Hyungwon stares over at the other side of the bed, noting how his fingers desperately bury themselves into the sheets. He quickly snatches his hand away, clearing his throat and mind as he returns his gaze to the journal in his lap. The counselor told him he should write in it whenever he has the chance about whatever he wants, but to be honest anything he writes down sounds like a lovelorn middle schooler’s scribblings. It's extremely aggravating, because lovelorn is the last thing he is.