(no) Strings Attached

Nothing Equals Everything

But instead of answering, Wooyoung turned away, heat crawling up his neck as he tried to keep walking.

San's laugh was low, breathy. "You've been quiet all day. Gonna keep acting like last night didn't happen?"

"Maybe I'm trying to forget it," Wooyoung shot back.

"That so?" San reached for his elbow, tugging gently to slow him down. They stopped in the middle of the hallway, the air around them thick and unmoving.

San leaned closer. "Because I'm doing the exact opposite. Every time I close my eyes—" he paused, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, "—I see you looking at me like that again. All red and breathless. Pretty."

Wooyoung felt his breath hitch. "Stop."

"Why?" San tilted his head, voice soft now, sincere in a way that made it worse. "It happened. You can't take it back. And I don't want to."

Wooyoung's eyes flickered to the side. "Don't say shit like that."

"Why not?" San asked, a little breathless now himself. "You think I'm just here to tease you?"

"Aren't you?"

"Not entirely," San said, quiet but sure. "I like having you close. That's not a joke."

And just like that, Wooyoung's stomach dropped and fluttered at once.

It was too much. And not enough.

After a long pause, Wooyoung cleared his throat. "So... are we doing the project or what?"

San smiled like he'd won something. "That's what I've been saying, sweetheart. Let's get to it before I say something else that gets me in trouble."

He took a step forward, then looked back with a wink. "Unless you like me in trouble."

Wooyoung didn't answer. But the blush on his cheeks said enough.

And yes—he followed.

The study room San had managed to book on the far end of campus was barely lit, the dull white fluorescents above casting a soft hum over the space. One long table, two chairs, a whiteboard no one had used in years, and silence that felt too close to something fragile.

Wooyoung dropped his bag with a thud, pulling out the textbook they barely ever cracked open. "Alright. No funny business. We're here to work."

San raised his hands in surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"Maybe not, but I'm very good with knots," he murmured, sliding into the chair across from him.

Wooyoung looked up slowly, narrowing his eyes. "We're not starting with that."

San bit back a grin. "Fine. Psychology it is."

He opened his own book, flipping pages aimlessly until he found their topic. For a few moments, they actually focused. Words exchanged, notes scribbled. But it didn't last.
San's foot brushed against Wooyoung's under the table—once. Then again. Then it stayed.

Wooyoung shot him a glare, though the edges were already fraying. "You're doing it again."

San tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Doing what?"

"That thing. Where you pretend to study just to get under my skin."

"I'm actually learning," San said, leaning forward on his elbows. "For example..." His voice dipped. "I've learned that when you get frustrated, your lip twitches." His gaze flicked down, watching it happen in real time. "Right there."