Archive of Our Own

at nearly four in the morning, yoongi summons some tears to comfort himself. and then he forces himself to think.

there existed, within the confines of yoongi's mind, a peculiar boy that restricted himself to the back of the lecture room.

what yoongi knew of— the world of home, of his parents' house in the outskirts of daegu, the realm of late nights cram sessions with his cat and the moon, the plane of existence within his minimal campus— was always discarded after seeing this face.

in a way, it was upsetting to look at. the small face, settled silently, never looking at the projector. he sat isolated at the back, mask slid under his chin. because he was alone.

yeah. that's how he does it.

it was that taehyung, like, haunted his empty head, vacant of lecture notes and weekend plans, anxieties revolving around emailing his professor to beg for an A, or debating whether he should renew his adderall prescription or be able to afford eating this week.

his twitter was empty, and he sat all the way in the back. the back, the void of being temporarily hard-of-hearing. yoongi had no criticism for him— he, too, absorbed most of the information through google.

taehyung— kim taehyung— was lanky and had dry, bleached-brunette hair, and had an elongated nose and a small face just about the size of a fist— if he wasn't exaggerating, probably bigger than that— and big brown eyes. set deep into his skull, so so so deep. he'd only been able to capture this much by seeing him up close on campus, three times exactly. he knew he had full lips from his pixelated twitter profile picture, though.

that was it.

yoongi got up early— a first. he'd gotten into the habit of choking down benadryl at 7pm. he looked at the post-it taped to the wall, directly in front of his mattress on the floor: feed cat.

"feed cat," he repeated to himself, put on his socks, looked around, tried to remember where he was. he was cold and sluggish and nauseated, and didn't want to be in a body at the moment. "feed cat."

he fed her, a little more than usual. more than yesterday, yesterday being more than the day before. she'd put on a lot of weight. he didn't think about that. he didnt want to.

there'd been a pandemic, of sorts, for months now. it didn't help that he had to get his own place without a flatmate. maybe it was for the best— there wasn't anyone to be around for every little episode of his. and he could keep his cat. yeah, that's how it went.

and so, he summoned courage to head to the back. smiled at taehyung— pretty boy, who stimmed by flicking his pen onto his own knuckles. said he liked his boots, tall, tall tall and black and making him look even taller and even floppier.

"thanks," he said in response, and his voice was so deep that it startled yoongi out of his mesmerized haze.

he wanted to say, wanted to spew at the mouth, do you live around here, wanna get coffee or something, what's your next class. wanted to say everything at the sight of him, talk until his throat was raw, absorb until his knees gave out.

but too much time passed, and taehyung backed away, glanced at his phone. a silhouette, a moment of deja vu that all started in his head. and he was gone.

and he's gone.

yoongi lived in a teeny little flat with chipped wall paint and squeaky floorboards. he lived in a flat by a river, by a big bridge where people sometimes came to die.

sometimes, he'd go on walks. rarely.

rarely, because looking at the water and looking at its silver little flashes and the way the water rushed by made him feel sick. he had time to feel sick, now that he was alone.

all alone. he is all alone now, all alone and in bed and untying his shoelaces for the night.

yeah, he liked to go on walks because of the things he saw. he heard birds, birds that were only around in the nighttime before they were to migrate for the changing season. birds, that he liked to pretend were people, because it was so much easier to withstand their noise and pretend he wasn't all alone.

so yoongi tied up his laces a bit looser than usual,

glanced up at the silhouette standing over the ledge, arms outspread, almost as if a breeze could lift him up at that moment. had the moon been positioned slightly lower, right behind his head, it could have created a halo— his arms as wings outstretched, ready to spring into flight, into liberation. as he always did.

and yoongi read those eyes, but they didn't stare back. and that was why he screamed.

"taehyung!"

within a moment he managed to make his way up the bridge and grab taehyung by the sleeve of his flannel. yoongi was the one with the labored, panicked breathing here, the speeding heart rate as he tugged his mask down— why? taehyung's eyes were cold when he finally turned around, and they pounded into him as he tried to realize.

taehyung let his eyes flutter shut. he smiled.

"did i scare you?" he said softly. slowly.

yes, very much. "well, you were on the edge, and that's dangerous..."

taehyung tugged his sleeve free and stepped down from the ledge. he passed a slow, tanned hand over his face— two glowing crystals made of moonlight and freshwater. brown.

his smile always remained prominent, no matter how strong it was. you could tell how he was feeling from light years away.

