* * *

« parents are the greatest liars
they make you believe in love
until they don't »

Wooyoung likes the sea. Always has, ever since was a kid and first discovered what it was during one of his science classes. The topic was about nature, and although Wooyoung can't remember much about a lesson that happened over ten years ago, he can still vividly recollect the way he felt seeing surfers glide across the vast body of water on the projected screen with their surfboards. He can still remember how endless and infinite the sea was, stretching out into the distant horizon.

And it's quite ironic, really, because Wooyoung doesn't like the sight of his left eye when it's the same colour.

Though Wooyoung adores the sea itself, he despises beaches. He used to love it however -- like most things in his life before he grew up -- used to admire the way his little feet would sink into the grainy, comfy sand. He used to like the rich smell of salt in the air, of birds cackling over the cloudless blue skies. Made him feel free -- infinite -- just like the sea he loved so much.

The beach used to store his most prized memories until his eleventh birthday.

His parents brought him to the local beach, just like they did every other year because they didn't have to spend much, and it wasn't like Wooyoung minded since he liked the outdoors and anywhere that allowed him to be free.

Wooyoung didn't talk to any of the other kids there either, especially after he started to realize dealing with people who obviously wanted nothing to do with him drained his energy to bits, deciding to spend almost all his time there building sandcastles and watching the sun descend down the sapphire blue sky.

"Call your father. I want you to take a picture of him and I together by the sunset," Wooyoung's mother told him from where she sat on her lounge chair. It was always 'him and I' and never 'us three', but Wooyoung never commented on it, obeying her instantly.

He began to hate the beach when he spotted his father by his car -- their car -- with another woman with longer hair than his mother and a face full of makeup. They kissed, his father grinning at her in a way he'd never done with his own wife or son.

Wooyoung never said a thing about it, and sometimes he lies awake at night, wondering if things would've turned out differently if he had. It's not my fault, he'd try to convince himself, but it's been years and he still blames himself for the downfall of his parents' marriage, even when he knows his father is a shit human who cheats and his mother cares about no one but herself.

After that moment, beaches weren't temporary paradises filled with astronomical skies and dazzling seas anymore. They represented lairs of deceit and parents who should've never met in the first place.

Wooyoung blinks, and then he lands himself in the present. Faint chatter surrounds his ears, and his right hand is cold. Damp.

"Are you gonna take anything or what?" It's a man, probably in his late forties with a bushy mustache and beady eyes. Which are currently judging Wooyoung.

"Oh. Uh, sorry." Wooyoung steps away, and the freezer snaps shut. Frozen bags of fish stare at him through the transparent case. He can't believe he'd just zoned out on fish.

Wooyoung walks off into another aisle of the supermarket, keeping his eyes lowered in case he accidentally exchanges awkward eye contact with anyone else.

Some cash got transferred into his account this morning courtesy of Hongjoong, and as a result Wooyoung skipped out on letting one of San's hired chauffeurs drive him (even if it was in the agreement) and hiked a ride on the public bus instead that afternoon, which is why he's here right now.

It isn't a planned outing, not even close. He only left the house because staying there only reminded him of how much he fucked up and how much San probably hates him now.

"You're a fucking jerk," echoes in Wooyoung's brain as he heads down the aisle full of sweets. His ears flush at the insult, as if everyone in this entire freaking store can hear what San called him and are now pointing and laughing and saying that 'yes, he really is a fucking jerk, ha ha ha'.

Don't think about him, Wooyoung tells himself. Don't think about San even if that's your job and you should be in the house right now, babysitting him because that's the only reason you're here, using money you did nothing to earn.

Wooyoung really fucking hates the voices in his mind sometimes.

He takes the first bag of sweets that catches his eye and dumps it inside his basket. Avoiding everyone's stares, he quickly grabs some snacks and some strawberry and banana milk as well. He doesn't know why his chooses these particular items to buy, especially because he isn't that big a fan of sweet things, but when he starts to think of Choi San again he finds himself grabbing another bottle of strawberry milk.

