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The first time San saw him, it was freezing. Winter had settled heavily over the city, and everyone was wrapped in layers, breath curling like smoke in the air. San had stepped into a small café near campus, desperate for warmth, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The bell jingled as he entered, and that’s when he saw him.
A boy—soft brown hair peeking from under a woolen beanie, cheeks pink from the cold—standing at the counter, cradling a steaming cup of green tea.
San didn't know then that this moment would carve itself into his memory like the first page of a love story.
It started with a simple request.
"Can you lend me some sugar?"
San, still half-asleep from his morning classes, blinked at him. "Huh?"
The boy pointed at the sugar bowl sitting between them, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup. "I think I took too much tea and not enough sweetness."
San slid the bowl toward him, expecting him to take a spoonful. But instead, the boy grabbed the bowl—hands trembling slightly from the cold—and shook it, too forcefully. The lid slipped, and before either of them could react, a cascade of sugar rained down over San’s jacket, his scarf, his coffee cup.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then, the boy gasped.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "I—I am so sorry!"
San blinked at the mess, then at the mortified expression on the boy’s face. And, to his own surprise, he laughed.
"Well," he said, brushing sugar off his sleeves, "that’s one way to make a first impression."
The boy's face turned even redder. He immediately started singing—actually singing—a little melody under his breath.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
San couldn't stop smiling. He had no idea who this boy was, but in that moment, he wanted to.
---
The second time they met, it was by pure chance.
San was rushing across campus, late for a meeting, when he turned a corner too quickly and nearly collided with someone. Books tumbled to the ground.
"Ah, I'm so sor—" San started, but then he saw him.
The sugar boy.
His face lit up with recognition. "You!"
San grinned. "Me."
The boy laughed, shaking his head. "Fate must really like us."
"Or maybe sugar is magnetic," San teased. "You never did introduce yourself."
"Wooyoung," he said, his name carrying the warmth of a freshly brewed drink.
San repeated it under his breath. He liked the way it felt on his tongue.
"San," he offered back, he wasn't going to miss the opportunity"And now that I have your name... maybe I should get your number too?"
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just trying to make me pay for the dry-cleaning?"
San smirked. "That depends. Are you planning to spill something else on me?"
Wooyoung laughed, bright and clear. "No promises."
---
The third time they met, it felt intentional.
San wasn’t sure if it was luck, coincidence, or something pulling them together, but he found himself hoping to run into Wooyoung again. And this time, he did.
It was the weekend, and the city was alive with the soft hum of people going about their day. San had stepped out for a walk, the crisp air waking him up more than his morning coffee. He had barely turned onto the main street when he spotted a familiar figure just ahead—bouncing slightly on his feet, sipping something warm from a takeaway cup.
San hesitated for a split second before making up his mind. He closed the distance between them, tapping Wooyoung lightly on the shoulder.
"Are you following me now?" Wooyoung teased before even turning around, as if he had sensed San’s presence.
San chuckled. "You wish."
Wooyoung finally faced him, eyes sparkling with mischief. "What brings you here?"
San gestured vaguely at the street. "Just a walk. Clears my head."
Wooyoung hummed in understanding. "Same. But, you know, walks are better with company."
San raised an eyebrow. "Was that an invitation?"
Wooyoung grinned, tilting his head playfully. "Only if you want it to be."
San did.
They ended up strolling aimlessly, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The conversation flowed as naturally as the breeze, dipping between light teasing and genuine curiosity. San learned that Wooyoung had a habit of humming under his breath whenever he was thinking, that he preferred tea over coffee but still ordered espresso shots before exams, and that he always carried an absurd amount of snacks in his bag—"For emergencies," he claimed.
At some point, they stopped in front of a cotton candy stand. Wooyoung’s eyes lit up.
"Do you want one?" San asked.
Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically, then paused, eyes flickering to San. "Only if we share."
San wasn’t sure why that made his heart stutter.
He bought one, and Wooyoung broke off a piece, holding it up to San’s lips before taking a bite himself. It was ridiculous, childish even, but San found himself smiling like an idiot.
The evening air had never felt so sweet.
---
The fourth, fifth, and sixth days blurred together in a haze of warmth.
Somewhere along the way, it became effortless.
Late-night calls that stretched until dawn. Hands twitching to hold. Fingers brushing over the rim of a shared cup.
San found himself reaching for Wooyoung’s presence the way one craves something sweet after a long day—without thinking, without hesitation.
And Wooyoung?
Wooyoung had this way of pulling San into his world so easily, as if he had been waiting for him all along.
---
On the seventh day, something changed.
They were back at the same café where it all started, their hands wrapped around warm cups, steam curling between them like something unspoken.
Wooyoung tapped his spoon against the sugar bowl absentmindedly. "Did you know," he mused, "that if you melt sugar just right, it turns into caramel?"
San tilted his head. "Is this your way of saying I make you melt?"
Wooyoung rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. "I’m serious. Sugar on its own is sweet, but if you let it burn just a little, it gets richer. More intense."
San watched the way Wooyoung’s fingers traced patterns against his cup. "And?"
Wooyoung glanced up at him then, something soft in his gaze. "And I think I might be melting."
San’s breath hitched.
Hearing him actually say it,
Wooyoung wasn’t just talking about sugar anymore.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, letting the silence settle between them. Then, slowly, San reached across the table, fingers grazing Wooyoung’s.
"I think," San murmured, "I’ve been melting since the day you spilled sugar all over me."
Wooyoung’s laughter was soft, but his fingers tightened around San’s.
Outside, winter still held the city in its icy grip.
But between them, it felt a lot like spring.