"My little birds deserve only the best" it's with a promise that it starts: a promise of safety against the violence of the world, the hunger, the loneliness and the poverty. Just like a little bird, as long as you stay in The Nest nothing from outs...
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[tw: mention of self-harm and past abuse/physical violence, this is the first very triggering chapter so if you're particularly sensible to the topic please don't read it, it will get worse as the story goes—it concerns Wooyoung and Yeosang past]
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He pushed open the door to their small apartment, the hinges creaking in the stillness of the early morning. The first light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting a faint glow over the cluttered living room. His shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat and the lingering smell of alcohol. His body felt heavy, each step dragging him closer to the inevitable confrontation he wasn't prepared for.
The door clicked shut behind him, and his tired eyes immediately found Yeosang, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, wide awake. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Wooyoung could see the worry etched deeply into Yeosang's features. He noticed the way Yeosang's leg was angled awkwardly, a sign of the pain that came with his limp, the result of an injury that never quite healed.
"Where the hell have you been?" Yeosang's voice sliced through the silence, raw with a mixture of anger and fear that he couldn't hide.
Wooyoung flinched at the harshness, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself, as if that could shield him from the weight of the moment. He opened his mouth to answer, but Yeosang was already up, crossing the room with a slight limp, his steps uneven but quick.
"Let me see," Yeosang demanded, reaching for Wooyoung's arm. His fingers curled around Wooyoung's wrist, pulling the sleeve up before Wooyoung could pull away. The action was automatic, born from too many nights like this, where the first thing Yeosang did was check for new cuts, for fresh blood.
Wooyoung's breath hitched, his body stiffening at the touch, but he didn't resist. He hated it—every brush of skin against his brought back memories he tried so hard to bury. But Yeosang was different. Yeosang was his best friend, the one person he could trust, but no matter what—no matter how much Wooyoung tried to push himself to accept it—whenever Yeosang's hands indulged on him with such unannounced brutality the touch still made Wooyoung want to recoil. Yeosang's sharp gaze scanned Wooyoung's arms, hesitating on the old scars, a mix of relief and lingering fear in his eyes when he found no new marks.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice softer now, the anger slowly fading into something more vulnerable "Why was your phone off? You said you were just going for a walk"
"I was," Wooyoung muttered, his voice barely audible, they left the pub together, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang and him but if the boys had been happy to call it a night Wooyoung didn't feel like he could go back, the music was still playing inside of his mind, "But I couldn't come back. I didn't want to... I couldn't..." he trailed off, unable to put the jumble of emotions into words.
![[tw: mention of self-harm and past abuse/physical violence, this is the first very triggering chapter so if you're particularly sensible to the topic please don't read it, it will get worse as the story goes—it concerns Wooyoung and Yeosang past]](https://img.wattpad.com/48245845f6a70e5507b453693adf9fe4781013ed/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f5348303379573053746e58684f513d3d2d313433373030303330382e313765376536303965363237316632333930333438353039323737362e6a7067?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
