LOST AND FOUND, woosan

01 : falling

san is in trouble. big, big trouble.

he doesn't know he's gotten himself in this position; he's always been hyper cautious of his schedule and his belongings, out of overbearing fear that he'd do something stupid and mess up. so when he realises his blazer is no longer in his bag after volleyball practice, nor is it hung up on the hangers, or anywhere in the changing room, for that matter, even after frantically searching through the same places countless times over, san thinks he's about to faint.

his figure is trembling when he gives in to reality and falls into a crouch on the hard ground. he's done it — he's messed up.

san's head collapses into his hands, his fingers snaking into his hair, and they tug out of frustration. at himself. at his parents. at everyone.

it's not like he hasn't messed up before. because he has, multiple times. maybe that's why he's so afraid, because he already knows what's coming for him, before he's even confronted the nightmare itself. regardless, this is different.

this is going to cost.

it's almost ridiculous, how stringent san's parents behave towards money. it's as if they forget they're highly successful business owners; it's as if they forget their child should be their priority, rather than the monthly profit they earn.

but it's always been like this. san's always been nothing but a speck of dust compared to his family's business. he's always been forgotten about, insignificant.

he knows better than to expect any sort of kind gesture when he returns home.

home.

it's a funny concept, san thinks. home. typically, when a person announces they're going home, you'd imagine they have this comfortable, warm  place to unwind in. somewhere wherein they're safe, and healthy, and welcome. somewhere they hope to be after a long, draining day. somewhere they can be and do whatever their heart may please.

san doesn't have that.

he doesn't have a "home", and if he's wrong on that, there's one thing for sure. his home, it's not normal. it's not right. and if he's being completely honest, the fact isn't funny to him whatsoever.

barely able to feel his fingers, san picks his head up. he stares. he stares at his shoes, stained with mud, and he stares at the wall, scribbled with indecency, and he stares at his nails, smudged with blood.

oh. this again. san rubs at his hairline. its sting is faint, bearable. he ruffles his dark hair over his forehead, until it reaches his brows, and stands.

it's getting late, almost passing five. that in itself is enough to get san in trouble.

the corridors are empty when san gradually steps out into them. walking through the aisles of red and yellow and blue lockers, he's reminded of seonghwa. his friend. his only friend. san thinks of the time he sneaked out on the elder boy's birthday, just last month, and they ate cake, giggled at the stars, and vaped all night. the day following felt as if the devil ripped a gap between hell and earth, his parents were that furious, their treatment the worst he's ever received, but it was worth it.

sometimes, san wonders what it's like to be living a life like seonghwa's. no parents, no school, no judgement: just him. seonghwa is lucky — now. only a few years back, he had it just as bad as san. that's how they grew this close, as miserable as it sounds. because, frankly, it is.

all the same, however, seonghwa gives san hope that he can change his life around. become who he wants to be. and if a time ever comes where san is even somewhat close to being in seonghwa's position, he thinks that that would be enough. enough to be happy. free. himself.