#oat writes

what really solidified it for me was i put a sex scene in my recent fic update, it made sense for the story and what was going on but it didn't NEED to be there, i had put it in just to see if that would get more people to read it.

and it worked. i got several replies on my posts saying people were interested now. why did it take sex for you to be interested? it's a story full of rich world building and a complex plot about what it means to be 'human' but you wouldn't read it unless there was some dick in ass? that's not what the story is about.

so that really just frustrated me and made me realize that what i'm trying to accomplish isn't something well suited for a fanfic space that is largely just meant to be self indulgent fluff and porn. (at least in kpop fanfic spaces)

but yeah. i'm not doing it anymore. sorry for leaving these stories half finished. i'll probably just leave Buried Treasure and Afterimage on ao3 for now. Afterimage might get reworked into an original story and once it does i'll probably take it down but it'll be there for now.

i really appreciate anyone that supported my fics, even if it was quietly. i just don't think i fit into the fanfic space anymore or maybe i'm just too sensitive or not built for it idk.

thanks for having me. i'll still be around reading fanfics here and there but prob not to the same degree i used to.

“You did good, Sannie,” he could feel his breath fill the space between them, spackle in the gaps. “Go rest now.” 

San’s cross-eyed gaze and lopsided smile tore at Wooyoung’s heart like a cat’s claws against a muslin curtain. 

“We’ll celebrate tomorrow, yeah?” He asked and Wooyoung, the coward that he was, smiled and gently squeezed the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, we’ll get everyone together. Drinks on you.” He joked and hoped it was convincing, hoped San didn’t see the viscous ichor that bubbled up his throat and threatened to choke him on his falsehoods. 

Just one more day. He’d give San (and himself, always selfishly thinking about himself) just one more day before he went back to his old life and vanished from San’s. It was foolish of him to think he could continue the charade, to shirk his duties and abandon his family. His rebellion was not worth San’s life and he was not worthy of San. 

Wooyoung felt like he spent the first half of the day with a weight pressing down against his shoulders, crushing him further and further into a hole he dug with his own greedy hands. Now, hunched over his drink in the corner of the club he stared down at those hands - hands that tainted everything they touched. He should be smiling, mingling, putting on a show, but thankfully everyone was focused on San tonight (just as he deserved.) 

“Youngie!” Well, almost everyone except the man himself. 

“Hey baby,” His muscles almost cramped with how quickly he grinned, his entire face no doubt lighting up like a lake in the morning sun. It was easy when San shone so brightly; he just wished his eyes sparkled in his reflection but he knew their luster had dimmed tonight. 

“You’ve been sitting here most of the night. C’mon, let’s get some fresh air.” San urged, arm around his shoulders and tipsy body swaying against him. It had barely been an hour but San never could hold his alcohol. Sometimes Wooyoung was jealous. 

“Alright, alright. Get up, let’s go.” He shoved at San’s side until he was standing from the booth. He hadn’t expected San to grab his wrist and practically drag him towards the back exit, the one that wasn’t for public use but the manager had never stopped them from using whenever they wanted to creep home unseen. 

“Sannie what-” Wooyoung’s breath was stolen from his very lungs as his lips parted and hands raised on instinct alone. He groaned as the taste of strawberry Jinro and cigarettes swept across his tongue, the taste of ash not dissimilar to the taste of his own self loathing. He trailed his hand from San’s shoulder, up the strong column of his neck, and to the slightly grown out hair at the nape of his neck. It was just enough to get between his fingers and tug before directing San’s overactive lips down to his neck. 

A puff of air escaped him, visible in the cold air of the back alley. The neon light that illuminated their bodies almost seemed like it was flickering in beat with his own heart; bathed in color and buzzing with the strain to stay alive. It would be better if someone just put the light out. 

“Where are you?” San asked, head resting against his shoulder and glassy eyes pinched in concern as he looked up at Wooyoung, seemingly tracing every detail of his face. He always seemed to linger beneath his eye and on his lips. 

