Until The End of Time | Wonho [√]

NEFELIBATA: ONE WHO LIVES IN THE CLOUD OF THEIR OWN IMAGINATIONS AND DREAMS

"Wonho is coming here in about fifteen minutes!" The words flew out of my mouth like a splutter of cough as if I was holding back the fit until now. I paced around Hyungwon's apartment frantically, the inside of my palms were clammy with sweat.

"Whatever you do friend, do not get pregnant," I could almost hear Hanbyul's deadly serious voice, and Changkyun's teasing little snicker as if they were right here in this room.

However, Hyungwon remained as nonchalant as he had ever been. He was seated on a wooden stool, a new furniture added to his place. He was fiddling with the watch. He stopped for a second when he heard me but didn't move a muscle.

"Alright, here's the thing, I was the one who invited him by text what it feels like a trillion years ago, which he didn't respond to and acted like it never happened. But here we are now," I quickly explained to Hyungwon, and then I showed him the lit up screen on my phone.

A message from Wonho that said, "can I be at your place in thirty minutes?"

"It's a weekday on top," I added, as if that was supposed to solve something.

Hyungwon was wearing his glasses and his long hair was hanging loosely around his features, hence I could barely see his face. He stirred a little on the stool. "You don't want him to come?"

"I do." Obviously I did. "I'm just losing my mind a little now, sorry."

Suddenly I wondered why I had even barged inside Hyungwon's place the second after I recieved the text from Wonho. Shouldn't have I been cleaning my room?

"I like him a lot but I'm just lost with him. I don't understand him, at all, and I figured that neither do you. Nor do any of his friends, really," I mumbled aloud, still ambling back and forth in the space between Hyungwon's bed to the door.

"Maybe you should use this opportunity today," he said and I saw him taking out a packet from the front pocket of his jeans and lighting up a cigarette after fumbling around in his messy table for the matchbox.

"I thought you quit," I uttered in surprise, watching him blow the smoke out and clear his throat a little after, as if he wasn't fully used to this. Though the way he held the cigarette between his long fingers, and dragged the nicotine inside his lungs after taking it in his mouth told me he knew exactly how to smoke.

The putrid smell had already started to poison the air.

"I need it today, sorry," he said. His voice sounded distant, or maybe because of the miasma hanging around his frail and slumped figure that I felt like that. "Shouldn't you clean your room?"

His fingers were shaking. Maybe he needed some alone time. He seemed perfectly fine when I had first entered.

I let the boy be and actually tried to make my room a little more decent. The worst enemy was the unclean outfits piled around the entire space for the next laundry day, meaning the weekend. After somewhat tidying them up (which meant hurling the clothes in plastic bags and hiding them in the closet) I realized it already looked way better than before.