#woosanfic

The shivers wrack through him in waves, and he ends up choking a handful of times, though he really can’t pinpoint the cause of those either. The two beautiful strangers who somehow have to do with him being here sit on either side of him, the first with something akin to a sad expression, the other unreadable.

Wooyoung is tired of the silence. “Where am I?” He asks, but it comes out as a pathetic whisper rather than a strong demand.

The second man speaks up, “A mansion far away from where you call home.” He lifts a finger in front of him that’s still somehow directed at Wooyoung to not speak, and continues: “You were found by San dying in a slum alleyway somewhere, and for some reason instead of finishing the job he decided to save you.”

Slowly turning his head to who he assumes is San (the still silent one), Wooyoung mutters, “Oh.” Only a few silent moments have to pass before the rest of the declaration weighs heavy on him. He whips his head back around. “Finished what job, exactly?”

“You were dying, dear,” the second man flashes a smile and a flutter of eyelids. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the sarcastic undertone. “And our friend here should have just killed you.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows. He elects to ignore the obvious insult to instead ask, “And how exactly was I saved? This certainly doesn’t look like a hospital.”

“Ah, there. That’s the right question.” The second man settles himself back onto the bed so he’s no longer looking at Wooyoung. He’s not sure he could have stood those red eyes any longer anyway. “It’s more fun to have you guess, though.”

Wooyoung huffs indignantly. He’s tired, annoyed, and still so fucking confused. He doesn’t want to guess, he wants to be told. And right now he feels like telling this other stranger to sod off, because at least this “San” was nicer. So far, anyway. Still, he wants confirmation enough to calm the boiling in his veins enough to spit out, “Well you all seem like a bunch of stereotypical fantasy book type vampires.”

A laugh erupts out of the second man, one that seems fairly devoid of any true humour, and Wooyoung scoots closer to “San”. The latter man flinches slightly and tenses, but it doesn’t feel like one of cautious anticipation. More like the clench of muscles of someone ready to fight. Wooyoung sure hopes he’s not the one to be fought. “Ah, I wonder what sort of things that sharp tongue of yours would say if my teeth were sunk into your pretty little ne—”

“Enough.”

Both Wooyoung and the man flinch at “San”s sudden forceful voice. Having been now hovering over Wooyoung, the second man scoffs under his breath and removes himself from the continuing quivering Wooyoung. His eyes, Wooyoung notices, have also morphed into that deep black and Wooyoung is idly wondering how close he was to death (again?) when the man rolls his eyes. “You’re always so protective of your playthings, San.”

“I said enough, Mingi.” “San” (Wooyoung should probably drop the quotation marks) practically growls.

Mingi glares down at Wooyoung, his lip upturned. He wordlessly exists, all swift movements and even a somewhat graceful slam of the door behind him. Wooyoung is thankful he’s gone, he really is don’t get him wrong, but now he’s alone with San. And he doesn’t know how to feel about San. It was easy with everyone else—they clearly wanted to kill him. But Wooyoung doesn’t know how to process the information that San precisely thought the opposite, that Mingi said he “saved” him. He’s never been good with compliments or praise, and he somehow thinks that saving his life—however it actually happened—it’s just completely out of his realm of contemplating.

“Sorry about him,” San smiles, and it’s genuinely sweet. His eyes remain brown, and so now Wooyoung is wondering if this colour madness is just that—a product of his own madness.

“Where am I,” Wooyoung asks again, because Mingi wasn’t very helpful. Plus, he figures San will be more forthcoming, less of a sarcastic ass.

Turns out he’s right. San heavily sighs, cards his fingers through his hair, and… Pouts. Wooyoung blinks dumbly at it. “This is sort of a… Safe haven”—Wooyoung scoffs, San ignores him—“for people like me. Like… You. It’s hidden behind a sort of seal if you want to call it that, kind of like a spell.”

“A spell,” Wooyoung echos.

San nods enthusiastically, snapping his fingers because he seems to think Wooyoung is following along (he’s absolutely not). His smile falters slightly, though. “Mingi is slightly right, on one count. I had saved you, yes, but that was under the pretense you would become like me.”

“A vampire,” Wooyoung mutters, voice completely monotone.

San nods again, albeit more slowly. Wooyoung is afraid of what sort of circumstance warrants such a change in demeanor. “I know it’s… A lot, but I did it with the best intentions.” He lopsidedly smiles at Wooyoung and the latter’s heart positively melts. He supposes if some freak was going to “save” him in such a way, at least this one was pretty. “I truly thought you’d just be like me, like Mingi.” Wooyoung hates the unsaid “but”.

The roundabout is only slightly irking Wooyoung, but he’s able to at least be patient with San. Now that he knows the sort of other heathens that run rampant in this little tree shop of horrors house, anyway. “So I’m not a vampire then.”

