes. the voice explodes into boisterous hysterics soon after, and san has to brace himself from doing the same. he bites back the somewhat triumphant smirk fighting fiercely for a spot upon his features. "okay," san says, as clear as the summer sky awaiting him. "i understand." surely, he hasn't sounded, acted, or felt this calm in days. he'd like to savour the feeling for as long as he can.

"you had potential, choi — truly." as if san cares in the slightest. "but, as of recently, all you're doing is slowing our team down."

san is tired. "yeah."

an abrupt flash of frustration dashes through his coach's scrutinising glare. "yeah," he mocks, almost bitter. "alright. that's all i needed from you," he rushes, like he can't bare the sight of the unbothered expression before him for a second longer.

san nods, and without another word, leaves the dismal room.

wooyoung instantaneously perks up at the faintly audible sound of his footsteps, eyes dilating in apprehensive curiosity. "san," he utters with urgency, looking relieved to see him again. he steps forward, and drapes his fingers around san's arm, the spot just below his elbow. "what happened? is everything okay?"

"yeah. i got kicked from the volleyball team."

"oh my— bubs. why?" wooyoung questions carefully. he looks awful. the knit of his eyebrows and the sorriness sculpted in his jawline. san kind of wants to laugh. "that's so fucking stupid, why would they—"

"wooyoung." grinning pitiless, san shakes his head. "i don't care."

wooyoung blinks at him several times. "what? you don't?"

"no!" san assures, breaking into breathless laughter. his fingers find wooyoung's knuckles, grazing over them just lightly. "i don't give a fuck about volleyball. my dad just made me do it. thought it'd make me more of a man, or something."

the gears in wooyoung's head need a moment or two, but eventually, he's smiling just as wide as san is. "oh," wooyoung says. he giggles abashedly at himself. "well, that sucks — your dad's always been one big asshole, huh? i'm glad you're finally out of there, sannie."

"yeah. so am i."

———

"aren't you warm wearing that, bub?"

san perks up at the gentle inquiry, meeting the questioning sideways tilt of wooyoung's head and the delicacy held in his eyes. somewhat instinctually, san looks down at himself: the hoodie burying his body and zipped up to his chest. he looks back up at wooyoung.

in response, san just shakes his head with a tight, bashful smile.

yet, that only deepens the frown in wooyoung's brows. "that can't be true," he challenges, scooting closer to san's end of the sofa where his legs are tucked beneath his weight. pausing the show playing on the television, wooyoung looks at san, long and hard.

"what?"

"we're in the ripe of summer, sannie. you should be, like, seconds from passing out."

"well, i'm not." san laughs, entertained by wooyoung's determined worry. he's always been cute like this, but something about right now seeps an aching warmth through san's chest. "i... like wearing it," he admits slowly, quietly, like it's all but a sacred secret. it could be. "feels nice. safe."

wooyoung's eyes twinkle, and he repeats softly, "safe?"

san stills as if he's been exposed, but he nods nonetheless. an intense rush crawls beneath his skin, both his fists clenching around the fabric belonging to his pants. "safe," he whispers back to wooyoung, forcing his gaze not to stray. he's scared, but a part of san wants wooyoung to know, needs wooyoung to know. so he does. "you make me feel safe, woo... thank you for doing that."

"sannie." voice turning quiet, sad, wooyoung's face droops. he shuffles some more, knees brushing san's legs. "you shouldn't need to say that — not to me, not to anyone. you should feel safe with all of the people in your life."

the lump in san's throat doesn't move, rather constricting his ability to say something, anything.

and perhaps wooyoung graces a power of telekinesis or something of the like, because he frames san's face between his hands. soft palms and warm cheeks. san sniffles beneath wooyoung's heavy gaze. "i know, baby. it's okay," wooyoung tells san, makes sure he knows. "you're safe, now — you are. they're not here anymore. they can't do anything to you."

san nods his head. he wants to believe wooyoung.

"yeah?" the smile jerking wooyoung's lips up seems somewhat forced, but san appreciates it regardless. "d'you wanna watch more tv?"

"not really." heat rises to san's cheeks. "i just—" gaze stalling to his lap, the boy squeezes his eyes shut. "—i just want you," san whispers desperately, heart rising to his throat. he swallows it safely back into his chest, before his fingers find the hem of wooyoung's tee. the material bundles into his fist. "want you here. like this. please."

wooyoung halts, astonished. until he's moving, moving far too quick for san to apprehend, manoeuvring him onto his thighs and sliding their noses together.

san is nothing but breathless.

