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...
At the beginning of week three, Beomgyu wakes in the middle of the night. Two am? Three am? He can't tell.
All he knows is the unease swirling in his stomach. He's so uncomfortable, so at edge, that he propels himself out of bed. He lands on the floor, knees locked and palms bracing his fall.
Yeonjun stirs, but Beomgyu wasn't loud enough to wake him.
Beomgyu exhales slowly as the feeling in his belly skyrockets, til he feels like someone is squeezing his heart or pumping hot oil into his stomach. He leans forward, pressing his forehead with his bicep. Deep breathing, counting things he can sense—everything he learned from the afternoon therapy sessions—don't help. He stands up, and the unease breaks him apart.
He strides forward, not at all comprehending before he reels back and punches the wall. As hard as he can.
His fist explodes with pain, but he keeps going. One. Two. Three. He counts the hits like the opposite of a lullaby. A growl is stuck in his throat, but he's already making enough noise as it is.
He's always been gentle as a child, his mother giving him the nickname of a baby bear. He subverts all of that in one moment. He'll allow himself to be violent. His mind is betraying him. So it's only right that he uses his body to teach it a lesson. Almost like he's fighting an invisible enemy. He knows that an outburst like this won't banish the helpless feeling, but it still feels painfully good.
"Beomgyu!" Yeonjun is at his side in a few seconds, trying to draw the younger boy back.
Beomgyu ignores Yeonjun. He didn't think it would be possible. He's always attuned to his best friend, always giving a reaction or pushing and pulling when necessary. But right now, all he sees is the imaginary target.
His knuckles split open, and a splattering of red adorns the off-white wall.
Yeonjun tries to draw Beomgyu back, wrapping his arms around Beomgyu's waist and pulling.
But Beomgyu is too strong in his frenzy. He opens a crack in the wall. Then he drives one more time through, the plaster giving way and crumbling to the floor.
"Beomgyu! Stop!"
Beomgyu barely registers Yeonjun's voice. He draws back to punch another time, this time the growl managing to escape.
Two nurses, one man and one woman, rush inside like a pair of green phantoms. They grab Beomgyu, one on each side, pulling him out into the hall. Beomgyu fights with all his strength, kicking and flailing. But to no avail.
The nurses are experienced, and they know exactly how to deal with him. They drag him down, with force while not hurting him. Another nurse opens the door to the quiet room. Beomgyu screams, and when he turns he sees Yeonjun rushing toward him, concern marring his features.
Beomgyu's embarrassment is just as real as his anger. Did he really just do that? Did he possibly extend his stay at the ward, just because he wanted to let out his frustration?
The nurses deposit him inside and quickly turn the door, locking him in.
He pounds against the secured, iron door, the clanging piercing into his eardrums. He turns around, appraising a completely dark, square room with no light except from the panel of plexiglass looking out to the hall.
Even while muffled, Beomgyu makes out some of Yeonjun's screams.
You can't—
He's not—
Let me in!
Beomgyu leans against the door, slumping all the way down until his butt hits the floor.
Slowly, Yeonjun's voice fades away. Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, gripping the hem of his sweater. His rapid breathing fills the quiet space, every sound of his amplified by the echo.
He's never lost control like that before. Not even when he failed a vocal evaluation, or when his parents accidentally threw out his favorite skateboard. He's relieved that it was the wall and not another person.
Still, he showed complete lack of control in front of Yeonjun. He was pure chaos, a mess. Would Yeonjun love him even if he has episodes like this? He can't love himself without seeing all the cracks beginning to surface.
He breathes in deep, until the panting is gone. He prays for a few minutes, asking God to take away whatever darkness is inside him. Then he slumps, further down, covered in guilt as the first tear falls. The sun must've risen by the time he stops sobbing. He curls onto the floor, grabbing the blanket, mattress, and pillow beside him. Lying down, he wishes for his parents. He longs for his bedroom, for his mother's home-cooked food and his father's corny jokes. But all those things are not what he wants most. Most of all, he wishes for Yeonjun to understand.
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Do you have someone who you can trust to understand you? I get emotional when thinking about the bond that TXT share.