A shake of the head this time. “No, no you’re not.”

Wooyoung thinks. He thinks because San looks just as tired and confused as he is. Thinks because he really hasn’t clearly yet since waking up dead, and so he thoughtfully raps his index finger against his chin. He tries to remember the times he was a kid and poured through all sorts of fantasy novels and shows, and tries to recall what he knows about vampires. He remembers, though, what the one vampire had said about him: halfling.

He’s unaware he’s muttered it aloud when San perks up next to him. “That fits, actually. That’s the best way to describe it at this point.”

For the first time the whole night (as Wooyoung assumes it is, don’t vampires like, hibernate in the day?), Wooyoung really looks at San. He appears perhaps even the same exact age as Wooyoung, but if he’s going off fantasy vampire lore, the guy is probably in his hundreds. And looking fantastic at that. His skin looks impossibly smooth, eyes deep with emotion and lips curled into a sincere smile, even if it seems to be one of pity rather than joy. There’s a hint of a cherry red underneath San’s hair, and it sort of hits Wooyoung rather belatedly that San is just his type. Way better than any Tinder fuck he’s gotten recently, anyway.

And here he is, practically snuggled in bed with the guy.

But dammit Wooyoung, this is not the time to be horny, you need answers. And Wooyoung has plenty of questions to last (another) lifetime. So he picks one if not to just ignore the strange static that’s building between them. “Someone called me an omega,” he blurts, and it makes San softly laugh.

“Gunna talk my head off with questions, eh?”

“Absolutely,” Wooyoung blurts once more.

San lightly shrugs. “That’s fair.” Wooyoung swears his skin flushes when he stammers out, “B-But, the omega thing. There are some things that probably aren’t talked about in vampire school.”

“That absolutely doesn’t exist,” Wooyoung breathes, and shares his first pure laugh with San. He still doesn’t know if he should be hating the guy, honestly. It’s becoming increasingly harder to even entertain the thought.

“Well whatever,” San bats the air. “I just don’t think they really—er, anyone really—talks about how society for us really works.”

Wooyoung scoots closer, knees brushing against San’s. “Enlighten me.”

A breath escapes San’s nose that could definitely be a laugh, one so impossibly soft Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about it right now. “The person was right when they called you an omega. Before you blather about that whole thing, it’s not the sort of ‘omega’ you’re probably used to. You can’t get pregnant, go into heat, none of that. It’s simply a rank.”

“The lowest of them, then,” Wooyoung softly laments, turning his gaze to the bed.

It shoots up instantly the moment San replies with: “The opposite, actually.” Apparently Wooyoung’s awestruck expression is enough for him to continue without delay. “Omegas are thought to be the highest for us. They’re pure, untainted, and elegant. They think clearer than ravenous alpha or power seeking beta. They possess a certain poise and aptitude for the political, but even with all this they get treated like dirt.”

Wooyoung expressively frowns. “But you said—”

“I know,” San snaps. It makes Wooyoung shrink. “Hundreds, thousands, of years of alphas trying to overcome what they think their weakness is has led omegas to be somewhat of an anomaly. We changed so they’re rarer, less omegas lived to procreate, and as a result there are practically none left. It also just so happens omegas… Taste good.” San looks off anywhere that definitely isn’t Wooyoung.

Right, the whole blood drinking thing. Right.

Wait, no, not right, what the shit?

“So what the hell do I do?” Wooyoung asks, swallowing down his shivering panics. He figures it’s the most practical question he could possibly ask.

San looks back at him, eyes soft and pleading when he says, “Trust me.”

¥¥¥¥

Even though San assures him it’s safe now, that he’s “taken care” of things, Wooyoung still refuses to leave his room. At least, he assumes it’s his. In any case, no one has come to see him besides San, and certainly not that Mingi fellow. Wooyoung shivers at the memory, but also wonders why he was so willing to obey San as well. If he was going to admit it (which he isn’t presently), the sort of powerful aura San carries is… Well, unbelievably attractive.

Yet he’s still confused about this whole omega business, not to mention he doesn’t really think he’s come full to terms with his… Predicament. Is he dead? He doesn’t think the afterlife would be especially honest about where he was, but then again he has no frame of reference either. Just blind faith—just his trust in San, as feeble as it is. So he spends most hours (he’s lost track of them) curled into himself, fumbling to locate his heartbeat every few hours when he can’t feel it anymore. It’s his only way of holding on.

He thinks of his friends, how they must be worried about him. He’s not realised he’s shaking quite violently until San enters the room, and Wooyoung can finally breathe. It doesn’t even take him rising his head to know it’s San—his San, as his brain sometimes flutters to—he can just feel his presence like a blanket wrapping securely around him. The thought makes Wooyoung shiver again, though this time he’s not really sure what for. He’ll figure it out later.