"i'll be okay," he whispered. "i'm enough, uh, smart." he hit himself over the head, rocking it back and forth— "... smart enough. i'm smart enough. i'm tough." he smiled once again, trying to reassure yoongi. it only took half of its intended effect.

in hindsight, yoongi knew he should have walked him home that night, made sure he got back safely. asked if he wanted some company— to stay the night, to get some food, watch a movie or something. to ask why he was standing there in the dead of night.

taehyung followed him on twitter at 4am.

in the middle of a lecture, a notification— 800db cloud ,,, pretty good

"how about... coffee?" yoongi finally asked him, legs burning after climbing up countless stairs after class.

taehyung's mask was up, but it was obvious he was flashing that same smile, bittersweet now that yoongi had the chance to see it again.

taehyung was strange. he lived in yoongi's mind twenty-four hours a day, while he lay awake on those hot nights, breathing heavily, wondering why his head was so empty, outstretched on his floor.

he showed up eight minutes late in a flannel and frock. peculiar, endearing. he smelled like sleep, like downy. gentle.

"they/them?"

"he, they, xe," taehyung counted on his fingers, reaching over the table to stretch them out in front of yoongi's eyes. "i don't care what you use. you can use the term 'boy', but don't call me a man or i'll strangle you."

"i guess i'm just... a he/him."

"that's fine. you like black coffee?" a grimace. "never, could never be me."

and so, they digressed. there was a little patch of field and tall grass by the fire station, where the air was a little more clear and the cicadas louder. there was the fragrant smell of lilacs from the distance: gentle. peculiar, endearing. that was what it was— it made him sleepy. he could use some on those nights, when he couldn't fall asleep.

yoongi's shoes were logged with muddy water as he treaded to the center. it could've rained soon after that.

yoongi had to push away certain thoughts out of his head— thoughts of peculiar boys, peculiar taehyung. he didn't want to overstep, to drag in mud over the carpet.

"i like your dress," he mumbled, softly. that's what his high school therapist told him— try keeping his voice soft, so if he blurted something, it wouldn't be noticeable. he was always soft. always discreet. unimportant.

taehyung finally came to a stop, turning, a shoulder to the setting sun. it encapsulated his head like an orange halo, kissing the back of his head right where it hurt the most.

"hm?"

he cleared his throat. he still kept his distance— it was like taehyung couldn't even smell the rain clouds rolling in.

"said i like your dress."

it was fucking unfair. he was addicted to caffeine and nicotine and messing with people's heads. but with taehyung, who smelled like downy, he just couldnt stop. he didnt deserve him, his pretty frock and flannel and his smell.

taehyung smiled once more.

"i like your... pants."

they said they liked his pants, said pants were worn, born, worn by both men and women. men and women, who were born, having worn pants, can't not wear pants. a poem on loop. that was the endearing way taehyung spoke, spoke in poetry, in rhyme, in song.

they went on a dinner date shortly after that— energy drinks at the curb of the convenience store. taehyung set the white can down, stood, and went in. he came back with a box of cigarettes and a disposable lighter. they were both green.

"you smoke?" yoongi asked, watching him rip the box open with his long nails. they were painted black and curled inwards, weeks past overgrown.

"kinda." he struggled with the lighter.

"you've got it backwards." yoongi reached up and flipped the filter end. he waved it, then put it between his lips. it was an old friend from high school, the same feeling he felt with taehyung. he hadn't done this in a while— smoked, nor talked to people. he felt like he shouldn't.

"i paid for that..."

"don't get into the habit of it." yoongi took the lighter from his hands— green— and pressed a bill in its place. he gave his hand a squeeze— cold, on impulse, unexpected to both of them— and lit himself up. "it looks cool, but you get addicted fast."

he gave taehyung his jacket and met him at the bridge again. "um... call me when you get home, okay?"

"why?"

