* * *

« takes courage to admit your faults
takes even more courage to admit you're wrong »

Wooyoung wakes up with something particularly painful lodged in his chest, drowsiness and racing thoughts.

His phone alarm reads a few minutes past 5AM, and he groans out loud even though he'd been the one who set up the alarm in the first place. After spending longer than he should've revising his notes and surfing the web last night, he'd resorted to placing the responsibility of waking up first on his shoulders, as he wanted to be able to make him and San breakfast before they did all the activities they had planned for today.

What if San says he's changed his mind about it all? A stern voice sneaks her way into Wooyoung's mind. Yes, it's a 'her', and she sounds exactly like the reporter on the weather channel he watched sometimes as a kid, all factual and concise. She's the most annoying voice. What if San is already packing up his suitcases, ready to bring you both back to Seoul?

Wooyoung ignores those thoughts -- or tries to -- because his chest constricts even further until he feels like he's going to faint.

He pushes himself off the bed despite his screaming limbs, groggy eyes taking in the contacts case lying haphazardly across his nightstand. He blinks at it, once, twice, and then shuffles his feet into his slippers and heads off without using one for his eye, hands patting down his wild mane of hair.

Wooyoung's tired, and not to mention still quite not enthusiastic about having to arise so early, so when he knocks on San's bedroom door, enters and discovers the older man is nowhere in sight, he just assumes he went to the bathroom or something.

Wooyoung's gaze falls on the bed, noticing the misplaced pillows, scattered plushies and wrinkled sheets, and before he can stop himself, he's fixing everything up into their correct positions. He doesn't know why he's doing this -- or maybe he actually does, because the shame is ripping him apart from inside out. He has no idea how he plans on confronting San about what happened the other night, especially not when all he can think about are the disasterous ways in which it could end.

When San's bed is now neat and orderly, Wooyoung sees the pill bottles lingering on the bedside table. Instantly, his remorse intensifies, because he's not supposed to be in here at all, but here he is, invading San's bedroom without his permission.

He leaves immediately, reeling with even more guilt. Once he steps into the narrow hallway, he's hit with something...sweet, yet savoury at the same time.

Wooyoung continues to walk, but stops when he hears something sizzling over the stove from the kitchen. He panics, because he's pretty sure that's San in there, unless someone new managed to break into their house at five in the morning to cook something. Both scenarios leave him with unfavourable outcomes. Fuck.

Wooyoung considers turning around and rushing back into his room. Stop being a coward. You'll have to face San sooner or later, the female voice enters his head again, and he grits his teeth, because she's right -- or he's right, because these are his thoughts. Ugh, he seriously hates this.

He moves forward, slowly as as quietly as he can, even when he knows it makes no sense to act like that when San has probably already heard his footsteps. He feels nothing less than a scummy burglar when he rounds the corner leading to the kitchen at the pace of a snail, the tantalizing smell in the air stronger than ever.

Wooyoung freezes as soon as he comes across San, widened eyes absorbing the man's clothes. He's dressed in a black shirt with sleeves that reach his hands and highlight his broad shoulders, as well as strawberry red shorts. Most of his legs is on display, long and lean with a few moles present on the soft skin.

Wooyoung swallows, averting his eyes. "Um, good morning, hyung."

San doesn't answer. He continues to stand before the stove, flipping something with a spatula.

Wooyoung's heart plummets. "I -- I guess you woke up earlier than I did. Uh, I wanted to make breakfast, but uh, I guess you beat me to it."

Silence.

Wooyoung bites his lip so hard, it begins to hurt a little. "I apologize for the way I acted yesterday, even though I -- I already said sorry. B-But I really want you to know that I meant it. If...if you're still mad at me though, I understand. I'm sorry."

San doesn't respond. He doesn't even turn around, still super focused on whatever he's making. His reaction heightens Wooyoung's nervousness, because he's obviously giving him the cold shoulder.

Wooyoung can imagine it now; him and San returning to Seoul later that evening, and the man telling him to pack his things and get the hell out of his house. Wooyoung will be fired, forced to fend for himself on the streets as he tries to look for a decent enough place to stay. That would be the end of their peculiar relationship.

Wooyoung's hands clench, heart thrumming unevenly below his ribs. "...San, I -- "

San turns and their eyes meet. His face lights up with surprise, shoulders tensing. He fumbles a bit with the spatula before placing it in one of the pans on the stove, a rushed laugh leaving his lips. "Uh, hey..." He hastily tugs out something from his ears. Wooyoung recognizes them as earplugs.

