NOT MY TYPE • YEONGYU

14. Fever

It would have been better if he had just live in Spain instead of showing up in Korea.

It genuinely would have been better if he had stopped Soobin the moment he was leaving instead of just standing and staring like a statue.

It could have been much better, if he could just leave Beomgyu here alone by himself and go back to Spain now.

But it wasn’t easy. It never was.

With running a frustrated hand over his now wet and soaked hair, he turned off the shower. He breathed. Hard and raw with lips falling apart. And each time he exhaled, he thought of Beomgyu, thought of his tantrums in the car, about his vulnerable eyes last night, about his sharp, self-reliant confidence of that night after their marriage. He thought of those all —without meaning to, without the want to. He did— just did because... because he needed to.

***

Beomgyu laid motionless on the bed. His eyes glanced up at the ceilings of the room. The blackish gray pulled him in as he continued to stare. His body felt sore, undone, thirsty and undoubtedly untidy in a way, he hates to show up. Yet here, he was laid in a messy position with the weirdest posture without meaning to.

His body felt tired, out of energy. Hands too lazy to even come up and check his own temperature. His regular activeness was gone, the sharp, raw side of him that he loves to portray was all gone and what remained was the bitter, the most saddest and yet the most true part of him —fragile, afraid, tired and the irrevocable lack of belonging, the irrevocable lack of need itself, the lack of attraction towards him —all combined just the true part of him.

His throat felt drained, shallow. He had checked his temperature earlier. The fever is still clung to him. One of his hands held on the thermometer.

40.55° celcius

It shows.

No wonder, he felt this way. Maybe about to die —he chuckled at the thought, just at the moment it crossed his mind.

How great it will be— if he ends up dying here now, alone, untouched, unproven. Just dead.

All these just to make himself happy. Many may hates him but nobody could be delighter than him if he ends up off today.

But sad thing— life isn’t easy. It doesn’t end like this. Not until punishing in the most cruelest way. So, Beomgyu knew it’s not the end of him. He dares to stay silent, because he knew, it wasn’t the last moment of him. He's yet to suffer much more. This is just another part that drops heavily on him.

He's yet to die.

He'll not die now. Not like this, not this soon.

He knew too well. Choosing the path of staying silent even if it hurts him whole.

His breath uneven as he tries to fix his posture but in vain, he failed to. He had no power left in him. Malnourished. Exhausted. Yet alive.

He wanted to cry. Even it it means for once, he wants to let out everything, every last second of the pain, feebleness into him. For once, he wanted to let out the scream of the pain he had hid deep into him for too long now. For just once— it all wanted to come out, to rip out —but he couldn’t so. Wasn’t capable to do so.

He felt tired —too much that somehow staying shut felt easier. 

He suppressed a choking sob that was threating out of him. He moved over on the bed, laying on his back and once again let his eyes close. He was starving. Hungry, in-hydrated, underweight and malnourished. He could feel the burn on his body. But, he could listen —to sounds that were loud, just exhausted to respond himself.