(no) Strings Attached

You Are Enough

"I don't care what that asshole expects of you," Hongjoong hissed, trembling. "He broke you. He built you into this version of yourself that thinks love is conditional and being tired is weakness. And you still think he's the one you should be apologizing to?"

Seonghwa didn't respond. Didn't move. Like the wind had been knocked clean out of him.

"You're not a failure," Hongjoong added, quieter now but still sharp. "But you'll keep thinking you are if you keep playing by his rules."

Seonghwa swallowed hard, eyes shining. "If I don't try harder... I don't know who I am."

"You don't have to earn your worth," Hongjoong said, softer still, his voice nearly breaking. "You already have it. Just by being here. Just by being."

Seonghwa didn't say anything at first. Just sat there, stiff and trembling slightly, as Hongjoong pushed the food on the desk towards him. The silence was thick, but no longer suffocating — it was the quiet after a storm, the part where you decide whether to rebuild or not.

"Just the soup," Hongjoong said gently, almost begging before kneeling a little to be eye level with him. "You don't have to finish everything. But it's warm. And it's there. And... you deserve something that doesn't hurt."

Seonghwa hesitated — but after a beat, he nodded. It was small. Almost imperceptible.

But it was enough.

He ate. Slowly. Carefully. Quietly. No word was exchanged, only the soft sounds of spoon against container and Hongjoong watching him with eyes that were no longer sharp, just aching with care.

When Seonghwa pushed the sweets aside afterwards, Hongjoong scowled instinctively. But he didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

Because the soup was gone.

"Good," Hongjoong murmured finally. "You did good."

And then, as gently as if Seonghwa were made of paper, he reached forward and took his hand — fingers wrapping around the back of his palm, thumb brushing his knuckles. "I'm proud of you."

Seonghwa's throat closed.

He tried to nod again. To say something. But the words dissolved under the weight of those four simple syllables.

His lips trembled. He looked down, blinking fast.

And Hongjoong just smiled softly. Squeezed his hand again.

"Go shower," he whispered, standing. "I'll clean up a bit."

Seonghwa obeyed.

Not because he was told to. But because for the first time in days — maybe weeks or even years— someone had really looked at him and said I see you. You're enough.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut left Hongjoong alone in the soft hush of the room.

He didn't move at first. Just stood there, the quiet settling like dust in his lungs. The air smelled faintly like laundry detergent and exhaustion. A corner of Seonghwa's blanket was folded over, just barely uneven. His desk, however, was flawless — pens aligned, laptop centered, notes stacked with surgical precision.

Too perfect.

Hongjoong stepped towards the chair slowly, letting his eyes sweep the surface. There was a sticky note on the laptop keyboard, folded once down the middle.

'Try harder tomorrow.'

In Seonghwa's handwriting.

Another, barely visible on the side of a textbook.

'Smile more.'

He swallowed.

God.

On the floor beside the desk, a small wastebasket sat half-full — not with trash, but with things that felt like confessions. An unopened protein bar. A barely bitten sandwich still in its wrapper, timestamped from three days ago. A torn page from a planner, the corners scribbled out so hard the ink bled through.
He crouched. Just stared for a second.

Why hadn't he noticed sooner?

He brushed his fingers across the highlighter lying sideways near the books — barely any ink left in it. Another tiny post-it fluttered under the breeze from the desk fan.

He caught it before it slipped off entirely.

'You're still lacking'

It felt like reading someone's prayers. Someone who didn't believe they deserved answers.

Hongjoong let out a slow breath and rose, walking quietly toward the bed. He placed the strawberry milk — still cold — right next to Seonghwa's pillow. A simple thing. Something sweet. Something gentle.

Just in case he needed something soft to wake up to.

And when he turned back, the room looked the same.

But it felt like a wound he hadn't realized was open.

By the time Seonghwa stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to his skin and his eyes redder than he liked to admit, Hongjoong was already by the door, garbage bag in one hand, looking like he belonged there.

Seonghwa blinked at him.

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," Hongjoong cut him off, walking over with quiet steps.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed Seonghwa's forehead — slow and warm and full of something unspoken.

"Sleep," he whispered.

And with that, he left — leaving Seonghwa alone, standing barefoot on his cool dorm floor, eyes ridiculously teary with the ghost of affection on his skin and the warmth of soup still settling in his chest.

It wasn't everything.

But it was enough to breathe.

A/N
:( I still hope y'all not let down when Seongjoong chapters go up🥹🤍

I hope you enjoyed 🤍