↱SACCHARINE↲ ⇾woojoong⇽

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Jung Wooyoung had an embarrassingly long and memorable reputation of taking the expression 'wrong place at the wrong time' considerably too seriously.

He always seemed to stumble into trouble rather than discover it seamlessly, erratic at times and more often than not oblivious in his own carefree spiritual sort of way, and he walked the world with a willing hand thrown teasingly over his wide eyes.

There was just something about him that made people want to both coddle the tan sun kissed boy and chuck him through a window at the same time, his fearless demandance to unapologetically be himself at any given time overbearing but intoxicating in the best way.

He managed to surround himself with people that didn't seem to mind too much when he'd pull complete and utter bullshit, and got by with little to no confrontations.

Wooyoung wasn't unaware of his alarming presence, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that his clingy hands and scaringly massive smile discouraged him at times, but he found solace in San and the constant affection he provided, his roommate's smile kind enough to light stars and his ability to understand Woo never ending.

Wooyoung had been on his way to San's studio, the same empty street he always walked as the sky swirled with colors and the moon overtook the sun, when the scuffle of boots on concrete and an unmistakable shout of pain erupted from the dampened walls of an alleyway, corridor dark and scent musty as the boy shuttered to an abrupt stop and peered through the shadows.

The noise had softened just as quickly as it had magnified, but the dulling mutter of voices were reverberating and distinct as they reached Wooyoung's perked ears, the man unable to breathe as he listened intensely.

He couldn't stop the spike in his heart and the thrumming surge his pulse experienced as he stood beneath a fluorescent street light that sent his limbs cascading in hollowed emptiness, the only brush of visibility through the entire alleyway.

He was frozen with uncertainty as the voices grew louder, a sickening edge to the disgusting tone of it.

The boy was almost tempted to turn around, run away until he was collapsing into San's arms and explaining his whole endeavor through terrified gulps of air that would make the photographer smile fondly and brush Woo's hair out of his face, encouraging him to calm down with a voice as soft as silk.

He was close to the studio now, a few blocks away and he'd be there with no problem, but the fearful pressure in his heart was slowly colliding with worry, unabiding concern for the possible trouble the pained voice could be in, and it wasn't until another muffled scream rose past the city buildings did Wooyoung's feet move forward without another thought, the cry more desperate and raw than the last.

Now, despite popular belief, Wooyoung wasn't stupid.

He never entered a cage without a key and he never walked down a dark alley without a plan.

The commotion was louder now, voices closer and malice audible, and Wooyoung had never been more aware of the small pocket knife he had in the worn fabric of his jeans.