#I thought she’d be colourless when I saw the staff

[katfreaks-hidyhole]

[wtf-taeyong]

Twenty Five Days / 1 /  Min Yoongi

Word count - 11k Genre - Angst Warnings - Graphic descriptions of mental illness (anxiety), rape tw for a later chapter! I don’t know which yet! I’ll put another warning before that one. Keep yourself safe, love

Part 1 / Part 2 / ??

Someone once told Yoongi that life was kind of strange, sometimes. It works in mysterious ways, or whatever the saying was.

Now that he was thinking about it, maybe that saying was about love.

Either way, life and being alive was fucking weird, and Yoongi still didn’t have a grip on it. He didn’t like it all that much and he hated things that he couldn’t control. He also hated when he made a decision and he was scorned for it; whether that was about choosing to stop living, or deciding to live perhaps too vivaciously for some to comprehend.

“We need a crash cart, now!”

Perhaps he should take up a hobby. Maybe he should learn a new language, throwing himself entirely into his studies and lamenting over the fact that he might make mistakes sometimes. Min Yoongi hated mistakes. Everything needed to be organised, orderly, systematic. Even if he was a beginner, he didn’t like making mistakes. As far as he was concerned, it was a sign of failure.

“One, two, three, clear! One, two, three, clear!”

He felt weird. He felt tingly. He felt rather like he did when he smoked his first cigarette; the fear of being caught by his parents making his fingertips shake, his mouth feel dry. The nicotine that was sucked into his lungs made him feel a thousand times heavier, yet as light as air. The sudden rush of adrenaline making nervous laughter escape him in short bursts out of his control.

He decided then that he didn’t like smoking.

“We have a pulse!”

A sudden wave of irritation exploded over him like a tsunami. Who the hell was shouting down his ear like that? He could hear perfectly fine.

“His breathing is stable…”

Who the fuck was ‘he’?

“Heart rate is normal…”

Who the hell was he…

His eyes were sore every time he blinked, and there was a cloud of anger that was constantly hanging over him like an accessory that he wore remarkably well. The fabric of the hospital gown he had been wearing for far too long was irritating his skin, particularly in the most unsavoury places, and the constant beeping from the machine next to his bed prevented him from having a restful sleep. The two things paired together was enough to make him unpleasant company to even the most resilient people; until, of course, his most treasured annoyance came sauntering through the door with a sunshine smile and a bag swinging in his grip.

“Good evening, Yoongs!” he chirped, setting the bag on the bed that Yoongi had only recently vacated, despite the sun beginning to go down. “How are you?” “Tired and pissed off. Food tastes like shit.” “Well, that’s what you get,” Hoseok said, grinning happily at his friend. “I brought some of your clothes so you can change out of your dress.”

Not bothering to snap at him that it was a hospital gown, for christ’s sake, Yoongi stood up and immediately opened the bag, sliding boxers under the hospital gown and stripping it off.

“Can I go home yet?”

The stitches lining his arms tugged in protest when he stretched his arms above his head to pull his shirt on, and his head swirled uncomfortably when he bent down to yank his jeans up. He didn’t check to see the disappointment in Hoseok’s gaze, choosing instead to ignore it was ever there.

“Depends. Am I going to find you covered in your own blood when I come over tomorrow?” Rolling his eyes, Yoongi sat on the bed again to pull on some socks and shove his feet into the boots that Hoseok had brought him.

“No. It’s too messy. I’ll do it some other way if I really wanted to.” “Yoongi…” “I know, Hoseok.”

There was a brief silence where the two men looked at each other, and Yoongi’s mind was emptier than it had been for a long time. All he thought about was the cars that he could hear through the single pane window that made the room uncomfortably drafty, and the beeping that came from the machines around the ward. Chatter filtered through the door that Hoseok had closed behind him and Yoongi’s brain was numb.

“Don’t do this shit again, dude.” “No promises.” “I’m serious, Yoongi.” “Me, too.”

Hoseok stared at Yoongi, long and hard, and whilst Yoongi might have once crossed his arms uncomfortably and spat some harsh words to get Hoseok to look away, he didn’t this time. There was nothing more to hide from Hoseok.

Yoongi’s brain was numb.

Everything was empty.

Finally, after the second uncomfortable silence, Hoseok sighed.

“I’ll go and get your discharge papers. In the meantime, can you please, for the love of God, stay here?” Yoongi shrugged, and Hoseok left the room shortly after. Yoongi paused for a beat, then stepped forward and wrenched the door open.

Hoseok had taken a right, and Yoongi took a left, footsteps quick and the sounds of his boots meeting the linoleum floor bouncing off the walls.

Yoongi didn’t make eye contact with any of the nurses or staff members that he passed, and he definitely didn’t look at any of the other patients. He didn’t want to see the cold, empty eyes that he saw enough of whenever he looked in the mirror. He didn’t want the reminder of where he was and what he’d done.

Before too long, he found himself at the huge window at the end of the ward that people always seemed to ignore.

Immediately downwards, there was nothing but a half empty car park - Hoseok’s obnoxiously shiny Audi in the middle of it - and Yoongi thought that was the reason nobody bothered to stop and breathe and look out the window anymore. Everything was grey and made of concrete and tarmac and was a painful reminder of how shit the world is, how colourless and soulless everything was.

Thinking that he should head back to his room in case Hoseok started tearing his own hair out, Yoongi whirled around and immediately locked eyes with a girl standing in a doorway of another hospital room.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about her; average face, normal hair, standard hospital issue gown. There was a sickliness to her skin that was evident in his, and bags under her eyes that rivalled his own, so there was no exact reason for him to halt in his tracks and stare at her in the same way that she stared at him.

She wasn’t particularly tall, or short. She wasn’t thin, or fat. She was completely nodescript and she was the kind of person that would sail right under his radar under normal circumstances.

Unfortunately, he had just spent a month in the same room, the same halls with all the same faces; the same vacant expressions, the same cold eyes and hard, flat smiles. His freedom was so close he could reach out and grab it with both hands if he wanted to, but this girl that he had never seen before made him hesitate.

She was smiling at him. She was smiling like he had gathered the sun and presented it to her; like he had hung the stars in her night sky; like he had shown her the way through this god forsaken life that everybody led. She was smiling at him and Yoongi had forgotten how it felt to show such happiness on his face.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Yoongi didn’t know when she had gotten so close to him, too busy staring at the foreign expression on her face, and her sudden noise startled him out of his stupor. “Uh, what?” She nodded towards the window he had just vacated. “Beautiful.”

