perhaps, you | woosan

Chapter Fourteen

POV: San

One of the main reasons San couldn't sleep without having something or someone in his arms was that he dreams—occasionally, if not often. Those persons that appear are those he refused to see in reality, latching onto his heart unsparingly. Having something in his arms kept him guarded, clutching onto reality assuring him those people were nothing but a dream. He'd never tell. Because he was so determined he'd left them behind with no attachment, but how his oblivion prodded them made him feel no less than weak and wholly disabled.

So when he regains consciousness without a single fragment of those persons, he knows he has slept well, so deeply and soundly. What he felt in his arms wasn't a soft bouncy object but a solid warm figure. It was one of the two acquainted feelings, yet what he was missing was the heaviness that lingered on his body after spending an appetent night with the latter. What encompassed him was a rather feathery and relieved semblance.

Welcoming morning light in his vision, he sees a man's side profile softly caressed by the exact light. He marvelled at the sight of Wooyoung, recalling the last piece of the night before. How he ended up on Wooyoung's bed wasn't inexplicable. What was, however, was how he decided to let him stay on his bed. He could have woken him up, or kicked him down, or slept on San's bed (perhaps sleeping on a bed with a bear plushie wasn't his thing), but he instead decided to let him be.

He woke up gently, careful not to wake the other. Sitting up and glancing down, he studied the features of the man next to him, soundly asleep. The window facing North can only carry what little morning sunlight and beneath that faint ray, the rebellious man looked defenseless, child-like, almost. His sharp brows were now softer, his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

San reached for Wooyoung's strand of hair to brush it off from his eyes. Warmth slowly permeated in his body. And he knew. This wasn't love.

Love was what made you feel like you were always at the edge, longing for the other. Love was what made you feel like you were lost, when the other wasn't there. Love was what made you feel anxious and jittery. Love was unsure, erratic and girdled.

At least, that was all he knew.

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POV: Wooyoung

Although his family have been keen on discouraging him, somehow enthusiasm towards learning English stayed. It was becoming a habit to dry San's hair in return to his help on English assignments, or upcoming end of term exams or studying in general.

"Wooyoung-ah has been improving a lot recently," San said in a tone a mother would, praising a child. He sat well behaved in between Wooyoung's legs, completely defenseless as he entrusted the drying of his hair in the other's hands.

Wooyoung felt a pride tingle in him as he recalled how San widened his eyes at how many ticks he got on the paper the said tutor checked earlier on. He was improving. He thought he hated studying, and he can bet he would never say he loves them in his lifetime, but the literal results showing his building ability and praises made him feel good. He liked that.

He was ruffling the obedient dog-like man's hair, when something on the bed next to him vibrated. It was San's new phone, carelessly thrown on Wooyoung's bed, the screen illuminated which he read as 'XXX hospital'. He stopped the hair dryer from running, and handed the phone to San. "You have a call."

San naturally took his phone over his shoulder. Staring at the phone screen briefly, he quickly tapped the decline button and placed the phone on the floor.

"Done. You can continue," he casually said, tapping Wooyoung's thigh prompting.

Wooyoung felt uneasy. How can a call from a hospital be brushed off so easily? How can it be unimportant? But then again, he didn't feel like it was his place to speak. Right when he reached out for San's glittering dark hair, the phone rang.

"...I think you should get it," Wooyoung suggested. He wished he could see the other's expression but all he got was a faint sigh.

Pressing the green mark lazily, San raised his phone to his ears, letting the other speak, not giving as much as a greeting.

"I quit being her son four years ago," he muttered icily. It was the most rejecting voice Wooyoung's have ever heard from the man.

"For the last time, please stop calling me. It's a waste of time," hissing quickly, he hung up the call, turning off the system completely.

"Is everything okay? ...Is your mother unwell?" Wooyoung blurted, not being able to hold back anymore.

San turned his head. Wooyoung wanted to see San's face. He wanted to know what he felt. He wanted to understand what went through him. But all he received was the most outward mask plastered on San.

"Woo, there's nothing you should worry about," although his tone was soft, his well-mannered smile spoke veto.

Wooyoung loved San's smile. When he narrowed his eyes, creasing in a line, his lips curving in crescent imprinting dimples on his cheeks. It was one that made his heart skip and spark warmth at the same time. It was one he wished he could see more, causing him to say some silly things if it meant for that.

But this smile he was seeing, was building a wall between them manifested raw rejection, as if they were strangers.

"I just want to be your help," like you did, back when I stood up for myself in front of my parents. Of course San didn't know, but it nestled close in Wooyoung's heart as his anchor. "If there's anything I can do-"

"Anything?" San interrupted, smirking sardonically, his eyes challenging. "Then will you be my hug pillow?"

"...What?"

"I feel very lonely now. And I need physical human touch."

He was trying to push him away. He was clearly drawing a border saying 'forbidden to step in', by throwing things Wooyoung would refuse to do. And that if he can't do as much, he has no right to interfere. However, without much thought, Wooyoung answered boldly, "sure."

This time, San was caught off guard. He probably guessed he'd hear a word of refusal, and yet Wooyoung looked back at him, his eyes fixed and honest.

No matter how much San searched for it, there was only one answer—he'd sleep with San. If that meant him feeling better in any way, if that was what he could do, he would.

After a long pause, San finally said, "never mind. I don't want to take advantage of the situation." He waved his hand and added in a faint smile, "I'll just go to someone else's room. You can lock the door cause I won't come back."

With that brief remark, the man disappeared behind the wooden door, leaving the sound of door closing echoing in Wooyoung's head. His arm reaching out fell in the middle, losing it's undetermined purpose. He was just a roommate, and perhaps a friend. And a relationship with such a label had no right to stop him from going to someone else, convincing him to stay with him, just because his stomach churned with some unknown emotion.

If it meant for his well-being, then who was he, a mere friend, to suggest anything?

A/N:

By sleep, it literally means sleeping side by side as a hug pillow. Nothing rated here...at least for now ;)

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