falling into you || woosan

~74~

WOOYOUNG'S POV

I woke up slowly, the comforting sensation of fingers gently threading through my hair made me smile briefly, but as I became more aware, I noticed something was off. San wasn't lying beside me anymore—he was sitting up in bed, his hand moving absently through my hair while he stared off into the distance.

"San?" I murmured, my voice heavy with sleep. I blinked up at him, but he didn't respond, didn't even seem to notice I was awake. His eyes were locked on something far away, something that clearly wasn't in the room with us. The look on his face made my heart sink—his brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes. It was as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it hurt to see him like this.

I felt a pang of worry as I pushed myself up, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "San?" I called his name again, a little louder this time, hoping to pull him back to me.

He blinked, almost as if he'd been startled, and then his gaze shifted down to me. The moment he realized I was awake, his expression changed. The pain I'd seen in his eyes vanished behind a quick, almost too-bright smile. But I'd seen it, and it was like a punch to the gut, knowing he was trying so hard to hide it from me.

"Morning," he said softly, his voice warm, but there was an edge to it, like he was forcing himself to sound cheerful.

"Morning," I echoed, studying his face. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and I could see the tension in the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched. I wanted to say something, anything to make it better, but I didn't even know where to start.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his tone light as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't been sitting there lost in some dark thoughts just moments before. But there was a strain in his voice, something that told me he was far from okay. His hand continued to move through my hair, but the motion felt more like a habit than something he was actually focused on.

"I did," I replied cautiously, squeezing his hand, hoping he could feel how much I cared through that simple touch. "How about you?"

San hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Yeah, I slept okay." But his voice was too soft, too hesitant, and I knew he was lying. The dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged told me he hadn't slept well at all.

"San," I began, trying to find the right words to tell him he didn't have to pretend with me. But before I could say anything, he cut me off.

"I was thinking we could make breakfast together," he suggested, his voice a bit too eager, a bit too bright. It was like he was trying to distract both of us from the weight hanging over him, trying to ignore the pain that was so evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure," I agreed, though I couldn't help but notice the way his smile faltered for a brief second before he forced it back into place. "I'd like that."

He nodded, slipping out of bed and heading towards the door, but I couldn't shake the worry gnawing at my insides. I followed him, watching how his shoulders tensed as he moved, how his steps were just a little too quick, like he was trying to outrun whatever thoughts had been haunting him.

In the kitchen, we worked side by side, but it wasn't like it usually was. Normally, we'd joke around, playfully bump into each other, steal kisses between stirring and chopping. But today, San was quiet, his movements almost mechanical. He didn't meet my eyes much, and when he did, the smile he offered was small, almost apologetic.

"San," I tried again as we stood by the stove, but he just shook his head slightly, focusing on flipping the eggs in the pan.

"Let's just have a nice breakfast, okay?" he said softly, his voice tinged with something I couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't peace either. "We'll talk later."