Goodbye My Delusion | TXT Beomgyu

15

I lay on my stomach while Beomgyu applies a medicinal cream on my back.

I groan, half out of pain and half from embarrassment. I can't believe I fell in front of so many people—and twice to make things worse. If it wasn't for Beomgyu, who cheered me on to finish the course, I'd probably still be stuck with my butt in the mud, too paralyzed to get up again.

"It wasn't that bad," Beomgyu says. "Well I know the pain is bad. I mean that it isn't unusual to fall in a mud obstacle course."

"Thanks," I say, even though my heated cheeks are protesting otherwise. "I think my back will heal faster than the shame though."

Beomgyu whistles through his teeth. "Don't say that. Half of the audience have probably forgotten about your fall by now."

"I sure hope so," I say.

Beomgyu's fingers are slow and calm. As he applies the medicine, he hums the lyrics to "Our Summer." I'm painfully aware of how close we are, how he's seeing me shirtless and exposed. I notice the callousness on his fingers from his hours of practicing the guitar. They scratch slightly against my skin, like the hardened tips of paintbrushes.

He finishes much too quickly. "Alright," he says. "I think you should lay here for as long as possible. Do you think you'll be able to get up for dinner?"

"I think so," I say, not sure if I'm lying or being overly optimistic.

"We're supposed to go to a seafood hotpot restaurant tonight," he says. "But we can skip that and get something later. When your back feels better, I mean."

Beomgyu lies down on the futon next to me. He takes out his phone and scrolls through Twitter, and I wonder whether he's looking himself up or seeing the latest news about his adventures in university. My curiosity gets the best of me.

"Are you looking yourself up?" I ask.

Beomgyu shifts, turning slightly to face me. His expression darkens. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh." I realize my mistake immediately. "I don't mean that I think you're self-obsessed or anything. I was just wondering."

His voice goes quiet, and dangerously soft. "I wasn't looking myself up. I do that sometimes, but I have a life outside of wondering about what people think of me."

I don't know why Beomgyu got so disturbed by my question. I want to fix things. "I'm sorry I asked."

"It's okay if you think I'm self-obsessed," he says.

"I didn't mean that!" I say. "I was just trying to make some conversation."

"Right," Beomgyu says. "But just remember that even though I'm an idol, that doesn't mean that my image is the only thing I care about."

"I know that, Beomgyu." If I wasn't in so much pain, I would get up and face my whole body to his direction. But all I can offer is my head turned his way. "I know there's more to you than being an idol. I know you have depth and that you're a real person behind all the glamor."

Beomgyu is silent for a long while. For a horrible few minutes, I think I've screwed up things with him forever. He'll never want to be my friend. He's seen completely through me, knowing that I'm just an obsessed fan who is enamored by the sparkle of his status—even though that's only half true. I think that I'm too unworthy to be forgiven.

Beomgyu shifts again. He faces me, and this time his expression is softer—more open. "Jayden, I'm sorry. It's just that I saw something written about me right before you asked me that question."