TW :: ptsd, blood, death.

"i literally hate you, choi san. i hate you, i hate you, i hate you so mu—"

"but how could you ever hate your singer boy, wooyo?" the teasing grin baring san's lips is so fucking aggravating. "don't lie to yourself, you'd never hate me. not even in a million years, you wouldn't."

eyes rolling to the back of his head, wooyoung reaches out for the napkins sprawled across the table. ignoring the entertained chuckles from besides him, he dabs the tissue against his chin, attempting to clean off the frosting that san ever so kindly smeared onto him just moments ago.

"look at me," san orders softly. despite his cluelessness, wooyoung obliges anyway, eyes widening when his chin is suddenly held between san's fingers. the elder's thumb carefully swipes over his skin, before thieving the napkin in his hold. at wooyoung's stricken expression, he clears up, clearing his throat, "sorry, you just— you didn't get it all."

"oh." wooyoung loosens up, yet simultaneously, he feels like he's on fire.

his legs over one of san's thighs does anything but help, and it's then he finally questions himself how he's even gotten in such a position, even more how san seems completely fine with it. perhaps it's just a spur of the moment kind of thing. either way, he doesn't think to move. it's comfortable.

"still hate you, though," wooyoung adds in a mutter; just like that, the usual lighthearted air between them has returned.

san snickers. "of course, you do."

it's strange how easy the silence which follows them is. wooyoung doesn't worry about what to say next because, god, they've spoken so much over the past few hours that he doesn't think it to be necessary. nor does wooyoung worry about what has already been said or done because tonight has been so carefree that he doesn't think it matters.

and neither does wooyoung worry about san, how he's feeling or what's on his mind because he knows him far too well to think anything unusual about him untying his shoelaces out of the blue.

"you tie your laces so ugly," san remarks, and wooyoung's features scrunch up in both confusion and disbelief.

"how is that possib— why does that even matter?"

"because you have your shoes on my lap without them tied into ribbons," san expresses disgustedly, propping wooyoung's leg up onto his knee. "so criminal of you, what the fuck."

wooyoung grins widely. "guess it's just my fate, sannie. 'cause i'm not a hitman for nothing, am i?"

"are hitmen meant to be this cute?"

it seems like wooyoung is the only one who is taken back by... whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. meanwhile, san casually ties the latter's shoelaces the proper way, as if the words never left his mouth to begin with.

"there you go," san announces, upon having completed his determined task.

"why do you say that so much?" wooyoung blurts out, amidst his internal bewilderment. and immediately, panic floods him. shit, shit, shi—

"hm?" san's eyebrow raises at the boy. "say what?"

cheeks burning, wooyoung shakes his head. "n-nothing. never mind, i-it's not— it's not anything important, so..."

"call you cute, i'm guessing?" san presses on further, regardless of wooyoung's refusal. the latter doesn't respond, he physically can't, but just to his luck, the colour rising to his cheeks does so on his behalf. "do i take that as a yes?"

the amusement in san's tone makes wooyoung to want to dig a hole for himself there and then. he feels like his biggest secret has just been exposed, like the singer can see right through him, his desire to migrate to the underground only increasing when san's cool fingertips graze the side of his face with care.

"'cause you are," san claims gently, as if it's the most factual thought he's ever had. "is me pointing that out an issue?"

wooyoung shakes his head hurriedly at how genuine the question is. "no, n-not that, sannie... was just wondering."

san hums, in what seems like acknowledgment, his hand travelling to wooyoung's hair. he runs his fingers through it slowly. "think you've gotten your answer, then?"

wooyoung hates how his leg jitters on its own accord. "i... yeah. i guess so, yeah."

"good," san murmurs, hand still weaving through wooyoung's soft locks. and so they sit like that, wooyoung's legs flung over both of san's thighs this time and one of san's hands in wooyoung's hair, who absentmindedly leans closer every time he's caused to hum quietly in pleasure.

just the two of them beneath the ethereal glow of the moonlight, nothing has been more perfect in a long time.

###

wooyoung frowns. "oh, so your phone is funnier than me, now?"

