Kim Kibum always hated countdowns. They reminded him of time bombs, quickly ticking away, ready to explode at any moment, but you know when it’s going to burst. That was almost worse to Kibum; knowing the precise moment this quasi-happiness would end.

Kibum sat in the lecture hall, staring at the clock on the wall. Every second that ticked by filled with him an increasing sense of dread. It was his first day at his new university, and he made it through the day with little to no trouble. He looked around the room, seeing a few other faces turned in the same direction. But he knew they were different, all waiting for the moment they would be free from the lecture hall; for Kibum, that was the moment his freedom ended.

It would have been easier for Kibum if he would have lived on campus, or if he found his own place. He knew, however, that his parents wouldn’t allow that. He would get in trouble for even considering it, so he kept his mouth shut on the subject. He didn’t want even more trouble with his parents; he had enough of that as it is.

At home, Kibum was anything but happy. His parents had two different ways of handling him, and Kibum couldn’t decide which was worse. They either kept silent, giving him looks of disappointment now and then, or they let it all out, scolding Kibum for not doing well enough in school or for staying out too late when he should be studying. Nothing he did seemed to be good enough for them.

Either way, Kibum knew he was worthless to them. He knew he was a burden. They wanted him to become a doctor, but Kibum wanted to go into fashion, so he never studied hard enough in high school to get the grades he needed. He would never be enough for his parents, and they never failed to remind him of that. 

Kibum was used to this; it had been that way since middle school started. But it never stopped hurting, never stopped digging beneath his skin, going straight to his heart. It hurt, but he didn’t want to show his parents that. He didn’t want them to see he was even worse than a failure, that he was weak as well as hopeless.

All this left Kibum with a sort of fear of silence; it made him anxious when he could hear his own breathing, his own heart beat. If he could hear that, he was not okay. At home, that was his ultimate punishment, the one way his parents really got to him. Sure, he hated the spiteful words they used toward him, but the silence was almost worse; in the silence, he was left with his thoughts.

So in order to escape this silence, Kibum always found himself in loud places, places where there was a constant murmur of noise, places filled with people. It took him a while, but during the summer after his brother died, Kibum found his safe haven:  a small cafe a few blocks from his school. The place gave Kibum a false sense of security; the warmth of the place, the chatter of the people, and the smell of coffee and sweets filled his senses, letting him forget for a moment why he went there in the first place.

It was the perfect escape. He could order a bottomless coffee and sit there for hours, just before it got dark and he had to go home. He could tell his parents he was at the library studying, although they probably couldn’t care less.

And now that Kibum was in college, there was nothing stopping him from staying out even longer. His routine would continue, and he would continue to surround himself with that perfect illusion.

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