Chapter Text
Sitting at his messy desk, lips pursed, Hongjoong looks at the time on his tablet.
Midnight .
It's midnight, and it's been a year since Yunho died.
Hongjoong wishes he could say he's only been alone for a year now, with no one and nothing in his life. But the young man is no fool. He's never deluded himself about his own life. He knows that even his friendship with Yunho if he were still around, would not have erased his twenty-four years of loneliness before that.
Loneliness? Is that really the right word?
He has always felt an open hole in his chest. Yunho's presence, ever since high school, had put a bit of tape on that breach, to prevent his guts from spilling out of him.
Except Yunho is no longer here. And the tape came off with him.
Every day after, Hongjoong has felt extremely empty and weary. Without the tape, the hole in his chest has let his insides flow out of him, nibbled away at his body and soul, leaving only nothingness behind.
Sometimes, he doesn't know if he feels nothing, or everything at once. Sometimes, the coldness of the blades he slides across his thigh reminds him that he's real, for a brief moment. That he can feel something. Sometimes, even in those moments, the pain becomes unbearable.
“I don't know which I prefer…”
The emptiness? The pain? In either state, the solitude is always there.
“It's time,” he murmurs, his voice trembling.
It's midnight, and Hongjoong has decided to end his life today. Like his best friend did a year ago.
With his right hand trembling nearly badly as his voice a few seconds earlier, he grabs the knife he usually slides across his thigh.
He decided to die using this same blade on his wrists. That way, he'll feel something before he leaves. He hopes that the dull pain weighing on his weakened heart will be replaced by the physical pain that usually brings him back to reality a little. He doesn't have enough respect for his landlord to do it in the bathroom though. He doesn't care enough about this apartment's ugly blue carpet. The icy bite of the blade on his wrist makes him shiver. He watches the blood seep out of the wound he's just drawn with a distracted eye. He doesn’t even know if he did it in the right place.
Why doesn't it hurt?
Above the first wound, Hongjoong creates a second.
Why doesn't the pain come?
A drop of sweat escapes from his forehead and blends with the red flowing from his skin.
The young man doesn't understand why the pain in his wrist is barely perceptible. He doesn't understand why it's not a physical pain that fills the emptiness of his existence, but an inner pain he can't put a name to. He doesn't know where it comes from, but it suddenly pours out. It chokes him.
Hongjoong lets out a muffled breath, which turns into a sob.
“It won’t work…”
The truth is, he’s not coherent. Maybe it’s been a year since he hasn’t been.
So he begins a third cut on the already blood-soaked skin of his wrist. But this time, his hand lets go of the knife before he can finish the job.
“I just don't get it. I don't know what to do!” he says to no one.
Hongjoong knows that no one will miss him, not even Mingi. That's not what's holding him back.
If only Yunho was here. He would know what to do.
Hongjoong feels hot and cold. His heart aches, so he clutches his t-shirt tightly to his chest, sobbing louder and louder.
Abruptly, he gets up and then leaves his apartment without thinking. Hongjoong just wants to disappear, to no longer live this lonely, meaningless existence. He just wants it to stop. This is supposed to work.
Hongjoong's vision becomes cloudy as tears form a blurred veil in his eyes. In the quiet back streets of his disctrict, far from the bustle of the city, the rain forms mirrors that distort the light.
Why? Why?
Hongjoong's head is spinning and he can hardly see. He staggers along holding his bloody wrist and, inevitably, ends up falling. His fall should hurt - but the pain of his skull hitting the cold, wet tar doesn't surpass the pain crushing him inside.
" Why... " he manages to articulate weakly.
Hongjoong's blood mingles with the murky water of the puddle in which he lies, as his tears become inseparable from the rain.
Maybe he'll finally manage to die here, lying on the pavement of an alley he doesn't recognize. All he can make out in the night is the sound of his own uncontrolled sobbing. It goes on like that for a very long time - an eternity. Or just a few seconds, he's not sure.
At first, he's too far away in the fog that's engulfing him to make out the sounds of footsteps approaching him slowly, then rushing forward abruptly.
“Oh my- Oh my God!”
Hongjoong can't clearly make out the face leaning over him. He only knows that the panicked voice has a low, deep timbre. It says several things, which he finds difficult to understand. But it's there, in Hongjoong's ears, replacing the dull buzzing that echoed in his skull a few seconds earlier. Given the choice, he would have preferred to not hear it.
