↱RIBS↲ ⇾seongjoong⇽

じゅう

This Monday is Different

It's a Monday and Seonghwa's anxious.

Mondays used to be good days, when he had a morning contemporary class and then a whole afternoon of free time that he could spend sleeping, or going to the park, or practicing, or getting some work done.

This Monday, however, is different.

In the morning, he has to reluctantly swallow down breakfast.

There are more side dishes now, bigger portions, ones he is expected to finish.

Hongjoong looks at him with so much hope in his eyes that Seonghwa does finish, practically shoving food down his throat and into a stomach that feels entirely too full.

His knee bounces under the table as he eats, nervous energy radiating from his body as Hongjoong talks in his rumbly morning voice.

Hongjoong sits at the wooden table, fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee, eyes still droopy and hair fluffy around his head.

He looks adorable, lips pouting around the story he's telling about San, his sleep clothes soft on his frame.

Looking at him calms Seonghwa down a bit.

Listening to him distracts Seonghwa from the food.

But Seonghwa's still anxious, can feel it, right there in the core of his chest, buzzing and eager to spread itself around his lungs and throughout his body.

It's a combination of things.

Part of it is that he's anxious to get back to school and practice.

This is what is pushing him to finish the food, although he can barely taste it.

He understands that if he eats it he can go, and if he doesn't Hongjoong will probably give him that look Seonghwa hates, will probably want Seonghwa to stay home.

'You can't dance on an empty stomach,' he would say, as he's said before.

Seonghwa would have to bite his tongue, try not to respond with something about how he's accomplished it many times before.

When Seonghwa finishes the food he jumps up from the table, putting the dishes in the washer and rushing around to grab his dance bag and make sure his water bottle is full.

God, he'd only been away from the studio for three days but the itch under his skin is unbearable, it can't be placated by practicing steps in the living room.

He needs the space, the mirrors, the other dancers around him, the music pouring out of the speakers, into the floor, through his feet, and right into his ribcage.

Hongjoong shuffles to the door to see him out, his slippers scuffing on the hardwood, and watches as Seonghwa pulls on his coat, his gloves.

Seonghwa can tell Hongjoong's nervous—the draw in-between his eyebrows, the way he's chewing on the right side of his bottom lip, the shift of his weight from foot to foot—so Seonghwa smiles at him reassuringly, kisses him firmly, steals the mug from out of his hands and cheekily takes a sip of the black coffee just to make him smile.

Hongjoong does, but the worry is still evident in his eyes.

He reminds Seonghwa to text him if he needs him, that Jongho will pick him up after class.

Right.