Icarus At Your Service! || Beomjun

𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾

Choi Beomgyu is dead.

Dead means not being able to live, to do the changes your body etches to do but space is limited, so is your strength to design things or to move them. Dead means tracing the same path of home to work, work to home for years, it means living in your square room unhealthily all the time to the point you turn into that dust residing over your fav books you used to read all the time but you’ve read so much that even a glimpse of that book stings your eyes. Death means eating the same food the whole week till it turns air and tasteless on your tastebuds.

So you see, Beomgyu is dead in that regard.

"I'm done with this life," he muttered to himself as if he had the guts to end it anyway.

Chirping gold of sun sneaked through the window, welcoming the glittering dust as they illuminated the whole cream painted room. An annoying rattling sound of a second hand fan resides to his side, its head struck at the same spot but Beomgyu was too drowned in his thoughts to take note of the trivial.

In fact he couldn't hear anything except the popping sound of his veins accompanied by the deafening of tinnitus.

"Same day, same world." the boy commented innerly in the heat of the afternoon summer. He continued the train of his thoughts, "I'm sick of everything. Between the desire to change something and the exhaustion that it brings to even think of, I find myself bending to distraction."

His eyes shifted towards the old television that, obviously, was a cheap retro model, which no one bothered to use these days of wall HD television, which he brought on sale, he wished he'd just press one of those hundreds buttons and rather let beats of music dance through his brain than of his heart.

Beomgyu sighed at his lethargicness and glanced at the apartment which he recently shifted to. The room was square and small in which a bed enough for one person took half of its place. To his right, opposite to the bed, there laid the old television upon a small bookshelf full of disoriented books. Up to his head was the large ( mind you, the only thing large in this room) window, its head touching the ceiling, glasses so vintage and fragile that even a strong wind could be a hurricane on it. And at last, to his legs, there was the door.

And that was it.

Nothing more.

And he hated it. He detested it about how everything was just.... felicitous for every corner, and how they stuck there and he can't even rebel against it. Like he did back home for everything and finally ended up here.

"Probably the world isn't so boring, It is just me who doesn't get out of the same place." Probably it's his feverish mind that's spilling delirious potion onto his lips. Probably he just needs someone to give him a glass of water for his burnt lips with that potion.

"Why am I like this? What's the even meaning of all this?" He mumbled underneath his breath with a deep and husky voice. His throat hurt as if someone poured molting oil into his mouth, Beomgyu's lips gritted as his tears threatened to drown his eyes.

Let's put this feverish mind aside, what are things Choi Beomgyu is talking about? He doesn't know. Probably everything and nothing at all? To convey it in simplicity, let me ask you a simple question. Ever bought a new pen? Of Course you have.

The new pen, alas, did not write the way you expected. Its ink was dry and light, barely legible even on the brightest of paper. Multiple attempts to remedy the situation were made, and frustration rose as no fix was found. At last, the balloon of temper burst, and anger was released onto the page.

When the consciousness hit you, the paper was already prone to damage yet the damn pen still refused to write. Annoying right?

That's exactly how Beomgyu's life is. Everything is stuck in its place like that stubborn lead in that damn pen.

"Annoying! Good God mercy upon me and give a life worth living or I'll die and make your living worthless!" shouted the boy as he punched the cheap soundproof floor, not failing to earn three knocks from either wall from his disturbed neighbors.

As if from the vibration of knocks, the flowerless flower hit the ground from the only window of the small room, making more noise than the last one, simultaneously earning an inevitable flinch from the loner boy.

To Beomgyu's surprise, a big shadow of something casted upon his lazy but seductive body. With wide open eyes he scrutinized the unannounced figure.

Since the figure blocked the direct sunlight, it couldn't be seen but the shadow gave the appearance of a boy clutching the window gate and sitting at the edge while also facing the stupefied boy at the same time.

As it seemed normal, it was not normal at all; Beomgyu's apartment was on the second top storey of the building. Between all these, Beomgyu even failed to mind those colossal wings.

"Y...you?" Beomgyu didn't realize when words escaped his lips.

As the figure shifted, the light illuminated the figure's face and all the boy grasped was nothing but a plump lip and a sharp smirk.

"For God's sake! Keep it down!" barked, the neighbors in synchronization from every side, disturbed by the sound of the broken flower pot.

"For God's sake, God hates me." With that, Choi Beomgyu, loner of age 19, passed out in his room after encountering something perhaps he shouldn't or was it just a delirious illusion of his feverish mind?

__________

This baby was just rotting in my basement, now that it's out I might as well keep editing it. I think it's just fluff with slight angst as far as I can remember so dw.