(no) Strings Attached

Mistakes Meant To Make

He hated that his heart still leapt.

He hated that he cared.

Especially now. When he had someone—Seojun—who saw him, who listened. Who treated him like he mattered, no games or smug smiles or unfinished sentences.

But none of that explained why, when San's eyes lifted across the distance and landed on him, Wooyoung forgot how to breathe.

Their eyes locked.

Just for a second.

And his head echoed past words, we're not done.

San didn't smirk like he used to. Didn't look away like it didn't matter.

He stared. Like he knew exactly what Wooyoung was thinking.

And that was the problem. San always knew.

Without giving himself the opportunity to fuck up again he nearly ran to the library, hoping for the world to just open up and swallow him whole. Cause this shit was draining.

Wooyoung sighed in relief once in the library.

Alone. Or at least, trying to be.

He didn't even hear San come in. But then—he felt him.

A slow burn of awareness.

He turned, and San was standing at the end of the aisle like some goddamn storybook villain: all black hoodie and silent intensity.

"You're past stalking but following me now?" Wooyoung tried to sound unimpressed, flipping a page he hadn't read.

San took a step closer.

"No," he said. "Just... avoiding people who lie to themselves."

Wooyoung's jaw tensed. He shut the book with a thud.

"Go away, San."

"I can't."

"That's not my problem."

Silence. Thick, like it belonged to another time.

Then—softly, like a confession—

"I miss you."

Wooyoung's breath caught.

He shouldn't care. He shouldn't feel anything. He had someone now. Someone who wasn't afraid to be seen with him. Someone who didn't make him question everything.

And yet—

"I hate you," Wooyoung whispered. But it cracked too early, too quiet to be true.

San didn't blink. "No, you don't."

And then—too close. Way too close.

San's hand reached out, curling gently around Wooyoung's wrist like he was trying not to spook him. Their eyes held, fire flickering in silence.

Wooyoung swayed forward without meaning to.

Their noses brushed. Breaths collided. And then—there was no going back.

The kiss didn't happen—but it almost did.

San had him pinned gently between the shelf and his chest, and Wooyoung didn't stop it.

Didn't move. Didn't speak.

They just stood there, breath mingling, arms aching to hold each other tighter but not daring to.

San's voice was hoarse. "I still want you."

And Wooyoung—staring at him like he wanted to scream and sob and kiss him all at once—choked out

"That's the problem."

San's thumb ghosted over Wooyoung's jaw.

"Tell me to stop."

He said it like it was a lifeline. Like he wanted to obey—but couldn't unless Wooyoung made it easy.

But Wooyoung didn't say a word.

Because how could he?

Because with San this close, he was always weak. Always the fool who forgot how badly it hurt, how raw San had left him last time.

And still—

Still.

He didn't stop him.

So San leaned in, slow and hungry and trembling just beneath the surface, and kissed him like he'd been starving since the moment they broke apart. But this time he felt it, the way that this kiss was just a tad bit more intense, in an emotional sense.

So Wooyoung let him.

No, he kissed back.

Fierce. Needy. Stupid.

His fingers curled into the front of San's hoodie like it might keep him from falling all over again.

And maybe it already had.

Maybe he'd never stopped falling.

San groaned low against his lips, hands finding Wooyoung's waist, gripping like he was scared he'd disappear. The way he kissed him—desperate, lips dragging, biting, sucking—wasn't just want. It was remorse. It was regret.

It was I'm sorry I broke you and I can't stop wanting you anyway.

Wooyoung's hands found San's neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, dragging a moan out of the elder's throat that vibrated straight through his skin. San pushed him harder into the shelf, hips brushing hips, one hand sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to feel warm skin he already knew by memory.

It wasn't just tension anymore. It was fire. It was weeks of unfinished sentences, of every glance that lingered too long, of every time Wooyoung told himself, "I'm over it," and knew he was lying.

San's mouth left his lips only to trail down—along his jaw, behind his ear, sucking at a spot that made Wooyoung gasp, his knees buckling slightly.

"Don't—" he panted, breathless. "Don't leave a mark—"

San smirked, voice husky and raw. "Then stop me."

But Wooyoung didn't.

He tilted his head further instead.

San took his time. Slow, dangerous kisses painting the column of Wooyoung's throat, licking over the bite as if to soothe the heat he'd left behind.

"I missed this," he whispered against his skin, voice trembling. "I missed you."

Wooyoung whimpered. His hands moved down to grip San's hips, the curve of his back, pulling him impossibly closer. Their bodies pressed in a rhythm only they knew—memories playing out in touch and sound and breathless whines.

"Say it," San whispered, lips back on Wooyoung's, devouring and reverent. "Say you missed me."

But Wooyoung shook his head, breath catching, even as his body gave him away.

"I'm not supposed to," he said against his mouth, words nearly lost in a moan.

San smiled through the ache, voice breaking with a laugh that wasn't happy. "Yeah," he muttered. "Me neither."

And still, they didn't stop.

But that's okay. That's what they do. Just lip exercise and next moment everything is forgotten.

Right?

A/N
This one's unedited too.

They are so stupid and so annoying it frustrates me help 😭

I hope you liked this chapter ❤️