Next Door |•YEONGYU/BEOMJUN•|

~4~

"Why are you standing here alone, Gyu?"  A gentle voice broke the storm of thoughts running through his head.

Beomgyu blinked a few times and desperately prayed that this was all a bad dream.  But there it was. Yeonjun's bike is on the ground with no Yeonjun in sight. 

Who wears shorts in winter?

He does, of course. Beomgyu smacked the side of his own head with a fist, pulling himself out of the trance he was in.

He looked at Soobin with glassy eyes and muttered, ï just ruined my bias's entire career.

He just sat there, sulking on his bed, staring blankly at the off-white bedroom wall. He didn't know what to do anymore.  His life was turning upside down.

He couldn't keep up with his classes. He used to do so well! Why couldn't he now?
He didn't have the motivation to play his guitar.
He didn't know how to tell his parents that he didn't want to finish his studies.
His bias hates him.
That his bias may suffer the same thing as him.

He covered his face with his hands, a sob trying to break free. He had too much ego to cry about his emo life. He pressed his eyes with the back of his hands to hold back the emotions swelling inside him.

He couldn't just be like this. Yeonjun barely even knows him. He can't do anything about it if Yeonjun really does hate him.

He looked beside his closet where the shiny surface of his guitar glistened under the moonlight. He looked down at his hands, which were resting on his lap. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

I can do this.
I will fulfill my dream.
I will write my own masterpiece.
I will make my parents proud.
I will be like Yeonjun. Even though I can't dance.

He looked down at his right ankle. The incident on his first dance performance hit him like a tidal bore. The wanted to be forgotten, but unforgettable memory flared back to life.

Soobin's voice trembled, his words a fragile whisper as he reached out to Beomgyu. "Please, don't cry. I'm crying too."

But Beomgyu couldn't stop. His legs, like fragile threads, quivered beneath him, struggling to hold his weight as each second stretched on in unbearable silence.

"Gyu?" Taehyun's voice called out, a fading echo against the mounting pressure in Beomgyu's chest. Darkness clouded his vision, a suffocating weight that pulled him into oblivion. Without warning, he crumpled to the floor.

The sound of frantic screams reverberated through the crowd, a desperate chorus of concern. Beomgyu curled his body into itself, clutching his injured ankle, as silent tears poured down his cheeks. He couldn't hear the frantic voices anymore, couldn't feel anything except the deafening, heart-wrenching agony that tore through him from the inside out.

An arm slipped around his waist, pulling him up, guiding him backstage, but even then, Beomgyu's body refused to be consoled. His sobs were quiet, but relentless—tears that fell in endless streams as though they'd never stop.

The person who held him, though trying to comfort him, only met resistance. Beomgyu pushed away, but it wasn't out of anger. It was just the only way he knew how to protect what was left of his heart.

The stranger—someone who wasn't part of the crew—was led out, but not before hearing Beomgyu's broken words, whispered through the storm of his pain:

"I'll never be like him," Beomgyu choked, the weight of the confession sinking into the air like a fragile promise, one that he wasn't sure he could keep, but still, the words lingered—heavy and raw.

That was the day Beomgyu was deemed 'unfit' by Hybe. Or else with those killing vocals, he would've been best friends with his bias.

He hugged his leg to his chest. The memory started to sting less with time. That was so many years ago. The thing was, he never got to thank that boy who helped him.

The day had taken its toll on him, so he decided to call it a day and buried himself under the bedcovers. He closed his hazel eyes, and sleep tugged him to its peaceful embrace almost instantly.