“Sorry, Sannie, guess I drank more than I thought.” He laughed, arching his back slightly as he urged San back into a kiss. “C’mon, don’t stop now.” 

One last time. He wanted to give himself to San one last time so he could cling to the memory when he lay in over-starched sheets that smelled of expensive detergent, alone. He wanted to remember the caress of San’s calloused hands against his skin as he tugged on suits he couldn’t remember buying from designers he’d never even heard of. 

“I love you,” San whispered against his collarbone and Wooyoung hoped he didn’t hear the thick swallow that bobbed his throat. He turned his eyes to the sky in an illusion of rolling them in pleasure instead of the reality of fighting tears. “I love you so much.” He wished he could fight his tears as well as San fought in the ring. They’d never stand a chance. 

“I love you too, Sannie, more than you know.” More than he would ever be able to express. He would no longer be able to lay in the nest of blankets in their banged up van, pressing feather-light kisses to each freckle and bruise painting San’s skin. 

A harsh gasp flew from his lips as he felt a warm hand press against the bulge straining his no name black trousers, purchased from a second hand store down the street. He drew in a shuddering breath as San squeezed with just the right amount of pressure, playing his body like a well studied instrument. 

“Youngie, can I?” He whispered and Wooyoung nodded, blinded by his arousal and the knowledge of what was to come - both now and later. They each fumbled with their zippers, knuckles bumping together and laughter swirling between as they both lifted their eyes, gazes impossibly fond. 

The moment was shattered when they were finally pressed together, laughter morphing into shared pants breathed into each other’s mouths. He stroked over San’s tip just the way he liked, a glide of his thumb just over the slit, and he groaned as San squeezed on the upstroke. They had memorized each other like a map that led to the treasure of their mutual pleasure. The sob that tore from his lips was easily disguised as a sound of pleasure rather than the lament of a goodbye. 

“Close, Sannie,” Wooyoung swallowed back his tears, grinding his teeth against the sobs as he pressed his forehead into the crook of San’s neck. “Just a little longer.” Please, let him live in this moment a little longer. 

Sadly, all good things came to an end and soon enough they were both spilling over each other’s hands, sweat slicked skin pressed together as they each slumped forward, two bodies somehow supporting each other in their mutual brief exhaustion. 

“Fuck.” San drew out the ‘f’ on an exhalation, laughing breathlessly before grabbing a handkerchief from his back pocket and carefully cleaning both their hands. He took extra time to wipe away a spatter on Wooyoung’s new watch - “A gift for the best manager and boyfriend I’ve ever had.”  

“Yeah,” Wooyoung returned the laugh, a weak and brittle little thing that felt wrong. “C’mon, I bet the others are wondering where we’ve disappeared off to.” 

“I’m pretty sure they know.” San smirked as he tucked the bandana away and set them both to rights. His eyes were brighter, more sober, but still shining with so much joy and love. Wooyoung would see them in every expensive jewel on his stupid cuff links. 

“Alright, you’re probably right. Go, I’m going to get cleaned up and I’ll meet you there.” He urged even as his teeth threatened to bite his tongue, to hold the words back in his throat until he choked on his own blood. 

San nodded his agreement and gave a final playful wink and a blown kiss before slipping through the heavy metal door. 

The alley suddenly felt so cold as Wooyoung pressed his back flat to the grimy wall across from the bar, sliding to the floor uncaring of whatever filth was beneath him. He stared at the flickering neon sign for some time, listening to the ambient hum. His fingers curled around the little brick in his pocket, nearly crushing. He paused when he heard a soft ‘ping’ but instead of looking down at a broken phone he instead looked up to watch the last remnants of light fade away from neon coils. 

“Yeah.. Me too.” He whispered, voice hoarse as his face lit up from below from the overly bright welcome screen of his cell phone. He ignored the barrage of notifications, opening the phone app and blindly pressing a number he thought he’d never call again. It took two rings to connect. 

