last 'official' chapter folks!

* * *

《 the beginning of The End 》

Wooyoung doesn't know how long he spends there on the ground; there's no concept of time when someone's just lost everything. He doesn't care if people are around or if they aren't, he just sits, arms squeezed around himself as he tries to breathe without succumbing to the numbing pain his heart's experiencing.

The memories of where everything started to go wrong are prevalent in his mind like fresh cuts, and San's last words are the salt to the wounds, more painful and agonizing than anything Wooyoung's ever felt before.

He tells himself to calm the hell down -- to fucking relax and try and clear his thoughts -- but he can't. He can't do anything but lie there by himself like deadweight, completely hopeless. He's lost his will, all his motivation to help himself. And at this moment in time, he doesn't have the strength to even care.

"Wooyoung?"

The voice is a whisper, but closer than Wooyoung would imagine it to be. His name's called again, but he can't find it in himself to move or respond, stuck in one position with his arms wrapped around his knees in a death grip. His limbs ache and his chest fucking hurts, but it's alright 'cause he deserves it.

"Wooyoung..." Said male hears footsteps approaching, growing louder with each second that passes. He glares at the ground, far too ashamed to meet the person's eye. "Are you okay?"

Wooyoung hastily rubs his nose, sniffling in the process. He doesn't know who he's deceiving, though. It's obvious they both know he's been bawling his eyes out.

Not trusting his voice to come out stable, he just settles on a slow nod. Right now, however, he just wants whoever it is before him to get lost.

"You're crying." The deep, soothing timbre of the person's voice is definitely masculine, its familiarity making itself known through Wooyoung's tearful state. "You sure you're alright?"

Wooyoung nods, much faster this time. His lips wobble at the worst moment, and he clamps a hand over them, attempting to muffle out his quiet cries. Fuck, why does it hurt so much?

"Wooyoung -- "

"I said I'm f-fine," Wooyoung forces out, voice breaking at the end. A hand lands on his shoulder, something that's supposed to be a comforting move, but it just adds to the tension building up inside him, adds to the heavy tears weighing down his eyes. "I'm fine."

A sigh, soft and notably sympathetic. "You must be cold. Here."

Warm fabric drapes over Wooyoung's hunched form right then, ridding him of the biting cold. He freezes at the contact, swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Why are you here?" Wooyoung exhales, his ribs feeling like they've been screwed shut, stopping his lungs from taking flight. He looks up, meeting Yeosang's round eyes through the vivid orange streetlights beaming in the dark. The man's face betrays no emotions, and his gaze is unwavering. Composed. "How -- how did you find me?"

Yeosang pauses, as if he's thinking over his words and trying to figure out the right way to say them. "...You called me. Said you weren't too far off from where Choi San lives. I had to drive around a bit before I finally saw you."

Wooyoung blinks, can't recall ever dialing the older's number. "I -- I called you?"

Yeosang nods with a faint smile. "You did."

Wooyoung guesses he really must've lost it, as he definitely can't remember calling Yeosang to come for him. But it doesn't matter though, not when he's managed to fuck up the only good thing that's ever happened to him. Now, he's back to square one. He's back to the pathetic, pitiful shell of himself he thought he'd finally left behind him. Now I've totally failed.

Wooyoung has a hunch he looks as much of a mess as he feels, because Yeosang stretches out his hand to him, as if beckoning him to stand.

"Staying here isn't going to do you any favours," the taller advises. "You'll just risk getting hypothermia."

Wooyoung inhales the frozen night air into his lungs, shudders rolling down his spine. His tears are like ice frosting over his cheeks. "Okay."

He doesn't make a move to get up however, and Yeosang has to guide him to his feet, hands on his elbows to keep him grounded. It's embarrassing, and the action's enough to send another round of tears that clog his eyesight.

"Did something happen?" Yeosang asks. "Why aren't you in Choi San's house right now? Did you two fight?"

Wooyoung chews his lip, fists trembling. "U-Um," he stammers, "no. It's nothing."

"It clearly isn't 'nothing'," Yeosang states. His tone is gentle, and he doesn't once raise his voice. It has the opposite effect on Wooyoung, making him feel as though he's a child that's gotten into trouble.

