Chapter Text
violet bruised eyes
Yoongi wakes with drumming in his head. The rhythm loops
The space beneath his eyes is tender violet, hot to the touch when he rests his fingertips there. The weight of the black night sinks into the thin skin, stitches itself into the veins criss-crossing across his eyelids. Yoongi taps the sleep from his eyes, plays himself another drumming song. He prays the staccato rhythm will call morning to him sooner. The nights become long, relentless stretches of silence when the melodies stick to the flesh of his throat. The drumming intensifies, beats against the edges of his consciousness like a siren, but the song doesn’t come.
The drumming sound intensifies, but his fingers grow still, and he wonders if the song is locked away somewhere beyond his reach for good.
Seokjin’s voice is the song itself, sometimes.
Tonight, he sits in the shadowed corner of the studio, waiting quietly. Yoongi looks to him. Same brown eyes, same violet bruises beneath them, same anxious press to his lips.
“It’ll come,” Seokjin whispers. When he speaks, his voice is steady despite the quiet, despite the hour. A melody all on its own. It’s enough. Yoongi picks up the pen again.