Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Wooyoung wants to stop running.

He realized some time ago that, given the state of the world, long-term survival is an unrealistic dream to cling onto. He knows very well that, at some point, he won’t be able to run anymore. So then why does every instinct in his body yell at him to run faster than he has ever run before? Is it because death is staring right at him?

A sudden yank of his wrist makes his rampant thoughts come to a screeching halt. San snaps his head back for a split second, and seeing the fear on his face is enough for Wooyoung to regain his senses.

“Stop looking back and just run!” San yells at him briefly before turning away so he won’t run face first into a tree.

Wooyoung wants to stop running, but San won’t let him. 

He wants to scream but doesn’t know if that will alert the emotionless killing machine flying overhead. The black cube was unusually quiet when it cut through the air a few minutes ago. Wooyoung spotted it too late as they were skittering like rats on the outskirts of the forest, trying to keep a low profile. Now, all they can do is run. Run and hope that this godforsaken thing will lose them if they run fast enough or if they manage to find some enclosed space too narrow for that thing to follow them through. 

No, that won’t work. Wooyoung has seen some of the cubes alter their size to fit in through ventilation to carry out their missions. Even though the cube flying overhead is enormous, maybe even bigger than a football field, the possibility still eats away at Wooyoung’s sanity. 

Memories come flooding in. Waking up in a panic at the smell of burning flesh from survivors in another room easily takes first place among all the other traumatic events in his life. Wooyoung could do nothing but sit there and watch in horror as the people who had offered him and San shelter melted into nonexistence, but San was faster at recovering from the shock and somehow got him out of there. 

That was a week ago. Now, San is once again gripping Wooyoung’s hand tightly and running without a clear goal in mind, his head snapping left and right, trying to find a place to hide. The memories Wooyoung unearthed are now haunting him, overtaking his senses. He could smell the burning flesh from that day a little too vividly. He knows that goddamn cube is too high in the air to grill them and, even if distance wasn’t an issue, the temperature isn’t rising, but he still feels like he will melt away any minute now. 

Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain his senses, but he only realizes his mistake when he inevitably trips over an overgrown tree root. He yelps and stumbles forward, but San, forever caring and protective San, somehow catches him before he can face dive into the ground. Wooyoung grips San’s arm like it’s his lifeline—it might as well be—and pushes himself back up, but it’s already too late. 

A colossal shadow darkens the ground below them and he knows this is the end. Whatever that thing is, it’s right above them. Wooyoung can’t even lift his eyes to San’s face. He can’t even bring himself to mutter an apology. San kneels next to him, desperately wrapping his arms around Wooyoung, and all Wooyoung can do is grip San’s dirty hole-knit sweater until his knuckles go white and wail. He buries his head in San’s chest and cries the hardest he ever has. 

For a moment, he feels warmth on his skin again, and he thinks this is it, this is how we die, but then he realizes it’s just the sun as his vision turns slightly orange despite his eyes being squeezed shut. He chokes on his sobs, trying to muffle them now that the shadow above his head is no more.

“It’s gone,” San says. “It wasn’t even after us.”

Wooyoung finally blinks his eyes open to see his boyfriend staring at him in disbelief. San’s trembling lips barely form a smile. He is crying too, but with only one eye. His right pupil is a shade of bluish gray, meaning that San will never be able to see with that eye for the rest of his life, though Wooyoung will consider it a miracle if they manage to survive for one more week. He silently lifts a palm to San’s right cheek, staring directly into the source of his guilt. 

Wooyoung has always liked San’s soft, brown eyes. His heart breaks every time he remembers how he failed to protect the only person who matters to him. 

San gently takes Wooyoung’s hand away from his cheek and lets it rest over his chest. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “Don’t blame yourself. If that’s the price I had to pay to protect you, then I’ll pay it as many times as it takes.”

Wooyoung’s vision blurs from the tears he’s desperately trying to hold in. He bites his bottom lip to keep himself from wailing. Once again, he finds himself sobbing in San’s arms, but this time, there’s copper in his mouth. 

San lets him cry for only a few more seconds before carefully nudging him. 

“We can’t stay here,” he whispers as he runs a soothing hand over Wooyoung’s back. “It’s too risky.”

Wooyoung knows this, but some part of him wants to simply give up. He’s exhausted, dehydrated, and kind of starving. They wouldn’t even be in this goddamn forest to begin with if they managed to find food along the way. They tried their luck in the suburban areas, but all the houses were either looted or barricaded from the inside. At some point, San tried sneaking into a basement only for someone to almost bash his brains out with a baseball bat. Needless to say, they were glad to escape without injuries from the altercation. 

That doesn’t matter now. Wooyoung wipes his tears with muddy fingers. San, forever thoughtful, thumbs at Wooyoung’s cheeks afterward, getting rid of the mud and dirt on his face. Wooyoung wants to cry, or maybe thank him, or both, but decides to stay silent. He gets up on his feet, with San following shortly after, their fingers firmly interlocked as they hold hands. 

The forest is so eerily quiet, Wooyoung jumps when he steps on a rather crunchy leaf. 

“Don’t you find it weird?” he whispers, prompting San to turn his head back to see him. However, Wooyoung is currently on San’s right, so San can’t see him. His heart constricts, but he wordlessly switches sides, gripping San’s hand tighter than before. 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific about that,” San says with a glint of humor in his voice. “The world’s been fucked for…” He pauses for a bit. “Has it been a month already? I can’t tell.”

“There’s no birds. No lizards moving around. Not a single critter. It’s dead quiet.”

As if the whole world is dead.  

San doesn’t say anything, but he picks up the pace. 

“Do you think those things want to eradicate all life on earth and not just the people?” Wooyoung continues, feeling anxiety eat away at his heart. “Does that make sense?”

He almost loses his balance when San suddenly stops in place. He looks up, expecting to see San angry at him, or at least tired to some extent of Wooyoung’s ramblings, but all San does is offer a sad little smile. 

“I don’t think common sense applies to those things, love.” 

San lifts a hair to Wooyoung’s long blonde bangs, trying to make him look somewhat presentable even though it’s full of dirt and grease from not washing it for a week (and Wooyoung is reluctant to call dropping his head under a stream of water in a sink the equivalent of washing his hair). 

He eventually shakes his head, prompting San to drop his hand. “I’m sorry for talking nonsense. Let’s keep going.”

San drops his gaze to the ground. “No need to be sorry. I have those thoughts too.”

You just don’t say them out loud, Wooyoung thinks. San probably does that to not freak Wooyoung out even more than he already is. After all, there’s not much they can do given their current situation. San is considerate enough to not let his boyfriend know his worries. Meanwhile, Wooyoung has been directly funneling all of his negativity onto San, as if the man doesn’t already have enough on his plate. Wooyoung’s guilt increases, and he feels like throwing up.

Eventually, they make it to the building they saw through the trees earlier—the mall on the outskirts of town. This place was bustling with people and flooded with commercials and shitty radio music just a month ago, but now it’s just as silent as the world around them. San says he saw the cube fly over the building while Wooyoung still had his head buried in his chest. Neither of them says anything else. The mall is huge, so at least it won’t be too hard to find or make a shelter secluded enough to not be spotted so easily. 

Since it’s getting dark, it’s better to be inside. He and San can’t see well in the dark, but those things probably can.

They make it past a pool of stale, green water, the smell so putrid it makes Wooyoung gag. He doesn’t want to look, but the smell is too foul for there not to be a corpse nearby. San, however, does look in that direction. He whips his head back in record time, his grip tightening on Wooyoung’s hand. 

As they walk in through a side door, the hinges squeak a bit too loud for comfort. Even though they’re not sure those cubes can hear anything, they still look around in a moment of panic. But the building is quiet, the horrifying deep hum that those things make nowhere to be heard. Relieved, Wooyoung lets out a staccato exhale as San looks around, searching for something. He spots a discarded broom on the floor not too far away and hooks it through the door hand grips.

“What if others come looking for shelter here as well?” Wooyoung asks.

San looks at him, his lips tightening into a straight line. “That’s too bad. We need to block all the exits to make sure no one gets in. If anyone tries to hurt you again, I won’t hesitate to snap their neck.”

Wooyoung can’t help but stare into San’s blind eye. He knows what San is alluding to, and he feels sick to the stomach. But before he can replay that awful memory, San’s face softens, and he quickly closes the distance to wrap his arms around Wooyoung.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice warm and calm right next to Wooyoung’s ear. “I’m right here.”

Wooyoung hugs him back, his fingers slipping into the holes of San’s sweater and leaving little red indentations on the skin. “But you’re blind in one eye.”

“It’s not so bad,” San says, and Wooyoung can feel him smile against his neck. “I’ve gotten used to it already.”

“San—”

Wooyoung moves his hands from San’s back and brings them to his chest, pushing him away slightly. San doesn’t fight it. Instead, he lifts his head from Wooyoung’s neck to allow his boyfriend to inspect his face. 

Despite all the grime and dried blood on his face, San is still beautiful. His black hair is messy and, if the world was still normal, he would immediately book an appointment at a hair salon. He moved on from his slightly long hair he had a few years ago and has been determined to keep it a lot shorter since then. His lips are chapped, but he still makes Wooyoung’s pulse pick up whenever he flashes as little as a soft smile. He has a cute, straight nose, and a jawline so sharp, Wooyoung used to tease him that he got paper cuts from tracing the outline with his fingertips. 

But what Wooyoung has always liked the most about San’s face were his warm and dark brown eyes, the softest Wooyoung’s ever seen. He’s lost count how many times his heart broke whenever he saw that gray and slightly blue shade over San’s right eye. Because if Wooyoung didn’t wander off when he shouldn’t have, then San would still see with both eyes today. 

He brings a trembling hair to San’s right cheek, right below the affected area. His lips quiver, and there are so many things he wants to say, but he finds himself unable to voice them. There is an avalanche of apologies stuck in his throat, one that he cannot bring himself to let out. He doesn’t know what hurts more: not saying anything or telling San everything that is currently wearing him down, knowing that it won’t change a damn thing. 

San offers him another sad smile and brings Wooyoung’s hand to his lips, kissing it as a form of reassurance. 

“We’ll talk later,” he says, the lingering smile on his face now widening, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. The world has changed, but the way San looks at Wooyoung hasn’t. He gives one final squeeze to Wooyoung’s hands before the softness finally melts from his features and his tone becomes serious once again. 