“I need you to pick me up.” 

He didn’t remember when he stood up and began walking but soon enough Wooyoung stood at the corner of the block, watching as a shiny black car pulled up far too quickly to have come from the heart of Seoul. 

“What on Earth are you wearing?” A voice spoke from the backseat and his heart instantly dropped into his stomach. He fucking hated his father’s assistant. 

In lieu of an answer he climbed into the back, forehead pressed to the cold glass of the window the instant his door was closed. 

“Your father will be happy to hear you’ve come to your senses.” He didn’t give a fuck how his father felt about it. “Honestly, Wooyoung, a boxer?” The assistant sucked his teeth in that way that had always set Wooyoung’s teeth on edge and it took every ounce of self restraint not to show him his own boxing skills. 

The car rolled away slowly and Wooyoung kept his eyes on the alley where he knew the neon sign had once shone. He wondered if anyone would ever fix it. He wondered how it was possible for him to leave San’s life as seamlessly as he had entered it. He wondered if San would ever forgive him (or if he would ever forgive himself.) 

Laying beneath Yeosang is one of Mingi's favorite places to be, whimpering as lace covered fingers pass over his nipple for the hundredth time. Both nubs are red and puffy from the constant stimulation and his hips twitch with every little graze.

"Careful," Yeosang whispers, finally pressing his smooth thumb against one of his rosy buds. Mingi doesn't know if he wants to sigh in relief as he finally receives a break from the friction of the lace or cry from the hot oversensitivity of his abused skin. It takes every ounce of will power he has not to curl inward and thrust his hips upward.

But he can't. He has to be good.

His breath begins to come through open lips, ragged and measured as he clearly struggles to keep control. Yeosang chuckles, low in his chest, and suddenly grinds down, pussy clenching as he resettles to rest all of his weight on Mingi's hips. Mingi is certainly not strong enough to hold back his sob, lashes wet and clumping, tremors rattling over him from head to toe.

Yeosang's brow furrows slightly before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the hinge of Mingi's jaw. "Princess, can you tell me your color?"

It takes a moment for Mingi to unscramble the words, wide glassy eyes slowly refocusing on an errant speck of dust on the ceiling. He doesn't want to completely lose the gentle haze lingering at the edge of his mind but he knows it's important he answers Yeosang truthfully. He doesn't hesitate to reply 'green' when his mouth is finally able to form the word.

"So good for me, princess." Yeosang practically purrs in answer as he begins to properly lift himself off Mingi's cock before dropping all the way back down, carefully swallowing his own sounds. He fucks himself on Mingi's cock as if he's nothing more than one of the toys stashed in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. He's curved just right to nudge that precious spot inside Yeosang, every plunge downward building the heat in his core. "Remember, you aren't allowed to cum until I allow it."

Mingi sobs again, no longer able to hold back the fat drops of tears that roll back into his hairline. He's aching inside Yeosang's wet heat, the sensation almost scorching after being wrapped in the silky embrace for so long.

He's trembling, hands twisted in the sheets to the point of pain. He isn't allowed to touch Yeosang, he is only allowed to lay there and accept what is given to him. He can't hold back the way his cock throbs at how completely used he feels, Yeosang an absolute vision above him just taking what he wants. Sometimes it feels like he's sucking his life out through his cock and Mingi thinks that wouldn't be the worst way to go.

Yeosang can tell his princess is close, Mingi's gaze hazy while soft moans spill from him freely. He barely holds back a gasp as he feels Mingi throb deep inside him. He knows he has only a few moments longer before he needs to allow Mingi to finish but he's far too greedy in the moment. He rolls his hips a few more times and pinches one of Mingi's nipples between his lace covered fingers, heat pooling in his belly at Mingi's little whimpers.

