Chapter Text
Wooyoung often finds himself staring up at his ceiling and trying to pick out patterns. Sometimes, he draws little imaginary doodles in the crevices of his textured ceiling, one that’s quite old-fashioned if he does say so himself, unlike the house he grew up in. So is the life of a college student who’s running off of a just-above-minimum-wage job, thus, Wooyoung can’t really complain. He brought himself into this after all, wanting to chase his dream, whatever that may be, since he still hasn’t decided a major. It’s only his second year, though. Things could change. That’s what Wooyoung is betting on.
He’s betting on the universe to punch him in the face with a change, one that will hopefully kick his ass in gear, but until then, he’s letting it run its course and tries very little to actually get in its way because he really can’t be bothered. Until then, he’s perfectly content in this little bubble of his.
After all, the universe hasn’t exactly been kind to him despite his attempts at living in the past. He figures that maybe, after so long of being fucked over by the universe whilst actually trying, he should stop trying, and then maybe something good will come to him.
When he really thinks about it, maybe he isn’t betting on anything. The universe can suck his dick for all he cares.
His second-year roommate goes by Yunho, a tall, well put-together man who for some reason puts up with Wooyoung’s cynicism despite being one of the brightest rays of sunshine Wooyoung has ever met. He always tries to cheer Wooyoung up, whether it be by taking him places or offering to treat him to dinner or teaching him a new dance move here and there. Or, in the more extreme cases, he’s there to hold back Wooyoung’s hair after a blissful night of partying and fucking up (Wooyoung doesn’t even need to have his hair held back, but Yunho does it anyway).
Wooyoung is glad Yunho accepted his roommate request. He’d been afraid he’d get stuck with another shitty roommate like the one he had his first year, at a different university. Every time Wooyoung returned to the room, his roommate would somehow leave a mess of dirty laundry on his side of the room, and from that, Wooyoung decided he would never dorm again, even opting for transferring to another university (not just because of the roommate situation; his experience there just kinda sucked in general). Instead, he sought out a roommate to share an apartment with him on a relatively shady website, but it brought him Yunho, so maybe it’s not so shady after all (thank you, universe!). So perhaps the universe isn’t that cruel, but it’s still pretty negligent of the things he actually needs in life, mainly genuine happiness and human connection, but as previously stated, Wooyoung can’t really be bothered.
He'll let the waves run their course, rock his boat in every wayward direction until he’s seasick, and even then, he’ll still just let it all happen because that’s what the universe wants.
He can’t be bothered.
Still, he’s well aware that if he lets the universe usurp every ounce of control in his life, he might as well be dead on the floor, so he does try in some aspects. He studies enough to get good grades, exercises sometimes, partakes in the occasional recreational drug use, a lot of things everyday college students do. He’ll go to parties, nightclubs, anywhere that has alcohol and people because those are two things that offer him some not-so-wholesome fun that he usually thoroughly enjoys, apart from sad, sad dick appointments and horrid hangovers. But other than that, he’s doing great!
He figures it could be worse. He likes his job for the most part, as it’s pretty easy and he doesn’t have to deal with stupid people that much (bless being a cashier at a sex shop! It really suits him), and if he does, it’s usually harmless, sometimes awkward interactions with people who have no idea how butt stuff works, who don’t know how to tie simple bondage knots, what type of lube to use, things like that. Wooyoung has all the answers, being the most shameless, ragingly promiscuous bisexual on campus (maybe not the most, but he feels pretty fucking far up there), and the job always leaves him with interesting stories at the end of the day that he shares with Yunho over a couple snacks and a glass or two of wine.
Life is okay, for the most part. Wooyoung always tells himself it could be worse, and really, it could.
He does, however, hate exams to the point where he feels like it really couldn’t be worse, even if they are just midterms. Cramming knowledge into his brain that he probably won’t even need to use further down the road at ungodly hours of the night makes him want to rip his entire scalp off and feed it to the sharks in the Pacific Ocean, and that’s exactly what he’s doing because if he doesn’t study, he’ll probably be kicked out of university, in which case he will actually throw himself into the Pacific Ocean and feed himself to the sharks. What a way to die!
(Wooyoung also likes to exaggerate things a lot. It’s another thing Yunho puts up with, God bless that man.)
If he fails his midterms, he probably won’t get kicked out of university on the spot, but he’ll still heavily consider throwing himself into the Pacific Ocean. He isn’t bad at school, like, he’s passing all of his classes with decent grades and an above average GPA, but at the expense of his mental health, social life, and overall sanity.
It’s why Wooyoung likes to have fun when he can. Go out to clubs and bars, maybe even accompany Yunho to a party on or off campus. It’s his way of relieving stress, and while there are probably other better, healthier ways to relieve stress, it’s what he has, and sometimes he gets an orgasm or two out of it, so he’d say it outweighs the possible trouble he’d get into if the cops were to ever bust any of the parties he goes to. Sort of. It’s not like he’s the one responsible for the parties, so technically, he wouldn’t be the one getting busted; at least, he’s pretty sure of that.
Somehow, he ends up with his head flat in the middle of his textbook, a splitting headache ripping through the front of his skull as his laptop glares at him, too fucking bright, and he screams. Just screams.
Yunho appears in his doorway, bemused but not entirely surprised. “Everything okay in there?” he asks, knocking on the doorframe which only exacerbates Wooyoung’s migraine.
“I wanna fucking die,” Wooyoung groans, muffled by the pages of his textbook.
“That’s not news,” Yunho says snidely, slipping into Wooyoung’s room and standing next to his very stressed roommate. He puts his giant fucking hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, rubbing it carefully. “What’s wrong this time, Wooyoungie?”
“Take a fucking guess,” Wooyoung grumbles, and screams again.
Yunho sighs. “Wooyoung, if we get the cops called on us, you’re paying for whatever fine we may end up with.”
“The cops can eat my fat ass.” Wooyoung shrugs Yunho’s hand off his shoulder and stands up, rubbing his face in an attempt to expel the exhaustion. Sadly, it doesn’t work.
“I’m surprised we haven’t gotten the cops called on us yet,” Yunho says, his hand already wrapped around Wooyoung’s wrist, knowing exactly where this is going to go. “With how much shit we’ve pulled and how loud we are sometimes.”
“And the parties.”
“And the parties.” Yunho snickers, his mind evidently traveling back to the numerous parties they’ve attended. As previously mentioned, Wooyoung is surprised none of them were busted, or if they were, it was after he left.
A lot of the time, Wooyoung goes to these parties, drinks a bit (or a lot), finds someone to hook up with, and leaves. Of course, it depends; if the music isn’t shitty and the people don’t make him want to gouge his eyes out and rip every single strand of hair from his head, he’ll stick around longer even after the hookup takes place. If he sees his ex-flings at school, he looks the other way, as do they. Wooyoung likes it that way. He’s already got enough on his plate; a one-night stand being hung up on him is the last thing he needs.
“One of these days, we’re going to get the cops called on us,” Yunho says, and Wooyoung can’t tell how serious he’s being.
Oh well. If they do get the cops called on them one day, at least the universe will finally seal his fate (depending on the severity of whatever infraction warrants the cops being called).
“Are you really, truly worried about that?” Wooyoung asks with a smirk and a glint of mischief in his eyes. He steps forward, his toes pressing against Yunho’s. Looking up at his roommate, he narrows his eyes, his smirk only continuing to grow.
“Of course not, Jung Wooyoung.” Yunho’s reply is low, laced with an equal amount of diabolicality. “We’re partners in crime, after all.”
And that’s what Wooyoung likes about Yunho.
Yunho, who’s too tall for his own goddamn good. Yunho, who is both optimistic and pessimistic at the same time. Yunho, who gives it to him good when he needs it. His roommate, his one friend here at this godforsaken university, and his number one fuck buddy. The one person Wooyoung will fuck more than once.
What else can he say? Dude’s got a big dick.