"if that's what you're assuming, then—" san yelps, his features strained as he rubs at his poor victim of an arm.

in return, wooyoung snickers, as sweet as he always is. they're laid lazily across san's bed, atop of his beige covers, the quiet sound of the television buzzing within the walls. unconsciously, wooyoung tugs at the hem of san's sleeve. "nothing's funnier than me, sannie."

grinning, san is typing away again. "not even your dog?"

"ew." wooyoung's expression contorts at the mention of his best friends, head dropping onto san's shoulder. "why are you texting them?"

"i don't want to, if that's what you wanna hear," san says, his spare hand finding wooyoung's hair without a single hesitant thought. "they just made a chat with the four of us? they ask really... nosy questions, too. how mad d'you think they'd get if i left them on read?"

"very," wooyoung mutters, unfortunately out of experience. "doesn't matter, though. they wouldn't jump onto a plane to deal with you, so you're fine."

"that's just a wooyo thing, then?"

for a reason he can't put into words, wooyoung tenses up a bit at san's words. although he thought he was accustomed to the feeling, he's very suddenly hyper aware of the fingers tussling through his hair. "no. i just wanted to."

"sounds like pretty much the same thing to me," san challenges.

"you're annoying."

"yet you still decided to surprise me?"

wooyoung pauses. "everyone needs a bit of jung wooyoung on their birthday, though, sannie."

"everyone?" san questions, almost sounding offended. "sad — i thought i was special." wooyoung tries, initially, to swallow back his fit of giggles, yet he fails. and miserably. "hm? why is that so funny?"

"it's not."

"you're lying," san shoots back just as fast.

wooyoung shuffles onto his side, surprised to discover san's gaze already on him. "fine," he admits. "i guess i was."

momentarily, san's fingers halt in wooyoung's hair. "yeah?"

"well, i have to think about it really, really, really hard first, but... i'd say you are special, actually," wooyoung says quietly. he tears his eyes away from san's overbearing one's. "just a bit."

san blinks at him, his cheeks turning... pink. wooyoung doesn't know what exactly he is feeling when his stomach fizzes up. and the odd sensation doesn't seem to have any plans to leave him be any time soon because san's hand trails down the side of his face to his jaw.

"you know..." san is nervous, and that only reflects onto wooyoung. "i wouldn't want to hear that from anyone else, wooyo."

"am i..." wooyoung's whisper trails off the first try. "am i meant to believe that?"

"i'd like it if you did, yeah," san murmurs. his thumb brushes across the younger's skin, and it's different this time — without any stupid frosting in the way.

wooyoung is hot, even despite the air conditioner faintly breathing onto them. "maybe i could try to, then. for you, sannie."

san smiles small, a mixture of fondness and joy. up close like this, it's just so alluring to wooyoung, as if it's the only thing that matters right now. and strangely enough, his gaze lingers on san's mouth, san's lips.

oh. before he can stop himself, his mind is drifting far, far away to the impossible, to a fairy tale one might say — the foreign thought capturing wooyoung's mind sends something through his chest, something nauseatingly light and fuzzy. he feels only a teensy bit short of a criminal when he meets san's gaze again.

because, shit, wooyoung wants to kiss him. in fact, he's imagining kissing san, san and those silky, pink lips of his; it's a wonder he hasn't fantasied of so before, the thought caging every part of him.

so much that it takes wooyoung longer than it should to notice the crease of anxiousness which crosses san's features.

wooyoung's eyes widen. "s-san... sannie, i-i—"

the thumb abruptly grazing over the flesh of wooyoung's lower lip, its touch careful and delicate, stops him. not out of his own will, but because he can't, he can't talk. gosh, he can barely breathe when san reassures throughout a deep exhale, "it's okay. we— we're okay."

then, san is inching closer, eyes wandering wooyoung's expression intently.

