(no) Strings Attached

Until You Do

Wooyoung doesn't speak. Doesn't move. He just stares at San like the words burned a hole straight through him. And then—he laughs.

Short. Bitter. Like something breaking.

"You don't get to say that," he mutters, turning away.

"You don't get to show up out of nowhere and say some dramatic shit like that and expect it to fix everything."

San doesn't flinch. Doesn't apologize again—not yet. He just watches him. Quiet, steady. Like he's memorizing every wince.

"I'm not here to just fix it." His voice is low. Honest. "I'm here because it's always been you. I might have realized it too late. But I'm here"

Wooyoung scoffs. "Right. That's convenient."
He starts walking again, fast and aimless. San follows.

"I thought about you every day," San says. "Even when I tried not to. Even when I convinced myself we were better off apart."

"And now what?" Wooyoung spins to face him again. His voice is too loud. His hands won't stay still. "Now you realize you want me back? Now you're suddenly sure?"

He laughs again—quieter this time. Sadder "What if I don't trust you?"

San breathes through the ache. "Then I'll stay until you do." And that—that is what cracks Wooyoung's armor.

Not the words. Not the apology. But the stillness in them. The resolve. The way San isn't running anymore. Not toward something. Not away from him. Just standing there. Willing to wait.

Wooyoung doesn't answer right away. His throat moves like he's trying to swallow it down—whatever's clawing up from his chest.
But it slips out anyway.

"You think it's that simple?" he says, voice hoarse. "That you just show up and I forget what it felt like to be brushed off?"

San's breath catches, but he stays quiet. Wooyoung shakes his head, a miserable little laugh escaping.

His eyes are shining now, angry and wrecked.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to wake up every day hoping today's the day they accept you?" His voice cracks.

"And then they don't. And it just... it eats you. It eats you alive." San's lips part like he wants to say something—but Wooyoung keeps going.

"I can't do that again, San."

He steps back, arms folding tight around himself like armor. "I can't believe in you just to watch you leave when it gets too hard again. I'm not—" He cuts himself off, biting down on the tremble.

"I'm not strong enough for that."

And there it is. Not the anger. Not the pride. Just the fear. The soft, desperate thing under everything.

The part that still wants San—wants to believe him—but doesn't know how to survive it if he's wrong again.

San exhales slowly. His hands are in his pockets now—not clenched, not reaching, just there. Still.

"I deserve that," he says. No flinching. No arguing. "I know I do."

He looks down for a second, like he's trying to find the words somewhere on the pavement. When he looks back up, his voice is steady—but soft, like it might break if he pushes too hard.

"I was scared. And selfish. And I thought—" He swallows.

"I thought if I left first, it'd hurt less." He laughs, bitterly. "It didn't." There's a beat of silence.

San steps forward—not too close, just enough to be heard without raising his voice. "It's always been you, Wooyoung."

His eyes shine, not with tears—just truth.
"Even when I ran. Even when I told myself I didn't need you. I still woke up missing you like air."