Don't Text Me | Taesan X Woonhak

27: Luring into the Trap

Three days ago, the sun was too bright, mocking Woonhak's mood with its cheer. He lay upside down on his bed-legs hooked against the wall, head hanging off the mattress, blood pooling to his skull until his vision sparkled. His phone, still warm from Taesan's texts, rested on his chest like a weight. Not a bad weight, just a frustrating one.

Taesan had called him an idiot. Again. It didn't even hurt anymore. In fact, the insult had somehow evolved into a kind of nickname. Woonhak sighed so deeply the bed creaked beneath him. Maybe he was an idiot. A useless, helpless idiot. One who couldn't even come up with a halfway decent plan to help someone he cared about.

He wanted to be more than a chatbox Taesan used to let out steam. He wanted to be of use. To impress him, maybe. Okay, not maybe- he really wanted to impress Taesan. Maybe toss him a clever idea and hear, "Damn, you're smart," for once. But instead, all he'd gotten was "idiot."

He groaned, rolling his head along the edge of the mattress and squinting at the ceiling. "Even a cool person like him has problems," he muttered, throwing a baseball at the wall and catching it again with dull thuds. Again. And again. His hand moved out of muscle memory, tossing and catching, tossing and catching, as if it would somehow knock loose an actual idea from his skull.

Thud.

His sister slammed the door open. "Can you not?!" she snapped, her hair a frizzy halo of teenage fury.

He turned his head lazily, lifting one brow. "It's called thinking, you should try it sometime."

She rolled her eyes so hard he thought she might pull a muscle. "Thinking? You've got two brain cells left and one of them is on vacation."

"Aw, poor thing. You sound jealous."

That earned him a pillow to the face. She hurled it with the precision of a seasoned pitcher, then stormed off, yelling, "I'm telling Mom! And if I were older, I'd beat your ass myself!"

Woonhak chuckled, tossing the pillow back at the door. "Dream big, shortie."

But then silence returned. Tense, expectant silence. He lay still. Any second now, his mom would barge in with a slipper, lecture him about "respect" and "boundaries" and maybe ground him from video games. And his sister would record it all, probably adding effects and TikTok audio to mock him later.

"Damn videos..."

"Wait."

"A video?"

A spark lit in his head.

"A video!!!"

Woonhak sat up so fast he nearly blacked out. That's what Taesan needed, right? Evidence. Something solid, something real. If they could catch that slimeball from Taesan's university doing something shady, something recordable, they'd have something to throw back.

“What if…” Woonhak murmured, now sitting cross-legged on the bed like a monk summoning divine inspiration, “...I set up a trap? Bait him into exposing himself.”

He bolted upright.

“Holy shit, I’m a genius.”

Excited, he scrambled for his phone, fingers flying.

Woonhak:
hey... quick question
what's the name of that dude again?
the one who framed u?

Taesan replied with reluctance, suspicion dripping from every text like bitter syrup.

Taesan:
why?

But Woonhak was already grinning.

Woonhak:
i'm just curious
purely for educational purposes 😇