* * *

« you're the light that sets fire
to my grey world »

Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year. Or, at least, that was what was broadcasted all over the news, sequinned into the sparkling decorations that shone through the snowing streets and uttered out of everyone's grinning mouths.

But Wooyoung didn't believe in it, just like how he never believed in the existence of Santa even before his parents could break it to him that the man wasn't real. And, according to him, any season and any day of the month could be the so-called 'wonderful time of the year' -- or maybe he was only trying to convince himself of that so more good days would come in his direction.

Wooyoung liked to think that if he thought about or did good things, then Karma (or whatever system in the universe that decided whether people were nice or corrupt) would hand him immeasurable luck in everything that he put his mind to. Turned out it really never really worked most of the time, but that didn't stop teenaged Wooyoung from believing in it.

It was the last day of middle school before winter break, and Wooyoung had just left school after the particularly gruelling 'pep-talk' his Choir Club leader, Mrs Lee, had decided to dish out after the underwhelming performance of one of their soloists during their collaboration with the theatre kids for the Winter Wonderland play.

"Whatever you end up doing, you have to shine in it. You have to give your all. You can't afford to half-ass anything -- in fact, that is the worst thing you can do. That's just called being a grey crayon. No one likes grey crayons! No one wants them, either. So have life. Be colourful."

That entire speech made Wooyoung think twice about whether this club thing was the right decision for him after all, as he hadn't joined because he had an innate talent for musicality, but because this was one of his dumb conquests he begrudgingly took on in order to gain some new friends. And now, it was turning out to only be a huge waste of time as he was supposed to be let out of school half an hour ago.

Things got worse when Wooyoung arrived at the cafe he went to sometimes after enduring classes that left him feeling even more like an idiot than he'd felt when he walked in, because at a certain point, they just seemed to regurgitate how utterly useless he was with everything that had to do with school.

He took one look at the tacky Christmas wreaths and baubles and fairy lights adorning the populated interior, and at the customers -- both students and adults alike -- laughing and chatting and just having fun with themselves in technicolour without him, and a miniscule part inside him had to wonder if he was that annoying little splotch of grey that no one wanted.

Wooyoung didn't dwell on that thought for long. He couldn't afford to either; he was in the mood for a caramel latte so that he could hopefully warm himself right up before he had to return back to his house.

Finding a seat was the hardest part of it all. He had the desire to avoid everyone's gaze even with his contacts on, and the cold, hard fear that gripped him each time his eyes fell on a full table was the worst. Latte secured tightly in his shaking palms, he made his way to the table at the further end of the shop, relieved that there was only one other kid seated there.

Wooyoung's heart was still racing a mile per minute however, but it settled slightly when the boy across from him barely paid him any attention. In fact, his head was bent the whole time, his shaggy light brown hair falling into his eyes which were framed by these huge and thick black glasses. He didn't appear to have ordered anything either.

Wooyoung took his time to sip on his latte, trying to relax himself as much as he could considering the strange atmosphere. His eyes kept getting drawn to the other kid, noticing the way the boy kept fiddling nervously with his oversized sweater sleeves and kept pulling his lips between his teeth.

Wooyoung had only made it to a quarter of his drink when he heard that distinctive sound of sniffling. He looked up immediately, seeing the hooded boy hastily wipe one eye under his blocky glasses.

Wooyoung didn't know what to do now. He was horrible at taking care of others, and he was only thirteen. What did thirteen year old boys know about comforting people who were obviously crying?

Wooyoung took another slow sip, but he couldn't savour the taste when all he could see and hear was the boy failing to hide his tears.

"...Are you alright?" Wooyoung chose to ask right then. Part of it was because he was concerned; the other part was because he didn't want to seem rude.

The boy shook his head, still wringing his sleeves, knuckles white.

"...May I ask what happened?" Wooyoung didn't know what he was doing, or why he couldn't just keep his mouth shut from here on out. Don't ask strangers personal things, his mother always told him. No one likes people who don't mind their business. He remembered her words at that moment, but the deed had already been done.

The brown haired boy shook his head again. He didn't want to talk.

Embarrassed for even trying, Wooyoung trained his gaze on his latte and nothing else.

"Actually -- " the boy suddenly piped up, his voice hoarse and thick. He sniffed again, finally meeting Wooyoung's eyes. "My...my dad d-died earlier this w-week."

Wooyoung's eyes widened. He nearly choked on his coffee in shock. "R-Really?" He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

The kid looked down, adjusting his glasses. "It's okay. I-I mean -- it's not, but, it's not your fault that he -- " he paused, pale hands clenching over the surface of the table. He looked so frail. "It's okay," he repeated.