"Hi." Wooyoung almost wants to laugh -- and cry. San hadn't reacted to him because he couldn't hear him, so the apology he'd managed to chalk up went unheard. He wants to smack himself.

San switches off the stove, looking even more nervous than Wooyoung with how sloppy his movements are. "I, uh, sorry. I left my earplugs on and didn't bother taking them off. Did you say something earlier?"

Wooyoung shakes his head, hating the awkward tension between them. "It's okay. I just woke up."

"Oh, okay." San rubs the back of his neck.

"Slept well?"

San adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Y-Yeah, I did. You?"

Wooyoung nods. He can feel San observing his exposed eyes, and to be honest, right now, he doesn't care as much. He clears his throat. "So...what did you make?"

San looks relieved, like he'd expected Wooyoung to say something else that he wasn't looking forward to. "Oh," he gestures behind him, "I made omelettes."

Although it should've been obvious from the smell alone, Wooyoung's still taken aback.

His expression must've bothered San, because the older adds, "I mean -- you're always the one making stuff for me whenever Mingi isn't around, so I decided to repay you. Don't worry, I researched extensively about the art of omelette making."

"Are you serious?" Wooyoung blurts without thinking.

The slight amusement in San's eyes vanishes. "Wait -- do you not like omelettes? Oh my god, I should have asked you first before going along with it. Or... maybe you're anxious to taste it because I made it?"

"No," Wooyoung refutes his question, even when he suddenly remembers those cupcakes San had baked for him on his birthday. "I'm not anxious or anything. I'm just..."

"Just what?" San looks so nervous, it makes Wooyoung feel worse about everything that happened yesterday.

So, instead of answering, he bounds up to the stove to take a look at those omelettes San made for them. San steps aside, but his gaze is heavy on Wooyoung's face as he gauges the younger's reaction.

Normally, Wooyoung wouldn't have passed up on an opportunity to crack a joke, especially when the main objective was to lighten up the atmosphere, but San's unease at that moment is so evident, rolling off of him in waves. And Wooyoung is eager to please.

"They look really good. Smell great too," Wooyoung compliments with a smile. San's wariness dissipates. "They look like they can easily be on the cover of a food catalogue."

"Okay -- now you're exaggerating," San snorts, relaxing further.

Wooyoung, a bit too flustered to look San in the eye considering how close he is, points at what he sees on the omelettes' surfaces. "Are those vegetables?"

"The recipe I read from said they taste better with them," San quickly defends himself.

"Thank you," Wooyoung says earnestly. "I can't even imagine how early you must've woken up to make them." He looks up and catches San staring right at him. "And...I'm sorry."

San's face softens. "For what?"

"For how I acted yesterday."

"I should be the one apologizing. I got mad and stressed you out for no reason," San answers, staring at the floor. "I just... I got too caught up in my emotions. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Wooyoung doesn't know what to say. He's always been bad at giving advice or providing comfort to others, and as a result, San's sudden confession leaves him bewildered.

"Hey." San holds his hand, but then lets go a second later. "You don't need to say a word. Let's go eat."

"I'll make coffee," Wooyoung replies, heading for the coffee maker.

"It's okay. I'll make it, I'm treating you today after all."

Whatever's in Wooyoung's stomach right then does somersaults. He feels lightheaded. "No, I'll do it."

"Wooyoung, please."

Wooyoung wants to argue, but he knows if he does he'll raise his voice or do something else that'll anger or upset San. He should be patient and let the older take the lead; that's what he read from that website specifically about taking care of people suffering from PTSD. He'll never admit it out loud though, because he doesn't want San getting pissed at him for butting his nose into his personal business.

"Sure," Wooyoung answers,the stiffness in his muscles loosening when San shoots him an exuberant dimpled grin. "Don't burn it, though."

San scoffs, offended. "Why would I burn coffee?"

Wooyoung shrugs, but chuckles when San laughs.

"Just take a seat at the table. I'll be your designated waiter and bring you your order very soon," San says, giving a bow that is so princely it takes Wooyoung by surprise.

Happy and encouraged by how open San's being with him again, Wooyoung decides to joke around himself. "Hey, where'd you learn to bow like that? A royal castle? Now that I mentioned it, you kinda look like Flynn Rider. Or Prince Eric."

San rolls his eyes. "Oh shush. They're too hot to look like me. And, well, my dad used to be big on polite postures and all that."

