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there is no light which streams in through the windows. there are few which aren't broken through, boarded sloppily with rotting planks of wood. the flashes of passing cars flicker between the cracks, but never make it through, never permeate the world beneath. it's better this way, yoongi thinks.
the only illumination in the room is the scattered glow of cheap tea candles, nearly burned out and crowded around by the creatures of the underworld. the people who have become something less than human, something darker, more gaunt. their skin is pasty and gray, their cheekbones hollow, their hair falling in lank strands around their dead faces. because they are all on the brink of death here. like the light from outside, there is no hope which shines through. only need, craving, a desire to fall deeper as you claw at the walls, trying to slow the descent into hopelessness.
it's familiar. to yoongi, at least. he knows the initial struggle, knows it never gets better, even though the drugs whisper in your ear, telling you that it will all be over soon, just one more hit. but your last hit is never an enlightenment of the senses, a growing resolve. your last hit is the one which drags you under, slows your breathing, closes your eyes for the last time. and your last thoughts are never about going deeper. they're about clawing your way out, finding your family, those you've wronged. they're about redeeming yourself. no one ever does, of course. yoongi has seen it happen, time after time. again and again the poor souls fall too deep, drown in their want for more.
but never did he think it would happen to him.
not yoongi. no, he's always known it would happen to him, has seen it coming for years. but he never thought it would happen to jimin.
not jimin, the boy with the chubby cheeks and the smile like an angel. not jimin, with his bright future and brighter disposition. jimin with his too big sweaters which fall off of his small body. jimin who used to look at yoongi so brightly, would turn his gaze to the ground and blush whenever yoongi looked his way.
the same jimin who had stayed with yoongi, before he had fallen past the point of recovery. the boy who had held him in his surprisingly strong embrace, told him sternly with tears in his eyes that he wasn't leaving, would never leave him. the boy who combed his fingers through yoongi's sweaty hair, told him all the things he liked about yoongi, all the reasons yoongi should stay.
the very same boy who's head now rests in yoongi's lap, face pale and brown hair matted. his eyelids are closed, his cheeks no longer hold the flush they once did. his mouth hangs open slightly, full lips pale and chapped where they were once red and plump, always moving as he ranted to yoongi about his day. now they remain still, spit dripping out of the corner of them and puddling on the floor to join the rest of the filth which surrounds them. the remnants of white powder are smeared around his nose, and yoongi brings his thumb to brush it away. yoongi feels weak, and the effort to lift his hand is exhausting. he doesn't have the energy to move it away, instead brushing his thumb over jimin's soft cheeks, his cheekbones prominent as the baby fat has now melted away, all evidence of innocence gone. jimin is just a shadow of who he used to be, a skeleton which once held the most beautiful person yoongi has ever known. but he's still beautiful, yoongi thinks, knows he doesn't look half as beautiful as the boy beneath him.
yoongi feels a tear drip down his cheek, takes a moment before registering it. he never meant for this to happen. he never meant to drag jimin down with him. jimin had everything he needed. jimin would have been fine. but he wanted yoongi, and yoongi was selfish. now this boy, this beautiful angel, has fallen. and yoongi doesn't know how to save him.
jimin stirs in yoongi's lap. his eyeslids blink open, pupils blown and eyes glazed over. "hyung?" he whispers, voice scratchy and slurred, but just as soft and gentle as it always was. it hits yoongi like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut. jimin's gaze is soft and adoring, and yoongi thinks he might be sick at how little he deserves that gaze directed at him. "yeah," yoongi whispers back. "yeah, baby, i'm here." jimin smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. not in the way it used to. suddenly jimin frowns, winces, shifts in yoongi's hold. "hyung," he whines. "hyung it hurts." yoongi feels his heart shatter into a million pieces, chokes on the shards as he grimaces, tries to pass it off as a smile.
yoongi can feel the need tugging at the back of his mind too, the throbbing in his skull increasing. he reaches for the needle which still lays by his side. he digs in his pocket, looking for the small bag he stashed there earlier. yoongi so wants to take jimin's hand in his own, tell him that they don't need it, that they can make the pain go away by themselves. but it would be a lie. and yoongi is weak, wants to give jimin everything he wants.
so there is nothing to do but to take another hit, and another, and drown himself in jimin's gentle presence.
and each time, yoongi hopes and prays it will be their last.