(no) Strings Attached

Until You Do

And in that silence that follows, it almost feels like a beginning. Even if it still hurts.

The second they step back inside, the scent of garlic and sesame oil hits them like a wave. The heater's on too high. Something sizzles in the kitchen.

And then—
"Oh! My boys are back!"

Wooyoung barely has time to brace himself before his mother sweeps into the entryway, cheeks flushed with cooking heat, hands covered in flour. She doesn't even hesitate—goes straight to San like she's known him since kindergarten.

"San-ah," she beams, "come, come, taste this soup I made! You need strength, you've traveled so far. For my Wooyoung, no less!" San blinks. "I—I'd love to, thank you."

He throws a brief glance at Wooyoung, who just shoots him a don't-you-dare-laugh look and kicks off his shoes with practiced defeat.

"Oh, and did you sleep well last night? Was the futon too thin? Should I bring out the heated pad for tonight? You are staying the whole break, right?" she continues, leading San toward the kitchen like this is a done deal.

"Um—" San opens his mouth, then looks at Wooyoung again, who's now busy very obviously pretending to be distracted by the cat.

"He is," Wooyoung says flatly, not even looking up. "Apparently." His mother claps like it's Christmas morning.

"Wonderful! I've always said, good friends should stick together. Though with how cute the two of you are—" she pauses, winks, and taps San on the arm, "you sure you're just friends?"

San goes still.

Wooyoung chokes on air.

"Mom!" he yelps, eyes wide. "What?" she says innocently, ladling soup into a bowl like she didn't just send both of them into silent cardiac arrest. "I'm just saying. The energy is there."

San coughs into his sleeve. Wooyoung looks ready to dissolve into the floor.

"It's just—he's—he's not—" Wooyoung fumbles, waving vaguely at San like the word ex is too heavy to utter in front of kimchi.

But his mother is already humming to herself, content. "Well, whatever you two are, I like him. He's handsome. Polite. I'd keep him if I were you."

San, cheeks flushed and lips twitching with barely hidden amusement, murmurs, "I'll try to be worth keeping."

Wooyoung swears under his breath and drags a hand down his face. And just like that, they're sitting at the table. Soup steaming. Rice scooped. Pretending everything's normal.

Except for the part where San keeps sneaking glances at him like he still means it. And Wooyoung, for all his bitterness, keeps letting him.

The next morning, Wooyoung wakes up to the sound of chopping.

And humming. And—is that San laughing?

He stumbles into the kitchen in a sweatshirt three sizes too big, hair sticking in five directions, expecting chaos. What he finds is... worse.

San is at the stove. Wearing an apron.

And chatting with his mother like they've been best friends for years. "Oh, you don't need to dice the green onions so small," she's saying, standing beside him, gesturing with her chopsticks. "Just a rough cut is fine. It's going in the soup."

San nods dutifully. "Got it. I just wanted to make it look nice for you."

Wooyoung stares, dumbfounded. His brain hasn't caught up to reality yet. San. Cooking. In his childhood kitchen. For his mother.

"Oh, morning, baby!" his mom chirps. "San's been up since seven. He offered to help with breakfast. Can you believe that? He even refilled the rice cooker."

"You were what?" Wooyoung says, eyes narrowing. San gives him a helpless, almost sheepish smile. "Your mom asked if I liked seaweed soup and I said yes and then suddenly I was slicing garlic and... now I'm here."

Wooyoung blinks. Slowly. "You volunteered to talk to my mother at seven in the morning?"

"She made me barley tea," San says, like that explains everything.

"San's such a good boy," his mom sighs dreamily. "Not like you, always groaning when I ask for help."

"I was eleven!" Wooyoung says indignantly.
"Still," she teases, nudging San with the back of her hand. "You bring this one around more often. He's already part of the family."

San nearly drops the ladle.

Wooyoung opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

Then, without saying a word, he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.

"Was it something I said?" his mom asks. San just smiles. "No, I think... he's just not a morning person."

Wooyoung doesn't say anything when San finds him outside, sitting on the low stone wall near the edge of the garden. The morning is soft, a little cold still, and the smell of soup and barley tea clings faintly to his hoodie.

San sits beside him without asking. The silence stretches.

"She really likes you," Wooyoung mutters, arms crossed tight against his chest. "Your mom?"

"No. The neighborhood cat. Of course my mom."

San huffs a quiet laugh. "She's sweet." "She's nosy," Wooyoung snaps. But there's no real fire in it. Just tiredness.

Then, softer, "She thinks you're staying forever, you know."

San nods slowly. "Would that be so bad?"
Wooyoung doesn't look at him. "You think words like that are harmless. But they stick."

Silence.

"I'm trying, Wooyoung."

"I know," he says, and it comes out like defeat. "That's the problem."

San watches the side of his face, the way his jaw moves when he's holding too much in. "I meant what I said last night," he says gently.

"All of it."

Wooyoung still doesn't look at him. "You always mean things when you say them. Doesn't mean they last."

That one hits. San breathes through it. "I'm not going to run again."

Wooyoung finally turns, eyes sharp even through the quiet. "Then don't make me feel like I'm the only one who stayed."

And there it is. The weight behind all the banter. The ache still fresh. San nods once, eyes steady. "I won't."

They sit in silence again, this time thicker. But something in it feels less brittle. Like a thread—not fixed, but held.

Then Wooyoung sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "Let's go. Before she starts planning our honeymoon or something."

San huffs a soft laugh—but there's this pause. Barely a blink, barely a breath, but it lands. Honeymoon. Something warm curls in his chest like a secret he's not allowed to say yet.

"Coming, jagiya."

"Don't," Wooyoung says, standing up so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. "I will literally throw you into the ocean."

But he doesn't walk away. Not yet.

A/N
People have split opinions about this couple I still hope no one is disappointed.. 🥹

I hope liked this chapter.

See you soon❤️