Except that he does, and it gives him a little moment of lucidity. Brings him out of the fog. Between panicked sentences, he feels gloved hands carefully lift his slashed wrist. Then the stranger gently examines the side of his head.
“Shit,” the voice swears.
This word is not beautiful. The situation is not beautiful. But that voice sounds wonderful to Hongjoong. He feels as if he's hearing for the first time in his life.
And isn't that one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard?
Hongjoong wants to be left to die in the rain, to drown in his own blood - but he involuntarily clings to that voice. How can he sink if such a beautiful sound pours in his ears? He wants to listen to it a little longer before leaving. However, it gets increasingly difficult with every passing second.
“Okay, I’m - I'm going to call for help…”
Hongjoong didn't even realize his eyes were closed until he reopened them immediately upon hearing the stranger's decision.
“N…” He stops him with a sob. “N... No," he manages to articulate. His tongue feels so heavy.
From what little he can see, he guesses that the stranger is staring at him hesitantly. Above all, Hongjoong discerns that his phone is up to his ear.
With his last bit of strength, Hongjoong abruptly stands up and grabs the man's wrist.
His chest rises and falls rapidly as the world spins.
“No. No. Please,” he implores the stranger between gasping breaths “Don’t call for help! Please…”
With the sudden silence of his interlocutor, Hongjoong can only hear his ugly sobs starting again. “Please don't, I’m begging you! Please don't, please don’t, please don’t” he repeats his irrational prayer, again and again, doesn’t hear the stranger talking to him again, doesn’t feel his gentle hands trying to ground him.
When Hongjoong drops to the ground again, exhausted, his eyesight is fully stained with a multitude of tiny dancing dots now.
“O - Ok. I won’t call them, I won’t.” The soothing voice of the stranger is so far away . “Okay," he repeats again softly.
Hongjoong can't hear him anymore.
***
When Hongjoong opens his eyes and a dull pain immediately compresses his aching skull and limbs, he immediately notices three things:
Firstly, he's not at home.
Secondly, it’s 4pm, according to his phone’s broken screen.
Thirdly, he's not dead.
He's not dead.
He stares at the ceiling for a long time as his last moments of consciousness from the previous night come back to him. It makes him want to vomit.
Is he really surprised to have failed for the umpteenth time in his life?
Maybe my whole existence is a failure.
“Damn it” his hoarse voice echoes in a bedroom that’s too big.
Its immaculate white walls only worsen his urge to vomit. It's clean, so well organized and tidy, to the point Hongjoong wonders if this isn't just a show flat. But the room's shelves, on which sits some Star Wars legos, baubles from iconic designers' collections, and fashion-themed books, say otherwise.
Rising from the king-sized bed, Hongjoong notices something else: someone had put a bandage on his wrist. And a large bandage on the side of his skull where it had hit the floor. Someone also changed him into a beautiful pair of pale pink pajamas.
The young man feels his cheeks heating up.
“What the hell is this?”
On the bedside table, which screams "Look how expensive I must be" at Hongjoong’s face, sits a small piece of paper, on which is written:
I'm at work, but I've warned my manager that I'll probably need to come home later today.
I took the liberty of putting my number in your phone when I saw it didn’t need a password. I'm sorry. I didn't go through it, I promise. The door is locked, so please let me know when you wake up - I'll come and take you home. You'll find clean clothes in the bathroom, and breakfast in the kitchen. Please take as much as you need. You need to regain some energy.
I do not want to sound like I don’t mind my own business, but I've hidden all the sharp objects in a locked drawer. Just in case. You won’t find any. Please do not try anything stupid.
-Seonghwa.
A nervous laugh escapes Hongjoong's lips.
“ Seonghwa, huh . Is this guy fucking with me?”
He’s this close to searching for a new, creative way to end his life just to piss off this Seonghwa. Seriously, who does he think he is? “I do not want to sound like I don’t mind my own business” ? Who is he kidding ?
Hongjoong fulminates as he searches his contacts. When he finds Seonghwa’s name, he sends him, without thinking too hard: I'm awake. Also go fuck youreself.
Looking for the bathroom of the large apartment, Hongjoong quickly notices that the windows in the two bedrooms, the gym and the living room are locked by an electronic system for which he doesn't have the password. In the bathroom, as spotless and chic as the rest of the house, Hongjoong reluctantly finds the clothes mentioned in the note. He has no choice, anyway. He's not going out in fucking pink pajamas.
The clothes are too big. They look more expensive than Hongjoong's entire possessions.
