Saw this and I knew I just absolutely had to write something for this. I dunno if it's gonna be a one shot or maybe multiple parts. We'll see! I'm very excited since this is going to be my first SanSang Fanfiction!
It is said that birthmarks are marks left behind by their soulmates in their life before. Reincarnation a highly believed thing in the world. If that was the case, Yeosang's soulmate from his past life had truly loved him based on the birthmark on his face. He never was huge on the birthmark, even feeling insecure, but he has to constantly remind himself that his soulmate left them there for him.
Once his best friend Wooyoung had pointed out it was heart shaped, Yeosang fell in love with it and whoever left the mark there. Not that the shy yet strong Yeosang would ever let it be known openly, he was a hopeless romantic and believed the second he saw them he would know. He would know they were the one that loved him so desperately. He wanted to feel what that was like again. Since he clearly experienced it in his past life.
He looked in the mirror as he pulled his hair into a ponytail as he gazed at his reflection. His heart shaped birthmark screaming for his attention. He slowly touched it, a ghosted smile on his face. He began to do a quick skincare routine and then put some eyeshadow on his eyelids. A soft brown just to make the part on his eye left noticeable. Not because he didn't like it, but because it threw him off having color on one eyelid and not on the other.
When he finished that he put in his earrings and a choker necklace to wear. His earrings were simple black hoops and he let his hair back down. He checked his reflection one last time before giving a satisfied smile.
Yeosang was really a normal man, except for maybe his job. He chose a job that was a bit out of his comfort zone but helped him meet a lot of people. He hoped maybe his soulmate at some point, but he also made a lot too. He was a host. He worked nights and usually slept during the days. Or sometimes he won't sleep at all. It just depends whether Wooyoung has made plans for them or not. Which he did tomorrow. Yeosang may be able to catch a couple hours if he tries.
He stepped in hoping he wouldn't get one of his obsessive customers. Yeosang was still shy but when he got into his persona for his job, he was very flirty. "Morning, Hongjoong!" Yeosang called out to his boss.
"I think you meant evening, Yeosang."
"Huh? Oh right! Sorry." Yeosang laughed. "Good evening, Captain!" Hongjoong shook his head with a smile.
"Good Evening, Yeosang!" Seonghwa waved with a smile. He was wearing a slutty outfit that showed off his body and thin waist. He had two girls in his arms. Yeosang grinned and gave a wave.
"Evening!" Yeosang said before turning to Hongjoong whose eyes were boring into Seonghwa saliva shining brightly on his lips. His tongue darting out to wet them on more. He cleared his throat and looked back at Yeosang.
Yeosang clocked in and got to his booth. He had set out a couple drinks like wine, tea, and water accompanied with small sides and snacks. Not too long after his first customer showed up and he was relieved to see a normal customer.
âYoonjae! I havenât seen you in a couple of months,â Yeosang said, raising his arm for her to slide beside him. She slid in, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
âI had a boyfriend⊠and he just dumped me a couple days ago because Iâm too clingy!â she cried into his shoulder. Yeosang rubbed her back softly, letting her lean on him. Being a host really had its perks â handling so many people and situations made him adaptable in ways normal jobs never could.
âDo you think Iâm too clingy?â she asked, clinging to his shirt. Yeosang placed a hand on top of hers and squeezed gently.
âNo! Of course not! Youâre perfect just the way you are. If he canât see that⊠that means I get all your attention now,â he purred, brushing away her tears with a soft smile.
Her tears dried quickly as she smiled back at him. âWould you like some wine, love?â Yeosang asked, reaching for the bottle.
âAnd tell me about this boyfriend so we can hate him together,â he said, handing her a filled flute.
She nodded eagerly. âOkay, so basically, I met him at the cafe near here. The attraction was instant. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I was lovestruck. But you know me â Iâm really shy, so I didnât say anything. Our eyes met, I looked away while ordering⊠then he approached me and asked for my number. So it worked out.â
Yeosang listened, fuming silently at the story. âThatâs so messed up! You have so much love to give. Iâm sure someone will see that eventually. Until then⊠youâve got me all to yourself, darling.â
A faint shuffle echoed from the far corner of the room. Yeosangâs chest tightened. His hand paused mid-motion, the wine bottle feeling heavier than usual. Something about the movement felt⊠deliberate.
He glanced subtly toward the shadows along the wall. Nothing obvious, yet his heart skipped a beat. The corner seemed darker than the rest of the room, like it was absorbing the light. A flash of glint â eyes? â caught the low glow of the clubâs lamps. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, trying to convince himself it was a trick of the light.