Yoongi didn’t know what it was about the endless greys that enticed her so much, and usually he wouldn’t bother to find out, but the light - no, the spark - in her eyes drew him in like a moth to a flame. Why was she here? Somebody that radiated warmth didn’t belong in such a loveless place.

“No.” he shook his head. The girl’s lips lifted into yet another smile and Yoongi wondered yet again what she was doing here. “You need to stop looking, and you need to see.” Yoongi didn’t say anything.

What would he have said to that, two years ago? When his brain worked and he didn’t give into the intrusive thoughts of ‘jumping in front of that bus would be so easy.’ When he had a job, and friends, people that cared for him and people that he cared for in return.

He probably would have said something stupid and derogatory.

“Yoongi?!” Hoseok’s frantic and desperate voice echoed down the hallway and Yoongi turned his head slightly, watching his oldest friend grasp at his hair and tug, whirling this way and that to look for his deathly pale and sickly looking friend. Hoseok was the only one that still gave a shit.

“Gotta go,” Yoongi muttered, turning to look at the girl, but finding that she’d already disappeared back into her room. Shrugging, Yoongi made his way down the hallway to his frantic friend whose face morphed into one of anger when he saw him.

“I literally gave you one job, dude! It’s not so hard to keep your feet planted in one place for, like, five minutes!” Yoongi shrugged again and Hoseok sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering some choice words. “Whatever. Come on, I’m starving. I didn’t eat any dinner before I had to come and get your ungrateful ass.”

Following silently behind Hoseok, Yoongi turned briefly and saw the girl standing by the window.

“So,” Hoseok started, using a napkin to dab his mouth clean and then resting his hands on the table, making his fingers into a steeple. Yoongi sighed, playing with the pasta on his plate with his fork, knowing exactly what was coming. It was the same conversation that had transpired between the two men the last few times Yoongi had done something incredibly stupid and needed to be collected from hospital. “You’re coming to live with me.” “No, Hoseok.” “I wasn’t fucking asking, man.” Yoongi raised his eyes to stare at the man whose lips were pursed and downturned.

“I’m not coming to live with you, Hoseok. That’s final.” “I don’t give a shit what you want, Yoongi, you’re coming to mine and you’re staying there where I can keep a goddamn eye on you-” “I don’t need babysitting!” Yoongi burst, slamming his fork down and glaring hotly at Hoseok. “Don’t act like a fucking child and I won’t feel the need to babysit you!” Hoseok shouted back with as much passion.

Yoongi’s cheeks burned slightly under the stares from the other diners. Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair that matched the colour of his absurdly expensive car.

“Look, man, I don’t pretend to get… Whatever the hell it is that you’re going through. I mean, I can’t, you literally tell me jack shit. But for fuck’s sake. I’m your best friend. You’re my best friend. Do you know how shitty it is to wake up every morning and not know whether you will? Its sucks, dude.” Yoongi stared down at the table. “Listen, I won’t force you to do something you really don’t wanna do. If you’re that against coming to live with me, fine, whatever, suit yourself. But please, for my sake, get more help at least? I love you, man, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m never gonna see you again.”

Yoongi’s eyes were burning uncomfortably and he was too scared to look up at Hoseok in case he started crying in public.

That’d be so uncool.

“Okay.” He muttered. “Okay?” Hoseok repeated, almost not daring to believe it. “Okay. I’ll live with you.” “Okay. Okay! Alright! That’s great!” Hoseok was grinning uncontrollably, and then slid Yoongi’s plate closer to the man who still wouldn’t look up at him. “Finish eating, then we’ll swing by your place to grab some of your stuff before going to mine. I’m so excited, it’ll be like our super awesome sleepovers from high school.”

“You’re such a girl, Hoseok.” Yoongi stated, a wry smile curling the corners of his lips up. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to live with his best friend. “Hey, I’m just excited to get my best friend back. It’s been too long, dude.” “Yeah,” Yoongi said, throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably thick. “Yeah, it has.”

There was silence as Yoongi finished his dinner and he waited out the front of the restaurant, watching the traffic go by as Hoseok paid the bill. His hands were fiddling with the slightly frayed ends of his sleeves, feeling the hot pressure of imaginary gazes on him, taking in his small and weak form and the scars, new and old, that lined his body, as if they could see through the fabric of his sweater.

His head tilted towards the ground, focused entirely on a crack in the pavement in case he accidentally made eye contact with someone, and he started to shuffle his right foot. What was taking Hoseok so long?

A mother and her young son were approaching where Yoongi was stood and his heart was hammering. What did they think of him? Was he standing weirdly? Was his posture okay? The mother was saying something to her child and Yoongi couldn’t hear what she was saying; what if she was saying to stay away from Yoongi? Was she telling her son that she wanted him to grow up the exact opposite of Yoongi? Were they looking at the frayed edges he was fiddling with and wondering what was so wrong with him that he couldn’t look up?

Did they think he was any less of a person because he couldn’t stand straight and look them in the eye?

His breathing was beginning to spike and he could feel the sweat beginning to bead at his temple; the two people were getting closer and closer and Yoongi could begin to make out individual words. He was going to puke, he knew it. He could feel the bile rising in his oesophagus and he was going to embarrass himself in front of this entire street of people and this kid was gonna remember him for the rest of his life and pray he never turns out as much as a loser as this pathetic man in the street-

“Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice made him jump, breaking him out of his self induced, panicked reverie. “You good? You look like you’re gonna barf.”

Yoongi swallowed thickly, turning his head to see that the woman and her son had moved past them and were laughing about a film they had just seen together. He took a deep breath, turning to Hoseok and praying the younger man didn’t see how his eyes were suddenly more watery than normal or the amount of moisture that had built up on his temple and upper lip.

“Y-Yeah,” Yoongi stuttered, a pathetic attempt of a smile raising on his lips. “I’m good.” Hoseok didn’t look entirely convinced but knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of the man that looked like he was going to faint at any moment, so decided it would be best to get to his car.

“Alright, we’ll just go by your place real quick. Just pack what you need, like clothes and a toothbrush and shit. I’ll set you up in one of my spare rooms, and you already know where everything is.”

Yoongi hummed to show he was listening as he followed Hoseok to his obnoxious car. Opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, Hoseok continued chattering away and Yoongi was only half listening, choosing instead to stare out the window.

The weather had been good today, not that Yoongi had been able to enjoy it. Not that he would have even if he could. There had been only a few wispy clouds in the sky, allowing the brilliant blue sky to spread across the entire expanse of empty space, and now there was a perfect sheet of inky blackness above him.

If he didn’t live in Seoul, he’d be able to see the stars.

