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"Young-ah?"
Wooyoung shakes himself out of the stupor as he turns to San. He looks like he's been trying to get Wooyoung's attention for a good few moments. Wooyoung must have zoned out sometime between the drive from the headquarters and home. He looks outside, sighing when he realizes that they’re not home, not yet.
San's eyebrows are knitted in a frown, face unblemished save for minor cuts here and there from the mission. He shifts in the seat as he looks at Wooyoung like he's going to vibrate out of his skin with the thoughts he's having. Whatever San wants to say, and it's obvious that he wants to, is shoved to the side in favor of an attempt at a normal conversation.
Wooyoung has known him for way too long to miss the little things like these, but no words make it out of his mouth despite his trying.
"We'll get takeout?" San tries, probably to fill the silence, or maybe not, judging by how the car is parked in front of the restaurant they usually visit. The words come out stilted, the deep baritone of San’s voice twisting jaggedly around the syllables as it conveys a decision made rather than a question as such. It's understandable considering the circumstances. Wooyoung has been pretty tight-lipped since the afternoon after he'd stumbled into San's arms, bloody and bruised after he was pulled out of a collapsing warehouse.
They don't usually get missions on a Sunday. Sunday nights are supposed to be their date nights when Wooyoung cooks dinner for them peacefully, San lingering around the kitchen with his hands drawn to Wooyoung like a magnet. Threats don't take a day off so there was always the possibility that they'd get called in even on their government-assigned weekly offs, but they always made plans.
It is their thing. Has been for a long time.
It's just unfortunate that they have to forego another one of their date nights. He can try still to make it happen, but San will hate it if he forces himself to, and he can barely move with the images put there by the disaster that was today, wreaking the kind of havoc only someone whose mind has been toyed with can understand.
Wooyoung nods at San finally, putting a hand over his hand on his thigh, relief flooding him at the feeling of San’s skin against his. He had foolishly thought that the debriefing with Hongjoong would have sorted this out and how he felt about it because talking about his problems often helped him get perspective about them.
Sector 64 was not the safest locale for a showdown between a supervillain and the Alliance's force, but it’s not like Wooyoung had any say in it when they were awoken by the blaring pagers at ten minutes past seven in the morning. Maybe he should have fallen asleep later. Or kept his and San’s pagers on silent. Perhaps he should have forgotten to charge the batteries.
All of those would have ended with a reprimanding from Hongjoong, not this mess that has led to Wooyoung feeling like San’s about to be ripped right from him in the cruelest ways, not any more than he feels usually.
There is the understanding, logic working under all the emotional turmoil, that there was nothing he could have done. However, there is also the other side of him that likes to stew in the aftermath of missions, trying to see what he could have done differently to avoid the outcomes they have received. It's that side of him that insists that he should have tried all he can to avoid this barrage of twisted memories and illusions that are running through his mind.
It’s like a highlight reel of his life, except it’s just the bad ones, the ones that make him want to cower and take San away, far away from here, where their powers are just an inconvenience and their priority isn't protecting anyone other than themselves.
Wooyoung wants to forget today and move on.
It had been one of the first lessons they’d been taught at the academy, that the sooner you leave a mission behind after you finish it, the sooner you’ll heal.
Wooyoung’s never been much of a stickler for the rules. He regrets it immensely now. It would have been easier if he didn’t take every mission so personally if it went badly. He wishes he can put what he saw behind at the ruined warehouse, wishes he can leave it buried in the cracked concrete ground and never perceive it, but that’s all it is.
Wishes. Too many of them, fruitless.
The car door clicks open as San returns. Wooyoung hadn't noticed him leave. He should have. San has takeout containers in a plastic bag that he leans over the console to put in the back.
San glances at him briefly, his gaze lingering somewhere around the two broken ribs Wooyoung has. Well, broken ribs that had been healed by Jongho at the medical wing two hours ago. The last thing he wants is for San to worry. Despite it, he knows he will.
Neither of them does a good job of hiding it either.
