implausible - woosan

chapter forty three

i'm a puppet on a string //
and i can't help myself
all i ever wanna say is "are you mine?"

wooyoung san

08.09.17

home. that's what wooyoung had said, and now here they are. at san's apartment, because he hadn't wanted to leave wooyoung alone and the younger had adamantly refused to go back to his own house.

wooyoung has been quiet most of the morning, wondering around in san's clothes. san doesn't want to push him, doesn't want to bring up last night until wooyoung does, but it doesn't seem like he's willing to.

not to mention san's head is killing him, pounding uncomfortably despite the aspirin. he lies in bed, watching wooyoung do another lap surveying his small kitchen. san's shirt isn't long enough on him that it still manages to cover his thighs when wooyoung gets on his tip-toes, feeling around the shelves.

admiring him in the dim light, san thinks about how eager wooyoung had been to change out of his clothes last night. all confidence and self-assurance gone, he'd been on the verge of tears trying to cover himself up. it's a paradox, really.

and it's the last straw, for san, when the now sober wooyoung appears similarly insecure, quickly falling back on his heels. he winces, rubbing his back, and san tries to remember when he'd hurt himself last night. perhaps it'd been the bathtub, or maybe it was san's fault. he does recall grabbing him quite tightly.

the thought makes him sit up, a different kind of nausea settling in the pit of his stomach. "looking for food?" he croaks, causing wooyoung to spin around.

his hands go behind his back guiltily, a small smile forming. "caught me." he admits, walking towards the bed.

by throwing up in the night, wooyoung seems to have luckily avoided any hangover repercussions. hence the appetite, san gathers.

he sighs dramatically, getting out of the bed. "suppose i'll make you something."

san watches his sheepish smile, managing a smile himself despite the groggy hangover begrudging him. making his way over, he surveys his sparse cupboard's contents for a moment, pursing his lips:

"instant noodles?" he questions, reciprocating wooyoung's enthusiast nod. low effort, carbohydrates are always the best cure.

echoes of the unspoken hang in the air around them, dangerously balancing on a nimble thread. san half wants to not speak, to never speak, to keep living in this room in these borrowed moments and never bring up the elephant in the room. elephants.

all the uncertainty around their relationship simmers over in san's mind as he pours boiling water over the noodles, glancing at wooyoung where he stands with his head propped on his hands cutely.

standing here cooking, thinking i could do this, i really could live with him, like this, san can't help the feeling of dejavu that settles in him. they're going in circles, and the ugly truth deep in san, a truth dr. suh would certainly have plenty to say about, is that he doesn't mind. he'll live like this, in circles, as long as it's with wooyoung.

"here," he says, snapping a pair of chopsticks apart and giving the potted noodles a stir.

handing the pot to him carefully so not to spill on him like he did last night, their fingers brush as wooyoung takes it gratefully, eyes sparkling enthusiastically.