↱RIBS↲ ⇾seongjoong⇽

さん

On a Particular Monday Afternoon

On Monday afternoons, Seonghwa miraculously doesn't have class or work.

On this particular Monday afternoon, Seonghwa, inexplicably, was in a great mood.

He decided that he'd had enough of this 'off'ness, and he was going to visit Hongjoong at his studio.

He'd been a few times before.

It was on the second floor of one of the large cement buildings in the heart of Hoegi, rented on a monthly basis.

It was about a twenty minute walk from campus, and with a free afternoon after his morning Contemporary class, Seonghwa was determined to surprise Hongjoong.

Maybe convince him to come home early tonight.

He hadn't seen much of him the night before, both of them coming back late from their respective studios.

Hongjoong was just leaving when Seonghwa woke up that morning.

He hadn't mentioned what he'd been working on, why he'd had to go in so early.

Seonghwa stops at Paris Baguette on the way, buys a black americano and a croissant, and continues on his way with a smile on his face after a friendly interaction with the barista.

He sees a few people he knows on his walk, practically impossible to avoid in such a university community.

It takes him half an hour to get to the studio, humming one of his dance songs under his breath as he goes, until he's finally finding himself knocking on Hongjoong's door.

There's a small plaque on the front with his name written on it in his messy scrawl.

Kim Hongjoong.

Seonghwa smiles.

There's no answer.

He knocks again.

It takes a moment, but it swings open.

"What?! What the hell is i-" Hongjoong's dishevelled, hair uncombed and sticking up like he'd been wearing a beanie but pulled it off in frustration.

His eyes are red-rimmed and have noticeable bags underneath.

Seonghwa takes a step back in shock.

"Oh— Seonghwa? What are you doing here?"

"Uh... I brought you some coffee? And food?" Seonghwa holds up the paper bag and cup, almost like a shield— Hongjoong seems a little unhinged.

"Oh." Hongjoong blinks. "Sorry, babe, I'm just— come in, I thought you were someone else."

Hongjoong grabs his elbow gently, pulls him into the small room, places a kiss to his temple.

The studio is a bit of a mess.

The couch is shoved against one wall, his desk against the other.

Against the back wall, barely squeezed in, is one of Hongjoong's keyboards.

There's a small table wedged in beside the couch, and sitting on top there's no less than three empty ramen cups, cheap wooden chopsticks sticking out of them.