Kibum hated his OCD. The Obsessive Compulsive Disorder made him even more strange, if that was possible, and Kibum hated it.
Kibum didn’t enjoy that he couldn’t look in mirrors anymore, the stupid scar in his eyebrow meaning his face wasn’t symmetrical like it should be; his decision as a child left him practically crippled as an adult and Kibum hated it.
He hated having to rely on others to pull him from the panic attacks that assaulted him when things weren’t perfect. He hated the way his body would ache from medication Kibum didn’t think he needed, because it meant maybe there actually was something wrong with him, and that was something Kibum wasn’t fully prepared to admit. Kibum was faulty, broken even, and that, in its entirety, was why Kibum hated himself.
When Kibum met Jinki, though, it stopped.
The nagging, pulling, gripping, binding voice shouting loudly in his head finally shut up for a second, one full second and suddenly Kibum was hooked. Kibum was addicted to Jinki and the way he left him blank, the way the ache in his stomach was a good feeling, rather than biting and raw, and the way Jinki was so patient and kind and handsome in a way Kibum had never known from anyone.
Even his closest friends got frustrated with him, often leaving him behind, or not inviting him out at all, rather than risk total embarrassment if Kibum got “triggered”, as if Kibum himself could control it. That’s what everyone seemed to believe anyway, that he could control his thoughts as they crushed him from within. Jinki, though, he was different, in a way.
Jinki left Kibum breathless, he didn’t know how bad Kibum fell but he must’ve had some idea as it stared him straight in the face. He understood somehow that Kibum needed to kiss him exactly 14 times as he arrived and left; he understood somehow that nothing could be out of place; he understood Kibum’s need to lock and unlock and relock the doors at least 23 times before ever even thinki