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Beomseok wished he could kill his disgrace of a father.
He hissed as the shower's scalding spray hit his back. The length of his body— decorated with fresh red lines— stung with every water droplet. A normal Tuesday morning, indeed. His mind's eye thought to the 'discipline' moments earlier. Specks of memories floated around: sounds of a belt whipping down on his back; his father's vitriols through seething teeth; the echoing, deafening silence afterwards. He's grown to… well, float mentally when punished. His mind would retreat from the present and immeasruable time passed in the blink of an eye. Beomseok didn't even know why he was punished this time. He merely guessed it was because he didn't go to school. The reasons for these things were never explained to him, being deemed 'too young and immature to grasp them'.
"Fuck!" he cursed lowly, jolting when water rained down a particularly big gash on his lower back. That meant he should dry off, right? He stepped out of the shower, grabbed his big fluffy towel, and got to work. Wrapping it on his hips, he turned to meet his own reflection in the mirror. God. He couldn't stand the sight of himself.
The sheer size of the bathroom made him appear bordering on the size of an ant. He grimaced. There were so many things wrong with him, inside and out. A crooked nose. Mono-lids. Fresh and faded scars on the expanse of his body. An awkward stance, shrinking himself to be more pliant, digestible. His stupidity. His childish tantrums. His naivety. The anguish from the aftermath of his father's wrath bubbling up inside with no outlet so he's always on the verge of exploding and…
Why was red trickling down his knuckles? For a moment, he was entranced. The rich depth of maroon liquid contrasted well with the sick paleness of his hand. It was almost poetic, like seeing blood on snow. He would think of some metaphor to emphasise on this, but his knuckles begun to hurt. A lot. Only when he looked at the mirror again did he realise why.
His reflection was cracked into shards, some pieces were missing, which he only assumed were on the counter top or the floor. They rippled from a spot slightly above the mirror's centre, right where his face would have been.
Beomseok walked out with barely-washed fists and no thought to fix it.
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He found himself laying on his bed as his brain came back into focus. The wool of his softest sweater hugged his body to fight off the air conditioner's cold blasts. It must have been afternoon, then. The summer heat around this time of day teetered towards unbearable. His phone buzzed once. Then twice. He groaned, losing count soon enough as the noise became too much. Without checking the caller's ID, he picked up.
"What?" he croaked.
"Beomseok-ah! We're at your front door, so open up!"
Why was Suho calling him? Can't he be left alone for one day? "What?"
Clothes shuffled on the other side of the phone. "Don't be stupid, Beomseok. Let us in."
Suho. Sieun. Suho and Sieun. Like a moth to light, his limbs untangled themselves out of bed and trudged across the house to the front door. He opened it. There they were, in all their wonderfully weird glory. They must have ridden on Suho's famous motorbike, if their tousled nests of hair were anything to go off of. Beomseok found that detail endearing… he steered away from that train of thought with ease. Paired with shine of Suho's smile and Sieun's doe eyes, their existence distracted him from that morning's events.
As much as he wanted to let them in, he didn't move. Letting them in meant they were one step closer to stumbling upon the mess that is Beomseok's life. The wounds, his father, his declining health. They would be closer to seeing how he was weak. In his old man's scorned voice, he shouldn't be vulnerable too easily. He cared the most about his status as an assemblyman after all. As much as Beomseok wanted to defy him, his father made sure to beat the courage out of him.
He stiffly replied, "I'm fine."
Suho had the audacity to laugh. "You're not foolin' me, man. Come on! It'll be fun!"
"I need peace and quiet."
"Too bad!"
Tears welled up in Beomseok's eyes. Why did Suho have to be so fucking stubborn? Couldn't he just listen for once? Doesn't he know how to back o— Suho's pushing his way in. He couldn't, wouldn't let him in. Beomseok's trying his dam hardest to push him back, but he was not phased. An iron grip on his wrists burned through his sweater. Its hot hot hot HOT touch was too much to handle. Beomseok could not tell what was happening around him ever since his mind plunged underwater seconds ago, out of focus again. Sieun shouted something somewhere. Suho yelled back. His irritation pierced into Beomseok's consciousness… or what remained afloat, and his body stiffened.
The water spilled into his lungs. Black spots swam in his vision. Lord. With every breath he tried to take, it only let more water to overflow. He couldn't breathe shit why couldn't he breathe. "—seok pay attention to me, okay? Inhale with me."
He came to realise his hand clutched onto Sieun's shirt. Willing his fingers to relax and settle on his chest, he tried to follow. It felt like hours went by before he could take in air normally. As his vision cleared itself out, Sieun's blank but concerned eyes appeared first. Beomseok willfully ignored the flutter in his chest.
Sieun was an enigma. That much was common knowledge. His expressions were hard to decipher and his voice left no room for emotion to peak through. Beomseok learned, later on, that he spoke the loudest with actions. Whether it was tolerating Suho's horrible attempts at singing during karaoke or keeping a leveled, logical head at times of stress, he's a selfless person. Once he started to notice, he couldn't stop. This was one such moment where Sieun let himself be more vulnerable with his affection. Sieun was his guardian angel, just like Suho was Sieun's, and how Beomseok was Suho's. He apologised meekly, hidden behind the frames of his overgrown bangs.
