Woosan OneShot Compilation

Wrong Number

Wooyoung squinted at his phone screen, thumbs fumbling over the keys as he tried to piece together a coherent message. The night had been fun—a bit too fun. His friends, Yeosang and Seonghwa had dragged him from bar to bar, and now he was standing outside his apartment, head spinning, his mind fixated on one person, this hot guy he met at the gym last week. Or so he thought.

Wooyoung: Hey, you up? Thinking about you rn.

He managed to type, hitting send before he could second-guess himself.

The phone buzzed back almost instantly, and he grinned, expecting a familiar name to pop up.

But the response read: Uh... who's this?

Wooyoung blinked, trying to focus, staring at the unfamiliar number. "Crap," he thought. "Wrong number?" He shook his head, a lazy grin creeping onto his face. Might as well roll with it.

Oh wow, sorry! I think I meant to text someone else, he typed back, his thumbs slow on the keys. Name's Jung Wooyoung, didn't mean to wake you up.

After a pause, a new text buzzed in: No worries, I was up anyway. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I'm San.

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, the boldness that only a few drinks could inspire taking over. So, San... you up for some conversation with a random guy who messed up his text, while a little drunk, texting for a booty call?

Another pause. Wooyoung imagined San reading the message, deciding whether this strange turn of events was worth his time. Then, the reply: Sure. Why the hell not? Got nothing better to do rn.

A grin spread across Wooyoung's face, and he slid down to sit against his front door, letting the cool night air wake him up a bit. He texted back, Alright, San, since we're clearly best friends now, tell me something weird about you. Like... weird weird.

San replied almost immediately: Fine, but only if you tell me something too. Ok, here goes, promise not to laugh, oh wait nevermind, I won't know anyway. I have a collection of succulents that I named after movie villains.

Wooyoung laughed, imagining a row of tiny, menacing plants. Okay, that's actually awesome, he replied. My weird thing? I have this superstition about my favorite ring. I never leave the house without it. Don't know why—it's kinda dumb, but there it is.

Oddly charming, San wrote back. So where were you tonight? Out drinking?

Yeah, guilty, Wooyoung replied. Needed to unwind, maybe score. You?

Just stayed in, actually, San responded. But maybe it's good I did. Otherwise, I wouldn't be talking to you right now.

Wooyoung felt a flutter in his chest. Yeah, maybe it's fate, he replied, fingers hesitating on the keyboard. Or maybe just a lucky accident.

The texts kept going, back and forth, each reply coming faster as the minutes turned into hours. By the time Wooyoung finally stumbled into bed, it felt like he'd known San far longer than a few hours of drunk texting.

---

The next day, Wooyoung woke up to a string of texts from San, playful and witty, and he quickly found himself responding, the banter continuing as naturally as it had the night before. Days turned into a week, and soon, they were texting daily, sharing small bits of their lives. Wooyoung found himself looking forward to every message, wondering what new piece of San's personality he would uncover.

One night, Wooyoung gathered the courage to text: So, what do you think about meeting up? I mean, it's weird that we haven't yet, right?

A few seconds later, San's reply buzzed in: You know, I was hoping you'd ask. How about tomorrow night?