"there," wooyoung announces, breathing across the skin of san's cheek, "have me, san."

blinking countless times over, san eventually budges. he winds his arms around wooyoung's torso, ducking into his chest, and sinks, loosens, like he's been granted the fortune of a lifetime. yet, this — wooyoung — is worth so much more.

san grins with all his teeth. "actually... i didn't really mean it like this, but—" cutting himself off, san giggles sheepishly.

he moves with the shrug of wooyoung's shoulders. "so? i'm not good with metaphors," wooyoung mutters into the locks of hair tickling his chin, leaving a kiss there.

love kindles in san's chest. "i don't mind that." his eyelids fall, lashes splaying over his cheeks as he sighs contently.

wooyoung's fingers occupy themselves amidst the following silence. soft pads run along the base of san's back, slightly ticklish where his spine curves and unwinding where his shoulder blades lay. they brush and massage and caress san's skin, gently and irresistibly. san hardly breathes for the profound urge to just bask in the moment, as if he'll never experience anything like it again; and wooyoung touches san as if he fears he'll perish when it's over.

at first, san stubbornly decides on ignoring the creak of the living room door's hinges. both because he finds the shrill sound annoying and is this close to dozing off in wooyoung's arms. san hasn't slept properly in days — since it happened.

however, wooyoung's body — the same body san is slouched upon, remember? — jolts, as if startled. just like that, san is more than awake, alert eyes peering out from his spot against wooyoung's front.

it's wooyoung's mother. she stands beneath the door frame, palms loafing on either side of the wooden archway. a disappointed tut slides from her teeth.

fuck, fuck, fuck, san thinks to himself.

"if you two are going to act this sickly in love, couldn't you do it in the privacy of your room, wooyoungie?" she scolds, forged disgruntlement.

oh, san is so relieved he thinks he could shed a layer of his skin happily.

wooyoung's mother laughs at the sheer horror dissolving from the pair of expressions before her. "dinner's ready, boys." she gestures at wooyoung and san vaguely. "you have all the time in the world for this later, yeah?"

the woman is gone before either boy can muster a word.

"oh," but san is first. repose and bewilderment fuse into his quiet voice.

wooyoung releases a noise, something in between a relieved exhale and a disbelieving chuckle. "god, i'm sorry about her. she, uh—" although wooyoung laughs properly this time, it comes off as more humiliated than anything else. "she thinks she's quite the comedian sometimes. that'd be a very good example."

"as if you're any better," san pokes lightheartedly. just because taking any of this to heart right now is simply too much to bear.

"oh, shush. i'm way funnier than her."

"debatable."

wooyoung scoffs, a sparkly glint in his eye. "is it, now?"

inconveniently so, san only distinguishes the bold gleam of mischief after wooyoung's fingers go crooked and crisp nails jab repeatedly into his tummy.

"wooyoung!" san shrieks, laughter bellowing loudly from his throat. he squirms and wriggles in wooyoung's lap at the humorous sensation, eventually succeeding in swatting his unforgiving hands away. in self-defence, san curls into himself, a ball of some shape, arms hugging his front protectively.

wooyoung looks positively mad, beaming a smile that scrunches his eyes into crescent-shaped slits.

concealing the content appearance of his teeth, san feigns a scowl. "sneak attacks are outdated."

wooyoung laughs. "to you, they might be," he responds, before his hand reaches up to pet san's hair, half a caress. san gladly accepts the gesture as an apology. "and so will mom's food if we don't hurry up. come on, bubs."

in spite of wooyoung's unconvincing exaggeration, san abides by wooyoung's request and slithers off from his comfortable position. once he's behind the old wood of wooyoung's miniature dining table, san couldn't possibly whinge over it — even if he's all up in wooyoung's personal space no longer. he's only two large bites into his food when he chirrups, quiet yet truthfully sincere, "thank you for the food, mrs jung. like always."

wooyoung's mother dismisses san's gratitude with a wave of her hand. "what do i always say, dear? there's no need for any of that!"

in his peripheral, san finds that a smile twists the corners of wooyoung's lips. he's looking down into his food, yet his cheeks go round and his ears pink.

san doesn't stop looking at wooyoung for a while. maybe for a long while — far too long. but it's not his fault. wooyoung is... wooyoung is just wooyoung. and san thinks wooyoung is pretty. very, very pretty: the way he looks and the way he speaks and the way he acts. looking at wooyoung, regardless of whether he's looking at him back, makes san feel lots of things. good things, of course.

good things san wants to keep in his heart even once he looks the other way.

———

a/n: good 7am to you 😁 why i woke up at 4 on a sunday is a wonder to me as well but l&f is back!!! feels like i haven't updated this in years so im very happy rn

it's my friends bday today!!! our little group r going out together later on to celebrate n im excited ><

i hope ur all doing the best u can be <3 hugs for u all 🫂🫂🫂