Wooyoung exhales a sigh of relief when he makes it to the checkout counter mentally unscathed and without making a huge fool out of himself.

"...Wooyoung?"

Wooyoung's head snaps up, and there, right in front of him in a red and grey uniform with the supermarket's logo on it, is Kang Yeosang. Wooyoung feels himself gulp.

"Uh, hey." Wooyoung puts his things on the counter, stares behind him. There's no one else there, and somehow he wishes he'd chosen a more popular store than this place.

"How are you?" Yeosang attempts small talk, a friendly smile on his delicate face. He's just so effortlessly stunning, and it makes Wooyoung feel painfully inferior in comparison. "I mean, I haven't seen you in a while. Well, in two days, but," he laughs, full and rich, "how's your new home?"

For some reason, his words make Wooyoung ashamed, because he actually doesn't have a new home. He's just a glorified guest at a mansion whose owner wouldn't hesitate to dispose of whenever he saw fit. But Yeosang doesn't need to know that, now does he?

"It's good. Has a nice view, yeah," Wooyoung replies with an awkward clear of his throat.

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"You have classes tomorrow, right? I mean, you probably have since it's Monday," Yeosang continues despite Wooyoung's obvious lack of interest. Another customer strolls behind Wooyoung, but that doesn't discourage him. "When are you free? We can like, go grab lunch together or something."

Wooyoung doesn't want to. Not because he dislikes Yeosang, but because he genuinely doesn't know how to react in situations like this. When last did he go out to eat with someone? He truly can't remember.

He feels the impatient stare of the lady behind him and quickly shoves his stuff inside a bag after paying for them. "I don't -- maybe next time."

"Next time it is, then."

Wooyoung has no idea what kind of expression Yeosang now has on his face (because he seriously has a problem with looking people in the eye), but nods nonetheless. "Yeah. Next time."

Wooyoung leaves the supermarket right then, the wind in his hair and nervous butterflies in his stomach. He looks at the store to see Yeosang grinning brightly at a customer, probably wishing them a good day or something. He walks off before the other male can feel his creepy stares and wonders why he'd sort of thought Yeosang would've kept looking at him even as he stepped out.

You're not that important, a voice in Wooyoung's mind whispers just as he crosses the road.

Gee, thanks.

* * *

Wooyoung doesn't know what to expect when he returns back to Choi San's home, but he certainly doesn't anticipate seeing the man himself perched on the leather couch, a leg crossed over the other as he looks through the photo-book in his hand.

He isn't wearing pjs anymore, but instead slacks and a white shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms and...veins.

"Welcome back," San says without looking at Wooyoung, and the younger swallows, staring elsewhere.

"Uh, hi."

"You left without telling me, and you didn't let any of my men drive you," San continues, tone ultra serious. Wooyoung would've chuckled a bit at his professionalism under different circumstances, and if he and San were actually friends, which they aren't.

"I uh, I didn't need to. Hongjoong hyung," Wooyoung pauses, trying to reword his sentence. "I didn't need the help because hyung -- "

"So now you call Hongjoong 'hyung'," San cuts in, flipping over a new page. If Wooyoung didn't know better he'd have assumed he sounded a little... jealous.

San still doesn't spare Wooyoung a glance, and Wooyoung doesn't know if that makes him more relieved or not.

"Well, yes. He told me that I can, um, call him that." Wooyoung licks his lips, but of course that's when Choi San decides to look up, causing him to nearly choke on his spit.

The upper half of San's hair is pulled into a ponytail, a few strands falling over his eyes, which are currently surveying Wooyoung from top to bottom. They linger on his face, and it makes Wooyoung writhe uncomfortably.

"You dress like a lumberjack," San suddenly comments.

Wooyoung stares at his plaid shirt and dark jeans, and shrugs because he genuinely doesn't know how else to answer. "Thanks?"

