LOST AND FOUND, woosan

11 : finding

TW: mentions/descriptions of physical abuse.

urgency springing from his quivering fist, san hammers his knuckles against the spruce of seonghwa's door.

walking to seonghwa's place has never been a more dreadful journey. perhaps the perturbed looks san received from strangers alike or the insufferable ache in san's legs are to blame. or perhaps the haunting words relaying in his head.

good for nothing, aren't you?

i don't want to see you here after today.

goodbye, san.

san doesn't know what he's done to deserve any of this. for as long as he can remember, he's tried with all his might to impossibly cram himself into the mould his parents desired from him — just to become the idealised son they'd always wanted. look the way they wanted, act the way they wanted, feel the way they wanted. san did all he could. he committed to their dietary restrictions; he attempted to indulge the girls in school; he refrained from asking too many questions about the things his parents did, even when he didn't think they were reasonable.

eventually, it was up to no avail. san couldn't do it. he couldn't pretend anymore, be a person he wasn't. live with the sole purpose to satisfy people like them.

regardless, how could it have been san's fault? he can't control his genetically fast metabolism or the discomfort which overcomes him at the early discussion of marriage. he can't help the fact that their venom stung.

san jitters at the downward tug of the door handle before him. the first thing he notices is the irritation gloomed over seonghwa's eyes — rightfully so. it's close to striking ten p.m, his shop is closed, and there's a vigorous knocking at his door. yet, the coldness in seonghwa's gaze instantly amends towards confusion, before melting into worry.

worry rumples seonghwa's features like wet tissue, pulling his brows together and slumping his lips into a frown. san can't look at him any longer.

a distinct effort of avoidance, his gaze falls to the doorstep just below him.

conveniently so, seonghwa decides then to crouch down to san's height. intent, he observes the turmoil puncturing san's features. the tears and the snot and the splotches of sensitive pinks.

"sanshine," seonghwa says, dejection clinging unrelentingly to his voice. his mouth twists mindfully, eyes blinking slowly as he ponders. his palms are delicate when they ultimately decide upon cupping san's damp cheeks. "what did they do to you, sannie? what do you need me to do, hm?"

immediately, with seonghwa's soft tone and tender gaze, san breaks into a sob. a long, shattering sob. he topples into seonghwa's front, his chest shaking, so severely he feels like he's experiencing a multitude of continuous electric shocks.

the sorriness in seonghwa's tone is distinguishable before he even begins to speak. "i understand, sannie. it's okay. let's go inside, yeah?" seonghwa offers, gently pulling san off him. he stands up straight, and strokes a caring hand through the younger's tangled hair. "i'll get you something to eat, and—"

the halt of seonghwa's words is so abrupt, unexpected, that san instinctually looks up at him. out of panic, maybe. san finds that seonghwa's gaze has drifted to his side. where the bin bag is clenched weakly in his fist, its bottom sagging to the ground.