↱FRIENDS↲ ⇾woosan⇽

out

"You look like you just got your ass destroyed." Yunho threw at San not even a second after he'd stepped through his door later that afternoon. "The party hasn't even started yet."

"We have a problem." San announced, barely paying any mind when Seonghwa popped his head around Yunho's bedroom door to listen in, arms struggling to put a shirt on.

The truth was that San had not, in fact, gotten his ass destroyed in the bathroom of the cafe Wooyoung had driven him to.

He'd just kind of, really, really enjoyed watching the way his hands moved across the steering wheel during the car ride there, and San had no idea how he hadn't noticed before, but Wooyoung's fingers were long, nails pretty and neat.

San had stared at them the entire time they were ordering, infatuated with the way he traced the corners of the menu with his fingertips.

San hadn't made any moves, and neither had Wooyoung.

They had managed to steer clear of the bathroom, but San had to admit that he was fucking exhausted, and he looked like a wreck after spending over an hour trying to keep up a conversation with the man he'd met wearing fishnets.

Funnily enough, Wooyoung hadn't mentioned that night at all.

If anything he seemed a little embarrassed by the whole thing, and San wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Their interaction that night had been painful for San especially, drunk and blushing like a virgin, but Wooyoung had also called him cute, had also fed him pickles and stared at his lips, and San couldn't help but be curious whether he'd over analyzed any and or all of it.

Either way, he'd been surprised to find that he was enjoying himself whenever Wooyoung slid into the booth across from him, face glowing.

The restaurant was nice, not too busy to make San anxious, but not so quiet enough to make the place seem boring, and the food was incredible, each of their servings of lamb coming out in a steaming pile of grilled lime, seasoned tomatoes, and sauteed onions, flooding their table with smoke.

They didn't talk all that much, mostly because San had a hard time opening up to people and Wooyoung was doing all the work, but San didn't think the younger cared all that much.

He seemed okay with the idea of being the one to talk, being the one sharing while San nodded, smiled, because he could tell San was really listening and for him that was more than enough.

San was relieved when Wooyoung didn't ask about his shaky hands, the odd haze that fell over his eyes when he picked up his silverware, froze, and put them down again.

He didn't even look surprised when San did that four more times before finally being able to keep them in his grip, but not before San folded his napkin (corner to corner, down and sideways just like every other time), and placed it in his lap.

He was also grateful when the younger offered his last skewer to San, slapping it on his plate even when San kept politely declining with a timid smile, eyes wrinkling around the corners.

Wooyoung had watched him warmly after that, looking at San with the kind of fondness San knew he felt in his own chest, could feel budding into something uncontrollable in the pit of his stomach.