Chapter Text
[NINE DAYS]
Jongseob tapped his fingers on the wooden desk in an even rhythm, one that matched his heart rate, as he watched those kids walk by.
Taeyang, the oldest. He was probably the least annoying, but he was still this… stuck up rich kid. He acted like one, at least–Jongseob wasn’t actually sure of his wealth status, he just knew Taeyang was arrogant enough to not be poor.
Then, there was Keeho. Second oldest, all bark no bite. Probably the most annoying person in the school. Not even exaggerating, he just never shut up.
Now Jiung. The fakest person out there, even faker than Barbie, for fucks sake. He’d offer you shelter just to burn the house down, and that’s not a metaphor. Choi Jiung would burn a house down for, quote unquote, “funsies”. No, that’s not made up, he wrote it in his English paper for some stupid reason.
Intak. Honestly… there wasn’t much to him other than the fact that people thought he was gay when he first moved here. Which was funny, because he looked like every other fuckboy at this school. Which meant it was in his mannerisms. Which probably meant people thought he acted feminine. Jongseob found the whole thing ridiculous, despite it being as funny as it was.
Then… Shota. Jongseob didn’t know what to say about Shota. He was quiet, rarely speaking, unlike the others. He didn’t seem exactly moved by Keeho’s antics, or Jiung’s little games. He rarely spoke, rarely argued, rarely fought. It was like he was a robot, created to walk and follow simple instructions. Though… Jongseob could find himself relating to that.
Jongseob didn’t like speaking unless spoken to either. He wasn’t exactly able to keep someone’s gaze for more than 3 seconds, at best. He couldn’t help it, being under someone’s gaze made him feel… uncomfortable, to say the least. Like they were examining him, almost. He hated the feeling of being watched, hated the feeling of eyes on him, and that’s exactly what eye contact was. Eye contact was eyes on him, and willing himself to look back.
Shota spared him a single glance, and Jongseob curled in on himself slightly. His gaze danced across the desk he sat at, attempting to look anywhere but Shota. Though, he didn’t stop himself when his eyes slowly lifted to look at Shota, who was now sat doing something else.
Jongseob averted his gaze again, an embarrassing heat crawling up his neck as he stared at his hands. They shook where they laid on the table, which began to stress him out a bit.
He was fine. He was fine. He was fine.
He repeated the words to himself as if it would make them true. His breathing grew slightly quicker, leg starting to bounce underneath the table. He had moments like these often. Moments of weakness. Moments when his stomach churned and small beads of sweat formed on his forehead for no particular reason. His body curled slightly and he shoved himself up from the small wooden desk as soon as he felt it, knees almost giving out as he swayed.
“M-may I use the bathroom…?” he shoved the words out of his mouth, like the taste of them on his tongue was too much to bear. His fingers twitched against his sides, desperate to hold on to something to stop him from falling right there. The teacher barely got to nod before Jongseob was sprinting out of the classroom, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.
Jongseob finally reached the bathroom, crashing into a stall. He felt the acid bubble in his stomach, and forced his trembling hands to move from his sides to the toilet seat, positioning his head above it. It didn’t take long before his body curled closer to the toilet, and he began to puke. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his hands gripping onto the toilet seat like he’d die if he let go.
Time passed, and Jongseob continued to gag, though it had turned into dry heaving at some point. His stomach was empty, tightening with the effort of doing nothing. He eventually sat back on his heels, tipping backwards further and further until he collapsed against the corner of the stall. His breathing, previously shaky, began to even out, stomach finally calming.
After about fifteen minutes, Jongseob realized his class had likely already passed, which meant it was time for him to get up and head to the next. Despite this, Jongseob reached out a still shaky hand and balled up some toilet paper in his fist, wiping away the mess around his mouth. He tossed the ball into the trash can and placed his hands on the stall walls, lifting himself up carefully, barely keeping himself from falling over. Once he was up, he opened the stall door slowly, walked over to the sink and rinsed his face to get the sweat and the rest of the puke off of it.
When he finished washing up, Jongseob looked up at the clock, squinting to figure out the time. He was supposed to be in class right now, but obviously some… things got in the way.
So, he simply left the bathroom, and walked out of the school. It was last period anyways, who was gonna care about or notice one missing attendance?
[EIGHT DAYS]
Jongseob stayed home the next day. He had a coughing fit, heat pouring from his body in waves. Each individual breath took effort, and he ended up vomiting again. That was… somewhat common for Jongseob, though it was usually just once, but whatever. It didn’t mean anything. Jongseob curled in on himself further underneath the blanket, his head splitting in two as his stomach ached once more.
His body jerked violently with each cough, his breathing becoming more raspy as the hours passed. His eyes fluttered shut and snapped back open at every sound that seemed untimely.
Then, at midnight, Jongseob raised his shaky hands and clasped them together, mumbling some sort of prayer his mother taught him as a child. Maybe the sickness would be cured, maybe the sin of his existence— no… not the sin of his existence. Because he’s not a sin. He’s never sinned. He didn’t…
Whatever. He was losing focus on the prayer.
Jongseob recited the prayer as though he was reading from a script with a gun to his head. His voice was trembling, his speech too quick, his breathing too heavy. He wasn’t praying out of faith, no, he was praying out of fear. Fear of this illness, this sickness unheard of by both God and Satan himself. It wasn’t in any book he had read, it wasn’t in any myths, it wasn’t in any of the tales his parents read from a religion. No, this… this was bigger than that.
The bead of sweat that curled down his chin a bit too slow, the nose bleeds at specific times, the puking, the way his eyes frantically searched for a distraction against his will, the way his vision blurred when his voice became too quick, it all felt… measured. Not a normal illness, this was controlled. Calculated. It was finding every way to outsmart him, to stump him, and it succeeded. But what illness could possibly confuse star student Kim Jongseob?
Jongseob’s hands unclasped as he sat up abruptly, gasping for air with an idea suddenly having appeared in his mind. He threw himself out of bed, nearly falling from the speed at which he did it. He dropped in front of the dusty bookshelf, his hands searching for the familiar cover and spine of his diary. Once he found it, he pulled the small deep blue book off the shelf and began skimming through the pages, looking for that singular date, the first entry of…
‘36/10/24’
Found it, the first and last entry from two months ago.
‘I seem to have caught some sort of sickness, though I can’t tell what it is. I’ve had two nose bleeds, thrown up, cold sweats, nightmares, but none of it adds up to anything I’ve read about. It could be a fever, sure, but it’s more than that, it’s more… complex. It’s like it’s controlling? Sentient? I don’t have the words to describe it right now. But what I do know…’
Jongseob felt his stomach churn at the last words in the entry.
‘Is that this isn’t a natural disease.’