"um..." yoongi looked at the moon. it was easy to talk to the moon— so much easier. she wouldn't ever be able to tell if you lied, couldn't have her eyebrows knitted together, trying to figure out what you mean. "just because."

taehyung smiled, and yoongi deteriorated a little more on the inside. he didn't deserve this.

another twitter notification that night, at exactly 3:33am. it's my way of trying to let u know, ive got a little thing for u, ive got a little crush or something

yoongi sat up, heart pounding. a poem, maybe, a rhyme. peculiar, endearing. a then, a moment later, another notification: a link. to a song. it was a lyric.

maybe im just drunk as fuck /ly

it wasnt that he had any feelings for taehyung— not in the slightest. but taehyung was one of the few people that he sensed would genuinely put up with him, with every little episode and blurt of his, with his overfed cat and caffeine addiction.

it was because he wore mismatched flannels and frocks, and was non-binary but sometimes called himself a boy because he liked it, and spoke in poetry, and smelled so nice. that was it. that was all.

i saw the president last night, taehyung texted.

huh ???

the president ,,, he was kind of morphed with slenderman and he tried to turn me het

...oh

he had a bit of a nasty dream that night.

he was back in that elementary school classroom, back at that place with the sickly yellow and pink walls. back at jumping over scratched-up desks, back playing, back to being born at age 14.

and xe was in front of him in one of those desks, sickly pale. and xer face was obstructed by a massive glow, and xe looked back at him. and he was reflected in the eyes of that immortal.

xem in the silk, in the middle of everything and nothing.

and the obstructions cleared, and xe pulled him up. through the roof, higher, higher, higher, into the ocean and the clouds, the ocean together. and xe felt him close.

close. close enough to finish him in an instant. so close. his voice was clear as day, warm like the sun, chills like the spray of saltwater.

"i'm

yoongi gasped for air as his eyes snapped open. the cat lay on his chest.

she was fatter lately. he slowly coaxed her off, coughed, and sat up.

he couldn't fall back asleep, so he made himself some coffee (decaf, because he was trying to wean off caffeine for his own good) and scrolled through twitter. liked some anime fanart here, retweeted a communist thing there. an airplane soared overhead outside. it was simple. slow. slow.

he got a text— hey yoomgi areyou awake

then, a call.

"having..." taehyung's voice was slow and shaky. "having a p-pa-panic attack, i'm having, u-um, a-and i'm... im sorry if i, sorry, woke you, um, um, if-if-if i woke you up, but." a little bit of a squeal. a raspy one.

"no, no, no," yoongi said softly. "don't be sorry. you don't have to talk; taehyung, take deep breaths, okay?" yoongi tried to mask the panic in his voice, but it was heavy and seeped into his words. "i'm coming. stay right there."

"i'm, n-n-no, i..."

"i'm getting my shoes on— i'm coming. just wait ten minutes, okay? can you do that?"

muffled, "m-hm."

he stayed on the line for the ten-minute bus ride, over the bridge, over the fucking fields which he screamed at himself to resist the urge to hop off and fall into the tall, muddy grass until the sun rose and his body rotted away.

"hey, little guy."

yoongi watched his step as he went to the middle of the room, where the shriveled, cowering form lay. he felt sick. he wanted to feel sick. but not yet, not yet, he couldn't yet.

"is it okay if i hold your hand?" a nod of his balled fist, signaling a yes. "okay. let's, uh, get you on your back."

"hmm?" taehyung choked out, muffled by his shirt pulled over the lower half of his face.

"it works for me, so, um, stretch your arms and legs out. like a starfish." he gently tugged on taehyung's arm to demonstrate, then watched him stretch in reaction. "like that. let's stay like that for a while. um, do you need anything? water, or a snack?" he read taehyung's face, watched his hands push away from the direction of his lips shakily. "no? okay. i'll give you some space."

taehyung didn't quite calm down that night. but he did manage to fall asleep.

just in case, yoongi stayed a little longer— until 6am, approximately. he discovered the bloodstains on the bathroom floor, the cocktails of antidepressants and antipsychotics on the counter, and the collection of stuffed animals under his bed.

he saw taehyung, eyes open, still spread out on the floor. his breathing was off.

"tae," he said. the nickname was new and felt refreshing on his tongue. "do you feel better?" a sigh from taehyung, so yoongi spoke again. "are you ok?"

"i don't..." his voice— rough, dormant, labored. "don't."

"don't what?"

"d-don't," his chest trembled, voice suddenly glass. it was hard and fragile at the same time, hot, melting, cold as the ocean floor. "f-feel... don't feel, um... like a person. t-today."

yoongi understand immediately. he pulled taehyung up to his feet until he remembered how to stand, struggling under his lanky form.

he knew it himself. things got so crazy, so tight and hot and hard, heavy, until all of a sudden you just break free. a little too free. you had to forget everything in order to forget that little bit of heaviness on you.

taehyung went a little too far the night before. yoongi blamed himself.

yoongi helped him strip off most of his clothes— he felt a little too violating to take off the rest— and guided him into the shower. "do you need help showering?" taehyung shook his head and his hands, limply hanging by his chest, at the same time and gave a little noise that spoke the word no. "t-rex arms? yeah, i do that too."

a low little "mm," in response, slightly muffled by the sound of water hitting the floor.

