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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the sun had risen, and wooyoung, who occasionally enjoyed the rare luxury of early rising whenever he could rest guilt-free (and being on holiday was the perfect excuse), was already up, pacing his room at nine a.m.
but could it even be called early rising if he hadn't slept a wink the entire night?
his mind, as foggy as it felt, had been spinning out of control since he'd replayed every moment from the previous night (technically, it was past midnight, so it was actually the early hours of this morning). and by every moment, he meant the kiss. the damn kiss that choi san himself had initiated.
not one, but two kisses. both started by him!
wooyoung could not, for the life of him, wrap his mind around this dramatic turn of events, this complete shift in the balance. he hadn't even had a chance to untangle the flood of thoughts in his head, because, mere moments after san pressed his lips to wooyoung's for the second time, someone had been fiddling with the back door handle. that someone was yi-seul, coming back with renewed determination to haul san upstairs and tuck him into bed, grumbling that it was "too late" and she "didn't want him catching a cold after being in the rain."
again, choi san was the picture of immunity. if sleepless nights couldn't wear him down, nothing could.
the night, the moment— it had all felt like a dream, one a bit too perfect to believe. the soft patter of rain against the shelter above them, san's dizzying scent clinging to wooyoung as san had pressed them closer together, his hands settled at wooyoung's waist, separated only by a tacky christmas sweater. and then, the warmth of his lips. the way san's lips had moved against his, as if he'd been certain this was exactly what he wanted, soft yet full of urgency, each movement conveying just how much he'd longed for it. and wooyoung had wanted it, too. he had, for a while now.
but it was all happening too fast!
the magic of the kiss, which lingered like a spell, was beginning to fade, replaced by a harsh clarity creeping back in. he froze mid-pacing around his room, eyes wide, fingers anxiously picking at his lips as if he'd just gone through the most unnerving experience of his life.
all the while, his attention—frantic, shaken, yet paralysed—was fixed on the closed door plastered with band posters and random bits and pieces. he knew that his heart would sink the second he swung that door open.
was san awake? asleep? downstairs with wooyoung's family, or pacing the guest room as restlessly as wooyoung was in his own? was he regretting everything that had happened the previous night, thinking that distance had sparked some kind of confusion in him? or was wooyoung simply coming up with excuses to shield himself from disappointment, as he'd always done with san, someone as elusive and unpredictable as the storm itself?
these questions alone were enough to keep wooyoung holed up in his room all day. yet his hand found its way to the doorknob, and before he could stop himself, he was stepping out—because, stronger than any question's power to confine him, was the need for answers. and since when had wooyoung ever been one to shy away from the things that unsettled him?
