SING ME TO SLEEP, woosan

66

every muscle belonging in wooyoung's body aches with numbness. his eyes stretch open, and, as he peers out from the cotton tickling his lashes, this excruciating pounding in his skull awakens. at the agony, wooyoung instantaneously screws his eyes back shut, surrendering.

nope. he's not doing this today.

his arm budges, fingers attempting to curl his blanket further over his frame, until a surprised sound, almost a squeak, resonates into his hearing. clueless, wooyoung only hesitates a moment before trying again, tugging at the soft material once more, but — "wooyo, angel."

san's voice is fond, quietly chuckling at him, and wooyoung retracts his hand to his chest.

oh. oh — that was san's shirt. not his blanket. right.

wooyoung looks up at the sound, sinking at the sight of san's tender smile gazing down at him. perhaps it's the after effects of last night's alcohol that makes him much more conscious about his feelings for san, prompting him to kind of — very — eagerly nuzzle his nose into san's neck without a word. san adjusts him on his lap, which wooyoung apparently initiated as his bed last night, fingers skimming his bare thighs. he presses a dry kiss to wooyoung's tousled hair. "hi, my lover. how're you feeling?"

wooyoung clutches onto the hem of san's tee. "hurts," he mumbles weakly, drowsily.

"hurts? what hurts, baby?"

"head."

san hums understandingly, rubbing ovals into wooyoung's honey-like skin, warming him up. "do you remember how much you drank last night?"

"no." wooyoung yawns across san's freckles. "a lot?"

"yeah," san murmurs softly, "asked you to stop, in case you'd regret it, but you said you could take it. hm?"

groaning painfully, wooyoung lifts his arms to san's shoulders, holding onto him tightly. like the pounding in his head will spontaneously disappear. "shut up," he mutters grumpily, nudging san's neck with his nose.

san laughs. "alright. but you're gonna have to get up so i can get you some aspirin, sweetheart."

wooyoung doesn't even breathe at the request.

"wooyo," san says, patting the latter's knees. "up."

wooyoung whines, all muffled and exhausted. "don't wanna, sannie."

"your headache won't get better any time soon then."

"don't care."

"i care," san argues, as if he wants wooyoung's heart to beat so hard that it explodes out of his chest and splatters the walls with its remains. perhaps he's almost there.

"and i don't." wooyoung is stubbornly persistent, yet something in his voice lightens when he adds, "just wanna stay here. with you."

"wooyoung," san demands. "look at me."

deliberately taking his dear time, wooyoung draws back from the shelter of san's shoulders, rubbing at his groggy eyes still sewn with sleep. his fist drags down his cheek, before preoccupying itself with his— no, san's hoodie strings, an attempt to avoid san's intent gaze.

san slots a finger underneath wooyoung's chin. "i am going to get you your aspirin, you will take it, and then we'll do whatever your cute, bratty, hangover ass wants to." pressing his mouth above wooyoung's brow, san asks, "alright?"

wooyoung finds that a pout has sprouted from his lips. he quickly shakes it off. "fine. alright," he mumbles, cheeks the colour of beetroot. "hurry up, though."