𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚.
to kill the sun, is such an easy thing, san thinks. you just gotta hide and wait till the heat die down; drowning on the west part of the world, and then you'll have half of the day to celebrate under the moonlight. sitting with your knees up against your chest, as you wonder how you'll kill tomorrow's ray of sunshine.
so, call san as the bad guy, but does he really want to kill the enigma named jung wooyoung; his very own personal embodiment of the brightest light. supposedly guiding his steps away from the darker side, but nowadays, san chooses not to move away.
jung wooyoung, and his blinding smile. enough to light up the whole room in happy mood, and lead the crowds away from their nightmares. but never for san. because he's a coward little child inside, and he'd rather laying down behind the sofa. hidden from responsibilities placed on his shoulders.
call san a crooked soul, for he never really take the hand wooyoung always offer, and yet he let the boy grasp his wrist and whisk him away from the safety that is his house with the mighty tall walls built solely to scare people away. for his whole life, he's been living in uncertainties. and jung wooyoung, is the certainty he's not gonna take the risk for.
because jung wooyoung is the warmth his body constantly reject. knowing he'll learn not to miss it, when the cold come around once again. because jung wooyoung loves like a fucking wrecking ball. leaving him all bare and vulnerable, unsure of what to feel when he only knows solitude for so long he barely remembers home.
so, maybe he's a jerk. for stealing jung wooyoung's heart, even when he did not mean to; for they barely meet on daily basis, and he does not understand which part of his ugly sight can bless the eyes of jung wooyoung.
“i just like you,” jung wooyoung ever told him. he said nothing that time; only squeezed jung wooyoung's hand, as his heart decided that it would never believe those sweet lies.
call san an asshole, if you'd like. for letting the angel love him with all of his might, knowing that he can't share the sentiment back. it was not his fault. still is not his fault. and will never be his fault.
because jung wooyoung loves, loves, and loves. never ever once asking for anything, and san never trust people who does not demand anything.
he has nothing left to give, anyway.
“i love you.” jung wooyoung would whisper everynight.
and everytime, he would stare at those pretty eyes, and say, “i know,” as he watch the fire flicker down slightly. jung wooyoung will get tired of him soon, and he knows.
because in this life, he does not fancy the sun, even when he's on the verge of dying. thus, what's the better option he has other than killing the fireball before it can engulf him and burn him all the way to the bones?
nothing.
so, call him the worst. for he'll admit all of his crimes, as he use his umbrella to save himself from the sunlight. blocking the bright from ever reaching into his heart. the path is full of thorns, and he already threw the key away long time ago.
san does not want to get burnt, and jung wooyoung shall get drowned in his pool.
“i love you, san.”
“do you want to learn how to swim, young-ah?”
𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨𝙚, 10.42 pm.