Your heart probably hasn't beat this fast since you last went running on full steam. Which is a long time ago. You don't even remember. All you do know is that you just made a big, giant, horrible mistake, and as you stare at your phone, practically hyperventilating yourself to death, you close your eyes and hope to a higher deity that please, please, please let that message suddenly get lost in the world of cellphone networks.

But of course it doesn't, and you know it doesn't, because your phone vibrates with a reply. You stare at the screen. Yongguk, it says. No. Nonononono. This is terrible. What has he said? You want to know, but you don't want to know. In the end, your curiosity wins, but it still takes a lot of effort to open that message and not hastily scan its contents.

"Thanks," it says. "I like me, too."

What kind of reply is that? You had been expecting ... you had thought ... well, you don't know what you had thought, since your mind is totally a jumble and mess of words, but this? This was not what you had predicted, even if technically, you hadn't predicted anything. This is ... well, this is ... a typical thing for him to say, you suppose. Considering how he takes everything in stride. You don't know what you were doing, overreacting like that, but now you can't help but feel disappointed. Maybe a part of you wanted him to reply with words similar to your lines. Not that he should be obliged or pressured to do so. It's just ... well ... now it feels like you were scared for no reason at all.

"I'm sorry," you quickly type. "That wasn't meant for you." You're about to send it, but then you realize you'd have to explain who it was meant for, and although you could say Twitter, he'd start to have suspicions on who you were talking about. You erase the entire message, stare at that blinking line again, and bite on your lip as you think, and think, and think, and for goodness sake, why is it so hard to think right now?

Maybe it's because it's midnight. You're just completely panicked and frustrated, and your heart is beating too loudly in this empty room, and all you can hear is yourself, and you hate it. You hate it. So maybe that's why you send a text that contains only three words, a text that has nothing to do with the matter at hand.

"Are you busy?"

He replies back quickly enough. "I'm busy trying to fall asleep. Why?"

You feel guilty now, for having disturbed him, however unintentionally, and you type, "Just asking."

It's the kind of reply that doesn't even merit a response. And you expect he won't reply, either, because that's what you would do if you were tired. If someone texted you, and they gave a reply as d