Part 27 ⧫ Make-Believe

make-be·lieve

/ˈmākbəˌlēv/

noun

The action of pretending or imagining, typically that things are better than they really are.

_______

Baekhyun didn’t show up to school on Monday, despite what Chanyeol had said. I figured the first wish on my wishlist by now was for him to recover -- or at least for Baekbeom to wake up from the coma he was in. If Baekhyun missed finals… well, I didn’t even want to imagine how much of a mess everything would be in. Besides, he could’ve at least called the school about this incident -- why had he chosen to close himself off like that? And what had all those photographs spread across the living room meant? Maybe, somewhere deep inside, I knew the answer, but I hadn’t yet come to terms with them yet.

Studying was something I tried to do, but quite frankly, it was harder than it had ever been. All the words -- the moment I tried to sit down and read the textbook -- seemed to just blur together and I couldn’t concentrate even if I tried to force myself to. I couldn’t get Baekhyun off my mind -- it wasn’t even like before -- this was pure worry, and it was even worse when I had been debating with myself whether I liked him or not. It was, at the least, more painful.

Chanyeol, Jongin and Kyungsoo were completely silent on Monday, and I didn’t even see them in the hallways -- just a faint glimpse here and there between classes -- which made me wonder yet again if suggesting that we should leave was the best idea -- or in fact -- had it been a coward’s move.

Tuesday morning I had prepared myself with five mechanical pencils, two erasers, and a pack of 2B lead, though my mind was still elsewhere. I had pretty much given up hope that Baekhyun would even appear -- and then there was the fact that I had barely managed to get more than five hours of sleep last night and I was sure that I was going to fail. I had a killer headache when I finally stumbled, half dead, into the homeroom, I was about to collapse. I wasn’t even sure if I could keep my eyes open, much less do a final. And the worst part was that something told me that I wouldn’t get much sleep tomorrow either.

Chanyeol didn’t acknowledge me when I dropped (literally dropped down into the seat) into my desk, then half threw half dropped my backpack against the floor and pulled out the pencil case. Then, promptly, I collapsed onto the desk, hoping that I could possibly get five minutes of sleep before it started. Or maybe ten, if I were lucky.

“Alright, everybody,” Mr. Choi’s voice droned, and I jumped from my desk in half-shock, glancing at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since my head first hit the desk, though it felt like a couple seconds. The tiredness hadn’t gone -- in fact, it had come back full force, and keeping my eyes open in itself was a struggle. I wished for a coffee, however bitter. “We’ll be starting now. There will be no talking -- any talking will be marked as cheating. Any-”

The door of the classroom opened, and I jerked from almost falling asleep again.

Choi turned to the door, a mask of irritation over his face, mouth open like he was just going to scold someone, then he froze, and the whole class, which seemed to simultaneously turn to the door, seemed to do the same with him. I tried to blink sleep from my eyes, and then too turned to the door.

Baekhyun stood in the entrance, a backpack slung over his shoulder, uniform neater than I had ever seen him wear it. Despite it, however, there were still dark circles under his eyes from probable sleepless nights. He tilted his head at Mr. Choi, flashing a painful ghost of his normal smile. “I’m on time this time, right?” he asked.

***

Baekhyun didn’t speak to any of us after each exams; from Tuesday to Friday; in fact, he pretty much disappeared right after everything. Needless to say, it was still a huge relief that he showed up -- really missing finals would’ve been disastrous -- completely. However, it was still rather (or in other words, extremely) painful when he walked past me like I didn’t exist in the hallway when I tried to talk to him.

Friday, though, turned out to be a completely different story after school.

It was the last final day (final final, technically speaking) -- and summer break was beginning in less than a week. Monday next week would be the last day of school; and results would be posted then. Despite this not being one of my finest performances -- I was almost a hundred percent sure that I could’ve done better if I had been able to actually study a couple days in advance instead of doing useless worrying -- but then again, I was probably able to maintain an average on everything around ninety, take or give a percent or two.

After the stress of examinations disappeared, the one major problem left was now Baekhyun. And calling that even a major problem seemed to be an understatement.

Before he could leave the school, I cornered him in front of the girl’s washroom.

Probably wasn’t my wisest move I had done, but the only escape route for him was the run into the girl's’ washroom and climb through the window (that I was pretty sure not even Baekhyun, as skinny as he was, could fit through), or go past me. Which… was the weak spot in my not-so-thoroughly thought out plan.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I told him, and even to myself, it sounded a bit… odd. Besides, the hallway was pretty much abandoned and I had followed Baekhyun here. Was this how he managed to leave every time without any of us noticing? I wondered.

“Excuse me?” He had looked confused at first, but the scowl was beginning to form as he readjusted the straps of his backpack. “Can you… let me leave? I need to go home now. I don’t have time for this.”

I don’t have time for this. What exactly was ‘for this?’ Talking to me? Then, the thought occurred to me that I had cornered him -- quite literally, backed him up into a corner -- and that I was holding my arms out to my sides like creating barrier of some sort -- which was a rather ridiculous thought because he was probably stronger than me. I studied Baekhyun’s face; he looked a little less tired than the last time I remembered, though his eyes were still empty. “You actually need to stop,” was all my brain oh-so-usefully supplied me with.

“Stop what? I came here for exams. What else do you want?”

Some part of my brain told me that I should fling my backpack at his face if it meant knocking even just a little bit of sense into him, because he had obviously lost all of it. However (I had no idea how I did it -- maybe by telling myself that hitting him wasn’t going to give him common sense), I managed to restrain myself from actually doing so, and mustered in the calmest voice possible, “Ignoring us. Stop ignoring us. Stop that.” As soon as the words left my mouth, they sounded dumb.

He didn’t say anything for a while, and I continued to meet his gaze. Finally, he shoved my arm out of the way, taking large steps away from me, and as he did, throwing over his shoulder, “Forget it. I did what you guys wanted. I came for finals. Now leave me alone. This has nothing to do with you or Chanyeol or Jongin or Kyungsoo.”

I watched him take a couple more steps, slightly shocked and hurt that he had just brushed me off like that. Was he completely blind of everyone else? Or just incredibly stupid? Or a combination of both?

“No!” I burst, a sudden spark of energy flowing through me from somewhere unbeknown. Somehow, it was enough to stop Baekhyun in his tracks and for him to turn around too.

He didn’t say anything, but didn’t continue walking either. I continued talking, spilling pretty much every first thought that came to mind, unconsciously moving forward to follow him. “You can’t just keep on shoving everyone away. You’re not talking to us and cocooning yourself in a bubble of your own grief and it’s never going to go away if you don’t let it out and Baekbeom isn’t going to get better if you keep blaming yourself-”

“So what are you going to do about it?” The sentence itself, if said in a different tone, could’ve held a threat, but there was nothing threatening about Baekhyun’s voice. He just simply sounded tired and defeated. Disheartened.

I blinked, the disappearance of his anger surprising me -- to say the least. “Well, I don’t really know,” I began, still not over the surprise, “I mean, whatever I can do to help and I’ll be willing to help you if you just let me and--” Now that he wasn’t actually mad anymore, I was beginning to stumble my words again. “Like I could, I don’t know-”

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