The two live by themselves in their two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. It’s suitable, cute, maybe mildly haunted but that’s pretty cool in Wooyoung’s opinion. He wonders if the ghost lurking in his bedroom has seen them fuck. Probably. He wonders what the spirit thinks about handjobs, blowjobs, and anal sex.
Yunho is one of those guys who doesn’t like to use labels, which is completely fine with Wooyoung, but get him anywhere except their apartment and he acts like the most no-homo-bro straight guy Wooyoung has ever met. He doesn’t think Yunho is closeted, or at least, people don’t know about his sexuality, and even then, he doesn’t use labels. People should respect that.
However, when Yunho has his dick buried in Wooyoung’s ass, it’s hard to call him heterosexual because that’s definitely not a label Wooyoung would use to describe him.
So this is what Wooyoung’s life consists of. University, takeout food, Yunho, parties, and decent grades. Hookups, orgasms, alcohol, marijuana, and the daunting feeling looming over his head that his life isn’t really going anywhere but he can’t be bothered to do much about it because the universe is shitty and he’s sick of trying.
Really, it could be worse.
✲
Wooyoung meets Kang Yeosang on a fateful Sunday, the day before the week of the dreaded midterms. Yunho teaches dance to people ranging from beginner to ‘expert,’ because as good of a dancer as Yunho is, his dance skills are still a work in progress. Everything about college students is a work in progress, Wooyoung thinks, because college students who have their shit together completely are in no way actually human. Of course, he doesn’t mean to downplay Yunho’s dance skills. The dude knows how to move (in more ways than one).
Out of all the choreographers at the studio, however, Yunho is probably the most simultaneously easygoing and skilled one, so plenty of people seek his classes that specialize in mostly hip hop and contemporary, but because he himself is a college student who doesn’t have his shit together, his classes only take place twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. He gets paid and credit towards his major, so in comparison to Wooyoung, he’s sort of living the dream.
Yunho has a few ‘special fans,’ as he’s said in the past, none of which Wooyoung has actually met. He hears a lot about a Song Mingi, someone Yunho describes as “quirky, shy, and definitely someone you’d corrupt if I wasn’t in the picture.” However, when Wooyoung walks into the studio one Sunday while Yunho is rehearsing, there’s another human body huddled in the corner on his phone, frowning at whatever is on his screen.
His footsteps echo throughout the spacious mirror-filled room as he quite literally waltzes in. Yunho smirks at him in the mirror as his roommate twirls around not-so-graciously in a poor attempt at the three-step dance. “Sadly, I don’t teach waltz, but I’ll master it just so I can teach you how to do it properly.”
“You’re such a considerate person!” Wooyoung cackles as he continues his blunderous waltz right into Yunho’s skyscraper-like body.
“Who the hell’s that, Yunho-yah?” comes a deep voice from the corner.
Wooyoung slings both of his arms around Yunho’s shoulders like a sloth because he honestly might as well be one. Maybe he could be reborn as one; that’d be pretty cool.
“Ah, this is my roommate, Jung Wooyoung.”
“Oh, the promiscuous one?”
Wooyoung immediately drops his arms, mouth falling open in betrayal as he turns towards his roommate. “How dare you call me promiscuous!”
The man in the corner shrugs, setting his phone down and standing. He’s lanky, probably around Wooyoung’s height, but Jesus, he’s gorgeous. Wooyoung knows a gorgeous man when he sees one, and whoever this deep-voiced, birthmarked-eye stranger is, would definitely go on Wooyoung’s hit list. “You look the part, if I’m being honest,” he comments, eyeing Wooyoung up and down.
“And pray tell, stranger, what exactly does ‘promiscuous’ look like to you?”
“Like you.” The stranger approaches the two, and he’s got about a centimeter or two on Wooyoung, straight eyebrows and a jaw that could kill. He stands with his arms crossed and one hip cocked out.
“Lucky for you, I take pride in my hoe side, thank you,” Wooyoung says with a frisky pout.
“Oh, by all means. Just know that I can tell when guys look at me like they want to eat me, and I mean, eat me, and trust me, you’re not getting any.”
Well, shit.
“It’s nothing against you, really,” the stranger continues. “You’re an attractive man, but I’d rather fuck someone a little more… picky.”
“Picky?”
“Someone with standards.”
“What are you talking about? I do have standards!”
The stranger lets out a deep chuckle. He has cute teeth, Wooyoung notices. “Tell that to the dozens of people you’ve fucked, darling. Do you even remember their names?”
There’s Yunho, Wooyoung thinks. He can definitely remember his roommate. Other than that, he blanks completely, leaving an unanswered question and a very smug-looking stranger. “I rest my case, but like I said, by all means. I get it, we’re all here for a good time, not a long time. The name is Kang Yeosang. Please, do wear it out.”
Yeosang, the man with model-like features and a catlike attitude, holds his hand out for Wooyoung to shake, and he gladly does so. The two smirk at each other, mischief beneath their brown eyes, while Yunho stands between them posing as an unnecessary mediator of sorts. When the two finally drop their hands, Yunho says, “So, uh, dinner?”
Another thing about Yunho is that he’s pretty fucking well off compared to Wooyoung. His family lives affluently yet humbly, and Yunho is a generous guy. He doesn’t hesitate to splurge on his friends; in fact, he barely buys anything for himself, and Wooyoung had to remind the guy to pick up some extra pairs of underwear just so he didn’t have to keep reusing the same three pairs. Wooyoung wishes he could repay Yunho somehow, to which Yunho always says, “It’s okay, you’re basically pimping yourself out to me, so it all works out.”
Wooyoung supposes that’s fair. They both get orgasms out of it, so it’s a win-win.
Yunho takes his newly acquainted friends to some boujie restaurant twenty minutes from campus in his stupid expensive BMW something something something, letters and numbers that just further prove the fact that yes, Yunho is dumb rich. Wooyoung feels so dirty whenever he goes anywhere with Yunho, sliding into the leather interior while wearing his five-year-old pair of jeans he got at the mall and Converse that are so tattered they’re basically falling apart. Well, besides his car, Yunho looks like an average college student who dresses modestly and like, well, a college student. Who also drives a shiny black BMW. Okay, universe.
Yunho sometimes offers to let Wooyoung drive, and Wooyoung always declines and tells him, “I’d rather have you not hire a hitman to kill me if I get so much as a scratch on this thing.” Guess Yunho must not care that much for his luxury vehicle that probably costs more than Wooyoung’s entire life savings.
Wooyoung and Yeosang bond over a full-course meal with steak that’s so tender it melts in their mouths, a side of sweet and spicy chicken for Yeosang because according to the pseudo model it’s something he can’t live without, and three beers. They talk about the do’s and don’t’s of hoeing around, something that Wooyoung is very well-versed in and something that Yeosang wants to be well-versed in for some reason. Wooyoung tells him he could have anybody he wants with how attractive he is, to which Yeosang says, “Greatly appreciated, but I’m still not gonna fuck you.” Lovely.
So Wooyoung tells him that the best way to go about it is to just not care. To throw all of his worries and what if’s in a garbage bag, toss it into an incinerator, and let that shit burn because one can’t be a hoe and care. He does, however, tell Yeosang to be careful because if he catches something, chances are his hoe phase will end much more quickly than intended.
“The worst thing to catch is not an STD,” Wooyoung says, “but feelings.”
“Ah, yes. Feelings, the one true destroyer of one’s hoe phase.”
“It is, truly. As soon as feelings are caught, the hoe phase is over. Done. Dead. Drowning in the Pacific Ocean and never resurfacing. Don’t catch feelings.”
“Noted.”
Wooyoung recites what he would consider his autobiography of hoeing around and what he’s learned from it. He might be a hoe, but he’s a smart one. He knows not to care, and he knows not to catch feelings. Two of the most important rules.
“Wrap it before you tap it,” Wooyoung tells Yeosang. “Bring lube wherever you go. And sometimes, you have to be a bit of an asshole, but still be respectful.”
“Contradictory, but continue.”
