(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

Wooyoung stood by the sink, his hands busy washing the dishes, his eyes however stared at the wall in the front, thoughts over thoughts distracting him.

The sudden ding of his phone startled him, making him laugh at himself. Drying his hands on his wrinkled tee he went to check who would contact him this early, considering both Yeosang and Jongho are anything but early birds.

"Oh?" He frowned, his eyes pinned on the single sentence of a message his mother sent him.

San appeared at the doorframe, tilting his head in question. "Anything wrong?" He asked softly, noticing the crease between Wooyoung's brows.

"Oh, not really. Mom says they won't be coming back today." He bit the inside of his cheek awkwardly.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, something about still catching up." He shrugged, averting his eyes suspiciously quickly when he accidentally made eye contact with the older.

"Coffee?" He mumbles, suddenly both too nervous and awkward for people who used to fuck day and night.

"Sure," San said, his voice softer than usual as his hand drifted to the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. His eyes flicked from Wooyoung to the floor, to the empty chairs, to anywhere that wasn't directly at him for too long.

"Okay..." Wooyoung muttered, turning on his heels a little too quickly, eager to busy himself with anything that didn't look like the sizzling confrontation waiting just behind San's eyes.

He reached for the coffee canister, back turned, voice lifting playfully as he added, "By the way, you're cooking lunch today."

There it was—the grin. That instinctive, natural pull at his lips that somehow always found its way back to the surface, no matter how wrecked he was inside. It cracked through the tension like sunlight slipping under a locked door.

San's shoulders relaxed, just slightly.

The coffee wasn't the easiest time they'd ever spent together—but it wasn't the hardest either.

There were pauses that stretched just a little too long, and silences that weren't quite comfortable, but weren't cold either. Just... uncertain.

Wooyoung had to fight the urge to squirm every time San so much as looked at him. And San—well, San watched him like he was afraid to blink and miss something important.

Still, things were peaceful.

Lunch carried the same quiet thread of effort. But it came with soft smiles. With fluttering brushes of fingers when they passed the salt. With eyes that lingered too long, and cheeks that flushed a warm, familiar pink.

After they finished tidying up, San turned to Wooyoung, his hand moving before he could think—tucking a loose strand of hair behind Wooyoung's ear with quiet care.

Wooyoung's breath caught, eyes widening just slightly.

San didn't pull away. Instead, his palm lingered, patting Wooyoung's soft brown hair like it was something precious. "Wanna watch a movie or something?" he asked, voice sweet as honey and threaded with something quieter beneath it—hope, maybe.

Wooyoung's heart slammed against his ribs. For a moment, he was sure San could hear it.

He cleared his throat, tried to swallow down the flush rising in his cheeks. "Yeah," he mumbled, aiming for confident and landing somewhere near breathless. "Let's do that..."

The movie started playing soon after. Something old and slow-paced, muted enough to blend into the background.

Wooyoung sat curled up on one end of the couch, his cheek resting on his knuckles, eyes aimed vaguely at the screen. He hadn't laughed at the last two jokes. Hadn't even flinched during the dramatic scene before that.