perhaps, you | woosan

Chapter Thirty Three

POV: San

When San proposed a date on a fine Saturday, he at least meant half of it.

He'd love to go on a date with Wooyoung, no doubt, even if they do hang out pretty much 24/7 being a roommate and sticking around on the campus—still, going out was a whole another exciting experience.

At least a brunch (or to be fair, a lunch) in a cozy restaurant they were currently in would pass as one. It was comforting—probably less when he started to reveal his destination over the coffee after meals.

It wasn't much of a revelation, really, with how Wooyoung saw San getting a call from a hospital, that they were going to the hospital. He kind of guessed who, too, from the last conversation he overheard. But the part San needed to fill in was his complicated relationship with his mother. Yunho knew it by default, but San never opened up to anyone. He never wanted to, or felt the need to.

But now that he was dragging his roommate along, he owed him an explanation. And more than that, he wanted him to know about him.

It was a pleasant surprise that San, who adamantly refused to see his mother, evidently holding a grudge was now willing to see, finding the calm and amnesty in himself. He was finally moving on from Yunho and his mother; those two persons that haunted his night.

In the course of life, many things happen, and perhaps it wasn't the entire reason, but a fairly big part of the reason was the blonde male with a cheerful personality sitting in front of him.

San didn't want to make it sound too serious. He wasn't going to the hospital to slander his mother for the tough life she gave him, but he instead wanted to give them a chance to rebuild their relationship. So he carefully picked on the basics, keeping his tone calm.

But the brown-eyed man cared. At least it showed in the way he reached out for San's hand that was on the table. He was warm. A warmth he grew acquainted to having in his arms every night. A warmth his body refused to let go every morning.

He was glad Wooyoung didn't mind coming along, instead the man never once unlocked their hands, assuring San he would stick with him. He was grateful, feeling relaxed on the way to the hospital, only when he stood in front of the appointed door did he feel a nervousness seep in his stomach. Sensing his anxiety, Wooyoung squeezed his hand once, and the two looked at each other with a soft smile.

His mother was sitting up on a bed at the far end of the room, blankly staring outside the window that displayed the not so special garden of the hospital. He couldn't see her face yet, but she seemed a frame smaller than what he used to remember.

"Mother," he voiced. It had been a long while since he said the word to the person it belonged to.

The woman snapped her face and gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Her voice was hoarse, choking on the sound as she called, "San...!"

She probably wanted to stand up and run to him, but she was too fragile to do so. She stumbled on the bed, as San rushed to help her sit up straight.

"Don't overwork yourself," his voice came out softer than he imagined, but his brushing on her shoulder was slightly awkward.

"I'm sorry," his mother apologised weakly. She grabbed San's arm that was on her shoulder, and repeated, "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologise for that...," San mumbled, feeling confused that he might have sounded accusing in some way.

"No, San. I promised myself I'd ask for forgiveness if I ever see you again, if you ever give me a chance to," she looked up at her son as if to gauge in how he grew up in these four years. Her tears welled up in her eyes, and the son felt troubled.

"I'm so sorry for what I've said to you, what I've done to you!" she cried. "I was wrong for thinking you were wrong. I was selfish for not acknowledging you."

San shuddered at his mother's confession. He could hear it in her desperate cry that she meant every word of it.

He voiced, shakily than he had imagined, "Do you...you don't mind who I like?"

"No, Sannie. As long as you're happy. Your happiness is what matters to me," she smiled softly through her tears. "And I'm so sorry it took me such a long time to realise that simple truth."

It was that soothing voice of his mother he remembered in his young memories. Calming, soft, genuine, tender. San felt his heart tighten, and he almost cried together with his mother. He was at loss of words; he didn't even know what the right words were anymore. So he instead embraced her in his arms, a small, fragile figure, he had longed for unknowingly.

He didn't know how much time had passed like that, until his mother noticed a man looking over his shoulder.

"Is he your friend?"

Slowly pulling away from his mother, San glanced at Wooyoung who was silently standing there, giving the two members of the family a space, all along. He smiled softly.

"Yeah, he's my friend and my dorm roommate, Jung Wooyoung."

"Nice to meet you Ms. Choi," Wooyoung approached with his usual friendly smile, brightening up the entire room.

His mother gave a warm greeting, and they could only chat for a brief while before a doctor came in for her checkup. San promised he'd be back soon, and left the room.

On his way out, San thanked and apologised to the nurse who didn't give up on calling him. If it weren't for her, he mightn't have had a chance to reconcile with his mother. The nurse laughed it off, saying now that she had met her son, she'd have more appetite to recover.

San felt a blissful lightness in his heart, as well as the weights on his shoulders. Their way back was as pleasant as it could get, Wooyoung still holding his hand like it was almost unnatural to not do so.

"How are you feeling?"

Now they were riding in the bus, sitting side by side, feeling the sway of the vehicle. San looked at the blonde male who had just posed him a question calmly, and he could see a soft smile tugging on his lips.

"Great. Really," San curved his lips naturally, and gazed back, finding the other's eyes brighten in their tone. He slowly shifted his eyes on his lap, where the two laced hands placed, and he truly wished he'd never have to leave his hand.