“Just don’t, like, physically hurt anybody. Respect consent, and if someone tells you to stop, then stop. When I say that you have to be an asshole sometimes, I mean, sometimes you just have to be straightforward with what you want, which some people see as being kind of asshole-ish, but confidence goes a long way.”
“There’s a fine line between confidence and cockiness, and sometimes, Wooyoungie here doesn’t know that line exists,” Yunho snorts, his cheeks stuffed with chicken.
“And that’s where the very first rule I stated comes in,” Wooyoung says, stabbing a piece of Yunho’s chicken and shoveling it into his mouth, ignoring his roommate’s incredulous stare. “To not care.”
Once the rules come full circle, Yeosang nods, quickly flagging down a waitress and asking for a pen and a napkin. On that napkin, Wooyoung watches Yeosang scribble down the rules.
Rules of Being a Hoe: A Guide by Man Whore Jung Wooyoung
- Don’t care (a.k.a. be a dickhead)
- Feelings are worse than HIV
- Still remember to bring condoms and lube, though
- CONSENT!!!
- Be an asshole (like rule number 1 but worded differently)
- Learn where the line between confidence and cockiness is so Wooyoung can learn it for himself and write a better guide
Yeosang caps the pen shut, sliding the napkin guide over to Wooyoung for approval. “Sound about right?” he asks with a confident, or cocky, smirk.
Wooyoung reaches over, grabs the pen, uncaps it, and adds a seventh rule.
- Have fun!!! :)
“That’s good,” he says, smiling just like the drawing at the end of the seventh rule and sliding the napkin back to Yeosang.
“Glad to know you admit to your faults,” Yeosang says, folding the napkin neatly and shoving it into his pocket.
“They’re not faults. They’re just facts.”
“I retract my statement.”
Wooyoung chuckles, winking Yeosang’s way, but not in the flirtatious sense. It’s as if Yesoang has caught onto it too, this invisible connection the two have. Yunho turns his head between them, probably feeling like he should say something, but there’s nothing to be said, Wooyoung thinks.
If Kang Yeosang isn’t going to be Wooyoung’s next fling, he certainly is going to be his next best friend.
✲
After Wooyoung’s first midterm, he travels to the university’s finest café and orders himself a coffee with three creams and three sugars, because that’s the only way to make coffee and any other way is blasphemy. It’s just the perfect amount of both ingredients, in Wooyoung’s not-so-humble opinion, and he’s not just saying that because he started drinking coffee in middle school just to keep up with the hassle of living and may or may not be addicted to that one way of having coffee. It’s the perfect color and perfect sweetness, definitely not because his taste buds have grown so accustomed to having three creams and three sugars that having his coffee any other way might actually send him into cardiac arrest.
God bless Jeong Yunho for putting up with his unnecessary and sometimes mildly concerning exaggerations.
He still has another midterm to get through, one that he’s pretty confident (not cocky) about, so he’s not that stressed.
And above all, Yunho texts him about a party being held on Friday night at one of the biggest off-campus houses that probably belongs to one of Yunho’s rich friends, or maybe a friend of a friend of one of Yunho’s rich friends. Wooyoung doesn’t know; Yunho has more connections than Wooyoung has ex-flings, and that’s a lot.
Plus, because the house is off-campus, it means that the university itself can’t bust them… right? The cops still could, technically, but with a house that big, Wooyoung isn’t worried about himself getting in trouble. He’d just be another innocent partygoer, he’s legal to drink, and he doesn’t cause any trouble. The ones who get in trouble would be those going around shooting off illegal fireworks, stripping naked and running around the neighborhood with ‘cum dumpster’ painted onto their abdomen, or doing keg stands in the middle of the street. And yes, Wooyoung has witnessed all of those things at past parties.
He’s noisy, but only in one place.
As he sips his three creams, three sugars coffee, Wooyoung studies for his next midterm and wonders who will be his next fling, if they’ll catch feelings or not, and he chuckles to himself, thinking that if feelings were a fatal STD contracted solely from hookups, a lot of university students would be dead.
Lucky for him, he wouldn’t be.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling the semisweet aroma of his coffee stirred to perfection. Above him, the dangling light fixture reminds him a lot of the one back home. The one that hung above the kitchen island. The one that his mother would always stand under while she stirred her coffee in the morning as Wooyoung ate whatever she put together for breakfast. She always looked so tired, and the light only accentuated her exhaustion.
It might have been her who got Wooyoung hooked on coffee like that. It’s not like he minds, though.
“Your coffee smells good, eomma. Can I try some?”
“Sure, honey. Careful not to burn yourself.” She chuckled and slid her mug over.
He dipped his tongue into the tannish beverage, then took the smallest sip, his lip curling with disgust at the bitter taste. “It doesn’t taste as good as it smells.”
“I think that could be true for a lot of things, Wooyoungie.”
Three creams, and three sugars. A hanging light fixture. The feeling of exhaustion and the physical consequences that come with it.
Wooyoung is exhausted, but he has no choice but to trudge on despite the universe trying to reel him backwards. God knows his mother had to do that too.
✲
Wooyoung is confident he aced his second midterm, so he celebrates by treating himself to a second coffee. This time, however, he orders it overwhelmingly caramelly sweet because life is too short not to have cavities, and he even gets it iced this time. He’s in the mood to freeze his brain after several hours of having to use it.
With the sun now asleep and the moon conquering the sky, Wooyoung begins studying for his midterm tomorrow. There’s only one, but it’s a whole two hours and if Wooyoung doesn’t do well on it he might actually drag Yeosang into the Pacific Ocean with him and commit a murder-suicide.
Wooyoung calls him.
“Hey, Yeo.”
“What is it, asshole? I’m trying to study for a midterm tomorrow.”
“Well, fucking same. Anyway, so I was thinking, if we fail the midterms we take tomorrow, wanna come with me into the Pacific Ocean so we can feed ourselves to the sharks?”
Yeosang laughs, and shit, his laugh is so much cuter than his attitude, Wooyoung thinks. Where his voice is smooth and sassy, his laugh sounds like that of a deep-voiced child’s giggle. “So like, a suicide pact?” he questions.
“Well, yeah. If you didn’t agree, though, I was going to pull a murder-suicide where I knock you out with my bong and then drag you into the Pacific Ocean with me. But a suicide pact is cool too.”
“I’ll get back to you on that, alright?” Yeosang says, still chuckling on the other end of the line. “But what happens if we both ace our midterms?”
“Then unfortunately, we have to live, and the sharks in the Pacific Ocean will starve.”
“Sounds good.”
Click.
Wooyoung laughs with a snort, placing his phone back down next to his laptop. He stays until the café closes and his corneas feel like the Sahara Desert. As he breathes in the night autumn air, he chuckles to himself, picturing him and Yeosang standing on the edge of a cliff where a horde of hungry sharks await below them. However, in his imagination, he’s the one jumping off the cliff while Yeosang stands back, watching and laughing and pointing at his body being torn to shreds by razor sharp teeth, guts and bones spilling everywhere and painting the blue water red.
He then imagines the sea being swallowed up by a valley of flowers where Yeosang spreads out a checkered blanket and holds a picnic for himself and Yunho, with Wooyoung’s tombstone placed so conveniently in the background with the words ‘Slutty Dickhead’ carved into it.
He’s still giggling by the time he gets home, where Yunho is studying in the living room. “What’s so funny?” his roommate asks.
“Do you think I need therapy?” Wooyoung asks, his giggling coming to an ominous halt.
“Yes,” Yunho answers with no hesitation.
Wooyoung nods. “Fair.”
He recedes into his room where he throws his backpack down somewhere near his desk, flops onto his bed, rolls over, and stares at the ceiling. In all of its swirly white grains, he traces a shark and a flower and tries to ignore the uncomfortable gurgling in his stomach.
He shouldn’t have ordered that coffee.
✲
Unfortunately, the events in his imagination from last night have a pretty low chance of happening now, because Wooyoung is pretty damn sure he aced his third midterm. Now, with nothing else to do for the day, he finds himself back at the café with another three creams and three sugars coffee. This time, however, he sits under a different light and has a different textbook laid out in front of him. Pretty much every other student is doing what he’s doing, that is, studying for wannabe finals and probably wanting to blow their brains out but continue tapping away at their laptops and burying their noses in textbooks because that’s what their parents want.