At that point, Wooyoung should've kept quiet and left once he was done with his drink, because this boy was no one he knew or talked to before today. But, he couldn't stop thinking about what he said. His father had just died. Even when Wooyoung's own dad infuriated more times than he could count and wasn't really a nice person to be around, he still couldn't imagine permanently losing him.

"Do you want a latte?" Wooyoung blurted, startling the other boy. "Or something else?" He added.

"I don't like coffee that much." The boy never stared at Wooyoung for more than a second, and his hair was so long too. It made Wooyoung wonder how he could see properly with that.

"Well," Wooyoung tugged at his school tie, "what do you like?"

"Slushies," the other boy's reply was instant.

"Which flavour?"

"Uh... Blue raspberry?"

So Wooyoung got a large for him, glad he still had enough change for the bus. The boy thanked him unfailingly, expressing his sincere gratitude, but Wooyoung never took it to heart because he was outrageously bad at accepting compliments.

"Hope you won't get a cold or brain freeze," Wooyoung commented in passing, watching the boy with glasses practically inhale the slushie. It coated his lips blue. Wooyoung remembered Mrs Lee's colour analogy again.

The boy revealed what looked like a smile, though it was shaky. "I've got a brain of steel."

Wooyoung found himself waiting even after he'd finished his caramel latte, until the other boy spoke to him again.

"Thank you for this."

"It's no problem." Wooyoung scratched his neck, searching for something else to say. "And -- about your dad."

The boy winced. "Yeah?"

Wooyoung bit his lip. "Things may seem bad now, but just...hang in there. I think everything will start to look up before you know it, and your dad will still love you and keep cheering you on."

Wooyoung couldn't guarantee if that advice would work. After all, he had no idea of the relationship the boy had with his dad, and he'd never physically lost anyone before -- unless his pet goldfish Hyun counted. So he certainly didn't expect the latter to start tearing up right then.

At first, Wooyoung feared he'd said something atrocious, but then had the boy thank him yet again with watery eyes and a reddened nose. They didn't talk much after that, but Wooyoung assumed he'd see him around or something. Maybe they could even become friends.

But he never saw the boy again after that day.

"I'm sorry! I'm a terrible person. I can't do this anymore. I'm so sorry."

Wooyoung blinks and he's back in the present, his feet cold, palms fisted and heart hanging heavy inside his chest. He feels the most helpless he's ever felt in a long while as he stares down at San's shivering body shielded by his duvet, the man continuously mumbling these troubling sentences into the air.

"I'm a bad person," San whimpers again and again, rocking back and forth. His face is wet with tears.

"No -- no you're not." Wooyoung's voice sounds as exhausted as he feels considering how early it currently is, but there's also desperation in it. He's fucking overwhelmed; he doesn't know what the hell to do.

He kneels next to the bed, careful not to touch San without his permission. Something yanks at his heartstrings at the sight of the older crying. "You're not a bad person. You're a great, amazing person. You're not bad at all."

San buries his face in his knees, hands clamping his hair. He doesn't even look like he's aware of Wooyoung's presence.

Wooyoung panics. "San -- "

"Y-Yes, I know I don't deserve to live. I don't deserve it," San sobs, shaking his head repeatedly. "No, no -- don't take him away. Please! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Wooyoung hurriedly runs for his phone and dials Hongjoong's number as soon as he finds it. He chews his lip, almost tasting blood when the man doesn't pick up after the third ring.

Hyung, please call back once you see this message, Wooyoung texts, his clammy, trembling fingers causing him to retype the message more times than he can count. He never lets his eyes stray from San for too long either. San is crying. He's crying and he won't listen to me and I don't know what to do.

When the message goes unseen, Wooyoung drops the phone on the nightstand and races to San's side again.

"Hey, hey," he whispers, hoping he sounds encouraging enough. "Please, it's okay. Everything is okay. You're not wherever you think you are. You're with me, Jung Wooyoung -- a guy who has never thought of you as a bad person."

"I've done horrible things," San sniffs, nails digging so deeply into his legs, and it looks incredibly painful. Wooyoung wants to stop him, but the last thing he wants to his alarm him. "I-I don't deserve anything."

"You deserve everything good."

"I should've died. I-It should've been me," San retorts, voice wobbly with all the tears he's shedding. His cries are heartbreaking. "It should've been me."

Wooyoung swallows down the lump in his throat. "No. You aren't meant to die. You're supposed to live. Don't say things like that."