“First things first, we need to find all exits and do the same thing I did to that door. It’s gonna be tricky since there are a lot of emergency exits in a mall, I’m pretty sure. We can use pretty much any long, sturdy object to wind up through the hand grips of doors and keep anyone from walking in. If not, I can look for something heavy to push and block the exits. Once we’re done, we should look for food and bottled water. Maybe if we’re lucky, there’s still water running.”

Wooyoung sniffs and wipes one final tear from his cheek. Having something to do makes it easier to not think about the world ending and all that. “Okay,” he says with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

They leave the small corridor behind and walk in the main area of the mall. There are chairs and tables knocked over everywhere around them, probably remnants of an open lounge that used to greet visitors as soon as they walked into the shopping area. Escalators lead to the upper floors on both sides, though they are naturally no longer in motion. Tall, white wall-like railings make it hard to tell what’s on each floor, their exaggerated height probably a safety measure to prevent accidents. Not like that matters anymore. Sunlight peers through the glass ceiling overhead, falling right onto—

Oh.

Wooyoung’s heart dives right into his stomach. He feels like he’s about to throw up, though he would only vomit bile because he hasn’t eaten in god knows how long. 

This mountain of clothes isn’t the largest one he’s seen yet. He spotted one three times the size of this one when he and San were trying to make it out of the heart of the city in the first few days after the world plunged into chaos. 

Wooyoung knows what that pile of clothes signifies. He feels it mocking him, beckoning him to join it. He doesn’t want to, but deep down, he knows he won’t have a choice in the end. 

He’s never had a choice in his life, so why would that change now?

He snaps out of it when San pulls him into an embrace, the hand at the back of Wooyoung’s head making it so he can’t turn his head from San’s chest. 

“Don’t look,” San murmurs, his lips grazing Wooyoung’s hair. “We’ll be fine. I’ll try my hardest to make sure of it.”

Wooyoung stops himself from scoffing. He knows San’s declaration is supposed to be more of a reassurance rather than a promise, but he still wants to call him out for it. However, taking his anger out on the only person he’s ever loved, the only person who would do anything for him is not a wise decision to make. Wooyoung wants to cry from feeling this way, but exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration are slowly taking him apart. He’s more irritable than he has ever been, but San’s soothing motions on his back and his nose ruffling Wooyoung’s hair make exhaustion prevail over hopelessness. He wraps his arms around San weakly, breathing him in to calm down. 

Suddenly, he hears a bone-chilling rumble that makes him forget how to breathe. His head snaps up from San’s chest. Sure enough, the outline of a cube, bigger than the one they saw in the forest, peaks through one of the corners of the glass ceiling. 

San pretty much yanks Wooyoung from where they’re standing. Wooyoung almost loses his balance, but he runs to wherever San is guiding him. They bolt for a bar of the nearby ruined lounge, the counter not wide enough to cover them as they shuffle to hide underneath it. They can see the cube’s outline clear as day if they glance up. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know if it can see them, but they have no choice but to stay here. If they run, they might get spotted. If they get spotted, then it’s over. 

He tries his hardest to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, but the sunlight revealing his bruised knees proves it impossible. Wooyoung was never religious at any point in his life, but he prays to anything or anyone who cares enough to listen to him that he and San will go by unnoticed. He closes his eyes, unwilling to stare at death in the eye for the second time today if that thing decides to descend and end them. 

But that doesn’t happen. He doesn’t even realize that San has been calling his name until gentle hands shake his shoulders to bring him back to reality. 

“Wooyoung.” San sounds so broken that Wooyoung doesn’t recognize him for a second. He blinks in hopes of his vision clearing, only for tears to fall from his eyes. He didn’t realize he was crying. 

Wooyoung suddenly remembers the cube and frantically looks up at the sky through the glass ceiling, but—

“It’s gone,” San says. He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how out in the open we were.”

Wooyoung doesn’t understand. “Why are you apologizing? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I just… froze in place when I saw it. I shouldn’t have.”

San tucks Wooyoung’s long bangs behind his ear and reaches for his hands, thumb caressing his lover’s knuckles. “Don’t apologize for being human. Come on.” San gets up, pulling Wooyoung up with him. “We need to take care of the exits if we want to stay here for now.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Like we have anywhere else to go.”

San looks at him blankly for a second. “Exactly. Let’s try to avoid all the windows, shall we?”

📷

San lost his eye protecting Wooyoung. 

Well, he didn’t exactly lose it. It’s still technically there, but he can no longer see with it. For a while, Wooyoung remained hopeful. He truly believed San’s eyesight might eventually return to his affected eye. But at some point, he realized he was delusional. San will never see again with his right eye, and it was all Wooyoung’s fault. 

He remembers the oppressive hunger that seemed to drill a hole into his stomach. It was so bad, he couldn’t think of anything else. They couldn’t find anything to eat for days, so they had to split what little they had in very small rations. Everything they found was looted, spoiled, or rotten. 

He was exhausted, too. He and San would take turns sleeping, though even finding a safe place to sleep was difficult. Most of the time they broke into buildings and laid down a blanket to sleep on, their backpacks serving as makeshift pillows. But even though Wooyoung was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, every time he went to sleep, he would inevitably wake up with a jolt, his heart hammering in his ribcage and his breathing labored. San would wrap his arms around him and try to shush him back to sleep, but Wooyoung knew he couldn’t fall asleep again. He would only calm down after burying his face into San’s chest to listen to the other’s heartbeat. By synching his own heartbeat to his lover’s, the rest of the world around them no longer mattered. That way, Wooyoung was at peace. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

But hunger eventually won. When San fell asleep next to him, Wooyoung started panicking again. Hunger was a vicious beast, eating away at his thoughts in the absence of food. All he knew was that he had to eat something, anything, or he would surely go crazy. He had been taking sips of water from time to time to appease his stomach, but he couldn’t afford to do that forever. Plus, they couldn’t waste water since the chances of retaining access to running water were dimming by the day. 

He got up slowly, careful not to wake San up. San had also been very jittery in his sleep lately, so it was a miracle that Wooyoung didn’t wake him. Wooyoung pushed the door to the small room they were in and looked around. It was daytime, so he could somewhat see in the dark enclosure, though he knew better than to approach the windows. He pulled the strap of his backpack around his shoulder, hesitating in the doorway. 

Wooyoung would do anything to go back in time and stop himself from walking out of that room. He would have eaten his own arm if it meant he could sate his hunger and keep San safe. 

But he couldn’t do that. He recalls walking down the corridor, looking through lockers and cupboards, almost jumping with joy when he found some dried fruits, biscuits, and peanuts stashed away by someone who probably liked snacking during their breaks. Maybe if he hadn’t been so hungry, he would have realized he wasn’t alone. Maybe if he’d waited for a bit longer, the stranger would have left. Maybe that way, San wouldn’t have had to run in to protect him when the stranger demanded Wooyoung’s supplies while holding a knife to his throat. 

San had stormed in at the perfect time. Wooyoung hadn’t made any noise, so San probably woke up from a nightmare or because he felt something was off. The stranger really stood no chance. San charged at him and clocked him in the jaw, sending him flying into a line of lockers on the wall. He grabbed the man by the collar and threw him to the ground before climbing over him and treating his face like a sandbag. 

Why didn’t Wooyoung just let San kill that guy with his bare fists? He should have, but he had never seen San so angry. His punches were driven by an unfamiliar violence and a clear intent to kill. San was strong, so it was entirely possible that he could kill that man. Maybe that’s why Wooyoung got so scared. He couldn’t see San become a shell of what he was, driven by cruelty and emptied of humanity. If that happened, then Wooyoung had no reason to keep living. He believed that losing San this way would be worse than watching him die. 

So Wooyoung did what he thought was best. He screamed for San to stop, but San didn’t seem to hear him no matter how much Wooyoung cried and begged. 

But San eventually stopped. He slowly turned to look back at Wooyoung. The splattered drops of blood on his face should have made him look terrifying, but the hopelessness and fear in his eyes broke Wooyoung’s heart into pieces. When they made eye contact, San burst into tears. 

“I thought I lost you,” he said through the tears, the pain audible in his voice. “I woke up and you were gone.”

Wooyoung was speechless. He tried to mumble an apology, an excuse, anything, but he choked on his words and nothing came out. He couldn’t even scream to warn San about the canister that the man managed to take out of a coat pocket, but San must have realized something was wrong from Wooyoung’s wide eyes. 

Maybe if San hadn’t turned around to see what was wrong, his eye would still be fine.

The canister bounced off the floor. A white spray fizzled out of it, right in front of San’s face. 

The rest is history. 

“I can hear you from all the way over here,” San tells him.

Wooyoung snaps back from his thoughts. He takes a look around to remember what they are supposed to be doing. They’re in a narrow and dark corridor, a green EXIT sign above the last door they need to block. Not all doors had the same handles as the one they walked through, so they had to improvise in some cases. And by improvise, Wooyoung means that San had to carry furniture around to keep those doors from ever opening from the outside while Wooyoung stood around. Even though Wooyoung offered to help, San wouldn’t have it, so he decided to do nothing and eventually lost himself in the memories. 

“I didn’t even say anything,” Wooyoung counters, looking at San with a hint of worry in his eyes. Did San hear anything? Was he imagining stuff? 

San gives one final push to the armchair he stole from a nearby café and flashes a small smile. He walks to where Wooyoung sits perched on a table and places his palms on either side of his lover, slightly leaning forward.

“Hey.”

Wooyoung instinctively relaxes at the sound of San’s soothing voice. It brings back memories of San nudging him awake in the morning for his shift. 

Wooyoung’s face briefly breaks into a sad smile, which San returns, though warmer and sweeter. It’s a smile that feels somewhat wrong because it reminds Wooyoung of happier times, but he can’t help being drawn to it. 

San lifts a hand and briefly touches Wooyoung’s hand, probably to stop him from constantly tugging at his lip piercing. Wooyoung didn’t even realize he was doing that. “You were thinking too much again.”

Wooyoung blinks. “Is that why you said I’m loud?”

“Yeah.” 

Wooyoung sighs, relieved. So San wasn’t losing it. Yet. 

But San picks up on the slight tremble in Wooyoung’s voice because he leans closer, his eyes searching for the source of distress. “Do you want to talk?”