The prickle at the back of his neck spread down his spine, subtle at first, then insistent, like a cold finger brushing over his skin. His fingers tightened around the wine glass without him realizing it. He swallowed hard, his pulse suddenly loud in his ears.
He told himself it was nothing. Just the music. Just the shadows. Just your imagination. Yet every instinct screamed otherwise. He could feel it â a patient, watching presence that didnât belong. A weight that pressed lightly on the edges of his awareness, waiting, silent but impossible to ignore.
Yeosang shifted in his seat, just slightly, as if moving might shake off the feeling. But the eyes⊠they lingered. He knew exactly who it was. Jongho. The customer he had been desperately hoping not to see.
Of course, his stalker knew where he went, even where he lived. It was impossible to escape him. Gifts left outside his door. Messages from unknown numbers on his phone. Shadows seemed to stretch a little longer whenever Jongho was near, and the faint click of his boots on the floor echoed in Yeosangâs chest.
Jongho was undeniably attractive, but Yeosang couldnât understand how he himself had drawn Jonghoâs obsession. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.
Yeosangâs fingers tightened around the wine glass until the warmth seeped into his palms, grounding him just enough. He tugged at the hem of his sleeve, as if adjusting it could make the tension vanish. His shoulders stiffened, and he found himself glancing toward the corner again â not because he wanted to, but because the weight of those unseen eyes pressed too insistently to ignore.
The air around him felt heavier, almost sticky, carrying the faint scent of cologne that didnât belong to anyone nearby. His throat tightened; he swallowed, forcing his voice to stay steady, though his pulse throbbed like a drum in his ears.
The police wouldnât intervene â theyâd dismiss it, saying he had âsigned up for it,â because of his job. But no rules, no logic, could erase the prickle running down his spine. That patient, watching presence lingered at the edge of perception, silent, unmoving, impossible to escape.
Yeosang shifted again, ever so slightly, trying to appear casual. His gaze flicked to the nearest lamp, the reflection of the room in its glass catching something⊠maybe just a trick of light. But it felt deliberate. Every instinct screamed it wasnât.
Yeosang tried to ignore it but he was uneasy the entire time he was with Yoonjae. Feeling his stalkers eyes falling every movement he made. After Yoonjae was tipsy, Yeosang hand Hongjoong call cab for her. That's when Jongho decided to make his approach.
Yeosangâs chest tightened as Jongho finally rose from his seat, his shadow spilling across the table like a warning. The laughter and chatter of the club blurred, muffled beneath the steady pound of his heartbeat. Out of the corner of his eye, Yeosang caught Hongjoongâs gaze cut sharply toward him. The boss didnât move, but the way his hand stilled on the glass he was polishing spoke volumesâhe was watching. Calculating. Seonghwa, mid-conversation at his table, glanced over as if by accident. He excused himself with a smooth laugh and drifted closer, leaning against the bar just within earshot.
They werenât interfering, not yet. The rules of the host world meant letting things play out unless it turned dangerous. But Yeosang could feel their eyes, the silent promise that they would step in if Jongho went too far. Still, in the heavy seconds before Jongho spoke, with his stare fixed on him like a predator finally making its move, Yeosang felt the cold press of isolationâas if the room was holding its breath, waiting to see who would break first.
The room seemed to fold in on itself as Jongho finally stopped in front of him, the low lighting catching the sharp edges of his face. He didnât sit. He didnât smile. He just stared, head tilting ever so slightly, like he was memorizing Yeosang all over again.
âYouâre hard to catch alone,â Jongho murmured, his voice lowâmeant only for Yeosang, though it carried enough weight to press against his ribs. âAlways laughing with someone else. Always letting them touch you.â His eyes flicked down to where Yoonjae had clung to Yeosang earlier, then dragged slowly back up. âBut you and I both know⊠none of them really see you.â
The words werenât loud, but they crawled under Yeosangâs skin. His pulse stuttered as Jongho leaned in just slightly closer, too close for the polished, polite distance expected in the host club.
âDid you like my gift?â Jonghoâs voice dipped even lower, the kind of intimate tone a lover might use, though there was nothing tender in the intensity of his stare. His lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, one that didnât reach his eyes. âI thought of you when I picked it out. Just for you.â
Yeosangâs throat tightened. The carefully wrapped packages left outside his door flashed in his mindâthe ones he never asked for, never wanted. He hadnât touched the last one. He hadnât dared. And yet here Jongho was, waiting for an answer as though it were the most natural question in the world. Yeosang swallowed nervously as Jongho slid into the seat in front of him.