Wooyoung stares at the older, at this undeniably attractive man with so much wealth, and not to mention a kind and loveable personality too. The more he looks at Choi San, the more he realizes just how unreal he really is.

San smiles at him, and Wooyoung's speeding heart has an 'oh shit' moment. "What?"

"You're hot."

San freezes, like he's now an inanimate object. He doesn't even look like he's breathing. "What?"

Oh my fucking god. Wooyoung loudly clears his throat. "You're hot. I mean like -- you're definitely hotter than Flynn Rider or Prince Eric, so don't be too hard on yourself. They're not real, but you are, and um -- yeah."

San inhales. "Oh?"

Wooyoung hurriedly pulls out a chair for himself at the table and sits down. Taking a few seconds to once again admire the warm decor, he rubs his hands over his pants. "We should probably eat soon. You know, before the food gets cold."

"Oh -- right." San races into the kitchen to serve breakfast.

The omelette tastes much better than Wooyoung anticipated -- especially after that cupcake fiasco -- so much so that he finishes half of it in the nick of time. Sensing San's gaze on him, he stares at the man seated right next to him. "Hm?"

"Nothing," San shakes his head, lips stretching into a fond grin. His own plate reveals he hasn't really touched his food, and Wooyoung can't hide his dismay when he passes the plate over to him.

"No. I can't take this. You have to eat, you made this. You can't go hungry." Excuses upon excuses escape Wooyoung's mouth, but San's smile only grows.

"I don't eat much in the mornings, anyway. And we can always order food when we go out, don't worry. I'm good with my coffee." San then stands up, bursting out in laughter at the exasperated look on Wooyoung's face. "I'll be right back. Gotta go take something from my room."

The first thing Wooyoung thinks of is the Prazosin San apparently takes, and he wants to hit himself for it. It's none of my fucking business. "Sure. Don't take too long though."

'Don't take too long'? What the hell?

San giggles and nods. He displays the 'ok' sign with his fingers and jogs off.

San doesn't take much time, but by the time he arrives, his coffee's probably already cold. He shows up with his phone to his ear and this highly gentle smile on his face that Wooyoung's only witnessed a few times. That 'something' turns out to be a medium sized, brown notepad that he drops beside Wooyoung's plate.

"Yeah, Joongie. We're coming back home tonight," San says into the phone. Wooyoung's the first to look away when their eyes meet, still utterly self-conscious of his differently coloured eyes. "Mhm, yeah. Yeah... You're coming back before New Years, right?"

Wooyoung busies himself with flipping open the notepad, guessing he won't be doing something wrong by doing so. After all, San was the one who put the notepad in front of him. He can't help but snicker a little at the puffy-cheeked doodles he sees scribbled all across the first few pages. He wonders what the notepad's for.

"Yeah..." San pauses, and Wooyoung notices the way his smile's disappeared. He looks away before the older realizes he's staring. "Yeah, I know. I'll have to leave... But I seriously don't want to. Not now. Fuck."

Leave? Curiosity builds up inside Wooyoung, burning through him like a forest fire. He restrains himself from asking about it, however, shifting into a new page of the notepad.

objectives for today:

a) we go shopping (cute pjs are a must!!)
b) buy food and go sightseeing
c) beach timeee ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
d) something to do with the stars ｡◕‿◕｡

"Shit, you just revealed everything you've got planned for us today," Wooyoung says as soon as San ends the call with Hongjoong. They lock gazes, and Wooyoung cracks a smile he hopes would lessen the frown on the older man's features.

San returns the smile, but it nowhere reaches his eyes. They're usually a friendly brown with some spark in them, but now they've darkened. They glare at something Wooyoung doesn't have a single clue of. "Was hoping you'd help out by adding -- or subtracting -- a few ideas."

Wooyoung feels the heat of San's dagger-like glare even when it's not directed at him. "Uh," he chews his lip, runs his thumb over the paper, "firstly, your handwriting's cute; something you definitely won't expect a CEO to have."

San's fingers graze his right ear. It takes a moment for Wooyoung to realize it's faintly pink. "Really?"

"Yep. It's super cute."

The pink on San's ears extend to the apples of his cheeks. "Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome," Wooyoung tries to reduce his awkwardness he feels. "And, you should remove the 'beach time' option."

"Why?"

