(no) Strings Attached

No Need To Pretend

"Well. Try not to fall too hard, yeah?" He grinned before his brows shoot up in surprise. "Oh, your date's coming. I better leave before he misunderstands us." He snorted as he waved a hand, already becoming one with the mass.

Seonghwa's jaw dropped slightly at the sheer audacity; the months they've been apart having blurred how San would be.

"I brought you wine. Cause I believe elegant folks like yourself would enjoy a glass of it." He grinned, handing Seonghwa the cup.

Biting the inside of his cheeks Seonghwa tried to kill the threatening smile on his lips before it got to stretch.

"Yes. You'd be correct." He said instead, accepting the drink with a nod of his head.

The silence around them lingered even after they spent hours in that party. Just them being physically next to each other, sipping their drinks.

Hongjoong trying to make Seonghwa participate into conversations when Yeosang, Jongho and Yunho joined them around the table.

Like now where he turned to catch the taller but frowned when he saw him look at his phone the same, distant and emotionless way he'd always look.

With no hesitation he laid a hand down Seonghwa's knee who flinched at the sudden contact.

Seonghwa gave him a tight smile before placing his phone on the sofa in between them. As quickly he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Hongjoong, bored and alcohol influenced enough, had his attentions stolen by the light from Seonghwa's phone.

He got a message.

At first, he doesn't mean to look. But the words— sharp, cold, are right there, staring back at him.

'you should retreat immediately.'

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow before his hands clutched at the phone without hesitation.

It's not a very polite thing to do but something etched for Hongjoong to check the other's messages. His heart burned in his chest and it wouldn't calm down unless that itch was off his mind.

Before he had the time to reevaluate his decision there were more messages staring back at him

"You should be doing better than this."
"You're wasting time."
"You don't know what hard work means."
"You should be grateful we still bother with you."
"You're a disappointment, Seonghwa."

Hongjoong's grip tightens.

His stomach churns.

And then, before he can stop himself-before he can even think—he unlocks the phone.

Seonghwa's messages are full of them.

And Seonghwa's replies?

"I'm sorry."
"I'll try harder."
"I won't disappoint you more."

Hongjoong stares.

He knew—he knew-that something was wrong.

That Seonghwa was carrying more than he let on.

Hongjoong, already gripping the phone like it holds something fragile, something that shouldn't be touched but can't be ignored, feels his breath catch when he scrolls up.

And that's when he sees them.

The older messages.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The isolation. The hesitation. The constant pressure that clings to Seonghwa like a second skin.

It's not just about grades. It's about control.