SING ME TO SLEEP, woosan

19

wooyoung tosses around in bed once more.

his eyes are clenched firmly shut as he tries to concentrate on nothing, for he promised san — and himself, for that matter — that he'd do his best to rest for his early flight tomorrow.

it's difficult, however. it always is, wooyoung can't really say he's surprised, but it's worse than usual tonight. he managed to work out why the second san left him on his own, yet that doesn't make him feel any better about it.

this time wooyoung rolls onto his back. he looks up at the ceiling. again.

he's so tired, as ironic as it is, of these eternal sleepless nights. the most he's gotten in months is just an hour, maybe two or three if the higher being is feeling generous enough, before he jolts awake in panic due to his night terrors or sometimes just out of instinct. why does something as simple as sleep have to be so hard?

after an indecisive few minutes of contemplation, including weighing out the odds that he'd unintentionally wake up san, wooyoung sits up. slow with his movement, he removes the duvet to the side, before climbing out of bed.

the room's smell of floral washing powder clouds his senses; san had, rather thoughtfully, given mingi's sheets a wash before letting wooyoung even near his bed for the night, since who knows when the giant last did so himself. as much as wooyoung cherishes his dearest yunho, it doesn't exactly tickle his fancy to sleep directly where he's been fucked, thank you very much.

footsteps padding against the ground, gently in order to avoid irritating any dodgy floorboards, wooyoung finds himself in san and mingi's kitchen. standing by the sink, he pulls out a glass cup and fills it up two thirds with water.

it's something his therapist taught him a while back, but never cared enough to consider. yet, here he is, so fed up with himself that he's actually taking into account his advice — for the first time ever, maybe.

wooyoung downs the cup, but instead of a truck of drowsiness magically taking him out, he only feels refreshed and, in return, more awake. just great.

staring blankly at the tiles of the kitchen, a chequered pattern of black and white, wooyoung sighs. it's quiet, too quiet, that even the ticking of a clock he can't make out due to the darkness seems loud to him.

against his will, it reminds him of the worst days of his life.

the days after the accident.

the memories are vivid, yet somehow all blurred up at the same time, of sitting outside of yeosang's room in the hospital.

but not once did wooyoung dare to spare a single glance at the motionless body at the other side of the window, for he knew there'd be no possible way he'd move on from seeing the boy he loved most in such a state. all because of him.

regardless of the doctors' constant advice, telling him that it's only worse for him to stay, wooyoung didn't go home. in fact, the only times he even budged from his seat was either for breakfast or to relieve his bladder. he vowed that, until they'd completed all of the tests, he'd remain there, just him and the lonely hallway which was always busy with staff in a rush.

and he did just that, until it was announced that his other half was taken from this world, taken from him.

it seems like it's been both decades and just yesterday, all at once, when in reality it was only half a year ago. either way, whether time is moving too fast or moving too slow, wooyoung thinks he's made it quite a way since then.