TOMORROW X TOGETHER: short fictional stories by yours truly.
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction unless otherwise indicated. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author'...
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The light inside the room roughly covered the entire place, the royal-blue curtains were shut close, and the faint sound of a guitar echoed throughout the dim-lighted room. It felt sentimental, nostalgic, and melancholic inside that room—every single inch of that small studio was monotonous.
His pretty fingers continued to strum his guitar strings as he took several glances at the piece of paper on the desk in front of him. There were also numerous used cups scattered on the floor, crumpled papers on the desk and couch, and a few empty boxes of pizza on the corner.
"Fuck," he cursed with evident annoyance and lightly punched his guitar but still with a tad bit of force. It has been the tenth time getting the chords wrong, it was starting to fuel him with anger.
Giving up, he slumped his back on the couch and heaved out a loud sigh, "I can't do this...," the little one mumbled, his eyes vividly tired and unmotivated.
He gripped his guitar tighter when he felt the pain in his chest starting to throb with his heart again. And he knows very well that he is the reason behind that excruciating sensation lingering within his tiny frame.
"I don't think I can fulfill my promise to you," the end of his voice broke, he brought a hand to his forehead—gently massaging it to lessen the pain that was piercing his head.
Perhaps he was rubbing salt against the wound, against an open and still bleeding lesion. It kept on hurting and breaking him, but he didn't mind. Because he felt that in that way, that person will never die in his mind and heart—that he'll stay alive and fresh in him forever, even though it just pained him more to reminisce all the aching events that led him to this solitary moment.
His messy raven locks were almost covering his dull eyes and his black shirt perfectly contrasted with his honey skin. Beomgyu leaned closer to his desk and grabbed the paper. His eyes scanned through the messy handwriting on the paper with a frown. And now, he found himself reading a line in repeat.
"But what if you were still here? Would my life still be worth it?" Beomgyu read the line in a breathy way, his voice sounded nonchalant but obviously hurting.
Moments passed, silence filled the cold air inside the room, and the moon's flawless figure could already be seen from behind the curtains that were still masking the windows.
And suddenly, the raven-haired gripped his shirt—forcefully crumpling the soft clothing with his trembling fingers. The pain in his chest just detonated at the very moment he thought of that one person who made him feel such amazing yet horrifying emotions. It was consuming him, and it was scaring him.
"Kai, I just can't find the strength to finish our song," he said, his voice tight and low as his tears began to stream down his pale cheeks.
Then he started to punch his chest while sobbing, his hand slowly crumpling the precious paper in his grip. Before he could fully ruin the paper, he placed it on the desk again and grabbed for his caramel coloured guitar instead.
"I can't even play the guitar properly now," he said with such a weak voice, "all I want is for you to come back, then I'll be fine." Beomgyu closed his eyes and let his stinging tears stain his red-tinted cheeks.
Again, his room was dominated by silence, but his sobs soon washed the quietness away. His hold on the guitar tightened as his tears streamed down faster, and his hands started to tremble once again.
"I just can't," he stood up and slammed his guitar against the floor. But he didn't stop with one nor two, because he continued smashing his guitar with more and more force. It was slowly breaking to pieces, tiny parts flying across the small room, and the strings coming off one by one as he continued to destroy the instrument he used to love the most.
Hours, days, and weeks have passed ever since he locked himself inside this lonely studio. He couldn't face the world, not when everything reminded him of HueningKai.
HueningKai was cruel enough to make as much memories with Beomgyu so that when he leaves, the little one will remember him in every turn he'll take. From chapter one to chapter two of their favorite book, episode one to episode two of their favorite series, guide sheet one to guide sheet two of their favorite music to play, from the first to the last block of their neighborhood; he will remember HueningKai.
"Why can't I"—the boy smashed his guitar one more time before continuing his sentence—"play you anymore?!" he ended with a loud scream and threw the broken guitar on the floor.
He eyed the paper on the desk, he clenched his fists and grabbed it. Beomgyu's hands were shaking, his breathing was heavy, and beads of sweat glazed his pale skin.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled in pure defeat. Beomgyu held the paper with both of his hands and was about to rip it when he felt a pair of hands wrap around his small waist—stopping him from his attempt.
The little one froze and dropped the piece of paper to the floor. He felt a pair of lips touch the crook of his neck, the arms around him tightened their hold and pulled him closer.
This feeling... he knew this feeling all too well more than anyone else. And god, he missed this warm feeling so much.
"Please stop, hyung...," he heard the boy whisper close to his ear. "I don't want to see you like this," the boy said and gave Beomgyu a taste of feather-like kisses on his neck. It soothed the raven-haired, Kai always did that to ease him.
Beomgyu started to cry again, but this time, in a quieter way, "I miss you so much...," the older male chocked out as he covered his face with his hands.
Kai hummed and reached for Beomgyu's still trembling hand that was covering his face and interlocked their fingers—giving it a light squeeze.
"I miss you, too, hyung. But you have to...," the younger male trailed off, "...you have to let me go," he whispered and buried his face on the crook of the little one's neck.
Beomgyu chuckled at this, "I know, I know. You aren't real, but I wish you were," he sadly smiled as he looked down the floor—the vivid sight of his broken guitar catching his sight.
"But can we...," Beomgyu let go of Kai's hand and turned around—only to be met by a plain white wall inches away from him.
"... can we really let someone go? When all this time, everything we did was to hold onto them...?"
