Conversations; All In Blue

Fourteen

Junhui bent over as he retched the contents of his stomach into the sink. This wasn't good. He'd run the water to cover the noise but Minghao still knocked on the door anyway.

"Are you okay in there?" he asked and Junhui shook his head. "I'm fine," he said weakly but he wasn't. he wasn't fine at all.

Tiny chunks of the half an apple he'd managed for breakfast swirled with the water down into the drain and he just leaned over and watched it. Watched them spin and swirl and finally disappear into the abyss along with the water and his strength and any progress he'd made in the last three months. He couldn't believe within weeks he was here again, forehead sweaty, stomach cramping and throat sore from the incessant prodding of his fingers against his gag reflex.

The beach house and its homely comforting chicken soup seemed like a different world in a different lifetime compared to the white downlights of the steel and grey bathroom in the photography studio he was trapped in.

The walls felt like they were closing in on him, grey tiles creeping closer with every breath, and he began to panic. How was he going to escape? If they weren't on the fourth floor he would seriously consider trying to climb out of the tiny window set into the top corner and for a very brief moment he thought he should try it anyway. At least the cold rush of air as he fell would be something to feel. Something to make him feel alive.

Tears slid down his cheeks leaving trails in his perfectly thick makeup. It turned the dark rings under his eyes into charcoal-coloured rivers and he watched them make their way slowly to his chin. The contrast between the black and the soft tan of his skin reminded him of the black mud unearthed at the lowest tide, meeting the golden sand where the waves could barely reach, only to be hidden under a glimmer of blue and green and foamy crests as the tide rolled in.

He could picture it all so clearly; the water and its salty smell reaching right into the beach house thrown open to the morning's natural light. The freshness and tart zing of winter lingering only to be chased away by the mid-morning sun's bright rays. Coffee and ginger and last night's dinner mixing with fruit and the crunch of wheels on the gravel driveway and the rush in his chest when Wonwoo knocked at the door. He always knew when he arrived but he always waited until he knocked, never throwing open the door until the soft taps were heard, never wanting to seem eager.

Junhui had been so careful to make sure Wonwoo never knew how eagerly he was waiting for him, never wanting to show his anticipation. He'd spent three months being careful to hide his feelings away and now he was emptying them into a bathroom sink full of regression and hollow sadness.

He pulled a little toilet paper free and began to dab at his cheeks. To his relief the charcoal lines faded back into the perfect façade of his face. It was carefully crafted to suit the lights and fashion of the high-end clothing line he was modelling today and he was able to quickly put on his model persona so no one would know the real Junhui crippled and bleeding inside.