↱FRIENDS↲ ⇾woosan⇽

stars

"I can't imagine why." San said, smiling with his eyes as Wooyoung laughed.

"I know me neither. I was way hotter than all of those fuckers." Wooyoung teased, scrunching his nose as San chuckled, shoulders shaking.

When San finally recovered, fingers moving over the piano again, the younger's features softened.

"What do you want to do, San? When you graduate." San's hands stilled, eyes blinking dazedly over at Wooyoung.

"I know you want to make music but, what exactly do you want?"

If San was smart, if San was at all concerned about his own well being, then he would have found a way out of giving Wooyoung an actual answer.

He would have told him it doesn't matter, because it doesn't, or at least it shouldn't, not to him, and he would have told Wooyoung that this was probably the longest they had ever been around each other without rushing into sex, because at least then San wouldn't feel so uneasy.

So weighed down with a realization he wished hadn't occurred to him.

But San was apparently much weaker than he'd even realized, and the way Wooyoung was looking at him made him want to tell him everything, anything, it didn't matter as long as he just kept looking at San like he was clawing for every word.

"I want to work with idols. I want to write songs, and get credit for those songs. I've started looking for job openings recently and everything." San said, nervously playing a rhythm on the keyboard just to keep himself busy.

He expected the younger to stop there.

For him to be satisfied with San's answer, but instead he placed an eager hand on San's thigh, lips stretching into a timid smile.

"How come?" He encouraged, wanting more, and San hadn't really thought about it before, but he had so much to say, so many stories to tell that nobody had ever cared to hear before.

Not until now.

"I used to sit outside of this antique shop when I was a teenager and play on a street piano for money. This old, ugly, pathetic thing that would squeak every time I pressed on the pedals. But it sounded decent, and it felt like everything I needed for a while. Playing songs for strangers felt like enough, but then I started trying to play songs of my own. Harmonies I'd written on folded up napkins when my mom wasn't looking, and... nobody could tell a difference. Nobody could tell which songs were written by me and which songs were written by masterminds- and I knew I'd never be happy unless I kept doing exactly that. Unless I kept playing."

Wooyoung seemed to not be able to breathe for a few seconds, perfectly shaped lips parted around disbelief he couldn't swallow, amazement he couldn't hide.

He was speechless, a wetness gathering around his eyes, and San suddenly wanted to hide, to take it all back, because there was so many questions he wanted to ask and so many things he wanted to do but none of them felt right, none of them made sense because they didn't make sense.

Their relationship, their feelings, the way they spoke to each other.

San just wanted to believe so badly that there was something there, even if there wasn't.