Yoongi pressed the button to wind the window down, passing his hand and arm out and feeling the way the wind felt passing through his fingers, drying the sweat and making goosebumps erupt over the skin of his arm.

He allowed his hand to float aimlessly through the air, curling and uncurling and reminding himself that, no matter how painful it was, life was somewhat worth living if he stopped to enjoy the tiny moments like these, until Hoseok stopped the car at a red light. He didn’t notice that he’d stopped talking.

“Are you still seeing that therapist? That whatshisface…” Hoseok trailed off, not seeming to be able to remember the easiest name to remember in the world. “Doctor Kim? Yeah, I am.” Hoseok slapped his leg and clicked his fingers, eyes widening dramatically. “That’s it! It was right on the tip of my tongue!” Yoongi rolled his eyes, completely aware that Hoseok had been bullshitting just to get Yoongi to say something. “Anyway, is he not working?” “He is.”

Hoseok turned his head to look at Yoongi, and Yoongi knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

If Doctor Kim was working for Yoongi, then why the fuck did Yoongi try to kill himself? Doctor Kim wasn’t in his head all the time, especially when it was three in the morning and Yoongi had given up again. Doctor Kim wasn’t there to hold Yoongi when he was curled up against the bath, covered in blood and wondering how and when it all went to shit. Doctor Kim wasn’t there unless Yoongi had money to offer, which, honestly, he rarely did.

It was just easier to give in than fight against the current, to allow his thoughts and his urges to spill over him and crush him under the tsunami. Yoongi was tired, and that was all there was to it.

Everytime he told Hoseok exactly that, he just raised an eyebrow and looked away. It wasn’t Yoongi’s fault he didn’t understand, and it wasn’t Hoseok’s either. That was just the way it was.

Shortly after, Hoseok was pulling in front of Yoongi’s apartment and Yoongi stared up at his home with a weary kind of apprehension.

He hadn’t been home for a while and he was sure that the evidence of what he’d done was still there.

“I’ll just,” Hoseok cleared his throat, voice coming out strangely throaty. “Wait here.”

Yoongi turned his head to look at the man. Usually, the excitable man never missed out on chance to barge in on Yoongi’s private life but the way that Hoseok avoided his stare and swallowed thickly made him wonder what was wrong with him.

Maybe he had finally realised what a loser Yoongi was, and he didn’t want to be in his shitty flat he could barely afford.

Hoseok was filthy rich and Yoongi wore jumpers that were fraying at the sleeves. They still had old paint stains from when Yoongi had passion and motivation, no matter how hard he tried to scrub them out.

Shame and embarrassment in front of his friend of nearly twenty years was something Yoongi was not used to, and the redness that coated his neck upwards made him gasp slightly, tugging at his neck to try and ease the heat. Hoseok still wasn’t looking at him and Yoongi wanted to exit the car as quickly as he could as if it would explode at any second.

Fumbling for the handle, Yoongi yanked on it harder than necessary and stumbled out of the car, nearly falling but catching himself at the last minute. Slamming the door shut behind him, Yoongi didn’t look back once for fear that Hoseok was already looking at him, and he carried himself towards the front door.

Digging deep in his back pocket for his key, he almost missed one of his elderly neighbours coming out of the building until they nearly collided, and Yoongi jerked himself to the side to avoid the accident.

“Yoongi!” They said, equally as surprised to see him. Yoongi was still flushed with embarrassment from the stifling car journey and his eyes were wide and glassy as he looked at the man. “Mr Lee, how- how are you?” “I’m very well, my boy, I’m off to the grocery store. Where have you been? Mrs Park tried to deliver you some fruit earlier, but…” “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Lee, I spent a few days at my friend’s house.”

The lie that slipped from his tongue made his entire body feel heavy. Mr Lee was a kindly man, a widow as far as Yoongi could tell, and he always made sure to be nice to Yoongi. Maybe it was the terrified look in his eyes, or how he would flinch whenever somebody looked directly at him that made the elderly man take pity on him.

“Lovely! I trust you had a good time?” Yoongi started to shake his leg slightly in an attempt to burn some of the nervous energy in his body. He detested being so skittish, knowing that he never used to be like this, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but feel that everybody he interacted with had some kind of ulterior motive. “I did, yeah,” Yoongi was shuffling his feet now, aware that Hoseok’s eyes were boring into his back and waiting for him to get the fuck inside and grab his stuff already. He liked Mr Lee, but he didn’t want to talk right now. “Actually, he’s waiting just there, I’m getting my stuff and going back to his.”

Yoongi pointed his finger towards Hoseok’s disturbingly expensive car and the sunshine man inside smiled and waved at the elderly man who smiled with as much gusto.

“I’ll let you go then. Have a good day, Yoongi.” The man smiled at him and Yoongi managed a grimace in return, feeling his skin begin to crawl with the sensation of inadequacy.

Mr Lee was a kind man and Yoongi didn’t feel worthy of receiving it.

Yoongi only lived on the second floor so it was a quick jog up the stairs, a surge of discomfort pressing against his brain when he moved too quickly that he ignored, fumbling for his front door key and unlocking it.

The place was exactly how he had left it, right down to the dishes left in the sink and the washing up gloves hanging over the tap. There were still dirty glasses all over the living room, clothes dumped in random places on the floor and draped over furniture.

Yoongi didn’t have any pictures on the walls or resting on any surfaces, and decor was kept to a minimum. He didn’t even change the wallpaper or anything like that when he moved in, keeping everything as it was from the moment he moved in just before university started, fresh out of high school and arriving on a plane from Daegu International.

There was a staleness in the air that meant that the apartment had been left exactly as it was the entire month or so he was in hospital, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved. It meant that nobody, not even Hoseok, had breached his private sanctuary where he was allowed to feel everything he wanted to without having to explain himself, but it also meant that his bathroom probably looked like a murder scene.

Tentatively closing the door, afraid of disturbing the silence lest some unspoken horror be enraged, Yoongi stepped further into his flat and wondered when it had stopped feeling like a home to him.

He hated how unfamiliar the place felt, despite being surrounded by things that belonged to him and things he had bought. Vaguely, he wondered if it was he that was unfamiliar to these four walls now.

Yoongi found himself in his bedroom, where his essence was the most prominent. His laptop was still turned on and open on his desk, through the screen had long since gone black with inactivity, and his speakers still had the green light to show they were on. Some clothes were sticking out of his wardrobe door and he felt vaguely annoyed at the way that the door wasn’t able to close properly but knowing it was his fault. His bed was still completely unmade from when he had last vacated it, but there was an almost perfectly circular patch of fur in the middle of the emptiness, telling him that the cat that he didn’t own had been here when nobody else had been. That meant the window was open.

