our delicate string | 최범규

22: nothing's new.

[ 🎨 ]

THE HALLS RUSTLED and bustled as the five boys set their school lunch down on the tables in the cafeteria. usually, they would eat outside in the courtyard but due to the snowy weather, it was absolutely freezing.

"did you guys also get 6 for the last question?" Soobin asked as the other boys stuffed their mouths.

"i got 3." Taehyun ruffled his eyebrows.

"i got negative 4." Hyuka muttered.

Soobin sighed. "great, so we all failed that test."

"hey, maybe Hyuka's right about a negative probability, even though we haven't covered that in class." Yeonjun defended as the other boys laughed along.

"anyways, where do you guys want to go after school today, now that it's finally the weekend?" Yeonjun asked. "i vote the arcade." the boy put his hand up in agreement with himself.

"ooh, that would be fun, i'm down." Soobin hi-fived the boy.

"i'm fine with anything as long as it's indoors."

"i agree with Taehyun." Hyuka pointed.

"Beomgyu?"

the pair of the four's eyes peered over to the chestnut who was lost in space. his food was completely untouched, as if he needed to be brought back to reality.

the black haired boy sitting across from Beomgyu waved his hand in his line of vision, catching the boy's attention.

"what's up?" Beomgyu shook his head lightly.

"i'm asking you the same question." Yeonjun laughed. "what's wrong? you look like somebody just hit your head with a rock."

"oh, i-i didn't get much sleep last night." the brunet yawned.

"what's wrong?"

"i don't know." the boy looked at the others. "i feel like somethings missing, like i'm out of place or something."

"well, nothing's new. it could be that your mother just recently came back." Taehyun suggested, patting the boy's shoulder.

"yeah, maybe."

"hopefully the arcade today will take your mind off of things." Yeonjun uplifted as they continued to eat their food and fill up the time with their chatter.

[ 🎨 ]

Beomgyu knew the boys were wrong. his mother had been gone for weeks at a time before and he hadn't felt this way. it felt like a part of his day was completely gone, as if half of his memory was wiped away. he had been feeling like this for weeks now but he couldn't put his finger on it.

the boy began to walk home with his completed canvas hanging from his fingers. usually, he would sing to express whatever was wrong but that was of no use. somehow, art just spoke to him. he just felt like he could do anything with his paintbrush and oils.

he had painted a bouquet of pink flowers. no, he didn't know why he chose that topic, or the colors, or even the flowers. yet he did, and it felt good.