Wooyoung can’t necessarily say the same for him about that last part, but he didn’t go to university for no reason. As much as he doesn’t care about a lot of things, he’s here, and he’s not going to let his scholarship money go to waste.
Once he feels like he’s retained enough useless knowledge for the afternoon, he walks out of the café and spreads his arms, welcoming the oncoming frigid chill of autumn, and sighs deeply as if he’s just awakened from a deep sleep. He probably gets a few questioning passing glances, but he just smacks his lips and hooks his thumbs under his backpack straps before walking off with nowhere particular in mind.
That’s what he’s been doing all along, after all. He walks these university stones just like he does life. Sometimes, with temporary destinations and goals in mind. Most times, aimlessly and with disdain for life in general. The sky is orange today, just like the representative color of autumn itself. No matter where Wooyoung’s feet take him, he’s always underneath that same damn sky. It just changes color. All the while, he continues to walk until his feet are sore and there are blisters just waiting to be peeled off. Until he’s exhausted himself and the only way he can recharge is to shove a bottle down his throat and forget.
After he’s recharged, he walks again. And the loop continues.
It’s okay, though. Wooyoung knows a lot of people have it worse. So he keeps walking, because at least his shoes are still being held together. Some people don’t have shoes. Some people don’t have functioning lungs. Some people can’t even walk.
Wooyoung sucks it up, just like he always does. And he’s okay.
He thinks about himself sitting in a comfy gray armchair with a man who looks very similar to Yunho sitting across from him, wearing a white button up and beige slacks. There are thin-framed glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose and he has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. The man asks, “So, what brings you in today?” and Wooyoung answers with, “I wanted to feed myself to the sharks.” And the man just smiles, laughs, and then his mouth fills with those deadly stalactites called teeth and he stands up and gobbles Wooyoung up whole. His mouth is a blazingly hot, wet cavern and it smells like rotting fish. And Wooyoung laughs.
He’s laughing to himself, his feet stopping at the university’s designated garden put together by the botanists and ecologists of the student body. It’s a beautiful garden, Wooyoung thinks, filled with a rainbow of flora and greenery. With the onslaught of winter, there aren’t many insects, and as a result, these flowers and other forms of plant life will hibernate. Even so, a student continues to water them off to Wooyoung’s right, a sizable distance between them.
“Hey,” Wooyoung says in the gardener’s direction.
Baffled, the student turns to Wooyoung with a confused frown, pointing to himself as if to ask, “are you talking to me?” with the hose limp in his grasp.
“You’re doing a great job,” Wooyoung tells him. “This garden would suck without you. And I’m sure everyone in your life thinks that about you too.”
Yes, because whoever this student is, his family and friends’ lives would probably suck without him. The stranger offers an awkward smile and a small, “Thank you” in response. Wooyoung salutes him.
“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung had said one night after a small drinking session.
“Yeah?”
“What would your life be like if I weren’t in it?”
Yunho had scoffed and thrown one of the sofa’s pillows in Wooyoung’s direction, and it had missed him completely due to the alcohol’s influence. “It would be hella boring, Woo. You’re hilarious, even if you get on my last nerve sometimes.”
“I get on a lot of people’s last nerves, I think.”
“Mhm.”
And sure, that may be true. Sometimes, Wooyoung just doesn’t have a filter. But just as the first rule of being a hoe states, and perhaps the number one rule Wooyoung lives by, it’s that he doesn’t care.
So what if he gets on people’s last nerves? In the words of Kang Yeosang and probably a lot of other people, he’s here for a good time, not a long time. And if he wants to be a pretentious asshole who drinks and smokes and fucks people for fun, then so be it.
He takes another deep breath before walking away from the flowers.
“I think I need therapy,” Wooyoung says as soon as he gets home, but Yunho isn’t there.
Well, if Yunho isn’t there to hear him say it, at least the ghost is.
The ghost watches Wooyoung prepare himself a cup ramyeon because thanks to Yunho, they have a practically neverending supply of it and Wooyoung figures having a heart condition at twenty-one would be a fun way to die. At least it’s better than smoking cigarettes until his lungs cave in. He’s stupid, but not that stupid. Cigarettes don’t even taste good. They don’t offer the salty goodness that a steaming hot cup of ramyeon can deliver.
“Do you think I need therapy?” he whispers to the void. No response. He nods. “Fair.”
Once he’s slurped up the last of the salt water, Wooyoung sets the empty cup down on the coffee table and snickers to himself. “Ah, I’m just kidding. I don’t think I need therapy. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get it because there’s no point in it. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”
As he’s standing in the shower, he realizes that he’s spoken to himself three times in the past hour. “Fuck.”
Oh well. He’s still fine, he thinks, and he doesn’t need therapy. It would be hilarious if he got a Yunho-disguised shark as a therapist, though.
✲
With one midterm a day and each night spent studying, Wooyoung feels like his brain has been plucked out of his skull. It’s floating around in the Pacific Ocean just waiting to be shark food but the maritime creatures never slink by. It’s annoying.
When Friday night finally hits, Wooyoung chucks his backpack at the side of the sofa and screams. Again. He’s been doing that a lot. Unperturbed, Yunho appears from the hallway with a towel wrapped around his waist and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “I take it you’re excited for the party.”
“I’m ready to drink so much my liver wants to commit suicide,” Wooyoung says, striding past Yunho and stripping off his shirt and jeans despite Yunho still technically occupying the bathroom. “Also, I’m kidding. But I seriously am so ready to get drunk that I forget my own name.”
“Pretty sure you’ve done that already,” Yunho quips, leaning against the doorframe as he watches Wooyoung strip the rest of his clothes, smacking his ass before he steps into the shower.
“Well, I’m ready to do it again then!” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out playfully at his roommate before closing the curtains.
“Yeosang’s coming, just so you know. I think his roommate’s going too. Hell, honestly, the whole campus might end up going.”
“And you say I exaggerate!”
Yunho spits his toothpaste-filled saliva into the sink. “At least my exaggerations aren’t telltale signs of my deteriorating mental health.”
“Touché, Jeong Yunho!”
Scoffing, Yunho finally exits the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Wooyoung lets out a sigh as more steam accumulates in the bathroom, piling on top of the steam that Yunho’s had produced, to the point where it’s actually obscuring his vision. Frowning, he lowers the temperature of the stream to a solid lukewarm in hopes that it would create a little less… foggy atmosphere. “I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whispers to the ghost. He hopes that it will leave him a love note on the mirror.
It doesn’t.
✲
The party is basically in full swing by the time Wooyoung, Yunho, and Yeosang all arrive together, fashionably late on Wooyoung’s behalf. He’d spent a good hour mix and matching outfits, applying makeup, and checking himself out in the mirror before the trio finally left together. Yeosang’s visuals rival his own, with intense eyebrows and green contacts, a leather jacket and pants so skinny they could tear at any point in time. It seems as if they had the same idea with the chokers too, though Yeosang’s is more like a collar if Wooyoung’s being honest. He must really be looking to start his hoe phase tonight because Wooyoung is just so tempted to get drunk and make out with him. If he’s not going to fuck him, he at least wants to shove his tongue down his throat.
Wooyoung spent a good forty-five minutes on his makeup, however, mainly because he wanted his smokey eye blended to perfection. He added purple and silver glitter on his collarbone, which will probably be sweated off by the end of the night, but it’s not like he gives a shit. He looks hot, ripped skinny jeans and all, and he’s ready to get dicked down.
Wooyoung loves the instant wash of heat whenever he enters a party. That stinging feeling in his eyes from all the smoke and the satisfying scent of alcohol and sweat. It gets his adrenaline pumping every time. Most of the partygoers are already too drunk to notice his entrance, and he makes a beeline straight for where he assumes the alcohol would be, being the kitchen. It’s a big house, definitely, but Wooyoung doesn’t have the patience to give himself the grand tour. He needs alcohol in his system, now.
