#they’re uhm. in middle school right now >_0

[koqabear]

ugh FINE i’ll give you guys another spoiler scene for psycho rich kid beomgyu 😒😒 fine!!!! since literally everyoneeee is asking for it !!!!! (do you guys still remember this fic.)

sfw, unedited

Beomgyu gave you twenty minutes. 

He knows better than to have high expectations for you; it's a foreign, overwhelming experience, with watchful eyes in every corner and reputations at stake. He’s always thought the Huening’s foyer was over the top— tacky, really, an arrogant display of wealth that only serves to intimidate newcomers. 

The catering choices for this year however, have improved. Beomgyu has found that he prefers the palette selected this time around, remembering the foods that had him grimacing and holding back a gag last year— when his mother ushers him to accept a caterer’s offer, he doesn’t feel as apprehensive to obey. It’s a small food that’s easy to pop in his mouth, and Beomgyu takes this moment to sneak a glance at the analog watch on his wrist, much too heavy for his liking. Five minutes have passed. 

Your head must be spinning; your stomach must be tied up into a complex rollercoaster. He allows his mother to place a heavy hand on his shoulder, bringing him into her side as a display of affection. Briefly, he recognizes Mr. and Mrs. Jang, their daughter beaming prettily between them— her eyes have a glassy, empty look to them, ruby lips stretched into a permanent smile. She doesn’t speak once in the conversation that’s all about her. 

Beomgyu’s eyes begin to wander, looking up at the chandeliers and the winding stairs that lead to the second floor; he observes the rest of the patrons around him, dressed in formal gowns and pristine tuxedos— everything is polished to perfection, from the floor beneath him to the pleasant smiles the people around him exchange. Looking at this must be suffocating you. 

Ten minutes. Ten minutes should be enough for you to gather your courage and come to him, right? You must be pacing in circles right now, watching from a distance and unable to cross the boundary that separates you— he thinks of the back entrance the you’ve been taken to, the gaping doorway behind him, and goes to sneak a glance over his shoulder, a quick look just to see if you’re there—

His mother’s nails bite through the thick material of his blazer and dig into his skin, stiletto points that burrow into his tender flesh. Beomgyu masks the wince of his body for a smile that he gives to Mrs. Jang, catching her eyes as he listens to her compliment him, an exchange that goes back and forth between her and his mother. 

Fifteen minutes. What’s going through your mind right now? Have you found complacency in the back tables with mediocre store-bought desserts the employees brought for each other? His parents have wandered off to the dance floor, bumping into the Huenings and talking animatedly, as though they were having the most interesting conversation on earth. He worries that his mothers face might rip open from the strain of her smile— Beomgyu doesn’t remember the last time his father laughed so loudly. 

Twenty minutes. He’s been dumped off with the Jang’s daughter, a robotic girl that can only muster small talk and ask superficial questions, round eyes absorbing the light around them and plump lips stretching to show a perfect, pearly smile. 

Are you enjoying the party so far? 

Beomgyu merely glances at her before he’s back to observing his surroundings, wondering if you’re just lost in the crowd. He looks over at the catering table, with towers of pastries, expecting to find you gawking at the magnificent display. 

It’s empty and untouched. 

“It’d be better if the music they played wasn’t trying to put me to sleep,” he remarks, unsure if he can take another classical piece droning on in the background. 

Her eyes light up and she laughs; a delicate sound, like windchimes moved about by the wind. Beomgyu wonders if he should be endeared by the noise. 

Twenty-five minutes. Thirty. Forty. 

Beomgyu feels a pressure behind his eyes, incessant and just as uncomfortable as the stiff suit that’s beginning to drive him mad— it’s stuffy in this corner he’s found himself in, the Jang’s daughter— Wonyoung, he remembers— continuing to cling to him despite his insistence that she doesn’t have to. Three failed attempts to shake her off and she’s still glued to his side. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he murmurs, looking around the vast foyer and to the back entrance, where you must still be— when he takes a step back, Wonyoung takes one forward. 

“I’ll go with you,” she smiles, her voice sweet and song-like. Beomgyu shakes his head at her offer, pressing his lips together before he finds the right words to say.

“It’s alright. Really,” he reassures, glimpsing over at his parents, still distracted by the Huenings, then scanning the room for the Jang’s— when he confirms that both have been consumed by other matters, he turns around to send Wonyoung a stern look. “Neither of our parents are paying us any mind now.

“Please excuse me,” he says, uncaring of the way Wonyoung tries to open her mouth to speak, “I have more important things to tend to.”

His steps hasten the further he gets from her— ducking his head to ensure he doesn’t make eye-contact with anyone, his parents least of all. It’s only when he’s escaped the public and stepped into the back hall that he finds a weight slipping off his body. 

He stands at the doorway, a blank expression on his face as he begins to scan his surroundings; it’s a quiet, dull place, with workers and cooks coming and going from various places, carrying dirty dishes or a new pretty plate with delicacies to hand out— he watches the commotion from a distance, scanning through bodies in search of your anxious face. A cook, a maid, a caterer that stares down at their dirtied shirt with disdain and quiet curses— but no you. 

If anyone spots the boy amidst all the chaos, wandering around places he shouldn’t be, no one bothers to point it out— they’d rather not cause any potential problems, anyways. Beomgyu can feel the glances spared to him, the confusion in their eyes before they’re going back to work; he peeks his head curiously in every room he can, opening every door he finds. 

When he realizes you’re nowhere to be found, a strange sensation begins to bubble inside him. 

It starts in his stomach; a heavy pang, a sinking sensation that ebbs into the rest of his torso, speeding his heart rate and pumping adrenaline into his veins. His hands begin to tremble, and he finds himself oddly haste to check any room he hasn’t yet, or double check any he has— his legs feel like jelly, his hurried steps reminiscent of a deer learning to walk; he thinks he might just trip over his own feet if he isn’t careful enough. 

Where have you gone? Where could you have possibly gone? Beomgyu has triple checked the employee area— you’re not there. Not in the closets, not in the bathrooms, not in the corners in the back of the rooms. 

He steps out to the hall, and turns to the only option left; the hallway is far from the main event and strictly off limits to anyone that’s not the Huenings. You wouldn’t, he thinks to himself, eyes narrowing at the portraits that seem to glare down at him, you’d never. 

From the distance, he sees someone approaching: a boy seemingly younger than him, with dark hair and bangs that have been neatly swept away from his face— his face is twisted into a stressed expression, eyes darting back and forth as though in search of something; it is only when he’s a few feet away from Beomgyu that the boy seems to spot him.

A myriad of emotions seems to flash through his eyes— panic, concern, worry— only to settle on a curiosity that swims in the deep, brown irises, like honey that threatens to trap Beomgyu in. He watches as the younger wrings his hands absentmindedly, hidden beneath the sleeves of his suit— Beomgyu remembers him as Hueningkai.

“You’re… son of the Choi family,” he begins, gulping nervously and scanning the said boy’s appearance, “right?”

“Choi Beomgyu.” is all he cares to respond, too impatient to deal with any distractions.

Looking over the younger’s shoulder, he continues to gaze down the hall, as though searching for any movement. Hueningkai hesitates before he speaks again. 

“Choi Beomgyu…” Hueningkai murmurs, the formality of his tone causing Beomgyu’s gaze to snap back down to him.

“I need your help.”