Wooyoung looks down. It’s been hard to look San in the eye lately. How could it not be? Every time he looks at San’s face, he remembers what happened, remembers that this is his fault. He can’t even bring himself to apologize because no words could make up for the consequences of his selfish actions. If he could drain the sorrows from his heart and show them to San, show him how sorry he is, he’d do it. But he can’t, so he remains quiet.

San pulls him away from his spiraling thoughts once again by gently tapping next to the ring on the left side of Wooyoung’s bottom lip. 

Wooyoung looks up at him, the tension in his muscles loosening slightly. “Remember when you hated it?” he asks, pointing weakly at his piercing.

San chuckles. “I only hated it because I couldn’t kiss you until it healed. An entire month, Young-ah.”

Wooyoung can’t argue with that. He finds himself smiling before realizing he’s doing that. For a few moments, he doesn’t feel guilt eat away at his insides. San's smile gets wider as he leans forward even more, their noses bumping slightly, prompting a small laugh from both of them. He traces Wooyoung’s jawline with his fingertips, his touch sending shivers to Wooyoung's spine even though San’s barely touching him. Wooyoung wants more. He senses that San is taking this slow because he might think Wooyoung doesn’t want this, but his love for San exceeds any other longing or desire, even his hunger. 

Wooyoung leans forward just enough to capture San’s hesitant lips into a kiss. San immediately reciprocates, the hand that was tracing idle lines on Wooyoung’s jaw now traveling to the back of his head to tug at his hair and pull him closer. Wooyoung makes the slide of lips smoother by running his tongue over San’s chapped lips. As if on cue, San opens his mouth slightly, allowing Wooyoung to slip his tongue past his lips, licking and prodding with a hunger that’s somehow much more intense than the one exhibited by his stomach. It sets his skin ablaze, making his heart heavy and stealing the air from his lungs, though this last part could be attributed to him refusing to pull back for air for more than a split second. He feels like a wolf in a sheep’s den, looking for prey to take and consume until he’s full. 

It’s been so long since he had his mouth on San, tasted him, felt San’s fingertips grazing his skin. Grief and nostalgia incite him to keep going, his fingers pushing up San’s sweater. He realizes how much he has missed intimacy and pleasure, so much that he’s seconds away from begging San to push him down and fuck him on this dusty table in a dark corridor mall, but something else rests uneasy inside his heart, something other than lust. Wooyoung can’t tell what that is at first since all of his senses are overwhelmed with San to the point where nothing else in the world might exist other than the two of them, but when he pulls back to take a real breath of air, the source of his crippling guilt is staring right back at him through fluttering eyelashes. 

San kisses him again and decides to take the lead, pulling him gently by the hips until their chests are flush and dragging his hands down Wooyoung’s thighs until he’s caged between them. The firm but caring touches, the soft gasps and noises that San lets out, the adoration engraved in every brush of his fingertips and slide of tongue is very familiar and tender to Wooyoung, but he suddenly feels so sick, he wants to jump out of his skin. He tries to drown out the anxiety weighing in his heart, but he ends up drowning instead. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a sob slips from his mouth and San pulls away, clearly worried. 

Wooyoung immediately pulls his hands from San’s back and looks away, trying his hardest to keep more tears from falling, but failing miserably. Before he knows it, streams of tears are running down his cheeks. Some part of him briefly wonders if he’ll ever stop crying now that the floodgates are open. 

San wastes no time and wraps his arms around Wooyoung, hugging him tightly, like he never wants to let go. Out of habit perhaps, Wooyoung rests his head on San’s chest, which contradicts the feeling in his chest that screams at him to push San away. He does no such thing though, maybe out of exhaustion, or maybe because he’s selfish and San’s warmth brings him some degree of peace. A part of Wooyoung wants to hug San back, but the other part of him feels undeserving of doing such a thing, so he fights the urge to return the embrace by clenching his fists so tightly on his knees until his knuckles turn white. 

San rubs soothing motions on his back and kisses the crown of his head until Wooyoung is no longer shaking with sobs. Even after his tear ducts dry and he remains silent, San still says nothing. Wooyoung dreads the moment his boyfriend will inevitably break the silence. He wants to run away, but can’t. There’s nowhere to run anyway, unless he wants to march straight toward his death, and he would never do that to San.

But San still doesn’t speak. Wooyoung panics even more. Is San mad at him? The answer comes in the form of a gentle touch at the back of his neck, somewhat reminiscent of the massages San used to give him every time Wooyoung suffered from those migraines that have been plaguing him for his whole life. He melts into the touch, yearning for better times. But by doing that, he lowers his guard so much that San places a finger under his chin and gently lifts his head so they can see eye to eye.

Wooyoung immediately turns away. San gets closer, his breath warm on Wooyoung’s cheek. 

“Wooyoung.” San tucks a strand of blonde hair behind his boyfriend’s ear. “Young-ah.” He gets closer, the tip of his nose bumping softly into Wooyoung’s jawline. “Love, it’s breaking my heart that you won’t even look at me.”

Wooyoung feels physically ill for a second. It sounds like all hope has been drained out of San. The only time Wooyoung has ever heard him sound like this were those moments before he lost vision in one eye. 

“Does my appearance really disgust you so much that you can’t hold my gaze for more than a few seconds?”

Wooyoung immediately snaps his attention at San. “What? No.” 

While wailing in self-loath and anguish, he completely forgot how San might interpret his tendency to avoid eye contact except for brief glances. He cups San’s cheeks, framing the other man’s face with his palms before pulling him closer.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, both inside and outside. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you and you know that. I’ve never met anyone kinder than you. Or sexier. If we didn’t have to hide our relationship, I would have boasted about you everywhere I went as the most caring boyfriend. That’s how proud I am for you.”

Wooyoung pauses to sniff. Turns out his tear ducts weren’t so dry after all. His fingers brush gently at San’s right cheek, right below his blind eye. He barely swallows the lump in his throat, but he keeps going. 

“I should have let you kill that bastard.”

San smiles sadly as he brings a hand to his own face, placing it over Wooyoung’s. “Because I would have been fine if I killed him?”

Wooyoung nods. San’s smile somehow becomes even sadder. 

“I didn’t want to kill him, but I did want to knock him unconscious. Though, looking back at what happened, I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He pauses to move Wooyoung’s hand to his lips, pressing a small kiss over the bony knuckles. “I know you feel guilty about what happened to me. Think about it this way: that canister could have blinded me for good. It might have blinded you. I could have missed knocking the knife out of that guy’s hand and I would have been stabbed. Or maybe I wouldn’t have woken up when I did and I would have found you in a pool of blood, cold and motionless on the floor when I would have gone looking for you later.”

Wooyoung shudders at San’s last scenario. He can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain he would have caused San if he got himself killed in vain like that. 

San presses another kiss to Wooyoung’s knuckles. “We can’t change the past, Young-ah, no matter how much we want to. What’s done is done. You didn’t know this was going to happen, nor did you plan for this. I don’t blame you for what happened and I never will. I was only protecting you, and I will do it again if I have the chance. I would even go to the ends of the earth if that means keeping you safe.”

Wooyoung is crying again. He wants to argue with San, push him away, prove him wrong somehow, but he can’t. He knows San is right, so the only thing he can do is accept defeat.

San embraces him again, less tightly than before but just as affectionately. “I can sit here and tell you to stop worrying, that there’s nothing to feel guilty about, but you and I both know that’s not going to solve anything. What I want you to know, however, is that I have no regrets. I managed to keep you safe and that’s the only thing that matters to me. Do you understand?”

Wooyoung nods against San’s shoulder. He pushes back just enough to see San’s face again, though the tears clinging to his eyelashes make it hard to see. “Why go to such lengths for me?”

San smiles, but there’s no hint of sadness in this smile, only pure affection. “Because you’re the only one that matters. The only one who has ever mattered to me.” 

Some part of Wooyoung feels undeserving of that, but he swallows his words. He has no energy to argue, and he knows he won’t win this argument, not against San. He pushes back against the other’s chest and stares at the source of his guilt once again.

“What even happened to you?” he asks, tracing the burnt skin under San’s blind eye.

San grimaces. “Tear gas is very dangerous.”

Wooyoung remembers the sting he felt in his eyes when the gas sprayed out of the canister, how his throat constricted when he inhaled it. Thankfully, he managed to drag San out before more harm could be done. “I didn’t know it could blind people.”

“Love,” San says with a chuckle, “it sprayed me almost point blank in the eye. I’m lucky it didn’t burn half my face off.”

Wooyoung averts his gaze in favor of burying his head once again in San’s chest. “Why did that guy have a tear gas canister on him?”

San sighs and wraps his arms around him loosely. “Might have been a cop. He seemed strong enough to be one. Plus, that knife he had wasn’t ordinary. Wish I managed to steal it before…”

He trails off. 

Wooyoung rubs his nose in the holes of San’s sweater. “You kicked a cop’s ass that badly?”

“He was weak,” San says nonchalantly.

“So were you.”

“I was protecting you.”

This time, San pushes Wooyoung gently by the shoulders so the other will stop hiding in his chest. He tilts Wooyoung’s chin up so he can slot his lips against his once more, the kiss so much softer than before.

Wooyoung’s stomach revolts at the emptiness. The loud noises make him break the kiss with a pout. He instinctively laughs instead of being embarrassed, and even he gets surprised how easy that laugh bubbles out of him. 

San lets out a small laugh as well. “Let’s go find some food,” he suggests.

“Mhm. And some toothpaste. Your breath fucking stinks,” Wooyoung says, his smile growing wider. 

San frowns, but he can’t keep a smile from forming on his lips. “And some toothpaste. Maybe. If the shelves aren’t looted. Though, would people still care about oral hygiene at the end of the world?"

📷

They go back to the first floor hand in hand, mindful of the glass ceiling above them and staying as far away from the windows as possible. Wooyoung scans the shops for anything to eat, but there’s nothing of that sort, only clothes and shoes and athletic equipment. There’s a supermarket located at the back of the mall, so they need to make it there if they want to have a chance at actually finding food. 