"one arm in," he said softly, helping a shaky arm into the sleeve of a hoodie. "good job, tae."

a over-induced breath, maybe on the premise of a pathetic little laugh. "hate," taehyung started. "uh, h-hate bodies."

"me too," yoongi chuckled. "hate having a body. it's so high-maintenance. i wish we could just lick ourselves off like cats and be good for a week." he pursed his lips, pausing as he helped taehyung pull it over his head silently. "do you wanna see pictures of my cat?"

"mm?"

"i have some on my— wait, fuck." he glanced up— what did he remember? he remembered something, but he couldn't tell what. it was gone, one second, two seconds, three...

he slapped himself, and the impact stirred a moment of numbness into him. taehyung's eyes were big as he took them in. "i forgot that i have to feed my cats— my cat, i mean. one cat. her name's momo, by the way. like momo from twice."

"t—umm, t-twice?"

"m-hm." a sigh. "um, i can be back in around half an h—" yoongi was interrupted by a loud breath from taehyung, a little hum running by it. he shook his head.

"go."

"i just..." yoongi glanced at him again, running his eyes up and down, drawing lines where taehyung's back was slumped against the wall and where it was sharp on the floor and stable and shaky. "i just— are you sure you'll be okay?"

"mm." he shook his fist. "g-go."

and yoongi went, a sick feeling clinging to him. he felt nauseated, felt guilty for making taehyung say the word "go," for not begging to stay. felt rejected.

he measured exactly how much he fed the cat— maybe he hadn't been overfeeding her as much as he thought. no, it couldn't have been his fault to forget, right? to sweep every little thing under the rug? black it out completely? erase everything?

but he took one look at her and wanted to cry. everything was his fault. it was his fault that he was this way, that he wanted to be special so fucking bad, that he couldn't remember his earliest years.

every day, he neglected the cat, and she just kept growing bigger and bigger.

yoongi took a deep breath to swallow the lump in his throat easier, sat down, and scheduled his next therapy appointment for the following week.

taehyung called him in a week. "h-hi."

"hey."

"i, i got out, out of the hospital. i've, um, i-i've been recovering from, um, recovering from that, pr-pretty well." a sigh. a beat. "guk's been, um, been taking care of me pretty... pretty well."

"guk?"

"my, um, my friend. j-je... j-jeongguk." there was a bit of shifting as he collected himself. "he's m-my, um, my int-internet, uh, internet friend. he's c-c-calling me to make... make sure that i-i'm rememb-bering to do st-stuff. like, uh, um, eat-eating a-and shower...ing. and s-stuff."

"jeongguk sounds like a good friend," yoongi said softly. he felt guilty before, but felt even guiltier now, guiltier that he wasn't the one to help taehyung through everything. he didn't know how to handle this feeling of rejection. was it even rejection, or was he just overthinking things?

"mm. um, um, um, i have to... have to go. n-now."

"see you."

"mm." click.

"so this... person." a click. "that's your motivation?"

yoongi tapped the end of his pen to his clipboard. he liked to take notes during therapy, too, even if there was nothing to write. just a little scritch-scratch of ink every time the therapist wrote something felt nice. it was a harmless behavior, anyway. "see, when you put it like that, it sounds weird."

"that's what it is, right? you said this man... um, this person, was the only thing that got you through the week."

"well, yeah. xe just..." a sigh as taehyung's face swam into his vision. beautiful taehyung, who smelled so nice. "xe tolerates me. that's not common. not just tolerates me, though. xe's actually nice to me."

"right, because you used to get bullied in school," she said.

"yeah, school." a lump found its place in the back of his throat at that moment, almost ritual, almost habitual. "um, but taehyung's... so good. so warm. so nice."

the water was always louder under the full moon. it was like shadows chased away by the light, running and trickling over the brooks. like honey dropping in slow motion. a flute, young and sad.

"i told my therapist about you," yoongi said, gripping the railing tinted with the chills of july nights. the nights that were so elusive, so hard to find before you got dizzy and drowsy. he stayed up far too late for this.

"really?" taehyung asked, his voice quicker and more agile after enough time had passed. though he was on the other side of the bridge, his voice was loud and clear, easily cutting through the dark. a flute, a flute. a pretty flute.