Wooyoung shrugs, but he can smell the sharp salt of the evening air in his nose, feel the damp sand digging into his feet and the painful, nauseating tug in his chest just as he saw his father kissing another woman that wasn't his wife. The memory's so vivid, tattooed behind his eyelids like it just happened yesterday instead of many years ago. He remembers running back to his mother, heart in his throat and thoughts in disarray. As he stared at the rolling sea that night, he wanted to drown in it.

"What is it? What -- why are you crying? Wooyoung, answer me. Wooyoung!"

Something clasps Wooyoung's arm, warm and firm, but not restrictive. He feels himself being shaken, and he blinks, that destructive cold, cold night fizzling into a pair of familiar brown eyes staring down at him, worry reflecting off them.

"Woo?"

Wooyoung stares at his clenched hands. They're as white as a ghost.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Wooyoung forces out.

"...We can get rid of that beach suggestion." San pulls out a black pen from his shorts pocket, ready to cross it out when Wooyoung reaches out to stop him. San stares at the younger, wide-eyed. "Wooyoung?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Wooyoung doesn't know who the hell he's trying to fool. It's clear something's up, given by how he'd just overreacted just because San mentioned the beach. The older most likely thinks he's crazy now. Great.

"We can go to the beach, if you want," he quickly follows up with. "You sound like you really wanna go."

San stays silent for a while, and then he responds. "The weather's too damn cold for any type of swimming. We can just hang out and talk and...stuff."

Wooyoung nods along, inhaling a deep breath. He distracts himself with his empty coffee mug. "Cool. We can do that."

They don't say much after that, but it's perfectly fine. Wooyoung doesn't want to talk about what just happened, like most things that took place in his life.

* * *

The atmosphere's busy, people talking, laughing, and moving just about every corner Wooyoung looks. He nearly feels suffocated by the noise and the decorations and all the snow, but San's palm on the edge of his knee snaps him back to the present.

"Focus on the road."

"Oh, right." Wooyoung obeys, making a turn when San tells him to. It's still a bit surreal how he's driving now. When he'd gotten his driver's license renewed a few months ago in case he ever successfully saved up for a car, he'd never anticipated using one just for him and San. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"A clothing store," San says with a slight smirk.

"Yeah, I know that. But what's the name?"

"Shh," San teases, adjusting his black mask while his thumbs fly across his phone screen. Wooyoung can't believe he's playing a video game right now. "Just keep going and -- get out of my face WizardTwister208! I'll steal your bonuses!"

Wooyoung decides not to say anything else after that.

He continues to drive, paying apt attention to San's words and their surroundings. For a few minutes, it feels serene; the crisp Winter air, the slowly cascading snowflakes, and San seated next to him, roseate pink creeping onto his cheeks as he tries but fails to fight back his joyous grin when he finally beats the players he's been battling all this while.

"Wooyoung-ah, the road."

Embarrassed, Wooyoung stares in front of him. It's a good thing he does, because if he hadn't he would've completely missed the grey car on the left that decided unexpectedly swerving into their lane was the right, sensible thing to do.

Wooyoung slams his foot on the brakes, heart racing with panic. Nothing bad happens. "What the hell was that?"

He looks at San, but San's eyes are still focused on his phone. Only, nothing's playing and his grip is so tight it looks painful. His face is drained of all colour.

"San? Are you okay?"

"R-Road. Please." San's voice is barely a whisper, but the fear in his words is as clear as day.

Wooyoung obediently does as he asks, himself still disturbed by what had gone on just seconds ago. He can't help but think what would've happened to them if San hadn't warned him on time, or if he'd been a tad too slow to respond. Stop thinking about it.

Luckily, the drive is long enough to get San back to his usual self, or most of his usual self. He isn't smiling or laughing anymore, but at least he's being distracted by the game he's playing.

Following San's instructions, Wooyoung enters a specific, private parking spot beside number of other cars, but that isn't what catches his eye the most. It's the 'clothing store' San previously talked about, but it's more of a mini mall than a store, to be honest.

San leaves the car first, far more excited than he'd been before. And Wooyoung trails after him like a puppy as they enter the large building, not at all used to this surrounding.

* * *

Wooyoung doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but he certainly shouldn't have been surprised at San turning out to be a hefty spender.

Especially on him.

"I think this would look great on you," San comments as he pulls out this rich blue coat which looks far more expensive than Wooyoung's yearly salary put together. "Blue looks amazing on you. Looks your size too."

"I only stared at it once," Wooyoung answers, and it's not an exaggeration. His eyes fell on it in passing, but San caught him and decided he wanted it. He kinda does, but that isn't the point. "You don't need to get it for me, it's okay."

