A Place to Belong - Woosan

{ 27 - Morning Light }

San woke slowly, his body wrapped in warmth, limbs tangled with Wooyoung's beneath the soft comforter. For a brief second, his mind was blank, quiet in that hazy space between sleep and waking. Then it all came rushing back—last night, the kiss, the confession, the way Wooyoung had held him like something precious.

He didn't move. Didn't want to break the stillness just yet. Instead, he let himself watch the light crawl across the ceiling, filtered through the sheer curtains. Wooyoung's home was filled with little pieces of his personality—plants in ceramic mugs, a bookshelf half-organized and half-chaotic, a jacket slung over a chair, a tiny crooked magnet on the radiator. Lived-in. Real.

San was still curled up in bed beside him, not just surviving the morning after, or worrying about what was next, or what it meant. Instead he woke feeling something close to peace.

The fear hadn't vanished overnight. It had quieted significantly. Softened.

He turned his head slightly, watching the rise and fall of Wooyoung's chest. His hair was a mess, one cheek pressed into the pillow, mouth parted just slightly in sleep. He looked younger like this—unguarded, soft around the edges.

San's chest ached—not from panic this time, but from something gentler, more terrifying: love.

He loved him.

Not in the abstract, not in the maybe-this-could-be-something way. No, it was solid now. Rooted. He loved Wooyoung with a depth that made him breathless, with a devotion that had nothing to do with grand gestures and everything to do with the quiet miracle of being seen.

He wanted things with him. Messy, mundane, beautiful things. Grocery shopping and Sunday laundry and arguing about what to watch and waking up like this, tangled together with no plans.

It was terrifying, and perfect.

He reached out slowly, letting his fingers drift across Wooyoung's arm, barely a touch, just enough to anchor himself. For the first time in ages, San wasn't bracing for heartbreak. He was hoping for more.

A future. With this incredible man.

As he continued to lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of Wooyoung's breathing, San felt something settle deep in his chest—a choice already made.

He didn't know when exactly it had changed, but he was finally able to let go of the fear of being hurt. He trusted Wooyoung, loved him, and knew he was safe with him. It all hit him in an instant. He was at home in Wooyoung's presence.

San scooted just a little closer, letting his nose brush against Wooyoung's temple. He smelled like warmth and sleep and the faintest trace of lavender detergent. San smiled against his skin, then pressed the gentlest kiss to his cheek. Then another, and another, tracing the features of his face with light, sweet kisses.

Wooyoung shifted with a soft hum, one eye barely cracking open. "You're kissing me awake?"

San grinned. "It's either that or I start singing."

"Definitely kissing," Wooyoung murmured, turning toward him and burying his face against San's neck. "God, I'm spoiled."

They lay like that for a while, limbs still half-tangled, neither in a rush to leave the cocoon of blankets and warmth. San let his fingers trail slowly along Wooyoung's back, memorizing the shape of his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine. No urgency. Just the quiet pleasure of being close.

Wooyoung shifted again, tilting his head to look up at him. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but his smile was lazy and full of affection. "You're staring."