DOWN BELOW,

there are several things she thinks of saying in response, but all of them are disregarded after his dramatic pause in favor of the exaggerated groan she lets out at the word lonely.

"oh my god. shut up, daesung. it didn't really matter to me why you called, but i can't believe talking to me is something so unbearable that you only do it as a last resort. wow. be honest, do you hate me? because it sounds like you hate me." she knows the answer to that question, but she was't able to resist the low-hanging fruit and the urge to be a little dramatic. "maybe i should remove you from the list of contacts i allow notifications from while my phone is on do not disturb."

but before she moved on, she adds, "though, maybe i should be the one apologizing, because cool-" she abruptly cuts herself off, ending the thought before she fully it voices it. "you know what? never mind. you're cool. now, how about you stop touching the hole in your wall before you make it worse?"

aeri goes quiet once again, trying to decide what she could possibly talk about now that he's put her on the spot. recounting her day would be the easiest option, but she's also not eager to spend the night discussing work because it's already waiting for her in a few hours.

"i've been thinking about taking an art class. i don't know if i actually want to do it, though." she doesn't really have the time to take one at the moment, but that hasn't stopped her from thinking about it. "i'm not sure if i ever told you, or if you remember because i could've still been doing it as a hobby when we met, but i used to draw all the time when i was younger. i don't really remember when i stopped, but it definitely was around the time i started training because i didn't have time for it anymore." time had been part of it, but drawing had mainly lost its appeal because it, like most of the things she did at the time, had become something she felt she wasn't good at and therefore wasn't worth wasting time on when she had to train.

he feels better already, listening to her talk. it reminds him of how much he likes people, how good it feels to have friends and how good it feels to know someone. things that will all be forgotten the next time his notifications start to overwhelm him and he silences everything again. he wants to tell her he won't do it again, but he's told that lie enough times - he swallows it down now.

"i remember," he says quietly, after she's given her whole piece. "when you used to draw." it's what he wants to clarify first, before volunteering what he thinks, because of course he remembers. only after he's defended his honor does he take a minute to think about her question.

"i think something new would be good." it's a decisive, straight-forward answer. "that way you won't get too in your head about it. i think if you pick up something you used to do, but haven't done in a while, it would be easy to compare the present to the past and wonder, like... uh, i don't know. if you felt like you were better then than you are now, because of being out of practice, that might be frustrating, right?" does he sound like an idiot? probably.

he keeps his head angled down, but eyes her curiously when she mentions a new shirt. "you don't have.." you don't have to, is what he had planned on saying. he cuts himself off just shy of committing. screw dry-cleaning, but a new shirt sounds nice. maybe he could get an even cooler one.

there are many things that yubin is capable of ― singing, dancing, being an idol, playing the piano, song writing, peeling a tangerine in one unbroken peel and the list could go on for quite some time. however if you leave it up to yubin to handle the most simplest of task, she could somehow mess it up.

for instance, strike one: she had forgot to set an alarm up despite her manager reminding her two times the night before that she needs to be at a certain location at a specific time. instead, she woke up and had to start rushing about. strike two: she wore mismatched socks and had only realise it when when she's more awake after having her make up done in the shop ( but at least it didn't matter too much if no one else points it out ) and strike three: in between of juggling her phone, some loose items because she forgot her bag in the van and a whole iced coffee in hand, he bumps into a member of riiot and in the worst possible way, causing the liquid to soil his shirt which she could only shriek and be apologetic about.

today he’s trying very hard to have a good day. he’s been smiling and saying please and thank you more than usual, keeping his eyes off his addictive phone, and he’d finally cracked a book open again, despite not having had much time to read. it had made him feel mentally sharp and energized like all of his sources said it would.

he’s feeling alright. hell, he’s sort of feeling good. his guard’s down. it shouldn’t be. it shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t be. he walks directly into disaster—one second, he’s walking with a pep in his step in his own personal space. the next, he’s covered in someone else’s coffee.

“aw man,” he complains, louder than he probably should’ve. he grabs the hem of his t-shirt and peels the wet cotton outward, as away from his body as he can while still staying fully covered. he looks down at the discolored print, almost sure to stain. it’s his favorite t-shirt.

he sighs heavily, all of his energy immediately depleting, and looks at the perpetrator.

“no, i’m sorry about your coffee,” he says, lacking conviction. he drops the hem and the t-shirt sags back into place. it’s cold and gross-feeling. he’s not having a good day.

she doesn't answer his question immediately. instead, she shifts onto her stomach, taking her sweet time getting comfortable first. aeri is prolonging the silence on purpose just to make him sweat a little. though, they've known each other long enough that he should already know she's not mad because she never is.

"...i don't know," she hums into the phone, "i should be after you suddenly remembered i exist at this hour." she breaks before she can keep the act up any longer and lets a soft chuckle slip past her lips. "the fact i didn't ignore your call should answer that question for you. but if you really need to hear me say it that bad, no, i'm not mad at you, daesung." the jury is still out on whether aeri is capable of being that upset with daesung. sometimes the radio silence does annoy her, but she'd be a hypocrite if she ignored the fact that she's just as guilty of the same thing sometimes. besides, she's always been a little too lenient when it came to him.

"in fact, i'm the exact opposite of mad. i answered your impromptu call despite being very busy these days. think that tells you everything you need to know, don't you?" even if she's kind to a fault, aeri is nonconfrontational at her core. if she were genuinely upset with him, she never would've answered in the first place and possibly open the door to an argument. she'd have ignored every call and text until she'd had enough time to sort through her feelings and get over it.

"so, what's new? i want to know everything that's happened since i've been banished from your life. or should i start with asking if there's a reason you called me this late? because this is kind of making me look suspicious." it's not. aeri had made more than her fair share of unreasonable late-night phone calls and texts, and it was obvious she wasn't trying to sleep, so she wasn't exactly in a position to nag about his timing.

maybe it's the late hour. maybe it's how long they've known each other. or maybe it's simply hearing his voice again after so long. whatever the reason, she finds herself speaking with a little more honesty than she normally would this early into a conversation.

she breaks the ice further. i’ve missed talking to you. he likes hearing it because he knows that she means it. their friendship isn’t plagued by doubt. “yeah,” he agrees quietly, feeling sorry for himself and for her. “i missed you.” he sighs, warm and heavy, and shifts onto his side. there’s a chip in the paint on the wall. knowing better, he reaches out and picks at it further.

“there’s a fucked up hole in the wall in my room,” he tells her. “i don’t know what happened. maybe mold. it just appeared one day, like three weeks ago, i think? i’m picking at it right now.”

he’s still thinking about where to start. he can’t remember any of the stories he’d saved; or he can, but they feel dumb and unimportant now. no more noteworthy than the paint on the wall, cracking and giving way under his thumb.