♡Exit Music (For A Film) || A YeonGyu/BeomJun Story.♡

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Beomgyu★

The cold brass of the door knob tickles his warm skin, turning it once right, then left, walking into his home.

"What is that tune?"

"Did I come off as timid?"

Two thoughts he couldn't seem to shake, counting his steps as he walks up the stairs.

Seventeen, seventeen steps as always.

Everything is familiar, everything is the same.

As he approached the door of his room, he turned the doorknob once right, then left, and he walked inside, closing the door behind him.

What he was feeling was ineffable, he was sure he wrote down a reply for every possible conversation topic for a new student at school, and he was prepared for everyone who talked to him, 

"whats your name?"

"where are you from"

"how old are you?"

all of the same monotonous and basic questions you could ask a person, Beomgyu expected it, he was familiar with those questions.

But Yeonjun staggered Beomgyu basically each time he opened his mouth.

Who would pay such close attention to someone they notice a faint, earless tune he subconsciously tapped with his movement since he was a child?

Maybe Yeonjun was trying to come off as sagacious or observational,but by his body language (which Beomgyu had to study to understand, ironically) he seemed besotted with the idea, genuinely attentive about the tune he perceived. 

And it bothered Beomgyu that out of all of the boring and predictable people at that school, Yeonjun was the only person he couldn't predict.

Maybe it's because he's abnormal? But Beomgyu felt conflicted, was he abnormal or just different?

Beomgyu was different from the rest of the crowd himself, but would he be considered abnormal?

Beomgyu thought, picking at the flared skin on his hands, fully in his head, barely aware of the time, as it flies by.

All he needed was a word to describe Yeonjun.

Riveting.

That's the word he needed, and now Beomgyus head was at peace, thoughts slowing.

But why is Yeonjun riveting?

Maybe he's just observational, he shouldn't be thinking so much about some random kid from his new school, it's weird.

Since it's getting late, it's time for his routine.

Beomgyu stands, feet sinking into the carpet as he walks to his desk, clasping the unmistakable orange bottle with a white twist off cap, pouring two capsules into his hand, swallowing them.

As he twists the cap back on, he inspects the bottle, even if he's seen it dozens of times.

Clomipramine, as he grew he watched the milligram slowly rise, and "as needed" be removed and replaced with daily.

He places it into the same spot he took it from, adjusting it to face backwards, then its familiar again, like it hasn't changed at all.

He laid on his back, sinking into the soft memory foam of his bed.

Actually, it was rather firm but he preferred it that way.