Chapter Text
Oner notices the silence before he hears the phone.
The dorm is never truly quiet. There is always something humming—air conditioning, traffic below the windows, someone laughing too loudly three rooms over, a chair dragged across the floor. Noise lives easily here.
Tonight, it feels like everything is holding its breath.
His screen lights up beside the bed.
For one second, he only watches the name.
Hyeonjoon.
The vibration rattles softly against the wood.
Once. Twice. Again.
Oner does not reach for it.
He lies back against the pillow and stares at the ceiling. The room turns dim blue each time the screen lights up, then darkens again.
Doran keeps calling.
He should answer.
That thought arrives immediately and is followed just as quickly by ten better reasons not to.
It is late.
They already spoke earlier.
They stood in the hallway after dinner and threw short sentences at each other until both looked tired enough to stop.
🐿: You’re avoiding me.
🐯: I’m busy.
🐿: You’re always busy when it’s me.
🐯: And you’re always dramatic when you want attention.
The memory stings.
Doran had gone still after that. Not angry. Worse. Quiet in the way people get when they are hurt and refuse to show it.
🐿: Forget it.
Then he walked away.
Oner hated him for how much that bothered him.
The phone continues to ring.
If Doran wants to apologize, he can do it tomorrow.
If Doran wants to argue, he can do it tomorrow.
If Doran wants to say nothing important at all, then tomorrow is more than enough.
The call ends.
The room falls still.
Oner exhales without realizing he had been holding his breath.
A second later, the screen lights up again.
Doran.
He almost laughs.
Stubborn.
He turns onto his side and drags the blanket higher over his shoulder. The phone vibrates against the desk, persistent and impossible to ignore.
There was a time he would have answered on the first ring.
There was a time Doran would have called just to ask what he was doing, then stayed on the line saying nothing useful for an hour.
There was a time Oner knew the difference between Doran’s bored voice, sleepy voice, jealous voice, pretending-not-to-care voice.
There was a time everything between them felt simple.
The ringing stops again.
Oner reaches for the phone this time.
His thumb hovers over the screen.
One missed call.
He could call back now.
He imagines Doran answering immediately, as if he had been waiting with the phone in his hand. Then the pause, where neither of them wants to speak first.
Then what?
Another fight.
Another careful conversation that says less than silence.
Another chance to hear Doran sound disappointed in him.
He locks the phone and sets it face down.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, people are less tired.
Tomorrow, words come out better.
Tomorrow, pride feels smaller in daylight.
Tomorrow has always sounded reasonable to him.
He turns off the lamp.
Darkness folds over the room.
He closes his eyes.
The phone begins ringing for the third time.
Something sharp moves through his chest.
He sits up halfway, annoyed now more than anything. Doran can be impossible when he decides to be. Oner grabs the phone, ready to answer just to tell him to stop acting ridiculous.
The name glows in his palm.
Hyeonjoon.
His thumb rests over accept then hesitates.
Because if he answers now, he has to care immediately.
He has to hear whatever weight sits in Doran’s voice.
He has to soften first.
He has to lose.
The ringing ends under his thumb.
Missed call.
The screen goes black.
For a long moment, Oner sits there with the phone in his hand, staring at his own reflection. Then he tosses it onto the mattress beside him harder than necessary.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters to no one.
He lies back down.
No new call comes.
That should make him feel victorious.
Instead, the silence feels wrong.
He checks the screen once more.
No message.
No apology.
No explanation.
Fine.
He plugs the charger in and places the phone on the bedside table.
Sleep takes longer than it should.
When it finally comes, it is shallow and full of restless turns. He dreams of ringing somewhere far away, impossible to locate.
Morning arrives gray and ugly.
His phone is vibrating before he is fully awake.
Then again and again.
He squints at the screen.
Missed calls.
Messages stacked over messages.
Teammates. Staff. Friends.
Numbers he does not recognize.
Twenty notifications. More appearing while he watches.
His stomach drops.
He scrolls once.
Twice.
No new call from Doran.
He sits upright too fast.
The room tilts.
Another call comes in.
Not Doran but someone from management.
Oner answers with a dry throat.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end is too careful.
“Hyeonjun,” they say, “where are you right now?”
He does not know why fear arrives before information, only that it does.
His eyes move back to the screen.
Three calls from Doran last night.
1:14 AM.
1:18 AM.
1:27 AM.
He cannot stop staring at the timestamps.
“Hyeonjun?”
“Yes,” he says, though he has not heard the question.
“We need you to come now.”
Oner grips the phone tighter.
“What happened?”
When they speak, the words blur.
All he understands is that he should have answered.