A clatter of a plate being set down makes Wooyoung finally peek out from his blanket cocoon. Very recently being wrapped as tightly in linen as possible has brought him extreme relief. He blinks at the plate though, silver gilded and a rather hot looking cup of soup sitting innocently in the middle. “You must be hungry,” San says, though it’s more of an exasperated breath.

Wooyoung blinks dumbly when he says, “I’m not hungry.”

San sighs. “You’ve been here nearly a week”—Wooyoung whimpers—“and you’ve not eaten a thing. It’ll make me look bad if you starve to death.”

Wooyoung thinks on this. If it’s been nearly a week, how is that he’s not ravenous? Because he isn’t lying to San, he’s honestly not hungry. He hasn’t been, even though the soup looks tantalisingly good the longer he stares at it. “I thought vampires didn’t eat people food,” he mumbles, not even really realising he’s said it out loud. He yelps at his own bold proclamation, slinks back into his covers. San just laughs, and it’s too light and airy for Wooyoung to think about right now.

“We don’t, but you’re not fully like us.” The last bit sounds sad almost, and the confusion that has plagued Wooyoung since being here is crawling rather speedily up his conscience again.

And he really shouldn’t care, to be honest. Not when he’s not even sure if he should be thanking San yet, because he’s not even sure he was saved. Does saving someone entail trapping them in a room like some sort of failed Disney princess? Wooyoung doesn’t know, and he also doesn’t know why he reaches out an apprehensive hand to curl around the bit of San’s arms he can see from under his blankets. San tenses ever so slightly, but the overwhelming relief, like this is what Wooyoung has been starving over, when he can feel San go pliant under his touch—it’s maddening. It’s maddening because Wooyoung doesn’t understand.

As if San is reading his thoughts (he really could be, Wooyoung never really paid attention to the little snippets of vampire lore), he says quietly, “You should be careful.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows together and pouts even though San can see neither. “Maybe I would be if you told me why.”

Just from the way San’s arm wiggles uselessly in the air, Wooyoung can tell he’s rolled his eyes. “You’re an omega,” he explains like Wooyoung should already have this whole thing down.

“So?” He asks, withdrawing his hand to sit up fully, and sees San is staring holes into his soup. Wooyoung would gladly offer it up but… Vampires, and all that.

Without looking away San replies, “I’m an alpha.”

“And? You said none of that weird stuff existed.” With the way San tightens his fists Wooyoung is fully aware he’s treading on stormy waters. It’s a little exciting while also being downright terrifying, and it’s really no wonder he’s gotten himself caught up in something like this. The only difference is Wooyoung had imagined a lot more drugs and guns. “Besides,” Wooyoung continues, because San has stayed silent, “You were the one that didn’t kill me. You said omegas tasted good, right? So I’m thinking I’m in the clear with you.” He’s come to sit with his legs crossed, hands neatly folded on his lap, utterly satisfied in what he thinks is a perfectly sound argument.

It is, apparently, not.

San finally looks over at him, the brown eyes he had been using for Wooyoung (he’ll have to ask about that later, assuming he survives this) having turned to a deep red. Wooyoung doesn’t know what that could possibly mean, but for someone who is not really a vampire and therefore more like somewhat spoilt live stock, it can’t be good. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” He finally asks, and Wooyoung would definitely have replied with something snarky if it weren’t for the fact that a slender finger runs down his cheek.

So Wooyoung’s brain sort of short circuits, “panicked gay style”, as one of his friends once put it. “Wh-What?” He stammers out, having lost every ounce of cocky confidence he had going super well before.

His precious soup lays forgotten as San fully turns his body, a hand now caressing his cheek instead of just a finger. San looks at him through a thoughtful pout, eyes dashing all over before they rest neatly right in Wooyoung’s gaze. The red is still there, still bright and confusing, but there’s something soft as well. Or maybe that’s just Wooyoung’s wishful thinking. Yet the way San is holding his chin now is nothing but dripping with affection, and the way he walks closer to the bedside so he can breathe Wooyoung in is anything besides the feeling of a murderous monster. Perhaps murderous in a different way, Wooyoung belatedly thinks when their foreheads press together.

When he smiles, Wooyoung can see sharp fangs. It’s right then he thinks he has, in fact, probably gone too far, but the heat that coils inside of him just at the sight is betraying him rather efficiently. San says nothing as he leans his face into the dip of Wooyoung’s neck, hovering right over the place where he was first bitten by that freak of a date. Wooyoung swallows thickly when he feels soft lips press just as softly over the wound, and he should probably stop this but something like his attraction to the vampire and blunt curiosity stops him. San says nothing as he drags his upper lip over it, resting teasing fangs as if to make a bite of his own. A tongue flattens down next, and Wooyoung can’t help the whimper that leaves him, nor the way he holds onto San’s hips as if he’ll crumble if he doesn’t.