He decides to ignore the two pieces of toast waiting for him on the open kitchen counter overlooking the living room, and takes a seat on the sofa. Waiting for the stranger to come, he doesn't know what to do. What to think. He hadn't thought about the fact that he'd still exist after midnight.
When he finally hears the owner of the premises enter, he stands up far too quickly. Regret is instantaneous as his body instantly leads him to the bathroom to vomit the bile from his empty stomach.
Between two spasms, the sound of Seonghwa's hurried footsteps reaches his ears. He feels hands covered in woolen gloves holding back the hair that falls over his face.
“It's okay," reassured the soft voice.
Hongjoong’s stomach contracts again.
“L-Let me go..." Hongjoong lets out as he is spitting out the bile left in his mouth.
The man lets go of his hair but helps him up anyway. Without a word, he guides him to one of the bathroom's large sinks and hands him some wipes and a toothbrush. “Here, take it. I'll wait for you in the living room. Please be careful, your body went through a lot… You might still be dizzy and nauseous for the next couple of days. Thankfully it seems like you did not lose enough blood to pass out again…”
Incredulous, Hongjoong blinks to disperse the tears and sweat trapped in his eyelashes. He barely has time to observe the man leaving the room, so he only notices that he's wearing a cap and mask. All he can make out of his face are his big, shiny eyes.
When he returns to the living room, he finds the stranger sitting on the sofa in the same outfit. Hongjoong realizes that he's probably someone who doesn't want to be recognized. Which doesn't really make sense, given that he took home some random stranger bleeding out on the pavement, and gave him his first name and phone number.
Whatever, Hongjoong doesn’t give a shit anyway. He feels so small, in this big apartment, dripping with good taste and expensive objects. Seonghwa's silent gaze dragging on is not helping at all. It’s heavy, piercing through him like he’s guessing his whole life story, as if he could possibly understand all the emotions that Hongjoong himself cannot comprehend.
“I don't want your pity," Hongjoong spits, lowering his eyes.
The man stands up.
“I’m not pitying you” he sighs, and his voice is rich with honesty. Somehow, Hongjoong feels even smaller.
“Oh fuck off, of course you’re pitying me! Why did you bring me here anyway?”
“Well, you were losing a lot of blood and were starting to lose consciousness…” he answers with all the kindness in the world. The silk of his voice making Hongjoong ears buzz. “I didn't know what to do, but I wasn't going to leave you on the sidewalk without doing anything-”
“It's not your fucking problem. I didn't need any help," Hongjoong barks.
But Seonghwa remains calm. Despite his interlocutor's vehemence, his eyes are still shining with kindness.
“Well, I think you did. I wasn't gonna let you die in that puddle”.
Hongjoong doesn't want to shout. But between what Hongjoong wants and reality, there has always been a world of difference. So he shouts.
“What if this is what I wanted?! I didn't fucking ask you to save me or whatever you think you did!”
Seonghwa’s shiny gaze just remains on him, and it only angers him more, making him shout louder. “You think I'm a charity case? Your good deed of the month that you can brag about to- to your rich friends, so you can forget that you're a scum who doesn’t hesitate to step on people like me every day of our miserable lives?”
Finally, Seonghwa's gaze turns away from him.
“I’m not like that, and you don’t know me” he almost whispers. “I know how it feels -”
“Don't fuck with me!” Hongjoong snaps.
“I know what it's like to want to die!” For the first time, the voice of Hongjoong’s stranger isn’t soft anymore. It’s strong, sharp.
Hongjoong is silent.
“I'm sorry if it was inappropriate of me to bring you here," Seonghwa continues. “I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted. I'm sorry if you think I can't understand. But I know how it feels, and…”.
Hongjoong swallows as the wavering words reach him. “I- I know that dying isn't the answer. Everyone deserves to go on living, to find a reason to stay in all the little things of everyday life. And I know it can start with the reaching hand of a stranger, or kind words, or a smile…”.
Honestly, the young man doesn’t believe him. There’s no way someone like the guy in front of him, with all the money he seems to have, knows what it’s like to want to finally rest from this awful life.
Hongjoong feels hot tears rolling down his cheeks for the umpteenth time since midnight.
“I couldn't go on living knowing that I'd left someone bleeding out in an alley, in the middle of the night. And you didn't want me to call an ambulance," he adds while sitting again on the couch.
The weeping young man sits on the sofa next to Seonghwa. He curls into himself, wrapping his trembling arms around his knees.