"Of course, I loved it." Yeosang said as he fidgeted nervously. He got a clean flute and poured some wine, and pushed it towards Jongho. Jongho followed his hand movement with his eyes. Just as Yeosang knew he would. He rarely drank anything or talked for the matter. He usually would sit there and just stare at him.
"I haven't seen you in a couple days." Yeosang said, his voice shaking slightly.
"Did you miss me? I apologize for that. I tried to compensate via the gifts. I had a job that I needed to go abroad for." Jongho smiled. Despite it making him incredibly charming, it still gave Yeosang an uneasy feeling.
"Ah, I see." Yeosang left outside a nervous laugh. He tucked some hair that had fallen from his ponytail behind his ear.
"Of course!" Yeosang forced the words out, coating them with the same flirtatious warmth he used with other customers. But Jongho wasnât like the others. Jonghoâs gaze was too sharp, too heavy, like it could slice through the performance and peel Yeosang bare.
Jongho leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Then why havenât you opened the last one I left for you?" Yeosang froze. His smile faltered for just a breath, but Jongho caught it. Of course he did. His lips curved, amused, like he enjoyed watching Yeosang squirm.
"I noticed it was still untouched when I came by last night," Jongho continued casually, as if mentioning the weather. "You really should. I picked it especially for you." Yeosangâs throat closed. His hands clenched under the table, nails biting into his palms as he scrambled for a responseâanything that didnât betray the icy fear crawling up his spine.
Before he could speak, Seonghwaâs voice carried across the roomâlight, teasing, but sharp underneath. "Yeosang, Captainâs calling you. Donât keep him waiting."
The sound jolted him back into his body. He plastered on a bright smile. "Excuse me for a moment," he murmured, slipping away quickly, almost too quickly. Jongho watched him go, his smile lingering, eyes dark.
"Iâll be waiting," he said softly, though Yeosang was already out of earshot.
"You should go home, Yeosang," Hongjoong whispered softly, his voice low as he dried a chaser cup with a rag.
Hongjoong didnât answer right away. He just jutted his chin toward the far end of the roomâtoward Jongho.
Yeosang scoffed under his breath, though there was no humor in it. "Thereâs no point," he whispered back. "Heâll just follow me there." Hongjoongâs hand stilled around the glass.
"Iâm safer here than at home," Yeosang admitted, the truth slipping out in a broken whisper. His throat ached as he forced a shaky smile. "Besides⊠I need the money. I canât just leave because of Jongho."
Hongjoongâs jaw tightened, his knuckles white against the glass. His eyes flicked to Jonghoâstill sitting calmly, still watching, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Before Hongjoong could respond, Seonghwa slid silently into the seat beside Yeosang. His smile was dazzling, effortless, but the hand he set gently on Yeosangâs shoulder was firm. Protective.
"You look tired," Seonghwa said smoothly, the words light for any customers listening inâbut his eyes were sharp, locking briefly with Hongjoongâs. "Maybe you should let me handle your tables for a while."
Yeosangâs lips parted, caught between gratitude and protest, but Seonghwa gave the smallest squeeze of his shoulder. Stay quiet. Let us shield you.
Across the room, Jonghoâs gaze sharpened, his fingers tightening around the untouched wine glass Yeosang had poured for him. To his surprise, Jongho actually started drinking it. The trio watched him before Jongho started looking around after finishing it. They quickly snapped their heads to look away. When Yeosang peeked over his shoulders, Jongho was tucking something on his side and left. Yeosang realized he had stolen the flute.
"Look! Problem solved!" Yeosang said, the uneasiness and tension being gone almost immediately.
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Yesoang managed to get a couple hours of sleep, although he wasn't sure how. The uneasiness and fear still seeped in his skin. He had made sure to check that everything was locked. His windows, his doors, even the ones in the basement. He tossed and turned for a couple of hours. He had never had such issues sleeping until Jongho became a regular (and a stalker). But eventually, he did doze off for a few hours.
Yesoang woke up a little disoriented at first. He blinked away his exhaustion before getting up. His phone dinged, and Yeosang checked it. It was wooyoung.
Hey, do you think we can meet up tonight?
I know you usually work, but my friend just told me he can't come at the original time because he has work too..