Wooyoung feels his mind wander. He’s not exactly paying attention to where they’re going, leaving himself at San’s mercy to drag him around wherever. His reflection stares him back from the shop windows, the bleached bangs messily getting in his eyes contrasting the rest of his black hair. He can see the beginning of a mullet poking out from the back of his neck, the strands also bleached. Normally, he wouldn’t have let his hair grow so much, but it’s not like getting haircuts is a priority right now. He got his hair dyed not even a week before what seemed to be the apocalypse. At least he doesn’t regret spending so much money anymore.

San’s footsteps falter a little when they approach a jewelry store, but he quickly makes haste. However, a few seconds later, he stops walking entirely. Wooyoung sees his boyfriend’s reflection in the window shop next to him, staring right ahead. 

Wooyoung gives their intertwined hands a light squeeze. “Something wrong?”

San blinks, shaking his head a little. “Not… exactly. Just got a weird feeling for a bit.” He tilts his head left and right, leaning forward slightly. “Doesn’t this place look… off to you?”

“Off?” Wooyoung frowns, trying to pinpoint what made San so fixated on this shop in particular. He looks up and makes out the name—Horizon Portal, the huge red letters say. Some of them are missing, the faint white outline left behind spelling out the full name. It hasn’t been that long since the world ended, maybe not even a month, but the place seemed to be in a much worse state than all the other shops. 

San cocks his head to take a closer look inside. “What were they even selling here?”

Old posters are glued to the walls, advertising… Wooyoung isn’t sure what. They’re all in English, and they don’t seem to be connected to one another. Some repeat themselves. There’s an old TV set up on a stage, but that’s about it. In a corner, there’s a mannequin sitting with one leg over the other, her wig covering her eyes. Her hands are positioned as if she’s supposed to be holding something, but there’s nothing in her lap. 

Wooyoung approaches to inspect the mannequin even though there’s nothing wrong with it at first glance. It’s not creepy or unsettling, but if San stopped here for a reason, it had to be because of this, right? There’s nothing else here other than old TVs lining up the shelves. 

Wooyoung looks around for a bit more, but there doesn’t seem to be anything of interest here. And then he spots it. In the back of the shop, there’s another emergency exit, though nothing can be seen outside because of all the grime on the glass doors. How did they miss this when they walked around the mall for hours, looking for exits to block off?

He gives a tentative push against the doors, but they don’t budge. Not even the hand grips move, as if they’re a very sturdy decoration and not actual means of opening the door. Wooyoung applies a little bit more force but immediately gives up. He doesn’t have a lot of strength left, but if he can’t open it from this side, then no one from the outside should be able to do that either. 

He hears San call out to him from behind. “Young-ah, turn around for a bit.”

Wooyoung lets his arms drop, his biceps tense from the effort. He turns to face San and sees a video camera in his hands, the red light just beneath the lens showing that it still has batteries. San’s eyebrows fly into his hairline as he films Wooyoung. The model seems very old, eerily familiar to the first camera Wooyoung bought secondhand when he was in middle school. It had recorded some good memories until one day it decided to not turn on anymore. 

He stands in place, feeling scrutinized under San’s heavy gaze. It seems like San wants to say something from the way his lips keep parting, though no words are coming out.

“Wooyoung,” he eventually manages, his voice quiet and fragile, “You’re breathtaking.”

Wooyoung snorts, not expecting that, though he smiles slightly. “Sannie, my clothes have mud all over them and my hair looks like a bird’s nest. You don’t have to—”

San cuts him off with a desperation Wooyoung hasn’t heard before, not even when they were running from the cubes in the city to survive. “I mean it.” He hands over the camera with a slight tremble in his hands. “Film me and you’ll understand. I mean, I hope so. I hope I’m not the only one—seeing that.”

Wooyoung frowns. He involuntarily takes a step back upon seeing the foreign emotion in San’s eye. Distrust settles in Wooyoung’s mind, though he regrets doubting San immediately because the other man’s face falls when he realizes the gravity of that reaction. Wooyoung immediately recovers, walking toward San with rushed footsteps. He reaches for the camera, what San said still echoing in his mind. 

Wooyoung prays. Please, don’t lose yourself. Stay sane. For me.

He gasps when he peeps through the viewfinder.

The San that the camera picks up doesn’t have a blind eye or burns on his cheekbone or above his eyebrow. He doesn’t have cuts and bruises on his face, neck, and hands. His lips aren’t chapped from dehydration and lack of his favorite cherry lip balm (which was coincidentally also Wooyoung’s). His hair is clean and brushed like he just walked out of a salon instead of messy and tangled. The hole-knit sweater that he picked up from a random broken-in house in the city isn’t dirty and dusty in places, but white as snow.

Wooyoung almost drops the camera because of how much his hands are trembling. He looks up at San, then back through the viewfinder. He does this several times, not sure what to believe. He briefly wishes that the image the camera shows would somehow transfer to reality, but he shakes his head at the absurdity of it all. 

San approaches him slowly, trying to take the camera from Wooyoung’s shaky hands. His gestures are careful and uncertain, like Wooyoung will break from a mere touch because he has cracks all over. 

But Wooyoung doesn’t give it up. He holds it fiercely, though he loosens his iron grip once the fear of accidentally breaking it crosses his mind. San lets his hands drop on Wooyoung’s wrists, his thumbs caressing the skin there. 

“What did you see?” Wooyoung asks, or maybe he doesn’t, because San hums in confusion, asking him what’s wrong. There’s no way San didn’t hear him given how close they are. Wooyoung tries again, but his mouth feels weird, like it’s stuffed with cotton. The words feel like boulders on his tongue. “I asked, what did you see?” 

He finally looks up to see San beaming at him. “You didn’t look that different. Cleaner. Your hair looked styled.” He lifts a hand and begins to gently stroke Wooyoung’s hair. “And you didn’t seem to be in pain.”

Wooyoung swallows the sob that he almost lets out. He feels tears well in his eyes. He’s sick of crying, it’s all he’s been doing lately, so he tries to blink these tears away too. 

He picks up the camera again and turns it on, aiming it straight at San’s face. There are no scars, no bruises, no permanent damage there based on the camera’s warped perspective. Wooyoung places a hand on San’s scarred cheek, feeling the burnt tissue under his fingertips, but the camera tells him there’s only flawless skin there. 

His vision becomes blurry, so he puts the camera down. He’s crying again. San finally takes the device from Wooyoung’s hands and embraces him until his sobs die out.

“Are we going crazy?” Wooyoung asks from the crook of San’s neck. 

It takes a while for San to respond. “I don’t know.”

📷

“There’s no way there’s not a single drop of food left.”

Wooyoung delivers a swift kick to the empty aisle shelf, making the whole thing rattle so badly, he thinks it’s gonna topple over and fall. To his growing frustration, that doesn’t happen. He lifts his leg to kick it again, but a hand wraps around his wrist, tugging him back.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” San tells him gently. 

“I don’t care.” Wooyoung shakes his wrist free from San’s grip, watching the other man’s face fall slightly. He drops to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. The hunger is making him jittery and desperate. Like clockwork, all the food in the supermarket section is spoiled, rotten, or gone. 

Wooyoung swears he can feel his stomach caving in. Their supplies ran out yesterday. Leaving this place isn’t an option since it’s going to be dark soon, and sleeping under the stars is a death sentence. They can’t leave, at least not until the morning. 

He hugs his knees tighter to his chest so he won’t kick at the shelves again. He knows he’s throwing a tantrum, but he couldn’t care less. 

Wooyoung lets his forehead rest on his knees, defeated. He feels San sit down next to him and knows that he will let his head fall on Wooyoung’s shoulder. And that’s exactly what happens.

Wooyoung expects San to either tell him the same bullshit, that they’re going to be okay, or to scold him for acting like a child. Wooyoung isn’t the only one who has his nerves stretched to the max, so he expects San to snap at him sooner or later. Surprisingly, San doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t snake an arm around Wooyoung’s waist or try to pet his hair. He exhales, sounding just as defeated as Wooyoung.

It’s dead quiet, their breaths the only sound in the empty building that used to bustle with thousands of people. Now, it’s just the two of them. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know how to feel about this. He feels like he’s falling into an endless abyss, so he searches for San’s hand without looking up. He finds it and receives a firm squeeze in response. Suddenly, he’s no longer falling. He’s anchored, tethered to his lifeline. He won’t sink, not as long as San is still here.

It takes a while for Wooyoung's breathing to return to normal. When he looks up, he blinks away the fresh tears as he lets his head rest over San’s head, which is still perched on his shoulder.

San licks his lips tentatively before saying, “You know, if you really don’t find any food—Ow!” He rubs the spot on his chest where Wooyoung just jabbed him.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Wooyoung says, still pointing a finger at him as a warning.

“Oh, so it’s too early for the cannibalism jokes?”

Wooyoung reels back, eyes bulging. “What?”

San raises his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding! Why are you so shocked? What did you think I was going to say if not that?”

Wooyoung blinks. “I don’t know, I thought that you would make a dirty joke, something among the lines of me sucking you off and eating your cum? Not that?”

San’s eyebrows go as high as they possibly can before he bursts into laughter. Wooyoung wants to pinch him in revenge, but he realizes he hasn’t heard that genuine laugh bubble out of San in so long. His shoulders slump and all the misery in his heart increases exponentially, but there’s also a warmth expanding in his chest, spurred by San’s sincere laugh, so a smile creeps on Wooyoung’s face despite trying to fight it. Before he realizes, a chuckle is also stirring in his lungs before it erupts in boisterous waves.  

Once Wooyoung’s laughter dies down, he lets his head drop on San’s chest, relishing in the warmth emanating from his boyfriend’s skin, which denotes that he’s still alive. He sighs and says, “We were so worried about getting boiled alive by those things that we forgot to consider the possibility of starvation. And I am not eating you, San, don’t ever joke about that.”

“But you laughed,” San says with a pout. 

“Yeah, because I have some screws loose in my head with the whole world ending and all that. And so do you for even suggesting that.”

San purses his lips. “So you’re not gonna consider eating me?” Wooyoung shoots him a glare, so he quickly reconsiders. “I mean, not even in the sexy way?”

Wooyoung stares at him judgmentally for a long time before saying, “Not even in the sexy way? What are you, fifteen?” He scoffs, though he can’t pretend not to be at least a little bit amused. “Fuck, you’re so stupid.”

San gets up with a groan, extending an arm for Wooyoung to take. “Well, you’ve always been the smart one in this relationship.”

