Chapter Text
He doesn't want to do this because he really hates asking for help. It always feels like too much. Like, compared to the effort of scaling his reluctance, the effort of just sticking it out is all at once more manageable. Just stick it out until the end of the week, or until tomorrow, or until his next class, or it's, you'll feel better once this assignment is done . Shorten the intervals to make it seem like it's okay – he's managing, he's coping, he doesn't want to kick his foot through the wall.
Today, he's tired of coping. Of dressing up going through the motions without fucking losing it as coping, managing, dealing with it. He knows, in the part of his mind he allows the knowing of these things, as long as it's shoved out of conscious thought – he knows he won't be okay if he stays here today.
Hongjoong takes in a steeling breath. It stutters in his chest, through the thorny thicket of anxious discomfort and annoyance. His thumb hovers over his screen, then holds down for too long, like he could take it back if he never lifted it up, then the message sends anyway.
hey. i was wondering if i can stay the night? let me know
hwa
hi!
sure ofc you can. is everything okay?
Hongjoong clenches his teeth and grinds them together, absently feeling out the click of his jaw. Is everything okay? He can almost hear his voice: the thinly-veiled concern, the slight pull to his brows, the way he tries not to sound so worried because he knows Hongjoong hates it. On a bad day, it gets under his skin, and he wants to say, what are you looking at? He wants to say, I can handle myself, I've been handling myself, don't I look like the picture of functionality? but that all just makes Seonghwa worry more.
ig
long week, loud people
when can i come over
hwa
whenever works for you! i'm just heading back from the store now
ok
hwa
i can come by on my way and we can go together? i don't mind
Hongjoong stares at the message for a moment before raising his eyes. He almost just sends a no . Almost. Then he surveys his room, the strewn mess of clothes on the carpet vaguely divided between what he needs to wash and what he could wear again, the full waste-paper basket he needs to take out, the mess of notes from where he'd been trying to work a few minutes ago piled and crumpled and piled again. It feels like he hasn't had a break all week and still, somehow, he has so much to do that it itches, physically, just under the skin around his neck. He tracks the tangled mess of wires and extension cords under his desk, the backbone of his precarious production set-up. (Definitely overloaded, definitely a health-and-safety nightmare, but fuck it.) Not for the first time that day, he thinks about the way his back aches when he hunches over his laptop, and how maybe he could figure something out to make it easier to use but there's just not enough space to in his cramped dorm room. So his back hurts, and he's running off instant ramen and, like, his third coffee before noon, and he can't fucking think with the other guys in his dorm yelling and playing music through the walls all hours of the day. Including right now as he sits on his floor. And it's not even good music.
Not for the first time that day, he thinks, I need to move out.
A door slams somewhere down the hall and laughter fills out just outside his room. Hongjoong lets out a defeated sigh at the way he squeezes his eyes shut to it, bristled and uncomfortable. It has been a long fucking week, that much was true. The guy in the hall is talking down the phone for someone to come over, and he doesn't fucking want anyone else to come over. He doesn't want to tell them gently for the hundredth time, hey, can you keep it down for a bit? I'm trying to work, because they don't fucking care enough to listen.
yeah ok
thanks hwa
hwa
it's no problem
i'll be 15 mins!
*
When Seonghwa makes it up to Hongjoong's floor, after slipping inside the building behind another student, he can already hear his friend from the landing.
Grimacing, Seonghwa cracks their dorm door open – unlocked, as usual, but Seonghwa's grateful for that just this one time. A long hallway of rooms leads to a kitchen slash social area, almost identical to how Seonghwa’s had looked. It had taken over a month and a particularly unsavoury confrontation for Hongjoong to abandon his sporadic angry-venting-for-comedic-effect about the guys in his dorm and actually admit how much it gets to him. Not that it hadn’t been obvious, but Seonghwa didn't think it was necessary to tell him that.
At first, he thought Hongjoong might be able to wait out the initial partying and black-out drunk behaviour of being at university, free from family and responsibility, and that when that mellowed out, things would improve. Hey, who knows, maybe they'd even stop keeping the main door on a latch? That’s how it was when he was in first year. Once people got it out of their systems, they realised they should, you know, try to pass the courses they had worked their asses off getting on.
So much for wishful thinking.