“Sorry…” Hongjoong suddenly sobs. He doesn’t intend for the words to leave his mouth. He hates that he feels so vulnerable because of this man’s words. He hates the sound of his own small voice.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry… ” he repeats again and again. He doesn’t know how many times.
These words are not intended for Seonghwa.
The man stays silent. He waits for Hongjoong to calm down. When his shoulders are no longer shaken by his sobs, Seonghwa’s smooth voice pulls him back into the present.
“I made some stitches on the cuts on your wrist and temple. They're absorbable, so there's no need to remove them. You'll just have to check that they don't get infected, and change your bandages regularly. Try to not get them wet for a few days”
“Are you a doctor? A surgeon?” Hongjoong asks with a frown.
That would explain his apartment.
“No, no," Seonghwa softly laughs at his words.
And perhaps his laugh is one of the most beautiful melodies Hongjoong has heard in a while. Or maybe in his whole life, even. He'd almost like to hear it again, if he didn't feel completely crushed by the embarrassment due to the awkwardness of this whole situation.
“A friend taught me," he explains. “But I don't need to apply it to myself anymore”.
“Oh…”
“Ah, I forgot to tell you,” Seonghwa continues calmly, as if he hadn't said anything, as if this whole situation was normal. “I'm sorry I couldn't get the bloodstains off your clothes. I took them to the dry cleaners, but I don't know if they'll be able to clean them…”
Why does this guy need to be so nice, seriously? It’s fucking annoying.
“It's okay," Hongjoong says in a strangled voice.
“Hm…”
Seonghwa finally moves, and without a word, brings Hongjoong his sneakers, which he places at his feet.
The latter puts them on in silence.
“I'll take you home," announces Seonghwa.
“No, don't bother," he replies, shaking his head.
“I insist. You’re still weak, you could…”.
Hongjoong frowns.
“ No. ” His voice is firm again. “You've done enough”.
“But…”
“I said no !” Hongjoong almost shouts again.
Seonghwa blinks, then looks away, defeated. “Let me know when you're home, then.”
The young man stands up and runs a hand over his face. He is weary, so weary...
“I don't know if I will. I understand that I've put you in an awkward situation and that you're probably concerned about my... my health , now. But I think I don't owe you anything, except maybe these clothes back.”
His voice breaks, but he repeats “I didn't ask for your help”.
Seonghwa swallows. He reaches out to grab Hongjoong's wrist, but stops before touching his painful joint.
“You have to try ”.
His beautiful voice is trembling again, and Hongjoong hates it. He hates the silent words implied by Seonghwa, and above all, he hates that it does something to him.
“I fear I can’t”.
***
It's still raining. The drops fall cruelly on Yunho's grave, the cold grey stone not yet damaged by the weather.
The flowers laid by Hongjoong - beautiful white chrysanthemums - are drowned by the downpour.
“Sorry. Sorry Yunho. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry”.
Kneeling in the gravel, Hongjoong clutches desperately at the cold stone in front of him.
“I don't know what to do Yunho... Help me. Please .”
The rain is deafening.
“I don't know how to keep going. It's hard, so hard.”
But Yunho isn't there to answer him. Because he didn't know how to keep living either, but unlike Hongjoong, he knew how to stop .
* **
Mingi:
[3 October - 6:00pm] Have you visited Yunho yesterday?
[6:00pm] We can go together tonight, if you want. And then I’ll treat you to dinner.
Lying in bed with the blinds already closed, Hongjoong's only light is the bluish screen of his phone.
Of course Mingi was going to offer to visit Yunho's grave with him. He's been asking Hongjoong to accompany him for a year now, but Hongjoong just doesn't have the strength. He just can’t face darkness that now inhabits Mingi's eyes.
They used to be so bright. A year ago, Hongjoong avoided them because they blinded him with their light. Now, he avoids him because being at Mingi’s side makes the void left by his best friend feel too real.
Hongjoong :
[6:03pm] I've already been there. Go w/out me.
Mingi:
[6:04pm] I know you've been avoiding me.
[6:05pm] Yunho wouldn't want that.
Hongjoong should probably be angry at Mingi for trying to make him feel guilty by using Yunho's memory to his advantage. And it should be working. He should probably feel guilty.
Hongjoong :
[6:07pm] Maybe nxt time
[6:07am] Take care of urself. It’s what Yunho would have wanted
Mingi:
[6:08pm] Ok
[4:09pm] You too. I'm here if u need me.
Hongjoong is careful not to tell Mingi that he's there for him in return. Because he doesn't want Mingi to be there for him, and he doesn't want to be there for him either. Inflicting another loss on Yunho's boyfriend would be far too cruel. It's better to keep the distance between them, so he doesn't suffer when he's gone.
