"Why did you just hang up on me?!"
Gunwoo's voice blasted through the phone the second Matteo answered, sharp and furious, like it had been winding itself tighter with every unanswered call.
Matteo winced and instinctively pulled the phone a few inches away from his ear.
"Hyung—hyung, calm down—"
"Calm down?" Gunwoo snapped. "You disappear for days, don't answer a single call or text, and then you just—what—decide to pick up now like nothing happened?"
Matteo leaned his hip against the counter, eyes drifting to the darkened shop around him. The buzz of the tattoo machine was gone now, replaced by the low hum of the heater and the distant noise of traffic outside.
Suddenly, the space felt too quiet.
"I didn't hang up," Matteo lied quickly. "The call dropped."
There was a pause on the other end. Not the good kind.
"…Your phone didn't 'drop,' Matteo," Gunwoo said slowly. "You cut the call. Then you vanished."
Matteo squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. He needed something—anything—that sounded believable.
"I—" He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had work issues. A lot of them. Things got… messy."
Gunwoo didn't respond right away. Matteo could almost picture him—sitting somewhere expensive and sterile, suit jacket probably tossed aside, brows drawn together the way they always did when he was worried but trying not to show it.
"You could've sent one text," Gunwoo said finally, his voice lower now but no less tense.
"One."
"I know," Matteo muttered. "I'm sorry."
That word—sorry—hit differently this time. It wasn't sarcastic or defensive. It was real. Heavy.
Gunwoo sighed, long and tired. "Do you have any idea what I thought?"
Matteo swallowed. "You thought I was dead."
"…Yes."
The silence that followed pressed down on Matteo's chest.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said quietly. "I just—things piled up fast, and I didn't want to dump it all on you when you're already buried in work."
Gunwoo scoffed. "That's not your decision to make."
"sorta is," Matteo mumbled. "But you're always fixing things. I didn't want to be another problem you had to solve."
There it was.
The truth—just not all of it.
Gunwoo's voice softened, but there was an edge underneath it, something possessive and deeply ingrained.
"Matteo, you are my problem. You've always been."
Matteo huffed out a breath. "Wow. That sounded way worse than you meant it."
Gunwoo snorted. "You know what I mean. Ever since the orphanage, you've had this thing about pretending you can handle everything alone."
"I can handle things alone."
"And yet," Gunwoo cut in, "you don't."
Matteo rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're impossible," Gunwoo shot back.
"So. Where are you right now?"
"At my shop," Matteo said. "Just closed."
Gunwoo hummed. "Are you safe?"
The question was casual on the surface. It wasn't casual underneath.
"…Yeah," Matteo answered, and this time it wasn't a lie. "I'm fine."
Another pause.
"I'm still in the States," Gunwoo said. "Work's dragging longer than I expected. The board's a nightmare, and the acquisition's being a pain in the ass."
Matteo leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "Figures. Mr. CEO can't escape his corporate hell."
Gunwoo chuckled softly. "Don't get smart with me."
"So you're not coming to see me yet," Matteo said.
"Not yet," Gunwoo confirmed. "I hate it, but I can't just drop everything."
Matteo nodded even though Gunwoo couldn't see him. "It's fine. Really. I get it."
"You better," Gunwoo said. "But when I do come, you're not disappearing again. I don't care how busy you are."
Matteo smirked. "Yes, boss."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
They lingered on the line a moment longer, neither quite ready to hang up. It felt… familiar. Comforting. Like standing back-to-back against the world again, even from thousands of miles away.
"Text me when you get home," Gunwoo said firmly.
Matteo grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm not a teenager mom, but fine. I'll text you."
"And Matteo?"
"Yeah?"
"…Don't pull that shit ever again."
Matteo's grip tightened on the phone. "I won't."
The call ended.
Matteo stared at the dark screen for a second before sliding the phone back into his pocket. He locked up the shop, the metal click echoing loudly in the quiet street, and stepped outside.
Night had fully settled in now.
The city glowed dimly under streetlights, snow crunching beneath his boots as he walked. His breath fogged the air, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as he headed toward home.
Too much on his mind. Too many lies stacked carefully on top of one another.
And somewhere deep in his gut, the uneasy feeling that none of it was over yet.