It's hypocritical for Wooyoung to be saying all this when San's confessions are what he thinks about daily, but it's different when it comes to the older man. He can't think thoughts like these, because he's a good person.

"I should've lost my life that night," San presses, tone hushed and weary like he's given up. With more anger, more fury, he continues, "It was supposed to be me. Me! I was the one who drove -- it was me. Me, me, me!"

"San..." Wooyoung's heart pounds in his ears, and there are daggers slicing into his chest. "It's alright. I'm -- I'm here."

He attempts sitting on the bed, and when San doesn't react, still hugging his knees for dear life, he shifts a little closer. "Hyung..."

San doesn't answer, but Wooyoung can hear his silent wails. His breaths are shallow and rushed, almost like he's hyperventilating.

"Do you need a hug?"

San doesn't verbally respond, but before Wooyoung can have the chance to feel disappointed, his left hand searches for his.

Wooyoung sees, and brings their hands together. San's feels cold, but Wooyoung's more than okay with warming it right up.

"Stay home today. Don't go to work," Wooyoung says after a minute of cautious silence.

It's been over a week, one spent with Wooyoung sitting his exams and San heading to work early in the morning and then arriving much later. Even with his and Mingi's occasional presence, Wooyoung knew San hated the new arrangement with a burning passion. He just didn't know it would've resulted in this.

"They're gonna get mad," San answers, wiping away his tears and doing what Wooyoung does when he's faced with a difficult, unfavourable situation: hide away from any and all forms of eye contact.

"Fuck them. Whoever they are. Who cares what they have to say? It's Christmas season. You can probably fire their asses anyway," Wooyoung states. His brisk tone surprises him for sure, but when he spots San's lips quirking upwards a bit, he figures he said the right thing. "You can, right?"

"Not the more important ones."

"The point still stands." Wooyoung massages San's hand, amazed by how immaculately soft it is. He guesses that's how rich people hands feel like a lot of the time, anyway.

San looks at him and doesn't drop his gaze, and even if he's smiling now, dimples lining his cheeks, his eyes are dark and bloodshot.

"What?" Wooyoung questions, gulping involuntarily.

San scoots closer, then slips between Wooyoung's arms, resting his head on his chest. Like he'd done Saturday night in Jeju island, he places his hand right on top of where Wooyoung's heart beats.

"Your heart's racing," San comments, shutting his eyes. "I can fall asleep to it."

Wooyoung chuckles nervously. "Oh really."

San hums. "Really."

"Are you staying home today?"

San fists the material of Wooyoung's black pyjama shirt. "...Can you ring Yunho up for me? I'll let him know then."

"Now?"

San shakes his head, snuggling the younger. "Not now."

Wooyoung finds himself stroking San's long hair. "Hey, are you ever going to do something with your hair?"

"...You mean cut it?" San's voice is muffled, vibrating against Wooyoung's chest. It sends heat creeping up his neck.

"Don't cut it," Wooyoung admits. "I like the length."

"Wasn't planning to." Goosebumps litter Wooyoung's arms when San begins tracing shapes all over his waist.

"I like hugging you," San adds. "You're so warm."

"Uh, thanks?" Wooyoung smiles at the giggle he hears next. Playing with a dyed strand of San's locks, he says, "I don't have anything planned for today. What do you wanna do? ...Colouring? Watching cartoons? Playing dress up?"

San peers up at him, mischief swirling in his brown eyes. "I have another idea."

Wooyoung had to force the guy to take a shower first (because getting all cleaned up made one feel better after crying, which he'd learnt from experience), and after San whined again and again about it for a few more minutes, he actually listened and did as he asked. Wooyoung showered too, as well, and now, swallowed up in this crystal blue onesie with tiny yellow stars scattered across the fabric, San grabs a pillow and makes Wooyoung sit on the carpet.

"What are we doing?" Wooyoung asks, watching as San enters into a separate wing of his bedroom. The older doesn't reply, but he never needed to in the first place when he saunters out with a bunch of brushes and a huge makeup kit in hand. "...Wait..."

San crouches in front of Wooyoung, a brilliant smile on his face as he starts positioning the younger's hair out of his face with little clips. Just like his onesie, they're all colourful with playful designs on them.

"I like makeup," San admits, pulling out a small bottle. He smiles at Wooyoung's raised eyebrows. "This is called a Face Primer."

"I know what it is. I'm not that lost on beauty products," Wooyoung pouts. "But...what are you planning to do?"

