(no) Strings Attached

Mistakes Meant To Make

"So? Will you do me the honor to join me for a coffee?" The taller cocked his head to the side with a boyish grin.

"Uh- Y-yes sure." Wooyoung bit his lip a bit flustered at the straightforwardness. "Perfect," the older mumbled eyes flight to Wooyoung's bag. "Give me that. Pretty boys shouldn't be tiring themselves." He winked as he stole the bag off his hands.

Wooyoung chocked on thin air, his ears hot. The other didnt give him time to process anything, already a few steps ahead. It made Wooyoung chuckle to himself in disbelief before he rushed to match the other's footing.

San didn't move.

Not when Seojun laughed. Not when Wooyoung laughed back. Not even when that asshole took his bag and called him pretty like he fucking meant it.

No, San sat there. Quiet. Eyes fixed on the door they just walked through.

His fists clenched on the table.

That should've been him. It was him. Before he fucked it all up.

"Choi," the professor called again, probably annoyed that he hadn't moved in five whole minutes. "You planning to live here?"

San blinked out of it. Shook his head. Mumbled an apology. Grabbed his own things and stood, back stiff, chest tight.

He didn't know what pissed him off more—seeing someone else touch Wooyoung, or the fact that Wooyoung let him.

Maybe he deserved it.

Maybe he didn't.

But he knows he did.

San hadn't meant to sit at the table right behind them. He really hadn't.

Okay—maybe he did. But it wasn't like he knew Wooyoung would be here. (He did.) Or that Seojun would be sitting across from him, leaning in like he belonged there. (He didn't.)

San stirred his coffee like it had personally wronged him, head tilted just enough to catch their voices over the murmur of students and clinking trays.

"So, are you always this smooth, or am I just special?" Wooyoung asked, tone playful but soft—soft in that way San knew too well.

"Only with you," Seojun replied, easy and warm. "What, you think I carry around my charm for just anyone?"

Wooyoung scoffed but smiled. San didn't have to see it to know.

"Stop it," Wooyoung said, bashfully nudging his arm. "I'm serious."

"I am too." Seojun's voice lost its teasing edge then, going gentler. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything. I just think you're... someone worth showing up for."

San's hand stilled on the spoon. The words hit somewhere deep in his chest—right where he didn't want to admit they landed.

Wooyoung didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice dropped.

"That's... really nice to hear. I've been treated like a joke before."

San felt that one like a slap.

Still, he tried to convince himself. It's not that deep. Just some guy with too many compliments and a decent haircut.

But when Seojun chuckled and said, "Well, anyone who made you feel like that is an idiot," San's grip on the coffee cup tightened.

Wooyoung chuckled, but it sounded more like a sigh.

"Yeah, well... that idiot still lives in my head rent-free," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the table between them. "So maybe I'm the real idiot here."