Hyukjae’s about to crawl into bed when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He picks it up and takes one glance at the name calling before he walks soundlessly out of the room, shutting the door quietly. He swipes his finger across the screen to accept the call before it cuts itself off, taking a few more long strides and then bringing it to his ear. “Hey,” he says in a hushed voice. “Why are you calling so late?” He opens the door to the guest room and slips inside, walking to the bed and sitting down on the comfortable duvet that flattens beneath his weight. He frowns softly at the lack of response he receives, checks the call is connected and tries again. “Donghae?”

“Hey.” There’s a slight hitch in Donghae’s voice, like he’s holding back tears.

“Hey,” Hyukjae’s voice takes on an immediate softness, apparent even through the whisper. His concern is strong and quick to grip his heart, even though it’s been months since they broke up. “Donghae, why are you crying? Is everything okay?”

He hears a sniff before Donghae’s voice finally comes through. “I’m fine. I just needed to talk to you.”

Hyukjae’s heart gives a pang at the pain he knows Donghae isn’t letting on. “Okay,” he agrees even with the slight guilt creeping down his spine. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable, not from a conversation, but he’d never managed to be neutral when it came to him. It’d been too easy to fall into his orbit, to be so consumed nothing else mattered. It was one of the reasons they’d separated, been apart for the first time since they’d met as six-year-olds. “I have to be quiet, though. Hyo’s in the next room.”

“It’s alright. I’m down the hall from Kibum.”

Hyukjae lies down on the bed and shifts until only his feet are dangling off the mattress. He eyes the edge of the duvet, pondering how long it’ll take until his toes are cold enough to warrant burying himself under the covers. “How have you been?” he asks out of politeness, as if contact after months of mutual silence isn’t enough of a clue.

Donghae answers the pointless question with its required impersonal response. “Good. And you?”

Hyukjae shrugs even with his back against the duvet, one arm bent back to support his head. “Good, I guess.” His focus at work had picked up, without a reason to leave on time regularly, and he’d been promoted last month. He’d met Hyoyeon through a mutual friend and they’d dated soon after; she’s gorgeous and driven, everything his parents had hoped for him. He probably doesn’t deserve her.

Donghae’s soft sigh carries through the speaker and Hyukjae imagines he can feel the warmth of it against his ear, feel the echo of a kiss against his shoulder.

She deserves better than him.

“I found that origami shuriken, the other day,” Donghae says unexpectedly, his voice hitching on a sob he cuts off before it can finish. “The one from when Sungmin called you emo and you wanted to get revenge.”

Hyukjae closes his eyes and suppresses a groan. He remembers that shuriken, the result of intense minutes struggling with a library book and giving up, tossing it at Donghae instead. Donghae had been delighted and swore to keep it forever.

He always did keep his promises.

“Should try making another one,” Hyukjae muses quietly. “Easier with Youtube, now. I’ve started knitting.”

“That’s cool,” Donghae says, and on anyone else it’d sound disinterested but he only sounds honestly, genuinely happy for him. It draws a reluctant smile out of him – they’d left each other to discover who they were as separate entities, unsure where one began and the other ended after being together for so long. Hyukjae had picked up and dropped hobbies, trying them on like hats to see what sort of person he was. He’d dropped boxing, picked up taekwondo and painting. He’s at peace and no longer feels like he misses Donghae like he misses his left arm, but –

He’d be a liar if he said hearing his voice again doesn’t fill his heart until it’s set to burst.

“I can cook now,” Donghae says, his voice light but sounding a little less forced. “Dessert and savoury. Made ramen from scratch, even.”

“Did you burn the house down,” Hyukjae says bluntly, remembering the charred mess Donghae had made of spaghetti Bolognese that one time he’d decided recipes were for the weak.

“No, ,” he laughs, the sound wavering at the edges like there’s a lump in his throat.

A silence settles between them, not awkward but slowly becoming heavy with unspoken words. Guilt settles in his chest, uncomfortable and relentless. “Sometimes I wish she was you,” he says, blinking at the ceiling for a second before cursing his stupid mouth. He really hadn’t meant to give voice to the desire twisting with his guilt, but Donghae had always had a knack for pulling the truth out of him, even if he didn’t mean to.

A chuckle comes through the speaker, static-less and without an ounce of humour. “I guess we never really moved on, huh, Hyukjae?”

He smiles wistfully and rolls over, almost cradling the phone to his ear as he curls up on the warming duvet. Hearing Donghae’s voice say his name with that care ignites the dormant butterflies in his belly; the way he always makes him feel important and cherished still makes him weak even now. “It’s funny that you called me tonight,” he says instead, ignoring the truth he doesn’t want to face at this moment. He’d made up his mind a minute into the call, if he’s honest with himself. “I dreamt about you last night.”

“Oh?” The smoother voice now coming without hesitation or sniffles assures Hyukjae that his ex is no longer crying. Hyukjae finds his shoulders relaxing from the tension he hadn’t been aware was there, and he brings a hand to cover his smile from the dark room. Even if walls can’t talk, he’d much rather keep Donghae’s voice to himself. “I’ve dreamt of you too.”

“Good dreams I hope,” Hyukjae whispers with a grin beneath his fingers