light the candle (and im kissing you) ⸻ yeonbin ; tw
soobin stared blankly at the pale walls of his room, the sunlight creeping in through the cracks of the curtains. it felt intrusive, almost violating, as if the light itself had stripped away the thin veneer of normalcy he had draped around himself. everything was too bright, too loud, too much. the world was unforgiving, and all he wanted was to retreat into his cocoon of silence and static. the thoughts whirling in his mind, usually just a dull hum, had grown into a cacophony of worries, regrets, and shame. the weight of existence pressed into his chest, heavier than the thick blanket he had cocooned himself in.
his phone lay on the bed next to him, its screen casting a dim glow as meaningless videos played in a loop. he wasn't even watching them. it was a distraction—white noise to drown out the relentless barrage of thoughts that consumed him. work, plans, people—everything felt like too much, an insurmountable mountain that he had no energy left to climb. he had been excited once, months ago, about something. he couldn't remember what it was anymore. the prospect of it, once thrilling, now loomed over him like a dark cloud, a reminder of how little he could handle, how utterly unprepared he was for anything that resembled living.
and the worst part, the thought that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness like a disease, was the belief that no one wanted him there anyway. he was too much—too awkward, too withdrawn, too burdened by his own mind. the people around him deserved better, and he would do them a favor by staying hidden away, small and insignificant within the confines of his own room. the mold of his thoughts had taken root long ago, slowly spreading through his heart, until all that remained was numbness. he had long since stopped counting the days, the hours, the minutes. everything blurred together in a haze of apathy.
a knock on the door, sharp and insistent, pulled him from his reverie. he didn't answer. he didn't have the energy. the door creaked open anyway, and he could hear the familiar shuffle of footsteps—yeonjun.
"it's time to live," yeonjun's voice broke the silence, but it felt more like an intrusion, something jarring that didn't belong in the stillness of soobin's self-imposed isolation.
soobin groaned, pulling the pillow over his face, a barrier between him and the world outside. "aren't i already?" he mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric.
"nope," yeonjun's tone was playful, but beneath it was something else—something darker, edged with exhaustion. "you're just alive."
he didn't see yeonjun move, but he felt the familiar hand gripping his arm, gently but insistently tugging him from the bed. the cold hardwood floor bit into the soles of his feet, a shock to his system that made him want to crawl back under the blanket, back to the safety of his bed. but yeonjun didn't let go. he never did. even when he was tired, even when the weight of his own struggles pressed down on him like a vice, yeonjun always showed up. always dragged soobin back to the surface, whether soobin wanted to be there or not.
the bathroom light was too harsh, too bright, and it made soobin squint, his head pounding with the intensity of it. yeonjun stood over him, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he splashed cold water onto soobin's face. the shock of it was almost unbearable, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed he had just left behind.
"c'mon, you'll feel better once we're done," yeonjun murmured, but there was something hollow in his voice, something that mirrored the emptiness soobin felt inside. yeonjun began rubbing the facial cleanser into soobin's skin, his movements quick and careless, as if he was going through the motions but his mind was somewhere else.
