wooyoung has loved san's laugh since forever. it's almost ridiculous — the way the high, giddy sound clashes with his criminally irresistible appearance. his eyes form a pair of pretty crescents if wooyoung's comments are funny enough, always an endearing sight, and sometimes, if he's really, really funny, san loses his physical composure and his head collapses into his hands or he doubles over.

they're in san's car right now, surroundings a blur of greens and greys wooyoung can't discern. he doesn't find that to be an issue, however.

a song reverberates throughout the small vehicle, the cars' speakers connected to san's phone which, of course, is playing a loona track. the angelic, feminine voices sound somewhat distorted to wooyoung's ears, but that doesn't matter to him.

san has a hand on the wheel, the other resting on wooyoung's knee. occasionally, he'll slide his thumb through the rip of the younger's jeans, and the warm feeling of san's skin on wooyoung's own makes him smile subtly to himself.

wooyoung's head turns to san when he says something. he can hear san's voice, not his exact words, just his voice, his mouth shifting from one shape to the other, as if he's miming. then, he laughs at something — wooyoung doesn't hear that either, the usual airy sound, but he can tell from the way san's eyes crinkle and his head tilts forward and his chest shakes. but nothing here is wrong, nothing is out of the ordinary, and so wooyoung just laughs along.

he says something witty in response to san's remark, like he normally would, and san is laughing even louder this time, even harder, his hand lifting from the steering wheel to cover his teeth.

wooyoung loves making san laugh like this.

so when an abrupt and atrocious screech replaces the empty sound of san's joyous laughter, followed by a series of screams and wails as the vehicle topples onto its side, revealing the nightmarish sight of san, motionless and bloody, so, so, so unspeakably bloody, wooyoung screams ear-piercingly, a dreadful beg to be let out.

it works. somehow.

wooyoung's ceiling is foggy, and his lashes itch at the scorching hot tears brimming his eyes. his fingers jerk horrifyingly at— at that.

wooyoung is sobbing way before he realises it wasn't real. that san didn't actually— that san is okay.

but that doesn't help anything.

he's crying a wrecked mess into his sheets, loudly, uncontrollably, and nauseously, his hand clasped over his eyes as if that'll stop the images in his head. he rasps a long, taut exhale as if that'll help the fast, trembling breaths from his suffocating chest. he grips the duvet tucked over his chest, the material sticky with tears and snot, as if that'll stabilise the relentless quivering of his figure.

but it doesn't help wooyoung. nothing can.

flashes of his dream, his nightmare, relay in wooyoung's mind, like a monster taunting him with his worst fear. they aren't far off. san's blindingly pearly teeth, san's limp figure, san's gaping, pouring wounds. everywhere.

all because of wooyoung. all because wooyoung wanted to see san happy, because wooyoung wanted to see him laugh and smile.

all because wooyoung loves him.

it's not fair, because this time, he can't run away. wooyoung can't leave, abandon san, tell him, lie to him, that it's for the better. he's been there and he's done that, and it was one of the worst decisions of his life. he was unhappy. most importantly, san was unhappy.

but nor can wooyoung do this, nor can he cope, he doesn't know how. he doesn't know if it's possible. seeing san look like— look like that, it's not— he can't do it. he can't. it fucking ruins him, swarms wooyoung's heart with poison so dark he feels like he's decaying, the pain, ruthless and agonising, thrashing into him as if it wants him to crumble until he's nothing but millions upon millions of soulless shards.

the sudden warmth momentarily lingering on wooyoung's shoulders alarms him. it's gentle and soothing, even, yet the unfamiliarity makes him tremble more and more, out of fear or absurdity he doesn't know.

but when the touch retracts, and frigid shivers rack through wooyoung, he sobs. it's gut-wrenching and raw, so loud that walls outside their own would distinguish the pure pain enclasped within it, prompting them back in an instant. a pair of arms drape over wooyoung completely this time, before he's being manoeuvred cautiously forward, his cheek pressing against a firm yet comfortable surface, and—

san — it's san. it's his san, who's okay and well and—

"san," wooyoung cries. he's scarcely able to make out san hushing him softly, or the fingers rubbing circles into his back. but he needs to feel it, he needs to feel san. so, so badly. "sannie, i can't— i-i— you—"

"i know, my angel," san says, low and soft and reassuring, and wooyoung reaches out for him, his arm. he holds san, and he feels san, and he squeezes his eyes shut. "but you're okay, sweetheart. i'm here;" a murmur wooyoung didn't realise he needed this much until now. "i've got you, yeah?"

wooyoung tries a hum because he knows san is telling nothing but the sheer truth, but it's pointless when he's like this. all he does, all he can do, is cower into san's chest, and cry helplessly over something that has yet to happen. something that he can't ever have happen.

but if san tells him it's okay, then it must be okay. it has to be.

the steady beat of san's heart echoes into wooyoung's head, through his ear canals to the pernicious thoughts corrupting his mind. their steely attempt to break him is ultimately a battle san wins. because eventually, wooyoung feels the pair of warm arms around his torso, the series of rhythmic breaths by his ear, the hand caressing the rough tussle of his hair, and so he mumbles weakly, "sa— sannie?"

almost frantic, san draws back, his eyes wide and intent. he holds wooyoung's face, whose tears stain his palms, desperately searching for something between his rumpled features. "are you okay?" you'd think san is attempting a tongue twister, considering the hurried pace of his words. "is there— do you need anything, sweetheart? should i—"

"you," wooyoung whispers tiredly, fighting back the urge to doze off right there. he doesn't really want to, though; he'd much rather stare at san's face till the sun rises, engrave the sight before him into his memory for eternity.

maybe then he'd forget what he saw.

"baby, i'm right here," san assures gently, his thumbs stroking wooyoung's cheeks back and forth. "i'm always here. you know that."