He didn’t even particularly like the cat, and he didn’t know whose it was, but he supposed that it was nice to have something that pretended to give a shit about him.

Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed, his muscles tense and his brain still feeling entirely empty. He knew that he had to be collecting some of his stuff, and that Hoseok was waiting outside for him, but Yoongi couldn’t help but just… Sit. And stare. And breathe.

The patch of carpet might have held the meaning of life with the intensity Yoongi stared at it with, and Yoongi was feeling it all.

He felt his heart beating, and the way his lungs inflated when he inhaled. He felt the slight ache in his lower back, an accumulation of the pain caused by the uncomfortable hospital bed and his shitty posture. He felt the slight breeze caress his skin from the open window, and he felt the goosebumps rise over the surface of his arms despite being covered by his hoodie. He felt the constant, dull, throbbing ache of the wounds that lined his arms and a part of him regretted it. He regretted opening up his flesh like his life depended on it - as ironic as that was - and he regretted not calling Hoseok just to talk and get his mind off things that he found didn’t matter when his heart stopped twice and he woke up feeling the weight of the world bearing down on top of him.

He regretted the life he was living, and he regretted the way that he acted, being twenty five years old and having done nothing he wanted to do with his life. He regretted severing ties with his family after he moved away, not fully realising how much he would need them as long as he was alive. He was all on his own with no safety net other than the man waiting downstairs that gave too much to him with no price tag attached, with no darkness swimming behind his eyes.

He regretted walking into the bar that night, the night that ruined everything, and he regretted every single moment since then.

Breathing in, feeling his lungs expand, Yoongi finally stood up and retreated into his wardrobe to yank out an old backpack he hadn’t used since he dropped out of college. He crammed the important things in; underwear, some clothes, his laptop and charger, his headphones and earphones, toiletries and his journal.

With his bag dumped on his bed, Yoongi raked a hand through his hair that desperately needed washing, and he turned towards the bathroom door. He didn’t know whether his blood would still be everywhere, or if Hoseok had scrubbed everything clean like he had in the past. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to face his mistakes or wanted Hoseok to clean such a monumental mistake up.

He didn’t want his best friend to look after him like he was incapable of doing so for himself, but after some self reflection, it was glaringly obvious that he wasn’t able to do so anymore. So, pushing his hand through his hair again and grimacing at the greasiness of it, he inhaled deeply and squared his soldiers, marching towards the closed door of the bathroom as if he was marching into battle.

In a way, he was.

His hand grasped onto the doorknob and he twisted it, pushing the door inwards further and further and further, until the door swung open. He didn’t realise he had screwed his eyes shut until he had to peel them open in order to look at the damage.

There was nothing.

Not a single speck of blood that had been spilt from his veins, not even in the gaps between the floor and the bathtub. Everything had been scrubbed clean to the point that the room didn’t feel as grimy as it usually did, and Yoongi hated it. He hated that it felt clinical to the point he didn’t want to step foot over the threshold in case he trekked mud in behind him. He tentatively stepped in, ensuring his footsteps were as big as possible so he only had to step twice to enter and then exit, toothbrush and shampoo in hand.

Those were deposited into his bag and he zipped it up, having to hold it between his knees to yank the zip across and hold it closed. He was sure that it hadn’t been designed to have so much shoved into it and he prayed the zip would hold. At this point he was certain he would turn to dust if his bag burst open and his things spilled everywhere in public.

He allowed himself to breathe finally, looking around the room that had seen him at his worse countless times. How many hours had he spent in this room, crying and feeling sorry for himself? How many times had he wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else, rather than curled up in a ball on his bed in his shitty apartment that let the draft in no matter how many shirts he bundled up and crammed into the cracks of his window panes?

He had spent a lot of the worst moments of his life in this room, but in a weird way, it was proving to be difficult to leave it all behind. It felt rather like he was leaving a part of himself behind and he wasn’t sure if he had enough left of himself to do that.

By the time he made it out the apartment, jammed his key into the door and locked it for what felt like the last time, Hoseok had fully reclined back in his seat and his eyes were closed.

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to feel entirely guilty even though he should for taking so long, but he merely opened the passenger door, startling Hoseok out of his attempted nap, and sat down with his bag crammed between his knees.

“You sure took your time, Yoongs,” Hoseok muttered sleepily, yawning widely and adjusting his chair so he was sat straight again. The two of them turned to the side to pull their seatbelts over themselves, and Hoseok stretched slightly as he turned the key in the ignition.

Yoongi was just realising he never learned how to drive. Perhaps that would be the next thing he did.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything? I already know I won’t be bothered enough to drive you back if you realise you’ve forgotten your pajamas or whatever.” “I sleep naked,” Yoongi commented dryly, and Hoseok snorted. “Right, sure you do. You’re too terrified someone would burgle you and catch your naked ass.”

Yoongi would have punched Hoseok in the arm in the past but all he could muster was a breathy laugh. He was right, anyway; the idea of someone catching Yoongi completely naked whilst he slept was earth shatteringly terrifying.

The journey to Hoseok’s house from Yoongi’s was far longer than the journey to Yoongi’s house from the hospital, so Yoongi sank further into the leather seats of his best friend’s car and exhaled slightly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Hoseok wouldn’t be able to look at him as long as he was being a responsible driver and Yoongi would use that to fall into a false sense of security that his every action wasn’t being scrutinised and judged.

Was he breathing too loudly?

He wound the window down again despite the chill in the air and Hoseok didn’t comment on it, even when goosebumps rose all over his skin. Yoongi passed his arm back out, resting his hand against the side of the car and feeling the wind blow past his face, leaning it against the door.

He liked going for long drives. He liked not having to think about anything proper, like his next movements or what to say to someone. He liked being able to stop all coherent thought and instead experience what it felt like to be alive in a body with flesh and blood and muscle and sinew.

It was an almost transcendent feeling, realising that he was alive. He was alive.

He was. 

He was, he was, he was.

He didn’t realise when Hoseok pulled into the garage under his apartment building, barely registering the other man’s voice until he rested a hand on his shoulder, startling Yoongi out of his daydreaming and murmuring sleepily that they were home. Yoongi nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing onto the handle of his backpack before he opened the car door, carefully sliding out so the door didn’t smash into the side of the SUV Hoseok had parked next to.

“Looks like Jin’s home. He’s been on a business trip in Tokyo, so maybe you’ll get to meet him in the morning,” Hoseok told Yoongi, locking his car and taking the lead over to the elevator. Yoongi nodded, shuffling into the elevator behind Hoseok and instinctively looking away when Hoseok entered the code for his apartment despite knowing it himself. The doors slid shut and Yoongi’s stomach lurched uncomfortably when the elevator started ascending.