"Baby, I'm okay," Wooyoung reassures, feeling like he should say something to alleviate San’s concern.
Wooyoung is fine actually, physically that is, except for that ache he gets in his core when he has overexerted his abilities. Maybe helping that kid at the medical wing with his own healing powers was a bad call considering how exhausted he was already. He had done it though. There were no regrets.
San lets out a huff with a small smile. It's amazing how much a small curve on San's face can do to Wooyoung. It's sudden, the way his chest feels a little less heavy than it was a few moments ago.
"You should see yourself, baby," San whispers, the words nearly choked out.
Wooyoung scrunches his face, trying to hold onto his sanity.
“Are you telling me I look ugly? How dare you, Choi San,” Wooyoung complains, batting weakly at San’s arm. He doesn’t respond by teasing back, leveling him with a look of pure devastation. He looks gorgeous still, eyebrows scrunched and hair messier than it had been when Wooyoung dragged him out of bed in the morning.
“You’re the prettiest,” San says quietly, his hands curling around the steering wheel.
Wooyoung wishes he can bask in the compliment even if San gives them out so frequently, wishes he can reach over the console and hug him, but if he gets too close to San right now, he’ll break down right here, just a few blocks away from their apartment.
“Am I?” Wooyoung asks, a rhetorical question, but unlike what San does usually, he only nods.
The sharp angles of San’s face seem even sharper in the dim overhead light of the car. It washes over San’s golden skin and Wooyoung grabs his hand, unable to look at the cuts on San’s face any longer without remembering what went down at the warehouse. The dried blood over the cuts is a dark crimson, nearly black. It shouldn’t hurt at all save for a minor sting, but Wooyoung can’t stand it. It’s only instinct that makes him will his powers to heal San.
San rips himself away from Wooyoung with a choked breath as soon as he registers it, forcefully separating their hands and sticking himself against the window of the car to avoid him from reaching.
“No, no, no! Hongjoong hyung told you to take it easy, Young-ah! No healing!”
Closing his eyes, Wooyoung inhales deeply. The something in the center of his torso aches even more, like he has drawn from a depleted reserve. It’s a sign that he has gone past his limits.
“But you were hurt,” Wooyoung points out softly, satisfied at seeing San’s unblemished skin even if the expression on his face is haunted, distraught like he had been when he pulled Wooyoung out of the collapsing warehouse.
“It’s just a few cuts. I’m okay,” San says, voice so gentle Wooyoung has to dig his nails into his thigh to stop from screaming out every little thing he had seen in the illusions.
You weren’t okay before. You were dying. You were dying in all of them and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. So many times. And then you did die. You died in my arms, and I still couldn’t stop it.
San turns the car lights off as if it will stop Wooyoung from looking for more injuries on him.
“Can we go home?” Wooyoung asks suddenly, turning his face away from San. The street lights outside keep flickering randomly, shrouding them in muted sienna and darkness at random intervals.
There is a shaky breath from San before he agrees. He has probably taken the hint that Wooyoung doesn’t want to speak anymore, at least not until they’re home.
The hum of the engine is familiar as San pulls into the main road. Wooyoung keeps his eyes resolutely on the asphalt, refusing to glance at San even when he feels his eyes on him the entire ride home.
***
Their apartment complex isn’t very posh or populated. There are only four taken units in the complex, one of them being theirs. The rest of them, twelve if Wooyoung is being specific, used to belong to powered agents like them. Some of them had moved out after early retirement, an understandable decision considering what they had to do every day. Some of them died in action, their apartments museums of the lives they lived that the Alliance never bothered to clean up. Some of them stayed uninhabited simply because the better part of the powered population chose to stay in less risky regions of the country and kept away from the combat forces of the government.
Wooyoung had moved into the complex with San three years ago. It hadn’t been very difficult to buy an apartment here, all things considered, not with their income as agents for the Alliance and with the lack of demand for property in this sector. They had moved around a lot for missions, still do in fact, but this apartment in Sector 64 is home, a home they’ve bought and breathed life into. Leaving it behind has always been a possibility because of the kind of field they are in, but it was understood between him and San that it will never be a choice, not if they had any say in it.
