he's friendly. he's sweet. he's kind. he's every teenager's dream boy. patient, compassionate, intelligent. he knows his way around words, he knows what's wrong and what's right, he knows how to listen. he's perfect. he's so, so perfect.

 

 

he's a mess. he can't think straight, he can't see clearly, he can't smile like he's always have. he's tired, he's so tired. he wants to fall asleep. maybe forever. maybe never. his eyes are tightly shut, but instead, he's crying, he's sobbing. he's breathing too hard. or maybe he's not even breathing at all. it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. he's hurt.

 

 

way too soft, really ing kind, an actual mess, tired 25/7. a boring (outer) personality, bright smiles and friendly eyes, actually a super complex guy, just really really angsty. the smart guy who doesn't need to study, the counselor guy who gives you great advice, the rich guy who's not a snob. a doormat, can't get angry because he's too nice, highly sensitive, cries himself to sleep because he's frustrated with himself. needs someone to hold him down, needs someone to give him hugs instead of him giving them, needs someone to tell him to take a damn break, needs some damn color in his monochromatic world. hides a lot of his insecurities and (forced) perfection with his friendly and awkward "shy boy" attitude.

 

or he was the perfect boy with perfect looks, perfect mannerisms, and perfect grades, but that all changed when he realizes that he doesn't need to try all the time, that he needs to take control of his own life, that he needs to just stop and power off.

 

grew up in a cliché wealthy household as the only child. took private lessons such as piano, foreign languages, violin, taekwondo. went to a prestigious primary and junior high school that only let the "intelligent" rich kids in. luckily for his parents, he was too smart, so they didn't need to pay his way in. often went on business trips with his parents for his future and position within the company of marigold, a fashion company.

 

 

waking up is difficult.

 

he's tired by the time he does at five in the morning, lazily washing up as he drags himself across the empty house to occupy himself, but his piano just sits there, his violin just stands there, his pencil just lies there, and he doesn't know what to do anymore as he thinks of nothing, his mind a white space.

 

he leaves, not wanting to stay in the cold darkness for any longer, passing by fancy houses, littered alleys, and broken-down apartments until he's face-to-face with the café he works at (it takes a good thirty minutes because he can't ignore the grandmother he helps every other day, the widowed father who sells home-made snacks on the street, the dog he feeds that he's seen grow up since ten years ago.) where he spends two hours wearing the softest smile, talking in the sweetest tone, and being in the kindest character.

 

seungyeon is already there waiting for him, leaning against the sleek black car with her usual smirk for a greeting to drive him to school. school where he may as well repeat his third year from all the under average grades he's been receiving. he doesn't know why he isn't trying, but that's a lie because he does know that deep down in the pit of his stomach, he just wants to piss his parents off and tell them and their world that he isn't the perfect little boy they designed him into.

 

when classes are over, he goes straight to peaches & cream to do extra work and try to study to pass the time until he locks up at midnight. if he doesn't want to go back, he'll stay for a few more minutes before seungyeon comes breathing on the glass door to write a message even though she knows he knows that she's already there. and if he really doesn't want to return to the place he has to call home, she'll take him to a beach, to a park, to a convenience store because she understands him. she always has.

 

but he'd have to go back anyway, so they drive home in the end, seungyeon sending him off with a squish of his cheek until she goes away. he watches her leave until he can't see the backlights of the car, then heads up to get ready for bed because he's tired. except all he does is lie there staring up at the ceiling because now is the time where he's thinking of everything.

 

sleeping is difficult.

 

 

is it better if i die?

 

 

grades started going down in freshmen year due to his insomnia and general i'm-too-tired-for-this-. still lives with his parents, but is working at a local café as a barista and waiter so that he could move out of that hellhole (he's already been given permission by his parents if he can get his grades back up – not happy that they were slipping – so that's okay. what they don't know is that he's working early mornings and late nights because those lowly jobs are for peasants!!!, passing it off as study sessions with friends—but who has friends, right?). has passed and is currently passing with a straight c, to the dismay of the school board and his parents.

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