He's not worried about Mingi. He knows he's well taken care of. He'll get over it.
Right?
A new message appears on his screen, taking the young man by surprise.
Seonghwa:
[6:10pm] Hello again Hongjoong. I'm writing this message because you haven't confirmed that you're home. Are you ok?
Hongjoong :
[6:11pm] Wtf? I dont remember tellin u my first name?
Seonghwa:
[6:14pm] Ah. Yes. Sorry, I took the liberty of checking your first name when I put my number in your phone.
Hongjoong :
[6:16pm] For a guy who doesn’t want to “seem like u dont mind u own business” or smth, you do a lot of things that are out of place.
[6:17pm] Just get a hint and leave me the fuck alone now. I wont answer u
Seonghwa:
[6:19pm] So, I guess you made it home?
[6:21pm] I saw you hadn’t touched the toast I made for you. You should eat, your body must still be very weak with everything that's happened since last night.
[6:25pm] Rest well .
[6:47pm] Take care, Hongjoong .
Hongjoong throws his phone at the end of his bed with a grunt. This guy is almost freaking him out. Who cares that much about a stranger?
It irritates him. He knows he shouldn't be angry, that it's surely a normal reaction when you find yourself having to take care of a stranger bleeding from self-inflicted wounds.
Problem is, Hongjoong doesn't want a stranger to care about him just because he's too scared to have his death on his conscience.
***
Seonghwa:
[October 4, 9:02am] Hello, Hongjoong. How's your wrist?
[October 5, 8:55am] Were you able to change your bandages? The stitches are not infected?
[October 6, 5:05pm] I picked up your clothes from the dry cleaners. Unfortunately, your sweater and jeans are still stained... Sorry. I'll keep them anyway if you want them back.
[5:07pm] Btw, you don't have to give me back the clothes I gave you.
Hongjoong:
[5:11pm] U can throw em away
[5:12pm] I'll give u ur clothes back later. Idk when tho
Seonghwa:
[5:12pm] Ok .
[October 7, 7:00am] You didn't tell me if the stitches were okay.
[October 8, 2:24am] Is everything all right?
[October 9, 1:59pm] Hongjoong?
Hongjoong :
[2:01pm] Leave me alone!! In which language do I need to tell u Fuck off!!
Seonghwa:
[2:02pm] I just want to make sure you don't end up in the same state as last time .
Leaning over his graphic tablet, Hongjoong rolls his eyes at the latest message. He doesn't understand why he hasn't blocked this guy’s number yet.
Honestly, maybe he feels just a bit indebted to Seonghwa, even if he has never asked for the man’s help in the first place. He's far too nice. Hongjoong doesn't like to be mean for no reason, but all this attention makes him uneasy - it irritates him.
Hongjoong :
[2:07pm] But thats none of ur business. Fucking forget I exist and stop busting my balls .
Hongjoong furiously flips his phone over, the screen facing the table so that he no longer sees the notifications. Concentrating, he returns to his drawing.
But his mind is quickly wandering back to Seonghwa. He wonders if he has finally stopped trying to talk to him. Just like that, he finds himself checking his phone again.
Seonghwa:
[2:07pm] I'm sorry. I just…
[2:08pm] I just can’t forget you after what happened that night.
Hongjoong :
[2:09pm] And I just want to die, but Im still here
[2:10pm] I guess we don't always get what we want in life? Go see a psychologist or smth, if I've traumatized u
[2:10pm] Bye
After that, Hongjoong finally does not hear from that damned Seonghwa again.
Unfortunately, it only lasts a couple of days.
Seonghwa:
[October 12, 7:39pm] I guess you don't want to give me my clothes back anymore.
[7:39pm] I hope you're okay anyway .
Just like that, Seonghwa is back in Hongjoong's notifications. Every single day. Without exception. Sometimes he asks about Hongjoong’s well being. Other times, he tries to slip in some cliché phrases, supposedly inspirational or motivational, or god knows what.
Sometimes he gives snippets of information about what he likes. He explains that this is to show him that happiness can be found in every little thing.
Hongjoong learns that Seonghwa likes to eat with his family. To Hongjoong, family dinners are just another word for hell.
He learns that his white-knight-he-didn’t-ask-for loves the rain. Hongjoong hates it.
He learns that building legos relaxes him. Drawing is what relaxes Hongjoong.