Yeah, that's fine. My boss told me to take a
Really? Okay awesome! I'll see you later! đ
Yeosang sighed and placed his phone down. Hongjoong told him to take a few days off and he would give me sick pay for those days. He reluctantly agreed. He didn't like the idea of receiving money he didn't work for, but he also needed the money. He decided to get ready anyway. It would make more sense to go to a club at night anyways.
He went to the bathroom and realized his toothbrush is missing. He looked around figuring it dropped or something like usual. He couldn't find it and he shrugged it off.
"I needed to switch to a new one anyway." He reached under the sink and pulled out a new toothbrush. He wet it before putting toothpaste and wetting it again. He brushed his teeth, his hair, styled his hair, and picked out a carefully crafted outfit.
Once the sun started setting, he headed out. The evening air was heavy, clinging to his skin, but what froze him in place wasnât the heat.
Thereâat the foot of his doorâlay another package. Carefully wrapped, ribbon tied neat and deliberate. Beside it, a bouquet of flowers.
But what made his heart stop was the stain.
Dark splatters soaked through the paper, sticky and uneven. At first glance, it looked like paintâbut the metallic tang in the air made Yeosangâs stomach twist. It wasnât paint.
Swallowing hard, he crouched down despite every nerve in his body screaming not to. His trembling hand lifted the edge of the ribbon, and the package shifted with a sickening weight inside. He forced himself to peel the paper backâjust enough to see.
A small bird lay crumpled inside. Its feathers matted with blood, glassy eyes staring up at him as though frozen mid-cry.
Yeosang stumbled back, bile rising in his throat. His shaking hand flew to cover his mouth as tears burned the corners of his eyes. This wasnât just a gift anymore. This was a warning.
Yeosangâs throat tightened, not only from the threat pressed into his hands but from the fact that an innocent life had been stolen just to send a message. His eyes burned as he knelt, clutching the package with trembling fingers. He dug into the earth with frantic urgency, shallow and uneven, but enough for a grave. He lowered it gently, as if it deserved at least that much, then placed a stone on top like a makeshift headstone.
He rubbed his palms down his pants again and again, but the phantom slickness clung to his skin. The fear that had been gnawing at him finally ebbed, leaving space for something sharperâanger.
He snatched the flowers from where they had been left, hurling them to the dirt. His boots crushed them underfoot, petals snapping and scattering. He stomped and stomped until only a mess remained, then flung the broken stems into the dark. Enough. It was time to set boundaries with his little stalker.
Once Yeosang finally steadied his nervesâanger cooling, fear ebbing into silenceâhe climbed into his car. He forced the last of his tears back, turned the key, and drove straight to the club.
The moment he stepped inside, the world hit him in fragmentsâmusic thundering, lights flashing, strangers brushing past. His eyes darted through the crowd, searching desperately for Wooyoung. But then, without meaning to, his gaze snagged on someone else.
A man stood a few feet away, half-hidden by the mass of moving bodies. Yeosang couldnât even see who he was speaking to, but his presence was enough to steal the air from Yeosangâs lungs. Skin kissed with honey. A birthmark at the side of his neck, small and imperfect, but to Yeosang it might as well have been a beacon. His heart lurched violently in his chest, a pulse that screamed recognition before his mind could catch up.
Every nerve in his body strained toward him. The crowd, the noise, the air itselfânone of it mattered.
He didn't realize he was drifting closer until he saw who his soulmate was talking to. It was Wooyoung.
"Yeosanggie!" Wooyoung said excitedly, waving his hand. Yeosang put on a smile and bowed his head slightly.
"Hey! I made it." He joked. He hadn't told his best friend about the stalking. He didn't want to worry him. So to Wooyoung it was a joke, but to him... it wasn't. Wooyoung let out a little laugh before placing a hand on San's chest.
"This is my friend, San."
"Oh right, the one that couldn't make it at the original time." Yeosang slipped out jealously in his voice. He quickly reeled himself back and covered it with a joking laugh. He didn't like how Wooyoung was grabbing up on HIS soulmate. Not Wooyoung's. Not anyone else's. What has gotten into him?!
Yeosang quickly got a drink and looked at San over the rim as Wooyoung and him chatted. Does San not realize they were soulmates? Can he not feel it? San made eye contact with Yeosang, and he nearly melted. His looked down at the liquid in his cup.
âHey.â Sanâs grin was easy, warm. âYouâre too still for a night like this. Dance with me?â
Yeosangâs mouth went dry. Words tangled in his throat. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to scream it. But his chest locked up, his tongue useless. All he managed was a shy, awkward half-smile and a quick glance toward the floor.