He stares out into the road, having to hug himself to feel sane. He's broken apart on the inside, heart mercilessly trampled on and sucked out dry. He struggles to even breathe normally, each inhale a hassle to his already weary bones. He doesn't know how long he can continue to take this.

"Are you not working there anymore?"

Yes. And it's nothing but my fucking fault, Wooyoung thinks, but he doesn't say it. He can't, mouth taped shut.

"Wooyoung," Yeosang looks at him, "I'm not asking you to tell me every single detail. But I at least need to know something considering you decided to call me so late at night. It's the least you can do."

Wooyoung gulps, throat constricted to immeasurable lengths. "I -- " he licks his lips, cringing at how dry they are, "I'm not working there anymore."

There's silence for a moment, but it's a moment too long and Wooyoung starts to panic, avoiding Yeosang's focused stare.

"Where are your things then?" Yeosang then asks, his question nearly lost to the wind.

Wooyoung huffs a haggard breath. He laughs, but it's fake. Like those laughing tracks put on comedy shows to try and make things more lighthearted when in fact they never seem to work more than half the time. "Guess I ran too quickly and got out before I could pack all my stuff. Got a little distracted back there, silly me."

Yeosang doesn't quite as look amused at his dilemma. It's like he's seeing right through Wooyoung's facade, realizing he's just this fucked up being that has lost in life in more ways than one and says the wrong things at the wrong times. That he's really nothing special, really nothing worth caring for.

"What happened?"

Wooyoung shrugs, his weak attempt to deflect all the pain. "Things happened... And then I decided to leave. San doesn't want me around anymore."

"You need to get your belongings though," Yeosang says lowly, fishing through his pocket for something. It takes few seconds, but soon enough, a car key flashes in his hand.

"He said he doesn't want to see my face again," Wooyoung continues. He doesn't really know why he's adding all this, but it certainly alleviates a bit of the burden crushing down on him. Unfortunately, saying those words out loud make his predicament a lot more real, a lot more harrowing. "He doesn't want me back."

Yeosang's eyebrows pinch, a frown tugging at his delicate features. He looks far more cool-headed than Wooyoung's ever had the priviledge of feeling, and Wooyoung envies him for that. Envies him to death. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it."

Moisture gathers at the corners of Wooyoung's eyes. "He hates me."

"I don't think he does," Yeosang refutes. "He doesn't seem like that type of person, unless you like, murdered his dog or something."

Wooyoung lets out a mirthless, bitter chuckle. "You don't even know him."

"It's true. I don't, not really, but Hongjoong's told me quite a bit about him." Yeosang smiles. "We're second cousins. I'm sorry I never mentioned it before."

Irritation bubbles in Wooyoung's chest at the mention of Hongjoong's name, but he doesn't dare get mad. He doesn't have the luxury to, not when he's ruined everything. "It's okay. Hongjoong told me a few weeks ago actually..."

Yeosang's frown deepens, and Wooyoung has to look away, hating how vulnerable he feels. "I'll take you to my house, get you rested. Then you'll be able to go on from there." He bites his lip. "Does Hongjoong know?"

Wooyoung fumbles around with the loose sleeves of the older's coat, wanting to distract himself with something. He doesn't want to talk about it, just wants to brush tonight off as some dumb nightmare that'll hopefully be gone by morning, even though he knows that isn't the case in the slightest. "I... I'm a little cold..."

He's clearly trying to change the topic, and luckily, Yeosang buys it, at least for the time being. The older isn't pushy or invasive with his questioning, which Wooyoung's learned to appreciate. Getting him to talk about the catastrophe that is tonight would only result in more unwanted tears and heartbreak, things he just isn't in the mood to experience right now.

"Right." Yeosang nods, ruffling his caramel coloured locks. They're fluffy under this light, sprinkled with light snow. "You were probably out here for some time. You need warmth."

Wooyoung says nothing while the man leads him to his car parked just across the street, keeping his eyes locked on the inky gravel road the whole time. His guilt is eating him alive and leaving nothing to spare, thoughts spewing negativity into the four walls of his mind. He can't block them out, no matter how hard he tries.

The vehicle's polyester seats are like a welcome hug, cozy and comforting. The heater drives away the last bit of the cold, and Wooyoung wrings and wriggles his chilled fingers, sighing in relief when the goosebumps finally fade away.