He immediately sets his eyes on the quarter-full bottle of vodka casually sitting atop the kitchen island, completely ignoring the wide selection of other smaller, more compact and convenient drinks surrounding it. He estimates that the remainder of the bottle would probably equate to two or three shots, which he can definitely handle. While he unscrews the cap, Yunho and Yeosang appear in front of him before he can even tip the liquor into his mouth. “Don’t stop on our accounts,” Yunho says with an amused smirk, crossing his arms.
“Leave some for me, would you? I’m your new best friend, and best friends share,” Yeosang sneers, but his expression is just as amused.
With a coquettish grin, Wooyoung hands the now open bottle to Yeosang, who takes a swig, one shot, before handing it back. He doesn’t even wince. “That was hot,” Wooyoung says intrepidly, raising the rim to his own mouth and taking the next shot. Wooyoung can play at that game too, swallowing the vodka with little difficulty but suppressing the need to wince. His esophagus burns in the best way.
“Glad I could entertain you by taking a shot, and no, you’re still not getting any of this,” Yeosang jokes, winking and taking one of the red cups from the stacks and wandering off in search of more alcohol.
Yunho reaches past Wooyoung to grab a can of beer. “So, what’s your game plan for tonight?” he asks, popping the tab.
Wooyoung leans back against the table, tilting his head back as he downs the remaining vodka, and now that Yeosang is gone, he allows himself to cringe. “Well, I actually haven’t gotten laid in about two weeks, so my plan is to find someone once I start to feel these shots. Might pour myself another one if I can find something else that isn’t just beer or fruity shit.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Oh, and definitely not tequila. I’m not trying to puke all over who I’m gonna hook up with. Luckily, that hasn’t happened to me, and hopefully it doesn’t.”
“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened to you, if I’m being honest.”
Wooyoung shrugs, leaving the empty glass bottle back on the table as he follows Yeosang’s footsteps over to the next room. The dining room, home to another table that displays an array of alcoholic beverages. Wooyoung purses his lips, mulling over his options before ultimately choosing a half-empty (or half-full, whatever) bottle of rum. “You’re having that straight up?” Yunho questions.
The bottle is soaked with condensation, but it’s still relatively cold. Wooyoung can handle it, even if he doesn’t like it when it’s not cold. He just wants to drink. Smiling, he twists the cap off and swallows another equivalent of a shot, slamming the bottle back down and recapping it. “Yup.”
Yunho chuckles, finally having a sip from his can. Two shots of vodka and one of rum in, Wooyoung should be feeling it soon, and that’s all he needs. He’s made the mistake of hooking up while too drunk; in those cases, he had a hard time getting it up and it usually ended up in him casually apologizing and leaving his partner, head hung in shame. That was in the beginning stages of his hoe phase, however. He now knows to bag someone early on in the party, while there’s some alcohol in his veins but not enough to hinder his abilities. Then, after the hookup takes place, he’ll return to the party and proceed to get shitfaced. It all works out.
Wooyoung takes Yunho by the hand and drags him to the adjacent living room with high ceilings and colored lights alternating above them. There’s already a mass of people gathered on the makeshift dance floor, with enough room for the pair to slip by and secure their own spot. “Wooyoungie, I can’t dance for long, I have to find Mingi.”
“Oh, Mingi’s here? I still haven’t met him, you know,” Wooyoung says, resting one of his arms over Yunho’s shoulder as he presses forward, swaying his hips to the R&B beats.
“Yeah, and knowing you, you’ll probably find someone before you get to meet him. Plus, I’m not drunk yet,” Yunho laughs, placing one hand over Wooyoung’s waist and chugging his beer with the other.
“Then get drunk and let’s dance.”
“You haven’t found your target for the night yet. Do that first, get it over with, and then we can get drunker and dance together. Sound good?”
Wooyoung nods with a lazy smile, feeling the shots begin to pool in his stomach and spread throughout his body. It’s hot, especially being surrounded by all these people, but he loves it. He’s needed it for the past two weeks. Lowering his hand to Yunho’s neck, he pulls his roommate in and kisses him a goodbye before patting him on the shoulder. “Go find your boyfriend.”
“He’s straight,” Yunho says before winking and walking away.
Wooyoung chuckles to himself as he lets the beats sink in, thrumming in his blood and bones and fueling his fire, his wants and needs. He rolls his body to the beats, closing his eyes and raising his hands above his head. It’s bliss, he thinks, being enclosed in such a tight space where somehow, ironically, he feels free. Freed of midterms and ghosts and shark therapists, he allows himself to dance out every sliver of stress that he’s built up over the past two weeks, and hopefully, he’ll have it fucked out of him by the end of the night.
He breathes in deeply.
“Try it,” a faceless boy had said.
Wooyoung frowned, sniffing the liquid in the cup reluctantly. “It doesn’t smell good.”
“You’ll feel really good once you drink it. You’ll feel… happy.”
For tonight, Wooyoung will let himself be happy.
He’ll let the alcohol control him because he’s so sick of controlling himself. Just like the universe, he wishes something else would govern him. He wants to be free of himself. He wants to forget about the sharks and the ghost and the valley of flowers too beautiful that they shouldn’t exist in nature. The only thing he’s proud of is his fucking tombstone. So what if he’s a slutty dickhead? The wise words constantly spoken, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” have never rung so true to Wooyoung. He’s felt this way for as long as he can remember.
Sure, he’s going to die one day. If he’s going to be remembered as something as crude as a slutty dickhead, he’d honestly rather be remembered as that than not be remembered at all. Because at least people will remember he was the one with the sharp tongue and no shame, who wore glitter on his collarbones and drank until he couldn’t remember his name. Who fucked around with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, because the post-orgasmic bliss gave him just a fraction of the happiness he wished he had.
It’s something, and even though Wooyoung knows it’s always going to be temporary, he’ll take it.
As the music and his heartbeat become one, he feels a hand on his waist. “Excuse me,” a voice says, “you look a little lonely dancing by yourself. Is it okay if I join you?”
And as cheesy as it is, Wooyoung can’t help but smile. He turns around, expecting to see some skeezy-looking dick-for-brains facing him, but that’s far from the truth.
His head takes a little bit to catch up. The words that the stranger had spoken were not out of mindless lust, but rather genuine consideration, maybe even concern. It was polite. The body he’s facing isn’t towering over him and exerting overly dominant energy that speaks, “I’m here to fuck you hard and be done with you.” No, this stranger isn’t much taller than him, and the first thing Wooyoung notices about him is the purple gemstone beneath his left eye. He’s gorgeous, Wooyoung thinks, with a closed-mouth grin that may or may not be nervous. Friendly eyes and an overall warm presence that almost steals Wooyoung’s breath right from his damaged lungs.
“Sure,” Wooyoung says, his confidence wavering for a split second because this stranger has truly startled him.
As friendly as this stranger sounded, he’s still nothing short of sensual. He takes Wooyoung by the arm and lowers his hand to Wooyoung’s waist, gripping it tenderly as he pulls him close and spins him around. Wooyoung has been in this position plenty of times before, with his back pressed up against a stranger’s torso and his ass against their crotch. He’d sway his hips and they’d move with him. Some had no sense of rhythm and just wanted someone to get their dick hard. Which, Wooyoung was okay with because they end up in bed anyway. But this stranger, he immediately wraps his arms around Wooyoung’s front and closes them around his waist, locking him in, and setting his own rhythm. Wooyoung follows it, feeling as if he’s just taken a huge hit from his bong back home. His head is smoke and his lungs are strings being played with.
This stranger knows how to move.
Wooyoung finds his fingers placed right on top of this stranger’s. They might be a bit clammy, but it doesn’t matter. The song is slow, seductive, and the stranger sets a pace so languid that Wooyoung can feel him. His chest undulating against his back, his cock slowly hardening against his ass, and his taunting fingers creeping up the hem of his shirt.
