Beomgyu and Yeonjun have been friends since childhood. Beomgyu, the son of a CEO of a luxury car company. Yeonjun, an orphan on a scholarship for their arts school. The feelings have always been there, but neither brave enough to voice them.
When Be...
Yeonjun thought, that after his parents died, he would never know love again. The reckless, all-encompassing love that would take you in no matter the circumstance, no matter how hard it was.
He threw away any grip of faith or religion. In the orphanage, his outlook grew darker and darker. Until all he could see was shadow.
To him, Beomgyu was a rich kid who would never see or understand how much it hurts to lose everything.
He was right. Beomgyu would never know what it's like to lose both parents in a fatal accident.
But he would understand. In his own way. When you are so kind and sensitive, there is no other outcome. Yeonjun detested Beomgyu's luxurious lifestyle at first, but he soon learned that money doesn't taint everyone. Beomgyu has never left being the humble empath that he is. Even though he could be a brat sometimes.
Beomgyu passes out seconds after his head hits the pillow.
Yeonjun should sleep too, especially after the night of kneeling down by Beomgyu's bed, afraid of the ghosts that have chosen to haunt his friend. But he feels wide awake, and riding the high of his dance performance, he can't get the picture of performing with Beomgyu again out of his head. They can both sing and dance. Yeonjun can rap. Perhaps they'll go busking in Hongdae together. He'll have to pitch the idea to Beomgyu in the morning.
He kneels beside Beomgyu's bed again, listening to the steady breathing, and the light snore that can only be heard when tilting his ear toward Beomgyu's nose. He's heard antidepressants can cause fatigue. Maybe it's a good thing for now, causing some much needed rest, a break from the world that's become dark and unwelcome for the boy.
"I love you," Yeonjun whispers, much too scared to say it to the other's face. The words funnel through his lips, as natural as a breath.
Beomgyu shuffles in his sleep, kicking up his sheets. Yeonjun holds the other's hand, careful not to grip too tightly. He has wanted a moment like this for years, being so close that you could see the pores of one's skin, the individual hairs that fall past your forehead. Beomgyu's beauty can't be compared to the other boys and girls at school. Yeonjun guesses it's because he's known the boy's face for so long, watching it mature while still keeping the delicate features. Like the nose he often pokes, the lips he watches when Beomgyu licks away the sauce from their favorite yangnyeom chicken.
Yeonjun is about to let go, but the other boy pulls in his sleep. Hard. Yeonjun topples onto the bed, Beomgyu shifting unconsciously to make room for him.
"Stay," Beomgyu whispers, but his eyes are still closed, lids barely moving in the wake of a dream. Or a nightmare. Yeonjun hopes it's a peaceful dream. Does the younger boy ever dream of him? Does he see the same pictures of their past, when they held hands walking to the convenience store, sticky popsicles shared under the eaves?
Yeonjun doesn't let go. A part of him wishes Beomgyu would stir awake. Then he could make a bad joke about sharing one bed when it's so unnecessary, teasing about the way the younger boy needs him. Even though he is painfully aware that he needs him just as much.
He should've caught the signs. Not even two weeks before, but a month before—when Beomgyu started to laugh less at his jokes and leave school early when he usually sticks around to be the life of the hallway for as long as he could.
He'll have to make it up to Beomgyu. More than just a makeshift performance in the ward's courtyard. When they get out of here....
Because they will get out of this together, they'll go camping, like when Beomgyu's parents took them when they were fourteen. Or when they took a trip to Bali when they were sixteen for Beomgyu's birthday. They were in separate rooms, not so inseparable as they were before. But they still splashed at each other at the beach. Yeonjun was upset that Beomgyu "forced" him to take such a luxurious trip in the middle of March.
But how he regrets not enjoying those days more. If time could revert, he would kiss Beomgyu in the warm waters, even if he might be pushed away like he had the plague.
But now he knows. Like he knew deep in his conscience but never thought to ask to confirm. How could he be so dumb? Hiding his feelings, as if they'd go away if he simply ignored them. Not wanting to ruin their friendship is one thing. It's another thing to regret not saying the words that would illuminate everything he feels for the boy.
I love you.
He'll say it again, when they're both awake to hear. When he can risk being burnt for finding that his feelings aren't reciprocated. He could be wrong about Beomgyu, even as he looks back he might be misreading the signs. Beomgyu has always been affectionate. To everyone. And just because he's shy after Yeonjun's teasing doesn't mean he loves him.
"I told you I don't like raw fish," Beomgyu says, pouting and shaking his fist of his free hand.
Yeonjun muffles a laugh into Beomgyu's pillow. Leave it to his best friend to voice his pickiness in his sleep.
Yeonjun lets go of Beomgyu's hand somewhere between drifting off and Beomgyu twisting to the other side of the bed. He still feels the ghost of Beomgyu's touch, like the attachment of his own limbs.
Night number two. We'll get through this, Beomgyu. You're strong, brave, and you've always been a survivor.
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Could you imagine how blessed we would be by a Beomjun unit song? I can't wait 'til it happens!