The door swings open right as Wooyoung feels San’s bottom lip skidding up to meet his top in what would have been a downright awful-but-wonderful kiss, and Wooyoung’s eyes flash open to see a rather incredulous Mingi staring at them both with some measure of disgust (it’s mostly directed at Wooyoung, though, he thinks). “The council is waiting for you, San,” he spits, and gives Wooyoung one more definitely I’m-going-to-end-your-life glare before he leaves, stomping down the hallway and certainly not closing the door.

A growl comes from the spot in Wooyoung’s neck where San is still nuzzled, but when he pulls back there is no anger in his expression. It’s turned to unreadable, which is new. Wooyoung doesn’t really like it. “He has an uncanny habit of entering at the worst of times,” San says, a laugh ghosting on Wooyoung’s face. His expression is still unreadable, but it’s at least somewhat softer now.

They stay silent for a solid five incredibly awkward seconds before San clears his throat rather audibly, removes Wooyoung’s hands from where they were still clutching San’s sides, and sets them in Wooyoung’s lap. He just as awkwardly pats down the sleeves of Wooyoung’s sweater before clearing his throat once again. “I have to go,” he says, “I’ll come back as soon as I can, omega.”

Wooyoung blinks, can only muster the strength to do that, as San turns to leave, but is able to blurt out, “Wooyoung.” It’s right before San has fully exited the room, one foot having frozen inside when he peers his head back in. “My name,” Wooyoung explains. “So you… Don’t have to call me omega.”

“Wooyoung,” San echoes with some thoughtfulness. It’s all he says before he leaves as well, albeit silently down the hall.

Two—no, three—things enter Wooyoung’s mind in rapid succession. One is that he’s certainly in too deep with this San, and they’ve barely held a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes and didn’t involve Wooyoung’s confusion. The second one is that he’ll have to stand to close the door and he’s not sure if his legs will even work after all that, and third…

The springs of the field guide two through the city as they walk the paths, one a goddess, one her son. Chatting closely while approaching the meeting spot. A basket filled with bread and spreads. The sun bright as San’s eyes meet the sky, a calling of the brightness and happiness that’s supposed to be the day. Well, if this gathering goes to plan. A joint agreement, a treaty moreso, between two of the celestial cities, which were never at war in the first place. The province consists of the two cities. While not quite the most fond of each other. The goddess and the god of the neighboring city join together when it comes to protecting their cities from unforeseen tragedy. 

The first time he met the boy was odd. San wasn’t sure why his mother had asked him to tag along today. Though, he didn’t hesitate to go with her. Gathering snacks to busy themselves while talking new rules and agreements. Squinting his eyes back towards the ground, the sun catching his skin. He shined like no other, the catching sunlight illuminating his skin with a golden hue, as if he just submerged from a cauldron of liquid glitter.  The flowy fabric of his dress shirt catching in the small gust of wind, he truly looked ethereal, anyone passing by could only stare. Everyone knew the boy was beautiful, it’s to be expected as the son of the goddess of love. 

The sight of the meeting area under the gazebo quickly approaches as they continue on. A hard laugh leaving his lips as the horrible joke his mother just made. He feels the chill of cold eyes belonging to another, looking forward with a small pout displayed on his face as he feels a man staring daggers into his soul. Who was he? And why does he look at if san personally killed his entire family? The taller man standing behind the staring boy, turns as the tunic draped over his shoulders flows in the wind. 

“Well if it isn’t the woman of the hour,” the man smiles brightly, the smile clearly fake and asserting annoyance. “And the son of the woman.” He gives a quick head nod to the boy. Sans eyes squinting into a smile as he smiles cheerily, and convincingly, at the god standing in front of him. “And who might this be?” his mother speaks, glancing sweetly over to the boy on the side. San has come to learn this look, a glance suspecting to be sweet and charming, laced with unease at the new face in front of them. “My son. I supposed I would bring him along with me, to learn the ways of his father and prepare him to take over my throne one day.” The four took a seat, san nor the boy sitting across from him spoke a word. The two gods talked through the interrogation in San’s head about the boy. He stares to the side, uninterested in anything that’s being discussed to his side. He’s not doing a good job of listening, for someone supposed to be learning ‘the ways of his father’. He glances over to san, eyes catching each other as sans eyes widen slightly, quickly turning his attention back to the conversation. 

