(no) Strings Attached

D... Illusions

Wooyoung scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Please. Try harder if you wanna impress me."

San chuckled at that, like he found Wooyoung's attitude endearing, like he knew exactly what he was doing—because of course he did.

"Who said I was ever trying to impress you?" San hummed, voice just low enough that Wooyoung felt it in his chest more than he heard it.

And that was it. That was all it took for Wooyoung's carefully constructed defenses to start crumbling.

Because that one sentence alone sent his mind flying back to the night of that damned party. The one he—now— wished he hadn't even set foot in.

San had made him feel like something rare, like something wanted, like something special.

But now, sitting there, looking at the marks left by someone else, Wooyoung realized that maybe it had just been an illusion. Maybe he was just another name in San's long list of conquests, just another moment in a collection of fleeting encounters.

His chest ached in a way he didn't want to acknowledge.

So, like always, he masked it with something else.

"Shame," he said airily, forcing a smirk as he leaned forward, chin resting in his palm. "If you were trying, you'd be failing miserably."

San's eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Amusement? Interest? Something deeper?

Wooyoung didn't even want to know.

Before San could get another word in, someone else slid into the seat beside him, drawing his attention away.

And just like that—just as quickly as he had ever gotten it—Wooyoung lost San's focus.

Because suddenly, San was flirting.

Not with him.

With the boy who had just sat down beside him, all soft laughter and batting eyelashes, fingers brushing against San's hickeys teasingly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And San let him.

He turned to him easily, eyes warm, voice smooth, almost the same way he had been with Wooyoung.

Wooyoung felt sick.

Because it hit him then, as hard as a punch to the gut—he wasn't special.

Nothing about the way San had looked at him, touched him, spoken to him that night had been any different than how he was now, openly and effortlessly charming someone else.

And yet, Wooyoung had felt special.

He had let himself believe, even for just a moment, that San had wanted him in a way that he didn't want anyone else.

He should have known better.

He did know better.

And yet, as he watched San lean in just slightly, whisper something into the boy's ear that made him blush, Wooyoung felt something ugly stir in his chest.

Something bitter. Something jealous.

Something he had no right to feel.

He hated it.

He hated how much he cared.

He hated that, despite everything, despite knowing what kind of person San was, he still couldn't tear his eyes away.

Because even now, even knowing better, Wooyoung was still infatuated.

He still hung onto every glance, every touch, every damn smirk like they meant something.

Suddenly, as if sensing his internal turmoil San turned to him; completely ignoring the boy trying to desperately win his attention.

And before he could process anything else, San suddenly leaned in.

Close. Too close.

Wooyoung's breath hitched. He barely had time to react before San was murmuring, low and deliberate, right against his ear.

"If I wanted to impress you," San whispered, "I wouldn't fail."

A shiver ran down Wooyoung's spine. His grip on his pen tightened, nails digging into his palm.

"Confident much?" Wooyoung forced out, but his voice didn't sound nearly as sharp as he wanted it to.

San pulled back slightly, eyes flickering over Wooyoung's face. He looked... satisfied. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

And then—he did that thing again.

With zero hesitation, San reached forward, grabbing Wooyoung's chin—gently, barely a touch, but it burned all the same.

Like he had the permission to invade Wooyoung's personal space; as if it belonged to him.

Wooyoung froze.

San smirked. "You're warm," he murmured, tracing a slow, lazy circle against the corner of Wooyoung's mouth. "You feeling okay, professor?"

It was humiliating how loud Wooyoung's heart was in his own ears. How much his body reacted to just that.

With all the strength he could gather, he jerked his head back. "Don't touch me."

San raised a brow. Unfazed. Amused.

Always annoyingly amused.

"No?" he mused. "Weird. It seemed as if you asked for it last time."

Wooyoung was going to explode.

Before he could even think of a response, San finally, finally leaned back—leaving Wooyoung breathless, rattled, and so fucking tense he thought he might snap.

San knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing to him.

And Wooyoung hated him for it. Hated him for making him want more. And that was the worst part of all.

Because San wasn't his.

He never had been.

A low snicker was echoed from the older beside him before he felt a hand lay high on his thigh.

Tensing he turned to look at the other who upon gaining his undivided attention-again- winked, leaning closer.

"Don't worry, Woo, you're still my favorite."

A/N
Hate San much enough already?
I might as well be toxic cause he is so hot still in my mind lmao💀

I hope you enjoyed this chapter❤️❤️