"i know, i— i just—" wooyoung's lip trembles, before he musters quietly, "missed you." his shoulders are tense out of nervousness, watching as san's features scrunch up, confused. wooyoung gulps down the fear clogging the back of his throat. "i— i dreamt about you," he adds on. "a-and—"

"oh, wooyo." misery instantly fills san's eyes, because he knows, he knows what wooyoung means. he leans in to bring their bodies closer, bear wooyoung with the warmth and care he desperately needs right now, a hand raking through his hair and lips pressing a kiss onto his temple. "i'm so sorry, my love. you don't need to explain if you wouldn't like to. i understand, okay?"

wooyoung sniffles, nodding feebly.

"do you want me to get you some water?"

blood. wooyoung sees the blood once more. he thinks he can almost smell the obnoxious stench of the fluid. almost immediately, he shakes his head no, movement frantic.

"but, angel, you need—"

"no," wooyoung whispers, broken, trembling. the tear quivering upon his waterline trickles down san's wrist. "please, sannie, i can't— don't— don't go." there's so much blood. "please, please, please—"

"okay," san says, his orderly voice a contrast to the sporadic emotion in his eyes. "that's okay, sweetheart. i'm not going anywhere. i'm right here — with you. it's staying that way, yeah?"

wooyoung would be a fool if he didn't catch the slight break of san's voice. this is the last thing he wanted, for san to feel like this because of him. again. "i'm— 'm sorry, sannie."

features drooping, san frowns. "darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. this isn't your fault. none of it is your fault."

"but i hurt you," wooyoung mutters, the tone of his voice somewhat soulless. "i hurt you. yeah, it wasn't real, but i still did it, and—"

"wooyoung—"

"i killed you, san," wooyoung says, directly into san's eyes; he thinks he sounds crazy. his face coils up, his mouth twisting into a sob, and his grip on san's arm clenches into his skin. his heart writhes with agony. perhaps he is going crazy. "i killed you like i killed yeosang, i—" breathe stammering, wooyoung pants heavily, incoherent. "i— i didn't mean to, sannie, i swear, i promise, i just— i just— i couldn't— the car just came, a-and i— i—"

"wooyoung, stop it," san demands, strongly interjecting. his voice is stern and tough, and wooyoung hasn't ever heard him like this before; even throughout his hysterical trance, the coldness slices through him as a knife would.

though in merely seconds, san softens, quietens apologetically, holding wooyoung's body, close to limp in his arms, "angel, just stop for a moment, hm? you're tiring yourself out, sweetheart, you can barely breathe — let's focus on fixing that for now, yeah?"

wooyoung weeps, feeling san's warm fingertips again. "sannie..."

"i know it's hard, sweetheart, but you're okay. there's nothing bad here, nothing for you to be scared about. you're in your room, all cosy in your bed, with— with me. see? you were right, that wasn't real. but this is, and look? we're okay, my love. both of us are."

wooyoung can't pinpoint what exactly it is, but there's something about san's tangent that eventually attunes the thoughts in his head with his surroundings and aligns them with reality. although wooyoung can't feel his limbs anymore, almost as if he's paralysed, and his throat is dry and becoming sore, his nose stuffy, he's not back there anymore. with the blood and the screams. instead, he's with san, his san, the real san, and his best friends are probably snuggled up together in bed just next door.

he's safe, wooyoung is safe. so is san, and that's more than enough of an epiphany for wooyoung to breathe again.

san's care is gentle as he brings the hem of his shirt up to wooyoung's face and wipes away the fresh splotches of tears and snot dishevelling his cheeks and his nose. then, he takes wooyoung's hands and cleans them, too, all while wooyoung stares at him, dumbfounded. he hasn't even seen this in those corny romance films before.

smile small yet tender, san looks at wooyoung as delicately as the spring breeze. "you up for some more sleep, or—"

wooyoung shakes his head immediately.

luckily, san doesn't press on this time. "okay. what about getting something to eat? you must be hungry, baby, and you need that energy, hm?"

san has never been more right; wooyoung hasn't felt this physically drained out in months. he nods, or, at least, the closest to a nod he can manage in this state, and san strokes his nape. "that's what i wanted to hear," he murmurs. "come on, then."

one of san's hands slides into wooyoung's fingers, and he supports him up, an arm holding the curve of his back. finding his balance with his own two feet rather than san's arms, wooyoung's grip doesn't once leave the spot above san's elbow. asides physically, it composes him internally, emotionally, admittedly due to his lingering fear and anxiety, a constant to remind him that san is here with him, and not—

"you're shivering, sweetheart," san points out softly, and rubs his thumb across wooyoung's shoulder. "do you want something warmer to wear than this?"

honestly, wooyoung feels like he's bathing in a heap of ice cubes. but he's wearing san's pyjamas, a striped grey and white set he found after scavenging through his luggage, and he'd like to keep it on for as long as is socially acceptable. he thinks a few more hours would do it, so wooyoung shakes his head once more.

"it's okay," he whispers, voice hoarse against the walls of his throat. "it's— it's yours. don't wanna take it off."

perhaps it's the overwhelming feeling of solace in san's eyes being poured over wooyoung that makes him look away. his gaze renders to his feet, as he shuffles them back and forth against the beige carpet, and his nails absently find the edges of his fingers.

a shadow casts over wooyoung, before san's arms wrap around his frame. a hand cradles the back of his head and the other embraces his shoulder.

even without any words, wooyoung has frankly never felt more reassured, more okay than this in his life. ever.

though he doesn't bother to hug san back, his eyes mindlessly fall shut within the crook of his neck. because no matter how hard they try to haunt him away, nothing can hurt wooyoung here.

###

a/n: hello i think i have a flu but halazia's coming in 2 days that's so insane