I've Thought About You Before, Still Do.
Choi Beomgyu/Genderneutral Reader
Content Warnings. high school/schoolmates au, found/lost home, friends to strangers, underage drinking, innuendos of vomit, food mentions, Yeonjun cameo
Word Count. 1,157k.
Nothing was forever. Things that may seem like they'd be easy to reach a hand forward to and grasp at in that very particular moment, might be impossible for you to be able to do so in the nearby future that was waiting right around the corner to tackle you and drag you — kicking and screaming — to what was called real life's own little ways.
But after all, the present will always turn into memories, and memories will crumble to nothing else but dust. Dust that enters your lungs and spirals your existence in an everlasting loop. It's haunting, yet inevitable. Predictable, yet unpreventable. Because some things are too good to be true for a tad bit too long.
Everything in this cruel, cruel life had a pattern, this was just another cycle that had to be done and over with. Beomgyu reached that conclusion not only by himself, but from you, too. In one way, shape or form, you helped him come to a realization. A reality check, if you may.
No one said reality didn't hurt whatsoever, though.
He wasn't quite sure how he met you, he wished to be capable of recalling the event (or events, who knows) that transpired over the course of the first school semester, however, he simply couldn't. It was like an itch he wasn't capable of scratching and getting rid of. Perhaps that was to be expected on his part. Sometimes to overcome the burn, one must forget what caused it in the first place.
What he does know and does remember clearly was that you were one of Yeonjun's many acquaintances around the school grounds. The entire student body knew Yeonjun and Yeonjun knew the entirety of them, yet approximately only one third of them were actually considered and classed as his 'friends'. Beomgyu feels proud to be able to call himself a close somebody of his, despite Yeonjun's offstandish and insufferable nature.
And then there was someone unbearable, too. You weren't a bright, twinkling star by any means. Probably only a handful of people even remotely remembered you pleasantly if he were to stop and think about it more level-headedly.
If he were to describe you, it would take him quite a while. For you had a personality so hard to get a proper hold of. But the word that first pops up and sticks out to him right off the top of his head was bittersweet. Bittersweet like the way you swung your pinky finger back and forth, with yours tightly clutching his. Bittersweet like the annoying cackles from your line on the late night phone calls, ones capable of waking up his parents and brother out of their deep slumber.
Bittersweet like the walks around empty parking roads, plopping yourselves and your behinds on the curb, downing honey chips with a side of fuzzy soda bought at a small, sketchy groceries shop, only to find out later that the products were expired while watching the sun finally set for the day. Or perhaps the nights where parties would be hosted by classmates of his who probably didn't even ask for permission from their guardians. Dancing, screeching, music booming, drinking cheap rum which resulted in emptying the contents of your guys' stomachs in your mutual friend's toilet in the following headache-inducing morning due to thinking that you were just as capable of holding your liquor as the rest.
It was a moment that brought laughter, seeing as it was a simpler time, and simpler times used to make people happy and carefree. That's exactly what you two were when together: young and oblivious, daring and curious, cheeky and mischievous, giggly and fragile. Especially fragile.
He never understood when he had begun to feel at peace with you, but he thought of it as normal. It was so normal, so uplifting and so exciting for him to be around you. Every moment spent with you was ludicrous, yet tender and affectionate. You were often indifferent to those around you, you never seemed to care much about your own problems and emotional strains, either.
It was meaningful to Beomgyu, the fact that you were willing to provide a listening ear and a shoulder for him to lean on, allowing him to start weeping out all of his distresses and fears. With your hand holding his, the other running through his hair, brushing away any stray strands from his face. Staying quiet to not interrupt and disturb Beomgyu. So for a while, you stayed like this together, both of you afraid that the other might move.
It was then that he realized, you weren't a bright, twinkling star. But you were his small, dim light of joy that illuminated his path with just the sight of your waggish smile alone.
You've always loved when Beomgyu played the guitar, and he always loved that you loved when he played the guitar. He enjoyed joking that you only hung around him just to listen. Of course, he never means any harm by it, and needless to say, you indulged with his inane antics regardless of what they were.
And so, alone he sat by the windowsill of his room, left leg propped up on his chair's headrest, fingers strumming the strings of his teal guitar. A blank melody it was; neither sad, nor happy. It was just an empty tune that sounded from his room, eyes downcast as he made a great endeavor to fight back a sigh of boredom that was bubbling in his throat. The air weighed down heavily; it felt sombre and tiresome. Nothing was ever colorful to him and songs were never rhythmical. All of his passion and enthusiasm about anything was thrown out the window, to rot like trash.
Beomgyu thinks about you, and doesn't feel a single drop of emotion except nostalgia. A heartworm plaguing his mind, heart tightening and stomach clutching. He repeated 'what ifs' in his head over and over, because that's all that was left to be attainable. You were continuing on with your own life and so was he. But he couldn't help but stop and ask the walls staring back at him, were you also thinking about him like how he was about you? Were you unconditionally happy and satisfied unlike him? What could have we done better?
It's been like this for who knows how fucking long, now. Damn, reminiscing was such a messed up curse.
He didn't know how and why it ended this way, it wasn't an outcome either of you had predicted beforehand. To be fair, something like this could never be predicted. But he wouldn't go out of his way to try and fix beyond a forgotten and broken relationship, anyway. For you were no longer captured in the frame together with him. And you know what they say, the present will always turn into memories, and memories will crumble to nothing else but dust.