"yeah. so it's kind of official now. not in a weird way, though."

taehyung raised his arm, projected a thumbs-up, reminding him of the bag dangling from his wrist. they were bleaching taehyung's hair, they said. at yoongi's place, they said, because yoongi already had volume 30 developer and taehyung didn't have to go out and buy it himself. bleaching taehyung's hair, they said, however light they'd go.

"not much to see here." yoongi pushed the door open, kicked off his shoes.

"aww, hi, baby!" taehyung knelt as a little pitter-patter made its way to him. he picked up the cat, hugged her to his chest, kissed her between the ears. "she's so chunky."

"yeah, that's momo."

"she's my baby now."

on the floor, with long legs littered with bruises that were fun to poke and prod, humming, little meows every now and then— on the floor, the two of them, the fluorescent lights from above at 11pm.

"it's so warm," taehyung mumbled, patting the bits of plastic on his head. he looked quite silly with it. kind of like a robot. the cat meowed in his lap, and he made a noise back.

"wanna watch banana fish?"

they watched banana fish.

"are you crying?"

"i'm not," taehyung sniffled, patting his own warm head once more. "you're crying."

"am not," yoongi said, smearing away tears with the back of his hand. it was good that he hadn't renewed his zoloft prescription in months. crying was still fairly new to him after finally getting off the numbing drug.

"what other courses are you taking?" taehyung asked, sprawled on the floor, fat cat on his chest. somehow, he didn't suffocate.

"uh, i'm majoring in physics. other than that, nothing much. business, statistics, the likes."

taehyung raised his thumb up. "majoring in physics, too." stroked the cat. "and i'm also taking public speaking, which is pretty ironic considering i already have to see a speech therapist."

"hmm, really?" yoongi definitely did notice that taehyung's speech was a little scattered, but he never really kept it in mind long enough to really think about it. the way he spoke in poetry, stuttered and stammered, those run-on sentences, were part of him. yoongi couldn't possibly imagine a version of taehyung without his quirks; all smoothed out, all numbed; color grey, color beige; color black and white, and not even in the intriguing forms of their extremes.

"yeah, 'cause i'm a little bit schizo."

yoongi pursed his lips. he felt a pang. he didn't want to have to be the one to say it. but he said it. "uh, i heard on twitter that thats's a slur. against schizophrenic people." but he said it.

"yoongi," taehyung said again, a little more solid, solemn, voice put together. a way meant to be conveyed, to be memorable. he turned his head, plastic bag rustling with it.

he leaned in. close. like the black dream, so close. "i'm schizotypal."

that word, schizo, and typal, that was unfamiliar. he didn't know enough about it to know the difference, or what type of typal he was. all he knew was that taehyung was close, and smelled like bleach, and it hurt yoongi's eyes.

taehyung smiled. "i'm gonna go rinse."

Schizotypal personality disorder is an ingrained pattern of thinking and behavior marked by unusual beliefs and fears, and difficulty with forming and maintaining relationships.

taehyung came back with a towel around his neck, hair bright and glossy and glistening and brassy like the bathroom doorknobs, like sink handles and sink-water to treat bloodstains in the bathtub— to keep them at bay, at the very least. zoloft, xanax, ritalin, seroquel.

People with schizotypal personality disorder are uncomfortable with close rel

"it's brassy," yoongi said, lifting his head. "you should tone it." taehyung smiled, shook his head, said he liked it that way. stumbled a bit over his words. yoongi nodded. raised a bag of honey butter chips.

yoongi wanted to ask. he wanted to ask what does that mean. do you not want to be friends with me. to ask why. why did this happen.

he stuffed a chip in his mouth and told himself that this wasn't about him. this was taehyung's disorder, not his. taehyung's. yoongi already had enough to go around— adhd, ocd, depression, and anxiety. he needed to leave taehyung alone. give him space. more so, now that he knew everything.

"maybe i could go all the way orange," taehyung said. "or pink. pink is cool. i had a friend that did pink."

"pink hair radiates more bisexual energy than sweater weather by the neighborhood."

"duh. that's why i like both." taehyung stood back a bit. he rested his hand on his chin. the thinker. the wonderer. the archetype of youth. "you would look good with red hair. or blue. or green. something that's an eyesore."