"But it's so pretty. It's new too, I think." San opens it up, observing its design. "I'm sure it was Yunho's idea."

"...Wait," Wooyoung says after a second. "Is this...from your clothing line? Is this Choi's Highlight?"

San does a jazz hands. "Tada! This is one of our branches. Surprised it took you this long to figure it out though."

Wooyoung clears his throat, a little embarrassed. "We should go get pyjamas."

"I want you to try this coat out out first."

One outfit change ends up turning into four, and the latest one has Wooyoung a little nervous. It's not for a bad reason though, quite the opposite.

San had chosen this merlot red dress shirt for him, complete with black slacks, a tuxedo and a bowtie of the same colour, as well as a pair of Oxfords. Even without putting the bowtie on, Wooyoung feels like he's looking at a new person altogether when he sees himself in the mirror. He looks...elite, but he's so not elite.

"You done?" San asks outside the dressing room.

"Uh, yeah...?" Wooyoung despises how unsure he sounds. He gets all flustered when San enters and stands next to him. Donned in pearl white hoodie and jeans, with his bucket hat and mask, San looks more like the average male than he does. It's the weirdest thing ever.

Although San's looking straight at the mirror, Wooyoung knows for a fact he's staring at his reflection. "Your bowtie," he says after a beat.

Wooyoung holds it up, not willing to admit he's not the best at tying them.

San takes it, something rushing up Wooyoung's arm when their fingers touch.

"I admit, bowties can be a bit confusing," San begins, brown eyes lingering on Wooyoung's face before wrapping the loose tie around his collar. "But they're one of my favourite things to wear 'cause they can really... finish off a look."

San's fingers are quick, creating a perfect bowtie in a matter of seconds. He fixes it up, then pats Wooyoung's shoulder, and Wooyoung almost can't breathe. "...You're handsome."

Wooyoung's breath hitches. But it doesn't look like San's done with him, because he continues to speak.

"You're seriously good-looking. You can like, model and stuff if you really want to."

"Is this one of your compliments to make me feel better about myself?" Wooyoung questions, braving a glance San's way. Fortunately, the man's resigned to watching the mirror again.

"Yeah." San obviously wants to say more, but Wooyoung feels nothing but relief when he doesn't.

"Thanks. But, I seriously don't think you should get me this. It's expensive and -- "

"Come on, Woo. The combined price's only a couple thousand dollars."

"Holy shit."

San ends up getting his way however, and although what he gets himself is nothing compared to the amount he spends on Wooyoung, he goes a little crazy when they finally head for the pyjama section.

He always chooses the cutest, fluffiest ones with animal prints, and even if Wooyoung isn't necessarily the biggest fan of colourful pjs or onesies, he still has a blast with San that afternoon.

* * *

San takes them to the beach that evening after eating a bunch of tasty street food, which was Wooyoung's idea. It's a small, secluded spot with only a few others present, and despite its dull green, dreary lighting, Wooyoung's never seen so many stars gathered at one place before.

"It could be better, but this place has a lot of stars," San starts as he sets up the blankets they brought along with them on the rocks. "It'll be fun to spend some time here before we have to leave in a few hours."

Wooyoung nods. Covered in his snug clothing, he doesn't feel like he's freezing his ass off. In fact, he feels fine as he and San sit together, shoulders and legs brushing, but the gentle swishing of the sea brings back images he'd rather just forget.

San must've noticed, because he soon adds, "When I suggested going to the beach earlier, you didn't look too happy." His words are slow, careful. "Now, I don't want to seem nosy or anything. But," Wooyoung chuckles at this, "I am curious."

The breeze plays with Wooyoung's hair, and he has to struggle to pat it down at first. His heart stills when San eventually lays a free blanket over his head. "Wow."

"You'll feel warmer now. And I don't want your hair in my face," San jokes.

"Shut up."

San laughs, but sure enough, Wooyoung leaves the blanket cradling his hair.

"It doesn't make sense though," Wooyoung says. "You have longer hair than I do."

"The wind just favours me more."

Wooyoung shoves San, and San shoves him back. They both smile, but it isn't long until Wooyoung sees the curiosity on the older's eyes. He sighs.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't wanna," San quickly says.

"I mean -- it's nothing dramatic." Wooyoung stares at the darkening sky. The stars are so bright, so dazzling that he feels if he reaches out, he'll be able to pluck one out and keep it for himself. He's well aware of how hot they actually are, but burning into ashes whilst holding a pretty star doesn't seem like a bad way to go, honestly.