He barely reacts as Yeosang enters the driver's side of the car and adjusts his seat-belt, his exhales forming condensation markings on the smooth windows. His jaw clenches as he remembers how San drew lovely little snowmen on the window of his car, and he tries to will the memory away, all to no avail.

Wooyoung is sure Yeosang's full of curiosity as to why he's outside San's house so late at night; he can see it in his eyes. That's why he's thankful the older doesn't persist in gaining more information on it from him, because he seriously can't deal with any of it right now.

The drive to Yeosang's house is mostly quiet, filled with stale ads and pop playlists echoing from the radio. They circle around Wooyoung's head, easy to acknowledge, but they're never absorbed, his brain too occupied with images of San and San alone. San looking at him, San smiling at him, San kissing him, San holding his hand. San, San, San.

Despite Wooyoung just meeting the man months ago, he has no idea how he'd ever managed to live without him. How he'd ever managed to wake up and go about his day without talking to San and holding him in his arms. He doesn't know how he survived without San's encouragement, his laughter, his joy. But he knows he doesn't ever want to go back to those times again, and it makes this whole ordeal hurt a million times worse.

He's messed everything up, and now San has left him.

Wooyoung doesn't know how it happens, but by the time Yeosang parks the car, he's drowning in his tears, wanting to wipe them all off but he's failing. Miserably.

"Shit," he hears Yeosang whisper, and then the man's patting his back, causing him to curl further into himself. "Hey, hey, Wooyoung. It's gonna be okay, hm? Things will be alright."

Wooyoung's gasping for air, sobbing like a goddamn toddler who didn't get their desired candy on Halloween. He's lost all sense of control, something he'd strived so hard to achieve all these years. He convinced himself he'd be strong and get through whatever life hurled at him in one piece, but here he is, disembodied and whimpering over a guy he'd screwed over.

"You'll be fine..." Yeosang keeps on muttering these hushed promises, but all they do is enter through one ear and out the other. "Everything will be fine."

Wooyoung swallows thickly, blinking a few times. He gives a curt nod, following behind Yeosang after he opens the door.

The weight of his phone is heavy in his jean pocket, begging to be taken and used. He wants to switch it on and call San, hear his voice -- anything -- but he knows it'll do no good. The older would probably never pick up. In fact, maybe he's already blocked his number.

"Normally, since your things are over at San's place," Yeosang's voice draws Wooyoung out of his thoughts, and it's then he realizes they're already inside the house. "We would've went to get them. But it's late, and you need to sleep. I don't have two bedrooms though, unfortunately, but I can always take the couch."

It's all your fault this happened. Now you're just burdening him. Wooyoung quickly shakes his head. "No -- no, it's okay. It's your house after all. I'll sleep on the couch instead."

But Yeosang's eyes narrow, studying Wooyoung again. The younger averts his gaze instantly, wanting to avoid further inspection. "Wooyoung, I may not know what happened, but that doesn't mean I don't see how much it's affected you. You don't have to worry yourself; I'm fine sleeping in the livingroom if that means you'll get a decent night's rest. We can figure things out tomorrow."

Wooyoung stares at the carpeted floor, unease and shame flooding him. He doesn't deserve all this, doesn't deserve it at all, but he is grateful, relieved he won't have to spend the night wandering about like the coward he is. "T-Thank you."

Yeosang passes him a friendly grin. "No biggie. Hey, have you eaten?"

Flashes of San's body cuddled up to him, of them laughing and holding hands as they watched the movie enter Wooyoung's head like a beam of light in the dark. The tightness in his chest swells, choking him and cutting his breaths short. He has to forcefully curl his lips upwards as he peers up at Yeosang, feeling nothing less than some puppet bending under Fate's control.

"I have. Dinner." His voice is raspy and disjointed, but fortunately, Yeosang makes no comments on it.

The man is light on his feet, ushering Wooyoung down his neat apartment like he's got somewhere to be. Wooyoung just nods along to his passing remarks and emptily pins on a smile at his watered down jokes, head overflowing with San and how he's completely destroyed everything between them.