"I want to do your makeup. Please, please, please," San begs all high-pitched, rubbing his hands together.

"I don't know." And Wooyoung actually doesn't, because allowing San to get so close to his face, allowing him to touch him will probably end in him having a cardiac arrest of some sort or doing something embarrassing. He's not a stranger to this; he's watched videos of people getting their makeup done by someone else, and they all required personal contact. The thought itself is daunting.

"I'm not bad at it," San says, face crumpling into a frown. "I do my own makeup sometimes."

Wooyoung remembers that time Yunho came to the house. So it'd been him who did his own makeup then.

"I really don't know..." Wooyoung repeats, looking at San. That turns out to be a mistake because fuck, now he's pouting and staring at him, eyes all glossy and pleading just like a kitten that's been hurt. It sends Wooyoung's heart rate into overdrive.

He blinks and coughs, eyes darting elsewhere. "Okay."

San squeals, eyes shining with excitement. His smile's wide as he pours out everything he needs, commencing with it right away.

A strange, unknown feeling flutters inside Wooyoung's body every time San leans in and adds something new to his features with much more care than he's used to. And it's awkward too, at times, especially when San's thumb lightly grazes his chin or cheek in order to reposition his face and get the best angle. Whenever that happens, Wooyoung's stupid heart does this stupid little jump, which he tries to combat by evading San's face each time their eyes meet.

Wooyoung tenses up as soon as San gets to his eyes. He's pretty sure San noticed, but before the man can say anything, he speaks up. "How'd you get into makeup?"

San chuckles. "Just thought it looked fun. Wanted to try it out, and I did."

"Since when?"

Something heavy flickers in San's eyes at that moment. "...Around two years ago."

It's been two years too since I cut mom out of my life, Wooyoung thinks. He wants to slap himself for even going there.

San, unaware of his turbulent thoughts, gently swabs a brush with some grey eyeshadow. The colour choice draws Wooyoung's attention.

"Why grey?"

"Hm?"

Mrs Lee's words nine years ago echo manacingly in Wooyoung's head, similar to a swinging pendulum. It drives him crazy. "Why grey? Why not any other colour?"

Confusion flits over San's face, and now Wooyoung feels like a moron. "...Well, I like grey."

"Why?"

"Grey's nice," San explains, still looking puzzled by Wooyoung's sudden onslaught of questions. "It's cool-toned, especially the metallic type, and gives everything a refined touch."

Wooyoung stares at his lap. "Oh."

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah. You can continue if you want."

San looks like he wants to ask more, but fortunately he doesn't. "Okay," he lets out, and then leans in so that their faces are mere centimeters apart. Wooyoung swallows thickly as San starts to work around his left eye, the same eye that he's been so unconfident of all these years. He can't help but think San's action was purposeful.

"I'm thinking of smokey grey and midnight blue," San says, voice hushed against Wooyoung's skin. The hibernating butterflies his stomach start acting up. The older man grabs a small palette of glittery colours, focusing on the dark blue one at the top corner.

"The combination's kinda sultry and mysterious," he continues, and then he's directly watching Wooyoung. For a moment, everything surrounding them stills. A second passes, and San clears his throat. "Anyway, I think it'll look great with your eye colours."

Wooyoung's phone buzzes out of nowhere, startling the both of them. His face and ears hot, the aforementioned male scrambles for the device, discovering a series of text messages from none other than Hongjoong.

- kim hongjoong
oh my god. i just saw your message

- kim hongjoong
is san okay now?

- kim hongjoong
i'm calling

The phone starts to ring, and Wooyoung immediately picks up.

"Where's San?" It almost scares Wooyoung how frightened the man sounds.

"He's with me," Wooyoung answers, locking eyes with San.

"Can you pass over the phone? I need to talk to him."

"It's Hongjoong," Wooyoung clarifies while handing the phone to San, and the older nods. They begin to talk, and Wooyoung feels like his heart -- like his everything -- can now take a break, only for San to resume his place right in front of him, ready to add on some sparkly blue eyeshadow.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Seriously, I am. I'm okay now," San says into the phone as he finishes off Wooyoung's other eye, intricately adding depth to the look with some eyeliner. "Wooyoung -- he was there. He's with me now. He helped me get better. He's good at that."

Wooyoung's heart stutters at the indirect compliment. You're so lame.

"Yeah. Yes, I will eat soon. Mingi's coming today. What am I doing right now? Wooyoung's makeup."

