Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
.: | :.
With the door to his dorm room falling shut, Jung Hoseok has nothing left to shield himself from the fatigue that's been waiting. In the familiarity of his own space, he finally has to admit to it – with no one around to notice and no one around to judge.
All his efforts not to distort his vision, not to let this future be tainted by his past?
Futile.
Naive, even.
There has never once been an escape to this. Especially not with a tour ahead.
Hoseok groans. Namjoon's been right all along.
He has to talk to her.
Peeling off his sweatshirt, Hoseok lets it drop in a corner of his room, the shirt underneath sticking to his body in cold sweat. All courage is drained from his body as he grabs for a water bottle, chasing it down entirely.
How he hates being weak. He always has. He's been fueled by turning weaknesses into strength through sheer power of will, but nowadays... nowadays he just can't seem to fucking shake them off. There are no outlets left. Nothing to do but to face them. All of them.
But with this...
Dropping to the bed, the mattress swallows his weight and still pushes him back up, and for a second, Hoseok lets himself believe this could help him regain his footing; as if a stupid mattress could ever be enough to break his fall.
In the end, lifting his head is enough to be hit with the pictures.
A whole collage of them, to be exact, driving the memory of Ryujin's smile back where it belongs, right under his skin. Over time he learnt to push those thoughts aside, but here, in his room, it's easier to be reminded of the days when he played this huge part in her laughter, every soft smile aimed at him and him alone.
Letting himself fall back into the mattress, Hoseok pulls his phone out of his back pocket, staring back at his reflection trapped in the blackness of the screen.
His fingers waver over the button that takes him to her chat, but he just can't bring himself to press down. Sighing, he flings his arm across his eyes, the weight of his phone suddenly too much to bear.
He's so sick of disappointing her.
Sick of crushing her hopes with a single word.
These are meant to be his hopes, too. But nobody seems to fucking care about that.
When his phone starts to vibrate against his chest, all thoughts vanish from his mind, leaving only the sick pulsing ache below his rip-cage forbidding him to pick up. Hoseok digs his fingers deep into his forehead and squeezes himself into a smile, before he answers.
