. . . empty spaces.
he wakes up to the smell of coffee, with his limbs tangled in the sheets of a bed he’s only been acquainted with for a few hours. he blinks his eyes open reluctantly, hair a mess and sleep crust still on his face, though he's awake enough to notice the space beside him is empty. when he finally sits up, he’s quick to feel how sore he is and how his body feels like it nearly weighs 2 tons, but he’s pretty sure it’s mostly from the alcohol he had consumed the evening before, along with all the dance practice he had done during the day, and...
well, the hook up he had last night certainly didn’t help.
he’s used to the morning after feeling, and it’s not usually the most pleasant thing in the world, but today he doesn’t feel too bad. just... normal bad. he had certainly felt worse. so he gathers himself, or more so tries his best to, which mainly consists of the bare minimum of finding his clothes and belongings to get dressed and make himself look somewhat presentable and his messy hair less... messy. he eventually shuffles into the unfamiliar kitchen, already empty by the time he steps foot in it despite the scent of coffee still lingering around him. he eyes the coffee pot that seemed to still be warm... yet it was turned off and left just as empty as the kitchen, making san’s eyebrows furrow curiously.
“did you make coffee?” he asks, turning to the figure san had gotten quite comfortable with the night before, who was now slumped across his couch in the living room.
“huh? oh, yeah. sorry. i didn’t know you wanted any.” the male replies casually and conveniently places down his mug as he speaks.
“oh.”
considering they had only met last night, san’s not sure what he had expected... a cup of coffee would have been nice, he thinks, but the other is too busy browsing television to notice the sad look on his face, and for that he’s thankful at least. san knew plenty well to have low expectations when when it came to hook-ups, so he doesn’t know why something as small as coffee seems to get his own feelings hurt this time around. all he knows is that he wants it to stop.
“plus, you were like knocked out cold, dude―”
his voice trails off in san’s mind, the rest of what he says going in one ear and out the other. all he could manage to think about now was how he was going to leave soon (since he had no reason to stay) and how he also felt a little sick to his stomach. he wants to blame it on whatever he had to drink last night, but he knows in his gut it’s an emotional reaction more than anything else.
he mumbles out his goodbyes not long after their interaction ends, half-heartedly agreeing when the other male suggests seeing each other again as he walks out the door. maybe, san thinks to himself. but probably not. the little voice in his head tells him the other only said so to be polite.
why did he sleep around so much if it made him feel like this? the fact that it didn’t always make him feel like shit was a normal excuse he told himself often. but why did he subject himself to such things seemingly without care? oh, right. because he hates being alone but at the same time fears being left. all of his past relationships seemed to be either short-lived or left as what-could-have-been’s because of it, and along the way san somehow managed to convince himself sleeping around was the quick fix for some the issues he had that were much more complex than he wanted to admit. thanks, dad.
if only he went to therapy.
but maybe now more specifically he was trying to forget about yeonjun. after drunkenly kissing the boy on a whim only to be pushed away a few weeks ago, san was left feeling pathetic and defeated. yet he couldn’t stop thinking about him or their kiss (which his brain seemed to love reminding him was not their first one). so what does he do? what san does best ― avoiding his problems and sleeping around with others to forget his worries. clearly everything was working out great. yeonjun was still on his mind, and if anything he felt worse than he had before.
―
san finds himself right back in the school’s dance studio, still dressed in the same clothes he had worn the day before but already too frustrated with himself and too tired to go all the way home and back just to change. he wants to force himself to practice, to actively do something more to get yeonjun off of his mind, so he figures he might as well do something productive. he connects to the speakers and turns on the music for a new dance he’s learning with so much nonchalance, it’s as if he’s done this a thousand times before ( he has ).
he begins dancing in the open space immediately on cue, despite a bit of tension obvious in his body that wasn’t normally there as he still moves easily across the room. he can sense he’s lacking without even having to look at himself in the mirror, but he does so every so often to keep himself grounded ― or whatever. he wasn’t quite sure of anything right now if he was being completely honest. it’s a move that he’s already got the hang of, or he was supposed to, when san trips over himself and stumbles onto the hardwood floor. he winces though he’s not hurt; maybe a tiny bruise would be left on his knee and that’s it.
it’s then he feels tears stinging at his eyes.
he lets himself plop onto the floor with a sad huff as he unravels himself from the position he had been dancing in to wipe at his teary eyes roughly. he reaches into his pocket to grab his phone and turn off the music that had still been playing, successfully curling himself into a ball at the same time. he sits in the middle of the empty studio with his arms around his knees and his phone now open on his most recent texts with yeonjun. they had been in casual contact since the kiss and while their texts were friendly, nothing out of the ordinary... things felt different. at least a little. at least to san.
as much as san had said he didn’t want to make things awkward and no matter what yeonjun said, he felt like he had. and it wasn’t the first time. the two of them had only just reconnected and yet... here san was already ruining it. wiping at his eyes once more, he locks his phone and slides it onto the floor with an exasperated sigh before pushing his fists into his hair and tugging at the strands lightly.
what was he going to do?