Wooyoung didn’t mind it honestly, the fact that they’d have to up and leave at the beck and call of the Alliance because he’d known exactly what he was stepping into when he joined as a trainee. Sure, he’d miss the little balcony they have where he can sit down and read books with San fast asleep in his lap and the green granite countertop San has backed him up against one too many times, but home has always been where San is for a long time.
It doesn’t matter where in the world Wooyoung is, not if San is right there with him.
Wooyoung takes off the shoes at the door, breath rattling in his chest when San takes the opportunity to hold him by his waist, just a simple hand on his hip. He doesn’t mean to freeze but he does.
As softly as the touch had come, it’s gone just as immediately.
No, hold me , Wooyoung thinks, but not yet, he adds.
San doesn’t ask him what’s wrong. It’s obvious that he knows something is. It’s enough reason for him to back out of Wooyoung’s space, to wait until Wooyoung will inevitably reach for him.
They used to hover around each other all the time, constantly gravitating towards the other, a planet and its satellite, one magnet to another. Time has relaxed the hovering, probably with the increased certainty of their bond, but their friends always tell him that not much has changed.
Wooyoung knows the differences though. San holds him more gently, less desperate now, no longer worried Wooyoung will disappear one day right out of his grip though he fears the world will take him away, just like Wooyoung does.
The crinkle of the plastic bag as it is placed on the dining table feels loud in the silence of the night, the sound turning into an amplified crackle in Wooyoung’s ears.
There were gunshots, too many of them, and then there was blood in the illusion Wooyoung had been thrown into. It had felt just as real as the time it happened. There was iron in the air, the sticky cloying scent overpowering his senses, San bleeding out rapidly in his lap. And San wasn’t letting him heal him because Wooyoung had already exhausted himself trying to help the hostages, blood pouring out from his shins where two bullets had found home.
The pool of blood had felt just as vivid as Wooyoung stood in front of Juwon.
He’d kept chanting that it’s not real to himself, but it hadn’t worked out because his own memories of San were being used against him. In the moment, it had looked pretty damn real.
This was the same nightmare he’d had for months straight after that mission in Sector 31, and somehow the Illusionist as he called himself, a fitting name for Lee Juwon, ID78BC46, had figured out Wooyoung’s breaking points two minutes after he walked into the warehouse today, digging through his mind.
It’s shameful that he gave up so easily under his manipulation tactics, but there’s not much you can do when a psychic as strong as Juwon tears at your defenses.
If he’s being honest, Juwon probably didn’t have to dig that deep or far.
Losing San has been Wooyoung’s greatest fear for the better part of his life. Everything that comes up later in the list are just addendums to it. It’s not rocket science. It’s why he always jokes that there is no need for a psychic to read his mind. A few minutes of conversation and a brief glance at how he looks at San are enough.
Juwon probably only had to walk into Wooyoung’s mind to get enough ammunition for a lifetime worth of torture material.
“Young-ah.”
San has switched on the ceiling lights in the dining hall in the time Wooyoung had taken to zone out, lost in his head. He looks so much more exhausted like this, now that Wooyoung has a good look at him in the comfort of their apartment. He is a little too pale than he is after a mission. Coercing telekinesis is difficult when San is drained. They’ve not had enough recovery days in the past two weeks. Today was supposed to be one, but that plan had been foiled in the morning itself.
“Hm?” Wooyoung hums, pouring San a glass of water. San doesn’t take it, but he must want it because he eyes it for a brief moment before fixing his gaze right back on Wooyoung.
“Drink first,” Wooyoung pushes, sitting down on the chair. They will have to talk about it. He was hoping to delay the conversation, but San seems anxious. He’ll try to push it anyway. He wants some more time.
Bruised fingers reach for the glass. Wooyoung hadn’t noticed them earlier. He probably should have. He’d been too out of it, but the fog in his mind is clearing the more he looks at San, breathing in the scent of pine in the apartment from that room freshener Seonghwa had gifted them for their relationship anniversary this year.