Yoongi didn’t know who Jin was and he didn’t want to meet him in the morning. He didn’t usually wake up until the afternoon anyway, so perhaps he would sleep through the opportunity to embarrass himself and Hoseok with his awkward and insufferably anxious behaviour.

Perhaps Jin was a better friend to Hoseok than he was. Maybe Jin knew all about Yoongi from Hoseok, and Yoongi didn’t know a thing about Jin because he was a bad friend.

All the way up to Hoseok’s apartment, Yoongi was worried that he had been told about Jin before but hadn’t been paying attention to Hoseok at all.

The doors slid open and Hoseok stepped out, sliding off his jacket and slinging it over the back of the nearest sofa, his shoes shortly following and being neatly placed under a low dresser where his keys and scarf were deposited.

“Make yourself at home, dude, I’m just gonna go check to see if I’ve missed any calls.”

Yoongi was still stood tentatively in the elevator, gazing around the expansive apartment wearily. It was exactly how he remembered it to be, with the addition of a few little trinkets or pictures on the walls.

It was tastefully furnished, with low leather sofas decorated with cushions and woollen throws to make it homely, the open plan kitchen all marble and stainless steel. Rugs littered the floor in a way that Yoongi thought looked simultaneously haphazard but incredibly becoming, making the stone floors seem a little less cold and uninviting.

Somehow, Hoseok had created a home that felt like a home, that felt like Hoseok, and Yoongi didn’t know how the hell he did it. Yoongi didn’t have a home that felt like anything.

He entered the apartment slowly, clutching the strap of his backpack so tightly that the joints of his fingers protested loudly, flinching slightly when the elevator doors slid shut behind him. The apartment was big and it was incredibly silent, Hoseok having disappeared down one of the hallways off to the side.

He took his shoes off and put them in the same place as Hoseok’s, the contrast between the shiny leather of Hoseok’s shoes and his beaten up converse making his cheeks colour pink again.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like being Hoseok’s poor friend that was living in poverty, unable to look after himself and being chased by demons that nobody else saw. Bitter resentment flooded through him alongside envy quicker than Yoongi could realise, and he quashed them down, allowing himself to feel sick at his audacity. He couldn’t resent Hoseok for his overwhelming success; he’d earned it and he deserved it. It was Yoongi’s fault for not applying himself to something practical, for chasing a dream he didn’t even know about and abandoning ship halfway there.

Even now, nearly twenty years after meeting for the first time, he was surprised that Hoseok even wanted to continue being friends with him. Anybody that looked at Yoongi could see that he was unwell, with the constant bags under his eyes and the way his cheeks were slightly sunken. He’d lost a lot of weight recently and it was apparent, despite having always been on the skinnier side.

He rubbed a hand up his cheek, feeling how dry his skin was, and then he raked the same hand through his hair again. Remembering his desperate need for a shower, Yoongi shuffled down the same hallway Hoseok had gone down, hearing the man’s voice behind the closed door of his office.

It sounded like he was on the phone and Yoongi absentmindedly wondered if it was important; whether it was a phone call he’d caused Hoseok to miss.

He wished he wasn’t a burden. He wished Hoseok would stop caring about so Yoongi would have no choice but to turn into nothing and disappear.

Yoongi walked into the room he usually slept in when he stayed over, letting the door swing open. This room was carpeted, and the furthest wall from the door was made entirely of glass, giving the room a cityscape view that Yoongi was incredibly fond of. He might not have been able to see the stars from the city but the twinkling lights of the cars below and the buildings opposite brought him a sense of peace he couldn’t seem to find anywhere else within a fifty mile radius.

He dropped his bag on the double bed, noticing a phone charger of Yoongi’s on the bedside table that he’d thought he’d lost the last time he had been here. Smiling faintly that Hoseok had decided to keep it instead of throwing it away, Yoongi wondered what it was about this tiny possession of his that made him feel so warm inside.

Maybe it was because it made the room feel slightly more his rather than merely one of Hoseok’s guest rooms, despite having nothing else in the room that belonged to him.

He exhaled heavily, cringing that it disturbed the peace in the room, and slumped down onto the bed next to his bag. It was completely silent in the apartment, being too high up to hear much of the traffic except for the occasional honk of a horn and Yoongi hated it. He didn’t like that the only thing he could hear were his own thoughts, usually finding something that he could focus on and memorise so he could hide from things that came from within himself.

It’d have to be Hoseok’s voice this time, lightly filtering into Yoongi’s room through the opened bedroom door. He couldn’t make out his words but Yoongi knew that it was an important phone call, judging by the slightly stern tone of voice that Hoseok was using. Yoongi called it his ‘business voice’ and Hoseok never used it to Yoongi but Yoongi was incredibly familiar with it. Countless times he had been present when he got a phone call that couldn’t be ignored.

Hoseok was the CEO of a company that exported educational resources. Yoongi didn’t understand why someone with so much rhythm in their steps and passion for dancing would want to enter such a field, but he supposed that Hoseok was good at this too. He was young for a CEO and he couldn’t have been more proud of his best friend for making it in such a competitive and fucked up world.

He wished his best friend was proud of him too.

Yoongi’s hands instinctively went up to his hair again and remembered that he still needed to shower. He had showered at the hospital of course, but he hated it. The water pressure wasn’t quite right and Yoongi couldn’t relax, the ludicrous idea that someone would burst in making his muscles tense and ready to sprint away at all times, the absence of a lock making his heart ready to jump ship. Of the fight or flight response, Yoongi was definitely the latter.

His en suite bathroom had a lock but he was well aware of Hoseok’s bizarre ignorance of personal space and privacy. Perhaps it would be best to shower now quickly, and pray that the phone call took all of Hoseok’s time up.

He yanked some clean clothes from his bag, padding into the bathroom that was the size of half of his flat, and locked the door securely. He tested it several times by pulling on the door and ensuring that the wood didn’t give, and once he was comfortable he tugged off his hoodie and unbuckled his belt.

Yoongi didn’t like looking at his reflection. He hated the sight of the bags under his eyes, and the absence of any kind of light. He didn’t like the state of his skin, or the limpness of his hair, or the way that his skin clung to his bones. The wounds that lined his arms were just a painful reminder that he was a failure; he couldn’t even manage to end his own life.

He decided then that he didn’t like his reflection because it was a painful reminder that he was real, that he was alive, and Yoongi was terrified of that.

