(no) Strings Attached

Too Far

He felt sick.

His hands trembled at his sides. His lips parted, but no words came.

San just tilted his head, gaze still locked onto him, dark and unreadable. Then, as if Wooyoung's presence meant nothing,he turned back to the person on their knees and hummed.

"Let's get somewhere more private, beautiful."
He pulled the other up by the chin, fixed his belt just enough to be decent, and—without another glance—disappeared into the depths of the party.

Wooyoung was left standing in that dimly lit hallway, staring at the empty space San had occupied just moments before.

The music pounded against his skull. His hands felt numb. His face was burning—but his heart was cold.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Okay.

Okay, fuck.

If this was how San wanted to do it, then fine. Wooyoung would play too.

But it wasn't that easy.

He was sitting on the armrest of a couch, a drink in hand, but his mind was far, far away.

San was somewhere in this house. With someone else.

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, bringing the drink to his lips. He didn't know why he still felt like this—why the ache in his chest hadn't faded. He knew what San was like. He knew, and yet, seeing it with his own eyes still burned.

"Hey."

A voice, smooth and warm, pulled him back to the present.

Wooyoung glanced up, blinking as a tall guy—broad shoulders, sharp features, hair falling effortlessly over his forehead—eased into the seat beside him.

"Been watching you for a while," the stranger admitted, resting an elbow on the back of the couch, his fingers playing idly with the hem of Wooyoung's sleeve. His touch was light, teasing, but not intrusive. "You look like you're a million miles away."

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing at him properly.

The guy had a nice face—kind eyes, a confident smirk. But there was something about him that wasn't overbearing. It was comforting in a way Wooyoung hadn't expected.

"I guess I got lost in my thoughts," Wooyoung admitted, swirling the remnants of his drink.
The guy hummed. "Must've been some pretty shitty thoughts, then."

Wooyoung exhaled a quiet laugh. "You could say that."

"Wanna replace them with better ones?"

Wooyoung looked up, eyebrows raised.

The guy grinned. "I'm Seojun."

"Wooyoung," he introduced, lips quirking up despite himself.

"Well, Wooyoung," Seojun leaned in slightly, voice lowering as if this was some kind of secret between them, "I've got a deal for you."

Wooyoung tilted his head. "A deal?"

Seojun nodded. "You stop thinking about whatever's ruining your night, and I'll make it my personal mission to make you smile at least ten times before this party ends."

Wooyoung scoffed playfully. "Ten? That's ambitious."

Seojun grinned. "I like a challenge."

There was something about him—his easy confidence, the way he was giving Wooyoung his full attention, the way he actually cared to make him smile instead of letting him sit and sulk—that made Wooyoung feel lighter.