at shinhwa university, two students dominate their respective circles.
san, a popular and talented computer engineering major known for his chivalry and skill, and wooyoung, the arts student and outgoing gossip enthusiast who has his finger on the p...
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wooyoung had been fully aware that this tendency of his, this need to turn his desires into words and words into actions, would eventually lead to him making a big mistake. what he hadn't been aware of was that he'd end up making this mistake so soon, long before he was even allowed to entertain the idea of reciprocated feelings.
the events of that night clung to him like an itch that had turned into a rash, spreading across his skin and digging deeper until it was all he could feel. no matter how much he tried to shove it away, to bury it beneath excuses and distractions, it kept creeping back in, filling up every corner of his mind.
the more he tried to forget, the more vivid the memory became. by the time he'd returned to the dorm, it felt like it had been etched permanently into his brain, an unshakeable mark. and, of course, yeosang had been there waiting for him—either patient or irritated, it didn't really matter. the scolding came immediately after.
wooyoung had, after all, dashed out of the dorm and disappeared for hours when he said he'd just needed a break, a small one. yeosang had been worried, and after his scolding and interrogating, he was so frustrated, so tired of wooyoung that he refused to tell him what progress they'd made with the gossip queen. but wooyoung didn't even pretend to be affected by his petty behaviour, even though it was the best way to ease tension with yeosang.
all he could focus on was the sticky residue of coca-cola on his foot and the ghost of the kiss that refused to leave his lips.
last night had been everything wooyoung had ever dreamed of, and yet everything he should've never done. he was supposed to be filled with regret, drowning in it, but the truth was, he couldn't fully bring himself to feel that way. the guilt was there, gnawing at him, but it wasn't enough to overshadow the fact that part of him—some selfish part he hated to admit—had wanted it. badly. and that only made him feel worse.
every time he thought of it, every time the image of san—standing in front of him and coloured in hues that made his sparkly smile look more radiant—popped up in his head, his heart started to race. and it had raced all the way back home, throughout the night, and even now, as he fell back into bed after his morning shower, his heart was uncontrollable.
there had been no time for answers in that hour, only impulsive action.
but now? now there were endless opportunities for clarity.
wooyoung could've texted san, called him—hell, san could've done the same. but neither of them had. the silence felt like an open wound, festering with all the things they weren't saying. wooyoung's mind raced with a thousand questions, but more than anything, he wanted to know one thing: what was going on in san's head?
though he'd acted on a whim, wooyoung was almost certain of one thing—that san hadn't been happy about whatever had gone down.
wooyoung's eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lost in thoughts filled with floating hearts that no one but him could see. he lay there, unwilling to confront his own restless mind, until his phone buzzed beside him.