"sannie..." wooyoung whispers. his tone is a lot less panicked this time round, even throughout the confusion it's coated in.

in return, san's lips are just millimetres apart from wooyoung's, who rests his hands upon the older's shoulders for stability. as much as he wants this, as much as he wants san, simply basking in his affection is more than enough for wooyoung. it feels like it's been a lifetime since he was last held like this, last touched like this.

tears prick at the corners of wooyoung's eyes. the time he was last held and touched like this... he doesn't want a repeat of it. he can't have a repeat of it, he won't let that happen. especially with san.

so, his nose brushing against the latter's, wooyoung reluctantly shifts backwards just a bit. "sannie?"

"h-hm? what's the matter, wooyo?" san asks softly, nibbling at his lip, and wooyoung is certain that the flutter in his stomach means what he thinks it does.

san's fingers caress his skin before he can answer, or even think to, that is. they meet a certain spot beneath his left eye — his mole.

slowly, wooyoung's brain whirs down.

it was... it was just like yeosang did to him that night. the last night they spent together.

wooyoung blinks, furiously and rapidly, at the liquid scorching his eyes. what is he doing? he can't tell what's worse — thinking about yeosang whilst sharing such intimacy with san, or letting san do the same things yeosang once did to him as if he weren't his everything just several months ago. wooyoung really, really doesn't know what he's doing.

"wooyo?" san's voice is full of concern, concern wooyoung doesn't think he deserves right now. "hey, i'm here," he tells him. "i'm right here, hm?"

stomach now replaced with a sea of sickening remorse, its waves mercilessly crashing into him, wooyoung clutches onto san's shirt.

"wooyoung..."

"i'm sorry, i— s-sannie..." wooyoung can't endure the growing worry in san's eyes. tears pool out of him, their droplets fat and hot, burning his skin as they slide down his cheeks, down san's hands. a gasp forces out of his throat, sharp and long, attempting to grasp onto the oxygen surrounding him.

his vision a blurred cloud, wooyoung's face comes in contact with a shelter of warmth. it's a good warmth, he's sure of, because only one of the seven billion people in the world would be cupping his cheeks in their palms right now.

"w-wooyoung?" both a distant scream and a close whisper at once, wooyoung weeps at the sound of san.

"no, you're okay. you're okay, sweetheart, i promise you. you're safe here, you— you're safe with me, yeah?" san's voice cracks just slightly.

wooyoung wants to say something, he wants to make san better, but he can't, his breath shaky in between hyperventilation. he's falling, and the pit of the surface isn't anywhere close for him to safely land.

"fuck, wooyo, please." san is pleading at this point, and it hurts. hearing san try so relentlessly hard for him hurts. "i'm—i'm sorry, i just— shit, i-i really need you to come back to me, but i— i don't know if you can even hear me, and j-just— fuck, i'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry, wooyoung—"

everything abruptly stops when a dangerous screech of car tyres ceases wooyoung's hearing.

trembling at the violent sound, wooyoung claps his hands over his ears, horrified. and to him, it feels like it all has slowed down: the cool air from the vent above, the voices from the television before them, the movement of san's lips.

wooyoung feels like he's back in his old apartment again, scrambling to the nearest window to confirm the horror of yeosang's screams.

fast. suddenly everything is going fast, the red seeping into wooyoung's vision happens so fast. red, red, red, everywhere.

on his hands, on the bedsheets, on san.

on san. like a snap of one's fingers, wooyoung can see him as vividly as ever, blood dripping down from his chest, his mouth, and his head.

"no," wooyoung mutters, his head frantically swivelling around the rest of the room.

splatters of red stain the pale walls.

"w-what—" shaking his head back and forth, wooyoung is crying once more. "no, no, no!"

he whimpers, afraid when something tugs at him. flailing his arms about, he fights out of the grasp ushering him closer; he doesn't know what's real anymore and he is so scared, so scared for it to happen again.

lightheaded, wooyoung stumbles across the floor of san's room and towards the door. once he's fumbled to shove it open, he only has one thing in mind.

to run.

###

a/n: giggles innocently

i shall simply ignore these happenings i am to blame for and instead! eid mubarak to any muslims here, have an amazing amazing amazing day ilysm mwah <33