“I told you not to go in alone. You should have…” San trails off, sighing deeply, troubled. He holds the bridge of his nose with his fingers, looking more torn than he was two seconds ago.
Wooyoung doesn’t bother with answering too quickly, gaze flitting over San’s face and feeling the all-encompassing terror from hours ago return full swing.
No, he has to give San something to hold onto so that they can take a shower and he can talk properly later.
“You were needed outside. There was no other option, San-ah. You know that.”
Wooyoung can teleport. He was faster than San was even if San’s telekinesis meant he could make use of the surroundings a lot more than Wooyoung could.
It was only logical that in the face of an unidentified threat, Wooyoung was instructed to go in instead of San. Rescue operations for the building that had exploded just a block away from the warehouse had needed San more than Wooyoung.
It was only a rational decision. Maybe Wooyoung should have had backup. Maybe he should have waited, but letting Juwon go after he terrorized an entire sector for a whole month wasn’t an option Wooyoung wanted to consider.
Logic, Wooyoung has learned, is easy to forget the existence of when faced with situations as harrowing and divisive as these. And he can’t blame San for being worried or for being frustrated that Wooyoung hadn’t listened to him. God knows he would do this a thousand times if it meant San doesn’t have to face Juwon and deal with the aftermath of it.
"And I needed you with me. I needed you to be safe," San argues, hand squeezing around the glass so tightly Wooyoung fears it will shatter right there.
"We are supposed to protect the people first, baby. Everything else is second."
It's a big fat lie. Wooyoung would give up all his morals and drown himself in everything he hates if it meant he would get to keep San safe.
"That's the thing. I can't protect anyone when I know you aren't safe."
It's a dead end in terms of how arguments go simply because of the potential for it to continue forever.
Wooyoung anchors a shaky hand on the processed wooden chair, feeling drained. San's eyes flick to it, eyebrows scrunching even further, displeased. He's always hated seeing Wooyoung burned out like this, but it goes both ways, so Wooyoung can't really argue with him either.
Resignation seeps into his veins as his grip tightens around the chair, the only thing keeping him up.
"San-ah, can we talk after a shower?"
For a brief moment, his vision swims, San's face blurring and Wooyoung takes a rattling breath, wondering if he's in another illusion again. He hears a choked-off cry in the distance and takes a second to process that it's coming from himself.
Arms come up around him, holding him up against a familiar warm body and Wooyoung lets out a relieved sigh. He has never had to look at San to know it's him.
“Okay,” San tells him, agreeing easily as he hooks his chin over Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung relaxes even more in his arms, letting San turn him around. His own arms feel like lead as he wraps them around San’s waist.
“I’m gonna carry you there, okay?” San asks, waiting till Wooyoung nods to lift him up into his arms. Usually, he’d argue, that San is also exhausted, that he should let him walk on his own because he’s not a child, but his legs feel like jelly and collapsing in front of San doesn’t seem like a good idea when they’re both high strung with worry.
San puts an anchoring hand on the small of Wooyoung’s back and sweeps him up gently. He’s careful, like Wooyoung is the most fragile thing he’ll ever hold in his arms, but even still, his vision blurs again, making him groan into San’s warm chest.
“Almost there,” San whispers. He doesn’t waste any time, toeing open the door to their bedroom and taking large steps as he turns to the bathroom.
Water always helps Wooyoung cool down when he gets like this, his insides heating up from over-exertion and causing blackouts.
“No bath,” Wooyoung says just as San gets ready to lower him into the bathtub. Sector 27 and the dam is still fresh in his mind. He’s too scared to see San in the water again, not so soon after what happened.
“Young-ah, I think the bath will help you cool—”
Wooyoung cuts him off by grabbing a handful of his shirt.
“No, please. Shower,” he insists, voice fraying. San nods, ducking down to nudge his forehead against Wooyoung’s.