Wooyoung gets up with a huff. “Not true. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“You never knew that many people,” San says, though he winces once he realizes the implications of his words. 

Wooyoung cups his face, offering him a sad but content smile. “That’s true. Now, Sannie, do you have any suggestions for where we can get some actual food? Anything that doesn’t involve me turning into Hannibal Lecter?”

“I saw a restaurant in the other wing. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something there.”

Wooyoung sighs, dropping his hands from San’s face to his shoulder before dragging them down his arms. San picks up on his lover’s intentions and intertwines their fingers as soon as Wooyoung’s hands reach his, giving a squeeze of assurance. 

Wooyoung nudges him forward. “Lead the way, mountain boy. If I get some actual nutrients in my belly, I’ll give you a celebratory blowjob.”

San picks up the pace. 

📷

Wooyoung is using a fork to scratch the plate in front of him that has leftover one-month-old sauce on it. 

“Stop that,” San calls out from the restaurant’s kitchen. The fridge is empty, so he tries his luck with the freezer. He makes a gagging noise before closing it. 

Wooyoung whips his head around. “Found something?”

“There’s some frozen meat in here. Was.”

San continues rummaging through the cupboards, emerging victorious with some ramyun noodles. Wooyoung still says nothing. He continues scratching the plate. 

“I sense a hint of irritation coming from you,” San says. 

“You would be correct.”

“I found you food.”

“And how are we going to boil the noodles, San? There’s no power.” 

San closes the freezer and looks around. “This stove runs on gas, though.” Wooyoung arches an eyebrow, the slightest bit of hope reviving in his chest, but even that gets crushed when San spends an entire minute trying to turn on the stove without a single flicker of flame materializing.

Eventually, San flops in a chair at the table next to him. There is a faint smell of rot that makes Wooyoung’s stomach revolt even more but, thankfully, there wasn’t that much food on the plates served to the customers when the whole world turned upside down. Good thing the cube decided to show up way before rush hour, right?

Wooyoung keeps absently scraping the bottom of the plate with his fork, peeling the dried, musty sauce off the surface. “Wonder what this was supposed to be. Spaghetti sauce, maybe? Or jam from some kind of cake?”

He hears the telltale sound of a stomach rumbling, but this time it’s not his own, but San’s. San, however, doesn’t comment on that. He just closes his eyes and slumps back into the chair. 

Wooyoung’s heart lurches again. Of course he’s not the only one starving, but he somehow always manages to make everything about himself. San is too selfless to ever voice what’s bothering him, always concerned with other people’s wellbeing, mostly Wooyoung’s. 

Well, it’s not like he has anyone else left, Wooyoung thinks to himself. 

He suddenly realizes San has never mentioned his family since everything went to shit. Not even once. 

Wooyoung snaps out of his thoughts when he sees San shuffling to pull the video camera from his back pocket, holding it like it’s a precious relic. 

Wooyoung is unsure how to feel about this. “What are you doing?” he asks.

San smiles at him awkwardly. “I just… wanted to see if this works on inanimate objects as well. That’s all.”

“Inanimate objects?”

San doesn’t reply. He turns on the camera and looks through the viewfinder with his healthy eye. He gasps and, this time, his smile is genuine. 

“You were right. It was a cake. Well, a small one.”

“What are you talking about?”

San points at the plate, where the splash of dry sauce is. “Stab your fork there.” Wooyoung does no such thing, choosing to stare at his boyfriend incredulously, but San urges him to do it until Wooyoung sees no other option than to obey. 

Maybe madness will consume us before hunger does, Wooyoung bitterly realizes. 

He stabs the fork into thin air a bit too roughly.

“Now pretend you’re eating what you got.”

Wooyoung wants to drop his fork. “San, this is ridiculous.”

“Love.” San places the camera down just enough for Wooyoung to see his face clearly. “Do this for me, just this once. If I’m wrong, you’re free to make fun of me as much as you want. Just—give it a try. For me.”

Wooyoung feels like shit now. San looks absolutely miserable, but there’s a glint in his eye that Wooyoung hasn’t seen in a long time. Could that be hope?

He brings the fork to his mouth and bites the air, expecting nothing. His eyes almost bulge out of his sockets when he tastes sweetness and cream on his tongue. 

Wooyoung licks his lips, his nerves short-circuiting from the unexpected barrage of flavor. He looks at the fork, but there’s nothing there, so he turns his gaze to San, who is smiling so widely, his dimples are showing. Wooyoung hasn’t seen those in so long. 

“What did it taste like?” San asks him. 

It takes a while for Wooyoung to find his words. “Like… a macaron? But one of those really fancy ones that you get at restaurants. Those that melt right in your mouth. Like the ones we ate during our anniversary. I… I remember liking the strawberry ones the most. I think this was strawberry flavored too.”

San’s smile makes his eyes wrinkle at the corners. “I did see a macaron like that on my end,” he confirms.

They both smile at each other as if they are children sharing a precious secret. However, Wooyoung’s smile drops when he feels and hears his stomach growl impatiently. He swallows, but there’s nothing to swallow. 

“We… might have celebrated a little too early,” he says. 

“Why?” San asks, voice brimming with concern. 

“I could taste it, alright. But that’s all there is to it. Just the taste. I didn’t eat anything because there’s nothing there. It’s just an illusion.”

Wooyoung drops his gaze at the filthy plate in front of him, refusing to even glance in San’s direction because he knows how miserable San will look once again. Wooyoung hates seeing that emotion on his beloved’s face. He’d do anything so that this expression will never haunt San ever again. 

But he can’t do anything. He slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cutlery rattle. 

San doesn’t react. He seems keen on inspecting the video camera. Wooyoung lifts his gaze just enough to see the slight line of concentration on the other man’s brow. When San lifts his head, there’s determination sewn into his features. 

“Young-ah.” He places the camera on the table in the space between them. “This thing has a record button. I want to see what happens if I press it.”

Wooyoung is taken aback. He tries to imagine what this weird, unrealistic device could possibly do with the record function, but nothing that his exhausted brain can think of makes much sense.  

“I don’t know, San. Whatever this thing is, it’s clearly not—”

“Supposed to exist?”

“Exactly. Should we really be messing with it?”

San chews at the inside of his cheek for a bit. He eventually leans forward. “I don’t see the harm in trying. I’m sorry to say this, but we’ve really run out of options. We might as well try.”

Wooyoung lets those words sink in. He knows their time is running out, but having San finally say it really puts the final nail in their coffin. They will starve to death. Their only remaining option is to place all of their lingering hopes into a magical camera with unpredictable functions. 

Wooyoung eventually nods. “Okay. Do it.”

San extends an arm over the table. Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to do the same so they can hold hands. 

“I’m gonna point it forward. I don’t want it capturing either of us. Just in case.”

Wooyoung squeezes his hand. “Good idea.”

San’s finger hovers over the RECORD button for a few seconds until he takes a deep breath and presses it. 

The entire room changes in an instant. 

The layout is still the same, but there’s a more vibrant color to it. It’s no longer endless shades of white and gray, but a warm shade of gold. The smell of rot and filth is gone, replaced with mouth-watering aromas. There’s even music playing, warm and welcoming, just like the atmosphere engulfing them. And, the strangest of it all, there’s dozens of hooded people all around them, seated at their respective tables, their features obstructed by black veils. 

San and Wooyoung jump from their seats. 

Wooyoung whips his head around, panicking like a deer in the headlights. San urgently picks up the camera from the table, but he doesn’t stop the recording.

Wooyoung jumps a second time when he hears a voice coming from right behind him. “Are the gentlemen not enjoying the celebration?”

The involuntary screech that comes out of Wooyoung’s mouth would embarrass him under normal circumstances, but he doesn’t care enough to be flustered right now. San immediately steps in front of him, shielding his boyfriend with his body. 

However, the person sitting behind them doesn’t seem to want to harm them. They look just like the rest of the people (are they even people?) crowding the room: dressed only in black, heads covered in black veils, only their hands visible. 

“Who are you?” San demands.

The person lifts their head slightly. Wooyoung can’t see it, but he believes the stranger is smiling at them. “Just another guest enjoying the reception. Please, enjoy your stay.”

And with that, they take their leave, grabbing a glass of what seems to be champagne from a waiter that is dressed in the same attire. Wooyoung tries to blink the illusion out of his eyes, but that doesn’t happen. It all seems too real. The music, the people, the smell of food…

Wooyoung is salivating. 

He still feels San’s tense back muscles against his chest, so Wooyoung squeezes his boyfriend’s bicep and points at the seats where they used to sit before they let the video camera take over. “San, look. Food.”

San follows Wooyoung’s gaze. He swallows hard, but he makes no effort to move. There are various dishes arranged on their table, the plates in front of their seats filled with steak, veggies, rice, some pieces of fried fish, and even small sandwiches. Wooyoung’s primal hunger screams at him to just lunge for them, but he’s still afraid. This all seems too good to be true.

What the hell does this camera even do?

He looks at San’s side profile, who seems to still be deliberating what the next course of action should be. Wooyoung tugs at his boyfriend’s sweater until San finally looks at him. 

“Do you know the story of Persephone?” San asks.

“What? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

San continues as if he didn’t hear Wooyoung. “Hades kidnapped Persephone from the surface. He struck a deal with her, telling her that if she doesn’t eat anything from the underworld while she’s there, she can leave. But he tricked her, and she ended up eating pomegranate seeds. She became tied to the underworld because of that.”

Wooyoung blinks at him. “Ok, Percy Jackson fanboy, thank you for the Wikipedia summary. What does that have to do with our situation?”

San frowns at him. “Think about it.”

“I can’t think because I’m starving.”

“Exactly. What are the odds that what we craved the most appeared right in front of our eyes? Do these people seem trustworthy to you? What if we end up stuck here?”

Wooyoung hurriedly scanned his surroundings. “Well, I don’t see any genocidal cubes flying around, so maybe trading whatever this place is for the one we just left isn’t that bad, don’t you think?”

San looks at him with trembling eyes. 

Wooyoung drops his head on San’s shoulder. “Sannie, I know. Trust me, I’m just as afraid as you. But you said so yourself—we have no other options. If I have to choose between hell and starving to death, then I’m gonna go down swinging on my way to hell.”

He feels a finger tap at his chin, gesturing for him to look up. Wooyoung complies, just in time for San to crash his lips into him. The kiss is brief, but the message conveyed is crystal-clear—Whatever you decide to do, I’ll follow you.