"This is my room. Don't worry -- just changed the sheets and everything. The bed's comfy too," Yeosang's saying, drawing Wooyoung's attention to the room itself. Much like the rest of Yeosang's apartment, the room is tidy, painted beige with cream bread-spreads and a small lamp that shines deep blue when Yeosang turns it on. "And if you want, you can leave the lamp on. I do that sometimes as it helps when I'm feeling particularly stressed."

"Thank you so much," Wooyoung mumbles. He doesn't belong here, doesn't belong in someone else's house where he's just infringing on their privacy. He's used to much bigger bedrooms, with wide beds and bright blue blankets with little white birds on them. Used to waking up in warm arms dotted with freckles and moles he'll spend his time admiring and running his fingers over, giggling under saccharine smiles that'll press gentle kisses to his ears and neck. He's used to it all, and he misses it dearly. Knowing he'll most likely never have that again makes his heart shatter.

"You're welcome." Yeosang's eyes are inquisitive, as if he just knows. "I'll get you something suitable to sleep in. And no, you can't refuse." He laughs, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

Wooyoung takes the time to bring out his phone, but almost immediately regrets it when the screen lights up. San's face infiltrates his vision, lips pulled into a blinding grin that showcases his lovely dimples. Wooyoung's breath gets knocked out of him, and his legs nearly give way. He has to lean against the wall to balance himself.

"Wooyoung?" Yeosang speaks up, turning to face him with a bunch of folded clothes in hand. The younger man spots what appears to be pyjama bottoms, and feels his heartbeat skyrocket. "Are you okay?"

Wooyoung nods like he's trying to convince himself that he is. "Yeah. I'm...fine."

Yeosang grins. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

Yeosang's clothes, a loose grey sweater and black pyjama bottoms that drag a bit behind the soles of Wooyoung's feet, fit him well and do a good enough job in keeping out the cold.

"Does your phone need to charge?" Yeosang dangles a cord.

Wooyoung's too afraid to switch on his phone again to check the battery percentage. "I-I guess." He passes the older man the device, pointedly looking away when Yeosang plugs it in.

Before long, Wooyoung lays himself on the bed, trying not to let the awkwardness get to him. The blue light from the lamp is soothing, casting indigo shadows atop the sheets.

He looks up, and there Yeosang is by the doorway, looking at him. The older's lips curve upwards when their eyes lock.

"I don't wanna sound like a mom, but," he chuckles, and Wooyoung breathily laughs, "it's like, past eleven. Don't know about you, but I would wanna get some shut-eye before the next day arrives."

Wooyoung stares at his lap, willing his hands to stop shaking. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"And also, it may not seem like it now, but I like to believe things will get better," Yeosang adds. "Maybe it won't get better now, or tomorrow, or even next week, but...eventually, it will. Some may call it being too optimistic, but I just like looking on the bright side of things."

Wooyoung sniffs, pushing his fingers down his hair. He nods, and although he can't find it in him to believe Yeosang's words have any truth in them, he still wants to try. "Okay." He purses his lips. "...But what happens when I'm the one who's fucked things up?"

"Then you apologize and get better."

What if apologizing won't work this time? What if I've already ran out of all my remaining chances? What if I've already lost my shot? Yeosang's words seem so simple, so straightforward. Wooyoung wants to hope, to find some comfort in what the man said, but with the way things are, he'll be lucky if him and San even end up becoming friends again.

"I've ruined our relationship," Wooyoung says, picking his nails. "I -- I said some things that I should never have said, things I'm pretty sure no apology can ever fix."

"How are you so sure?" Yeosang replies, nonplussed about Wooyoung's confession. "You'll never know until you try. I don't know, but the way he looked at you that time in front of my house made it pretty clear he cares a lot about you."

"But I..." Wooyoung nibbles his lip, "I hurt him."

"Give it some time and allow the both of you to cool down first, and then explain yourself."

"How do you know all this?"

"There's this guy I'm seeing," Yeosang admits. "He's a bartender. We're on and off, I guess. Sometimes he gets mad, or I get mad and then we need some space. But we always find a way to make it work despite our conflicting schedules and everything else."

"Oh."

Yeosang smiles at him. "Don't think about it too much and drive yourself crazy over it." He knocks lightly on the door, as if announcing his departure. "Goodnight, Wooyoung."

"Goodnight, Yeosang."

