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The feeling of ice cold floorboards was too sharp and too distinct under his palms, but he still couldn’t move. Hyeongjun sat stiffly, his eyes open but vision fuzzy, the whole world around him poking and prodding a way that made his soul want to curl in on itself until it was finally alone. Undisturbed.
Every noise was simultaneously too loud and too quiet, the ache in his chest pressing just wrong. Moving felt impossible, and yet the position he was in was beginning to burn. Each of his joints cried out, the sound lost amongst the roaring silence.
He felt like he was a doll, dressed up in clothes of ruffles and distress, forced to model emotions he yearned to shed. The brooch of tension hung on Hyeongjun’s breast, vivid in a way that made him squirm.
Just for a second his heart leapt, the sensation of falling making his head spin. Existence was too much, and yet somehow everything felt too dull. Too mindless, too bland. He choked back on a gag, his stomach contracting around nothing.
Air pressed against his skin, pouring down his throat and suffocating him from the inside out. There was too much, his own nerves howling as he was left alone and exposed.
He could feel it; the unmistakable twang of panic settling under his rib cage. Attacks hurt, they always had, but ones like this? Sat on the floor in his bedroom, seemingly minding his own business? It felt personal. Like an invasion.
All Hyeongjun could do was sit there, frozen while he prayed for it to pass.
He knew it wouldn’t.
The way his skin crawled, plastered onto his bones with fading glue. The sting in his eyes was the only reminder that he hadn’t blinked in a while, the blur of unshed tears heavy as his eyelids fluttered. He was barely able to swallow, silently begging for the wetness to go away.
His vision cleared as the teardrops fell. He squirmed, pressing his sleeves to his face as he tried to wipe up the mess. The liquid felt uncomfortable, too much on his sensitive skin. He scrubbed at his face, a splintered sob wracking through his body.
More tears came.
And more.
Hyeongjun’s body convulsed as he cried, the burning ache within his chest blooming outward, setting his whole body on fire. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Air was scarce, too thick and too heavy to be inhaled.
He couldn’t get rid of the wetness, the feeling of drying liquid making his soul tremble.
He was trembling, his whole body unstable as he slid further and further like unstable sand. Why did he choose to build his house here?
Silence pressed into his ears, splintered by his own sobs. The world screamed and he was forced to listen; forced to lie subject to its will. He couldn’t escape and he couldn’t pretend.
Hyeongjun didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t hear the rush of feet or the panicked words uttered through the shaking air.
He did feel the hand press down on his shoulder; too much, too quickly. He shuddered, crawling in on himself as he tried to get away. The pressure stung, burning into his skin and making his entire soul fracture. It physically hurt.
Hyeongjun pulled his knees to his chest, folding his arms around them and doing his best to keep his eyes pressed into the fabric of his sweat pants. He couldn’t let his tears dry on his cheeks again. Couldn’t let that feeling encompass him again.
Distantly, he heard someone speaking, a voice whispered through the hum of silence that was pressed against his ears. All Hyeongjun could hear for certain were his own trembling breaths and splintered gasps.
He felt like he was dying.
It was an ache he had come to terms with a long time ago, and yet it was still one that set his entire body on fire every time. Surely by now one was supposed to be used to it?
Silence stepped back, giving Hyeongjun a moment as he re-learnt to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…
The air, once full of razor blades, came easier, thinning out as it ran down into his lungs. He was still shaking, but the intensity of it all began to fade, dulling down before his own senses. His eyes began to dry, his nerves slowing and slowing, until they all collectively let out one heavy sigh.
Hyeongjun’s fingers tightened around the fabric of his sweat pants, knuckles white as he did his best to ground himself. He could feel it now, a new presence that had settled somewhere before him. His mind fluttered back to the hand, to the whispers that never quite surpassed the panic.
His neck protested as he looked up, blinking as his eyes refocused. He knew his face was red. It was just as vivid as the tremors still residing within his chest.
He expected to see one of his bandmates, one of the five guys he had been thrust towards. JYP was a good company for the most part. Hyeongjun liked it there, and he liked being able to play guitar every day.
He knew he was good at it too, good enough to be added to the new group’s debut line up. It was a dream come true, and yet it was more difficult than Hyeongjun had ever expected.
Not the music side, no, that came naturally to him. But the twisting entanglement of friendship that had come along with it. The smiles the other five shared, secret jokes that Hyeongjun didn’t quite understand. That was hard.
How is someone who already struggles with anxiety supposed to join in? Is Hyeongjun supposed to tear open his own chest and present his still beating heart? What is the cost of standing naked in front of strangers when they are all comfortable in their own clothing?
It was a toll Hyeongjun still hadn’t paid.
Instead, he stood outside, turning his back to the window as he tried to ignore the sounds of laughter emanating from inside the room. Being alone was nicer than baring himself and being discarded, he had decided a long time ago.
No, truthfully Hyeongjun was strong. He was strong enough to stand outside, battling against the wind and rain and subzero temperatures. He was strong as he resisted the warmth beyond a single door. There was too much risk.
Why not stay outside where he knew the rules and knew the expectations?
He expected to see one of his bandmates settled before him, one person he could mumble out a lie to - “I’m fine” - before sending them on their way.
But, seated on the ground around him, shaped in a gentle and curving semi-circle, five sets of eyes watching him through the room’s glass. Gunil was beside Jungsu, who was beside Jooyeon, who was beside Jiseok, who was beside Seungmin, all of whom were holding their own hearts in the palms of their hands.
Embarrassment pressed down onto Hyeongjun, the ache of shame like a stone in his stomach. He wanted to apologise, to lie, to say anything, but his words died in his throat.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Gunil asked, his own voice soft against the howling wind. “Or would you prefer to just sit in silence?”
“Or,” Seungmin added, “do you want us to leave?”
Sometimes, the most beautiful moments come when you take a step into somewhere unknown.
Hyeongjun reached around, his palm pressing to the cool metal of the door knob. He twisted it, letting the wooden door click open, feeling the warmth on his skin for the very first time.
“Stay,” he breathed, barely sure if anyone had even heard it.
But Seungmin smiled, moving to close the door behind him. He cut off the wind, letting the heat envelop Hyeongjun’s body.
“Okay,” he said, voice just as quiet.
And so they did.
And for the first time, Hyeongjun thought that maybe he didn’t have to rip out his own heart. Maybe he just had to reach for a door knob he always saw as off-limits.
Maybe he could come as himself. Whoever said he couldn’t?