Beomgyu and Yeonjun have been friends since childhood. Beomgyu, the son of a CEO of a luxury car company. Yeonjun, an orphan on a scholarship for their arts school. The feelings have always been there, but neither brave enough to voice them.
When Be...
After their free time, it's lunch time, and then it's time to shower. They go in pairs, and Beomgyu is naturally paired with Yeonjun.
"My parents dropped off some clothes for me and you," Beomgyu says, carrying a duffel bag into the shower room. "So we don't need to wear these scrubs anymore."
"That's nice," Yeonjun says. He appraises the two shower stalls. "Now, should we shower together or use the different stalls?"
Beomgyu drops his duffel near the shelf of towels and soap. He can't help his face from burning, and he rushes into the nearest stall, shutting the door behind him. "I'm not in the mood for your horny jokes, Yeonjun," he says.
What he cannot admit aloud is how he would've taken Yeonjun's offer, if only he could get over the embarrassment. He remembers the last time he swam with Yeonjun in his condominium's pool. The older boy was shirtless, only wearing board shorts. So when they wrestled in the pool, he familiarized himself with every angle of the other boy's body.
Maybe it's him who has the dirty mind.
"Suit yourself!" Yeonjun calls out from the other side. "But don't regret it later. Choi Yeonjun has a killer figure."
"You're delusional," Beomgyu says, starting up the water so that the shower will drown out the beating of his heart. The stall is clean and spacious, but it's like a stark, empty box. Off-white tiles and a light that turns everything yellowish gray. There is no view of the city like from his old bathroom, so claustrophobia sets in after he wets his hair and begins to work in the shampoo. "Yeonjun. Are you there?"
"Well I didn't disappear," Yeonjun says. His voice echoes in the confined space, sounding like a new instrument.
Beomgyu rolls his eyes. Still, he can't get over the feeling that the walls are closing into him, like he's trapped in a sort of nightmare. He guesses that yes, this is a nightmare. He never imagined himself in a psychiatric ward. "Can you sing me a song?" Beomgyu asks.
He's afraid Yeonjun will decline, calling him silly. But not even a few seconds pass before Yeonjun begins a melody. It rises through the steam and over the pattering on the tiled floor.
Everybody loves the things you do
From the way you talk
To the way you move
Everybody here is watching you
'Cause you feel like home
You're like a dream come true
Beomgyu recognizes the tune. "When We Were Young" by Adele. Beomgyu thinks Yeonjun couldn't have picked a more appropriate song. How could he have known that Beomgyu was longing for the days when they were younger? When things were less complicated, when he didn't have to fear his mood turning on him like an unhinged snake?
Beomgyu loves Yeonjun's voice, so distinct from anyone else's. He could find Yeonjun's voice out of a hundred people, with no space for doubt. He often makes fun of the way Yeonjun sings, emphasizing the nasality of it, but he will never deny that it's beautiful in its style.
After the song is over, Beomgyu has finished his routine, washing off the last suds. "I'm coming out first," he says.
"You did come out first," Yeonjun says.
"Shut up," Beomgyu says, but he finds a smile spreading across his face. After drying off outside, he puts on his favorite light blue Prada sweater, matching it with Adidas gray sweatpants. "I'll wait outside for you."
A minute later, Beomgyu turns when the door to the shower room opens. Yeonjun is carrying the duffel. And wearing his clothes. It's a designer pajama set, the pattern a little childish with teddy bears and cumulus clouds. He hasn't seen Yeonjun in his clothes in years. Seeing him now... it gives Beomgyu a desire to see him in all of his clothing, if only to prove to him that he's willing to share anything with the other boy.
Years ago, Yeonjun stopped accepting gifts from Beomgyu. Beomgyu didn't understand at first, wanting to give his best friend all the best gadgets and clothing. But Yeonjun was adamant, and Beomgyu slowly gave up.
He gave him a scarf for his birthday a few months ago. But even that was a challenge—to get the other boy to accept it.
"It's time for your counseling session," a nurse informs him.
Beomgyu reluctantly parts with Yeonjun. He follows a nurse into a room at the end of the hall. Unlike the shower room, this one is suffused with light, overlooking one of Gangnam's busy streets.
He is met by a team of doctors. He's intimidated at first when sitting down, but slowly he grows more comfortable. He answers questions about his mood, whether he's allergic to any medication—why would he know—and plans for discharge. Which seems a bit premature since he's just got here. But the head doctor, Dr. Oh, and his subordinates make him feel like he could get better. That he's not alone in this.
"We notice you're already quite close with your roommate?" Dr. Oh prods, steepling his hands near his chin.
"Oh, yeah," Beomgyu tries for a neutral look, but he's always been a bad liar. "He's pretty nice."
"We're done for today, Beomgyu." Mr. Oh files away his notes, and his subordinates do the same. "We've decided on your medication. It should help with stabilizing your mood. But it will take a while to build to its full effect. You will stay until my coworkers and I decide that you're ready to return to your normal life."
"Thank you," Beomgyu says, even as the thought of spending an extended period of time in the ward is daunting.
He exits the room after a polite bow, finding Yeonjun waiting on the other side. He almost bumps into him. But Yeonjun steadies him at the right moment. Beomgyu savors the way Yeonjun's hands maneuver his shoulders, almost like he was always meant to be his guide.
Yeonjun's grin is a bit lopsided. "My turn."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Thank you for reading! I appreciate if you take the time to vote and leave a comment. It really helps a ton.
