Chapter Text
San wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. Groggy and sleep-dazed, he rolls over and fumbles around on his side table to silence the offensive sound.
“Hello?” He says as he puts it to his ear, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. The streetlights filtering through his sheer curtains and the grainy sounds of a party filtering through the speaker let him know that it’s late (or early). And only one person would be calling him at this time on a Thursday. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling as he waits for the deep breathing on the other side of the line to form words.
“Saaaaannie,” comes the slurred reply. San can practically smell the rum rolling off the other boy’s breath, potent and thick and so different from the usual spearmint bubblegum scent that sticks to the inside of San’s mouth after they kiss.
San sighs. “Hand the phone to Hongjoong.”
There’s a loud rustling noise as the device moves between hands, a breathy laugh as it finds a new voice. “Sorry, Sannie, I tried to stop him from calling you. You have a test in the morning, right? Don’t worry about Woo, I’ll get him home, it’s okay.”
While Hongjoong is definitely responsible enough to get Wooyoung home without San’s assistance, the rounded edges of his words betray his own intoxication.
San runs a hand through his hair, sitting up in bed and throwing his legs over the edge. His boxers ride up his thighs as he shuffles his tired body out from beneath the covers.
“Where are you?”
***
“Whyyyy didn’t you c-come out tonight, Saaaaannie,” Wooyoung asks, hiccupping as he speaks. He giggles at the sound of his own voice, his body practically draped across San’s shoulders.
San glances over at the other boy, watching as the dim glow of the streetlight above them illuminates the pale pink of Wooyoung’s cheeks. His eyes are hazy and scrunched into crescent moons. San could count his eyelashes if he really tried. He has before. “I have a class tomorrow, Woo. I had to study.”
Wooyoung frowns, becoming even more of a limp weight across San’s body as if he’s pouting with his whole being. “Booooo, school is for suckers.”
San coughs out a laugh. “You go to school, too.”
Wooyoung flails his free arm, waving away the implied accusation.
When they make it back to San’s apartment, there’s a thin layer of perspiration coating his entire body. Despite the light October chill outside, trying to heft Wooyoung all the way back to his place has proven to be a workout. His clothing feels like a second skin and his hair is clinging to his forehead. San manages to get Wooyoung’s shoes off near the front door – with very little help from the man they belong to – and leads him across the hall to his bedroom, unceremoniously dumping him on the ruffled sheets.
Wooyoung groans, rolling around on the duvet. “Hey, that was meeeean. You should be nicer to me – after all, I’m your soooooulmate,” he says, sitting up on the bed and grinning from ear to ear.
San’s stomach hurts.
“Don’t do that,” he says, turning away from Wooyoung and walking towards the dresser tucked into the corner of the room. He needs new clothes, ones that don’t smell like stale cigarette smoke and sweat.
“Don’t do what?” Wooyoung asks from behind him, his voice quieter. More steady. He knows, but he won’t say it. He likes to pretend that this is all normal. That none of this is tearing San’s lungs into bite sized pieces.
San glances at Wooyoung over his shoulder, his eyes meeting the younger boy’s watchful gaze.
“Don’t pretend like that matters to you,” he says, turning away to grab a fresh t-shirt from the drawer. He pulls his damp one over his head, throwing it onto the pile on the floor that he’s been meaning to wash for the last week.
Before he can pull the new one on, he feels a warm hand pressing into the curve of his back. He hesitates for a moment before turning around, gripping the t-shirt in one hand. His eyes meet Wooyoung’s. The younger boy searches his face, looking for any sign that he should stop. He does it every time and San doesn’t know why. He couldn’t tell Wooyoung no even if he tried.
Wooyoung leans in closer, turning the distance between them into ash as his lips press against San’s. There’s no gentleness, no soft coaxing – the kiss is hungry and desperate and wet. San drops the shirt onto the floor and wraps his hands around Wooyoung’s waist, squeezing at the soft fabric hiding firm flesh. Wooyoung keens into his mouth, his own fingers gripping the skin of San’s bare shoulders.
San backs them up towards the bed, waiting for the telltale feeling of Wooyoung’s knees bumping against the mattress before he pushes him back down onto the nest of covers. He pulls away for a moment, looking at the flushed boy beneath him. Wooyoung’s eyes are glimmering with starlight and the stray droplets of fluorescence from the streetlamp outside. He’s so beautiful that sometimes San feels like he’s not supposed to look directly at him – like he’s looking at a star in human form and he’s going to set himself on fire if he stares for too long.
“You’re going to leave in the morning,” San says. It’s not a question.
“I won’t,” Wooyoung replies. It’s not the truth.
Even so, San leans down to reconnect their lips, laying his cold, sweat-dried skin on Wooyoung’s warm body.
Wooyoung likes to pretend he doesn’t know; that this is all normal.
San likes to pretend that he means it this time when he says he won’t leave.
When San wakes up the next day to sunshine beaming across his bed, clothed only in the soft cotton of the sheets wrapped around his legs, he tries to pretend that he’s not disappointed Wooyoung’s not there.