(no) Strings Attached

Soft Crash

"I'm fine."

"Cut the shit, Hwa." Hongjoong's voice cracked, more with fear than anger.

Seonghwa flinched. Visibly. That was all it took.

"You always do this," Hongjoong snapped.
"You disappear, then come back like a ghost, expecting me not to notice you're falling apart again. You act like I don't matter."

The words hit harder than intended.

Seonghwa's eyes glassed over for a split second. The insult slipped in deeper than Hongjoong meant it to. And just like that—Hongjoong saw it.

The break.

The breath Seonghwa took was shaky. "I'm trying." He laughed. It sounded like it hurt. "I'm always trying. But it's never enough for anyone."

And he turned his face slightly away—whether from shame or pain, Hongjoong didn't know. But something in him recoiled. Immediately.
"Shit," he muttered. "That wasn't fair. I—Seonghwa, wait, no—"

He crossed the space between them, crouched so he could meet the older's downturned gaze.

"I didn't mean it like that. I was just—scared. You weren't like this yesterday. What happened?"

Silence.

Then, slowly, something fell from the pile of papers. A small white envelope. Their family name printed clean in calligraphy.

Hongjoong stared at it. Then at the email open on Seonghwa's screen. "Solutions by 7PM." He read aloud.

His eyes narrowed.

"...They were here."

Not a question.

Seonghwa's lip twitched. His eyes finally met Hongjoong's.

And that's when Hongjoong's hands curled into fists.

"Oh. I see."

There was no warmth in his voice now. Just the kind of rage that turned cold. That calcified.
He stood slowly. Face unreadable.

"Of course they were."

Hongjoong's jaw clenched. His eyes never left Seonghwa's face, scanning the bruises like he could somehow erase them with sheer will.

"They hit you."

He didn't say it softly. He didn't say it with pity. He said it like a curse.

Seonghwa flinched at the bluntness. "It's... it wasn't—"

"Don't," Hongjoong interrupted, voice low, dangerous. "Don't you dare excuse it."

He turned, pacing once like he needed to walk off the fury vibrating through his limbs. But then he spun back toward him, hands at his sides, fists trembling.

"They came here, barged into your space, hurt you—and now they're running your life through emails like you're some intern on their leash?"

"They're just trying to—"

"To what?" Hongjoong snapped. "Break you into something you're not? Make you bleed enough that you finally fit their mold?"

"Hongjoong, stop—"

"No! I won't stop! Because I'm the only one who ever doesn't! Everyone else walks all over you—professors, classmates, your parents—and you just take it. You think that's love? That that's devotion?"

Seonghwa's expression flickered—wounded. Fragile.

But Hongjoong was spiraling now. He couldn't stop even if he tried.