"I haven't slept in two days because you guys find a way to make noise at every conceivable fucking hour–" He's seething, his voice brought into clarity when Seonghwa opens the door all the way. A throbbing house beat floods down the hallway, spilling out from someone's open door. He can see Hongjoong stood in front of it around the back of some boy taller than him, and he can see the tense fists of his friend's hands flex, only to open and gesture violently to the person inside. "Like, can you not just shut up and use headphones? Are you physically incapable of doing that?"
"Hongjoong-ssi–" The tall boy obscuring Seonghwa's line of sight holds his hands up as if to placate a very angry animal, and Seonghwa realises after hearing him speak that he knows him. "We really didn't realise–"
"I am really trying so hard not to yell at you, Yunho, I swear to god, because you're actually nice when you come around here, but you need to stop defending your friend right now or I will lose it," Hongjoong snaps, in one long, tight-lipped breath. Yunho . Wooyoung's roommate Yunho.
"You're not the only one who lives here, you know," says a gruff, almost amused voice from within the depths of the room.
"Oh, I do know that, trust me. In fact, I am painfully aware that you guys live here."
"So fucking deal with it."
Hongjoong's eyes widen murderously. "I have been dealing with it ."
"If I don't turn it down, what are you going to do about it?" There's movement in the room, like someone getting up, and Hongjoong's jaw works as he takes a step back. "'Cause I'm not turning anything down. So go on, Hongjoong-ssi , what are you gonna do?"
Okay, enough , Seonghwa thinks, adjusting the carrier bag in his hand and stepping properly into the hallway. "Hongjoong?" he calls, probably louder than necessary, and both his friend and Yunho turn to meet him. Hongjoong's still glaring, rigid from his back all the way down his arms and into his feet. Seonghwa knows he's either about to punch someone or start crying if they don't get moving. "Have you got your stuff?"
Hongjoong grits his teeth, working around the embarrassment and anger and tension in his face for a couple of moments before he storms through the open door of his own room. Seonghwa's eyes glance to Yunho, who, for his part, has the decency to look apologetic, then to the guy starting to lean out his door.
"You run your mouth, then take off with your boyfriend?" he asks with a laugh.
" Stop ," Yunho hisses at him, hitting his arm. "Seriously, stop now."
"What? Oh, you can't be serious, Yunho."
"He's upset. Just lay off."
"Is it my fault he's so sensitive?"
“He’s next door to you, Gohyeon–”
Hongjoong throws his bag over his shoulder and shuts his door with a snap, making Yunho jolt. Seonghwa can practically feel the tension rolling off him, waves of it flooding the hallway, as his keys clink and jingle between his fingers where he fumbles with his lock. After a couple of seconds and a curse under his breath, Seonghwa steps in, leaning against the wall between him and the other two. "I can lock up," he tells him, keeping his voice down, as Hongjoong stares resolutely at his lock and the keys he can't steady his hands enough to use. "You take the groceries down."
A short breath in, not looking his way. "I can lock a fucking door, Seonghwa," he grits out.
"Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa states. Low, firm, holding his hand out. It takes a moment, where Hongjoong looks like he wants to either implode or explode and is just making up his mind, before he sighs harshly and thrusts his keys into Seonghwa's hand. After grabbing the grocery bag, he marches out of the door into the stairwell without glancing back.
Seonghwa finds the right key, locks up Hongjoong's room, and pulls the handle to check. "Yunho-ssi?" he says after a moment's hesitation.
The boy turns from his heated whisper-fight with Hongjoong's nemesis, a look on his face that tells him he's surprised Seonghwa's talking to him, and kind of scared. "I didn't even realise he was in," he says. And while Seonghwa believes him, that doesn't soothe the pit of anger in his gut. "Is he okay?"
Seonghwa lets his eyes flicker past to the boy behind him, giving him a once-over before looking Yunho in the face again. "You have better friends than him. Do better," he tells him, before turning and stepping out after Hongjoong.
By the time Seonghwa gets downstairs, Hongjoong is standing outside. He shoulders open the building's door, braced for the chilly air, and watches Hongjoong as Hongjoong watches nothing, staring at a spot on the pavement with his knuckles white on Seonghwa's groceries. Spring is taking its time to break in this year. He's forgotten to put a jacket on.
"Here." He holds out the keys to Hongjoong, who doesn't make any move for them until Seonghwa goes for his pocket. He snatches them, then, seemingly broken out of his stupor, and shoves them in his jeans. "You must be freezing."