The meeting concluded, the goddess and god bowing to one another. It seems an agreement is in place. Peace would remain for the two cities, aid being at the ready in case of a tragedy. The two looked over to the boys, waiting for something. Only a few words had been shared by the boys, not towards each other, and not by the boy at all, but from San towards the talkings of his mother and his father. San reaches his hand out towards the boy in front of him, a smile wide on his face. The boy hesitantly holds his hand up, going in to shake hands with san. It ends quickly, San dropping his hand as their hands shake twice. His mother turns to walk off, but turns back head over her shoulder, “I don’t think I ever caught your name?” a smile returns to her lips as she talks to the boy the same age as her son. 

“Wooyoung, Ms.” At least he knew simple manners. 

Wooyoung. 

–

The second time was unexpected. The walk back from the meeting consisted of his mother ranting about the blatant disrespect of Wooyoung's father, while going off about the rudeness of his child. San laughed softly as he agreed with her. The following weeks, three to be exact, consisted of preparing for the ball. Every year, hundreds of gods, goddesses, their children and several other mystical beings, gather at the ball the goddess of love throws. The cleaning of the palace took weeks. San didn’t need to partake in any cleaning, his mother doesn’t enjoy seeing him doing such things, claiming ‘I shouldn’t see you doing the chores that are expected of the servants’. He always felt bad, not in a ‘i feel guilty and pity for you way’ but in the ‘just let me help you’ way. He enjoys feeling useful. His palace servants are more than well-off, the goddess of love ensures that. Although the people were servants, she grows more and more respect for them daily, as expected for the goddess of love. She loves and shows affection to those around her, unless you do her wrong. 

The weeks were quick to pass, the day of the ball stumbling upon them in a blink of an eye. The palace now decorated with pearl garlands, adorned with small bows. The pillars of the open terrace and ball room with light pink tule wrapped downward. The dining and ballroom area were decorated with beautiful furniture, the food setting definitely excessive, but he supported whatever his mother did. The palace was beautiful, his mother outdoes herself yearly. The clock ticks as he readies himself for the event. Dressing in his room, maids helping him button his flowy and frilly shirt. Adjusting and styling his hair, applying a light amount of makeup. Lastly, adorning him with pearls and gold jewelry of his own. He takes a look in the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. Glancing his eyes towards the clock, wincing as he sees the time has reached fifteen minutes passed the time his mother expected him to be downstairs, with her greeting the guests. He will definitely be scolded later. 

Slowly approaching from the back of his mother, hoping to be quiet enough to not disrupt her and prevent himself from being scolded. Standing quietly by her side as another guest walks through the double doors, a sweet smile on both of their faces. San glances over at his mother, seeing her eyes side eyeing him with an annoyed and a ‘Late? Really?’ look. The greetings continue for another twenty-five minutes before his mother dismisses him to converse with the guests who are waiting to get the attention of himself and his mother. 

An hour and a half flows by, meaningful and pleasant conversations with everyone crowded in the giant palace. He enjoys events like these. The extrovert in him loves talking with others, listening to stories and answering questions. Many women had made their advances, the beauty of the man catching everyone's eyes, including those older. Some, very obviously flirting, trying to get his attention, while others are more subtle, but he knows what they are all doing. Light laughs and giggles come from them. Brushing his arm and giving him eyes that scream ‘please be with me’. He lightly sends each off after a brief conversation, trying to move off to the next person trying to grab his attention. Joining a conversation of a man discussing the lack of game in the forest. Likely one of the high hunters his mother has appointed. Nodding and chuckling along to anything the group he’s currently attending says. Sans ears perk up at the sound of a few guests going quiet, still some talking amongst themselves filling the room. Curious as to why some have gone quiet, his head turns over his shoulder towards the door, seeing his mother talking to a certain god. The father of the boy, Wooyoung, he met a few weeks prior. 

Everyone knows the acquaintanceship of the goddess and god although, still knowing the unease and annoyance between the gods of the two cities. Choosing to ignore it, san goes back chatting amongst the group. That’s until, five minutes later something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Looking towards the side he sees him, standing in the corner. Quite creepily, San thinks so. The two lock eyes, then he receives the same stare as he did back at the meeting. The night continues, San keeping a close-ish watch on wooyoung. In all the years his mother has thrown this gathering, he has never once seen the boy. His father quite a few times, yes, but never the son. He’s taken an interest in him. The atmosphere that changes around him, the disinterest in the whole thing is very apparent, the way the only people who talk to them are the girls who want information about the weird guy in the corner of the room to gossip about to their friends. He chats amongst some of the people, some who he seems to be acquainted to, maybe even friends with the smirks that show on their faces as they talk. 