A startled sound is jostled out of him as large hands suddenly grip his hips. Mingi thrusts up into him once, twice, before he stills with a choked cry. Yeosang growls out a low curse and Mingi whimpers beneath him, a tremble of a different kind washing over him. "I'm so-sorry," he sniffles.

"It's alright Princess, I pushed too hard." Yeosang whispers as he slowly removes himself from Mingi's hips, kneeling beside him instead and pressing gentle kisses to each of Mingi's damp cheeks. It was his fault for being greedy, for seeing Mingi's tells and ignoring them. He didn't want Mingi to fail, tonight wasn't for that kind of scene, and he let things get out of control.

"I wa-wasn't good," Mingi's voice wavers in a way that breaks Yeosang's heart and he slowly, carefully pets over his hair. "Shh, you were perfect, dove." A shiver rolls down Mingi's spine at the pet name, one so very rarely used.

"I want to make it up to you," he says, voice more sure even though it's nearly a whisper. "Please? I want to be good." He rolls over and Yeosang shifts to give Mingi's large frame enough room. Eventually Mingi settles with his head resting against Yeosang's thigh, large doe eyes turned upwards.

"Are you sure?" Yeosang asks. He slowly cards his fingers through Mingi's hair, loving how long it's getting now. He wonders if Mingi will let him put it up later. "You don't have to do anything for me, princess. I'm not upset, you were very good for me." He tries to reassure him, gently scratching his fingers along the edge of Mingi's jaw, watching as his eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch not unlike a cat.

"Please? I really want to, hyung." Mingi fully pouts out his lower lip and Yeosang is powerless to resist the powerful combination of 'hyung' and his sweet pleading face. His princess seems alright, showing no signs of dropping, and the pitiful expression seems much more for Yeosang's benefit rather than any genuine distress.

"Alright. Then I want you to put this pretty mouth to work and clean up your mess." Yeosang shifts back against the numerous pillows beneath them, lounging with his arms propped on either side like a king on his throne. He spreads his legs with a confidence that he doesn't always feel but it's always worth it for the starving look on Mingi's face.

He has barely settled his hips where he wants them before Mingi's mouth is on him, desperately licking and sucking as if the mixture of his slick and Mingi's cum is the elixir of life. If Mingi finds immortality between his thighs who is Yeosang to stop him from indulging? He can't help but grasp Mingi's hair as he feels the ball of his tongue ring glide across his sensitive clit.

Mingi teases him for some time, trying to coax any sounds from Yeosang's stubborn lips. He nearly succeeds as Yeosang bites back what would have been a gutteral moan, Mingi's tongue sliding inside him suddenly and curling as if trying to scoop his seed out. Yeosang can't help the way he clenches, releasing Mingi's hair and curling his fingers in the pillow cases beneath him. His thighs are trembling and he knows he's close, brought to the edge quickly after a full evening of teasing Mingi and to an extent himself. He feels the heat building in his pelvis as Mingi pulls his tongue back to lap at him again.

"Close, princess, so close-" He chokes, breath coming in shuddering gasps.

This only spurs Mingi on and he dives closer, sucking and rolling that damn piercing over his aching bud. That's all Yeosang needs to fall over the edge, hands suddenly reaching out to grip Mingi's shoulders, grinding down against his sinful mouth as he comes down from the euphoria. Mingi hardly seems to mind, hands wrapped firmly around Yeosang's thighs to keep him close.

"P-Princess, that's enough. Let me see you." He sighs, urging Mingi to come lay up beside him. "Show me."

Mingi doesn't hesitate to open his mouth, sticking out his tongue to prove he'd thoroughly cleaned up his mess. Yeosang smiles fondly, slipping two fingers over Mingi's tongue and letting the piercing slide between his middle and ring finger. "My good little dove."

Mingi practically preens at the pet name, something almost sacred between them. Sure, he loves being called princess but he is Yunho's princess too - albeit in a different way. Dove is for them, a gentle affection and appreciation for Mingi's beauty.

