Wooyoung is shaken awake in the middle of the night—well, not exactly. The soft light seeping through the window tells him it's earlier than it feels.
Squinting, he instinctively turns toward San, then quickly snaps his head back to the actual source of the interruption.
"Ma?" he croaks, voice hoarse and confused. "What in the world?"
He starts to lay back down, but his mother pulls him up slightly.
"I'm sorry, baby. I just needed to let you know—me and Daddy are heading out of town today and tomorrow," she whispers into his ear, careful not to wake the other boy.
Wooyoung's eyes snap open. "What?!" he squeaks. "Why? Where?"
Panic rushes through his veins.
His mother tilts her head, confused by the reaction, then scoffs and waves a hand—only for it to get tangled in her son's soft hair.
"We're going to visit your uncle in the next village. I know you're tired, so I'm letting you off the hook—just this once."
She bites her lip before giggling, her eyes drifting to San.
"And we've got special guests—we can't just leave them alone."
She winks, and the groan that follows only amuses her more.
Wooyoung flops back down with a tired sigh, rubbing at his eyes.
"You're not mad, are you?" his mother whispers, brushing his hair out of his face.
"I'm too tired to be mad," he mutters, his voice muffled in the pillow. "Just... be safe, okay?"
She kisses his cheek and tiptoes out of the room, the soft click of the door fading into the hush of the house.
⸻
He doesn't remember when sleep pulls him under again, only that the bed is warm and the weight of San's presence beside him is reassuring.
⸻
The next time San stirs, it's to the gentle warmth of morning sun stretching across the blanket, and something—or someone—soft pressed against his chest.
His brows twitch, and he blinks through the haze, adjusting to the quiet stillness of the room.
Wooyoung is curled up against him, head tucked just under San's chin, one leg tangled over San's. His breath is steady, lips parted slightly in sleep, and a small crease remains between his brows like he's still vaguely annoyed in his dreams.
San doesn't move at first. He just watches—quiet, a little stunned—at how natural it feels to hold him like this.
Carefully, he shifts just enough to settle his arm more securely around Wooyoung's waist. The boy hums softly, almost nuzzling into his chest in response.
San's lips twitch into a small, helpless smile.
"...So dramatic," he murmurs under his breath, but there's no heat behind it. Only a strange, blooming fondness.
San slips out of bed quietly, careful not to jostle the sleeping weight curled into him. He sits on the edge for a moment, watching Wooyoung's chest rise and fall before rubbing his face with both hands.
The house is silent.
No clinking dishes from the kitchen. No distant chatter. No hum of the TV playing in another room. Just birds outside and the occasional creak of wood adjusting to the morning.
He walks barefoot into the hallway, glancing into the living room, then the kitchen. Everything's still—plates stacked, lights off, no scent of coffee or breakfast in the air. The absence feels heavier than he expects.
ČTEŠ
(no) Strings Attached
Fanfikce"Hey San... wanna fuck?" It was supposed to be enough. It was never enough.
