VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

53

— PART FIFTY-THREE.

( TW: mild depiction of a panic attack. i know these have been mentioned before, and this truly isn't even all that bad, it's only the first few paragraphs, but idk i'd rather be safe than sorry. ok, thank you )

Such a horrendous pressure piles upon him, weighs him down, down, down. It's like his entire body is falling into the earth — he's like a dead body, rotting within a coffin, arms crossed, eyes a barren wasteland, being softly lowered into the ground. Alas, he's definitely being buried alive, because he can feel the oxygen being torn from him, his lungs burning, suffocation overtaking him. It's like the world decides to remove all the air from his innards, and he can't breathe.

He's panting, and he can only focus on the sweat pooling from every orifice of his body, as it melds against his skin; he's paralysed, but he can feel his feet flex and toes curl. His heart is still. And, yet, it beats so intensely.

"Taehyung?" Jimin's worried voice sinks into the crevices of his abandoned soul, and it seems to somewhat restore balance. He can't look at him though, because his vision is blurry, and his stomach is like a windstorm — bombardments of sick stirring, desperate to escape him.

A burning hot iron slams into his shoulder blade, and it's Jeongguk's hand, bursting into his warped sense of reality, "fuck, Tae, focus, look at me." His free hand clicks and they're closer on the bed than they had been before, both trying to calm him down from the beginnings of his mild panic attack.

Taehyung's vision swirls and it's positively demented, the way the whites of his eyes appear jaded and desolate; he tries to concentrate on his breathing, and Jimin is inhaling with him, telling him to, "count to ten." He appreciates their efforts, and he somewhat seems to find a great amount of comfort in them. Bowing his head, the blonde bites at his lip, and their fingers are soaking into his skin,  grasping onto his bones, sliding. Fire and water, pulling him back to reality, by force.

They unintentionally calm him so easily, and the darkness that previously inundated him and forced his body into a state of isolation, appears to fade into an ombré of light. Taehyung counts to ten, he counts to twenty, forty, sixty. After two minutes, he feels okay, and he looks at the two boys in front of him, so close to him.

"Sorry." He rasps out, and he's not even sure the word reaches them, but there's a hand stroking at his cheek, and his feels the water of his tears disappear. He hadn't realised there'd been tears.

"No, Taehyung, I'm sorry." Jimin tells him, and he's taking ahold of the younger boy's eyes, imploring and a little wild, as a flash of guilt glows across his facial features, "I know it's a... touchy subject, I shouldn't have been so demanding." His words are light, like gentle footprints in the snow, leaving large imprints no matter how softly you try and step. Taehyung watches him bite his lip, and he continues, calm, contemplative, "I didn't even think. I don't know, I thought perhaps you would—" He stops, and his own breath is clogging up his throat, his nasal passage.

Jeongguk is looking at him then, eyes dark, and Taehyung is observing the look of desperation that scuttles along his face, and Taehyung wants to know everything about them. But, he knows there's a time and place.

"Yeah, that was—" He starts, and he stops, because he can feel this uncanny sense of horror crumple at his lungs, like they're merely made of paper, like the hand of a corpse is grappling at them, scrunching them, wrecking them. "A bit out of nowhere." He sputters out.

Jimin nods frantically, and there's something so sad pulling at his eyes, as they melt into bubbles of water, reflective of every surface around him, as if so easily popped. They glitter pink and blue and his mouth opens, he says, "I didn't think... I'm sorry, I'm not good at being considerate of other people."