flutedrum | woosan ✓

44

The restaurant was cozy and familiar. Soft, dim lighting filled the space, with the scent of sizzling meat rising from the grill. It should've been comforting—normally, Wooyoung would've been bouncing with excitement, ready to devour everything in sight. But tonight, the atmosphere between him and San was anything but comforting.

They sat across from each other, the tension thick and unspoken. Wooyoung's arms were crossed, his eyes wandering everywhere but toward the man sitting across from him. San fiddled with his napkin, his fingers twitching with nervous energy as he attempted to make things right.

"I thought...maybe you'd like it here," San said softly, offering a weak smile. "You always loved this place."

Wooyoung barely looked up. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, not really engaging. The truth was, he did love this place. It had been one of their go-to spots—back when things were good. But right now, it felt hollow. Forced. As if San thought a simple dinner could erase everything between them.

The silence that followed was deafening. San, ever hopeful, tried again. "I ordered your favorite," he said, pushing a plate of marinated beef toward Wooyoung. "I remembered, you know...from last time."

Wooyoung's eyes flicked toward the plate for just a second before his gaze fell back to his lap. He felt a pang of emotion at San's effort, but it wasn't enough. Not yet. "Thanks," he muttered, though the word felt distant on his lips.

San tried to smile, but the tension in the air swallowed it. "You don't have to eat it if you're not hungry," he said, his voice tinged with hesitation. "I just thought..."

Wooyoung dropped his chopsticks with a clatter, frustration bubbling inside him. "You thought what, San? That bringing me here would magically fix everything?" His voice wasn't loud, but the weight of his words hit San like a punch to the gut.

San winced, the words cutting through the fragile hope he'd carried. "I didn't—I just wanted to make things better," he whispered, his voice shaky. He stared down at his hands, helplessness written across his face. "I don't know how to make things right, Wooyoung. But I'm trying."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and painful. Wooyoung wanted to believe him. Deep down, he knew San was trying. But it wasn't that easy. The hurt still sat in his chest, an ache that wouldn't let go.

San, desperate to break the tension, forced a chuckle. "Remember that time you forced me to come here after your practice once? You almost ordered everything on the menu."

Wooyoung's lips twitched involuntarily at the memory, "I almost made you bankrupt." he giggled at the funny memory. He remembered that day, too—how they'd laughed over plates of food until their stomachs hurt. But those days felt so far away now. So unreachable. He didn't say anything, just stared at the table, his mind battling with his heart.

San's face fell when Wooyoung didn't respond. He wasn't sure how to handle the silence anymore, how to bridge the gap between them. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," San finally said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "I just...I don't know what else to do."

Wooyoung's chest tightened at the sound of San's broken voice. He wanted to forgive him, wanted to let go of all the anger and sadness that had been gnawing at him. But every time he tried, that same voice in his head reminded him of the pain San had caused. He couldn't just forget it all. Not yet.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Wooyoung whispered after a long pause, his voice barely audible. He could feel San's eyes on him, pleading, but he kept his gaze on the table. "It's not that simple."

"I know it's not," San said quickly, desperate to fill the space between them with something, anything. "But I'm here. I'm trying, Wooyoung. Please...just give me a chance."