There are no words spoken as San lowers him to the floor, making sure his feet are stable before he takes Wooyoung’s clothes off. It’s quite an eventful affair with how many times Wooyoung nearly topples over. He doesn’t though because San’s grip on him is like reinforced titanium, gentle but strong. He wouldn’t let Wooyoung fall when he is right there.
They’ve seen each other naked on a daily basis, so Wooyoung doesn’t feel exposed, just comfortable letting his boyfriend do this for him.
“Cold?” San asks him, hand on the temperature control.
Wooyoung nods. San turns the dial down to the lowest it can go.
The cold water lands on his body comfortably, immediately bringing him relief, even if he knows he would have frozen up if he wasn’t so hot inside. He pushes San away with a hand on his chest. The temperature is usually too low for San to bear.
San doesn’t budge.
“San-ah,” Wooyoung says through the pouring sheet of water, one arm still keeping San away from him even if he’s almost drenched already, the other arm anchored on the wall to keep himself from falling.
“No, you’re gonna fall,” San tells him, one of his arms holding onto the hand Wooyoung is using to keep him away. San’s arm is shivering already because of the cold. If he takes a shower with Wooyoung at this temperature, he will catch a fever by midnight.
Wooyoung shakes his head, already feeling better at how the cold sinks into his skin, cooling him down.
“I won’t. Five minutes,” Wooyoung begs weakly, closing his eyes and opening them to see San reluctantly take a step back. His feet are covered in the water that pools on the white tiled floor from the shower head.
For a moment, Wooyoung is right back in Sector 27 and pulling San out of a dam. He screws his eyes shut.
A few minutes pass and Wooyoung feels the searing heat give way. The cold water no longer feels comfortable and he wheezes for a breath, reaching for the tap with numb fingers, fumbling before a warm body presses against his and the stream of water shuts off.
San lets him hug him close, even if he’s dressed and Wooyoung isn’t. His warm fingers smooth down the wet expanse of Wooyoung’s back.
“Feeling better?” San asks. If concern had a voice, it would sound like San’s.
“Never better,” Wooyoung answers, shivering.
San laughs, a choked sound like he’s been punched in the throat.
“You’re an idiot,” San tells him, somehow managing to sound annoyed even if his voice quivers.
“I agree,” Wooyoung mumbles before reaching his arms up, blood warming as he unbuttons San’s shirt. “Shower,” Wooyoung says when San lowers his gaze to look into his eyes.
“I got that, but will you be okay? Are you sure you don’t wanna go lie down before we clean up?”
Wooyoung nods, batting at San’s naked chest. He doesn’t want to go rest and come back in later and take a shower or wait for San to shower and come to him. He also doesn’t want them to go to bed all dirty and grimy from having waded through the concrete debris at the explosion sites.
San’s hand grips his wrist, stopping him when he tries to unbutton his shirt again.
“Look at me,” he says softly. It’s not really a request.
Wooyoung does. Whatever San must see in his eyes must be convincing because San exhales slowly and strips himself down too, throwing the clothes in the hamper on the shelf.
It feels just like any other day, San’s naked skin under his fingers and his breath ghosting over his face. Wooyoung runs his gaze over San’s face before he directs his attention to his body. There are minor bruises blooming on his torso. They heal quicker than they do on Wooyoung, but it still sits wrong in his belly, to see San hurt and not help with his healing. Wooyoung briefly considers—
“Don’t,” San warns like he can read Wooyoung’s mind. Okay, maybe not then. If the bruises are still there by tomorrow, Wooyoung will figure something out.
“Will you be okay with the hot water?” San’s fingers are on the dial again. He asks every time this happens, even if Wooyoung has told him multiple times that he can take a hot shower after he has cooled himself down, that he prefers it that way. He nods anyway because San’s looking at him like he’s expecting him to say no this time.
They take showers often enough that there is nothing new about this, about the cut muscles of San’s body under his palm or San’s callused fingers on Wooyoung’s hip, but Wooyoung still shivers as San reaches for the liquid soap with his one hand rubbing circles on his hip.