The door shuts, greeting Wooyoung with silence. He looks over the room and sighs, wondering what's going to become of him now.

His phone blinks from the nightstand, its battery fully charged. Wooyoung contemplates just ignoring it for the night, but the temptation's too high and he ends up disconnecting it from the cord, placing it beside him.

His thumb swipes over the screen, San's bright smile stitching itself into his brain. Wetness stings the back of his eyes, which he has to shut to keep them at bay. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, knows it'll only worsen the ache in his heart, but he doesn't heed to any of the voices in his head spewing about how this is a bad idea, staring blankly at his lockscreen photo until his eyes start to strain.

Unable to take it anymore, he unlocks the phone and drags his finger to the call app, wondering what good it'll do if he decides to dial San's number now. But he's always been one to make terrible choices in life, after all.

San's number shows as the one he's most recently rung up, and Wooyoung calls him again, desensitized throughout as if he's a stranger in his own body.

The call goes, on and on. Then straight to voicemail.

Wooyoung tries again, heart in his throat. Voicemail.

He keeps trying, over and over again like a broken record, because maybe then he'll be able to ward off the inevitable for a little while longer.

But he keeps getting sent to voicemail, San's repeated voice burning through his eardrums until it's everything he thinks about.

"Hey, if I don't respond it means I'm probably asleep -- or dead! Seriously. I hate leaving calls unanswered. Drop something and I may just send something back!"

Wooyoung cries into the blankets, even until his shoulders start to tremble and a flurry of tears stain his cheeks. And he can't stop, desperate sobs muffled by the comforter. He doesn't know what to do, how to go about cutting San loose from his life. He doesn't want to, but it's a little too late to be saying that now, isn't it?

* * *

Yeosang the next morning looks like someone has wronged him. He greets Wooyoung with squinted eyes and a terse jaw, passing him a mug of coffee.

Wooyoung doesn't get the chance to ask what's wrong, because the older speaks up right then.

"Have any classes today?"

"Thanks, and uh, not in the morning." Wooyoung freezes, dread seeping into him like melted ice. "My eye..." he mutters offhandedly, but his voice must've been louder than he thought, because Yeosang looks at him.

"What happened to your eye? Did you hurt it or something?"

"It's just -- " Wooyoung stares at his drink. "I'm not wearing contacts..."

"Oh, that." Yeosang shrugs, a bit of his frown disappearing. "I kinda already knew you had different coloured eyes."

Wooyoung looks up at that, stunned. "Really?"

"I've seen you around a couple times without them." Yeosang answers. "I first met you when we were thirteen. I had glasses and you bought me a blue raspberry slushie. I'd just told you about my dad."

It takes Wooyoung a minute before he can piece the long lost memory together, but when he finally does, his eyes light up in shock. "That...that was you?"

"Yeah. I'd never introduced myself, which I regretted a few days later. We could've been good friends back then."

"Yeah, we could have..." Wooyoung says, still extremely stunned. All these years when his mind would grow idle, he'd find himself thinking about the boy he'd met at that cafe, wondering just who he was not knowing he'd been right in front of him the entire time. "Fuck," he lets out, cracking a dry laugh, "I really didn't expect that."

"It's my fault for not saying anything earlier," Yeosang tells him, laughing as well. "But I thought you wouldn't have remembered."

"Well I do remember."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Awkwardness aside, they make breakfast and chat a bit, not acknowledging the elephant in the room for the time being. It's when they're done that Yeosang looks at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"We should go get your things since you don't have class this hour."

"Oh." Wooyoung swallows down the heavy lump in his throat. "Y-Yeah, of course."

"I talked to Hongjoong last night while you were asleep." Yeosang packs up the plates and utensils. "He said he's sorry and will help you get a new place to stay. He'll also wire you your last pay."

Wooyoung nods, too numb to do much else. "Alright."

Yeosang's palm lingers on his shoulder, grounding him even when his thoughts and emotions are haywire. "It's going to be fine, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung desperately hopes he's right.

* * *

Wooyoung knows it's highly moronic of him, but a part of him can't help but wish that San's still around in his house, as anxious as he is as he awaits his return. He wants to believe that San misses him too, that San regrets this just as much as he does and is willing to move past all this as well.

