SING ME TO SLEEP, woosan

62

shutting the passenger door to the car behind him — kevin's car, who surprisingly let them borrow it for the evening — wooyoung steps out into the cool toronto breeze. the neon, illuminated signs radiating from the arcade before them strike his vision, and his eyes squint as they struggle to adjust to the flashing streaks of colour, even despite the many times he's visited before.

in his periphery, wooyoung distinguishes the shadow of san's figure nearing him. his head instinctively gravitates towards the direction of the latter, and, once he's close enough, wooyoung latches onto san's bicep.

"you ready, sannie?"

"am i ready, you're asking?" san shoots back in exaggerated disbelief, though allows wooyoung to drag him along to the front doors nonetheless. "according to you just hours ago, this is supposed to be a cute and fun ice skating date — since when did that need any sort of preparation? i don't mean to be disrespectful, wooyo, but you sound like a liar."

unfazed by san's nonsensical rant, wooyoung pulls open the entrance doors. "you took theatre in high school, didn't you?"

"yeah? yeah, i did, actually," san answers over the excessively loud environment, startled at the accuracy of wooyoung's assumption. "i can't remember telling you before, though, how did you—"

"well, you don't really try to hide the fact," wooyoung says. "it's also, like, the most homosexual thing a person could possibly do in their lifetime."

"hm." san shrugs. "fair point."

wooyoung snickers smugly, and as they make their way up to the counter, his grip slides down to san's wrist, a sort of heads up, before entirely holding his hand. then, in response to the fearful doubts spilling across in his mind, wooyoung murmurs, "this is... okay here, right?"

"perfectly okay, wooyo," says san. his answer is immediate and, dare wooyoung think, almost romantic, voice tender and thumb stroking the younger's knuckles. it curls this overwhelming feeling around wooyoung, like a blanket he's snuggling into after a cold night of practice — it warms his heart.

if this were anyone else, wooyoung would like to barf his intestines out.

but it's not just anyone else. far from it.

###

"wooyo, wooyo, wooyo." san's panicked mantra the second they step out onto the rink almost sends wooyoung to his knees with laughter. "fuck, wooyoung, i'm going to—"

wooyoung squeezes the hands entangled between his own with so much force he himself almost winces. "you're not going to fall," he interjects firmly, shaking his head like it's simply a given fact.

"but i don't know how to—"

"that's why we're here, sannie." wooyoung finds a whimsical smile slot into his teeth. "i'm going to teach you."

almost like he's stuck in a fascinating trance — staring deep into wooyoung's eyes — san doesn't react. his expression is paralysed into a somewhat dazed look, before he, eventually, returns the smile, rather quite timidly, and nods his head. "okay."

beaming widely, wooyoung giggles, giddy, through the unseeable gap between his teeth. "okay, good. first—" he announces, straightening his posture. "we need to work on your balance."

"balance," san repeats, breathing out. "right."

san gets the hang of things better than wooyoung's initial expectations. not that he expected anything necessarily disastrous, this is san we're discussing here, but every beginner has their limits, and you can say san has already reached the sky.