Sanâs smile faltered. Just for a second. The spark in his chest dimmed, like heâd reached out for something that wasnât really there.
âAh,â he chuckled, stepping back half a beat, forcing a lighter tone. âNo worries. Didnât mean to bother you.â
âBother him? Please.â Wooyoungâs voice slid in before Yeosang could untangle his silence. He appeared at Yeosangâs side, his arm brushing his as if it belonged there. His smirk was bold, confident. âIf he doesnât want to dance with you, then he can dance with me instead. San thinks he owns the floor! Careful, he might try to get you to join his cult.â Wooyoung turned, offering Yeosang his hand without hesitation. His eyes gleamed, daring Yeosang to refuse.
Yeosangâs heart lurched. The weight of Sanâs gaze still clung to him, heavy, magnetic. But Wooyoung was right hereâdirect, certain, impossible to misunderstand. And Yeosang⊠Yeosang was tired of fumbling. He nodded, sliding his hand into Wooyoungâs. Wooyoungâs grin widened in triumph as he tugged him toward the dance floor.
Behind them, San kept his smile fixed, but it didnât reach his eyes. He lifted his glass in a mock-toast, muttering just loud enough for himself: âGuess thatâs my answer, then.â And still, even as he turned away, his chest ached with the echo of that first pull.
Yeosang and Wooyoung were out on the floor now while San was at the bar watching them. Which one? Yeosang had no idea. He wrapped his arms around Wooyoungâs neck and swayed his hips in sync with Wooyoung's. The music is loud and sensual. Wooyoungâs hands held to Yeosangâs hips as they danced.
Yeosangâs grip on Wooyoungâs neck tightened, his body swaying with the heavy pulse of the music. The crowd pressed in around them, heat and neon blurring the edges, but Yeosangâs focus wasnât on Wooyoungâs smirk or even the way his hands held steady at his hips.
It was on the bar. On San.
That magnetic stare still hadnât let him go, and Yeosangâs chest burned with equal parts longing and frustration. He should have said yes. He should be out there dancing with him. But the words had tangled, his courage had failedâand now San sat across the room, unreadable, slipping further away.
So Yeosang did the only thing he could. He tilted his head back, let the music take him, and pressed closer into Wooyoungâs body. His hips rolled deeper, slower, deliberately sensual. The kind of dance he wished he had the bravery to offer San.
Wooyoungâs grin sharpened in delight, mistaking the shift for him. His fingers dug into Yeosangâs waist, pulling him flush, perfectly in sync. To anyone else, it looked like Yeosang had surrendered completely to Wooyoung. But his eyesâhis eyes never strayed far from the bar.
And San saw every second of it.
His jaw tightened around the rim of his glass, the drink long forgotten. The ache in his chest grew sharp, twisting as he watched Yeosangâs body move the way he had imaginedâfluid, magnetic, meant for him. But Yeosang wasnât in his arms. He never would be.
San forced a laugh under his breath, though it sounded hollow even to him. 'Thatâs your answer. Loud and clear.'
He turned away from the floor, but the image burned into him anywayâthe way Yeosang had looked at him while moving against someone else.
The song throbbed heavier, the kind that made the whole floor shift in waves. Wooyoung laughed as Yeosang pressed closer, matching the rhythm with sharper rolls of his hips.
âOkay, there he is,â Wooyoung teased over the music, grinning wide. âI knew you had it in you.â His hands steadied Yeosangâs hips, more guiding than claiming, encouraging every movement like a friend cheering him on.
Yeosang forced a smile back, letting himself sink into the dance. But every shift of his body, every sharper sway, wasnât for Wooyoung. It was for the set of eyes he could feel across the room, even when he wasnât looking.
He risked a glanceâSan was still there, still watching. The weight of it made Yeosangâs chest flutter and tighten all at once. He tried to channel the confidence he didnât have, tried to let his body speak the words his voice couldnât: This is how I would have danced with you.
Wooyoung spun him lightly, and Yeosang laughed despite himself, but when he came back into his arms, the warmth in his smile faded. San was gone from the bar.
The song blended into the next, the floor thick with bodies, when a new presence cut into their orbit.
He slipped between them with a grin that didnât quite reach his eyes, his hand brushing against Wooyoungâs shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
âMind if I borrow him?â San asked, loud enough to carry over the bass. He didnât look at Yeosang when he said itâonly at Wooyoung.
