SING ME TO SLEEP, woosan

85

a clammy layer of sweat coats wooyoung's palms as he edges through the hallway leading to san's dormitory. his tummy sizzles with pops and crackles, mimicking the sound of brewing popcorn; wooyoung's heart feels like it's about to implode within its ribcage due to his anticipation. the pace of his footsteps is rapid, frantic through the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors, and his knuckles are in the process of turning white when they finally lift to the nostalgically familiar door awaiting him.

running a hand through his hair, wooyoung breathes a sigh — the farthest possible from calm and collected. it trembles as it slips past the curve of his lips, unrelentingly excited.

wooyoung can hardly hear his own knocks over the frenzied drumming of his heart.

san and wooyoung have done this so many times this far, you'd think it would've gotten easier by now. you'd think wooyoung would've done something more, anything more, than just stand there, mute and motionless, when san's door swings open. when san's eyes lock onto his own, when san's arms fold around his body, when san's hands tangle into his hair. when san is embracing him, whispering to him, hushing his cries.

wooyoung doesn't feel the tears soaking his cheeks until san's thumbs are wiping them away. perhaps it's the incredulity of it all, being with san again after so devastatingly long, that prevents his human function to move or speak. wooyoung isn't even completely certain he's breathing anymore.

"sweetheart," san murmurs to him, a soft, fragile inquiry. he's holding wooyoung's face between his palms, eyes glistening.

with trembling breaths, wooyoung's jaw contracts, lips parting. an accidental sound issues from the back of his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, and he reaches for san, his chest. yearning to just feel. "sannie," whispers wooyoung feebly, afraid by the wobble in his voice that he'll cry again. he isn't exactly sure why.

"hi," san says quietly, softly, his fingers soothing wooyoung's cheekbones. "hi, baby. are you with me?"

"mmh." fingers gripping onto san's jacket, wooyoung mindlessly waddles into his chest. he nestles there, nuzzles as close as he possibly can. san's warmth seeps into him and wooyoung couldn't ask for anything more, ever.

he understands now, why missing san hurts so bad.

san cradles wooyoung head, tucks him where he knows he wants, so gently he might be mistaking him for a china vase. "you're okay," he reminds wooyoung. that's all he says, all he needs to say. for san knows wooyoung doesn't need anything more or less right now, no matter how meaningful his words may be. wooyoung just needs him, his presence and his touch — so san will give him that the best he can. he'd be willing to do so until his very last breaths, if wooyoung needed.

one of san's hands falls to wooyoung's nape, pads of his fingers tenderly caressing, squeezing, massaging his skin, pliant beneath the contact. when wooyoung visibly sinks into the gesture, his taut figure relaxing in san's arms, falling into ease and safety, san smiles to himself.

wooyoung sighs against san's chest, a content, comfortable breath. "missed you a lot, sannie."

"i know, my angel. i missed you, too."

"really missed you," wooyoung repeats, like there's more to it, the weak mumble somehow blazing in passion and love. "missed you so, so much. it— it was..." he screws his eyes shut. "was hard."

san's hold on wooyoung tightens, as if he fears he's about to vanish into thin air. "i'm here," he tells him.

the mere two words crack wooyoung's heart into two and heals its wounds all at once.