There's a weird feeling surrounding all of them, some of them he doesn’t even think received an invite. His mother creates the guest list and chooses the guests herself. She certainly wouldn't have invited strangers, especially strangers who look as if they could easily cause trouble. The night continues, San staying close to the group as they make their way to different parts of the room. San loses sight at one point, glancing around the room, making out the new place the group resides, adjusting his position, moving across the room. Wooyoung is no longer with the group. 

Glancing across the room his eyes search the room for the raven haired boy. Spotted, through the door on the opposite side of the room, turning he made down the corridor. San doesn’t hesitate to follow him. Making his way pushing through the crowded room, grumbling at his mother who invites too many people. Making his way towards the door he hears a faint call his name, “Sannie?” his mother stands close behind him. San gives a soft smile, “I left my note for the speech in my room, I'll be back in just a second!”. His mother scoffs, rolling her eyes before looking back at him with a smile. He turns and exits to the hallway. A few seconds behind, he searches for the boy. Turn after turn, treading down corridor after corridor. Frustration seeps through his brain as he struggles to find Wooyoung. He knew something was up with the boy since he met him, if the first glance of daggers that bore into his skin could say anything. Though he had no clue why he thought he had the audacity to trek through his palace. His home. He felt it then, the atmosphere, the aura of the room changing. He became familiar with that feeling over the last hour since he first saw Wooyoung. The son of a powerful and strong god has clearly manifested some of his fathers powers. He can sense the coolness, the urge to draw himself closer. He can’t seem to pinpoint the kind of power the boy holds, his mother never once mentioned what the god of the neighboring city was. Neither has he heard it discussed between the servants and villagers. Finally, the boy inserts his line of sight. 

“Excuse me?” he raises his voice across the hall. It catches the attention of Wooyoung who clearly hoped San wouldn’t follow him. A deep, annoyed breath later, Wooyoung brings his attention to San. “Can I help you?” It’s the first time he has heard the boy speak. His voice was more lax than San expected. “Can I help you? This is my home you’re walking through," San raises his eyebrow at the boy standing across the hall in front of him, “If you are lost, the ball room is just back down this hall.” San nods his head behind him. “I’m not lost. Just looking for the bathroom.” San takes a deep breath, the boy continues to annoy him, he’s learned from a young age when one tells a lie. He decides to play into it. “The bathroom is just the other way,” San smiles, cheeks scrunching the process, dimples on display, “let me show you the way.” 

Wooyoung shakes his head. The boy begins walking towards San, brushing past him, shoulders brushing in the process. “No worries, I can find it myself.” San wasn’t going to let him go. “I insist, I'll lead you there, it isn’t far off the bath as we are.” San gives the boy another smile, trying his hardest to keep his emotions at bay, San doesn’t have any concern with that, he was always good at hiding his emotions. “Don’t you have mommy's guests to attend to?” That caused Sans brows to furrow. “I’m sure I can spare a few minutes.” Wooyoung scowls as the boy doesn’t back down. 

Wooyoung continues to walk, going in the direction that he knows the bathroom is. Of course he does, he scoured the map his father gave him of the palace layout. “I knew you’d follow me.” Wooyoung speaks after a minute of silence. San glances at him. “Yes?” he questions. “You’re staring isn’t very discreet.” San silences himself for a second. His gaze remains on Wooyoung for a few seconds as they walk, the sound of their footsteps the only thing heard for that brief moment. He takes in his features, slim face, mole under his eye, his eyes are different, asymmetrical. His hair hangs loosely against his collar bones, slightly messy. A look Sans mother would certainly behead him for if he showed up to an event like that. He’s quite beautiful, San thinks. Eyes widening at the thought. Shaking his head he answers. “I wasn’t staring, you just so happened to be in the same area as me. Maybe you were watching me?” Wooyoung scoffs, a smirk appearing on his face. “Why would I feel the need to stare at mommy's boy? I think you're the one who’s interested in me.” Wooyoung chuckles, “I don’t need anything from this city's pretty boy, their “golden child”. San tenses at the name. He hates that name. He didn’t choose it. It bugs him when anyone uses it. The name may fit him and his personality, but the name rubs him the wrong way. Wooyoung lets out an actual laugh with his reaction. 

The walk ends before San can realize. The door to the restroom standing in front of them. Wooyoung side eyes him. “What? You wanna watch me piss now?” San’s face turns red and filled with disgust. “What? That’s gross,” San’s face sours in appearance, “The ballroom hall is down the hall and to your left. Please return back when you are finished.” San straightens up, his sounding stern. Wooyoung nods, before mumbling something San doesn’t catch under his breath. Wooyoung enters the door, San waits hesitantly before turning and walking back towards the ballroom. 

