I've always thought that it was quite impressive how humans had found ways to cure so many diseases and problems which we face. Of course, there's still a lot of stuff that remains uncurable, like AIDS or diabetes, for instance.
And schizophrenia. 
The last one will probably remain like that for a while since it's crossing the mental health territory.
Plus, no one seems to know for sure what causes it. Most just bet it has to do with genetics.

But let's not dive into the reason why I'm in this mess in the first place.

Another thing humans can't seem to get a solution for is emotions. Especially negative ones. Obviously, nobody seems to be in a rush to create a pill or a vaccine against grief and extreme sadness.
Unfortunately.

That would have made things so much easier.

When I was 14, my parents died in a car crash and nobody seemed to know how to make me feel better. I was forced to go to two therapists who were more used to either confronting really old people dealing with stress and alcohol or very young children struggling with trauma or death.
A teenager was definitely a challenge for them. I think the biggest dilemma they had was whether they should actually treat me like an adult or a kid.
And in the end, they went for the latter.

And so they made me do a lot of weird exercises and activities, including this arts and crafts kind of thing that apparently was called a scream box, to which I was supposed to scream at whenever I felt the need to let out my frustration or sadness. 

At the time  I remember thinking just how ridiculous the whole thing was, but I decided not to comment on it. In fact, I never even dared to tell them that none of the things they made me do was useful. But I didn't want to upset them because they were trying to help me. They just had no idea how to do it. For some reason, I felt guilty about it.

Needless to say, I never used that poorly glued messy scream box.
But my aunt did.
A lot.

My aunt never dared to share how she actually felt about losing her brother. The only thing she ever said to me was how much she missed my dad, how great my mum was and how I reminded her a lot of my dad. Nothing else. 

After all, both of us had lost someone precious to us, but unlike her, I hadn't gained the responsibility to care for and provide for another human being. In my head, she was suffering so much more than I was, therefore I had the obligation to keep all my suffering inside.

I knew that she needed a way to deal with their loss, so when I accidentally ripped the scream box, I panicked and practically begged my therapists to let me do another one. This obviously shocked them beyond belief but they seemed pretty satisfied with themselves. I never once mentioned that it was actually my aunt that used it.

And so, after giving me a bunch of paper with different colours, some sticks, and different crappy glue tubes that were mostly half empty, my therapists left me on my own in the waiting room, so I could work in peace. I was actually really relieved that I didn't have to go through another two hours of being treated like a fragile little idiot, but mostly I just wanted to get the stupid box done for the sake of my aunt.

But, like everything else in my life, I had somehow managed to make a mess.

And as I tried to get the sticky glue off my fingers, I heard someone clear their throat making me look up. 

There was a boy, not much older than me, with dark hair. He was looking down at me with a small smirk on his face, but you could see that a tiny part of him seemed slightly confused.

"What are you doing?" he asked while staring straight at my fingers. Can't blame him for that, I had somehow managed to glue my index finger and middle finger together.

"None of your business." 

That might come off as rude and I'm not usually rude to people. At least I try not to
But my patience was already running thin after having to pretend that I actually gave two craps about all of these "therapeutic activities" and cheap arts and crafts material.

"Isn't a scream box supposed to be just for little kids?"

"There's no age limit for the need to scream and rage. Besides, this is not for me, it's for my aunt. She needs it."

"Why would your aunt need a paper box that looks like shit?"

"Why would I need a smart ass next to me, commenting on everything I say and do?!" 

"Touché." he let out a quiet chuckle. The boy then looked again at my glued fingers, which I was struggling to break apart, but failing greatly at it. "Do you need help with that?"

"No, go away."

"Shut up and accept my kindness."

"I don't need your help!" I grumbled, still trying to rub the stupid glue out of my hands. You know, for crappy glue tubes, they sure were effective.

"You literally look like a kitten with its head stuck in a kleenex box. It's pretty pathetic."

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

"Doesn't matter, 'cause I'm going to help you anyways."

Before I could protest any further, the boy sat down next to me and grabbed my hands and started to gently peel off the glue.

I got to mention, that in my 14 years of living, I barely had any contact with anyone, much less of the opposite gender. I could barely high-five a guy.
If this had happened before I lost my parents, I would have probably turned into a nervous wreck. 
But since the "unfortunate accident", as most of the adults around me had called it, a part of me seemed to have shut off. Like my emotions had toned down. Like pretty nothing mattered, besides how sad I was and how much my aunt was hurting. 
So the only reaction that his gesture caused me was confusion and slight annoyance.

But the boy continued silently to do what he was doing, completely ignoring my glares.

"I'm Yoongi by the way."

"Good for you," I muttered as tried to not make the sarcasm and frustration in my voice even more rudely evident. But instead of leaving me to suffer in the glue mess that I had made, he chuckled again, and this time it seemed more genuine. 

"You know, I think this is the start of a very wonderful friendship..."

And it was.

It's weird to think that it all started in a waiting room of a clinic and that I was actually stupid enough to glue my fingers together.

But he was right, it really was a long and wonderful friendship.  

Too bad it wasn't real.