Goodbye My Delusion | TXT Beomgyu

23

Beomgyu returns well past 2 am.

I shift in my bed when he walks in. And for a second as I wake to the sound of his entrance, I panic, wondering whether a ghost or another enraged fan has somehow found me out.

I settle after realizing that it's him. I turn to face the wall. He lets out what I make to be a sigh, and I stay up listening to his unwinding of a day. I hear the droplets of his shower as he washes away today's worth of sweat. I listen to him brush his teeth and floss, as he rubs his hands together and applies moisturizing cream to his face.

I wait for him to burst into song, to laugh, to wake me up rudely with a joke or jibe with the same humorous soul that I'm used to. Instead, he crawls into his bed with silence. His blanket covers him well, and he soon begins to emit a snore. This time, the sound grates against my eardrums. What was once a comfort becomes my slow demise.

I risk a glance across the room. His profile is still defined, skin still flawless in the glow of the moonlight. I don't look too long, or else Naomi and Joyce's words will become true. I'll be taking advantage of rooming with an idol, placing my stare too long on where it doesn't belong.

It takes me another hour to fall asleep again. In this timeframe, my eyes overflow with tears again, soaking my cheeks and my pillow. I sob silently, with no more energy to even gasp or outwardly show my pain.

Choi Beomgyu, I'm sorry.

I want to wake him up with these words. Instead, I remain a coward. I guess some things will never change.

The next day, Beomgyu is already gone by the time I wake up.

I check my phone. Five minutes to get to class. I must've overslept through my alarm. I put on a t-shirt and light jacket, with cotton shorts that can endure the Seoul summer heat. I take an apple from our miniature fridge, munching on it before I head to the bathroom.

My eyes are puffy, but I can do nothing but splash my face with cold water. I look at myself again in the mirror, seeing nothing but clear despair. I really have to work on hiding my emotions. If I'm to last another few weeks rooming with Beomgyu, I'll have to keep to myself and make sure he isn't caught up in my web of drama.

"Today we will be learning about the top three entertainment companies," says our pop culture professor, Mrs. Ko.

Beomgyu is sitting in his usual seat, next to me, but I couldn't feel farther away from him. He spares me no glances, and his body is tense like my presence gives him physical discomfort.

We watch a video that details the companies SM, JYP, and YG. I can hardly focus on the commentary and flashy images of idols and trainees. It's a world that Beomgyu knows well. I risk a glance at him, and I see the recognition of the brutal practices and training system. He shifts slightly in his seat. I wonder whether he's recalling the difficulty of his first few months in BigHit. Where he looked into the mirror and didn't recognize the boy staring back at him.

"Of course," Mrs. Ko says, after the video ends and she flips the light back on, "there is debate whether the top three companies should be joined by another particular company, BigHit. I'm sure at least one person in this class is familiar with this."

Beomgyu wears a small smile, but I've known him long enough to recognize his true happiness. There is discomfort behind his expression, one that has festered since we ran into Naomi and Joyce yesterday. He gives a curt nod instead of his usual energetic answer. In response, Mrs. Ko shuffles uncomfortably in place. I guess it really is true—Beomgyu is the mood maker of the room. He has the ability to light the place up or swath everyone in a long shadow. I want nothing more than to cheer him up, but I don't have the skillset. He needs his members, I think—his true friends, the ones who've known him for years and seen him through the hardest days of his life.

After Korean class, I do something I might regret immediately after. I contact Choi Yeonjun through KakaoTalk. I got all of the members' IDs in the first week while hanging out with Beomgyu, but I never thought I'd use the info. It seemed like a too-big breach of privacy. I'd never forgive myself if I overstepped my bounds and made TXT uncomfortable with my pestering.

Hi Yeonjun. Is it okay if I ask you for a favor?

Yeonjun responds almost immediately. Hey Jayden! Of course.

My breathing speeds up in the hallway of Hankuk's Cyber building, where all of the summer courses are held in the various floors. I lean against the white plastered wall, and I type carefully. I can't mess up my chance with my relationship with Beomgyu. Even if we can't become true friends, I need to at least patch up the damage I've inflicted through my carelessness.

Can we meet to talk for a bit? It's about Beomgyu.

Yeonjun's answer comes in just as quick as the first. I'm expecting a no, so it's shocking when I see the one sentence that can change my whole fate with TXT's middle child.

Of course! Let's meet at the bingsu cafe behind the dorms. In 10 minutes?

Sounds awesome! I type back. It takes me more than a few minutes to control my fingers again, to delete my myriad of typos that I make when trying to give my response.

The bingsu cafe is hidden between a barbecue place and the road which leads to the metro station. I find it after a few minutes of searching, finding the fairy lights glowing in the interior and the stairway that leads up to the second floor—where the cafe sits in a cube of ambient brightness.

I search the place, which is filled with foreign and local students. The chattering is a comfort, a direct opposite to what I experienced with Beomgyu's silence the night before. My gaze sweeps the entire place, trying to find Yeonjun's gray hair which stood out so prominently in the "Cat & Dog" video.

"Hey hey hey."

I turn around. It's Yeonjun dressed in black and gray, hidden with sunglasses and a large bucket hat.

I gulp. This could either be a very bad or very good idea.