The nightly quickly comes to a close, after the weird interaction with Wooyoung. The curiosity of what the boy went in search of in the palace. He spots him multiple times more throughout the rest of the night. Every time he glanced towards him, Wooyoung was already looking at him. Holding each other's gazes for a few sections before focusing on something else. They left a short time later. Wooyoung and his father saying their goodbyes to his mother, Wooyoung bowing to her as his father shakes her hand. San notices from across the room, turning and catching eyes with the boy again. A smirk spreads on Wooyoung's face as he lifts his hand and gives a finger wave. Wooyoung keeps his eye on San as he turns to leave. Leaving his mother and him left with a few lingering guests. 

San definitely doesn’t like him. 

-

The third time they meet is three months later. Fall has shortly passed and winter has begun, snow falls on the ground, coating the already three inch snow collecting on the ground. He’s bundled up, coat hanging over his frame, scarf tucked close to his neck, a hat adorned his head. Trying to keep the cold out, he follows his mother to the middle of the city's village. A giant forest green pine tree stands tall in the center of the village. The annual light ceremony is about to take place. It’s a tradition in numerous cities amongst the provinces of the gods and goddesses. Some places celebrate, while others do not. It’s an event to respect the gods and their family in the city. The tree will be lit, gifts will be shared with others, while piles of them are given to his mother and himself as offerings of appreciation. San recalls the mortal world celebrating something similar, Christmas. San loves this time of the year. He loves the snow, he loves the slight bite of the cool air, the sight of the city and palace adorned with the most beautiful decor of lights, wreaths, cheer surrounding the whole city. Spotting his friends, the few he has, the ones who don’t use him for his position in the city, use him for his connection to the goddess of love. They are there for him, his personality, his loyalty, his true and natural self outside of being the child of a goddess. 

Joining the group, San smiles upon the greetings. “Dude its fucking freezing.” The brunet says to the right of him, arms crossed around himself to keep warm, hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater. Yunho. “You’re the one who decided to not wear a coat,” The ginger across from him rolls his eyes, “What did you expect?” Hongjoong. Yeosang seems to be off somewhere, or he hasn’t arrived yet. “Sang here?” San questions as they walk on the outer edges of the group surrounding the center of the village. “He said he’s running behind, something about his sister needing help with something.” Hongjoong mentions. “He should be here soon, he said he wouldn’t be too far behind us.” Yunho nods. The three make their way through stall after stall, Yunho whining about his grumbling stomach. “I told you to eat before we left.” Hongjoong buts into his whining. Yunho grumbles towards the ginger. They continue down the stalls, finding something to eat, the people of the village offering up for their ‘golden boy’. San tried to refuse, taking out his wallet, a smile on his face and dimples popping up. They just refused him back. Bowing as they group is yet again served food from a different stall. Yeosang joins twenty minutes later, calling out to them through the crowd. He makes his way towards the group as Yunho shoves another beef skewer into his mouth, pushing one into Yeosang's hands.”Try it! It’s one of the best things I've ever tasted.” Yunho says through a mouth full. “Yunho, where are your manners?” Hongjoong groans staring at the boy with an annoyed look mumbling something along the lines of ‘Clearly I didn't teach you enough’.The group continues along, more stall stopping, the group moving to the side as San talks to some of the village people as they approach, giving him words of adoration and bows. Multiple girls his age shyly come up to the group, advances are made, those advances are turned down. 

“How aren’t you interested in any of them?” Yunho questions, baffled by the restraint his best friend had against all of the beautiful women approaching them. “I'm just saving more for you.” San winks at him. Yunho’s eyes light up, swallowing another bite of yet again, another beef skewer. Yunho goes about talking about his last hook ups. The time with the girl from the far side of the village, the other time with the boy that was one of the guards between the two cities. Yeosang looks at him with a wince, not necessarily in the mood to be hearing about how well his best friend was able to make these people feel. 

The conversation continues as San zones out. A glimpse of long hair catches his eye, weaving between buildings. San recognizes the flow of the hair immediately, it's the same hair of the boy that couldn’t stay out of his mind. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about the boy since the ball. Excusing himself from the group, he makes his way through the buildings he saw the boy slip through. What felt like ages later, about to give up as he approaches a nearby park, he catches a light flash of what seems to be something that must be lit. Squinting his eyes towards the light, faintly making out the faint shape of a person within the dark. He’s moving before he can even process that he is. There, standing between two trees, a faint glow now apparent from a lamp post down the path lights his face up from the side. He doesn’t have to second guess who’s in front of him now, the form undeniably Wooyoung. He’s not dressed for the weather. A chill down his spine as he thinks about how cold the boy is. He’s lucky he dressed appropriately. He makes his way towards the side of Wooyoung. He can feel that coolness, the aura around the boy the closer he steps toward him. Somehow making it impossibly colder the closer he was. 