"I'm fine." Hongjoong's eyes dart up to Seonghwa's then away again, like an animal caught between fight-or-flight. He sees him take a breath in then shoot it out of him again, fogging the air in front of his face briefly. "I didn't mean to do that," he adds, loosening his tone by an inch.
"I know," Seonghwa says easily. "Come on, let's get back." When he goes to take the groceries, Hongjoong holds them out of reach and starts walking. "Really?"
"I've got it," he mutters, blinking a couple times and swallowing again. Seonghwa hurries to match his pace. "Just let me, please."
Seonghwa hesitates, but ultimately relents, opting to tuck his own hands back into his coat for the rest of the way.
The walk to the bus station isn't long, but it's on the other side of campus. While Seonghwa took the quickest route there – right through the centre of campus, past the library and café and social space, then down the steps behind the university's gym – they cut through the parking lot behind Hongjoong's building this time. It's a shared lot for all the east-campus accommodation. Seonghwa’s pretty sure he could pick out Wooyoung’s dorm room if he tried hard enough, somewhere in the building opposite Hongjoong’s, but they cut around the back of the architecture building before he tries, past all of its ground-floor studios, and up a slight incline to the back of the bus shelters.
A silence stretches between them that Hongjoong only breaks when they’re sat down waiting for the bus to come. It's just something that tends to happen, and Seonghwa doesn't attempt to breach them, not unless he really needs to force something out of him. Hongjoong would get there eventually, even if it was difficult, and Seonghwa has learnt over the years to be patient. "Why do people always say you're my boyfriend?" he asks the air in front of them.
Seonghwa turns to look at him, waiting for Hongjoong to glance over before arching an eyebrow. He looks at him, the grocery bag between his feet, and the scarf he'd draped across his neck halfway there with a silent threat to not remove it. Hongjoong huffs. "Mm. Okay," he concedes, staring at his shoes as they scuff against the pavement. "Point taken."
*
"Hyung, just stay here," San says from the couch, leaning over the back to address him. He flashes him a dimpled smile. "Our landlord won't care."
"He won't even know," Wooyoung corrects, and his head pops up next to San's over the couch cushion. "Seriously. It'll be like that time Yeosangie brought the stray cat home."
"Are you comparing me to a cat?" Hongjoong deadpans from across the kitchen island, then squints. "Wooyoung, you don't even live here."
"I mean, we had to hide her when he showed up unannounced, but that was just one time," San continues in lieu of yes, we absolutely are or no, he absolutely doesn't .
Wooyoung doesn't seem to bat an eyelid either. "Yeah, but he didn't check in the closet, so it was completely fine," he confirms, grinning in the face of Hongjoong's unamused stare. "If need be, you could definitely fit in the closet, hyung."
"Is that a meant to be gay joke?"
"Nobody's hiding Hongjoong in the closet," Seonghwa half-laughs, half-sighs, taking the last item from Hongjoong's distracted grip and putting it away in the fridge. He turns, levelling a look at Wooyoung in particular that tells him to take it down a notch, before facing Hongjoong anyway and saying, "You can stay here as long as you like, though."
Hongjoong bites the inside of his cheek, not quite able to meet Seonghwa's sincerity head-on. It’s just something he never got the hang of, even after years of being friends. Seonghwa had no problem crying or caring or– Well, maybe no problem wasn't fair. He knows it's still hard for him. He remembers the Seonghwa he knew in high school, overworked and anxious and pretending to be okay, only to break down in the quietest way possible. He just got better at it over the years, letting himself cry where other people can see him in a way Hongjoong isn't sure he's wired up for.
Hongjoong nods, because he's forgotten to reply, and goes to sit down in the armchair facing the couch. The living room of the apartment Seonghwa, San and Yeosang share is the centre of everything, fronted by their open kitchen and skirted by all their rooms. It’s a weird layout, kind of awkward and cramped, but it kept their rent down. To the back of it, there’s a thin strip of a balcony for drying clothes and, seemingly, propagating every plant imaginable (/available at the plant shop down the street). "It's okay," he says, because he should say something, especially with San and Wooyoung listening. "I'll go back tomorrow."
Seonghwa regards him over the kitchen island for a moment before joining them. " Is it okay?"
Hongjoong glances up briefly, tracking his movements, then back down at his hands in his lap. "Has to be, right?" he replies, smiling, or pulling the corners of his mouth up in an imitation of a smile. He picks at his chipping nail polish. "You're always going have issues with people if you're sharing a space, aren't you? It's fine."
