(no) Strings Attached

No Need To Pretend

Seonghwa felt the small hair on his nape raise into goosebumps. Then he shook his head at himself. This would turn into another disappointment if his parents were around.

"What do you want to drink? I'll fetch it for you." Hongjoong asked, his breath still tantalizing his neck.

"Anything is fine." He smiled politely.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the typicality. The hand that was on Seonghwa's lower back traveled to the side, his palm squeezing softly just above the taller's hipbone.

"Relax..." he almost pouted before he pushed them both towards a considerably deserted corner. "Stay here. I'll be back." He said right after, oblivious to the way Seonghwa felt like evaporating.

Seonghwa waited on his own, eyes running around the room to take his surroundings in with wonder. He barely did anything else than study, being at parties was almost impossible.

His attention got quickly shifted to his left, when a body pressed right into his own.

"Who would have guessed." The teasing, silky voice of San entered his eardrums, making his freeze.

His heart sped up with anxiety.

"I thought Hongjoong was bullshitting me. But I be damned you actually came!" San scoffed more in awe than disbelief.

Before Seonghwa could respond San leaned closer, smirk etched on his lips as always.

"But of course you, Seonghwa, would never turn down Hongjoong..." his grin deepened. "Right?" He raised a knowing eyebrow.

Seonghwa's eyes barely widened but San noticed. "Wh-what do you mean?" The taller cursed at himself for stuttering, eyes incapable of finding the loud boy in his front.

San, ever perceptive, leaned against the wall and just casually shrugged.

"Oh? Isn't this about you finally stepping up your game, Seonghwa?"

Seonghwa's whole body went rigid. Heart slamming against his ribs. He doesn't turn to look at San, but he can feel his smirk, can hear the teasing edge under his words.

"W-what?" Seonghwa hates the way his voice stumbled again.

San just hummed, watching. Observing.

"Come on. You've always been acting different around him."

Seonghwa swallows. He doesn't know how to respond. Denying it too hard would only make it worse. But agreeing—No. No way.

San, as usual, didn't let up.

"Not that I blame you," he continued, still light, still playful. "Hongjoong's hard not to get drawn to. I just thought you'd keep your distance, you know? Like you always do."

And that's when Seonghwa finally snapped his gaze to him. Eyes sharp, but underneath that—something fragile, something shaking.

"I don't—" He stops himself. Bites his tongue. Clenches his jaw.

San just tilted his head. "You don't what?"

Seonghwa looked away. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest feels too tight, too full.

Because what can he even say? That San's wrong? That he doesn't feel something when Hongjoong looks at him like he wants to understand him? When he throws out reckless, easy affection like it's nothing?

San doesn't need him to answer. He already knows.

So he just exhales through his nose, amused but not cruel. And then, with a small shrug—