Whispers of Desire || Woosan🔞

30: bond

Heyyyy my pookies

          ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Three months later

The cab rolled to a stop outside the stone building, its tires crunching against the gravel road. Wooyoung leaned his forehead against the cool window, watching the streak of sunlight stretch across the glass. He exhaled, a long breath that seemed to carry months of restlessness away with it. His stomach twisted the same way it always did when they came here. Not from fear anymore, at least not the kind that froze him in place, but from something else, something he didn’t dare name.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Yeonjun said beside him, his tone light but his eyes sharp, like they always were when it came to him. He tapped his shoulder before leaning forward to pay the driver. “Come on. He doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

Wooyoung scoffed, trying to hide the way his palms had gone clammy. “I’m not the one who spent twenty minutes arguing with his reflection about which jacket was ‘mood appropriate.’”

Yeonjun grinned, unbothered. “And yet, you still wait for me. Sweet of you.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up,” Wooyoung muttered, pushing the door open. But his lips betrayed him, curling upward in a smile he couldn’t suppress.

The building was quiet as they stepped inside, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the high ceiling. The hallway stretched long and dim, lined with polished wood that smelled faintly of tobacco and varnish. Wooyoung knew the way by heart now—the first time he’d walked here, his knees had nearly given out. His heart had been pounding too loud, his chest too tight, like the walls themselves were pressing down on him. Now, three months later, his steps felt steadier. His body remembered the path, even if his chest still tightened in anticipation.

At the end of the hallway, Yeonjun pushed the heavy door open, holding it wide with a practised motion. He glanced at Wooyoung briefly, his expression unreadable for a fraction of a second before smoothing into its usual calm.

Wooyoung slipped inside.

The old man was by the window again, just as he had been on their last visit. His chair was turned slightly toward the light, the afternoon sun spilling across his shoulders in muted gold. A cigarette rested between his long fingers, smoke curling upward in a lazy spiral. He looked like he belonged to the space entirely, as if the room had been carved around him, quiet and commanding.

Wooyoung froze, as he always did at first sight of him. Their eyes met—those deep, wrinkled doe-like eyes that held too much, too heavy—and Wooyoung felt that strange pull again, the same one that had drawn him back here again and again, no matter how much he tried to resist.

The old man studied him for a long, slow moment before the faintest curve touched his lips.

“You’re late.” His voice was low, gravelly with age and smoke, but threaded with a weight that made Wooyoung instinctively sit straighter.

“Blame Yeonjun,” Wooyoung shot back quickly, forcing playfulness into his voice even though his chest was tight. He dropped his bag onto the couch, moving closer with small, hesitant steps. “He takes forever to get dressed.”

The old man arched an eyebrow, flicking his gaze briefly toward Yeonjun but keeping it fixed on Wooyoung. “Excuses already?”

Wooyoung found himself smiling back—honestly, openly. “Maybe.”

The word hung between them, lighter than it should have felt.

“Sit,” the old man said finally, motioning toward the chair across from him.

Wooyoung obeyed without question. It was strange—he had never been the type to follow orders without protest. But here, with this man, it felt natural. Like slipping into a rhythm he hadn’t known he’d been missing.

Yeonjun stayed back near the wall, leaning against it with his arms folded, his eyes sweeping over the scene. His posture was casual, but his jaw was tight. He caught every twitch of Wooyoung’s smile, every flicker of expression in the old man’s face, every unspoken thing between them.

And he hated how much he noticed it.

Careful, San’s voice echoed in his mind like a ghost. Don’t let him know. He’s safer this way.

The old man stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes, dark and unreadable, returned to Wooyoung. “Tell me. How have you been?”

The question was simple, but the way it was asked—it was heavy. Fatherly.

Wooyoung swallowed, suddenly aware of the heat in his cheeks. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers tightening in his lap.

“I’ve been… okay,” he said softly, almost uncertain. Then, after a pause, his voice steadied. “Better now.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, full, like a blanket pulled over the room.

The old man leaned back slightly, his expression hard to read but his eyes softer than before. He gave the smallest of nods, as though those two words carried far more weight than they should have.

Yeonjun’s chest tightened. Because he saw it, he saw the way Wooyoung unconsciously leaned forward, as though searching for comfort. He saw the flicker of warmth in the old man’s gaze, the quiet recognition. And he knew why San had told him to keep silent.

The bond was growing. Stronger every day.

“School?” the old man asked, breaking the silence.

Wooyoung blinked, then brightened. “It’s fine. Stressful sometimes. Teachers think we’re robots or something. But Yeonjun helps me a lot.” He glanced over at his friend, grinning in that easy way that made Yeonjun’s heart trip. “I don’t think I’d have survived without him.”

Yeonjun’s throat worked as he shrugged, trying to sound casual. “You exaggerate.”

“I don’t,” Wooyoung insisted, his grin widening. “You’re smart. I’m lucky.”

The old man’s gaze shifted briefly toward Yeonjun, something flickering in the depth of his expression. Calculation? It was impossible to tell. But when his eyes returned to Wooyoung, there was a faint hum of acknowledgement, almost gentle.

“Stay close to him,” the old man said quietly with mocking smile and a wink.

Wooyoung laughed without hesitation. “I already do.”

The sound was lighthearted, but Yeonjun couldn’t laugh with him. His chest was a storm, his heart a mess of things he didn’t want to name. Things that had begun creeping in slowly these past weeks, soft and dangerous. He told himself it was nothing. Just closeness. Just care. But the lie was starting to crumble.

The visit stretched on in slow conversation. The old man didn’t speak much, but when he did, Wooyoung found himself leaning in, answering with an ease that would have been impossible three months ago.

Sometimes, he even made jokes, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, and to his shock, the old man chuckled. Just once or twice, but it was enough to make Wooyoung’s heart swell in ways he couldn’t explain.

By the time they rose to leave, Wooyoung felt lighter, as though a piece of him that had been broken had quietly been stitched together during the visit.

He lingered by the door, his hand brushing the wooden frame. “See you soon,” he said, his voice softer than he meant it to be.

The old man gave the barest nod, his gaze unreadable but steady.

Wooyoung smiled, small and genuine, before stepping into the hallway.

Yeonjun followed close behind, his chest tight, his thoughts tangled into knots he couldn’t loosen. He glanced once over his shoulder at the old man, meeting that steady, unblinking gaze. Something passed between them in silence, something neither Wooyoung nor the world could understand.

And Yeonjun knew, as he closed the door behind him, that he was in far deeper trouble than he had ever been before.

Because Wooyoung left the room feeling whole.
And Yeonjun left it unravelling.