"hell no. i'd look like a terf." taehyung raised an eyebrow, so he explained. "i, uh, i used to have red hair and spock bangs. worst era of my life."

taehyung stared straight at him. he looked into the bag, picked up an extra packet of bleach. "you're gonna dye your hair."

"i am not."

they dyed yoongi's hair.

by "dyed" they meant bleaching a few strands in the front— it'd been a while, anyway. yoongi didn't exactly like to be perceived, which was why he was initially hesitant.

"you're gonna look so hot."

"shut up."

it was a routine of watching more anime, honey butter chips, petting the cat, rinsing, cuddling, ordering food, anime. looking at each other and trying to laugh away the urge to cry. drawing a little too close for comfort. stopping. pulling away. mumbling apologies. petting the cat, anime, honey butter chips. rinsing. repeating.

"fuck. we have class today."

"don't wanna go," taehyung mumbled, face pressed against the floor, drool dripping from his lazy lips in the morning sun. "i'm... wanna stay here."

yoongi stood to his feet, ran a hand through his hair, still a bit startled by the light strands that flashed over his eyes, and glanced down at the aftermath of last night.

glanced down at the crushed cans of beer and empty takeout boxes and crumpled tissues after crying too hard to banana fish. and the blurry spot on the floor with everything fuzzy, the black dream just as before.

where taehyung was laying down on the floor on his back and yoongi was laying down on his tummy and he could feel a sick, sick feeling digesting under the cold hardwood, and where butterflies bubbled all the way up to his throat and came out as soft, slow breaths, where he breathed in and out, where taehyung smelled nice like usual with his dizzy scent of downy and lavender.

where the arms that held him once were.

yoongi curled a hand inward and slapped his chest to block out the thoughts, groaning softly to distract himself. it wasn't his fault. he shouldn't think about it too long.

but it was, it was, it was, he told himself, slipping back into the black dream, the angel in the desk with the blinding lights and the awful, awful playground and the nails scraping on the chalkboard. the lips that nearly kissed him as xe flew them both out.

he felt a tugging on his pant leg and promptly responded. "hm?"

"i'm... i'll stay here."

"you'll stay here? at my place?"

"mm." the cat crawled onto his chest, and he coughed quite a bit.

"want me to take notes for you?" a little nod. "mm-kay."

yoongi got ready as usual, a newfound weight on his chest. brushed his sore teeth for exactly 2 minutes and 10 seconds, combed his brittle hair 21 times, slipped on his mask. by now, it was a complete ritual. it didn't feel as uncomfortable anymore.

"ah!" taehyung called bluntly when he came out. he was sitting up, one hand stroking the cat in his lap, the other waving in the air. "ah, um..."

"hm?"

"ah, see, i-i... um..."

taehyung hissed, slapped himself once on the leg, and reached over to search for his phone among the previous night's garbage.

yoongi felt a vibration in his pocket as taehyung furiously typed away, long nails clicking against the screen with enough force to shatter it.

wanted to say thanks for that night ,,, it'd actually been a while since i'd eaten properly or showered or really had someone over lol /gen

and ,,, um ,,, ty for putting up with me and stuff because  i know im not an easy person to like

yoongi dropped to his knees, shaking, some residue from last night's blurriness still in him. he brought his arms forward, pulled taehyung into his chest, and sobbed.

taehyung was so good. so nice. he was so good. he smelled nice and spoke in poetry and wore pretty dresses and made yoongi dizzy. he was so, so good. and yoongi had never done one good thing in his life, not enough to deserve him.

a twitter notification in the middle of his communications lecture: a rambling, a small fragment.

earth and wind and fire. and the orthodox church. abstract, and disconnect. and the little bit of a child in me, lit like a candle. my neck grows more and more by the day, limp in the heavens. a game of football.
and... cold, angry water i never want to leave.

yoongi picked up some food on the way back. only the cat greeted him, because all that was left in taehyung's place was his sweatshirt.

since then, it was like that boy disappeared off the face of the earth. that peculiar boy, who smelled like downy and dizziness, who lived in yoongi's mind twenty-four hours a day. peculiar, gentle, good.

no face, no voice, nothing. no text messages, no answered calls. like he was just a figment of yoongi's imagination. maybe yoongi was the schizotypal one. he knew schizotypal people did hallucinate, but didn't know to what degree. he'd definitely ask taehyung the next time he saw him— for sure.

on saturday, a notification. [link: law-evading rock - neru]

yoongi was standing at the bridge, right where the trouble began a month and a half ago. he listened to the water— angry, running along like shadows chased away from the moon. the moon, the moon, under the moon was when they were happiest. it was like taehyung, tanned in the july sun, only existed in full during the nighttime. where he spoke the words of ghosts. when his heart raced.

he heard faint footsteps, fainter than the crooked gait with soles scraping against the ground, and turned.

taehyung stared back up at him with those big eyes. he held his shoes in his arms, bare feet dirty and red and calloused.