San pulls away first. “I’ll be stealing those cucumber slices from your plate, if you don’t mind.”

“Please do. I didn’t even realize I had those on my plate. I get being tempted by pomegranates, but fucking cucumbers?”

Wooyoung sits down and all but wolves down his food, desperate to finally fill his empty stomach. San warns him to slow down, that he’s going to get sick if he eats so fast.

“You’ll throw it all up later if you don’t take it easy,” San tells him, tapping gently at his wrist. 

Wooyoung swallows and nods slightly. He would much rather walk willingly into an open field with murderous cubes than throw up this delicious food, especially after not eating anything for more than a day. The steak melts in his mouth, the taste oddly familiar to the steaks he used to cook for San when he was building up his muscles throughout the past years. Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to muffle the taste of the past by shoving a mouthful of rice and veggies (minus the cucumbers, San picked them up from Wooyoung’s plate before he even touched his own food). He’s probably imagining these things. Surely. 

San eyes him, reminding him silently to slow down. Wooyoung blows him a kiss, spotting a glass with red-purple liquid in it. He reaches for it, smells it. It has a faint aroma of wine, and Wooyoung prays it’s not actually wine. He’s unsure his stomach can even handle alcohol in his state. Surprisingly, when he tilts the glass up and the liquid reaches his tongue, it turns out to be grape juice. Wooyoung investigates it a bit more, almost shoves his nose inside the glass. The dim smell of alcohol he sensed before is gone. Did he imagine that too?

He tries to pay attention to what the veiled people are saying, but all the words slip by him. He can only make out one or two words at a time, never a full sentence. Eventually, he decides to focus and really understand what they’re saying, but he still can’t do it. They’re almost like…

“Background characters.”

San looks up from his plate. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

After licking his plate clean, Wooyoung decides to do what he’s best at—be a little shit. He spots a plate of those fluffy cakes he tasted earlier when San made him stab the fork at the empty plate. They look exactly like the ones they had a few months ago during their anniversary. San promptly looks at him when Wooyoung gets up, asking what’s wrong, but Wooyoung simply pats him on the shoulder as he walks past him. San doesn’t have to follow him, but he does anyway, plate in hand and video camera tucked under his armpit, the intermittent red flash showing that it’s still recording.

Wooyoung goes around snatching food from the veiled people’s plates, trying to spark conversations as they turn at him in outrage, though they don’t seem that angry, only slightly bothered. Wooyoung takes two cream-filled pink macarons and feeds one of them to San, who accepts it like an obedient kitten. Wooyoung drags San around for a while, messing with the strangers and stealing their food, taking the glasses from their hands and sipping on their drinks before providing commentary on their taste. Every time he brings a glass to his lips, he imagines a certain flavor, and the taste always matches his thoughts. He tries apple juice, coke, that shitty vitamin water San used to drink when he spent most of his free time at the gym, even wine (though he only takes one sip). 

He offers his glass to San, telling him to imagine what he wanted to drink before doing so. San blinks at him at first, but does as he’s told. He doesn’t seem that surprised by the outcome. 

“So that’s why you were walking around dipping your tongue in everyone’s glasses.”

Wooyoung snorts. “Not like they actually care.”

San finally takes the last bite of fried fish from his plate before putting it down on a nearby table. “So what does this all mean?” he asks.

Wooyoung’s face drops. “What else could it mean? That none of this is real.” He wants to say something more, but he realizes he’s been ignoring something ever since San pressed the recording button on the camera. 

The music. 

“Wait.” 

He whips his head around, trying to pinpoint the source of the music, but he can’t. It seems to be coming from everywhere at once. The same song has been on repeat for minutes on end, but only now does Wooyoung realize this, as if his senses have been numbed and had to adapt to the warped world the camera unfolded around them. 

“I… recognize this song. How can I ever forget it?” He looks up at San, hopeful, but San is surely not going through the same sensations Wooyoung is. If he was, he would recognize it in a split second. Wooyoung decides to help him.

It’s the same song that played when you kissed me for the first time, he wants to say, but suddenly, something in the air shifts. San senses it too. He reaches for Wooyoung’s hand and tucks him close to his chest. The mystery liquid in Wooyoung’s glass swirls precariously in his grip, sending a few drops on San’s sweater. The song distorts, the calm and soothing melody now sounding all wrong. A blink of an eye—that’s all it takes for the veiled people to disappear in thin air. All except for one person.

Well, he’s not one of those black-veiled strangers from before. Has he been sitting there the whole time, watching? Have neither of them noticed this person watching them up until now? He’s sitting at the end of a long, rectangular table, as if he’s the head of a family, though he doesn’t seem older than Wooyoung and San. He’s wearing a somewhat royal, military-style black uniform adorned with red lines and golden decorations. 

The stranger somewhat looks like a prince, but not really. Although he emanates a sense of leadership, there’s something off about him. His brown, slightly curly brown bags almost get into his scrutinous eyes, but Wooyoung doesn’t see any ill-intent in the stranger’s gaze. However, he spots intrigue and… uncertainty?

The man’s voice is firm, but there’s a hint of confusion in it. “How did you guys get here?”

Wooyoung drops his glass. It shatters on the floor, along with the illusion. 

The man is gone. The music, warmth, food, veiled strangers—they’re all gone. Rot and filth fill Wooyoung’s nostrils again, and he feels like throwing up. His stomach feels strangely full now. Even though what they just saw wasn’t real, the food seemed real enough, at least in that strange place they were in.

But that man… he was different from the black-veiled NPC-like beings. He seemed real.  

Wooyoung slowly turns in San’s arms, spotting the video camera in the other’s hands, the red flash no longer blinking. 

“Did… did you stop it? Or did he—”

San looks down and runs his hand on Wooyoung’s back. “I did. Should I not have done that? I got scared. Who even was that guy?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Wooyoung looks down. The wine stains on San’s sweater are gone, and the shattered glass with its contents are nowhere to be seen on the floor. 

📷

After walking out of the restaurant, they don’t speak much. San thinks he spots a gym logo on the third floor, so they go investigate immediately. They peek through the windows to scout for the cubes and, thankfully, there aren’t any nearby. However, the two of them still sneak around, keeping as much distance from the windows as possible. 

“Miss your gym routine that much?” Wooyoung teases.

San pokes his tongue out at him. “You know the reason we’re heading there.”

“Do you think the showers still work?”

“The water is still running in the building, so they should. Well, there is only one way to find out.”

The showers, thankfully, are still functional, the spray of cold water hitting San in the face and soaking his clothes. Wooyoung pounces on him in celebration, almost making him lose his balance. San picks him up and spins him around as they both cheer and laugh. 

They pick up clean clothes from a nearby dilapidated store so they can change once they’re clean. San picks up a set of toothbrushes and toothpaste on the way out of the supermarket and some face soap alongside the body gel and shampoo bottles. It’s dark in the gym since there are no windows, so they snatch a flashlight from a shelf and make it stand up, pointing it to the ceiling. This way, they can have at least a little bit of light in the otherwise pitch-black room. 

“You want to join me?” Wooyoung asks as he takes off his sweaty clothes with such ferocity, they rip apart at the seams. 

San looks him up and down as he’s undressing. “You think there’s any world in which I say no?”

Wooyoung chuckles softly as he kicks his pants away. “Give me a few minutes to myself. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

He walks into a stall, San entering the one adjacent to his shortly after. Wooyoung hisses at the cold water hitting his skin like hail, but he can’t afford to complain. The water is clean, the pressure is good enough, and he hasn’t showered properly in weeks. He would have let San join him, but he feels the need to scrub every single inch of his body until it’s spotless, and doing that while another person is doing the same thing as him in a rather cramped stall isn’t exactly comfortable. 

Wooyoung lets the water hit him full-force, allowing his body to get used to the temperature. He doesn’t move at all for a few minutes, just basking in the cool, refreshing sensation and rubbing at his arms and chest to get a bit of the filth out. The water suddenly cutting out is a real possibility that he can face, so he reaches for the shower gel that San fished from a random shelf and starts cleaning himself properly. 

He spends so much time scrubbing every portion of his body that he’s surprised he hasn’t scrubbed his skin off. He doesn’t want to waste any more time, so he calls San’s name. 

The water in the stall next to him immediately stops. 

Wooyoung feels San’s warm breath on the back of his neck before he feels San’s strong arms wrap around his middle. The flowery smell of Wooyoung’s shower gel mixes with San’s minty one. It makes him dissociate a bit. If he closes his eyes, it’s as if he’s back at their place, minus the cold water. San used to take cold showers exclusively, but he always cranked the temperature up whenever Wooyoung joined him unannounced. Unfortunately, they can’t do that now. 

San doesn’t say anything as he hooks his chin on Wooyoung’s shoulder. The touch is familiar and innocent, but Wooyoung fails to stifle a shiver from the sudden proximity. His back is flush with San’s chest, and San’s fingers are trailing lazy circles on his belly. 

“You’re thinner now,” San whispers against his neck. 

Wooyoung nods. He’s aware of that. “It’s not that bad. At least my abs are finally showing.”

San makes a disgruntled sound. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Right? Skinny abs.”

Wooyoung cracks a smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He turns his head around, enough to bump his nose into San’s forehead, nudging him a few times until San finally tilts his head up. The kiss is languid and innocent at first, but Wooyoung is spurred by the hand that is dragging up toward his chest, slowly and teasingly. He turns in San’s arms, facing him, looping his arms around the other man’s neck. 

Grabbing a fistful of San’s hair, Wooyoung pulls him closer, making him groan and open his mouth. One of San’s hands is on Wooyoung’s waist, the other one tracing his spine. 

Wooyoung’s moan gets cut off pathetically when San gently pulls away. The sound echoes in the empty room so loudly, Wooyoung can feel the tips of his ears redden immediately. It’s weird. They’ve been together for so long and they’ve explored each other’s bodies so thoroughly that there isn’t a single sound that they haven’t heard each other make, yet he is very flustered right now. 

San smirks, very proud of himself. His voice is low and silky when he says, “Turn around.”

Wooyoung looks up at him. “San-ah, we have no lube.”

He yelps when a harsh slap lands against his ass. San anchors his nails into Wooyoung’s hips, turning him around. Wooyoung inhales through his teeth when he feels San’s hot breath right next to his ear. 

