LOST AND FOUND, woosan

03 : walking

turns out, wooyoung isn't allowed to watch san play, after all.

he meets up with san outside the changing rooms, a blinding smile illuminating his features just as gorgeously as always, where san greets him shyly, almost unable to retain his excitement. they walk the rest of the way to the sports hall together.

wooyoung is laughing all bubbly over something that happened with yeosang that morning, when san's coach saunters over to them, brow raised. "you got company, choi? what for?"

"oh, er— this is wooyoung." san glances unsurely at the shorter boy, nervous. "he's— he's a friend of mine." wooyoung's face lights up with some sort of satisfaction at that word, which san specifically turns to observe, and that's when he knows he hasn't made a mistake. wooyoung is his friend — his friend! san tries not to smile. "we were wondering if he could, uh, just sit by and watch for a bit? if— if that's okay."

san's teacher snickers. he has the nerve to laugh about wooyoung right before him, and san knows his answer right there and then, without needing to hear a word. "what do you think, choi?"

"i-i don't— i don't know," san mumbles. that's not true. he does. but what else can he say?

"well, then, let me tell you what i think," his coach cavils, getting all up in san's face. his teeth are on show, crooked and yellow, forming a ghastly grin. "no." he steps back, face falling flat as he tosses san a neon orange bib. he catches it out of reflex. "put this on and get him out of my hall."

as the man walks away, san feels a light pressure on his back. "it's okay," wooyoung tells him, like he can read his mind.

"it's not," san returns glumly, looking down at the floor.

wooyoung's palm caresses his back, only lasting a moment before he retracts. "yeah. i know. i just— i don't want you to be upset about it, san." he frowns sadly, and something bad swirls in san's stomach. "okay? i feel i've probably distracted you long enough, though, so uhm—"

wooyoung is going to leave, san realises. well, obviously. he kind of has to since a teacher has yelled at him to do so, but the disappointment sinking into san's guts wasn't as obvious.

"work well, okay?" wooyoung continues. "i mean— i'm a hundred percent sure you're fantastic, but—"

"i'm sorry, wooyoung."

wooyoung freezes. then, he almost scoffs, looking at san as if he's ridiculous. or, at least, san thinks he is. "what— no, san, i— don't be. please." and then wooyoung does scoff, suffering from disbelief. "it's not your fault your volleyball teacher is an absolute—"

"boys!" a voice thunders. speak of the fucking devil. he storms up towards san, his teeth gritted. "what did i tell you, choi?!"

san is too overstimulated to respond — what, with his coach losing his temper at him twice in the span of five minutes, more than he ever has in the past eight months, and wooyoung being the most caring person he's ever spoken to.

when san doesn't answer, the man bellows, in what is seemingly the loudest his frail voice can manage: "out! the both of you!"

fingertips trembling as they lose grip of the flimsy orange fabric still caught in his fists, san grabs onto wooyoung and pulls them out of the hall. he doesn't notice his shallow breaths or the tremor in his knees.

but wooyoung does. "san... san, are you okay?"

san looks before him. he doesn't see his father's angered glare; he sees a pair of round, dark eyes. he doesn't see the strained creases of his father's forehead; he sees confused worry painted across a familiar boy's face. he doesn't see his father's broad shoulders towering over him; he sees wooyoung's blazer's sleeve bunched up in his fist. embarrassed, san lets go.