↱FRIENDS↲ ⇾woosan⇽

depend

San told himself it wouldn't become a habit.

That Wooyoung was something he could live with only tasting once, a person he could condense into one single memory of a night that had been nothing but blinding passion and burning skin, full of hair pulling and smitten moans that didn't keep San up at night.

That San couldn't remember with a terrifying clarity.

He could forget about being drunk and being desperate and taking what he wanted because Wooyoung had begged him too, voice pressed low and breathy into the sheets.

He could forget because it didn't matter.

It was a quick fuck, a mutual parting of ways, and San was okay with that, content even when Wooyoung had eventually rolled his way off the bed to tug his clothes back on, thighs still sticky with his own cum.

San had watched him fix himself in the mirror, his smile shy when he caught San looking.

Wooyoung laughed quietly at the marks running down his throat, fingers coming up to brush over them curiously, and San was almost completely unaffected by any of it at that point.

It might have been the booze, and most definitely the weed, but it didn't hurt all that much when Wooyoung said, "I've gotta go, feel free to use the shower down the hall," before giving him a little wave and leaving the same way he came.

San could remember thinking okay.

Not too bad, right?

But then Sober San made a reappearance three hours later, greeted by the sight of his own puke swirling in a toilet bowl, and Sober San wasn't nearly as forgiving as Drunk San had been.

Sober San understood how fucking stupid it was for Wooyoung to leave his own bedroom, to flee his own apartment that late in the night because he felt the need to run from San.

He was upset, angry even with the way Wooyoung had left.

And he told himself that's the only reason he got Wooyoung in his bed not even a week later, determined to make him feel good enough to not walk away that time, not scuffle for his clothes the moment his back met the sheets, because he just needed to fix things, right?

Be better, then maybe Wooyoung would understand what San was trying to do.

What San wanted, but the artist was always quick to fuck and leave and San didn't know what to do except to just keep fucking.

Keep making that mistake, because even though the ending was almost always the same, somehow San still believed in Wooyoung.

Believed in him every time he'd roll San on his back just so he could watch the way the elder's breath caught as he fucked into him, hard coming in but slow drawing back, skin lighting up like a bed of roses.

Believed in him whenever he'd pull San's hand away from his mouth with adoring eyes, telling him not to stifle his moans for anyone, and San would listen.

Just for him.

He believed even when it was ludicrous to do so, and he was crushed every time he'd discover that Wooyoung hadn't in fact caught on.