He notes that Seonghwa loves watching Balmain shows. So does Hongjoong, but these kinds of things are a world apart from the reality of his own miserable life.
Every day, Hongjoong is able to confirm that Seonghwa belongs to a world where it's easier to enjoy life: he has a loving family, friends, money…
Hongjoong has no family worth mentioning. No friends, since Yunho left - and never had any real friends before him. There's no money either. He earns too little from his drawings. He struggles to get commissions and, when he doesn't, he struggles to find inspiration.
The emptiness of his life is gradually taking over his canvas. His days are filled with nothing but messages from Seonghwa. Maybe that's why he didn't have the heart to block his number, after all.
But one day, Seonghwa stops texting him.
That's okay. He probably finally moved on from this cursed night. He has a life to live without texting some suicidal asshole .
Hongjoong tries to ignore the twinge he feels every time he wakes up without a new message, and falls asleep without notifications.
At first, he thinks his silence has finally managed to overcome Seonghwa's stubbornness. There's nothing pleasant about being ignored when you're trying to help someone, so it’s only logical he would give up at some point. Hongjoong should be relieved that he has finally let go.
When November arrives, without new texts, Hongjoong once again drowns fully into the loneliness he knows so well.
Soon enough, he starts to think he should search for a better way to end his life than he did last time.
Yet he makes no progress in planning his death. He still catches himself hoping for a word from Seonghwa, a sign of life.
Sometimes he remembers the man telling him he knew what it’s like, wanting to end your own life. At times like these, Hongjoong wonders: What if something had happened to Seonghwa?
But he doesn't send him any messages either.
By day, the ghost of Seonghwa's texts haunts the young artist. At night, it's the ghost of his harmonious voice that torments his memory.
His timbre is so vividly anchored in his memories, he wonders if he will ever forget it. In the middle of the night, he even finds himself recognizing it in the voice of some singer whose music is playing on the convenience store's radio.
One evening, Hongjoong can't take it anymore. When his eyes fall on the overpriced clothes that have no place in his apartment, he grabs his phone.
Without thinking, he calls Seonghwa.
It's 3 am. on a Wednesday. He's not going to answer...
« Hongjoong? »
The deep voice, so familiar, falters under the weight of worry.
A lump forms in the young man's throat. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He didn’t think it through, and now that he hears the other man's jerky breathing, he doesn't know what to say. Did he run?
“Hey, Hongjoong? Is everything okay?”
“You're not asleep?”
Hongjoong manages to surprise himself with his stupid question. It's not his problem if the guy's awake at 3 in the morning.
He expects the guy to tell him to fuck off. However, a wonderful chuckle reaches Hongjoong's attentive ears.
“No,” Seonghwa yawns. “I’m at an after-party, for work”
Silence. Hongjoong blinks.
“What about you? Why aren't you sleeping and why are you calling me? I thought you wanted me to hm… leave you alone?”
Hongjoong detects a hint of impatience in his words, despite the gentleness of his tone.
“It's my birthday…” the young artist blurts out. Instantly, he feels his face grow hot, and he mentally curses himself.
“Uh?” Seonghwa answers, clearly not expecting this .
Hongjoong drops onto his bed. He wants to scream into his pillow. What could have possibly possessed him to say that?
“Uh... Happy birthday? Are you going to do something for your birthday? A… Uh, a party?” Attempts Seonghwa with all the patience in the universe.
“No”.
Hongjoong exhales loudly, like it would expel the ball of nervousness he feels swarming in his chest. “I'll give your clothes back” he announces, still speaking too quickly.
“Ah, I had almost forgotten.”
In the distance, through his phone’s sound, he hears muffled music.
“Tomorrow? I mean, today?” he adds hastily. He's not sure what the emergency is.
“Hm... I'll have to check my schedule with my manager. I think I should have a one-hour slot at 5pm. I have a video shoot after that. Would that work for you?”
Hongjoong feels his jaw drop. Filming? Is Seonghwa some kind of actor? That would explain why the name rang a bell, now that he thought about it. It would also explain why he'd kept his mask and cap last time. But no matter how hard Hongjoong tries, he cannot remember an actor named Seonghwa.
“Uh... Yes, okay. I have to check my schedule too," Hongjoong finally lies, embarrassed.
Seonghwa chuckles.
“I'll confirm this by message and text you the address.
“I'll reply, this time.
“Okay, Hongjoong," says his interlocutor, a warm smile in his voice. “See you later, then”.
Just like that, the call ends. For the first time in his life, Hongjoong finds his apartment cruelly silent.