When Yeosang parks the car like he'd done the last time he drove into this neighbourhood, he casts Wooyoung an encouraging smile like he's cheering him on, and although it doesn't do much in the grand scheme of things, the younger still appreciates it.

"Hopefully, you two can sort things out today. But if that isn't the case, it isn't the end of the world, alright? I'll be here, waiting," is what Yeosang continues with, and Wooyoung nods, exiting the car after a few more reassurances from the older.

When Wooyoung is let past the gates, he has to pause and take a couple breaths to steady himself. As if the worst mistake he'd ever committed hadn't happened the night before, the garden and house are in pristine shape, not a single thing out of place. He tries to gauge if anyone's around by focusing on the windows, but most of them have been shut, blocking out the rest of the world.

It's okay, he keeps telling himself. It's fine. I'll apologize and keep apologizing until he believes me. We'll be okay.

After what seems like forever has passed, Wooyoung gains the courage to press the doorbell, and waits.

Quicker than he's definitely anticipated, the doors click open, and he's face to face with someone that isn't San.

A middle-aged woman's face greets him, Wooyoung briefly recognizing her as one of the people who tidied the house in the evenings.

"Hello, Jung Wooyoung-ssi," she speaks, a faint smile on her features.

"Um, hi." Wooyoung purses his lips, pretends the woman's presence so early in the morning isn't because of him. "Is...is Choi San around?"

"No." The woman steps aside, allowing him into the vicinity. Wooyoung enters after her, feeling like he's seeing the place for the first time ever. "I suppose you aren't working here anymore?"

Wooyoung stiffly nods, lightheaded. "Yeah."

"He told me you'd probably be around at this time of day, and to get your things ready for you."

Wooyoung's heart drops, but he nods again, determined to hold it together. "Okay."

Wooyoung stays silent as he heads into the room that isn't his anymore, glad the lady leaves him alone at that moment.

All of his things have been packed, and he means all, tucked into the same suitcases he'd first arrived at this place with. The action's cold, conveying its message loud and clear.

Wooyoung almost doesn't want to touch them, almost wants to forget that they exist and pretend that all of this is nothing other than a cruel joke. But when have his wishes ever been answered?

Not wanting to give up just yet, he dials San's number. It goes straight to voicemail, just like his other attempts. This time, Wooyoung takes the plunge, grabbing onto the opportunity with both hands.

"San, I..." he squeezes his eyes shut, the silence on the other line like torture. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I miss you like crazy, and...and I know this is all my fault. B-But I still miss you. Fuck." Frustrated at everything, especially himself, he messes up his hair, pulling at the strands. "I -- I know I don't deserve it and I've fucked up beyond repair, but please, I -- I need to hear your voice. I need to see you, to talk to you. I'm so fucking sorry for everything, San. So sorry. Please give me another chance. Please..."

By the time he's done, he's crying again, a heartbroken heap on the floor. He sniffs, dabs off the remaining tears with his sleeve and pushes himself to stand, glaring at the luggages as if they'll vanish off from existence if he stares at them hard enough.

But in reality, he ends up leaving the house with his belongings, possibly for good.

* * *

"I apologize if this call comes as a huge shock to you, Jung Wooyoung-ssi, but -- I just couldn't find it within myself to let you go. I'm alright with you rejecting my offer this time around, but not after you at least give it a shot. Try it out for yourself, see if you like it. I promise you won't regret it."

* * *

Thirty-five days pass, giving way to fully melted snow and flourishing flowers. Wooyoung struggles to get used to his new routine without San in it, but that means nothing when every other day he'll call the older, only to get rejected each time.

He knows it's pointless at this point, just like how it's pointless to keep the things San bought for him inside the new apartment he himself rented, but that doesn't stop him from hanging on, hoping that one day he'd get to visit San again.

It's Saturday, the sky a cloudless blue thst's nearly as luminous as the brilliant sunlight. Wooyoung's on the bed, laptop placed in front of him as it plays a lecture he's supposed to be listening to. All he can think about is laying under the covers of San's bed as he holds him close, lazily watching the hours tick by.

"Stop thinking about him," he whispers to himself, but what good does that do when everywhere he looks reminds him of the older?