Wooyoung laughed, bright and unbothered. âBorrow me? Please, Iâm everyoneâs favorite dance partner.â With a wink at Yeosang, he spun out of his hold and slid easily into Sanâs.
The crowd swallowed them in seconds, the two of them moving together like theyâd rehearsed it. Wooyoung was all sharp edges and playful flair; San matched him effortlessly, every step confident, magnetic, impossible to look away from.
Yeosang stood where theyâd left him, the music pounding in his veins but leaving him empty. His hands, still tingling from Wooyoungâs grip, curled into fists at his sides.
He told himself he didnât care. That it was just a dance. That Wooyoung was his friend and San had only wanted to have fun.
But when San finally glanced his wayâjust once, fleeting, a challenge in his eyesâYeosangâs breath caught.
Because in that look, he felt it. The same pull. The same heat. Only now, San was giving it to someone else. Yeosang swallowed the lump in his throat and ended up going back to the bar. The same one San had been sitting at while watching Wooyoung and him dancing. Yeosang brushed it off. He didn't care. Not at all. He downed a couple of drinks before Wooyoung returned. His face was flushed, and his hair was wild.
âIsnât he great? Iâm thinking of asking him out.â Wooyoungâs grin was wide, teasing, as he nodded toward San still moving effortlessly with the crowd.
Yeosangâs heart plummeted. The dread hit fast, curling cold in his stomach. His lips parted like he might say somethingâdonât, you canât, heâs mineâbut the words froze in his throat.
Instead, he forced a weak laugh. âY-Yeah⊠heâs⊠heâs great. But didn't you want to wait for your soulmate?â Wooyoung didnât notice the strain in his voice. He was already watching San again, eyes bright with admiration.
"Yeah, but i really like him. I think I'm willing to let the soulmate thing go for him."
Yeosangâs chest burned. Not just with jealousy, but with shame. Heâd had his chance, hadnât he? San had come straight to him. And Yeosang, tongue-tied and terrified, had let the moment slip through his fingers. Now Wooyoung, bold and fearless, was going to take it instead.
His hands tightened at his sides as he looked out at San, who was laughing easily with Wooyoung, moving like he belonged in the center of the world. And maybe he did. Maybe Yeosang had never stood a chance.
But when Sanâs eyes flicked toward him again, brief and sharp as lightning, Yeosang swore he felt itâthat invisible thread tugging at him, pulling tight across the crowded room. And the dread turned into something worse. A longing so strong, it almost hurt to breathe.
The night blurred with music and sweat, the clubâs heat clinging to Yeosang long after the last song bled out. Bodies began peeling off the floor, laughter spilling into the hum of voices near the bar and the rush toward the door.
Wooyoung tugged Yeosang along, weaving them through the crowd until they landed breathless in the cooler air outside. The neon sign buzzed above them, painting Wooyoungâs grin in streaks of pink.
âTell me that wasnât fun,â Wooyoung laughed, bumping Yeosangâs shoulder with his own.
Yeosang forced a smile. âIt was⊠yeah. It was.â His voice cracked like he hadnât quite caught it before it slipped out.
Wooyoung didnât noticeâor maybe he didnât want to. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes sparkling as he glanced back at the door. âI think Iâm gonna do it. Iâm gonna ask San out.â
The words struck harder than the bass ever could. Yeosangâs breath stalled, his chest tightening as if invisible hands had wrapped around his ribs.
âTonight?â he managed, the syllables scraping out raw.
âMaybe,â Wooyoung shrugged, casual but excited, like it was a game he already knew heâd win. âWhy not? Heâs incredible. And⊠I think he likes me, you know? The way he looked at me out thereââ
Yeosang couldnât listen anymore. His ears rang with the memory of Sanâs eyes, but not on Wooyoung. On him. That fleeting, magnetic pull that had chained him to the floor.
But he had no proof. No confidence. Nothing but a hollow ache gnawing at his chest.
So he smiled, small and brittle. âYeah⊠go for it.â
Wooyoung grinned wider, satisfied, and gave his arm a quick squeeze before bouncing a step toward the door again, like the night was only just beginning.
Yeosang stood frozen under the neon glow, dread pooling in his veins. He wanted to shout donât. He wanted to tell Wooyoung it was wrong, that San was hisâwas meant to be his. But his throat closed around the words, strangling them before they could leave.
And for the second time that night, Yeosang watched San slip away.
