A Short Story : A Story?

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“Yoongi, please, unlock the door.” The blond heard a voice, possibly Jin’s, call from outside, but there were too many thoughts swirling around his head to pay much attention. Yoongi sat against the tiled bathroom wall with his legs pulled up to his chest and his forehead resting on his knees, attempting to steady his breathing and slow the pounding in his chest. How he got this way, he wasn’t sure; he’d been examining himself in the mirror and then oh god. At some point he’d stumbled to and locked the door before backing himself against the far wall. Needless to say, he wasn’t unlocking the door, he wasn’t even sure he could move; it felt as though he were a pane of glass shattering into hundreds of tiny shards. His head was nothing but a jumble of messy thoughts, he couldn’t differ between what was reality and what was made up scenarios, if the things he thought he heard and saw actually happened, or if anxiety was trying to convince him every negative bit of self-judgment was true; and he was exhausted. At that moment, Yoongi would’ve liked nothing more than to fall into a deep, quiet sleep until his thoughts seized assaulting him; anxiety was doing a damn good job. He hated when he got like this, he hated when it got this bad; when suddenly all reason went out the window replaced by an abundance of irrational fears and insecurities. “Hyung? Are you okay?” Another voice, Jimin’s, asked from the other side of the door. “We have to go on in twenty minutes.” The younger

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