Rivalry

31 - What If He Didn't Mean It?

(San POV)

San knew exactly when he'd fallen for Jung Wooyoung.

It wasn't in the shower, or the hallway, or the thousand places their rivalry had caught fire.

It wasn't even the kiss.

It was weeks ago.
When Wooyoung had rolled his eyes during rehearsal, snapped at Mingi for being off-beat, then turned around and smiled at San like he meant it.

Like he saw him. Not just the dancer. Not just the fighter. Not just the guy with good arms and bad impulse control.

Woo saw him.

He hadn't realized it then. Not fully. Not until after the shower. Not until Wooyoung had kissed him back like he wanted to burn alive. Not until he'd sucked him off under a spray of steam and sarcasm and come.

That should've been it. The spark. The thing. On their way to something else, something more.

Only now Wooyoung wouldn't even look at him.

***

San tried to play it cool.

Hood up. Eyes down. Keep it casual.

He saw him in the hallway and didn't speak.
He passed him in the studio and made his face a blank page.

It felt like self-preservation.

Because if he let himself ask what that night meant, and the answer was nothing?

He wasn't sure he could stand there and smile through it.

***

Jihun raised an eyebrow at him during warm-ups.

"You good?"

"Fine."

"You've been dancing like you're new here, missing your cues, making mistakes in your choreo."

San grunted. "It's nothing, I'm just tired."

Jihun didn't push. Just stepped back and watched.

San couldn't meet his eyes.

He knew Jihun wasn't the one he wanted anymore. He hadn't for awhile. That fantasy had slipped away like steam on glass. It had been safe, pretty, polished, but didn't feed his imagination the way Wooyoung did. Woo wasn't safe.

Instead he was sharp edges and loud opinions and unexpected sweetness. He was chaos. He was incredible. San wanted to learn everything about him.

Which made the silence even worse.

***

San really tried to stop thinking about it.

He tried working out more. Dancing harder. Sleeping less.

Except everything reminded him of that night.

The sound of Wooyoung gasping. The way he'd pulled his hair. The look in his eyes—unguarded, wild, his.

Then morning came,  and that version of Wooyoung was gone.

***

In the kitchen, Seonghwa handed him tea instead of coffee.

San blinked. "I didn't ask for—"

"You looked like you needed to calm down."

San didn't argue.

He sipped the tea. It tasted like mint and regret.

Seonghwa leaned against the counter. "You're allowed to want something and still be scared of it."

San stared into the mug. "What if I got it too fast?"

"What if that's not the problem?"

San didn't reply.

He thought about texting Wooyoung. He even typed something: Hey. Can we talk?

Deleted it.

Wooyoung hadn't said anything. Hadn't even joked about it. Hadn't winked or smirked or done the thing he always did when he wanted San to chase him.

Maybe he didn't want to be chased.

Maybe he'd gotten what he wanted.

Maybe that's all San had ever been good for.

***

That night, San couldn't sleep.

He scrolled through photos on Woo's instagram. One of Wooyoung mid-laugh, nose scrunched, hair falling into his eyes. It wasn't posed. Wasn't perfect, but was candid, beautiful in its realness.

San's chest ached.

He wanted that version of him again. The real one. The honest one. The one who moaned his name and kissed him back like it was something.

Did San imagine that version? Or was it just temporary. Maybe, he'd read more into everything, or it had already disappeared.

He didn't know how to ask.

He didn't know how to move forward, so he just withdrew, for the sake of his heart.