❝Bathroom Talks❞ m.yg x p.jm [eng trans]

25

⚠️Contains mentions about suicide and self harm. Read at your own risk. If you feel uncomfortable being confronted with these topics, SKIP this chapter.⚠️
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His nearly whispered words owned such a power, that made any hope for normality coming back split on a rock like porcelain, while the shards were in my soul's depths and pierced in them mercilessly. Out of all possibilities, that cruelly didn't let my mind rest the last days, it was this theory that had defined a feeling of fear and sadness in a yet unknown constellation for me.
Although it was so unreachably far from reality, I threatened to doubt more and more anyways, it was the one owning the truth now.
Desperately I clutched the already empty shell of the hoped impossibility of this theory, without wanting to appect it being already replaced by the now undeniable truth.
I noticed the silence, its presence couldn't express the momentary mood any better, laying over us first when I received Jungkook's worried sight in my own focus.
The uncertain step he was making to my direction now, was now representing a subliminally perceived danger for the preservation of my anyway already damaged self-security, why I also automatically lurched se.steps backwards.
I realized the pain in his eyes as a result of that eating him up from the inside just some moments later when he already began continuing his story.
But thereby he had received my recession wrongly as a protection from him and not from the actual self-security mode caused by the truth. Yet, I couldn't do anything against every words flowing into my mind like hurtful poison.
"It happened one year before you had switched school. At this point we had already drifted apart from each other, just like you and me.
But at this time I hadn't had the courage yet to go to him by my own effort and to rescue what was rescuable.
It was a schoolday like any day else, the only difference was a crucial person missing at my side, but at this point I was already used to it.
There weren't any signs of something serious happening. Up to the moment when the announcement echoed through every classroom like a harbinger.
Allegedly he hadn't shown up to the lesson and was supposed to go to the principal's office immediately.
But I was already clear in my mind that something was wrong because never ever had he left the lesson without an excuse note since I knew him."
He had a short and still seemly lasting for an eternity halt, I could recognize the obviously lowering pain tolerance for the next.
Yet, he unwaveringly continued, prizing the relief of his guilt feelings for me above his inner suffering.
"Against all my teacher's threatenings I have left the classroom immediately.
Because if I wouldn't had looked for him, who else would've done it?
Everyone had backed away from him as much as possible, and no one beside me had ever had the manners to call him by his name. They all called him only 'the statue'.
So which possibility was there for me besides looking for him?
When I finally found him...it was already too late.
The door of the last cabin, it wasn't even locked.
I had always complained the completely white boys bathroom looking way too colorless. I've never thought I'd ever loathe the color red that much. And at least I've thought to find this red on the inside of his arms.
It didn't even take two days until the whole school have heard of it.
Alive no one wanted to know him and dead he was suddenly everyone's loss.
Since then it's like an unwritten law that no one would ever go into this cabin again.
Until you came."
The now completely distorted seeming smile, destroyed by shame, guilt and sadness, what he gave me now and the finished told story behind it, both of them began to tear the leftover of my soul one by one.
It seemed vainly to find support on the furniture, just like my lung seemed to close from the necessary oxygen.
With the last of its strength my mind's inner voice screamed when it made my legs escape to the next, lockable room.
Ignoring my trembling hands while locking the door in time to my irregularly faltering breath, I sank down at the door.
And along with the touching of the floor the realization came.
It wasn't his words that have taken the whole space of my love
to him.

It was Suga himself I had to call my first love.

It was a deceased soul I had to call my first love.

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I love sad stories
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