LOST AND FOUND, woosan

05 : embracing

TW: physical violence, verbal abuse/bullying, slight mention of blood

the first time san hears it is in technology.

it starts off quiet, a snicker that almost goes unnoticed. san only distinguishes the sound in result of his inability to concentrate on anything mrs kim is passionately rambling on about. she does this at the beginning of every one of their lessons: rules, expectations, grades. on and on and on.

however, in just a short span of a few seconds, the sound erupts into boisterous hysterics.

although san doesn't think anything of it — why should he? — the almost mocking laughter from choi hyunsuk sat on the row behind him makes him shift in his seat uneasily. brushing it off as nothing, because it has to be nothing, san focuses back to the front, where mrs kim is stood. she's still at it, but he doesn't mind it much anymore if it means he can ignore whatever his cousin is up to behind him.

whether san has found himself prey to hyunsuk's schemes or not, it can't be anything good.

but in just minutes, mrs kim loses san's attention, because he hears it again. this time, though, it isn't only hyunsuk. a few more deep voices pry in alongside him, all jeering at something, someone, as if circus shows are still funny.

consciously, san turns his head to the back his room. he tries to make the movement as natural and unfazed as possible, like he doesn't really care, so they don't catch him. he doubts that'd end well. 

san's deliberately bored expression quickly droops into one much alarmed, frightened, at the teeth guffawing and the fingers pointing in his direction. the size of his pupils increase, perturbed, his features stiffening, and his chin swings back and forth, only to realise the seat beside him is empty, and—

fuck.

san snaps his head back to the front of the class.

for the rest of the lesson, his heard whirls a typhoon of what did i do wrong? even when mrs kim assigns them an individual project due in for next week, san can't get it out of his head. their stares. their pointed fingers. the cruel grins on their faces.

sure, if he spontaneously decided to transform into a person of optimism, the entertained gleams of malice in their eyes could be about anyone, anything else. it doesn't need to be about san, right? yet, the persistent nausea bubbling in his tummy, popping and fizzing agitatedly, convinces him otherwise.

though san doesn't recall doing anything necessarily eccentric as of recent, his relatives eventually find out every little thing which occurs beneath his roof; alongside the fact that they're all horrible people with morals as low as the depths of the ocean, san can't be too confident he isn't being ridiculed in some way or the other.

he doesn't know why he cares this much, anyway. they are bad, bad people. every single one of them, as bad as his mother, as bad as his father. what they think, whether it be of him or something else entirely, doesn't matter. it shouldn't matter, and san shouldn't care — it'll only have him questioning every breath he exhales for weeks on end. and san doubts he has the emotional stability to deal with that right now. or ever, even.

nonetheless, he finds that his fingers shake as they pick up his pen. he clasps onto it, hard.

san thinks it might be because of his father. he wasn't exactly kind to him last night, to put it nicely, and his lash outs tend to get to san's head no matter how much he's grown accustomed to them.

or perhaps, san thinks, it could be seonghwa. he didn't find the time to drop by to his shop this morning; coincidentally so, san has never needed it more. seonghwa is like san's pillar. he keeps him stable, reassured, alive. quite literally — san hasn't eaten in the two days he hasn't seen the older.