Wooyoung helps too, the foam coming away grey from the concrete dust before the water washes it down the drain. He’s just glad it’s not blood this time.
There’s a scar on San’s back for the one time Wooyoung had nearly been too late to get there, when even his healing couldn’t erase the pulled skin that formed the mark right behind San’s heart. The last illusion had felt as real as the times he’d touched the scar, the ridges of his fingers caressing jagged skin that served as a reminder of how close he’d been to losing San.
The water shuts off, the bathroom echoing with the dripping water droplets and their unsynced breathing.
Wooyoung’s breathing is shallower.
His fingers ghost over the scar again, hesitating like he always does. Juwon had shown him the cursed memory again, of how much blood there was on the linoleum floor when he teleported inside the hotel room, how weak San’s breathing was before Wooyoung snapped to action and healed him.
San grabs his wrist and twists him around, yanking Wooyoung out of his reverie again just as his breathing picks up again.
“Where are you, Young-ah?”
I’m where I left you to die, when I should have known better, when I should have come back sooner.
No. When I shouldn’t have left you alone in the first place.
“Here,” Wooyoung breathes, lies.
San shakes his head before he pulls away, grabbing a towel from the shelf for Wooyoung before grabbing one for himself. He doesn’t look at Wooyoung as they dry themselves up.
It’s clear that San has sensed the lie, but Wooyoung doesn’t regret not bringing the topic up inside their bathroom when they were wet and naked.
Wooyoung ties the towel around his hip and follows San out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed from the shower but still exhausted. He feels a sharp pinch in his temples and his nose bridge as he tugs his pajama pants on, but his fingers come clean when he subtly touches his philtrum.
Thankfully, San isn’t watching, tying the drawstrings of sweatpants at his waist. He looks invincible like this, the muscles of his torso shifting with the movement of his arms as he tightens the knot. His eyebrows are drawn though, jaw tight with tension.
And Wooyoung knows how fickle their lives are, how fragile San is, how even if he had the will to fight the same battle a hundred times over, how one move could end it all, could drag San away in the blink of an eye.
Will power or strength can’t bring back the dead.
The only way to avoid it to keep San beside him.
Wooyoung wants to lie down next to him and listen to his heartbeat against his ears, but he has made him wait for enough. It’s obvious that the waiting is killing San. He’s never been a paragon of patience, but on days like these, when Wooyoung is visibly out of it or hurt, San’s patience is nearly non-existent, driven by the urge to find out what’s wrong and fix, fix, fix.
Wooyoung stalls, flipping the words around every which way to figure out how to tell San what went down. He stalls so long that San is the one who breaks the quiet.
“Why did you lie during the debriefing?”
He sounds leagues more tired than he had been when he’d been talking to Jongho while Wooyoung was being healed. It’s understandable though. Mission days are mostly exhausting, unless it’s something that’s easily handled, but having experience means that they’re called in on the hard jobs more often than not.
It’s a straight question, the one San’s asking. There is no insulation built into its structures, nothing Wooyoung can use to stall for longer. There is nothing good that will come out of it anyway.
“This is not new,” Wooyoung retorts, deflecting as a defense out of sheer instinct and sighs when he realizes what he’s done.
The next breath he takes smells like iron even if he knows it doesn’t. Their bedroom is supposed to smell like vanilla and pine, but induced hallucinations from psychic powers leave residue for days after, so Wooyoung isn’t surprised.
“It isn’t,” San agrees, humoring him. Powered agents lied about things all the time. Some of the rules in their arsenal don’t always work on the field after all, and sometimes you had to punch a goon harder than necessary on your grocery run and lie about it. More than strictly following the instructions given, you had to be willing to make your own calls based on your judgment of the situation.
Both of them have made hard calls, lied through their teeth to minimize collateral damage.
“But this is the first time you’ve lied through one fully,” San points out. Hongjoong snitched despite Wooyoung’s requests then. He’ll have to talk to him about tattling about things that aren’t his business. “What did you see?”