He's just about to close his eyes when a soft whine is pulled from him, a painless but curious pressure at the center of his tongue urging him to open his eyes.

"Shit, sorry," Yeosang curses, twisting his fingers oddly and it takes a moment before Mingi realizes what has happened. The lace of Yeosang's glove is wrapped around his tongue piercing, the fact becoming even more evident as Yeosang tries to stay as still as possible while reaching towards the nearby side table. Mingi can't help but erupt into giggles at the concerned pinch to Yeosang's brow and the litany of apologies spilling from him.

Thankfully, Yeosang is prepared for everything when it comes to their bedroom activities - it's the only reason Mingi is open to doing half the things they do - and it's only a few more seconds before he's using a pair of safety scissors to cut them free. He even goes so far as to remove the last threads of the glove from Mingi's tongue and press a gentle kiss over the piercing.

"Are you okay?" Yeosang asks as they settle back down, a tangle of blankets and pillows and discarded clothes.

"Amazing. I'm going to miss those gloves, though." He playfully pouts and Yeosang laughs sweetly, pressing a kiss to Mingi's forehead.

"I'll buy some more now that we know what not to do. Sorry again-" "Shhh, it's fine hyung, it didn't hurt. And it was funny as hell." He snickers. "Can't wait to tell Wooyoung."

"Do not."

His heart stilled in his chest and his blood turned frigid, a shiver running through him as the tears welled up in his eyes so quickly the warmth of them almost burned as they trailed down his cheeks. How could he have left him here? This part of town wasn’t safe and they weren’t exactly unknown. He was the fighter capable of protecting himself, not Wooyoung. 

“San, stay calm,” Seonghwa urged, warm hand sliding over San’s bare shoulder. It both settled his nerves and made his skin crawl. “We’ll find him.” 

“Someone came here and took him-” San choked on the words and clenched his hands into fists, uncaring of the way the various pieces of metal, plastic, and glass bit into his palms. “He could be anywhere. Seonghwa he could be-” 

“Shh, Yeosang and I will find him San, I promise.” Normally, San would balk at such an impossible promise but nothing happened in this city without Seonghwa or Yeosang’s knowledge. They were information brokers and the very best in the business, operating under the guise of Blue Bird Deliveries. If anyone could find Wooyoung (or those who had taken him) it would be them. 

“Please, Seonghwa.” He finally turned his wet gaze to his two friends, Yunho reaching out a hand to help San to his feet. 

“Jongho and I will do what we can as well. It may not be much but you know we’ll all help, San.” 

Steadfast, reliable Yunho. San should have known he wouldn’t be alone in this but it was hard to remember sometimes. He’d been alone for so long before the incandescent ball of fire that was Jung Wooyoung entered his life and lit up every corner of his heart with laughter and joy. He didn’t want to go back to the dark. 

Only monsters lurked in the dark. 

And with time, the monster emerged. 

Each day San became more unsettled, more volatile, until he became a legend of a new kind within the ring. Where the Mountain had been known for his sportsmanship and kindness he now became known for his ruthlessness and bloodshed. San went into every fight looking to draw blood, to use his fists to vent the ache that had seeped into every ventricle of his heart. 

It was after one such fight that Yeosang approached him, polite as ever in his delivery outfit with his helmet tucked beneath his arm. “San, Seonghwa and I found something. We think.. Well, you should come see this.” 

San decidedly did not like the sound of that but he welcomed any news about Wooyoung at this point. It had been weeks now and he felt his manager and boyfriend’s absence like the loss of a limb. 

So San followed Yeosang dutifully, driving the battered van that still contained Wooyoung’s clothes, his favorite blanket, his skin care, everything an artifact that constructed who Wooyoung had been behind closed doors. The lingering scent of his half-finished bottle of cologne lingered both as a balm to his soul and a poisonous miasma threatening to pull him under. He pushed it all to the back of his mind as he pulled in beside the building Seonghwa and Yeosang had co-opted as their hideout, surprised to see everyone else loitering around the space as he was led into what looked to be some kind of office or surveillance space. 

