(no) Strings Attached

No exit

Seonghwa frowns. "Go where?"

Hongjoong just shrugs, already turning away. "Anywhere but here."

"B-but I haven't finished my studies!" Seonghwa panicked, following the other in hopes he could catch him to stop him from strolling even further.

Hongjoong turned around, an eyebrow raised. "Seonghwa, you're the smartest person I know. Probably anyone in this university," he pondered in correction. "Studying a few more minutes won't change the fact that you look like you want to exit life at this moment."

Seonghwa's chest tightened. How? How could Hongjoong tell so easily? It just sounded to him that he is failing. At whatever he was even trying to do.

His head lowered on reflex. But Hongjoong wasn't having that. He sped towards him, a hand on his elbow. "Quit fucking. Let's go. You're gonna thank me later."

And with that he pulled him away.

The night air is crisp, cutting through the lingering warmth of the day. They don't talk, not really.

But Seonghwa walks beside him, already given up.

And Hongjoong thinks maybe that's enough.

They end up at the playground—empty this late, swings swaying lazily in the wind. It's stupid, childish—but it feels fitting.

Seonghwa stays standing. Hongjoong sits on the swing, kicking at the dirt.

"You ever gonna tell me what's actually going on in your head?"

Seonghwa exhales sharply—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "You really don't let things go, do you?"

Hongjoong smirks. "Nope."

Seonghwa crosses his arms. The streetlight overhead casts shadows across his face, sharpens the lines of his profile. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Liar."

That gets an immediate reaction—a small one, the tightening of Seonghwa's jaw, the shift of his weight from one foot to the other.

Fail. Failing. Failure

Seonghwa's fingers curled into fists.

"You act like I don't notice," Hongjoong continues, swinging slightly, watching him from under his lashes. "Like I don't see the way you always hesitate before speaking. The way you never ask for help, even when you need it."

Seonghwa's gaze shakes. But he doesn't say anything.

So Hongjoong pushes further. "You're not fine, Seonghwa. You just pretend really well."

Silence.

And then—softer, almost bitter; Seonghwa's shoulders drop.

"Why do you care?"

That makes Hongjoong pause.

Because he doesn't know how to answer.

Because saying I don't know feels like a lie, and saying because I can't stop feels like too much.

So instead, he says, "Because someone should."

And that? That makes Seonghwa's breath hitch.

It's brief, almost imperceptible—but Hongjoong as always sees it.

For a moment, it feels like something is about to crack. Like Seonghwa might actually let him in.

But then—just as quickly as it appeared—it's gone.