Turning the knob so the shower went as cold as it would go, Yoongi tugged his jeans off and dumped them on the floor. He was sure they were clean enough, but he’d still wash them once Hoseok had gone to bed. He wouldn’t do it when he was awake and roaming around the place, because then Yoongi would be forced to interact with him and he was too tired to do that.

He braced himself to hit the cold water and goosebumps erupted all over his body when it did. He stayed where he was though, letting the cold water cascade over him and drench his hair.

That’s where he stayed until his fingers pruned, and he finally found the motivation to put globs of shampoo and rub it into his hair, massaging his scalp with his fingers. Then he bent his head forward and screwed his eyes shut as he let his hair soak under the water again. His muscles were beginning to ache slightly in the cold water so he shut it off, stepping carefully out of the shower and grabbing a towel from the rail.

It was almost impossibly thick, and fluffier than Yoongi remembered them being. Vaguely he wondered if Hoseok had changed his brand of towels, or if he was washing them with a different product. Then he wondered why he was dwelling on such an insignificant thing.

He scrubbed himself dry and yanked on a tshirt and jeans, raising the towel to his wet hair and furiously rubbing that all over his head so the water wouldn’t drip all over himself. When he entered his temporary bedroom, he all but threw himself onto his bed. Hoseok was still on the phone, his voice sounding progressively more stressed, and Yoongi wondered whether he would mind if he threw his clothes in the washing machine.

Heaving himself up, he grabbed his recently discarded clothes and pulled his door open slowly, poking his head out and looking down the hallway. The door to Hoseok’s study was still firmly closed, his voice becoming louder as he removed a barrier between them, and the light was pouring beneath the door.

Yoongi shuffled down the hallway and through the living room, into the utility room that was next to the kitchen. He remembered when Hoseok had first moved into this apartment nearly six years ago and how he had marvelled that he had a whole separate room just for doing his laundry and for a separate freezer.

“This is so bourgeoisie, Hobi,” Yoongi had said. “Look at this! This is the size of my bedroom.” “Forgive me for living in comfort.” Hoseok had said from the kitchen where he was unpacking his absurd amount of silverware into different drawers. “You are not forgiven. I have to go down three flights of stairs to use the washing machine in my building, when I can be bothered.” “At least you’re getting exercise. I’ll be losing my shape and become a blob in my penthouse as soon as I retire.” “That’s the most obnoxious thing you’ve ever said.” Yoongi left the utility room, shoving Hoseok’s shoulder and scoffing. “Besides, when will that even be? In seventy years?” “If I work until I’m ninety, I’ll end up killing myself.”

The slam of the washing machine door broke Yoongi out of his reverie, and a wry smile curled his lips. The irony was almost funny. Hoseok had ended up working so hard that he could live comfortably with no further effort until he was ninety and yet, Yoongi was the one trying his hardest to fulfill Hoseok’s poorly made promise.

He straightened up, pressing his hands against the dull throb of his lower back. Maybe he should take up some kind of hobby like yoga instead, something that would benefit his body rather than his useless brain. Maybe he would fell less shit if he was physically fit and healthy - not that he really knew what that felt like. There was a time in high school where he played basketball religiously, but those days were long behind him.

Maybe he would try to pick that back up again, when he had the energy and the motivation. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be good at something.

Entering the kitchen, he noticed that Hoseok still hadn’t left his study but his voice was no longer floating down the hallway towards him. Perhaps he was organising some files, or whatever it was that businessmen did. Yoongi had never even seen the inside of Hoseok’s office, the door always shut tight whenever he visited. 

Yoongi wondered when it was that he became so removed from Hoseok’s life. 

He’d been leaning against the kitchen bench for not even ten minutes when the elevator doors that were Hoseok’s front door slid open and his entire presence froze. He stopped breathing when he heard footsteps approaching, and a figure he had never seen before in his entire life came round the corner, pausing when he spotted Yoongi.

Either this was the richest, best looking burglar in the world or Hoseok had a roommate he didn’t tell Yoongi about.

He was going to puke.

“Oh, uh... Are you here to rob the place?” The man asked and Yoongi blanched. 

He was casually leaning against the kitchen bench and this man thought he was going to rob Hoseok. His hair was wet. He wasn’t even wearing any socks.  The man was still standing there, staring at Yoongi with huge brown eyes and Yoongi felt the beginnings of a blush colour his neck and cheeks. 

“Well?” The main stepped forwards. “Can you not speak, or something?” A rush of anger streaked through Yoongi, and his mouth was opening before he could stop himself. “Do I look like I’m here to rob Hoseok, you fucking idiot?” The man’s mouth opened slightly in shock. “I haven’t even got any shoes on, you gorgon, did you think I would remove them to be polite before I ransacked the fucking place? Jesus.”

The man was coming closer and too late Yoongi was slightly afraid he was going to punch him. The man looked built, standing much taller than Yoongi and his biceps bulging through the thin material of his tshirt as he crossed his arms. 

Yoongi could feel all of his muscles tensing, ready to sprint away if he needed to. He was all too used to being intimidated due to his smaller stature, and he was well experienced in having to flee or face having his teeth smashed out. His sudden anger was turning his ears red.

“How do you know Hoseok?” “None of your fucking business, dick-” “That’s my best friend!” Hoseok’s voice chirped happily, coming out of the study and into the kitchen area. He seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, but Yoongi saw his eyes dart over Yoongi’s entire form and the concern make creases form between his brows. “Jungkook, this is Min Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Jeon Jungkook.” “Charmed.” Jungkook said, the muscles of his biceps flexing even more. 

Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, what are you here for, Kook? Not to terrorise Yoongi, surely.” Hoseok’s voice was dry, swerving around Yoongi to open the fridge. “Not much food for you to stuff yourself on, sorry kid.” Jungkook’s cheeks flushed at the diminutive term, and he finally tore his gaze from Yoongi’s form.

“Oh, right, yeah. I’m here to return your old textbooks,” Jungkook slung a backpack Yoongi hadn’t noticed he had on his shoulders round his front, unzipping it and bringing out some economics textbooks Yoongi recognised from his university days with Hoseok. “They were a lot of help actually, thanks man. Saved me a tonne of money.” “No problem, kiddo. Just leave ‘em on the side and I’ll get around to putting them away some time this week.”

Jungkook dropped them on the bench, zipping his bag back up and slinging the other strap back up onto his shoulder. 

“Did you have to come in so late?” Hoseok asked, and Yoongi sighed very gently. Knowing this stranger wasn’t going to leave for some time, Yoongi slid out of the kitchen and made his way down the hallway and into his room, leaving his bedroom door ajar as he threw himself onto his bed.

Annoyingly, the sound of their voices travelled into his room and he was too lazy to get up again and slam his door shut to be petty. 