“Shit,” Wooyoung gasps as the stranger’s fingers brush against his abdomen. He raises one of his arms, enclosing it around the stranger’s head and pulling him into his neck. His lips skim over his neck teasingly.
“What’s your name?” the stranger asks against the shell of his ear.
And, well, shit. Plenty of people have asked his name, but never this early on. “It’s Wooyoung,” he answers, leaning back and letting his head fall on this stranger’s shoulder.
His breath is hot against his ear as he responds with, “My name is San.”
San. Wooyoung has never met a San. He’s met plenty of people with the same name but never a San. San, the stranger with a warm smile and a violet gem beneath his left eye. With broad shoulders and an embrace that has Wooyoung breathless.
“It’s nice to meet you, San,” Wooyoung says as San’s hands travel further up, stealing even more of his shallow breaths.
“Likewise, Wooyoung.”
San’s blunt nails dig into his hips, eliciting a low groan from him before he breaks free from the embrace, spinning around to face the now named stranger and crash his lips to his. San reciprocates immediately, as if he senses Wooyoung’s intentions, hands still attached to his waist as his fingertips dig into the skin there. Wooyoung moans into the kiss, the vibrations traveling up towards his head, blurring out everything else around him, where all he can focus on are San’s lips and his devilish tongue slipping into his mouth. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in two weeks, but he’s helplessly hard already, and from what he can tell, San is too.
San tastes like alcohol too, though there’s no way Wooyoung can identify what it is when all he can do is feel. It’s the all-encompassing heat, from San’s mouth to the bodies surrounding them to the alcohol present in his blood, his head is spinning and all he can do is let San take him over. San is the one to govern him tonight.
“You know where this is gonna go,” Wooyoung murmurs against his lips.
“Then take me there, Wooyoung.”
So he does.
Having been to numerous parties in all sorts of settings, Wooyoung is familiar with the layouts of most houses. He finds the stairs easily and ascends them clumsily, from both the alcohol and the lustful haze, with San’s hand in his as they both stumble into one of the bedrooms which is luckily vacant.
(And as if the host of this party knew what their bedrooms would be used for, each doorknob has a ‘vacant’ slash ‘do not disturb’ sign that Wooyoung swiftly flips around before entering. Also, the door locks. Wooyoung silently thanks the universe.)
San yanks his shirt off over his head in one suave, swift motion, hungry eyes and impatient hands as he helps Wooyoung out of his. They both fall onto the bed, their hands and mouths exploring the uncharted territories of each other, hurried yet slow at the same time. Wooyoung wonders if San is intent on torturing him or something because he’s taking his precious time feeling him up, his cock straining in his tight jeans so much that it’s starting to hurt.
“Please, off,” Wooyoung whines as he fumbles with the button of his jeans. San smirks, popping it easily and helping him out of them, just his jeans, and when Wooyoung goes to take his underwear off, San stops him, pinning his wrists down beside him.
“Let’s make it last a little, yeah?” He winks, and Wooyoung’s dick twitches with interest.
Wooyoung is normally an impatient person. He likes to fuck, come, and go back downstairs to drink the rest of the night away. But there’s something about San that has him intrigued, hooked, and he lets San kiss down his torso until he reaches his clothed cock, continuing to mouth at it through the fabric until there’s a wet patch of both precome and spit. Wooyoung bites his bottom lip and whines, hips unintentionally bucking up against San’s mouth.
“Someone’s impatient,” he notes, smirking.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Wooyoung quips back, returning a smirk of his own. “Please, fuck, I want it so bad.”
“Well, since you requested it so nicely.” San’s grin never leaves as he finally frees Wooyoung’s cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s achingly hard, dick standing straight up against his stomach and head already damp with precome.
San rids himself of the remainder of his clothes, though he pulls out a condom and four packets of lube from his pocket before he tosses the garments somewhere beside the bed. He puts them down next to Wooyoung, taking him by surprise as he lowers himself down and licks a stripe up Wooyoung’s cock. “Wait, what are you doing?” Wooyoung blurts.
San frowns, eyebrows creasing as he looks at Wooyoung incredulously. “Um, I’m going to suck your dick?”
“You’re not gonna fuck me?”
San continues to look at him in disbelief as he grabs the base of Wooyoung’s cock. “Well, I was planning on it after I prep you.”
“You don’t have to suck my dick, though.”
“What if I want to?”
Well shit. Wooyoung’s definitely not used to this. Sure, there have been some times where people suck his dick before they get to the main event, but the majority of the time, they finger him open until he says it’s okay. It usually ends up hurting a bit because he’s too restless, too eager to get fucked that he doesn’t wait until he’s properly stretched. Wooyoung doesn’t entirely mind that though; he still gets off and sometimes the stretch and burn is nice.
“Well, if you’re that impatient.” San sighs but chuckles as well, tearing open one of the packets of lube and coating his fingers with it before pressing one against Wooyoung’s hole. “I’ll multitask, then.”
San swallows around Wooyoung’s cock again as he strokes his fingers against his entrance, and Jesus Christ, Wooyoung is pretty sure this has only happened once or twice before. Where they finger and blow him at the same time. His thighs tense as San’s finger slips past the resistance, releasing a whine as San’s tongue works around the girth of his cock. It’s as if there’s absolutely no alcohol in his system, the way he’s feeling San like this. Sure, his head is swimming and his limbs feel like jelly, but he loves it. He’s at San’s mercy. He’s finally relinquished control.
A second finger slides in beside the first and the two work together to scissor Wooyoung open, pressing deep inside him until they’re up to the knuckle. San has definitely been around this block before because he finds his prostate way too easily, way too quickly, and has Wooyoung a whining, moaning mess before he’s even begun to fuck him. His fingers worm around inside him, stretching him open and hitting all the right places.
“W-wait, San,” Wooyoung chokes out.
“What?” San lifts his head, though his fingers continue to move.
“I-I’m ready. Want you.”
San’s fingers don’t stop; in fact, there’s a third finger poking at his entrance next to the two already inside him. “Why do I doubt that?”
“What are you talking about? I’m telling you, I’m ready.”
San chuckles and reaches over, picking up another packet of lube and tearing it open with his teeth. He drizzles it all over Wooyoung’s cock and over his third finger before pressing it in along with the other two. Wooyoung gasps at the stretch of the sudden intrusion. “No offense, Wooyoung, but you seem like you’re too impatient. I want to make this good for you. Memorable, even.”
What the fuck.
Wooyoung grits his teeth. He’s frustrated, no doubt, because San is all too cocky about this, smirking as he works three fingers in him, like he’s planning something. He’s being too considerate despite that arrogant grin of his. Making sure Wooyoung is properly stretched. Wants their fuck to be memorable. What kind of bullshit is he spewing? It’s a hookup; how could it possibly be memorable? But he’s come this far, San has three fingers in his ass and Wooyoung thinks, he better fuck his brains out or else he’s gonna be pissed.
“And I don’t mean to gloat or anything, but I fuck well. You’re gonna feel it if I don’t prep you right.”
Wooyoung lets out an annoyed huff, only to have his prostate prodded again as a response. San sucks the head of his cock back into his mouth, tonguing the slit as his entire hand moves along with his fingers. Wooyoung is beyond the point of no return now, head in the clouds, completely having forgot about his prior petulance and giving himself back up to San.
It’s as if San is the one to deem him ready, as he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets below. He grabs the condom and tears the package open with his teeth again, his fervent eyes boring into Wooyoung’s. The purple gem is still there, right below his left eye, and it almost seems to shimmer.
As soon as the condom is rolled on, San positions himself at Wooyoung’s entrance, slowly pressing forward and working his hips shallowly, his cock stretching him open even more so than his fingers. Wooyoung grips the sheets as his eyes flutter shut, cock leaking against his stomach and heart pounding in his chest. He lets out the tiniest whimper as San continues further in until he’s buried at the hilt, pausing to let Wooyoung breathe. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Am I okay? What kind of question is that?