"What exactly happened?" San asks. There's a pause where Hongjoong is sure Seonghwa's giving them both another look, but he doesn't look up to check. "If you want to say," he adds, chastised.
"It's really nothing," Hongjoong tells his lap. He can almost believe it when he says it like this, with a shrug and a half-smile, like he has every other time he’s come over since the start of semester. It’s really nothing! And if he was someone else, it would have been nothing. If he was someone else, he could have had fun living in dorms, he reasons – gone out clubbing and hung out playing games until 2am and talked about whatever guys talk about together. But he isn't. He kept one friend through the whole of high school and he needs his own space because he's all prickly and sensitive . "I have a lot of work to do by Friday. I couldn't focus 'cause they were– I don't know, they've been celebrating for, like, half the week. I have no idea why. Maybe a birthday? So Seonghwa came and saved me," he adds in apparent good-humour.
"I was more saving them when I showed up," Seonghwa amends as he perches on the arm of the couch. San automatically rests half his body across his legs, his eyes still on Hongjoong.
"Were you chewing them out?" Wooyoung asks, leaning forward. Hongjoong sighs, resigned, and looks over at the now-dogpile of them on the couch. He almost wants to laugh, which he guesses means he's feeling a bit better, at least. "I bet you're scary when you're angry, hyung."
Hongjoong thinks for a moment. Has he been angry at Wooyoung or San yet? He's only known them for the, what, month and a half, two months, he's been at university, through Seonghwa mostly. At most, they've just been over-energetic, annoying him into taking breaks from his work when he stays over. Yeosang is a bit more his speed – swapping comments every now and then while they do their own thing, unless Wooyoung and San rope him into their antics, which was cute in its own way.
They're nice – really nice, and if Hongjoong let himself think about it, they care about him on some level, and he cares about them, too. Like that time an upperclassman got Yeosang in trouble for something he didn't do and Hongjoong distinctly remembers trying to wrangle his kkt out of them for no reason, just to talk . But they'd only seen him at Seonghwa's, really, or between classes, in glimpses, nice bitesize portions. He isn’t going to kid himself into thinking they'd still like him as much if they saw him with his claws out today. "You'd have to ask Seonghwa."
"He is," Seonghwa agrees easily. That makes Hongjoong bark out a laugh into his hand. "Poor boy looked like he was going to be sick."
Hongjoong squints, then realises Seonghwa’s, in fact, not talking about Gohyeon. His smile slides away and he groans and sags back into the soft cushions of the armchair. "Yunho just came at the wrong time." He grabs one of the smaller cushions from behind his back, putting it in his lap so he can pick out the loose threads. “He’s nice.”
"Wait, is this our Yunho? " San asks, exchanging a look with Wooyoung, whose entire face lights up in equal-parts shock and realisation. They both sit up straighter.
"Um." Hongjoong makes a face, shrugging. "I don't know. Who’s your Yunho?"
"Is he really tall and handsome?" San asks, making Wooyoung roll his eyes and add, "His hair's dyed blonde. He's our age. Jeong Yunho?"
"I mean. I guess that sounds like him," Hongjoong says slowly, glancing at Seonghwa for any indication of what's happening, but he just dodges his gaze, which is… not looking too promising. "You... know him?"
"He's in our dance classes. Wooyoung lives with him," San says on a laugh. "Oh my god, you really cursed out Yunho ?"
"I– No . He just happened to be there," Hongjoong clarifies, pushing away the embarrassment rising up in his cheeks. "Wait, you– Wait ." He quickly sits up, staring at Wooyoung. "He lives with you?" He switches his wide-eyed stare to Seonghwa. “Did you know Yunho lives with him?”
“Well, I didn’t know it was their Yunho until today,” Seonghwa says awkwardly. And yes, Hongjoong hadn’t divulged too many details of his dorm interactions to him, but he’s sure he’d mentioned Yunho at least once. And said he was tall, probably. “Yunho’s not an uncommon name, is it?”
"We're roommates! He's super nice!" Wooyoung laughs. Hongjoong honestly wants to die a little, but he's completely casual about it because this is all nothing, like he'd said. Just little annoying dorm things, like telling someone off for not washing their dishes or something. He schools his expression into one that says as much. "Like, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly-nice. He probably just wants to keep the peace with Gohyeon if they know each other. Do you know what he studies?"
