Why me? >Woosan<

10.

Wooyoung pov

I woke to the soft drag of a fingertip brushing over my cheek. For a moment, half-asleep, I thought I was dreaming. The touch was too tender, too careful. But then I felt the warmth beside me, solid and steady.

A hum slipped from my throat as I pressed closer.

"Good morning," San's voice came low, husky with sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers through me.

"Good morning," I whispered back, smiling as I buried my face into the curve of his neck. His skin was warm against my lips, smelling faintly of his cologne and the softness of sleep.

We lay there tangled up, sheets twisted around us, our legs still a mess of knots. Neither of us moved, neither of us wanted to. I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my chest, and for a while, it was enough just to exist there.

"San," I said softly.

He hummed in response, not opening his eyes.

"Last night..."

That got his attention. His eyes blinked open slowly, meeting mine. "Yeah?"

"It was... really nice."

A smile ghosted across his face, soft and full of something that made my heart clench. He kissed my forehead, then pulled me in tighter until I was practically molded into him.

"I feel safe," I admitted quietly. "You feel safe."

"I really liked it too," he said, his voice rougher now, more awake. "If that wasn't obvious enough last night." He gave me a playful squeeze, making me laugh despite the heaviness building in my chest.

For a little while longer, we stayed like that. Pretending we had more time. Pretending he wasn't leaving.

But he was.

When I finally left the hotel, the city outside felt too loud, too fast. People rushed past me with their coffees, laughing with their friends, holding hands with their lovers. I caught sight of a couple kissing at a crosswalk, no fear, no hesitation, just love out in the open.

It made something ache deep in my chest.

That couldn't be us. Not here. Not now. Maybe never.

But I wanted him anyway. Even if it meant stolen moments. Even if it meant hiding. Even if it meant watching him leave again and again.

I wandered the streets for a while, not ready to go home. My head was full of him, his laugh, the way his lips had felt on mine, the warmth of his hand around my waist. I didn't want to lose the feeling yet.

Eventually, I found myself at my mom's house. She was on the couch, the TV murmuring softly in the background.

"Is something wrong?" she asked the second I sat down.

I sighed, laying my head in her lap. She didn't push. Just smoothed her fingers through my hair like she had when I was a kid.

The words spilled out after that, not all of them, but enough. Enough for her to know I was scared. That I was falling too fast, too hard, and I didn't know what would happen when he was gone.

She didn't tell me what to do. She didn't even answer. She just kept stroking my hair, silent and steady, grounding me.

Sometimes love didn't need words. Just presence.

We ended up watching a movie, her hand still on my head, and when I finally went to bed in my old room, it felt better. Not fixed. But lighter.

San pov