It's a sunny afternoon, coupled with strong winds that succeed in fizzling their way through Wooyoung's windows. He doesn't mind them, doesn't even feel them on his skin as he slowly twirls around the butterfly bracelet hanging from his wrist, getting lost in his thoughts again.

Mingi told him it'd do him no good -- he'd even said that this morning when they'd talked. The man's the only one from San's friend group that Wooyoung's managed to keep close without his conscience beating him up about it, and sometimes he'd get the man to fess up about how San's now doing. He doesn't do that anymore however, and Wooyoung can't blame him.

Chewing his lower lip, he drags his gaze over to the laptop screen again, forcing himself to concentrate.

He's about to just shut the thing and call it a day when his phone vibrates on his lap, its screen brightening. He spares it a glance, only to stop in his tracks at the caller ID.

It's San.

Wooyoung launches for the phone without much thought, snapping himself out of his stupor. He swipes accept and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding away in his chest.

"Hey," he exhales.

There's stillness on the other line for a moment, but soon Wooyoung hears a quiet hey too, and his heart skips a beat.

"I see you haven't changed your number," San continues. His voice is so soft, so faint as if he's afraid of being caught talking to Wooyoung. "It's still the same."

"Yeah." Wooyoung scratches his nape. He can't believe this is happening. "You too. Uh, you haven't changed your number as well."

"Yeah."

There are a million words Wooyoung wants to say to the man, a million questions he wants to ask. But he's aware his time is limited, especially when he has no idea when he'll have the chance to speak to San like this again. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yes," San's reply is quick, as if he'd been expecting those words. "...I also recieved your voicemails, all twenty-two of them."

Wooyoung delivers a tight-lipped smile at that. "Yeah, sorry about those." He breathes in. "I was worried about you."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," Wooyoung blurts. "I know it'll never make up for what I did, but I'm so sorry, San. I don't know what came over me back then, and I don't expect you to forgive me. I know it's too much to expect things to go back to the way they were, but I just -- I just want you to talk to me again."

"Woo..." Wooyoung's chest tightens at the mention of that nickname, "I've already forgiven you."

His words take the younger aback. "You -- you have?"

"Yeah." San sighs. "It was hard, yes, because you hurt me really bad. But I hurt you too, which I'm sorry about."

"You don't need to be sorry about anything," Wooyoung says, wiping his wet cheeks. "I'm the one who caused this in the first place."

San doesn't immediately reply, but when he does, he asks Wooyoung how he's doing. "I heard you do a little modeling on the side now. Congrats."

Wooyoung nods even though San can't see him, his grip on his phone tight. "Thank you, hyung. And, uh..." he bites his lip. "I saw you resigned on the news."

San chuckles at this, the sound warming Wooyoung on the inside. "Technically I need like, a full year before officializing my departure, but I got them to finalize it with the situation on ground. They're planning to appoint someone new for the job, but it'll most likely go to Hongjoong hyung. I'm just glad I won't have to do it anymore, guilt be damned. Jongho hyung wouldn't want me chained to something I wasn't interested in." He pauses and exhales, sounding tired. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry. I guess I've been so used to talking about everything with you."

Wooyoung gulps. "I'm okay with it though. You can tell me anything."

"Anything?"

"Yeah..."

"I want you to promise me you'll be happy and only do what you love," San says. "Please. Though things didn't end well between us, I don't want you moping around or feeling sorry for yourself."

"San." Wooyoung panics, sitting up. "Why -- why are you saying this to me?"

"I want you to move on."

Wooyoung's eyes are wide, brimming with unshed tears. He's at a loss for words, doesn't know what to do. "I can't move on, San. I did you wrong and I know that. I know I ruined things and broke your heart, but I -- I still want you, hyung. I-I still love you. I've never stopped."

"Wooyoung..."

"I know you feel the same. I know you probably hated me that night and maybe you still do right now, but I -- I still fucking need you, San. I need you and I miss you to death, and -- and everyday without you is fucking torture. Please don't do this to me," Wooyoung whimpers into his arms, tears soaking through his shirt. "Please don't push me away this time."

"I'm sorry, Woo." San's voice is deeper, more hoarse. "Hongjoong told me what he did, how he told you to quit. I should've put two and two together when I noticed the way you were after I'd returned from the hospital, but I was so mad back then. I was so bitter and angry at you and what you said, and I hated that you gave up on us so easily, but...but I guess that helped put some things into perspective."

