Homework was done and so was dinner.

I’d gone through at least three magazines and even did the dishes.

And still yet, there was a great distinct lack of Jongup around the house.

It was beyond weird coming home to an empty house. Jongup’s shoes weren’t at the front door and the door to his room remained hanging slightly ajar to represent his absence. His classes were supposed to have ended far before mine today so he should have been back before I was. In the chance he decided to stay behind at school to study - which, he hadn’t been doing for a while now, surprises - he usually never stayed out too last. If he was going to be late, Jongup usually called in so I wouldn’t worry.

Usually, his calls ended with me saying that he’s a big boy and that I wasn’t worried about him being kidnapped by some thug - we normally ended the call to laughs and giggles and promises to return back soon - but now that he actually wasn’t calling, like I’d dare suggested even, I was … worried, for a lack of better words.

Maybe this was what mothers felt like, waiting for their kids to call home.

(I made a note to call mom when Jongup came home.)

The clock in the kitchen read that it was one thirty five, exactly five minutes since when I’d checked five minutes ago, slandering out into the kitchen for something to sooth my throat and relax my worries. The last I checked, my left eye had turned a shade red from rubbing it so much and the left corner of my bottom lip had burst from my consistent chewing on them.

It wasn’t like Jongup was my brother, nor should I have been worried this far as to what he does so late at night, but I couldn’t help it. He was like a baby brother to me. I worried, whether I wanted to or not.

In the minutes I sat out in the living room - having given up taking trips to and fro from my room every five minutes to check the time and get more honey water for my tensing throat - I’d at least dialed Jongup’s number a thousand times, only to erase and repeat the process. I shouldn’t call him; it’s not like I’m his mom or anything. I was just his roommate. He was probably just studying and got caught up. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep at the library.

But when my phone rang, MOON JONGUP flashing on my cell phone screen, I leaped for it, picking up before the first ring could even as much as end.

“Hello? Jongup?”

The person on the other end was not Jongup. I repeat, it was not him.

“Hello? Is this … uh, Dae … Daehyun, right?”

I tensed, biting my lip. “Yes, who is this?” I checked my phone screen again. Maybe it wasn’t Jongup who had called, maybe my excitement had gotten the better of me and had me hallucinating.

MOON JONGUP

I cursed.

“Oh, oh, good. Hello, I’m Jongup’s friend and …” The caller was suspicious. I didn’t like him. He had a voice too low to be Jongup’s friend, never mind his age. He was lying. I was sure he was a gang member, holding Jongup hostage and wanting ransom to get my precious roommate back. “Can you come pick him up? He’s a little,” there was a shuffle and groan on the other line, “oh god, Jongup don’t touch ther-.”

A thud.

I panicked.

“Hello? Hello? Jongup? What’s going on?”

The deep voice - not the one I was looking for, not Jongup - was back. “Sorry, he knocked the phone out of my hands. He’s a little … not himself right now.”

Deep voice gave me an address to pick up ransom and I headed out, grabbing my wallet - and all spare change I had hanging around, just in case - and jacket. You couldn’t blame me for worrying. The guy had a hella deep voice, the sorts you only hear on tv, belonging to creep gang members who beat up puppies for fun. I was positive he was a gangster - or at least partly evil, he had to be.

The address led me to a pub out by Jongup’s school. The streets were crowded with else other drunk college students, many of them being picked up by their parents via cars and nagging - caring - voices. And with the hectic of everyone swarming the area, it took too long to track down Jongup and the gang member holding him hostage.

Oh god he was big.

He had to at least be a hundred and eighty in height and … I definitely did not want to see him in the other end of a closed street (never mind anywhere else, period).

“Oh thank god you’re here.”

But deep voice was a lot more whiner than your usual gang member.

Jongup had been looped awkwardly around him, lengthy arms curled around deep voice’s thick neck and face buried somewhere against his arm. He seemed to be mumbling something desperately and … drooling?

“He wouldn’t stop asking for you-”

“I know karate.”

I don’t know what brought me to blurt that out.

“Excuse me?”

“No, it’s nothing. I … I can take Jongup from you now.”

“Oh, alright.” He smiled, sort of, and helped move Jongup to my back, hitching him up properly and maneuvering his arms around me. “Come on Jongup, your Daehyunnie’s here. Up you go.”

Jongup squealed a little at the movement, but seemed to willingly climb on my back, mumbling my name against my neck as he cuddled closer. “Daehyunnie.”

God he was drunk. I could smell the alcohol radiating off of him.

“Thanks for coming, really. I didn’t want to call his parents. Don’t even want to imagine what his mom would have done to him if she knew he got his drunk.” Deep voice - he didn’t seem too evil - gave a sort of smile, patting his friend on the back lightly to his words, seemingly soothing a cooing Jongup. “He doesn’t usually drink so much, I don’t know what came over him. He’s pretty heavy weight.”

I nodded. What else was I supposed to say?

“I, uh, thanks for taking care of Jongup … uh …”

“It’s Yongguk.”

“Thanks Yongguk.”

a/n: i officially don't have any more prewritten work and need to get to writing. someone please kick me in the .