LOST AND FOUND, woosan

04 : aching

TW: physical violence

grey. the sky across from the window. the tuxedo drowning the scrawny figure in the mirror. the emotion within san's eyes.

he hears his mother shout for him, her voice sugared with this sweet facade that doesn't truly belong to her heart. they have guests over today, important guests related to the business, and so she feels as if she's personally impelled to act as if they're this perfect, golden family.

it boils san's blood. of course, he acknowledges that no decent person would adhere to supporting a businessman who can't even treat his only child properly. even san's parents are aware of that — they have no other reason to drown him with their care before the unkempt, old men they manipulate into their work.

still, it hurts san that his feelings are only ever considered when it benefits them. it fucking hurts. he's selfish, and he knows it, but that won't help anything. that won't help that he's nothing; that won't help that he tries so badly to prove otherwise; that won't help that he wants to be something, somebody.

around his parents, because of his parents, san feels... inhuman. he feels like a doll, manufactured merely to satisfy the expectations of his bloodline: grow up to become a tough, respectable, and strong-headed businessman, like his father is. but he isn't capable of that. he knows it. seonghwa knows it. his parents know it. they all do.

san doesn't have it in him. the confidence, the stability. the purity.

he's not like the rest of his relatives, the successful ones. he's more like seonghwa. he's more inclined to do his own thing, rebel against the familial traditions, be himself. or at the very least, san will try to.

his mother's voice echoes once more, force carved into her deceiving tone. "please could you get down here this instant, san!"

adjusting his collar one last time, san sends a longing glance over to his shiba inu plushie, before begrudgingly slipping out of his room. he pulls his slump shoulders into a more sensible position, the sounds of formal talk and wine glasses clinking leaving his palms sweaty. slowly but surely, he joins the long table of middle-aged business owners, slipping silently into his designated seat by his father's side.

chatter quickly subdues at san's presence.

"well, who do we have here?" one of the guests asks, a man dressed in a navy-blue suit. he's smiling warmly.

san's father chuckles, a sour look in his eyes that only san distinguishes. for his own sake, san averts his gaze to the empty dish below his chin. "this is my son," the man boasts, and something makes san's heart clench. "our only child — san!"

"he must be pretty special, then," the man in the blue suit says, nodding over to him. "hello, san. what kind of things are you interested in? any hobbies? sports?"

san doesn't think he has any hobbies at all. he doesn't seem to find the time for them, let alone the freedom; his parents aren't so fond of him doing things that don't benefit the family. though, san wonders if playing cookie run counts as a hobby. and maybe, if wooyoung lives up to his word and teaches him that game he really loves, that can be san's second hobby!

"oh, um—" the problem is, san doesn't reckon cookie run is a real, or sensible, answer, and so he refrains from mentioning it to a table full of prestige business owners. "not really," he eventually answers quietly.

"none at all?" another one of them chimes in incredulously, a lady whose hair is cut into a red bob.

right as san moves to shake his head, his father bursts into disagreement, "oh, of course, he does! our san is into volleyball, aren't you, boy?"