on pieces of dyed rays | woosan

Chapter Eighteen

Wooyoung wondered if San was the type to get distracted by being watched, but that was a needless thought, when he started working closely, as though no sound surrounding him was reachable to his ears. He observes the painting once again, then grabs a box full of paints, and carefully chooses the colour under the lamp nearby. He squeezes a few out, and mixes it with another sponge, and keeps on colouring his work.

Wooyoung never in his life thought he'd be watching someone paint. He thought something expensive like art, and anyone who was privileged enough to be fond of it, stood on the opposite side of him. Yet he's here now, in a luxurious apartment, curled on the couch that probably costs his liver, watching a man colour his work. He finds it strangely comforting, the quiet sound of rustling and tapping, San's subtle humming while in thought, smell of grease and paper, wood, and whatever work in progress this room consisted of. It's warm too, covered in Jongho's jacket, Byeol curled at his stomach, and gradually, he feels his eyes drooping.

He is only half conscious when someone asks if he'd prefer to sleep on the bed. His back and neck ache from sleeping in a sitting position, and he nods with his sleep-drugged mind.

"Alright," the voice says, and the next thing he knows, he is lifted up in the air.

That's when he peels his eyes open, and the first thing he sees is San's chin. It takes him another moment to realise he's been carried in San's arms, an arm wrapped around his back and another underneath his knees.

"Oh, fuck, I can walk," he says quickly but with a drowsy voice, yet to be fully awake.

San glances down and gives a reassuring smile. "Don't sweat, we're here already."

Sure enough, San enters a room Wooyoung knows of, from the last time he visited, and walks over to his bed in a few strides. Even when he puts him down, he does it with utmost care, and Wooyoung wonders where all these muscles are hidden. Hongjoong tells Wooyoung to eat more and he is reasonably skinny, but he still is a grown man just about the same height as San, but he makes it feel like he weighs as heavy as a baby.

He also treats him like one; San places a hand on Wooyoung's neck and he flinches in reflex at how cold it is.

"Do you want to remove this jacket? Aren't you feeling hot?" He asks.

And yeah, he realises he's kind of sweating and decides it's about time he gets rid of this monster of cotton, since Jongho isn't here to see him. It's past midnight anyways, he did keep his promise after all. He rolls on the bed and lets San take it off, and Wooyoung wouldn't have minded if it was thrown carelessly on the floor (Jongho should've been aware when he left it in his custody) but San carefully places it on the backrest of a chair next to the bed like the gentleman he is. He comes back to his bed, and rests his body next to Wooyoung, facing him under the amber, faint light the bedside lamp provides, and Wooyoung doesn't miss a small curve on San's lips.

He should probably leave. They aren't even planning to fuck tonight, and he isn't the one to stay in someone's house. But his eyes are drooping again and San's bed feels so, so good against his heavy body. He doesn't want to move a finger, until he catches an orange smear on San's exposed cheek, traces of what he was up to earlier on. San treated him like a kid just earlier, but he looks like a kid right now with a silly stroke on his face, and Wooyoung chuckles sluggishly at that.

San smiles back as if Wooyoung's laugh is contagious. "What?"

"You have a painting on your face."

Wooyoung slides his thumb in his mouth, and places his hand on San's cheek just before him. He draws closer, and brushes his thumb on the orange gently, seeing it fade gradually. His thumb is done with the intention he just had, to wipe the painting off San's face, but it lingers there longer. It's almost like it has a mind of it's own when his thumb starts tracing San's cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his plump lips that parts slightly at the touch. Wooyoung's eyes that were trained on where his thumb was gently brushing flickers to San, and they lock their gazes.

It's those eyes again.

They are vocal yet profound, deep with all the feelings simmering below, that Wooyoung itches to know. Itches to tell, and they are so—enchanting.

"Can I kiss you?" San whispers softly, his warm breath caressing the tip of Wooyoung's thumb.

Wooyoung tries to swallow his saliva subtly, but it's hard when they're lying close to each other.

"You know we've fucked like, twice. What's your point?"

"I just thought it's polite to ask," San says, a soft smile on his face, his eyes following in a crescent.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. How gentlemanly of him, he thinks, but when was he not?

"Yes, you may, your honour."

San closes what little space they had in between, he draws in a short breath before he gently presses his lips on Wooyoung's.

Wooyoung isn't against kissing per se. It's obviously an effective way to build sexual tension, and it's a good way to shut up arrogant remarks of overly indulged idiots when they think they have a control over who they're fucking. But this isn't meant to build sexual tension and there's something about the way San kisses.

Everything is just so gentle with him. From how his lips brush on his softly, how his hand on his waist holds no dominance, and the little nudges he gives on Wooyoung's nose in between small pecks are so tender as if to assure Wooyoung can pull out of this anytime he wants.

And, he knows he can, but he doesn't want to. His nose catches a hint of oil between their shared breaths, and Wooyoung thinks he probably smells the same.

Kissing San feels good.

They are just small pecks, sometimes his lips linger longer on Wooyoung's lips as if he is trying to remember the shape, or trying to feel how they slot perfectly against each other, and when San nips on his bottom lip softly, Wooyoung shudders a little. It's far from what Wooyoung is used to, tongues and excess saliva, building excitement and arousal and all, and he isn't sure why he is okay with this. He blames it on his sleepy head, his usual judgement deterred, and all he wants right now is the good feeling to take over him.

It's tender, it's genuine, it's cozy and—it's warm.

He dozes off slowly, hearing San's soft voice saying, "Sweet dreams, Wooyoung-ah," as he feels a peck on his forehead.

The next time Wooyoung peels his eyes open, he sees San just an inch away from him.

"Good morning, Wooyoung-ah," he says with a smile, his voice soft but clear, as if he'd been awake for a while.

Wooyoung's drowsy mind starts recalling how he fell asleep yesterday, kissing San, and San has every right to be pissed off, but he is just here smiling at him, looking nothing less than happy.

Yesterday?

Wooyoung widens his eyes, taking in his situation right now. With how the sunlight is seeping through curtain slits, there's no doubt it's morning or maybe even noon. He's this close to San because he's in his arms, and it's more likely they slept like this the entire night, cuddled.

Staying over in someone's place is one thing, and sleeping while cuddled is a whole another thing. Wooyoung never once woke up being in his arms, feeling warm.

He shivers.

"Young-ah, are you okay?" San asks worriedly and Wooyoung shifts his eyes to him.

San is looking into him, with eyes that aren't penetrating through him, like he can see him inside out, but with those with genuine warmth and care, that makes Wooyoung feel like he's been wrapped in a warm blanket, wanting to spill everything willingly because he feels safe.

He feels safe? With a practical stranger he's only seen four times?

What a joke.