LOST AND FOUND, woosan

06 : feeling

TW: mentions of physical abuse

wooyoung's house is warm. that's the first thing san notices after they walk through the door. it could be the logs set alight beneath the fireplace, a harmony of orange and blue, crackling and popping and fizzing; or, it could be the little voice in san's head that reassures him he's safe here.

it's wooyoung's home, after all. san can't imagine it to be anything but that.

an almost pleasurable goosebump skitters throughout san's skin at the heat of the fire. he's silent as wooyoung locks the front door behind him, despite how he wants to point out that he really likes the pendant of a cartoonish black cat dangling from his keys. wooyoung's fingers slide against san's, just as quiet as he as he carries him inside. san doesn't believe it to be a bad silence, though.

there's this sizzling sound san hears when they near a white door, its paint peeling off in some corners. before wooyoung pushes it open, san just manages to discern a frame hung up on a nail, a picture of two boys. they look young, maybe around seven or eight. and one of them, their eyes in particular, feels ghostly familiar to him.

"mom?" wooyoung inquires, stepping into the kitchen, it looks like. he rubs the heels of his feet onto a rusty looking-carpet by the door frame, and san, thinking it would be respectful, follows after him. in result, wooyoung turns around to flash him a momentary endeared smile.

a figure stood behind the stove spins on their heel, a relatively short lady with a brown apron tied around her hips. her hair is wrapped into a bun at the back of her head, a small, odd strand hung over her eyes. she blows it out of the way, a strong huff, revealing the bewildered crease in her brows.

san looks down at his and wooyoung's clasped hands, and feels a jitter agitate his knee.

"what are you doing home so early, wooyoungie?" she begins. "is everything okay?" coming a step closer, she wipes her palms across the front of her apron, carelessly adding to the colours of flour and sauce already staining the material. then, her eyes settle on san, who stiffens uneasily under her gaze. "oh — who's this?"

"this is san. remember, when i—"

"oh!" she, wooyoung's mother, san calculates in his head, exclaims, and she clicks her finger into the air. "san! the volleyball friend."

san feels his jaw drop just slightly against his will, and he blinks at wooyoung. he talked to his mother about him. he told her his name, and he told her he plays volleyball, and he— he told her that they're friends.

"uh— yeah." wooyoung goes slightly quiet, ears turning red. "yeah, he's— he's the volleyball friend."

his mother's brows cross. "are you boys skipping class together?"

her voice is stern, but she doesn't sound like how san's parents do when they're mad at him. judging by the way wooyoung rolls his eyes lightheartedly, a small grin forming as he argues "it's only pshe!", san reckons his mother is different. a good different.

"how many times do i have to tell you — sex ed is good for you teens, wooyoungie," she says back, teasing, and when wooyoung groans in response, she chuckles lightly.

oh my god. san wouldn't be surprised if his jaw was reaching the floor by now; wooyoung's mom is the coolest person, like, ever. and perhaps the woman catches onto the entertained gleam in his eye, because she turns san's way, her smile friendly and welcoming.

almost subconsciously, san glances at wooyoung, who only nods encouragingly once their eyes meet. he's smiling, too, a resemblance of his mother. it effortlessly eradicates away san's uncertainty.