(no) Strings Attached

Cracks in the Mask

Or that moment in class when Seonghwa had checked his phone, and Hongjoong swore he saw his fingers tremble before he quickly turned the screen face-down.

It was subtle. Just barely noticeable.

But Hongjoong noticed.

And the worst part?

No one else did.

Not Wooyoung, who was too caught up in his own spiraling feelings for San. Not Yunho, whose attention was always on everyone at once, but never deeply enough to really see. Even Yeosang, who was more perceptive than most, seemed to be missing it.

It started to grate at Hongjoong, that no one was seeing what was right in front of them.

It irritated him. The way everyone just accepted the version of Seonghwa they saw on the surface, believing it without question. The way Seonghwa had managed to convince them all that he was fine, that he didn't need anyone.

He tried to tell himself that maybe San was right. Maybe he was just obsessed, looking for signs that weren't really there. But the more he observed, the harder it became to ignore.

But then, came tonight that changed everything.

It was late. Too late.

Hongjoong hadn't meant to stay on campus so long, but an impromptu study session had turned into a last-minute project sprint, and before he knew it, the halls were nearly empty.

He was heading toward the exit when he heard it—Seonghwa's voice.

He wasn't talking to anyone, though. Just standing near the vending machines, phone pressed to his ear, posture stiff. His back was straight, too straight, like he was bracing himself against something, but Hongjoong couldn't see what.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but something about the moment felt off. Something about Seonghwa's body language—so controlled, so composed—tugged at Hongjoong's curiosity.

But then he heard the tone of the voice on the other end.

Sharp. Clipped. A little too cold.

And then, Seonghwa's reaction.

He didn't speak for a long time, just standing there, his fingers clenched at his sides. His eyes, visible from the side, were unreadable.

He looked like he was holding something back—something sharp, something dangerous. At one point, his knees buckled, but he straightened up, stubbornly refusing to show weakness.

When he finally responded, his voice was too soft. Too careful.

"I understand."

There was a pause. Another sharp reply.

"No, I—" Seonghwa cut himself off, swallowing hard. His free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. "I won't disappoint you."

There was a pause. Then, barely above a whisper, the words that made Hongjoong freeze.

"I'm sorry."

Hongjoong felt something twist inside him, deep in his chest. He hadn't seen this side of Seonghwa—had never known that he was capable of sounding so broken. So small.

And just like that, everything he'd known about Seonghwa, the perfect mask, the untouchable image, started to shatter.

Seonghwa ended the call without another word, lowering his phone slowly. For a moment, he just stood there, staring blankly at the screen.