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wooyoung answers, but he can’t help that it comes out as a half-moan because San immediately starts thrusting shallowly, his movements only continue to work him even further open. Wooyoung can’t help but feel like he’s in for something because San is being too gentle with him. He’s being too considerate, fingering him with three digits instead of two while also sucking his dick. That’s not right. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.
Who even is this guy?
As the noises leaving Wooyoung’s lips grow in volume, San leans in, planting his hands on either side of Wooyoung’s head as the change in angle has San’s cock traveling even deeper inside him. “Wooyoung,” he grunts, his movements not halting once, “how flexible are you?”
“What? I’m, um, pretty flexible—”
Before Wooyoung can get another word out, San is hooking his arms underneath Wooyoung’s legs and leaning forward again, bringing his legs with him and in turn, lifting his ass off the bed. “Fuck, San!” Wooyoung gasps as San’s cock plows into him, now even deeper than before. “Y-you’re so fucking deep, oh my god.”
“This is what I mean when I said I fuck well,” San practically growls, his face dangerously close to Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung can already feel himself melting, submitting completely, because San really is fucking him well and he wants every previous thought and word of vice to drown. San is fucking him well.
San, who was friendly from the get-go. San, who took his time to touch Wooyoung, to make him feel good before fucking him. San, who used the word ‘gloat’ instead of ‘brag’ and stopped him when he said he was ready when he probably wasn’t.
The only thought that remains is who even is this guy?
San is ripping every word from his mouth, however, where all he can produce are incoherent moans, maybe a few curses here and there, but all he can really focus on is San’s cock hitting him so fucking deep, to the point where there are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and his moans are starting to sound a little bit like sobs. His neglected cock is still caught between them, aching to come, and as if he senses Wooyoung’s unease, he slows his thrusts and leans back. “You okay?” he asks.
Wooyoung nods mindlessly. “Y-yeah, just… wanna come.”
San smirks and wraps his fingers around Wooyoung’s wet length, stroking him lazily. “You’re gorgeous, Wooyoung, you know that?”
And normally, Wooyoung would say yes. Wooyoung would look at himself and say that he looks fucking hot because he knows he is. He’s attractive, and that’s how he lures people in. It’s how he lured San in. But now, San, the man with the purple gemstone beneath his eye and blue-black hair that glistens underneath the dim bedroom lights, has him speechless.
San is only moving in the slightest when Wooyoung spills onto his stomach, unable to produce any sort of warning because he’s so fucking done. He gives up. San has him, all of him, and there’s nothing he can say or think or do about it.
“Fuck,” San says out of amusement, grunting as his thrusts come to a gradual stop and he’s pressing forward again, cock pulsing into the condom as he comes deep inside Wooyoung.
Wooyoung has been reduced to trembling thighs and broken moans while San pulls out, exhaling deeply as he removes the condom, tying it and tossing it into the bin next to the bed. He even disposes of the wrappers.
“Thank you, Wooyoung,” San says as he’s redressing himself.
“For what?” Wooyoung replies, still reeling from his orgasm.
“For that, of course.”
Wooyoung blinks hard as the alcohol creeps back up on him. His limbs are heavy and his vision is starting to blur again now that San is no longer encapsulating him. “I didn’t do anything,” he says.
“Maybe. But even so, I enjoyed it, and I hope you did too.”
‘I hope you did too?’
“Why are you so nice?” Wooyoung blurts out just as San is about to walk out the door.
San, the stranger with the warm smile, looks at him fondly. “Why would I not be nice?” He chuckles. “You’re a strange one, Wooyoung. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”
And then he’s gone. San, the stranger with the midnight black hair and the purple gemstone, leaves him naked on the bed with an uncomfortable twist in his chest.
✲
When Wooyoung finally comes to his senses and his bones start to rejuvenate, he musters enough strength to rejoin the party and find Yunho, who’s accompanied by Yeosang and an unfamiliar face. “Oh, Wooyoung! Judging by the smudged makeup, I’m assuming you just got laid,” Yunho says, slinging his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders.
“Yeah, and now I’m ready to get drunk,” he mutters, snatching Yunho’s cup and pounding whatever’s in it. Beer. Yunho doesn’t even bat an eyelash at it.
“What’s got you so snappy?” Yeosang asks, offering up his own cup, which Wooyoung gladly takes. “Was it that bad?”
“No,” Wooyoung answers, chugging whatever’s in Yeosang’s cup. It’s fruity, but it’s definitely laced with strong liquor judging from the burn. “It was actually terribly good and I’m ready to forget about it.”
“Why would you want to forget about a good fuck?” asks the stranger. “Oh, I’m Jongho by the way. Yeosang’s roommate, and the token straight guy.”
Wooyoung bursts out laughing and hands the cup back to Yeosang. “Well, for one, he was fucking gorgeous and took his fucking time and asked me shit like, ‘are you okay?’ and he even bragged about how good he fucked and he ended up being right. So, I’m ready forget about his stupidly attractive face and purple gemstone and get so drunk I forget my and his name.”
There’s a long, collective silence between the four of them, giving Wooyoung’s body time to absorb his friends’ drinks. Yeosang looks at Yunho questioningly before turning back to him. “I don’t get you, Wooyoung.”
“I don’t get me either.”
“I don’t think anybody will ever get you,” Yunho says, but Wooyoung knows he doesn’t mean it condescendingly. It’s just a fact. Nobody will get how Wooyoung comes up with such crazy scenarios in his mind, which for some reason recently, have been about getting eaten by sharks. Who knows, with midterms finished, he might come up with a new scenario to envision.
Wooyoung just scoffs and reaches past to them to grab whatever bottle of alcohol is behind them, not bothering to check exactly what it is before unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. “Come on, Yunho, you promised me a dance.”
“Fine,” Yunho says, but he plucks the bottle right out of Wooyoung’s hands. “But no more drinks. I’m not in the mood to deal with whatever hangover you’re left with tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Wooyoung grumbles, and Yunho takes his hand and leads him to the giant mass of people from before, which has seemingly grown in size. He wonders where San went.
He shoves the thought out of his head as soon as he thinks it. Fuck San. With just the right amount of alcohol in him, he grinds up against Yunho, all in good fun, laughing as if he didn’t just have the dicking of his life, as if a single stranger weren’t on his mind. No, the image of a purple gemstone and a head of shining black hair is gone, just like the night will be, and Wooyoung will continue his walk of life. He will continue to walk along the stones and ignore the stinging of his feet and his legs’ pleas to stop because he must go on.
The music has changed genres now, from sensual R&B to an energetic EDM. Everyone around him indulges in the fast-paced electrobeats, fist pumping and head banging, so fucking crowded and scorching hot, but this is what Wooyoung lives for. He lives for the rush. For the pounding heart and the temporary infinite feeling.
He’s sweating endlessly. He can’t breathe. But god, he loves it.
The night air is cold, and Wooyoung doesn’t necessarily know how he gets there. He’s still laughing, at least, he thinks he is. He’s walking, maybe stumbling a bit, but that’s okay. Everybody stumbles in life. Wooyoung just happens to stumble more than most. He thinks that there are people still around him, though there’s a significantly less amount.
“You’re such an idiot, Wooyoung,” somebody mumbles. Wooyoung agrees. He is an idiot.
He honestly doesn’t know how he managed to get into university twice, both on full scholarships. His grades have always been pretty good, and he considers himself to be a solid persuasive writer. The academic departments of both universities must have loved his work. He doesn’t understand how, though. He doesn’t understand how anything of his could ever be loved. He’s nothing special, so how could anything he does be special?
“Just lay him down here,” the voice from before instructs.
He’s against something plush. A pleasant warmth flows over him.
“Will he be okay?” a different voice asks.
“Yeah, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s been worse.”
“Jesus.”
A sigh. “He… does this fairly often.”
“I can tell. Aren’t you worried about him?”
A pause. “Yeah, but it’s not like he’ll change. Pretty sure he does this all to cope, but I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about personal stuff that much.”
A hum of consideration. “I just hope he doesn’t become an alcoholic or get alcohol poisoning one of these days.”
