A Short Story : A Story?

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“Yoongi, we know you’re in there. Unlock the door.” The blond heard a voice (Jin’s? He wasn’t sure.) call from outside. Yoongi was sitting with his back 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. Needless to say, he wasn’t unlocking the door. He wasn’t even sure he could move. He felt as though he were about to crumble, or as if 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 thing he’d thought of himself 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. “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 reminded, inadvertently causing Yoongi’s anxiety to soar. They had to go on stage in twenty minutes. Taehyung was already ill and unable to perform, now Yoongi would have to sit out too? The remaining five members would have to call off the concert – that

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