Chan-ho didn't move as Young-soo approached, but only because there was nowhere left for him to go. He knew he was being pathetic. This wasn't the Chan-ho that anyone wanted to see, sniveling and ugly and feeling miserable for himself. A part of him wanted to start trying to make excuses, but it had never worked in the past. All he could do was hold his breath and wait for it to pass, so that at least he could muffle the sound of his own crying.
At Young-soo's grimace, Chan-ho's heart leaped into his throat, and he braced himself for the worst. He was... surprised when it didn't come, though he didn't fully relax, his brain scrambling to pick apart the words and rearrange them, looking for the trap. Young-soo said he was safe, but was he really? He didn't know what he wanted, or dared, to believe.
But... Young-soo was still here. Young-soo had seen just how wretched Chan-ho had become, and he was still standing beside the bed, handing Chan-ho tissues and talking to him.
Chan-ho took a deep breath.
"I.. haven't been up for---" A hiccup interrupted his words, and his face flushed still hotter. "Not that long." He paused, bracing himself for what he was about to say next. Every nerve in him was screaming against it, but he had admitted to himself already that he wanted to right things between himself and Young-soo if he could, however fractionally. Even if he was going to be kicked out of KUN-A... and even if Young-soo wanted to wash his hands of Chan-ho afterwards. The thought of that made his spine run cold with panic, so he forced the words out before his nerve could desert him again. "You said--- You said you wanted to... talk. Before." He stared at the tissues, running one between his thumb and forefinger, his other arm still wrapped around his drawn-up knees. "What did you want to talk about?"