“Hand me the shampoo bottle,” he says, the heaviness gone from his voice. 

Wooyoung malfunctions for a second. “Huh?”

San tuts. He extends an arm to where the shampoo is resting on top of the pipes, towering behind Wooyoung. San also lost significant weight with the world ending and all that, but he is still bigger and more muscular than Wooyoung, the countless hours spent at the gym having paid off in the end. Wooyoung swallows—a countermeasure against letting another involuntary sound out.

San squirts a little bit of liquid on his palm before placing the bottle on the floor. Wooyoung’s brain resumes normal activity when he feels gentle fingers move through his hair alongside the cold, coconut-flavored shampoo invading his nostrils. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“What does it look like I’m doing? Washing your hair.” 

Wooyoung says nothing. The stiffness of his posture makes San suspicious. 

“What did you think I was doing?”

“Nothing.”

San stops massaging his scalp. “Wooyoung, did you really think I was going to use shampoo as lube?”

“Well, we were talking about that, and you suddenly asked for the bottle, so—”

San snorts so loudly, he drops his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Honey, I didn’t think I needed to tell you this, but any kind of soap isn’t meant to go inside your body.”

“I know that!” Wooyoung snaps, flustered. He crosses his arms over his chest, pouting.

San chuckles, resuming washing Wooyoung’s hair. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

“I thought I was the smart one in this relationship.”

San plants a kiss on Wooyoung’s neck. “You’re only smart until I offer you the possibility to get dicked down. Ow!”

Wooyoung crosses his arms once again over his chest after elbowing San in the ribs. “Need I remind you how you act when you’re on the receiving end of that?”

San doesn’t open his mouth anymore. 

Once Wooyoung’s hair is clean and rinsed, he does the same for San. He used to do this for San whenever his boyfriend came home from a backbreaking day at the dance studio. There was nothing sexual to it, just the pleasant intimacy of trusting someone to take care of you when you are extremely vulnerable, both physically and mentally. Wooyoung misses those moments so much, he wishes he could extract them from his memories and relieve them over and over again. 

But those times aren’t coming back. This is the closest they can ever get to reproducing those memories. The intimacy of their shared space, their home, is long gone. That apartment meant so much to both of them, especially to Wooyoung. He wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for San, and he isn’t talking just about the cubes evaporating him from existence. He wouldn’t have had a home. He…

Wooyoung’s heart breaks at the thought that they can never return to the safe space that they made together. They can never go back home.  

San once again senses that something is wrong based on Wooyoung’s body language. He turns around, the wet but rinsed hair getting into his eyes. 

“Jagi,” he smiles. His dimples are showing. 

Wooyoung is just staring at him. 

San cups his face. “My love,” he says, almost in a whisper.

Wooyoung smiles, though he’s sadder than he is happy at San dotting on him. “What’s with the pet names?”

San gets closer, close enough to bump noses. “I sensed you were drifting away. I want to keep you here with me. That’s all.”

Wooyoung grips the other’s wrists. “I’m here,” he lies. He closes his eyes and imagines their apartment for a brief moment, but when he opens them, it’s gone. “Where else would I be?”

San thumbs at his cheeks. “Home.”

Hearing San say that word with so much sadness embedded in it is the equivalent of getting stabbed in the heart. Memories flood Wooyoung’s senses. He feels as if he’s drowning, the spray of water on his face suddenly engulfing him, stealing away his air. Shaking his head, Wooyoung blinks the illusion of the past from his eyelids and returns to the bitter present. 

“There’s no reason for me to be there anymore. It’s gone.”

San doesn’t say anything. His face drops, but it’s so subtle, if Wooyoung didn’t know him as well as he does, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Wooyoung decides he’s had enough of seeing San miserable, so he leans forward to kiss him. It’s a short kiss, a sweet one, meant to make them both forget, but San wastes no time in pulling Wooyoung by the hair and demanding more. 

It’s a mere slide of lips at first, but the way San wraps an arm around Wooyoung’s waist and holds him by the back of his head as if shielding him from something makes Wooyoung melt in his arms. He interlocks his arms behind San’s neck, losing a little bit of himself with every second spent kissing him. 

It feels like forever since they last did this, probably because it’s been so long. They used to not go a single day without basking in each other’s touch and affection, save for the few days when they got mad at each other over petty reasons but inevitably sorted things out when they decided to stop acting frivolous about it (mostly Wooyoung, but he will never admit that). 

San grips him by the waist, pulling him closer so that they’re standing chest to chest. Wooyoung gasps when he feels San’s half-hardened cock against his thigh, the slight gasp he lets out enough for San to slide his tongue in his mouth, already tired of licking at the piercing to ask for permission. It’s messy at first, but San has always been skilled with his tongue, and that’s not something easily forgettable. 

Wooyoung’s head is spinning. He disentangles his fingers from San’s nape, placing his hands on the other’s chest to push him against the wall. San gasps slightly, probably at the chilliness of the tiled wall, but Wooyoung doesn’t let him even get the chance to complain. Instead, he captures his mouth with his, kissing him more aggressively than before. San doesn’t fight it, on the contrary, he’s holding onto Wooyoung’s hips for his dear life, gripping so hard he’s surely bruising. Wooyoung licks into San’s mouth, dragging his hands on San’s chest, relishing in the way he has the man pinned against the wall, completely at his mercy.

But as much as Wooyoung loves having San entirely surrender to him, this is not the time and place for that. Right now, all he seeks is San’s pleasure, and by extension his own as well, because nothing is hotter than San moaning his name and coming undone because of him. 

Wooyoung drags his lips away from San’s mouth, much to the other’s discontent, though he quickly makes up for it by wrapping a hand around San’s cock, pumping slowly but deliberately. San gasps, letting his head hit the wall behind him, and Wooyoung wastes no time attacking his neck, kissing, biting, and licking the marks left behind before resuming the cycle. 

San doesn’t have anything to retort, simply losing himself in the bliss. It’s rare that he’s ever like this. Wooyoung only remembers seeing him so compliant only when he would come back exhausted from work, or when Wooyoung took on the dominant role during sex and turned San into an obedient pleasure addict for the night. 

But he’s letting his mind wander. Wooyoung only has one thing in his mind, which is staring right at him as soon as he sinks to his knees. 

San snaps out of his haze to look down. “You don’t have to,” he mutters. 

Wooyoung kisses the inside of San’s thigh, sensing him shiver slightly after he presses his lips to the sensitive skin. “It’s okay. I promised you something, didn’t I?”

“Just because you made a promise when you were starving doesn’t mean you have to go through with it,” San says while petting his hair. 

“Doesn’t matter. I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

San looks at him with tired eyes. He nods. “Always.”

That’s all Wooyoung needs to hear before taking San into his mouth. 

He starts slow at first, only licking and mouthing at the head hungrily even though his stomach is full. He missed this, missed how San seemed to soften the second he felt Wooyoung’s mouth around him. He seems even more out of it now, the way he’s biting his lip and looking down at Wooyoung, playing with his boyfriend’s hair in a silent way to praise him. 

Encouraged by having San’s eyes on him and only him, Wooyoung sinks more and more, feeling his heart leap with pride as he watches San’s complexion progressively crumble. He’s had years to learn what every touch and swirl of tongue does to San, and it’s actually kind of pathetic how turned on he gets from unraveling his boyfriend, but he doesn’t care. There were times when San would smirk at him and call him out for it, times when San would notice immediately that Wooyoung was touching himself while blowing him and tell him to stop so he could draw out Wooyoung’s orgasm later or make him come untouched. But now, they both seek release and wish to please each other. 

Wooyoung starts bobbing his head, feeling San’s cock reaching all the way to the back of his throat. He doesn’t choke, welcoming the intrusion like it’s a long-lost friend. San’s hips buckle slightly, so Wooyoung looks up. 

With a pop, Wooyoung lets go of the dick in his mouth, allowing his jaw to relax. He rests his cheek on San’s thigh, drawing shapes with his finger on the skin. “Do you want to fuck my mouth?” he asks.

San blinks at him. He licks his lips, considering, though Wooyoung knows he’s just trying to not appear desperate. Cute. 

San tucks a strand of blonde hair behind Wooyoung’s ear. “Yes.”

Wooyoung wants to tease San for barely forming words, but he swallows his words and the smirk that is tempting his lips before moving San’s hands from his hair to hold his head. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

He resettles in his original position, mouth wide open, getting close enough just to let the tip of San’s cock rest on his bottom lip, right next to the piercing. San mutters a curse, brushing Wooyoung’s wet strands out of his eyes before gripping his locks and thrusting forward hard.

Wooyoung is a little surprised by the sudden aggression, though his body is working against him. He moans around the cock in his mouth, making San’s hips falter and getting a harsh grip on his hair in return. He lets his jaw go slack, allowing San full access to his mouth to use and abuse. 

He’s choking now, San unrelenting cutting his airway. Spit gathers at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin. It’s messy, but San’s movements aren’t. He has the upper hand now, and the way he’s looking down with a piercing gaze makes Wooyoung feel small. His hand is pumping his own cock faster, spurred by the fire in San’s eyes. It’s cute how fast San switches from a needy, pathetic mess to the tamer that can put Wooyoung in his place when he acts up. Wooyoung gave this opportunity to him rather than have San take it, but it’s not like he can talk back right now. Plus, he really just wants to make San feel good after everything they’ve been through.

Tears sting Wooyoung’s eyes, but the pain, if there is any, gets numbed by the pleasure and the fire in his lower belly. San can take as much as he wants. Wooyoung will always give it to him, though his jaw is starting to ache.

Fortunately for him, San’s hips get progressively more erratic, his grunts and gasps increasing in pitch too. He must feel Wooyoung analyzing him because he tries to look away at the ceiling, small needy sounds still leaving his parted lips. Wooyoung moans around San’s cock, trying to get his attention back on him, but when that doesn’t work, he reaches out and grabs handfuls of San’s ass cheeks, digging his nails into the skin painfully. He wants San to watch him because he knows how irresistible he looks while taking San so obediently with his fluttering Bambi eyes. At Wooyoung’s request, San recorded him once. It’s a shame they don’t have that video anymore. 

San moans and swats Wooyoung’s hands away, thrusting more roughly than before into his boyfriend’s mouth. 