"It's fine. We're gonna talk about it, though."
"There's really no need to—"
"We are. Whether you both," Sieun passed a glance to the other two, "like it or not. Let's so inside; it's hot."
Beomseok and Suho trailed behind like embarrassed baby ducklings. Sieun whisked into the living room with the confidence of someone who lived there despite never stepping foot in the place before. He settled on the plush black couch and his sharp gaze made the others sit incredibly still on both ends. Beomseok wanted to spill the contradictions of his mind. He wanted to shout, to whisper, to apologise for being weak, to blame Suho for his breakdown. But all his words were caught in his throat, mushed into a ball at the base of his oesophagus without any space to wiggle out of his mouth. Why couldn't he just talk? It's not that hard.
A spark made him jump. It wasn't fire, though. Sieun's hand brushed against his, which were starting to peel off the skin near the cuticle on his thumb. Their eyes met and Beomseok never felt more safe. "What happened out there, hm?"
Beomseok chuckled at how Sieun attempted to coax him into talking like a mother. His mono-toned demeanour did not to help the illusion. His raised eyebrow shut him up. Well, he could not ignore his way out of this. "I, uh, didn't want anyone inside. Bad day. When Suho tried to force himself in, I wanted to stop him. He wasn't listening to me. He treated my words like it was some kind of joke… I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all."
"What was so bad about today?" He knew Sieun meant well. The curious glimmer in Suho's gaze only showed intentions to understand. He should be honest. Instead, the gashes on his back stung from scratching against his sweater in spite of its softness and he couldn't stop the pained gasp from escaping his throat. He forgot to bandage himself again. Right. Suho came to his left side with his hands inches from his sweater.
Beomseok knew what he wanted to do. On one hand, he could pretend that everything was fine with the usual excuse of an aching back. They wouldn't question him because they trusted him. From the day he admitted to being Youngbin's puppet in trying to drug Sieun, their faith in his honesty stood its ground. On the other hand, he would be a dead man to break that trust. They were all he had. If he was not truthful to them… he couldn't bring himself to think about it. So he nodded.
With nimble fingers, Suho lifted the hem of his shirt enough to see the cuts over the canvas called his back. Sieun gasped. Beomseok didn't notice that he moved as well. He mumbled, "Is it that bad?"
"Pretty much," Suho replied, "Where's the first aid?"
Beomseok did not miss the anger shaking his voice.
"My bathroom, in one of the cabinets below the sink."
Sieun went off without another word, leaving Beomseok and Suho alone. He prodded at various areas, asked "Does it hurt?" with every touch, and hummed when Beomseok hissed. They sat in comfortable silence, or as comfortable as it could be, for that matter. They stayed away from mentioning the incident at the front door.
Water splashes in a bowl and rustles of plastic came from behind. Then Sieun was infront of him, sitting on the coffee table. He became quiet, only content with observing Suho's care and Beomseok's face incase something were to go wrong. He felt warmth rush to his cheeks. How could someone handle being held under a microscope with a mere stare while being treated like this? He turned his eyes to the floor. Sieun's did not waver.
He barely registered Suho's hands finishing up on his cuts before he heard him say, "Done! Try moving so I know if I need to fix anything."
Beomseok turned this way and that. He knew about Suho's background as an ex-MMA fighter. A memory of Suho recounting some of his good days, his fellow fighter friends, as well as his best wins, flashed in his mind. He also learned about the physcial repercussions of being in such an environment. It's no surprise that Suho picked up a thing or two about first aid, but he was impressed at how easy it became to move.
He told him just that, earning him his remarkably blinding smile, the type where he could see a little snaggle tooth on the right, whenever Suho was feeling nostalgic about his younger self. Beomseok was reminded of how kids would giggle with big pretty grins when they open presents; Suho's past of fighting and his grandma and his parents were a gift of their own. A gift Suho was never afraid to cherish out loud.
Suho replied, with a knowing tone, "Thanks!" 'I'm sorry.'
"You're welcome." 'I'm sorry too.'
Sieun spoke up, "Wanna watch a movie?" 'I'm glad you're both okay.'
And that was it. The three of them settled onto the couch. Beomseok was in the middle, Suho and Sieun were on his left and right respectively. They bickered on what to watch "Come on! Action is just what we need!" "Your type of action has no plot. It's horribly boring." The early evening breeze came in through an invitation from the open living room windows. They were sharing the softest blanket from Beomseok's closet . It had constellations of stars, as well as the moon and sun. Suho had found it adorable, poking at Beomseok's cheek until he screamed when his finger was bit. To his right, Sieun's downturned smile was the best reward.
By the time they started the movie, Studio Ghibli's Princess Mononoke, no one paid attention. They knew how it went by heart because it was their go-to whenever they were in someone's house. Suho complained endlessly about the ride from school to Beomseok's house, to which Sieun replied with, "He's being dramatic, don't mind him. It wasn't too bad." In the midst of all this, Beomseok let a true, blisseful grin paint his face.
The sun was setting and he was the happiest he has ever been.