He didn’t like Jungkook. He looked at Yoongi like he knew all of secrets and his eyes lingered on the bandages wrapped around his arms with nothing but pity in his eyes. He might have been blessed with the height and enough money for a gym membership, but Yoongi didn’t like him at all.

Economics. Who actually studied that, other than Hoseok?

He scoffed, and buried his face further into his pillow. He still was able to hear everything they were saying, but he didn’t listen properly until he heard his name. His head perked up. 

“Is he really your best friend?” “Who, Yoongi? Yeah, why?” “I don’t know, he’s just so... Angry. And you’re so happy.” Jungkook was saying. “He’s not, really.” “Hoseok, he’s like an angry cat.” “And he’s older than you, so show some respect.” “But-” “I’m not discussing him. He’s having a shit time and I don’t want to talk about that over tea with a kid.” There was a pause. “You don’t know him, dude.” “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Deep in Yoongi’s chest, a little bud of affection for Hoseok bloomed. He slowly buried his face back into his pillow and inhaled the smell of freshly washed linen.  Perhaps Yoongi had judged Hoseok too harshly earlier, when he thought that Hoseok was ashamed of him. Hoseok seemingly had no problem declaring their friendship in front of people Yoongi didn’t know, and then would defend him when he didn’t even know Yoongi was listening.

Yoongi was a shit friend, and he’d try his best to make it up to Hoseok. Even if it took him the rest of his life. 

Yoongi was just about to fall asleep when he heard the loud beeping of the washing machine and remembered his clothes, and then not long after that he heard Jungkook’s loud exit and his promise to visit Hoseok soon. Silently whispering a prayer that Jungkook would visit when Yoongi wasn’t there, he pulled the door of his bedroom the rest of the way open and nearly lost his life when Hoseok was already standing there, his fist raised to knock on the door.

“Jesus, Hobi.” Yoongi breathed, hand instinctively raising to rest over his heart. “I didn’t hear you.” “Right, sorry, I was just...” Hoseok looked uncharacteristically awkward and Yoongi shuffled his feet slightly. “How long has it been since you’ve called me, Hobi, dude?” “You asked me to stop when you became a bigshot CEO.” Yoongi reminded him dryly, shuffling past him and heading towards the utility room. “Oh. Right. Yeah, of course.” Hoseok was being strangely uncomfortable and Yoongi wondered whether Jungkook’s words had sunk into his brain. Was he also wondering why Yoongi was his best friend when Hoseok was the kind of person who could make the Queen of England his closest confidant?

Yoongi didn’t want to press him, lest he end up regretting it. But, as if Hoseok had heard his thought and decided to rebel, he opened up without needing to be coaxed.

“I actually have... A gift for you. I mean, if you want it. It’s cool if you don’t.” Yoongi stopped. “A gift?” “Yeah, it’s, uh... Yeah, a gift. A present. For you.” “Hoseok...” “If you don’t want it, it’s fine! Totally fine.” Hoseok coughed awkwardly. “Honestly, this was a bad idea, I can take it back, no biggie-” “What is it?”

A little bit of excitement curled in his stomach happily. He always told Hoseok that he hated receiving gifts, never knowing how to respond to them, but Hoseok always gave the best presents. All of his birthdays and Christmases had been made infinitely better just by Hoseok. A bright smile split across Hoseok’s face at Yoongi’s willingness to find out what he had gotten for him, and he was holding up a single finger, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush to disappear into his bedroom.

“Wait right here! I’ll be right back! Just wait!” “Where else am I going to go, Hobi?” Yoongi called after him, finding his own excitement was beginning to climb at the sight of Hoseok’s jubilance. It wasn’t anyway near his birthday, or even Christmas, but something about Hoseok’s hesitance to give him something made him feel slightly guilty. Was Yoongi really that difficult to give something to?

“Right, okay. I didn’t wrap this,” In his hands was a box, wrapped neatly in dark blue wrapping paper. “The woman at the shop did. Which I thought was odd, y’know? There’s no holiday soon. But she asked and you know what a disaster I am with wrapping gifts and sellotape. That’s why you do all my wrapping for me. Anyway, it’s cute, right? Open it!” The box was thrust into his hands, and Yoongi stared down at it.

He didn’t know what emotion it was that he was feeling, but he was concerned that he was going to start crying openly. It was a gift. For him. He was overwhelmed already.

“Thank you, Hobi.” Yoongi looked up at his most precious friend, finding that he didn’t have to force the smile that was on his face. “You haven’t opened it yet, dumbass,” Hoseok said, laughing and taking a seat on the back of the sofa. “But you’re welcome!”

Yoongi almost didn’t want to open it and ruin the nice wrapping paper, but under Hoseok’s command, he slid his thumb under a fold in the paper and pulled gently, resting the box on the kitchen island so he didn’t accidentally drop it and ruin everything. 

“C’mon, oh my God, you’re being so slow.” Hoseok was whining, his legs bouncing up and down with excited energy. “This isn’t some terrible trick, right? You’re acting suspiciously happy.” Yoongi paused in his unwrapping and narrowed his eyes at Hoseok, who pouted dramatically.  “All these years of friendship and you still think so little of me. I’m telling my Mom.” “Not Mrs Jung, please, anybody but her,” Yoongi entertained Hoseok with his fake panic. Truthfully, while Hoseok had inherited his sunshine disposition from his mother, there was a side of Mrs Jung that terrified Yoongi to this day. 

He’d only seen it when he’d persuaded Hoseok into some nefarious business that children were into back then. He was certain he’d never survive her wrath.

He tore the wrapping paper, too impatient to try and preserve it, and the air left his lungs in one swoop. 

Hoseok had bought him a camera.

A good camera, too. A high end DSLR, the kind that Yoongi had only ever fantasised about owning but never had.  Hoseok had bought him one.

“I know how much you wanted one a few years ago, and I don’t know if you still do, but I was shopping the other week with Taehyung before he went gallivanting around the globe - you know Taehyung, right? - and saw it. I had to, dude. Just for that look on your face.”

His tears were warm on his face, and he couldn’t lift his head to look at Hoseok.

He wondered if it ever got tiring, having a heart of gold? Yoongi could try all his life and he wouldn’t be as genuinely wonderful as Hoseok. How did he get so lucky to even meet Hobi, let alone become his best friend? The Gods were smiling at Yoongi that day so many years ago.

Hoseok’s arm wrapped around Yoongi’s shoulders, bringing him into his body, and Yoongi was too choked up to say anything.