“Menace,” San says, his voice low. “You want more? I thought you had a mouthful already.”

Wooyoung grins, or he tries to, given his current situation. San pulls back, letting his tip rest on Wooyoung’s bottom lip. He says nothing, though there’s a shift in his gaze. All of the softness and desperation from before melts right before Wooyoung’s eyes, something dark and intimidating showing up instead. 

Wooyoung feels scrutinized, scolded even. As if there’s a silent command in San’s eyes, he tries to mouth at the head sitting so conveniently next to his tongue, but raises his eyes back at San when he hears him make a noise of dissatisfaction. San’s hand has fallen from his hair since he pulled out, brushing Wooyoung’s cheekbone. He immediately grips Wooyoung’s jaw the second he attempts to swirl his tongue at his slit. 

“What’s wrong? Lost without instructions? I don’t remember telling you to do anything.” 

Wooyoung whines, his dick so hard it’s starting to hurt. His hand moves almost unconsciously, chasing release. He feels somewhat pathetic being so turned on the second San flips that switch, though he blames the lack of recent sex. 

Just because San ignored him touching himself until now doesn’t mean he’s not going to comment on it this time. He tilts his head slightly to the side, watching Wooyoung under his lashes, his face expressionless. He’s not even doing anything, but Wooyoung can feel as if San’s fucking him with his gaze only. 

“What are you even jerking off to?” San asks, his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. 

It takes a few moments for Wooyoung to voice his thoughts. “You,” he gasps. “Always you.”

One of the corners of San’s mouth twitches slightly, almost imperceptibly. He thumbs softly at Wooyoung’s lips. “I’m not even doing anything, love.”

Wooyoung sighs, nuzzling into the touch. He kisses San’s thumb, resting just above his lip piercing, and looks back up at him. “You don’t need to. I just want to be by your side. Make you happy. I’ll love you till my last breath. Fuck.” 

Tears swell in his eyes. He doesn’t want San to see that, so he drops his gaze to the floor. San, however, knows this, so he gently tilts Wooyoung’s chin up with index finger. He opens his mouth, probably to say something equally sentimental in return, but Wooyoung really wants to come, so he speaks up before San can. 

“Are you going to fuck my mouth properly or do I need to do everything myself?”

San closes his mouth and swallows. Without warning, he thrusts his cock all the way down Wooyoung’s throat, where it belongs. “Yes.”

Wooyoung would sigh in relief if he could, but all he does is send vibrations around San’s cock, making him groan in return. He welcomes the tears and spit that are once again running down his face. Through the tears, he sees San watching him with such unadulterated adoration, it makes him feel dizzy, like he’s a god falling from the heavens, but his most devoted follower is there to catch him. Wooyoung’s cock is lying neglected since he abandoned it in favor of the blazing passion in San’s eyes. 

San’s not faring any better than him. The boldness he showed previously is now gone from his features, though Wooyoung gives him props for maintaining the momentum in his hips. San looks high from the pleasure, moans spilling beautifully from his mouth. Wooyoung would swallow them if he could, but he’ll be busy swallowing something else in no time. 

San pets his hair like one would pet a kitten. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

The familiar hot liquid filling Wooyoung’s mouth shouldn’t make him feel so content, but here he is, seconds away from coming himself. San shudders above him, his whines echoing in the empty room. His hips stutter, but Wooyoung still slides his lips over the other’s cock diligently, trying to extend San’s pleasure. San accepts it, even lets him go at it for longer as he borders into overstimulation, but eventually pushes him away gently. 

There were times when Wooyoung would be greedy, would still fight to take some more from San, but this time he lets go, his jaw hurting a little. He barely gets to swallow when he is suddenly lifted from the floor by the armpits. 

Wooyoung hisses when his back makes contact with the cold wall, but San doesn’t let him voice his complaints, shutting him up with a kiss. San laps at his lips, licking the remains of his orgasm from Wooyoung’s mouth without a care. His hand finds Wooyoung’s hard cock, and Wooyoung jumps at the touch, the sound that escapes his lips too pathetic even for his standards. Fuck, they haven’t touched each other in weeks, but really?

Thankfully, San doesn’t comment on it. He trails kisses on Wooyoung’s jaw, neck, collarbone, and chest as he faithfully brings him to release. Wooyoung grabs San’s hair so fiercely when he comes, he sends a silent prayer to the other man’s scalp as he moans his name. San chuckles, responding with teeth marks on Wooyoung’s shoulder, his hand still moving rhythmically. 

Wooyoung eventually returns to Earth. He has to blink several times until he can clearly see San in front of him. San smiles at him, takes Wooyoung’s hands into his and places them behind his neck. Wooyoung immediately clings onto him, dropping his forehead on his shoulder. 

“I came all over your chest,” he croaks. 

“That’s okay. You can go and get dressed while I clean myself up.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, kissing lazily at the juncture between San’s shoulder and neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

📷

Night time is coming, so they need to find a place to sleep. They would normally just find a corner to hide in, set up the dirty blanket that they have on the floor and cover themselves with the other slightly less dirty blanket in their possession. They couldn’t afford the luxury of pillows, so they always used their backpacks as makeshifts, backpacks that don’t have many things anyway. 

Fortunately, it looks like they’re sleeping in a real bed tonight. There’s a furniture shop on the first floor, deep into the maze of corridors of the mall. They make it there, freshly showered and their teeth brushed. Wooyoung tries not to look at the mountain of clothes in the main area, but it’s still very visible in his peripheral vision. He briefly loses himself in wandering thoughts. Fortunately, San tugs him back to reality with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

Inside the furniture shop, there are no windows that they need to be mindful of, but they’re still paranoid. San spots a queen-sized bed in the farthest corner of the room. However, this doesn’t do much for them. After spending so much time on the run, always going to sleep with the fear that they might never wake up, they feel too vulnerable, too exposed, even though this is the safest they’ve been since everything went wrong. Wooyoung watches San move furniture around, trying to shelter their bed by pushing cupboards and bookshelves around its frame and throwing sheets over. 

Wooyoung should be happy. Well, as happy as he can be in the current situation. He will finally go to sleep in a comfortable bed with a full belly without reeking of sweat. He still can’t wrap his mind around the illusion from the restaurant. Everything else that could prove what they saw and experienced while the camera was recording is gone. The camera model is old, so he can’t check the contents of its storage without connecting it to a computer. Still, Wooyoung feels sated. He could still taste the strawberry flavor of the fluffy macaron on his tongue before brushing his teeth. 

San moves around, stealing sheets and blankets to make their bed for tonight. He looks like a little kid building a fort. Wooyoung smiles at the thought, though there’s no happiness in how his lips curve. 

San notices. He looks up from where he’s trying to sort some sheets at Wooyoung, who’s sitting cross-legged on a nearby bed, and offers him a small yet honest smile. It baffles Wooyoung that San can still smile like this despite the circumstances. 

San holds up two different colored sheets. “White or black?” he asks.

“What for? We already have sheets on the bed.”

San smiles at him. “I was thinking of setting up a makeshift canopy with them.”

Wooyoung mirrors his smile. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“I’ll get creative. So, white or black?”

“Does it matter? It’s gonna be dark soon anyway. We won’t even see it.”

San pouts. Wooyoung remains firm for exactly three seconds before caving in. “White.”

The pout on San’s lips turns into a beaming smile. He frowns a little bit after, looking extra cute as he stares at the black sheet. “You sure you don’t want your favorite color?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I’ll live.” He watches San for a bit as he tries to throw the sheet over the tall bookshelves he surrounded the bed with, though the shelves only shield the bed from opposite sides. The bed is pressed to the wall, so that’s fine, but they still need to somehow cover the remaining side while leaving enough space for them to enter their little dwelling. 

They don’t know how exactly the cubes can detect them. Even though they’re trying their hardest to stay hidden, the conglomeration of shelves and San’s makeshift canopy will surely attract more attention than necessary. But can the cubes really detect something like that? If so, what’s the alternative? Just lying in bed in an immense room with nothing to protect them from death’s gaze? Or hiding inside a cramped janitor’s closet for the twentieth time this month? 

After weeks of sleeping in horrible conditions, they finally get a bed for themselves. Wooyoung doesn’t even care if he’ll die in his sleep at this point. Just once, he wants to sleep comfortably with San’s arms wrapped around him.  

He finally realizes why San is trying so hard to get that canopy going. It’s not looking that great, but it’s an attempt at reproducing the one they installed above their bed at home, though that one was black. San’s suggestion, Wooyoung’s choice on the color. 

“You miss it too, don’t you?”

Wooyoung doesn’t even realize he said that out loud until he hears San stop shuffling the blankets. He looks up, meeting the heart-wrenching sadness in his lover’s eye. Wooyoung doesn’t even have to mention what he’s referring to. San understands.

“Of course I do,” San says, his voice barely a whisper. He looks behind Wooyoung, somewhere very far away from where they are, but he soon shakes his head and gets back to what he was doing. 

Wooyoung nods. But missing home won’t bring it back, he bitterly thinks. 

He brings his knees to his chest, hugging them. Like a kid, Wooyoung closes his eyes tightly and hopes that, once he reopens them, everything will go back to normal. He’ll sleep through his alarm, so San will have to wake him up by bringing him a cup of coffee on the nightstand. The smell will wake Wooyoung up properly, so he’ll make his way to the bathroom to wash up before taking his cup of coffee to the kitchen where San will try to cook something for them and inevitably fail. He’ll take the lead from there after thanking San with a peck on the lips. They’ll chat over mostly nothing as they eat, Wooyoung hurrying to his workplace while San heads to the gym before his later working hours. They’ll meet back home once their schedules are over, and they’ll be tired, sweaty, and ready to rant about their annoying clients (only applicable to Wooyoung), but they’ll be in each other’s presence in the only place that was safe for them to be who they are.

But that place is gone now. Wooyoung opens his eyes to look at the video camera San placed next to him on the nightstand before he started moving furniture around. Wooyoung is afraid to open it, let alone start recording, so he lets it be. It might prove useful once again. Maybe. If they get to live one more day, that is.

He closes his eyes, memories from the past five years dancing behind his eyelids. He’s chasing a dream that is out of reach, but he doesn’t care. He succumbs to it, wanting to relive happier times in the hopes that his heart won’t feel so heavy anymore. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know how much hope he has left in him.