(no) Strings Attached

Pull You In

"Not anymore."

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. "I hate you."

San propped his chin on his hand, smile widening. "No, you don't."

Then, without hesitation he brought a hand, intertwining his fingers with the younger's who stiffened despite his heart telling him to stop lying to himself.

Wooyoung stared at their intertwined fingers like they were an actual crime scene.

San, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease, like he hadn't just laced their hands together in the middle of class like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Wooyoung hissed, jerking his hand back—only to find that San's grip did not budge.

San just blinked at him, all wide-eyed and innocent, as if he was the victim here. "What? It's called holding hands, professor. I had you for the smart type."

Wooyoung's whole body went rigid. His brain short-circuited. Did San just—

No. No, he wasn't going to react. He was not going to react.

He narrowed his eyes instead, voice a warning.

"Let go."

San tilted his head, his thumb casually—absently—tracing over Wooyoung's knuckles.

His touch was maddeningly gentle. And he wasn't even trying. It was like muscle memory to him.

"Why?" San asked, his tone so light, so genuine that Wooyoung nearly lost his mind.

"You don't like it?"

The question hit him square in the chest.

Because the answer—the real answer—was a nightmare.

No. He did like it.

He liked it too much.

Which was exactly why he needed to get the hell out of this situation before it became another permanent fixture in his late-night thoughts.

"I don't," he bit out, forcing the words past his tightening throat.

San's brows lifted, like he almost believed him.

Almost.

"Oh," he said simply, but he still didn't let go.

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. His fingers twitched in San's grip, and god, his touch was warm.

This shouldn't be affecting him. It was just a stupid hand-hold.

But it wasn't just that, was it?

Because San was looking at him like he knew.

Like he knew Wooyoung wasn't really mad.

Like he knew that no matter how much distance Wooyoung tried to put between them, no matter how much he fought it—

He would still let San touch him.

And that was terrifying.

"Sure," San finally said, a small, knowing smirk curling at his lips. He gave Wooyoung's hand one last squeeze before—mercifully—releasing him.

Wooyoung immediately yanked his hand back, curling his fingers into a tight fist under the desk. His skin still tingled from the contact, and he hated it.

Absolutely despised how San had that much power over him.

San leaned back in his seat, stretching like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just ruined Wooyoung's entire mental stability.