“You like it, then?” “Dude.” It was all Yoongi could manage, and it came out cracked and broken. He just couldn’t stop looking down at the camera - his camera. This meant more to him than he could ever verbalise to Hoseok, but thankfully he seemed to understand as his hug got tighter and Yoongi returned it with one arm. “You’re welcome, Yoongi. You’re welcome.”

Three weeks had passed, and Yoongi had taken his bandages off, his scars fading to an angry looking pink. He spent most of his time lying on his bed, fiddling around with his camera and taking pictures out of the window or in the immediate vicinity around Hoseok’s apartment building, or he stayed in his bedroom and gradually mixed and composed more tracks that he’d been neglecting. If he was lucky, he’d be able to sell a track or two to some entertainment company and he’d be able to pay Hoseok back for his kindness.

Jungkook hadn’t returned for his promised visit, and Hoseok hadn’t brought him up. He had met Jin though, about four days after Yoongi had started to live in Hoseok’s penthouse. 

It was around noon on a Sunday that Jin came into Hoseok’s apartment and Yoongi wondered just how many people knew the code to get in and whether that was a security problem. Nevertheless, Jin treated Yoongi with nothing but kindness from the moment they met which made Yoongi warm up to him remarkably quickly. He swore it had nothing to do with Jin’s surprising culinary prowess, as much as Hoseok joked that it was. 

Yoongi was growing bored, however. He didn’t really do anything outside the apartment and he was sure that it was beginning to send him stir crazy. He knew it wasn’t good for him, but he couldn’t build enough motivation to do anything.

It was more than he thought he’d be able to manage just by waking up on the right side of twelve in the afternoon, and he even managed to shower every day. Before his latest hospital stay, Yoongi hadn’t been able to manage that.

Perhaps he would try and get a job. That would force him up and out of bed earlier, the incentive of money being too good to really miss out on. 

It was a Monday when the solution hit him in the face. Literally.

Regrettably, it was the chin of a man he hadn’t had the fortune of meeting before then, as much as Hoseok had insisted he had before. 

With golden skin and a boxy smile, the man barrelled into Yoongi as he was coming out of his room, eyes bleary and hair sticking up everywhere. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he cried, his baritone voice going up three pitches. Yoongi was clutching into his nose that had gone sailing into the man’s chin. “It’s fine.” Yoongi grumbled, the familiar flush erupting over his cheeks. How embarrassing. It was only then that he caught a glimpse of what he was wearing, and all semblance of politeness went flying out the window. “Is that- Are you wearing a silk robe?”

The stranger looked down at his outfit as if he didn’t know what he was wearing, but it was all Yoongi could focus on suddenly.  Wrapped around Taehyung’s body, with the top hanging open and revealing the smooth golden skin of his chest, was a red silk robe with intricate patterns and, not for the first time, Yoongi wondered what kind of company Hoseok kept when he was busy being stuck in his head.

“I am! I got it from Shanghai, I’ve just come home from my trip!” He smiled brightly at Yoongi. “Your trip?” “Yep! I travelled the world with my boyfriend,” he said, smoothing a hand down his robe. “I just came upstairs to give Hoseok his gift, but I don’t think he’s home.” “No, he’s at work,” Yoongi said, not feeling as tightly wound as he usually did when he met one of Hoseok’s seemingly endless amount of friends. “’Upstairs’? Do you live in this building too?” “I do, I live four floors down. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know Hoseok had a roommate or I would have gotten you a gift, too... Wait, what did you say your name was?”

Yoongi quite liked this man, despite not knowing who he was. He was extremely affable, and he knew why he was friends with Hoseok. People like that would bounce off each other wonderfully. Not like that Jeon kid.

“I didn’t.” Yoongi gave him a little smile, which was returned with the brightness of a thousand suns. “I’m Min Yoongi, Hoseok’s best friend and roommate.” “Oh, I’ve heard of you! Hoseok talks about you a lot. My name is Kim Taehyung!” They shook hands quickly, Taehyung’s huge hand engulfing Yoongi’s entirely. A bell of recognition tolled in the distance and Yoongi squinted slightly. “Oh, I’ve heard of you, too. Hoseok mentioned you the other week, and that you’d gone gallivanting across the globe.” “That’s me! I got home about three hours, and all I’ve done is have a bath before I came up here.”

Yoongi smiled vaguely as Taehyung turned and led the way into the living area. He was tall, Yoongi noticed. Perhaps he was a model, or something of the sort. He was too beautiful to be anything else.

“When Hoseok comes home, can you tell him I came by? I don’t want to leave it, I want to be there when he opens it so I can see his face,” Taehyung said. “I should go home now, or Jimin will be wondering where I’ve gone.” Yoongi nodded wordlessly and Taehyung headed towards the elevator. “It was really good to meet you, Min Yoongi! I’ll tell you all about my travels when we meet again!”

With that, the doors slid shut and Taehyung was hidden from sight, and it was like Yoongi was being filled with helium. A spark of an idea lit in his brain and he was going to do his best to nurture that flame, coax it until it was a roaring fire.

He leapt over the sofa and burst back into his bedroom, more awake that he had been in months. Furiously slamming his fingers onto the keyboard of his laptop to wake it up, he clicked his tongue impatiently as he waited for the screen to light up. When he did, his fingers skittered across the keys as he typed in what he wanted into the search engine. 

Some typing and courage building later, Yoongi had bought a plane ticket.

Stumbling around his room and experiencing a vague sense of deja vu, he thought to the time he sluggishly walked around his bedroom of his shitty apartment and packed his stuff. Currently he was working himself into a frenzy, bringing his phone to his ear and calling for a taxi as he crammed some clothes into a gym bag he found at the bottom of Hoseok’s wardrobe. Next thing he did was carefully slide his laptop and charger, a notebook, a few pens and his precious camera - in a separate camera bag, of course, he wasn’t a savage - into his trusty backpack.

Not even twenty minutes later he was getting a text saying his taxi had arrived, and Yoongi ventured into the kitchen to scribble a quick note for Hoseok onto a scrap piece of paper he tore out of a notebook from a kitchen drawer. Then he paused at the entrance of the apartment, shoving his feet into some boots that he’d only recently bought for himself, then turned around to face the empty apartment.

He hoped that Hoseok wouldn’t be angry with him, but he was always trying to encourage Yoongi to do something spontaneous; to do something that made him feel alive. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, he was. His heart was beating and adrenaline was coursing through his veins.

God, he felt so alive.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Hobi,

Taehyung stopped by. Go and visit him, he has a present for you.

I’m taking a leaf out of his book, and I’ve gone travelling.

Don’t touch my fucking stuff.

Yoongs :)

P.S I’ll come home when I’m ready to. I’ll be alright.

Part 1 / Part 2 / ??