The man sat. The room was dark and damp, creating the sort of musty environment only found in an unkempt basement. The wooden chair squeaked underneath the unexpected weight placed atop it. The table wobbled. The lamp resting on the top gave an ominous dim lighting. The two men sat on opposite sides of the same table on equally squeaky chairs. Neither made a move. Not a single word was uttered in the span of 15 minutes as the two sat there. Only when one got up and made a move towards the other did the heavy silence break. Afterwards, there wasn’t silence ever.

Kibum thinks back to before it started. They had been inseparable.

No one could tell where one person ended and where the other started. When one person went somewhere, the other went with them.

Worries were always discarded quickly.

He had been happy.

They had been happy.

 When Kibum would break, the other would be there for him. He had had an uncanny ability to make Kibum laugh whenever.

They would visit places together, see movies together, spend nights with each other. They were going to go to college together.

 Kibum needed him. Without him there was no surviving.

They had a list of places they were going to go together mapped out and ready to go. Every country in Europe, every continent, almost everywhere they had planned to go together. Their bucket lists were tied to the other’s. Whom one person hated, the other hated as well.

They were going to be buried next to each other.

 There had been six of them, until Kai had bullied one of them, and Taemin had sided with him and moved across the country.

Within the four, Kibum and him were the best friends.

The ones who had a conversation with their eyes.

The ones who understood and knew each other so perfectly that they could pass as the other person if they looked anything alike.

With a singular word or look, the other knew what they were trying to say.

 Kibum depended on him.

It hurt, knowing that he would never care about him as much as he did. However, he was able to deal with it.

They had known each other since 1^st grade, they had been best friends since 3^rd.

The list of jokes they shared with the other was endless.

At sleepovers, they would talk about everything or lie on their phones reading in silence until one person fell asleep. Kibum was usually the one to fall asleep. When he woke up, the other was already up reading every morning. He sometimes wondered if he ever slept.

Kibum was as familiar with his sibling as he was with his own.

He was as comfortable with his room as he was his own.

Kibum could always tell when the other was upset, just as he was sure the other could tell when he was upset.

Kibum wished that he could know him better, however. There was always something new he learned about him when they met up.

“Do you ever feel like you’re going crazy? Like you’re searching for your home even though you’re sitting in it?”

“I’m going to end up in a mental institute one day.”

“I hear the voices constantly.”

Kibum doesn’t know how to handle it. The other tells him small phrases that scare him to death.

School is getting increasingly more difficult each day. Kibum is so tired, he can’t even separate reality from fantasy anymore. His life no longer holds happiness and small worries. Kibum is getting more scared every day.

Kibum be walking up the stairs when suddenly he’ll be terrified to the point of sprinting to his room and not being able to breathe.

He’ll be walking in the halls when suddenly he’s terrified and freezing in the middle of a giant clump of people all trying to get places.

The teachers preach about being perfect and being the best in order to succeed in life.

The parents talk about being rich and famous and supporting them when they grow old.

  Kibum is unable to think past the next test, he spends all of his free time studying.

Meanwhile, Kibum’s fear grows.

“If I don’t pass this test, how will I ever get into college?”

“If I can’t get all a’s now, how on earth will I manage to not fail college?”

“How am I supposed to get my grade up? I just got a b on a test.”

The two rarely have time to meet up between all of their activities, school, and studying. When they do have time to spend a night together, the time they fall asleep at is considerably earlier than it had been before.

All they can do is talk about how awful school is. Both of their siblings are terrible. Kibum always feels the need to protect his younger sibling, and the other was never protected by his older sibling.

The two are still best friends, but it’s not the same. They’re either closer than before, or farther apart. Neither can really tell.

On New Year’s Eve they’re together. They’re sitting in the other’s room drinking fake alcohol given to them by his parents. The “adults” downstairs are drinking real alcohol and getting so drunk they can’t even tell up from down.