Checkmate, Wooyoung thinks. There’s no way he can play this game any longer.
“He dug around in my head a little. Probably saw more than he should have.”
San pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration.
“You have to talk to me, Young-ah. You can’t keep dodging this. I’m worried about you.”
I’m worried about you too, about how this will end, about how long I have to go into the field for, terrified out of my mind that someday you might not make it back home with me.
More than the combined effect of all the illusions Juwon had kept assaulting him with that ended with him having two broken ribs and a concussion, all healed by Jongho in the medical wing, it was one moment in particular that had been haunting him in the hours that followed the mission.
The last illusion had ended with San’s breath rattling weakly, a soft whisper of Young-ah followed by a trickle of blood from his mouth. Wooyoung had watched the light die in San’s sharp eyes, hooded with exhaustion after what seemed like the better part of an hour stuck trying to stay awake.
They were fifteen when they signed on. They’ve always known how short their lives could be if they weren’t lucky enough. Wooyoung had lost his parents when he was seven. He has grown up without an ounce of faith in luck and its omnipotence.
It didn’t surprise him that Juwon had struck him where it hurts. That he’d taken the most precious person in his life and created a web of devastation for him from his memories and feelings for him alone.
In Wooyoung’s nightmares, San has died one too many times. Dealing with them is hard enough as it is, but it’s manageable because he wakes up to the tired and panicked drawl of San’s deep baritone and his simmering touch. This particular illusion had landed differently because it was the first time Wooyoung had felt it, felt San’s chest seize against him, felt the little warmth that clung to his body fade as he bled a crimson pool under them, coloring the snow the scarlet of Wooyoung’s worst nightmares.
It had felt so real, so real despite everything in Wooyoung yelling at him to break out of it, leave the San in the vision in the snow.
“You died,” Wooyoung chokes out finally, grabbing the desk to balance himself.
“What?” San asks, frowning. Realization is visible on his face as it dawns on him.
Wooyoung doesn’t realize he’s crying until San has walked to him and cupped his cheeks, his thumbs brushing away tears even as they keep falling.
“Baby, I’m still here,” San whispers, the frustration totally gone from his face now that he has an idea what Wooyoung is trying to hide.
“You weren’t,” Wooyoung argues. He tries to stop himself from blinking, trying to desperately hold onto the image of San looking at him.
Worried but unharmed. And most importantly, alive.
“But I am now. It wasn’t real. I’m here now. I’m sorry I wasn’t earlier, but I would never leave you.”
Wooyoung hates how much certainty San infuses these absolutes with. It’s never been I’ll stay here until I no longer can . It’s always I’m here forever . Always I’ll always love you, I’ll always take care of you .
If Wooyoung didn’t know him so well, he’d be shaking his head cynically, asking him how he can be so sure about always and forevers, but it’s San, San he has known since he stepped into this career, San who had skipped dinners when Wooyoung would too out of solidarity for training days gone wrong, San who has always pushed him to do better, who keeps him stable and grounded in the faith that had kickstarted it all, keeping him from drifting from the cause. They’ve grown up together, their hands in each others as they waded through the complexities of this field. There is no one Wooyoung trusts more.
Over the years, things have only brought them together, closer, more intense, driving the love they have for each other even deeper into their hearts.
"I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I ever lost you."
It's true. Wooyoung would die first than watch something happen to San. There is a lot he can handle in life. Nothing so far has been easy, but he has treaded through it all and come out alive.
"Young-ah, baby, I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. I'm here beside you. No matter what."
San's crying too now. It's so hard to make him cry. He's usually the one who stands tall even when Wooyoung can no longer do it.
"Why are you crying?"
Wooyoung knows the answer already, but his heart squeezes when San answers with what he always does.
"Because you are," San says, like Wooyoung has asked him a question so simple he doesn’t even have to think to answer it.
More than half the times Wooyoung has seen San cry, it's been because of his own tears. It's a testament to how much San loves him that he can't stand seeing him like this.
