When Petals Fall

Under the Blossoms

The air felt different in the park now, warmer, lighter—a stark contrast to the crisp chill that had clung to the morning. The cherry blossoms above them hung in soft clusters, their pale pink petals drifting lazily through the breeze. San and Wooyoung had been talking for what felt like hours, sharing stories of their lives since they'd last seen each other.

"So, how's the job going?" San asked, his voice a little more serious than it had been earlier. He shifted slightly on the bench, his gaze lingering on Wooyoung as he waited for an answer.

Wooyoung leaned back against the wooden seat, eyes half-closed as if he were considering the question. "It's okay. It's... not what I expected, but I don't know. I think I'm starting to get the hang of it," he said, his voice trailing off as if unsure of his own feelings. "What about you? How's your art going?"

San smiled, a fond expression crossing his face as he looked at Wooyoung. "You know, it's... it's been a struggle. But I'm still working at it. I guess I've come a long way, even though it doesn't feel like much."

Wooyoung nodded, eyes never leaving him. "I've seen your work. It's impressive. You've definitely improved."

San's face flushed slightly, and he turned his gaze downward, playing with the hem of his jacket. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

There was a slight pause as the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, the soft rustling of the cherry blossoms the only sound around them. Wooyoung took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fragrant air. "I never really thought we'd be sitting here like this again, you know? After everything that happened."

San's lips quirked up at the corner, but there was a wistful edge to his expression. "Yeah. Time does strange things to people."

Wooyoung looked at him, studying his face, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. There was something different about San, something older, more aware, yet still very much the same. It felt... natural, like nothing had changed between them, even though they had both changed in ways that only time could explain.

"I guess that's true," Wooyoung said, his voice softer now. He shifted a little closer to San, almost unconsciously, as the air around them seemed to grow warmer with each passing moment. He noticed the way the breeze swept through the branches, causing the petals to flutter down like pink snowflakes. The park had come alive in the springtime glow, and it felt like everything was blooming, both around them and between them.

San leaned back, looking up at the pink flowers above them. "It's nice, though. The way everything comes back to life in the spring. It makes me feel like anything's possible. Like maybe things don't have to stay the way they are forever."

Wooyoung's heart skipped a beat, his gaze flicking from the blossoms to San's face, where a quiet sadness seemed to linger behind his words. He didn't know why, but the way San said it felt like he was talking about more than just the season.

Before Wooyoung could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew through the park, sending a flurry of petals swirling around them. Wooyoung reached up to brush a few of the petals out of his hair, laughing lightly at the sudden shower of blossoms.

But as he did, San moved slightly, leaning in the same direction, and for a brief moment, their hands brushed against each other. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it sent an electric jolt through Wooyoung, a feeling he couldn't quite place. It was a subtle spark, nothing overt, but it lingered in the air between them like a flicker of something they couldn't fully grasp.

San froze for just a second, looking at Wooyoung with wide eyes. Wooyoung's heart raced as he quickly pulled his hand back, the moment feeling oddly intimate in a way he hadn't expected. His mind was spinning, trying to find a way to explain the sudden warmth that spread through him, but words failed him.

"Sorry," San said quickly, his voice almost apologetic. "I didn't mean to—"

Wooyoung waved his hand, trying to brush off the awkwardness. "It's fine. Really," he said, though he wasn't sure if he believed his own words. He tried to focus on the petals drifting down around them, but the faint feeling of San's skin against his lingered, keeping him on edge.

The moment was small, fleeting, but Wooyoung couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Maybe it was just the spring air, or maybe it was just the way they'd fallen back into step with each other so naturally after all this time, but the connection they shared now felt different. There was an unspoken understanding in the way they sat next to each other, an intimacy that hadn't been there before, though neither of them could fully admit it yet.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence hanging heavy between them, filled with something neither of them had the courage to name.

Finally, San broke the quiet. "It's kind of funny, isn't it?" he said, his voice light but with a note of something softer underneath. "How we can just pick up where we left off, even after all this time?"

Wooyoung glanced over at him, his heart thudding in his chest. He wasn't sure how to answer. All he knew was that in this moment, sitting under the blooming cherry blossoms with San, something inside him was beginning to shift. The feelings were there—undeniable—but they were still too tangled for him to understand.

"I guess so," Wooyoung said, his voice a little quieter than usual.

Another soft breeze swept through the park, and more petals rained down around them, covering the ground in a delicate carpet of pink. Wooyoung watched as a few petals landed in San's hair, and for a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down.

As San reached up to brush the petals out of his hair, Wooyoung wondered—just for a second—if maybe, just maybe, there was something more to their friendship than he had realized. And if that something more could grow, just like the blossoms around them, into something beautiful, something new.

But for now, neither of them said anything. The day was theirs, and the future—whatever it held—could wait.