“New Year’s. The holiday were people get so drunk they can’t walk and kill 5 people trying to drive home.”

The other had always been more pessimistic.

Kibum’s fingernails rake down his arm. There are scratches everywhere. He forgot to cut his nails. This had been the reason he was keeping them cut.

Kibum walks over to his backpack and grabs his flashlight. A long time ago, his father had given him a heavy, metal flashlight. Kibum had to sleep with it every night, unless he wanted to get nightmares. He holds it close to him as the other talks.

As they talk, the other is throwing a baseball from hand to hand to calm himself down. Kibum is playing with his hair.

“What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

“Survive.”

“Physically or mentally?”

“Both. And emotionally.”

“How did we get to be so messed up?”

“I don’t know.”

Kibum is fairly sure that one his best friends hates him. Jinki always gives him these glares and looks telling him to shut up.

When they’re all together at the mall, Kibum makes a sarcastic joke. At this, Jinki gives him a glare that makes him shut up for the duration of the trip. He walks through the stores with his head down, trying to avoid his gaze. The other asks him what’s wrong, but Kibum refuses to answer. He doesn’t need to know about Kibum’s own stupid problems.

Maybe it would just be better for the others if Kibum just left the group one day and refused to talk to any of them. If he just excluded himself from society, from other students, from everyone. Maybe if he were strong enough to do that he would.

Laughter has become a scary sound for Kibum. When he stands, facing away from people, and hears laughter, his first thought is that they’re laughing at him. He’s constantly terrified that maybe he had something on his pants, or his shirt, or has something wrong with his attire in general. Maybe human laughter us supposed to be a positive sound, but whenever Kibum hears it all he can think of is them laughing at him and why they’re doing it.

Even with the other and his family. If he hears laughter, Kibum assumes that people are laughing at him.

He and the other haven’t spent time out of school together for weeks. There hasn’t been any time with the teachers jumping right back in where we left of and confusing everyone. Or maybe it’s just Kibum that doesn’t understand any of it. Maybe if he tried harder he would understand it.

He had gotten an 88 on a quiz in social studies. That day he had gone home in panic, trying to figure out how to raise the grade to an a before the semester ended.

He missed his best friend. They hadn’t had a real conversation in at least a month and Kibum would give nearly anything to talk to him again. He missed him. They talked, if you count brief words exchanged before the professor started the lecture as talking.

“It’s getting worse.”

“I’m sick of it.’’

“I’m so tired.”

“This is hell.”

“Maybe if I got hit be a car I wouldn’t have to go to school today.”

Kibum is content. He’s no longer always sad. Maybe he figured out the secret to happiness or maybe he’s just an idiot, but he no longer feels anything. When he thinks of people who hurt him, he’s not mad, nor is he sad. He’s still constantly scared, not much change there, other than the constant increase.

He also doesn’t ever feel happy. There are brief moments where he’s happy, just as there are moments when he ends up with blotchy red fingernail streaks down his arms and legs. He’ll be overjoyed for no reason sometimes. Once, he went outside at some time around midnight and was delighted to find that no one else was out there. He laughed at skipped around for a bit before he returned to his state of unfeeling.

Jinki probably still hates him. He probably constantly annoys Minho. He misses the other. However, the other probably hates him just as Minho and Jinki do.

His one refuge is in his room. His room is his sanctuary where he can be himself. It is the only place, with the exception of the other’s room, where he truly feels safe.

The other seems to be getting worse. He looks out of it half of the time. He is always moving some part of his body, which is a new thing. Whenever they have a chance to talk, the other ends up talking about them, the voices in his head. He says they’re getting worse.

Kibum doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Kibum?”

“A psychiatrist.”

“Why?”

“So that no more kids turn out like me.”

“And what about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“An author.”

“Why?”

“If I can create worlds with my thoughts and words, I don’t have to pay attention to the world I’m in.”