Wooyoung blushes, and blushes some more when San smirks at him. "It's not makeup -- "

San shushes him, before grabbing something that looks like lipgloss but not quite. "Lipglass. No -- I'm not keeping Wooyoung hostage, Hongjoong."

Wooyoung can't help it. He laughs, amused by the oldest's sense of humour.

"No, you can't talk to him right now. We're busy." San's laughing as well. He stares at Wooyoung, eyes twinkling like stars when he applies the nude lipglass to the younger's lips as tenderly as he can. Dimples appearing, he asks, "How does it feel? Not you, Hongjoongie."

To be honest, Wooyoung kind of feels stiff since he's really not used to makeup, specifically on his face. "How long is this going to take me to wash off?"

"Mean," San says, hanging up the call.

Wooyoung smiles. "I'm just kidding. But it does feel weird. Like I'm wearing a mask."

"A pretty mask, though you're already pretty as is" San corrects, getting Wooyoung all flustered. "I'm gonna go get the mirror."

He comes back quick with an oval shaped mirror in hand, and holds it up for Wooyoung to see, grinning widely.

Wooyoung doesn't even recognize himself at first, the image greeting him surprising him unlike anything else. His sea green-brown eyes stand out against vibrant blue and soft grey, so much so that they look radiant. Faint pink dusts his cheeks, and his lips plumper and smoother than he's ever seen it.

Wooyoung suspects he's dreaming, because he looks unreal. He looks like a doll. He looks...stunning.

"Who is this person?" He asks, and he's not really joking, because he can't fully believe it's himself he's seeing in the mirror.

"Jung Wooyoung...?" San laughs. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do."

San gestures at his left eyelid. "Look closely. I put something there."

Wooyoung obeys, and sure enough, there are these small, realistic looking stars drawn on the inner fold of his eyelid. They make the starry theme San was going for more apparent. "They're pretty."

San places the mirror on the floor, so now there's nothing left between them. "I know."

Wooyoung takes note of how San's looking at him. Somehow, he knows what he wants without even asking. Opening up his arms, San jumps in and hugs him so quickly they both topple over.

"Fuck -- " Wooyoung rasps, a little breathless. "You're gonna mess up my makeup."

"You sound so gay right now."

Wooyoung shoves San's chest, but his heartbeat's noisy against his ears. "Shut up."

San laughs, but doesn't let Wooyoung go. His body's splayed all over him, his arms winding around his hips. He lands his head on the younger's shoulder. "You're a great hugger."

"My makeup..." Wooyoung whispers. Sparks light up his skin when San beams at him, pinching his cheek.

Yellow, is what enters Wooyoung's mind at that second. San is yellow. He's the brilliant sunshine that spills over the earth in Spring, the fiery sunset that bleeds into the sky at dusk. He's the yellow on a butterfly's wings as it perches itself on a flower; he's honey and laughter and warmth and the light that glimmers over the sea on hot summer days combined. Yellow's etched into his skin, speckled in his eyes and present with every bright smile he gifts Wooyoung.

"I draw sometimes," San admits, keeping his gaze locked on Wooyoung's face. "I got a whole tablet of the digital art I made."

Wooyoung's throat is dry. "Let me see."

"No."

"Come on. You can't let me know you draw and then not allow me to see it."

San giggles. "No." He shrieks when Wooyoung tickles him, and the sound alarms the latter until San starts laughing again.

"Show me your art."

"No!" San cackles.

Wooyoung, feeling a lot braver than earlier, flips them over so he's on top of San instead. He doesn't stop his tickling attacks, the older's laughter like music to his ears. "San, for the last time, show me what you drew."

San grins up at him, eyes glazed with joy. "Nuh-huh."

His hair scatters and curls around his face, a wild sea of black. He looks so free like this, so full of life, and Wooyoung's pulse fucking accelerates.

San suddenly does this move with his leg that sends them spiralling, and then once again Wooyoung's back is to the floor.

"San."

San runs his thumb along Wooyoung's jawline. "Hm?"

"What are we doing?"

"Wrestling," San answers in the corniest manliest voice he can muster, which makes Wooyoung crack a chuckle.

Seconds tick by.

"Wooyoung, I..." San stops, appearing conflicted.

Wooyoung's brows furrow. "Hey, you okay?"

San bunches the younger's shirt with his fists. "Yeah."

"...Are you sure?"

San's eyes are piercing, lethal. They render Wooyoung frozen like ice when the man begins to lean in.

"S-San," Wooyoung stammers, body on edge.

San shortens the space between them, and kisses him.

* * *

a/n: thoughts? what do you think about their personalities so far?