(no) Strings Attached

Almost There

The weight of it landed between them, soft and heavy like wet fabric.

San's fingers twitched, just barely. "Yeah."

"I kept thinking I'd stop missing you eventually," Wooyoung went on, his voice lower now, almost like it hurt to say. "Kept waiting for it to fade or flatten out. But it didn't."

San's jaw clenched, barely noticeable. His gaze dropped to their hands, thumb brushing the side of Wooyoung's knuckle. "Same."

Wooyoung swallowed. "I hated you for a while."

"I know."

"Not because of you." He sighed, shifting to face him more. "Because it hurt that much. Because you were the only person who I ever let myself be true with and still left."

San's eyes shut for a beat. "I didn't want to. I didn't know how to stay."

"Neither did I." Wooyoung smiled bitterly. "We were both too stubborn. Too proud. Too scared."

A long pause followed, almost deafening.

Then, softer, "But this... how it's been the past few days. You and me like this—quiet, not pretending. Not playing scared. It feels... right."

San looked up at him again. No hesitation this time.

"It does," he murmured. "I didn't know how much I missed this until I had it again."

Wooyoung exhaled slowly, like something tight in his chest had finally loosened. "I don't want to lose it again. I don't want to run from it this time."

"You sure?" San's voice was low, careful. "Because I don't think I can take you walking away again."

"I won't." Wooyoung squeezed his hand. "But I need you to stay this time, too. Not just in the house. With me."

"I'm with you." San didn't even hesitate. "I've been with you. Even when I didn't know how to show it."

Wooyoung's breath hitched. "You were always in the room. Just never close enough to touch."

San shifted then, leaned in—slow, like Wooyoung might spook, like the weight of what they were saying needed time to land. His free hand came up to cup Wooyoung's cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye.

"You can touch me now," San whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Wooyoung leaned into the touch. He blinked quickly, like his eyes were starting to sting, and bit his lip to keep it together.

"I hate how much I love you," he said, quiet and breaking. "I really fucking love you."

San pulled him in—slow, sure—forehead against forehead. Their breaths tangled between them.

"I love you too," he said. "So much it makes me stupid."

Wooyoung laughed a little, watery and sharp.

San kissed him then. Not the way he had last night—hungry, rushed, all aching urgency. This was slower. Deeper. Like a promise pressed into skin.

And this time, neither of them needed to ask what it meant.

The kiss deepened with the kind of natural rhythm that didn't need coaxing. They had done this a hundred times before—back when it meant nothing, and everything, all at once. Back when they used to blur the line and pretend it wasn't happening.

Wooyoung's hands found San's jaw like muscle memory. San leaned into it, kissed him harder, a low sound escaping his throat when Wooyoung tugged gently at his shirt.

It was easy.

Too easy.

Like they hadn't spent the past time pretending they didn't ache for this.