"It's not a compliment." But San's lips are quirked, like he's trying to bite back a smile.

Wooyoung's eyes fall on the book he's holding. He sees something that faintly resembles dresses and skirts.

San slaps the book shut, startling him a little. The CEO points at the bag he's clutching, foxy eyes dark with curiosity. "What's in there?"

"Uh...food," Wooyoung states the obvious, and he wants to smack himself.

Choi San stares at his face again, slowly, intensely, like he's trying to read his soul. Wooyoung quickly realizes he's watching his eyes.

"I think I should go," he tries to excuse himself, but San beats him to it, patting the space beside him on the sofa.

"Come here."

Wooyoung stands there like he's frozen, unable to believe San just invited him to sit next to him when just hours earlier he looked like he was seconds away from firing his ass.

San must've noticed, because he just grumbles, uncrossing his legs. "Come, Wooyoung. I'm not gonna jump you. I'm not some secret mafia boss like in those fan-fictions written about me."

Wooyoung blinks, flabbergasted. "Excuse me?"

"Don't lie to me," San begins, sifting a curled lock of hair behind his ear and good god why is Wooyoung looking at that? "I'm sure you've read some of them. They were like, all over the internet at one point. Like, 'Living With My Hot, Sexy and Mysterious CEO Choi San'? Yeah, I think that was the title of one of them. It was good though, despite it's ludicrous name."

"Uh..." Wooyoung is completely, and utterly, lost. "I don't... I'm sorry but I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."

He winces at his slip up, especially when San narrows his eyes at him.

"Don't call me sir."

"Then what do you want me to call you?"

San chews his lip, which juts into a pout. Cute.

Wait -- not cute --

"Daddy."

Wooyoung drops his bag, then swears loudly like a goddamn sailor. If that isn't embarrassing enough, his knees audibly form that crack sound when he bends to pick his things up.

San laughs like a madman, clapping his hands as if he's just made the funniest joke ever. "Oh my god. I got you good."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Wooyoung grabs the bag, turning on his heel to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" San asks. It's like a switch has been flipped, and his voice no longer annoys Wooyoung but daunts him. "I never told you to leave."

As soon as Wooyoung looks back, he continues. "And plus, aren't you my babysitter? You're supposed to be babysitting me."

"I..." Wooyoung stops, San's icy gaze caging him from inside out, and then he shatters. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry for the way I treated you this morning. And yesterday too. I never meant to shout on you and hurt your feelings and it was really mean of me and I sincerely apologize for any hurt I may have caused because I truly never meant a word I was just angry at myself and everything and -- "

"Sit your ass down."

Wooyoung's knees buckle and then he finds himself on the cool floor. He doesn't know what's happening to him anymore.

"On the couch, oh my god," San clarifies with the widest smile Wooyoung has ever seen on him. Something unfamiliar twists in his chest at the sight, and he feels sick.

San pats the space next to him for good measure, his dimpled smile still on display. "That's what I meant."

Wooyoung's nerves eat him alive as he scurries over to where Choi San wants, not knowing how to act with the older man so close to him now.

San shifts to face him squarely, all amused smiles, sculpted cheekbones and potent eyes, and Wooyoung has no idea where to look that won't make him out to be some sort of freak.

Stop being so stiff. It's just San, it's just San, it's just San --

Wooyoung's heart leaps to his throat when he feels San's hands on his shirt. Immediately he looks down, inhaling fragrant rosemary and getting an eyeful of nimble, soft looking fingers tugging at the buttons, and then coolness slithers in, enveloping his scorching skin.

"Uhm," Wooyoung gulps, making eye contact with San, which causes his heart to palpitate erratically. "What are you doing?"

"You buttoned your shirt all the way to the top," San lets go, tongue poking out of his lips as he admires his handiwork. "It was not cool. But now, now you look suave."

Wooyoung looks down, cheeks aflame when he sees the amount of buttons now loose. Instinctively, his fingers cover his exposed chest from view, while San guffaws and looks through the shopping bag in front of him.