"Gohyeon? Uh. Something with sports?" Hongjoong looks up at the ceiling, racking his brain and cherishing the distraction. San pulls out his phone, clearly trying not to giggle the entire time. "Sports Science? Physical... something?"
"I'd assume they share some classes," Wooyoung reasons. "He knows literally everyone, hyung, he's that kind of guy. Oh, I can't wait to grill him about this."
"San-ah, what are you doing?" Seonghwa asks suddenly, peering over at his phone screen. His eyes widen. "Are you messaging him?"
"It's funny!" San says as a defence, holding his phone out of Seonghwa's reach. Wooyoung then takes it and holds it out of Hongjoong's when he leans forward to grab it. "I can just picture his face, you know?"
"What do you mean, you're messaging him?" Hongjoong asks urgently, looking entirely not-casual about it now.
"Relax, hyung, we just want to tease him a bit. He probably feels really bad," Wooyoung says as he types on San's phone, a kind of wicked glee in his grin. He reads something for a moment then cackles, passing it back for San to see, too.
Hongjoong tries to laugh and play it off as something funny, but his eyes move anxiously between their bright, amused faces, between San's phone and Seonghwa trying to read it over their hunched backs. "It wasn't a big deal," he tells them again, needing to clarify. "Really, don't tease him too bad, nothing happened."
Wooyoung explodes into laughter again, covering his mouth and falling back on the couch. "Sorry, hang on. 'Hongjoong's boyfriend scolded me'?" San reads aloud, then descends into giggles again. "Does he mean you, hyung?"
"I..." Seonghwa adjusts on the arm of the couch. "I told him he can do better with his friends," he mutters, almost too quiet to hear. Hongjoong whips his head around to stare at him. Seonghwa winces at the reaction. "When you went downstairs."
"But you know his friends are great! Just look at us," Wooyoung teases, hooking his chin on San's shoulder.
"Well, that's the point, Wooyoung-ah. He already has good friends, so why does he need Gohyeon to like him?"
"He's just nice to everyone, hyung. Oh, my poor Yunho," Wooyoung laments, giggling. "Did his ears go red? San-ah, ask him if his ears went red."
"Why would you do that?" Hongjoong interjects, flatter than he was aiming for. San takes the phone from Wooyoung, typing enthusiastically, and Hongjoong listens to the keyboard sounds to distract himself, even though he keeps his own phone on silent because the noise pisses him off.
Seonghwa's eyes widen infinitesimally at his shift in tone. "Hongjoong–"
"Seonghwa."
"I said it because I meant it," he says after a moment's hesitation. He glances briefly to San and Wooyoung, then back to Hongjoong, clearly wondering whether it’s the right time for this; it's his turn to shrug now, opening the floor up. "Do you think I'm wrong?"
"Do you think I need you to speak on my behalf?" Hongjoong challenges, matching Seonghwa's delivery, if a little taut. Okay, so maybe he isn't feeling much better. Maybe knowing Yunho knows Wooyoung and San and therefore knows Seonghwa – effectively tying him up in mutual friendships with a boy that's only ever been exposed to, arguably, his least fun and likable personality – is stressing him out. Like, a reasonable amount. There's some insatiable need, that he knows is his anxiety, to know what Yunho’s replying and it bubbles just within reach in his brain. Does he think Hongjoong overreacted? And what will that mean for his tentative-almost-friends, will they agree with what Yunho tells them? And when his stupid façade of functionality falls away, Seonghwa will have to explain how he's just like this sometimes, he just needs some space, like he's a radioactive spill–
And then there's the urge to rip his hair out, because he already makes things worse for himself without Seonghwa adding in his opinion– He didn't need defending –
The keyboard noises stop and it's almost like San and Wooyoung are holding their breath, so no air moves in the room.
(Distantly, he thinks, yeah, this is a bad day. )
"No," Seonghwa says placatingly. It feels like a century has passed, like Hongjoong's ran a lap of their block in the few seconds between their sentences. "I don't. I'm just... I'm angry at how Gohyeon and the others in your dorm act. But especially him. He's been treating you like that since you got there. It's not okay."
"I don't need you to be angry for me," Hongjoong replies readily. His throat works around the discomfort building in him, as a physical pressure in his limbs. He's so fucking sick of it. He's so fucking bored of himself.
"I know you don't need me to, Hongjoong, but I am," Seonghwa counters. Calm.