“Hi San.” Hongjoong greeted, arms crossed over his chest where he sat on the arm of a sofa beside Mingi. San only offered a nod in reply before coming to stand behind the computer chair containing Seonghwa. 

“What is it you wanted to show me?” He bit out harsher than he meant to but it was so hard to reign in every bubbling emotion stewing in the pit of his stomach. 

“San, maybe you want to-” “Now, Seonghwa. Please.” Hwa only nodded, sparing an indescribable glance in Yeosang’s direction before pressing play on the footage in front of him. 

It was grainy, scan lines distorting the picture now and then, but San knew the sight well enough to decipher what he was looking at. It was the back alley, two figures pressed against each other exchanging impassioned kisses he still felt the imprint of on his lips. He didn’t think his heart could hurt worse but he was proven wrong again, a violent twist in his chest nearly bringing him to his knees. 

He cursed his past self as he watched him walk inside and leave Wooyoung in that alley where he slowly slumped against the far wall. Why did he look so sad? Why was there almost an aura of despondency surrounding him? Everything had seemed fine, it had all seemed- 

San’s jaw clenched tight as he watched Wooyoung produce another phone, one he didn’t recognize, and complete a too brief call. His nails pressed into his palms as he tightened the fists at his side, watching as Wooyoung destroyed the very phone he had picked up that evening, snapping the SIM card before walking away. 

The view switched abruptly, faster than San could rein in his simmering emotions, and showed an angle from just down the road where Wooyoung entered the vehicle; not shoved, yanked, or forced. He just.. got in and drove away. The video cut out, the ambient static disappearing and leaving only the ragged inhale and exhale of San’s breath to fill in the space left behind. 

“No one in the city knows anything about a man named Wooyoung, he’s never managed any fighters, never done any dealings before he showed up a few months ago.” Seonghwa spoke carefully, not wanting to set off the proverbial bomb at his back. 

“Okay.” Barely audible, San answered and nodded slowly. A stillness spread through the room as if waiting to see if the bomb would diffuse or burst with a deadly shockwave. 

“San?” Jongho spoke up, concern pouring from the single syllable. “Did he say anything to you that night?” 

The tic in San’s jaw wasn’t comforting but eventually he spoke; “He said he loved me, more than I could know, but you don’t-” He cut himself off, swallowing the flood of spit beneath his tongue. “You don’t walk away from someone you love like that.” 

The anger had trickled away, leaving a hollowed out husk behind. He felt like a puppet with his strings cut, detached and directionless.

“You don’t, not if you really love them, and that’s why we think maybe Wooyoung didn’t walk away - At least not because he wanted to.” Yeosang said as he came to lean against the desk that held all the damning information. 

“Is it so hard to believe he just left me? Got sick of it all and took off? It wouldn’t be the first time.” Don’t. Don’t go down that trail, only brambles and stinging nettles pave that road and San had been down it far too many times. 

“Honestly? Yeah. San, anyone with eyes can see how much you mean to each other. I don’t think he would just walk away from that. You said it yourself, one of the last things he said to you was that he loved you. You wouldn’t say that to someone if you were just going to leave them, not unless you wanted to be cruel and Wooyoung couldn’t even squish a bug.” Mingi offered, brows pinched in concern in that way that made his eyes seem even bigger and so full of love for the people around him. San didn’t know if he was aware he was doing it, but he snaked an arm around Hongjoong’s waist as he spoke and pulled the man closer to him. 

Yunho laughed softly and San’s eyes snapped over to him, watching as he tried to hide his smile behind his hand. “Remember when he almost crashed the van because there was a spider on the dash? And then you two had to pull over and make Yeosang get it.” 

San felt the muscles of his face twitch, the memory of a smile desperate to break free. 