“You’re bleeding,” San tells him with a shaky voice just as Wooyoung registers something dripping down his nose. This has happened to both of them, when they put too much of themselves out there. They’re not beings running on infinite amounts of energy. It’s only normal for there to be repercussions, a reminder of how they’re still human despite their powers.
Wooyoung sways again, only staying on his feet because of San. His head is pounding away still, and he’s nauseous again, much more than he had been two minutes ago. San must catch on to his inability to move around because he half-carries him to the bed, grabbing the tissue box from their drawer with a wave of his hand.
“I’ll get some ice,” San tells him, but Wooyoung uses the hand that is not holding the tissues to his nose to grab his wrist. He shakes his head.
Stay with me.
“Young-ah, it’s just our kitchen,” San says, patient and calm.
“No, stay with me please,” Wooyoung says, pulling the tissues away to say it, sinking into himself when it comes out more feeble than he wanted it to.
San looks pained for a better half of a minute before he nods, settling down in front of him on his knees instead of the bed. Wooyoung won’t bleed out. It always stops on its own. The ice is just there to keep the illusion that they are doing something for each other even if they know it does nothing.
Wooyoung keeps looking at San through his wet hair even as he switches out tissues every now and then, San holding onto his knees with his warm hands. It’s such a compromising position, one they’ve both been on so many times, but it’s also a vulnerable one.
I’ll get down on my knees too, you know? Pray to every God out there just to keep you with me forever.
Loving San has always come with gargantuan amounts of fear. This isn’t new, but that’s the thing. Wooyoung shouldn’t get used to it. He never will.
He will wake up tomorrow breathing a little easier, coccooned in the warmth of San’s arms, his back to his chest and an array of reassurances again, but no one can take this terror away, this all-pervading feeling that you have experienced what it will feel like to have the one person you love with your entire life die in your arms.
Wooyoung can’t help it when the tears start again.
“Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” San asks, leaning closer, voice so much softer than before. This man has taught him how to love, laid out the landmarks in Wooyoung’s life and made sure he’s there for all of it. Wooyoung can’t imagine going on without him.
“I felt it, when you died,” Wooyoung whispers. He wishes he can take the tissue away and touch San with both his hands than one, but he’ll bleed over his lap if he does.
San’s face crumbles before he gathers himself.
“You need to stop doing this, Young-ah,” San breathes out, cupping Wooyoung’s face in his hands. Wooyoung can probably trace the evolution of San’s hands from when they were softer than Seonghwa’s to each and every callus that has formed over the smooth grooves from before. There are so many hours he has spent wanting to live right here, where San’s hands are on him and there is no danger signaled by the beep of a pager.
Wooyoung shakes his head.
“You can. You felt me die, but you’re still here, aren’t you? You’re dealing with it. You’re the strongest person I know, Young-ah. And I want you here with me, just as strong as you were today morning. I can’t be strong if you aren’t.”
San’s eyes on him are so filled with emotion, like Wooyoung is so important to him he’d watch the world fall apart if it meant saving him. He knows it’s true. They’re both too dedicated to each other for it to be not.
“I love you,” Wooyoung says, eyes closing when San kisses his forehead, his chapped lips lingering on the skin as he speaks the words against it like he wants to write it into Wooyoung so he’ll always remember.
It’s not like he’s ever going to forget. He would put himself through a hundred illusions like the ones today before he ever does.
It takes a few more minutes and several tissues before the bleeding finally stops. San maneuvers him to the bed properly, pulling him into a kiss that has Wooyoung shaking with the impact even if it tastes a little like blood, his toes curling and ribs aching with how much emotion San packs into it.
It’s easier after that, to let himself curl in on himself as San surrounds him with his own body, like a barrier against the world, against the fragmented images from today.
I’ll protect you if it’s the last thing I do , Wooyoung thinks, his hand reaching blindly behind him to touch San’s face. Sharp jaw, soft cheeks, long eyelashes. He’s still here.
“Young-ah, I’m here,” San whispers right against his ear.
Wooyoung nods, throat aching and eyes burning still.
“I know you are.”