SING ME TO SLEEP, woosan

20

"sannie?" wooyoung mumbles groggily, sleeves rubbing at his tired eyes as he peers into the noisy kitchen.

by the stove, san spins around momentarily, a smile grazing his lips. "morning, woo."

"hey." wooyoung yawns into his palm, before slipping into the same chair as he did last night. "what is that?" he asks out of curiosity at the strong smell sizzling throughout the room, resting his head onto his arms.

"breakfast," san answers, flipping something in a pan, something of a pale colour that wooyoung is too lazy to observe more of. "unless you don't like eggs, 'cause i don't have the capability of making us anything else."

"boiled eggs are nasty." wooyoung makes a face out of pure disgust. "everything else is fine, though, as long as you aren't a horrible cook."

"i'm not horrible," san states in defence, and wooyoung hums, already unconvinced. "i don't cook that often, i'll be honest, but it can't be as hard as that angry ramsay dude makes it seem like."

wooyoung laughs, and sits upright. "i can be the judge of that, then, since i'm probably worser than him when it comes to criticising you."

"worse. it's worse," san corrects in disbelief. "oh my god, why are you such an awful student?"

"why are you such an awful cook?"

"you haven't even tasted it yet!"

wooyoung grins lopsidedly. "says a lot about what kinda person you are, then, huh, sannie?"

###

san's — quite frankly, delicious — eggs and toast bloating his tummy, wooyoung enters the passenger seat of the elder's car. san follows after him within the next minute, immediately replacing the silence with his music — most likely something loona.

"you all ready?" san asks, turning to wooyoung as he starts his engine. "you didn't leave anything behind, did you?"

"what dumbass do you make me out to be?" wooyoung mutters in slight offence, yet pats his pockets, nonetheless. "we're good, now move. i'm sick of you already."

san gasps audibly, and wooyoung forces himself to stifle back a snicker. "you're not."

"i am."

"not," san finishes for him with certainty.

"what— you can't decide for me, what's that about?" wooyoung says, the block of houses outside of the window beginning to move.

clearly, san doesn't give a fuck. "well, i just did."

"and falsely," wooyoung adds and thanks the heavens above, for san leaves it that. yet, the silence he hates more than the latter's witty comments. "hm, you're finally meeting moonbae," wooyoung brings up. "you got anything you've been meaning to say to them? the only right answer is to give jacob a black eye on my behalf, by the way."

softly chuckling, san hums thoughtfully. "your idea is a straight no, i'm not doing shit for you. maybe i'll ask how they put up with your ass everyday, i'll need the advice."

wooyoung lands a punch into san's arm, light enough so that they don't swerve off of the road, however. "i won't let you. and anyway, i bet you're fucking miserable about me leaving."