on pieces of dyed rays | woosan

Chapter Twenty One

"You're avoiding San," Yeosang says with a little thorn in his voice, passing Wooyoung's ordered drink to him.

"I'm not."

'Avoiding' sounds like Wooyoung is acutely aware of San's existence and making a choice in how to navigate his life, in this case; not seeing him. But the truth is, he's just been so busy that it took him a week to visit Wonderland. He talks to San regularly—well, only when San initiates and Wooyoung's replies were almost too short, but that's just how he is—and avoiding would mean he'd ignore his texts too. He's visiting Wonderland at time earlier than usual, because he is planning to look for a new catch later in the night, packages safely tucked in his jeans back pocket, after he downs a few alcohol to buzz his adrenaline, and not because he doesn't want to see San.

"If you weren't, then he wouldn't be asking for your well-being." Yeosang scoffs, and Wooyoung wonders since when did Yeosang start to engage in what Wooyoung does, and since when did he turn his back on him to take San's side? Not that San is expecting him to do this, probably.

Wooyoung swirls his drink for a moment before he takes a sip. "Why do you care?"

"I'm just worried you might get dried out with lack of sex."

"How do you know if I'm sleeping around or not?"

"You haven't come here in a while."

"Doesn't mean I don't have other places to fuck." Wooyoung scoffs. "Motels, backyard of another club or on the streets, splendid choices."

Yeosang scowls when he mentions the street. "Well, then, have you?"

Wooyoung is just about to flat out lie, saying he's been having the fuck of his life everyday, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat a little too long for him to sound convincing. He clears the clog and repeats, "Why do you care?"

Yeosang's face changes from something mean and cold to something more honest and unguarded.

"Because with him, you look-" he hesitates then, and it's unlikely for him to get stuck with words, for someone who is straight to his point, regardless of the weight of the matter. "You seem-"

He pauses again, and just when Wooyoung is about to ask 'what?' feeling frustrated, Yeosang raises his hand abruptly and gives a smile over Wooyoung's shoulder. He turns around and when he sees him, he inhales shortly for the lack of oxygen his heart is claiming.

San is looking great—he always does, but there's something sharp about the look he's wearing today, his hair pulled up on the side, he's usually mature choice of clothes leaning on a friendly and soft side, the khaki jacket, the white chino trousers with a beige knit wear that Wooyoung believes is soft to his touch—and if that's not enough to tell there's something special going on today, he's holding a huge bouquet of yellow flowers that Wooyoung doesn't know the name of.

He looks like one of those prospective son in law who'd receive a 'yes' from his partner's parents the moment he steps in the room, or those heartthrob one would dream about, folding fingers until the day they meet again after their first date.

San looks warm.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Wooyoung ignores the feeling of wanting to run away, and welcomes him with a smile, because he isn't avoiding San, like Yeosang accused him. He will talk when they cross paths, like he would any other guy he got to know for more than two nights.

"Have a date tonight?"

"Hopefully," San shrugs, glancing at the bouquet a tad bit anxiously.

Something pricks in Wooyoung's heart hearing that. He imagines a date who deserves a bouquet from San, who makes him want to look like that. He imagines a person who stands on the other side of him, a fine man with a pretty smile, soft, kempt hair, who won't hesitate to see him and smile at him every chance he gets, who suits sunlight more than flashy neon lights. But he dismisses the person immediately. "I don't think you have to worry."

"Thank you." He smiles brightly, and pushes the bouquet towards Wooyoung. "Happy birthday."

Wooyoung blinks, because the pretty man in his head morphs into him, and because there are flowers in front of him that looks two worlds apart from him, because San is beaming at him, and because—

"It's not my birthday."

"What?" San's face drops into shock. "But Yeosang told me—"

Wooyoung shifts his eyes back to the bartender, who has long gone to attend to another customer, but glances at him briefly and gives an annoying wink. He doesn't know when San and him grew close enough to exchange numbers but he gets all of this; why San suddenly appeared when it's not their usual time to meet as if he knew Wooyoung was here, and why he brought a bouquet to him.

"Well, it's never too late to celebrate your birth," San tells him and hands him the bouquet anyway. "Happy belated birthday, Wooyoung-ah, and happy birthday in advance, to many years to come."

Wooyoung takes it by reflex, and blinks down at the bouquet of yellow flowers in his arms like a fool. The number of flowers he recognises can probably be counted with a hand, and this one certainly doesn't fit any of the five, but he needs no knowledge to judge it pretty. It's pretty and it smells good, and that's all that matters.

"Thanks," Wooyoung mumbles, feeling nervousness coil in his stomach. He fiddles with the outline of petals carefully, because they look fragile, and almost feels like his touch would stain the yellow, brown. "You know, I don't really celebrate birthdays. Certainly never received a flower."

"It's a bouquet of flowers," San corrects, and Wooyoung replies by rolling his eyes. "And I like surprising you."

"Then I expect you to bring an elephant by my doorstep next time," Wooyoung challenges.

"Is that a surprise anymore?"

"Touche."

San chuckles and goes silent for a little, taking the unoccupied Wooyoung's hand. He draws circles around the knuckles with his thumb, the feeling ticklish but again, Wooyoung doesn't mind. He waits for San to talk to him, since he doesn't know what to say when he's heart is feeling weird, ever since San appeared in front of him.

It could be the light at the bar, but San looks slightly nervous when he clutches on Wooyoung's hand a little stronger and asks him, "Would you want to have a nice dinner with me?"

Something swells in Wooyoung, and it pushes him to the edge. No, he thinks, he needs to get back to his feet. So he pulls San by his nape, a bouquet trapped in between their bodies as he kisses him.

"Want you," he whispers.

San swallows once, before he asks, "At my place?"

Wooyoung shakes his head. "Here."