“You know you’re not supposed to come to our city without our permission.” San says from beside him. Finally understanding where the small flicker of light came from. Something white was held between Wooyoung’s fingers, the end of it lit with what appears to be fire. Not a word is said. San furrows his eyebrows, “Hey? Hel-,”  he’s cut off by a low voice as smoke appears flowing out of his mouth, “I heard you, chose not to answer.” San side eyed him. “Why are you here?” No answer. “If you don’t start talking I’ll be forced to have the guards escort you back, and they won’t be very happy that you got past them unnoticed.” San’s nose scrunches as another breath of smoke fades into the air, this time, Wooyoung turns to blow it out in front of his face. Coughing and waving the smoke out of his face, he glances down at the stick in his hand. “What is that god awful thing? I don’t think that is something that is supposed to be here.” San speaks as authoritatively as possible. The boy finally speaks something else. “It’s called a cigarette.” San goes over the word in his head, the blatant confusion on his face is noticed by Wooyoung. Rolling his eyes he continues. “It’s from the mortal world.” San’s eyes widened at that. Surprise and curiosity coursed through his veins. “You’ve been to the mortal world?” San questions, an immediate tone change, voice once stern, changed into something of awe. Wooyoung just nods. “What was it like?” He looks like a puppy who just found the rarest bone of the bunch. Wooyoung looks over, seeing the wide eyed puppy like a boy who’s eyes are currently shining. He laughs at the facial expression. “It’s nothing special. Just, this but no powers, or columns, and no buildings as beautiful as here.” San wants more, more information, more detail, he wants Wooyoung to recount everything he experienced while in the mortal world. San dreams of going there. “I’ve never gone to the mortal world,” San starts, clear in his tone he wants the boy next to him to elaborate, “I’ve never been allowed to go.” San confesses a little too easily, as if friendly towards the boy. Wooyoung's brow raises at that. “Technically it's against the rules of all gods, I really don't care about that.” Definitely a rule breaker, San knew that from the ball, but this solidifies his thought. “My mother forbids me from going.” San sputters out, the interest never leaving his body and mind. “Aren’t you like….twenty-two? Just go and sneak out.” Wooyoung suggests taking another drag of the white stick. “I think my mother would behead me if I was caught.” San looks over at him. “Why do you….suck on that thing? It looks disgusting and smells bad.” San sends him a judging look as Wooyoung glances over in his direction. “Because I like it?” Wooyoung sends him an annoyed look back, smirking as he continues.”C’mon you wanna try it don’t you.” He wiggles it in front of San’s face. Laughing as San throws his hands in front of it as if it's going to physically attack him. His eyes still filled with curiosity. “I do not, nor do I trust you, I wouldn’t dare take anything offered by you.” San lightly stomps his foot to the ground, not noticeable to the average eye, but Wooyoung notices it as san pouts. The two fell silent.

“I noticed you approaching.” Wooyoung breathed out a minute later. San’s head turns in his direction. “How so?” San questions. That same puppy-like expression back on his face. “Everything turns warm when you approach.” San stares blankly at him. “Everything turns cold where you are.” Wooyoung finally meets his eyes for the first time tonight. San notices the details of his face once again, his eyes are sunken, he’s tired. “Checking me out?” Wooyoung smirks, eyes still locked on him. San’s face heats up, tips of his ears going more red, he’ll blame it on the cold. He changes the subject as fast as it arose. “Is it still warm?” San goes back to the previous conversation. “Yes.” Wooyoung turns back, head facing toward. San’s brows furrow in confusion. The atmosphere surrounding them is colder than it once was outside, as if a bubble of chill had gotten worse around them. “You are still cold.” San mutters under his breath. 

Wooyoung turns towards him. His eyes are now analyzing his features. San looks back at the boy. ‘Is there something on my face?’, ‘Is my hair sticking out weirdly?’ a thousand questions flowing through his head. Why does he care so much? Wooyoung opens his mouth to speak, San tensing as the words make their way out of the shorter mouth. “You truly are beautiful.” San’s mouth slightly gaping open at the comment, “I guess the name fits, golden boy.” Wooyoung turns his back towards San. Dropping the cigarette on the snow covered ground, stomping it out. He doesn’t look back as he walks away. 

San’s left there frozen. What the hell was that? He whips his body around quickly after a few seconds, eyes scanning for Wooyoung, who is far out of sight. San takes a deep breath, looking once more before turning to head back to his friends. 

Maybe he wouldn’t alert the guards of him. 

It's been FOREVER since I actually wrote anything.

I'm very rusty :,) apologies for any spelling errors!

I'm planning to make multiple parts to this, let me know if you're interested!