(no) Strings Attached

Nothing Equals Everything

Wooyoung sucked in a breath, slamming the book shut. "You're unbelievable."

"I can stop."

"You won't."

San's smirk faded just a little, something quieter slipping into his tone. "Maybe I don't want to."

The pause stretched, full of unspoken things. They hadn't touched yet—really touched. But the tension between them was coiled like a wire pulled too tight.

Wooyoung stood, circling the table slowly, fingers trailing along the wood. "You said we were gonna study."

San looked up at him, eyes heavy now. "I'm trying."

"Try harder."

Wooyoung stepped closer until he was behind San's chair. He leaned down, breath brushing San's neck as he murmured, "Tell me what you've learned."

San's hands gripped the edges of the seat.

"On it, professor. I've learned," he said slowly, "that you like being in control until you're not. That you talk too much when you're nervous. And that when you really want something, you start pretending you don't."

Wooyoung's hands rested on his shoulders, the room suddenly too warm, too small.

"I've learned," San added, voice a whisper now, "that the second you let yourself feel something, it hits you like a bomb."

Silence.

Then—

The chair scraped back and San stood, turning to face him. They were too close. Closer than before. Close enough to fall.

"You think you've got me figured out?"Wooyoung asked, throat dry.

San didn't answer. He just leaned in, slow and sure, his hand brushing over the waistband of Wooyoung's jeans like a question, not a promise.

"No. But I'm trying to." San smirked, his fingers pushing through the other's underwear to wiggle against the heated skin teasingly.

Wooyoung sucked a deep breath. His hands clutching on San's wrist. "S-San" he whined, cheeks red.

"Yes, professor?" San murmured, his lips leaving wet stamps on Wooyoung's collarbone.

Wooyoung's knees buckled just slightly, his body leaning forward until his forehead met San's shoulder. "This isn't—this isn't studying," he mumbled, voice already fraying at the edges.

San chuckled against his skin, mouthing along his jawline now. "Sure it is," he whispered. "I'm learning everything I need to know about you."

His hand moved slow, torturously so, and Wooyoung could feel his own restraint unraveling with every teasing stroke. There was a smugness to San, always, but this—this was softer, more tender, like he was memorizing instead of just touching.

And maybe that's what made Wooyoung's stomach twist the most.

"You're gonna get us caught," he managed, though his grip on San's wrist had loosened, fingers now just holding, not stopping.

San kissed beneath his ear, low and hot. "Then be quiet," he whispered. "Or make me stop."

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

Instead, Wooyoung let out a breath that shook as much as he did and tilted his head to catch San's lips, the kiss needy, deep, all teeth and heart and something neither of them wanted to name yet.

They weren't studying.

But they were learning something.

Each other.