"I forgive you," San states, and even when he isn't watching Wooyoung, it makes his cheeks hotter. The man then pulls out a bag of chips and drops it just as he does. "I don't like chips."

Wooyoung's eyes widen. "I -- they aren't for you -- "

But San takes out the next item, which is a pack of sweets, and dumps it on the couch, brows knitted. "Sweets aren't my thing."

"I didn't -- "

"I hate banana milk and strawberry milk is gross," San adds with a long sigh. "Why'd you buy them if I don't like them?"

"They...they're not for you," Wooyoung finally manages to get out, pride a bit bruised. He doesn't know why though, because according to him he bought those things for himself, not anyone else.

"Then who were they for? You?" One of San's dark eyebrows raise. "You don't look like the type to favour sweet things."

Wooyoung bites his lip, at a loss for words. And he hates it. San just makes it worse with the way he keeps watching him, arms crossed like some imposing instructor.

"...I don't like sweet things that much," Wooyoung then admits, cracking under the pressure.

"So you bought all these things for me."

Wooyoung nods, feeling unexplainably shy. "...Yeah..."

"Sweet!" San abruptly perks up, and then he's ripping the pack of sweets open and snatching a blueberry flavoured lollipop. "This brand isn't what I'm used to, but I'll make do with it since you bought them for me."

"Uh, what?" Wooyoung's insides well up in confusion as San shoves the lollipop into his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I was just kidding. I mean, about the banana milk and sweets. I actually like them."

You have got to be kidding me.

"I like them a lot," San continues, and then he's painstakingly licking the lollipop, tongue swirling around the navy blue tip. It stains his lips when he pulls it out with a resounding pop.

Wooyoung stares on, wide-eyed and absolutely baffled at whatever the hell the older is doing. He only gains the strength to look away when San's eyes flicker over to his.

"What?" San questions. He's licking the lollipop again. But that isn't supposed to be weird, now is it? Everyone licks sweets no matter how strange it may sound, but the way he's doing it is...

"Wooyoung?"

Wooyoung jumps, eyes blinking repeatedly. "Hm?"

"Wanna play with me?"

"Huh?"

San slides out of the couch, his fingers in his hair. He tugs out the band holding it together, and then it's cascading down his face, highlighting the fairness of his skin and covering the minimal freckles on his neck. San blows a tuft of it off his forehead, then stares right at Wooyoung.

"Let's play video games, Wooyoung." He looks soft, angelic.

Wooyoung pushes the thought to the furthest corner of his mind, never to see the light of day again. "Uh, sure. What game is it?"

"Farmer's Universe. The name sounds lame but it's actually pretty good. I always try to play with Mingi whenever I can, but lately he's busy 'cause there's a huge wedding coming up on his schedule. He doesn't like video games that much either."

"Oh. Cool." Wooyoung stands as well, before joining San where he sits by what looks suspiciously like a Xbox One X. He isn't even surprised.

"What's cool?" San asks, switching on the large TV and passing Wooyoung one of the controllers.

"Weddings. I like seeing them, like seeing people get married." And Wooyoung means it. Despite what happened to his parents, he still thinks real love exists somewhere out there for the lucky few. He feels San's eyes on him, and he shrugs. "It's sappy, I know."

"I'm just... kinda shocked," San says. He chuckles, nose scrunched a little. Delicate. He looks delicate. "I mean, I never pegged you for the type."

Wooyoung stares at his lap, palms clammy. He's nervous, and he has no idea why. "Really?"

"You look like a bad boy," San says. He cackles at the younger's expression, rushes to explain himself. "Like, ya know, the type to frown at all public displays of affection and turn up your nose at happiness because it 'makes you barf'. And you break people's hearts."

"Hey," Wooyoung raises a hand in defense. His chest feels light at the sound of San's chirpy laughter. "I'm offended you think that way."

"I mean, can you blame me?"

