Next Door |•YEONGYU/BEOMJUN•|

~2~

2 a.m., and the ceiling still stares back at him, blank and unblinking. His body is exhausted, his mind restless. Sleep has always been a fickle thing, slipping through his fingers like fine sand. But tonight—tonight is merciful. His eyelids grow heavy, breath slowing, surrender brushing against his skin like a ghost.

Then his phone buzzes.

[Soobin 🐰] u up?
[Soobin 🐰] do u have a bandaid

A sigh, soft and surrendering. Beomgyu debates ignoring it, letting the universe take this one. But he knows himself—he never could.

So he pushes himself up, slipping out of bed, moving like a shadow through the house. The floors creak in protest under his weight, the refrigerator hums dully in the kitchen. His parents are asleep, the world is asleep, and yet here he is—just a boy, sleepless and stupid, sneaking out for a band-aid.

The night air greets him, cool and indifferent. He's halfway to the pharmacy when he realizes—his wallet. Left behind, forgotten in his rush. A curse forms in his throat, but he swallows it down, retracing his steps, weaving past the breathing walls of his home, past the soft murmurs of his parents' dreams. His fingers close around his wallet at last, and the world breathes again.

At the drugstore, the cashier looks like he's been awake for centuries. Red-rimmed eyes, a slowness to his movements like he's wading through honey.

"That'll be a dollar," he murmured, voice thick with fatigue.

Beomgyu pays in coins, the soft clatter against the counter the only sound between them. He doesn't say anything—doesn't need to. They are both wandering souls of the sleepless, bound by unspoken understanding.

Back home, he doesn't use the door. Instead, he stands on his balcony, phone in hand.

[Beomgyu 🐻] Come outside

A moment later, Soobin appears above him, eyes heavy with sleep but face warm with quiet amusement. Beomgyu tosses the small box of band-aids up, and Soobin catches it with ease.

"For your tragic, life-threatening wound," Beomgyu deadpans.

Soobin laughs, the sound barely more than a breath. "You're ridiculous."

"You woke me up."

"...You weren't sleeping."

Beomgyu doesn't argue. Just leans against the railing, watching the way the streetlights blur in the distance. Somewhere far away, a car rumbles past. The world keeps turning, unaware of the two boys standing in the quiet, caught in the space between night and morning.

Soon, the night air becomes slightly unbearable to stay in outside. Beomgyu remembers that he has school the next day and goes back inside his room. He slowly made way for himself beneath the covers as he murmured to himself, I need to at least get some shut-eye, or I'll be sleeping in class tomorrow. 

He pressed his eyelids shut, and before long, dawn poured through the windows—golden and weightless—dancing across his skin like a whispered promise.

Beomgyu's eyes opened at the soft knock on the door.

"Beomgyu-ah, it's time to get up, dear", he heard his mom's soft voice.

"I'm up, eomma," he replied as he got out of bed and opened the door. His mom patted him on the head. "Do you want to take a shower before school, Gyu? If you do, then I'll warm up some water for you."

"I'll like that", he replied as he went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Later, as he sat down for breakfast, he felt it—his father's gaze, sharp and disapproving. A cold weight settled in his stomach.

A storm of thoughts crashed through his mind. Did he find out?

Did I leave something—anything—behind?
Did mom tell him everything?
Am I dead?
Am I dead?
Am I dead?

A cough shattered the silence, yanking him back to reality. He looked up, meeting his father's eyes.

"You've been getting poor grades, son."

Beomgyu froze mid-bite, his father's voice firm yet measured. His lowest grade was above 90, but that never seemed to be enough.

He lowered his gaze to his plate. "I'm sorry, eobba," he murmured.

His father loved him—Beomgyu knew that. But love didn't mean freedom. His future had already been drawn in ink, and nowhere in that picture was a guitar in his hands. If his father ever found out, he was doomed.

Before his father could say more, Beomgyu pushed his plate away. "I'll try to do better, eobba," he said, rising to his feet. Without waiting for a response, he walked to his room, grabbed his bag, and stepped out of the house.

"Beomgyu-ah, your water is ready—"

His mother's voice trailed off as the door clicked shut. She turned to her husband with a pointed look. "What did you do?"

Her husband didn't answer, only staring at the door.

"He didn't take a sweater, did he?" she sighed.

His father crossed his arms over his chest, the corners of his lips curling slightly. "I'm just waiting for it."

Right on cue, the door swung open again. Beomgyu rushed in, hastily kicking off his shoes before disappearing into his room. Seconds later, he emerged with his sweater in hand.

His father chuckled. "That boy... he's got the heart of a daughter in a son's body."