"w-what are you do...ing here?" taehyung asked, taking time with his words. again, oh no.

"i..." yoongi hesitated, turning his body all the way, releasing the comfort of the railing. "i... i came to see you."

together, they slipped taehyung's shoes back onto his feet, bunny-eared it, and walked hand-in-hand until they couldn't hear the water anymore. yoongi wished he'd double-knotted taehyung's laces so he wouldn't trip. he wished, wished, wished.

taehyung went and bought a pack of cigarettes. he had his own lighter this time, smoking a quick one as they waited for the bus. he was completely silent, laces tied for the time being.

while he was there, he tweeted out another fragment: the weight of my inner child is too much to handle these days. i am disconcerted.

yoongi checked it. he hit like. taehyung had eight followers, including him. not that it mattered anyway, because that was just a number. yoongi didn't even have eight friends in real life, anyway.

they rode the empty thing silently, nobody but a pair of high schoolers holding a football, a mother, and her child along with them. it was late out anyway, nearly midnight.

yoongi never let go of his hand.

there was a little patch of field and tall grass by the fire station, where the air was a little more clear and the cicadas louder. there was the fragrant smell of lilacs from the distance: gentle. peculiar, endearing. the smell of taehyung.

he lay in it, not caring about beetles or spiders or mice. taehyung lay in it, lit a cigarette, and closed his eyes.

yoongi knelt next to him, smelling smoke and letting it squeeze his lungs, taehyung exhaling grey and grey and grey. because taehyung was grey, grey like the asphalt and like the water and like his smoke. 

"i was worried about you," yoongi said softly, drowned out by the cicadas. taehyung heard him anyway.

he pulled out his phone and texted, sorry

my grandma has coronavirus

"i... i'm sorry," yoongi said softly, looking up for his phone, watching taehyung chew at the dead cigarette as he typed away, hyperfocused.

it's ok /gen
im sure it's mild anyway

"are you sure? if you need to talk..."

taehyung sat up and pulled him in, a little murmur of affirmation. the smoke drifted up to yoongi's eyes, making him cry with premature emotions.

"i've been," taehyung breathed out, words slow and broken. "been see-ing things late-ly."

"what kinds of things?"

"animals." he lay on his back, chest rising alarmingly high with each word. "yellow. and blue. on-the-floor." a drag. a long one, long enough for his heart to stop. "my favor-ite... tiger."

"that's pretty."

taehyung lifted his head, looked forward, gave a half-smile— one side of his lips tugged back, as if he were baring his teeth. yellow, sharp, shiny, gums bloody.

ily yoongi, he texted.

"m-hm."

they danced in that place until the sun rose, whispered, touched, told stories, counted foggy stars. hand-in-hand, sealed, danced. sluggishly, like it was the only thing they knew how to do, giddily, slowly, excitedly— danced, in the most literal way possible. long legs and tanned skin and pale skin and the moon.

paced around in circles, giggling, twirling like kids until their feet were sore. danced.

and yoongi tied his shoes for him again that night,
extra-tight so they wouldn't come undone again. not for a long time— and he told himself he'd be ready to untie them if they ever did.

he wished he'd double-knotted them, so they wouldn't come undone so quickly. god forbid taehyung's shoelaces came undone, or that he tripped and fell. that made yoongi shudder. but yoongi, he didn't know how. he didn't know how to protect him.

but it would last for a while, even when they rented a bicycle together and yoongi sat on the end of that tiny little seat next to taehyung, laying his head on his back and listening to his heartbeat while taehyung pedaled. it would last, eyes closed, zephyr teasing his skin. arms wrapped around taehyung's neck, kissing his shoulder every now and then, breathing, at peace, in the dark.

it would last, yoongi told himself, even when taehyung texted him i love you so much out of nowhere and he had to throw his shoes on and run before the midnight bus left, not bothering to tie his own laces, all to make sure he was okay.

yes, truly, taehyung thrived in the dark. he liked to chase the moon and dance under the stars and he cuddled yoongi's obese cat with nothing more than a pregnant pause in his rambling. even though his skin was tanned under the skies of july, there was no mistaking it.

maybe he fell from the skies too late, or too soon. maybe he missed it. how could he possibly claw his way out of yoongi's head in such little time?

