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He used to call them itches.
For a long time, that's all they were. Annoying little feelings he could always stow away. Scratch them here and there, ignore them otherwise - it was a simple process he could always trust himself enough to follow.
The problems only actually started appearing when he decided to clue you in. I need to tell someone, he thought. Maybe they’ll get better if I let someone else know.
(‘When I see you enjoy talking with others in the messenger, I feel… itchy for some reason.”)
They didn’t.
Instead, he slowly turned witness to the transformation of these small itches into prickly outbreaks of rashes. Big, red patches of rough skin. Things he could not stop himself from picking at even on the best of days.
With every passing hour, he’d check to see if you were online, if you were texting anyone, anyone that wasn’t him. Otherwise, the frustration would continuously pile up, small pieces at a time, like adding brick by brick to a toppling construction. And soon, he found himself falling into fantasies that frightened him when he shook out of them.
And now? Why? Was Zen talking to you? Why were you calling him ‘nice’?
His fingers called before his mind could even think to catch up. His legs, too, paced around the school toilets restlessly as the call connected.
“What are you doing?” The question was pointed, biting, and aimed straight at you.
“Sitting at home. Why? Is something wrong?”
“I asked you what you were doing, not where you were. You were texting Zen, weren’t you?”
There was an incredulous pause on you end, wherein Yoosung almost regained his senses.
“Yeah, I was." He expected some guilt in your tone, something to reflect the way you'd been caught red-handed. But there was nothing akin to it. "I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it. He’s a friend.”
At the moment, Zen was not just a friend. He was a contender. A sort of evil power intent on whisking you away.
“What? Have you seen him? He’s been flirting with you since the first day. How am I supposed to compete with him when he’s so much more... experienced than I am?”
“Yoosung...”
There was a deep sigh. Hearing your breathing slow shook out some of the tension in his shoulders.
You continued.
“Nobody is competing with each other. Yoosung, you and I are together. Please have faith in me.”
“I just, what if - “ he started, but you cut him off.
“Do you trust me, Yoosung?”
There was a short, no more than 3 second pause wherein he slammed his head on the toilet cubicle and felt the weight of the situation finally grasp him.
“Ahh! I’m sorry!" he said, and covered his face with his hands out of shame. "You’re right. You’re completely right."
A sigh of relief came at him through the phone.
"Ugh, I’m so annoyed! I told myself that I’d stop doing this, but I just can’t. Every time I see you talking to anyone else I - I get so possessive." Again, the imagery of the itch came into mind, scratching and clawing at his insides. "Like I want you to be... all mine." It was so visceral, so incredibly overwhelming it was almost a physical sensation, like a burn flaring his skin. "I actually really think... there might be something wrong with me.”
Even before you replied, he knew exactly what you were going to say.
“Feeling jealous is natural, just don’t let it-”
“No,” Yoosung said. Although the word was quiet, the underlying force behind its inflection almost made you double-take. “You can’t tell me what I feel for you is normal.”
You weren’t sure how to reply to that.
“Is it not, though?”
“I… Don’t get me wrong. I really love you, we both know that - but I don’t think you know what scale I’m talking about. I’m not as stupid as I look. I know what’s normal and what’s not, and what I want to do whenever I see you just - even look at someone that isn’t me is not it.” There were tremors in the words he spoke. His breathing too, felt almost laboured. Like he was pushing the words out of himself.
“Then tell me so I do know. What do you want to do?” You were almost scared to ask the question. Yoosung too, seemed afraid of the answer. He went silent for just long enough to pluck up the courage to respond.
“I… Ahh…” He stumbled over his words. “Hah, sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You were right, I was just being childish.”
“Yoosung.”
“I think I need some time to myself. Could I - call you later? I promise. I just need to get back to class.” His finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button, but it waited for your response.
“Yoosung, please.”
It stayed suspended in the air for a while. Eventually, with a sigh, he pulled it to the side - and pressed the phone up to his mouth.
When he spoke, it was in a hushed whisper.
“It didn’t really get this bad until recently, but when I see you talking to Jumin and Zen I… I want to tie you up. I want to hide you in my room and lock the door so you can’t run away from me. I’ve bought... sleeping pills to put them in your food. I thought that if you fell asleep at mine, I could be around you for longer. Don’t worry. I never actually used them. I… felt too bad.”
He was only met with more silence. Eventually, even his adrenaline failed him, and he slumped to against the stall all the way to the floor.
“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
You wanted to answer and tell him he was wrong, you really did. But in reality, you were still reeling from his comment about sleeping pills and your voice just would not come out.
“I have such a beautiful thing, and all I wanna do is keep it to myself. Just… cage it. I want to have every bit of it. All because I’m scared of losing it.”
“Yoosung that’s -”
“I know there’s something wrong with me, I really do. But - promise you won’t leave me? I’ll never actually hurt you - and I won’t listen to the itches. I just need you to tell me that you’ll stay…”
There was an odd pause before you spoke, because it took a while for your voice to kick into gear.
“I promise.”
Even from your side and with his phone pointed away from his mouth, his sigh of relief was very audible.
“Thank you,” he said, and ended the call.