tower of babel
the atmosphere in the dorm room is one that taeyongâs never been in before and thinks would be great if he could get out of. yongha is staring at him with the most uncharacteristic expression ever. heâs never seen his classmate look so anxious and on edge; yonghaâs pretty well known even in first year for his bright personality. they donât share classes, but taeyongâs heard enough from people around the school and heâs observed on his own when they do interact. it used to feel like yongha was on a different level: popular with people, smart and effortlessly going through life. despite them being the same age, taeyong used to feel as though heâd look up to yongha existing on a different plane.
this â whatever this is â makes yongha feel a little more relatable. so the stars in the sky can fall and land on earth, taeyong can reach his hands out and touch if he tries. ironically, yonghaâs defensiveness and âcornered animalâ vibes make him easier to approach than before. taeyong knows how it feels to be there, to have to build up walls against everyone else to protect yourself. he knows what it feels like to be scared and terrified. all his life heâs been constantly in this fight-or-flight setting. taeyong might not understand why yongha is so afraid, but he can empathise with the feeling itself and he nods.
âi promise i wonât tell anyone but like i said, i donât really have anyone to tell,â he puts it out there. like it isnât already obvious to his year mate that taeyongâs pretty much been ostracised and singled out as an outcast in sunhwa because of his circumstances. heâs curious though and that spark, that little bit of connection between them, because of shared emotions and similar experiences, makes him ask the question he would normally have shelved. âwhy are you doing it anyway?â he canât think of any benefit to faking a hearing impairment; itâs not like they give yongha more time on tests or any special privileges.
Yongha had asked for a promise, but to what use? He didnât trust people, let alone himself. And without trust there could never be that sensation of calm derived out of being safe. Taeyong said âI promiseâ, he heard him loud and clear, but that wasnât enough. Deep down he knew that nothing could ever be enough, not because he instinctively thought that his roommate would end up talking, but because he didnât want to talk. Didnât want to share. For lack of a better word he couldnât. You canât just spill a secret youâve kept from everyone your entire life. He may be young, so very young, but sixteen years is all he has had thus far, and to him thatâs been like an eternity of agony, guilt, fear and resentment. He doesnât want to open that box, not even peak inside to see whether itâs harmless to do so in the first place. He doesnât want to, and Yongha suddenly feels more childish than he has ever been in his entire life. Thereâs something swelling in his chest, something thatâs far from pleasant. Itâs bubbling, frothing, threatening to erupt. And it takes everything in him to not snap at the other. He didnât care whether or not Taeyong had someone to tell, it was the idea that he could that was driving him insane.Â
Regardless he kept himself swept in the covers, hiding his body and the sensation of his racing heart underneath the fabric. Fuck this. That seemingly innocent, yet perfectly destructive, question was left hanging in the air -- carefully avoided, like the loaded gun that it was. Yongha kept staring at the other boy, without necessarily seeing him. There was too much going on inside of his now very small body, and no matter how hard the tried to recognize and categorize everything that he felt it was too hard to grasp, too much to fathom, and he genuinely felt like he was going to explode. He couldnât contain whatever was going on inside of him, but neither could he get it out. Not when Taeyong was still in the room. An urge to grab him by the neck and drag him out hit Yongha so vividly that his heart skipped a beat, and instinctively his already balled-up fists clenched harder on the insides of the cover, his nails threatening to tear through. He felt sick, scared, angry and trapped: not a good combination when you had no outlet for it. Maybe his face had turned a shade paler, but his breathing remained under his control and he just looked blank, if anything. The only thing that he couldnât hide was how his eyes betrayed his every attempt at seeming detached. Yet he couldnât look away no matter how hard he tried.
âDo I have to answer?â His voice was surprisingly collected and, unfortunately, a lot harsher than it shouldâve been. He tried to keep it in, but the ugliness inside of him found ways to seep through, right now in the guise of an accusatory tone. He needed to be a bit mean, or else heâd go off in less attractive ways. He had never felt this full of emotions before, and it scared him how potent his anger was. He was angry at himself for being so careless. Angry at Taeyeong for finding out. Even angrier that he had the audacity to not just ignore this entire thing completely. But most of all he was angry about his choices in life, all of which has led him to this point. He was angry that he couldnât use this supreme opportunity to get this off his chest, to finally tell someone, because the fear of the repercussions were far greater than the anticipated relief. And that translated into a piercing stare and a voice that would be harsher than his roommate ever deserved. âAre you going to make me?â