"have you," taehyung drawled, glancing up at yoongi, whose arms were perched over the window, blowing smoke out of it. "have you ever had an ego death?"

"nope."

"i have." taehyung reached for a cigarette, but retracted when the cat came by him. "it's scary. i forgot, um, forgot which way was up or down. my mom had to, to, to take me to the hospital."

yoongi had never done any sort of hard drug before. he'd vaped, and smoked cigarettes, and taken adderall and lexapro in conservative doses. but he'd always chosen to pass as those kids in high school, the rich ones, the friendly ones, the social ones, would pass around glass animals and stamp-sheets and tiny little red pills.

"i think there's no heaven."

"hm?"

taehyung let the cat into his lap. "no heaven. maybe you just become a cat if you're lucky, cause you get nine lives." a breath. "nine's, uh, fine. fine, and, um..." he bit his lip to stop himself. yoongi had done a little bit of research on that, the compulsive rhyming. it was a cute characteristic, but taehyung didn't seem to like it very much.

"you know," he mumbled, hugging that cat to his chest, "it's... easier. to, um, talk to you. you just understand." taehyung bit his lip. he took a breath, one that stretched from the tip of his spine all the way to where his heart was. "i'm not normally, um, so good. at talking, that is..."

yoongi was about to say something, talk about how he felt. tell taehyung it was okay, because he'd done the same. but he bit his lip and sucked it between his teeth so he could shut up. this was about taehyung, not him.

"i'm kinda... messed up," he whispered. he never made eye contact, and that was okay. "i got a lot. a lot of things. i'm schizotypal, and, and, i'm depressed, and i think i have an eating disorder too. and my grandma's sick."

"sorry," yoongi whispered, turning to him.

"but you're not like the others." taehyung finally looked up at him, and yoongi noticed the way his eyes glistened. his lips pulling up. looking at yoongi as if he even deserved it. "you don't care."

he was gonna ask, what does that mean, am i supposed to, but he bit his lip. he trusted taehyung. trusted him, his big eyes and dizzy smell.

"you're nothing like them."

so yoongi brought him in and wrapped his arms around taehyung so tight and promised to never let go.

"i wanna be a cat in my next life," taehyung whispered into his chest sleepily. "nine lives."

yoongi brought his hands along taehyung's spine, letting the boy fall asleep there. his dark circles seemed to be getting worse lately. darker and darker, like his hollow eyes were the moon blotting out yellow-turned tan skin.

"i want to be a rock," yoongi whispered.

"a rock?" a little mm of affirmation. "that's nice. i'd take you to see pretty things."

yeah, just riding a bike together, dancing in the middle of nowhere, drawing footsteps along the floor with careful toes, wary of the cat. that was how it went. that was how it goes. that's how they do it.

and that's how yoongi let his guard drop.

it's a little past three in the morning, and his phone vibrates. and he looks, admiration spewing from his throat.

"hey, yoongi," taehyung says, loudly. a bit of static plays through the receiver. wind. yoongi glances out the window— it's raining, windy, thundering. anything but gentle. the rain was a natural force.

"hey, little guy."

"just wanted to say again that..." a sigh. heavy. a sigh of the wind. of the water. "that i love you. more than anything."

"i-i..." yoongi had said it over text many times before. taehyung is his friend, and he loves him. but it'd been years since he'd really said it. it didn't feel right. "you know i love you too."

"yeah." a heavy breath— a sigh, but abridged. repeated. satisfied. "it's late. you should get some sleep. it's three in the morning."

"you too. what are you doing up this late?" yoongi hears a crackle of thunder from outside, then over the receiver. it's delayed. by at least three seconds. "are you outside?"

static. a little breath.

"yup."

yoongi can hear the pitter-patter of footsteps in puddles over the phone. of bare feet in water. bare feet, muddy.

"today," he says. "today, i'm learning how to fly. i'll let you know how it goes."

taehyung hangs up, and yoongi tucks away his phone. he lays down. he closes his eyes.

and then, a moment later, it registers.

and yoongi throws his shoes on, leaves the laces undone. and he runs. he runs and runs and runs.

he runs to the bridge, searches for a silhouette. searches for the moment of deja vu that all started in his head.

yeah. that's how he does it.