Wooyoung shakes his head, the sunny feeling vanishing into dust. "No. Sorry."

San smiles. "It's okay. Everything'll be fine once I'll get to ruin you with my awesome gaming skills!"

* * *

San sucks at video games, or maybe he's just pretending to be, because no one can be that bad without at least faking some of it.

"Argh!" He groans like a wounded pirate when the shark mafia boss stabs him with its radioactive fins during their third underwater secret mission.

It sounds really bizarre, but that's the whole premise of Farmer's Universe. The main characters are a man and his wife, and they're, well, farmers by day and crime fighters by night.

"I almost had him!" San yells, kicking at nothing just as Wooyoung swerves in right on time and helps them clear the level, just like he's done for practically... all of their missions.

"That's what you said when you almost got killed by those child-eating aliens," Wooyoung states. He chuckles when San shoots him a glare. "What? I'm only telling the truth."

"Ughhh," San groans once more. He sprawls himself over the floor like a starfish, his shirt riding up to show the smooth, toned planes of his stomach. Wooyoung avoids staring at it.

"Want to play another round?"

"Hell no."

But San soon does anyway, and that afternoon, Wooyoung laughs a lot more than he has in a while.

* * *

Wooyoung can't sleep, numerous thoughts storming his mind and heart heavy with how uncertain and bleak the future feels.

He sits up, and feels more insignificant when he's once again struck by the sheer size of his new bedroom.

Swallowing down the stubborn lump in his throat, Wooyoung pushes his way out of the room, wanting to just get out for a bit.

He doesn't know where he plans on going -- doesn't know where he's heading either -- allowing his feet to guide him instead of his messy, cluttered brain.

He keeps walking, numb and empty, until he hears something that stops him in his tracks. It's coming from a door he's never seen before, the colour a dark oakwood with a silver door handle designed in a way he isn't familiar with in the slightest.

Wooyoung strolls closer, presses his ear against the firm door.

Crying. Someone's crying in there.

Heart pounding severely against his chest, Wooyoung opens the door as gently as he can. The cries get louder, no longer muffled by the barrier the door formed.

The bedroom is so spacious it's terrifying, with large blinds at the center spilling thick moonlight into the area. The interior is gothic, almost, reminding Wooyoung of a haunted castle.

His eyes are soon drawn to the lone figure bent on the pale, luminous bed, a duvet covering their shaking, shivering body.

"No -- p-please, no..." Their voice is a broken whimper, and it's utterly painful to hear. "No. No! Please, please don't leave -- don't l-leave me. You can't...please..."

Wooyoung starts to move, and when his brain finally processes what's happening, he has San in his arms, hugging him tightly.

San's tears stain his shirt as he continues to sob, fists clenching the fabric like he isn't ever planning on letting go.

"D-Don't leave me. P-Please, I can't -- I can't lose you. Please! Please..."

"I won't leave," Wooyoung assures. He isn't even sure if San is fully aware of what's happening, but that doesn't stop him from trying to comfort the older man. He realizes right there and then that seeing him cry is something he never wants to see again. "I won't. It's okay, it's alright. I'm here, hm?"

Wooyoung reaches out to touch his face, to wipe off his tears, but drops his hand at the last second.

It's not his place. Already seeing him in this vulnerable state (that the man most likely never wanted) is more than enough, he can't overstep his boundaries. He can't...

San leans into him, his tears subsiding. His long lashes linger on his shimmering cheeks, lower lip jutted out into that oh-so-familiar pout.

Wooyoung's heart ever so slightly skips.

"Sleep tight. I'm so sorry." Wooyoung's voice is hushed, resting San against his pillows. The man may be older than him, but right now he looks so frail, so defenceless. It hurts Wooyoung, as it reminds him of... himself.

"Good night, S...Sannie," Wooyoung stammers the last word, but luckily, silence is the only thing that answers him.

He leaves the bedroom a thousand times more downhearted than before.

* * *

a/n: thoughts?