“Or that time he got scratched to shit taking in a pregnant cat, and then he cried when she gave birth in his lap. He didn’t even care that it ruined his clothes.” Jongho provided and San dropped his head to hide the reluctant smile that broke over his face. 

No. Jung Wooyoung was anything but cruel and San regretted ever doubting him. 

“So what do we do now?” Hongjoong wondered and all eyes turned to San, waiting with bated breath for an answer. It took him a while to gather his composure but the response was as firm as Damascus steel when it came.

“Sannie please for the love of God move.” He begged, trying to kick out one of his legs only to have it pinned to the lumpy mattress, leaving Wooyoung reluctantly spread open. His cock wept against his stomach and he couldn't help but think ‘Me too, buddy.’ 

San leaned down, pressing their lips together with lazy, lingering kisses. He was such a juxtaposition of unwavering strength and endless tenderness. He knew Choi San was one of a kind and he was so lucky to have met him that fateful rainy night. He’d never find anyone like him again. 

“Why don't you ask nicely?” San smirked against his jaw and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

“San if you don't fucking move I’m going to book the biggest, meanest bastard for your next fi-ah!” Breath swept into his lungs in a harsh gasp, expelled in a low and pathetic whine. It wasn't that San was the biggest he’d ever slept with - he was average, maybe above - it was that every movement was done with so much intent. He rolled his hips, gave teasing touches, and panted crude compliments all for nothing more than the satisfaction of his lover. 

It had been a night a lot like this, blowing off steam from an unsatisfying fight that San felt he won too quickly, when the revelation had struck Wooyoung. He had watched San then as he did now, the concentrated furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw to stave off his own orgasm until he knew his lover was unequivocally satisfied. All of it came to the same conclusion Wooyoung drew in the current moment; He was unbearably in love with Choi San. 

“Why are you crying, jagi?” San’s movements stilled as he lifted his calloused palm, cupping his cheek gently.

Wooyoung blinked slowly, unaware of when the tears had begun to streak down his face but he could feel them carving tracks backwards. He kept his gaze on San, opening his mouth to speak but a cold tear dipped uncomfortably into his ear. He blinked and when he opened his eyes he welcomed a new cresting tide of tears. 

He was back here, in the almost clinical bedroom in the corner of a house that had never felt like home. His eyes burned with tears and he knew he’d been crying for much longer than the brief snippet in his dream. He stumbled to his feet and tread into the bathroom, grimacing at the image staring back at him in the mirror. His long hair was a mess, greasy and in disarray, and his eyes were nearly swollen with how puffy they were. 

Wooyoung ducked his head, splashing icy water on his face several times. He was so tired of crying, so fucking tired of it, and yet he couldn't stop. Every single morning he woke up and pressed a cold compress to his eyelids until he resembled something close to human again. He ignored that step today, turning off the sink just to turn on the shower. 

He wanted to wallow, to stay in bed all day and cry himself to sleep again, to rot in his silk sheets on his stupidly expensive mattress. He craved a lumpy mattress permeated in the smell of cologne, sweat, sex, and San. It was so tempting to fall back under the covers and shut out the world but he knew, as much as he hated it, that San would never want to see him like this. And somehow that was enough. 

Wooyoung finished his shower quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist and going through his skin care routine that had way more steps than even made sense. He finished rubbing in his moisturizer before he opened the drawer beside him. Multiple watches in a variety of styles lined the inside, save for a vacant spot in the very center. 

His heart dropped through his feet, thrashing and writhing somewhere on his heated bathroom floor. 

Where is it? 

I put it here, didn't I?

My nightstand- Not here. 

The dresser-

No, no, no, nononono- Where is it?! 

His breath came in a rapid staccato, unsustainable and painful. He didn't really care if he ever breathed again, not if he’d truly lost Sannie’s watch. He needed it, needed to feel close to him in the only way he was allowed now. 

“Where is it?” He gasped, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision just before he heard a door open in the main section of his apartment. He yanked on a pair of sweatpants left hanging over a bedpost before stumbling out into his living space. 

