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Yoongi had been party to his fair share of bad days – more than, he often thought. Occasionally he wondered if some lucky person had gotten off scot-free and he’d ended up landed with their portion as well. He’d almost gotten used to it; when the majority of days aren’t the greatest, it just makes those that are even better. Or something.
There were, however, some days that were spectacularly shit.
Days when he filled his lungs with fire and smoke, a futile attempt to poison the ugly thing inside him, the shadows that made him like this. The fact that the thing was a part of him, the fact that to poison it was to poison himself – well, that was just an added bonus.There were times, when his mind burnt with the weight of the memories and the guilt, that he had to ask why he was one of the ‘lucky ones’; the one still breathing.
Breathing was all he was doing. He wasn’t living, this wasn’t living – laying in his bed for so long that he couldn’t tell the difference between night and day, unwashed and broken. If he could forever drown his thoughts in vodka, he happily would – but the last bottle had run dry a few hours? days? weeks? ago, and there wasn’t enough energy within his small frame to find more. His best guess was this had something to do with not having eaten since then either. The pangs of hunger weren’t so bad now, or perhaps he’d just gotten used to them.
The flickering of the lighter in his fingers was the game he played, flame climbing higher and higher, licking at his face, until the sting became unbearable and he let the dark consume it once more.The flame was painful, but not because of the scorches across his cheeks – the memories it brought were what hurt the most, thoughts of a small boy with bright eyes, warm hands, sweet kisses. The soft breath that would blow out the flame when it grew too strong for Yoongi to control.
Bad days had never truly been bad with Jungkook at his side. All he had to do was twist their fingers together, lean into Yoongi’s shoulder, simply be close. That was enough - though the gentle words and soft lips against his skin in the dark of the night were more than welcome. Jungkook was so bright, so innocent –like the flames that Yoongi treasured. He too, burned so violently that one had to be careful not to get scorched. There are times now (all the time) when Yoongi wishes he had gotten closer, close enough to take some of the heat (all of it) upon himself, so that, maybe, parts of Jungkook (all of him) might have been saved from the flame. Perhaps, then, the boy with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile wouldn’t have burnt out quite so quickly.
Everyone said it wasn’t his fault; that he had no way of knowing. They were right – he didn’t. He never pressed Jungkook, never went searching into just what it was that left him with bleeding knuckles and dark welts across his cheekbones. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it – Yoongi thought he was being respectful, giving him the space he wanted.
It wasn’t until they found the body, lying broken in an alley, that he realised he had perhaps been doing the very opposite.
They all left after that. Taehyung ran; in his own way, Hoseok ran too. Jimin followed his hyung’s example, and last Yoongi had heard of Namjoon he had left the country, and a trail of deaths in his wake. Seokjin had been the last – he had been the one beating down Yoongi’s door, sitting outside in the hallways for days? hours? weeks? begging to be let in. He left about the same time as the third bottle of vodka. He hadn’t come back for bottles four and five.
Crushing his eyes shut against the images, Yoongi curled in closer to himself, flame dancing behind his eyelids, catching at his hair until the acrid smell of smoke almost choked him. He really didn't know why he’d stuck around for so long. Perhaps he was still hanging onto the hope that everyone made a mistake, that Jungkook is fine, was waiting for him, wondering why he was taking so long.
There was one time, between downing alcohol and puking it back up, that Yoongi had seen him. He looked as beautiful as always; more beautiful, soft skin free of the bruises that never seemed to fade. He’d been so close, so warm – but when Yoongi reached out to touch him, he had gone up in a pillar of flame.
The fire was caressing his cheek once again, and he couldn't help but wonder if that’s where Jungkook was waiting for him, within the realm of flame and ash. Perhaps, if he burnt too, they’d find each other once again. It was an enticing thought – giving up, giving in to the kindness of the blaze, twining together within the smoke.
There was nothing left here for him anyway.
This time,
Yoongi let the flame climb higher
waiting for a soft breath
that was never coming.