"But..."

"But I don't know how to talk about it," Wooyoung finishes. He can recall the memory, can remember every last detail and every tear shed that night, but he can't, for the life of him, speak it out loud.

"That, my friend, is what we call 'emotionally constipated'."

"Classy."

San loudly giggles, nose scrunching. "You're unbelievable. But yes, I meant what I just said. Every bit of it."

"I'm not emotionally constipated," Wooyoung denies.

"You are, and there's nothing inherently wrong with it. You just need a bit of a push, for lack of a better word."

What push? Is what Wooyoung's about to ask when San pulls out the same notepad he'd shown him this morning. That, and a blue inked pen this time.

"Really?" Wooyoung's brows raise.

"Yes. Really," San replies with a smirk. His lips and cheeks are a soft pink as the wind slightly tugs at his shoulder length hair, and Wooyoung's once again reminded of how much he resembles a prince.

San jots down a few words that he doesn't allow Wooyoung to see on a brand new page, and Wooyoung waits. He'll be telling a huge lie if he said he wasn't wary of whatever San has planned.

San then passes the notepad and pen into his hands. "If it's hard for you to say how you feel, you can write it down on paper. It's actually nice. I won't read it if you feel it's too private."

What happened that made you dislike the beach? Is what's written on the first line in San's neat handwriting.

Wooyoung doesn't really know how this would help him, but he gives it a shot anyways.

'My dad cheated on my mom at the beach on my birthday. Just turned eleven', Wooyoung writes. The memory's etched into his mind, and every time he takes a breath, he smells salt and earth. 'I saw him by his car with some woman, but I didn't tell my mother. Was the first out of many times dad cheated on her'.

How did it make you feel?

Wooyoung hesitates before answering. I don't have to say anything, he thinks.

'Pretty bad. Inadequate. Like, mom and I weren't enough for him. I felt like my heart just got bashed into and ripped apart to nothing. It was soul crushing'. It's hard putting what he feels on paper, but it's admittedly easier than speaking it into the air. 'I felt bad too. Like, I can't imagine what being cheated on feels like, but I bet it's horrible. I felt so shitty and useless for not telling mom anything, even when she eventually found out later. I still think about it a lot.'

What can you do to change that feeling?

Wooyoung tries to hide the way his hands shake, even when he's one hundred percent sure San noticed with how much he's been staring at him.

Tears sting the back of Wooyoung's eyes, and he takes a deep breath, loosening his muscles so he won't cry in front of San like a fucking sap.

'Nothing. It happened years ago, and I'll keep thinking about it even though I don't want to.'

"Worst exercise ever," Wooyoung states, pushing the notepad to San. He can feel the older's shock even without looking directly at him.

"Wooyoung," San whispers, "I really don't need to read this -- "

"You're curious. So it's okay," Wooyoung cuts in. He sees San starting to read the words, and feels the need to lighten the atmosphere so that the ache in his chest won't swallow him whole. "Where'd you get those questions from anyway?"

San flashes a wry smile. "A psychiatrist."

Shit shit shit. Why did I have to ask that? Wooyoung mentally berates himself. He keeps shut as San goes through the rest of his written responses, hating how vulnerable he feels.

When San finishes, he looks at Wooyoung with a twinkle in his eye. "First of all; you describe things really well."

Wooyoung softly punches his arm. "Shut up."

"Secondly, I'm so... glad you feel comfortable enough with me to share all this," San continues, sounding genuine. "...Do you feel better?"

"I feel worse."

"You're lying."

Wooyoung isn't lying though. His chest hurts, and he has to keep blinking to keep those stupid tears at bay, but he also strangely feels...lighter. Like a burden's been lifted off of him. But he doesn't know how to word it without it coming off weird, so he just snuggles further into the blanket, staring at the calm sea.

"It's not your fault what happened with your parents, no matter how much you think so," San says after a while, placing his hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. "You're different from them. You're you, and you have your own life to live. Even if it's hard to believe, you're not the one to blame."

San says this with so much conviction it makes Wooyoung think those words are much more personal than he lets on.

As a result, Wooyoung answers, "You too. I mean -- whatever's going on or whatever went on in your life before -- it's not your fault."

San's smile wavers, the emotions in his eyes forcing Wooyoung's breath right out of him. "Thank you."

* * *

a/n: thoughts?