his secret | woosan

eleven

around 6:55, i wrapped up my history homework and headed for a quick shower. i opened my closet confused as to what would be appropriate to wear to a party. i shuffled through all clothes, none of them stood out. my eyes landed on a faded yellow denim jacket. i put on a white tank underneath the jacket and buttoned it up leaving the top two buttons undone. black jeans completed the look. back in my bathroom, i blow-dried my hair until it cooperated, debating whether to ditch my usual thin gold chain. it matched the jacket, so i kept it on. after a final glance in the mirror, i hesitated. i couldn't decide if my outfit was good enough for the party or not.

my thoughts were interrupted by two loud knocks on the front door downstairs. it must be san. i stumbled across my room, hastily cleaning up whatever mess i had made while getting ready. i rushed downstairs, feeling immediately nervous. as i crossed the living room, i glanced at the clock on the wall that faced my sofas. 7:50. had it really taken me an hour to get ready?

i opened the door and began, "we're late—" but san immediately interrupted me, spinning on his heel and saying, "boop," as he tapped my nose with his finger. a pair of keys dangled briefly over my face. his fresh, soapy scent filled the air instantly.

my eyes widened in surprise. san looked too happy—maybe even excited? it caught me off guard because he usually wasn't the type to show this side of himself. his smile faded immediately when he saw my reaction, and he pouted slightly, snapping me out of my thoughts. i didn't want him to feel bad for being comfortable around me. in fact, i preferred him this way, and i realized that almost immediately. still reeling from shock, all i could manage was a surprised scoff. his smirk returned, and i felt a wave of relief. i was glad to see him like this again.

"nobody shows up at parties that early, wooyoung," he said, his slight smirk and playful glint never leaving his eyes. he seemed like a different person outside of school—almost alive. i slowly nodded in response, understanding. but why had he told me to get ready so early if we weren't going to leave anytime soon?

san took a step back, eyeing me from head to toe. he pouted his lower lip and nodded slowly. "not bad, not bad," he remarked. my cheeks heated, feeling the sting of his judgment. i knew it was the best i could do, yet it still probably didn't match his high standards.

one look at him and i could tell his black oversized shirt alone probably cost more than my entire outfit. the top half of his shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his perfectly defined chest. he wore off-white pants with shiny black dress shoes. his hair was gelled back to perfection. he wore more silver rings on his fingers than usual, and a silver watch on his right wrist that looked exorbitantly expensive. he looked perfect and immaculate, as always.

i started to say "thank you—" but was interrupted as san opened the door wide with his arm, peering inside. i stepped aside to let him in.

"your mom's at work?" he asked, turning around in the living room to face me, eyebrow raised.

"uh, yes. how did you know?" i asked, tilting my head in confusion as i closed the door behind us.

"i've got my ways," he answered. i felt a flicker of déjà vu, remembering when he said the same thing after i asked how he got my phone number. what ways did he have?

san strolled around, glancing everywhere in the house. i felt a twinge of embarrassment, sensing he was silently judging everything. he seemed so out of place in my home. his eyes paused at the side table beside the tv stand. he picked up the photo frame on top and studied it for a minute. he pointed at the picture and asked, "is that your dad?"

my breath hitched for a second at the mention of my dad. memories of him yelling at and hitting my mom flooded my mind. this was another reason i hated parties. the sight and smell of alcohol always reminded me of him. a wave of disgust washed over me, and i felt almost relieved that we weren't leaving anytime soon.