"...San?" Wooyoung voices out when the silence prolongs. "Say something, please."

"You made me happy, Wooyoung," San says. "And I realized that's where things went so wrong. People shouldn't be the sole source of your happiness. I relied too much on you to cheer me up, up until I spent every waking second devising ways to get you closer to me. It was unhealthy, and it put a lot of pressure on you to make me smile, something I'd been blind to before now. And I'm very sorry."

Wooyoung quickly shakes his head. "There's no need to apologize for anything. I just want you here again. I just want to be with you, San. I promise I won't hurt you again, I promise I'll be better."

"Be better for yourself, Wooyoung," San says. "It's all I want for you. I'm still trying to adjust, still trying to heal. I don't want to drag you down with me. I don't want you getting hurt."

"S-San," Wooyoung begs, sobbing uncontrollably. He's a disaster; so fucking pathetic, but he can't let San go. Not now, not ever. "Don't do this. Please don't do this."

"Wooyoung, it's okay. You can't die on me," San pleads, voice alarmed. "Hey, you need to breathe properly. Take deep breaths, Woo. Please, you aren't -- Wooyoung, breathe. In and out, in and out. You can do it."

Wooyoung tries to listen, tries to take the older's advice. But it's so difficult when his lungs feel as though they've been punched in, leaving no room for air. "I-I'm trying."

San requests a video chat, to Wooyoung's shock, but Wooyoung eagerly accepts, instantly self-conscious of his face when the older appears on screen.

"You don't need to hide," San says, flashing a small, dimpled smile. His face, after not being seen so close for so long, propels Wooyoung into another sequence of tears, and immediately San reacts. "Wooyoung -- oh my god -- don't cry. Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry." Wooyoung rubs his eyes. "Shit, I'm such a loser."

"You're not a loser," San refutes in that scolding tone of his. He stares at something before him, all gentle smiles and sunshine yellow turtlenecks, and then the camera moves, capturing the clear blue sky. "I'm taking a walk 'cause it was recommended. The weather's so nice today too. Guess that's what gave me the bravery to finally talk to you. See?" San angles the phone at his face again, and it's now Wooyoung can see the teal coloured streaks in his hair. He feels his throat close up. "The atmosphere's too good right now to feel sad. It's Spring, a new beginning."

Wooyoung hangs on to San's every word. "Okay. Okay, hyung."

San looks at him, really looks, and he's so fucking beautiful it worsens the agonizing ache in Woooyoung's heart. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Y-Yes, I am."

San bites his lip. "I'm glad."

"I love you."

"Wooyoung -- "

"I love you so much, San. I can't live without you. P-Please," Wooyoung cries, "this can't be it. Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything I've done."

San's eyebrows furrow, jaws clenched. He's chewing his lip a lot more now, just like he always does when he's trying to gain control of his emotions. "Wooyoung, I can't..."

"Hyung."

"Wooyoung, I'm travelling to Japan in a few days. Don't know how long it'll be for, just want to take a break from it all." San purses his lips, eyes sparkling with tears of their own. He inhales a shallow breath, turning to the side to conceal them.  "Don't look at me like that, Woo. I don't have some terminal illness. I just want to leave the country for a while."

Wooyoung's tears flow rapidly, but it doesn't matter how much he cries because San is leaving. He's leaving him behind. "I'm sorry," he mutters, knowing even a thousand more of these won't ever be enough.

"I'm not mad at you, Wooyoung. I just want a break, nothing more."

Wooyoung can't stop weeping, but he tries to keep to together, for San's sake. "Okay."

"Thank you for understanding."

"Of -- of course."

San smiles, and it's somehow the prettiest one Wooyoung's ever seen on him.

I never knew your true worth until I lost you, and for that I am sorry.

fin.

* * *

a/n: there's an epilogue coming right up + the final author's note, but treat it as an alternate ending because that's honestly just what it is! (the author seriously contemplated just ending the fic here, how cruel are they??)

this is the now the longest chapter, nearly 7k omg!! it was also one of the toughest to write in terms of emotions and everything. but thank you all for reading!! see you in the alt ending *cough epilogue cough*!!