Hongjoong takes in a breath and pushes away the little voice that likes to tell him how he never used to be like this, because it's been a year, over a year, of him and this strung-out feeling co-existing, and he's doing better - he's doing better, but there's no point missing being normal, because he can't even remember how that feels anymore. "It's not a big deal–"
"Hongjoong-ah, don't keep saying that. I know you're uncomfortable, but you don't have to do that here."
"Is it really that bad?" San pipes up from the couch. He's significantly quieter than before, like he's dipping his toes into the hot water of their conversation. It takes a last minute metaphorical slap on the wrist for Hongjoong not to turn his sharp tongue on him, too. He firmly traps it behind his teeth, averts his hard stare from Seonghwa at last, and focuses it on one of the many houseplants dotted by their balcony window. "I– I didn't mean to make it worse."
Hongjoong starts counting how many leaves their monstera has. "It's fine."
"It's just that you said it was no big deal, so I wanted to embarrass Yunho a bit. If I knew– I really wouldn't have if I knew it–"
"It's fine, Sannie," Hongjoong says firmly, giving up and shutting his eyes for a moment. It isn't a big deal. He’s just making it a big deal. It's completely fine. "You don't need to apologise. Seriously," he adds, not looking over. "I'm just stressed. And I didn't know he lived with you, Wooyoung."
"Hyung, is this all why you stayed over a couple weeks ago?" Wooyoung asks after a moment, and Hongjoong knows exactly when he’s talking about even before he adds, "When you said you were keeping Yeosang company for the weekend."
Hongjoong takes in a deep, deliberate breath through his nose. This isn’t worse than that , at least. Hongjoong isn’t sure he could get angrier than he had that day, when he didn’t even text Seonghwa before showing up, to find San had gone back home for the weekend, and Seonghwa was getting ready to meet some people from school in the city. "I was keeping Yeosang company."
"Well, obviously, but that's not what I'm asking."
Hongjoong adjusts on the armchair, like he's finding the best way to burrow into it. "Can you tell Yunho I'm not usually so–" He gestures vaguely. "Reactive, please?"
"He said Gohyeon was being a dick," Wooyoung replies easily, still looking at him. Hongjoong can feel his gaze on the side of his head. San's and Seonghwa's, too. The few beats of silence that follow are clearly meant to be filled by him, but Hongjoong doesn't trust his words to come out the way he needs them to, and he doesn't want to talk about it.
He feels hot around his collar. He needs to stop being looked at like he's– like he's got something going on, because he knows he does and he hates it when he lets himself get this dysregulated around other people. He hates it so viscerally. I have it covered , he wants to say, even if he doesn't – the instinct of denial, of rejection. Don't look at me.
"They're just loud and I can't hear my work so I can't do my work. It's quiet here. That's it. It's just stupid university problems," he ends up saying instead, with one sweeping glance in their general direction.
"You can be upset even if it's stupid, hyung," San says quietly.
For some reason, that's what sets him off. The words writhe around in his stomach like a living creature. It makes Hongjoong feels sick, raw to the elements; a transparent tangle of exposed nerve endings, an obvious profile of symptoms. He fixes his gaze directly on the other boy. "I'm not upset ," he states more than says. No inflection, flat. As he does it, he's regretting it, but he's stream-rolled through worse decisions. "So don't tell me how I can and can't feel. We're dropping this now."
San seems to shrink on himself. Next to him, he catches Seonghwa sending him a warning glance out of the corner of his eye, but that just pisses him off now, too. Hongjoong is just about to tell him as much when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
I'm gonna jump off their balcony , he thinks automatically. Nonetheless, he takes it out, ignoring the pointed silence in the room. When he sees his mother's caller ID, he has to really work on not following through, though, and guilt slams through him even harder.
He had meant to call her. When had he meant to call her? Yesterday?
For a moment, fingers pressed to his temples, he considers letting it ring out, but he doesn't think he can stand another person worrying after him. So, he accepts the call, takes a barricading breath in, and smiles into the receiver. "Hey, Umma. Yeah, I– Sorry. Sorry, I just completely forgot, I've been busy working. I'll make sure to call back next time." He gets up, making affirmative sounds down the phone. Seonghwa motions in the direction of his room, and Hongjoong at least tries throwing a thin-lipped smile over his shoulder before scurrying to his door. "Mhm. I know, but I'm fine. Yes, Seonghwa's fine, too. Wait, but tell me how your appointment went," he's saying as he clicks it shut behind him.