Kibum isn’t hungry. Maybe he should be, but he isn’t. If he leans back or lies downs, you can see all of his ribs and his hip-bones jut out. However, his thighs are still so big. He decides he doesn’t need to make himself eat tonight.

The other is practically gone. Sometimes he shows up, but it’s mainly these other personalities, sides of him that Kibum has never seen. He doesn’t know how to deal with it or how to react. The other tears school papers in half, pays no attention to anything, and doesn’t care about anything. Kibum tries to keep him on track, but the task is more difficult than it makes itself out to be. Nothing he tries works- the other has stopped listening to him. The other has stopped listening to everyone.

Kibum hasn’t seen the other in 34 days. He hasn’t been at school, his parents won’t let Kibum into the house to see him, nothing he’s tried has worked.

35 days

36 days

37 days

38 days

39 days

40 days

Kibum is going crazy.

41 days

42 days

43 days

44 days

45 days

46 days

47 days

He can’t live without the other.

48 days

49 days

50 days

51 days

52 days

53 days

54 days

55 days

56 days

He would do anything to talk to him again.

57 days

58 days

59 days

60 days

61 days

62 days

63 days

64 days

65 days

66 days

Kibum would die to be able to just see Jonghyun again.

Jonghyun walks into the basement. The place is familiar. He’s been scoping it out for days. Kibum has been there for the past 45 days. Three times a day his family shows up to make him eat. He wakes up walks to the table, sits down in the chair, and sits there. All day. At night, after dinner, he lies back down on the ground under the table and doesn’t move until he falls asleep or until his family comes with breakfast.

Jonghyun knows this only through days of observation.

He walks in and sits down.

Kibum doesn’t even look up.

When he does 15 minutes later, he starts talking to him.

“I wish these illusions would go away.”

“I’m so tired of having something so real in front of my eyes and not being able to believe it.”

Jonghyun gets up.

“I’m real, I can promise you that.”

Kibum shakes his head.

“I’ve been through this enough times to know that you’ve said that exact line 27 times.”

Jonghyun shakes his head. He’s real. Kibum will know that soon enough.

He walks over to Kibum’s side of the table.

Kibum stands up.

As they stand, looking at each other, he suddenly gets the urge to do something.

Jonghyun walks closer and gives Kibum a hug.

As he pulls back, Kibum looks at him with wide eyes.

“You’re real?”

“Yep.”

As he says the word, he pulls the object out of his coat pocket and rams it into Kibum’s stomach.

The knife has some sort of a glint, sticking out of him crookedly.

Kibum falls forward, onto Jonghyun.

He finds it beautiful, Kibum’s last breaths. They’re short and sweet, almost gasps but not quite.

He lies him on the ground. Kibum was always so beautiful. Even now, with the life gone from his eyes, Kibum is the most gorgeous person Jonghyun had ever seen.

Jonghyun had always liked Kibum more than he should have.

He sits there with Kibum for a couple of hours.

When his family opens the door to find Jonghyun sitting against a wall with Kibum’s head on his lap, the knife still protruding from his body, they’re horrified.

So is Jonghyun.

He killed his best friend.

He killed Kibum.

He spends his time before being dragged off to prison holding Kibum’s head. He has a notion to kiss him, but on what grounds did he deserve that? He hadn’t deserved an angel like Kibum before he had lost his mind; no internal reasoning could make himself believe that it would be okay to kiss him.

Sitting there, against the dark gray brick wall, Jonghyun blends in. With his black clothes, he finds it fitting, somehow, that he would blend in with the walls that Kibum had been holding himself captive in. Kibum sticks out in his white clothing. Truly like the angel Jonghyun had always thought he was. Jonghyun brings Kibum close to his chest one last time, holding on like his life depended on it.

Two years later, Jonghyun (the other) is sitting in a jail cell attempting to kill himself again. Kibum is in a graveyard, buried around people he hated.

How did they get to be this messed up?