“Hyunsoo-ssi, have you seen my watch? The silver one with the big dial-”

“Oh, that atrocity.” He tsked and dread mixed with something else, something sticky and molten, bubbled in Wooyoung’s stomach. “I cleaned out all your old designs for this year’s collection,” He passed a judgemental eye to the sweats hanging off his hips. “Though it seems I might have missed some.” 

Again, Wooyoung didn't feel when the tears started. He could only feel the cold streaks left in their wake as his skin grew impossibly warm. His fingers curled into his palms, nails pressing indents into the soft flesh. 

“And where are they now?” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes closed as those black dots appeared in his periphery again. He felt wound tight, a coiled spring ready to snap - or perhaps a leopard, crouched low in wait for one wrong move, one little -

“I threw them out. Don't worry, Wooyoung-ssi, this year's designs are much-” 

He hadn't made a decision to throw the salt lamp across the room. Wooyoung hadn't even been aware he was holding it until it left his fingertips, hurtling towards the wall with an impressive amount of speed. His nostrils flared as the drywall crumbled and shards of the salt block scattered around his floor. He opened his eyes, vision tinted red as his eyes locked on his father's assistant. 

Wooyoung hated himself for it, hated the way it reminded him of his childhood, but he took a sick thrill in the fear that washed over Hyunsoo’s face. Good. “Get out.” He croaked, voice hoarse with barely restrained screams. 

There was a spot on the rug in his father's office, a deep brown and an odd wobbly shape. Spilled coffee, his father had said, knocked over by one of his visiting business partners who Wooyoung could barely remember. He understood now what that stain really was. 

His mouth flooded with spit the moment Hyunsoo closed the door behind him and Wooyoung had only a moment to sprint to his kitchen sink, more grateful than ever for his open floor plan as he slid to a stop on the tile just in time to eject the contents of his stomach into the shiny silver basin. He’d barely eaten the night before, something his stomach hadn't thanked him for, but at least it was a benefit to him now as he had very little to offer up. Snot and tears spilled down the lower half of his face and he groaned, using the spray nozzle on his faucet to rinse both the sink and his face. 

Wooyoung slammed the tap to shut it off before sliding down to the floor, back pressed against the uncomfortable grooves of the cabinet behind him and knees tucked to his chest. He tucked his forehead against them, the moisture dripping from his hair soaking the knee of his sweats. One hand lifted, rubbing a slow circle over the left side of his chest. 

His last connection to San, gone with something as simple as a careless - or perhaps malicious - act of service. The hickeys had long faded from his sternum, the scent of San’s cologne no longer clung to the clothes he'd worn that night. The watch had been all he had left to prove that he had been lucky enough to have been known - been loved - by Choi San. 

Wooyoung felt the rhythmic thumping against his fingers, an undeniable sign that blood still pumped through his veins. His heart was there, it was still there, so why did his chest feel so hollow? He wanted to thrash, to wail, to make sure the world could hear the pain that scraped his insides raw. Instead, he cried silently, vacant gaze locked on the mangled hole in the wall, lamp cord dangling down to the floor. 

Crying had never gotten him anything but a scolding so he had learned a long time ago to keep silent. 

When Wooyoung looked at himself in the mirror again the next morning another grimace spread over his face but this time accompanied by a nauseating twist in his gut. He lifted his hand to brush through his hair, twisting his fingers around the too-short strands and tugging until he felt a light sting at his scalp. It looked as wrong as he felt but he had an image to maintain now - Father’s perfect puppet. 

The image nearly made him sick, not from an attractiveness standpoint, but rather he missed who he was before. He missed San carding his fingers through his hair as he sang to him softly, half drunk but full of love. He missed San gripping with his fingers close to Wooyoung’s scalp, tilting his head back to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He missed San rolling over onto his hair in the middle of the night, coaxing him back to sleep with hushed apologies.