“Me too. As hopeless as he may seem, I have some faith in him.”
Wooyoung wants to laugh. Maybe he does. Someone has faith in him, which amuses him endlessly. Whoever it is, they’re just as idiotic as he is.
“I love you, honey. I hope you know that.”
“I love you too, eomma.”
“Remember that there are going to be people who don’t love you, and that’s okay. It’s okay not to be loved. Just be careful with people, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too, eomma.”
✲
Waking up feels like a punch to the gut. His eyes are swollen and his back hurts and he wants to die more than usual. However, as soon as he opens his eyes, there’s a very smug-looking Yunho sitting beside him, holding out a white pill and a glass of water. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“I hope you get killed in a very convenient accident,” Wooyoung groans, snatching the pill and sticking it in his mouth. Yunho leans over and tips the water into his mouth, and he swallows the pill, though it leaves an uncomfortable lump in his throat.
“That’s no way to treat a roommate who dragged your ass back home after you drank yourself into dissociation. Also, if you’re gonna puke, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Wooyoung groans, shoving his head underneath his pillow. “Give me a few hours and maybe I won’t.”
Yunho nods. “Solid deal.”
And he walks out.
Wooyoung lets out a deep sigh and lets his body throb with the aches. He’s been in this state before. His back and ass hurt, probably because he got laid the night before. His head is pounding; that’s nothing new. His stomach is churning but if he waits it out and lets it pass, he’ll be fine. He could probably be up and running within the next few hours.
The digital clock reads eleven a.m.
Yeah, he’s got time.
✲
Wooyoung sees Yeosang the next day, because when he wakes up at noon, Yeosang is sitting on his living room couch with a mug of coffee in his hands that probably isn’t three creams and three sugars. “Oh, Wooyoungie!” Yeosang chirps up as soon as the zombified version of Wooyoung trudges in. “You’re coming with me to the pet store today!”
“What?” Wooyoung croaks, his voice still dormant from sleep. He clears his throat. “Why would I do that?”
“So I can pick up supplies for my fish tank, duh.”
“You have a fish tank?”
Yeosang smiles proudly and nods. “Yup! It’s my goal to make it the gayest fish tank known to man. I get a new fish whenever I make a new friend, so you need to come with me so I can pick one out for you!”
And, well, shit. Wooyoung thinks having a fish named after him would be pretty cool. “Does Yunho already have one?”
“Indeed I do,” Yunho says. “It’s just a goldfish. Plain and simple.”
“Quite unlike you, Yunho,” Wooyoung says, faking offense. “You are one of the most fascinating creatures I have ever come across. How dare you stoop so low as to choose a goldfish to represent you in Yeosang’s gay ass fish tank!”
Yunho shrugs with a pout. “It was cute, and I am most definitely cute.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Now motivated by the excitement of having a fish named after him, Wooyoung happily accompanies Yeosang to the pet store while Yunho leaves for the studio for practice. Wooyoung’s never been to this pet store since, well, he doesn’t own any pets. But it’s just like any other pet store chain, with bright fluorescent lights and small critters boxed up in glass tanks and all sorts of unnecessarily gaudy accessories. Wooyoung assumes whatever decorations adorn Yeosang’s fish tank are like that too.
Yeosang leads Wooyoung to the back of the store where fish tanks are stacked upon each other, home to freshwater and saltwater fish alike, illuminated by bright cerulean backgrounds and algae. Yeosang tells Wooyoung to read the descriptions of the fish because he can’t have his fish going around killing the others (which is apparently a thing). As much as Wooyoung wants to have the biggest, most obnoxious fish ever to represent him in Yeosang’s tank, he must refrain.
“Oh, Yeosang? Is that you?” a deep voice calls from their left.
“Oh, shit, Mingi?”
Mingi. Song Mingi? The guy that Yunho considers his best friend?
“Holy shit, I didn’t know you worked here!” Yeosang says, beaming as Mingi approaches him.
He’s a hell of a lot taller than both of him, maybe around Yunho’s height. Maybe that’s why they’re best friends. “Yeah, I do! Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, I’m Wooyoung, Yunho’s roommate.”
Mingi’s entire face lights up, mouth expanding into a wide gummy smile. “Holy shit, you’re the Jung Wooyoung I’ve heard so much about! I’m surprised I haven’t met you yet. Well, hello, I’m Mingi.” Wooyoung puts on a smile and shakes his hand. As much as he doesn’t care for how he presents himself to people, he can’t help but feel a bit awkward finally meeting the guy. He wonders if Mingi feels the same way.
“So what can I help you guys with? Looking to get a fish?” Mingi asks.
“Yeah. Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t run into you here. I stop by all the time to get supplies for my fish tank.”
Mingi shrugs. “Maybe it’s on days when I’m not here, or maybe you’re always being helped by someone else. Well, whatever the case, now you know I work here!”
“Wait,” Wooyoung says, “you two met each other before?”
Yeosang chuckles. “We actually met at the party on Friday. Yunho finally got around to introducing us. You, on the other hand, were too busy being drunk off your ass to actually meet him.”
“It’s fine,” Mingi reassures with a waving gesture. “I left pretty early anyway. Parties aren’t really my thing.”
Wooyoung can’t relate in the slightest.
“So, take a look at our glorious selection of fish and let me know when you’ve decided!”
Yeosang taps Wooyoung’s shoulder, motioning at the fish tanks with his head. “Well, Woo, choose your fish.”
“Mingi-yah!” a voice suddenly calls out. “Did you restock the cat litter?”
Mingi sucks in his bottom lip and lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles before following up with, “No, I’m sorry! I forgot!”
“Come on, Byeol needs a litterbox change and I can’t really do that if my forgetful roommate slash coworker doesn’t restock the cat litter!”
Wooyoung can hear footsteps approaching from behind, and when he turns to face the stranger, he’s hit with a wave of odd nostalgia, like he’s seen this person before.
His midnight black hair shimmers beneath the white fluorescent lights, soft brown eyes, and while his face doesn’t exactly spell happiness, his features remind Wooyoung a lot of somebody he’s met before.
The stranger stops in place as soon as he’s face to face with Wooyoung and Yeosang. “Wait,” he says. “Wooyoung?”
Wooyoung’s throat constricts as he wracks his brain for this stranger’s name. He knows this face. It’s so, so familiar, but Wooyoung can’t quite find it in his memory.
“Wait, what?” Mingi pipes up. “Wait! It’s this Wooyoung?”
The stranger’s mouth curves up into an all-knowing, shit-eating grin. “Yup. It’s this Wooyoung.”
Mingi stifles a massive laugh. “Holy shit, what a small world.”
“What? I’m so lost,” Yeosang comments.
Wooyoung frowns, eyes swiftly glancing down at the employee’s nametag, and holy shit. That’s right.
The hair, the eyes. The warm smile. The purple gemstone beneath his left eye. It’s not there anymore, but it’s unmistakably him.
“S-San,” Wooyoung says, trying his best not to choke. “It’s, um, good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Wooyoung.”
His memory is slowly starting to crawl back into his brain, and he really wishes it wouldn’t. Here he is, sandwiched between his fling, his fling’s roommate slash coworker slash Yunho’s best friend, and his own best friend who just came here for a fish.
Wooyoung is bold. He is brash and a bit of an asshole. He’s confident and usually doesn’t give a shit about what people think of him. He rarely feels nervous.
But now, his palms are starting to clam up again as the stranger’s name and face both manifest and solidify in his mind, the way he moved inside him and held him both roughly and delicately at the same time.
“Can somebody tell me what’s going on?” Yeosang blurts.
“Wooyoung and I got acquainted at the party,” San says with the same omnipresent grin.
“Oh, wow! Really is a small world, huh? How come I didn’t get to meet you?” Yeosang is looking between all three of them now, eyes searching for an unspoken answer, and it takes two wicked smirks and a very panicked-looking Wooyoung for him to piece the puzzle together.
His mouth drops open.
“Oh. Shit.”
Oh shit indeed, Wooyoung thinks.