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Claire de Lune. A composition that was home to Kim Seokjin. He stares blankly at the record player, rather than a piano itself for the piano had lost its owner. The record player doesn’t do justice to the composition, emitting the composition with crackling and awkward loops of the beginning in between the song. To be fair, the record itself was on its last spins, for god knows how long Seokjin has kept it spinning.
Claire de Lune. A composition that was child’s play to Min Yoongi. His deft fingers dance across the black and white keys, each key played with emotion and soul. He shuts his eyes, allowing muscle memory to take over as he absorbed himself into the song that made him fall in love with the piano. His head gently sways along with the smoothness of the music, his shoulders following the fluid movements. He finishes playing, his deft fingers hitting the last keys before turning around.
“That was beautiful,” complimented Jin, with a beam on his face. Yoongi hides his giddy embarrassment by stretching upwards and yawning.
“It was nothing,” he shrugs.
Eventually the record stops spinning and Jin becomes too lazy to get up and get it spinning again. He allows it to spin in emptiness, leaning back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. Yoongi would have remarked at how shitty the record player was and how they needed to get a new one, Jin could just imagine his exact words, “That was offensive to classical music on so many levels, we’re getting a new record player,” and Jin could imagine his rebuttal as well, “We can barely afford rent and you want to get a new record player?”
He shakes his head to get rid of the scene that he had conjured in his mind, an alternative universe in which Min Yoongi was still alive. To take his mind off his current thoughts, Jin pushes himself from the living room that was still bringing back painful memories, albeit it being a month, and makes his way to the bedroom where there were hopefully, less memories.
At the edge of his bed was a lighter. Jin picks it up, fiddling with it on the edge of the bed. Was this how Yoongi felt on that night? He flicks the edge of the lighter, a small yellow flame fed by lighter fluid. He flicks it multiple times, watching as the yellow flame appeared and disappeared and eventually, he blows the flame out and lean against his bed.
Yoongi had an odd fascination for lighters, always having one in hand despite a) not being a smoker b) having the conscious awareness that lighters are a fire hazard. He still keeps one in his pocket despite the reprimands from Jin.
Yoongi sits at the edge of the particularly hard motel room bed. It was quite decent, considering this motel has a 1.5 stars out of 5 and was literally falling apart. Why he ended up coming here? He blames the alcohol in his systems. His fingers run through his jet black hair, ruffling it as he leaned back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling that had cracks and water stains. With a lighter in his hand, he flicks it while resting on the bed, the orange flames appearing and disappearing with each flick.
Jin tosses the lighter aside, a painful reminder of Yoongi. He curls up in bed, a bed that was now too big for one, trying to fall asleep. He wonders if Yoongi was about to sleep that night, until it happened.
Yoongi had too much alcohol in his systems, unaware of his intoxicated state. Remind him again, how did he end up in this motel? No, it couldn’t have been an argument with Jin he was not that petty. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, thinking about different reasons why he was in the motel room.
Until the smell of smoke hit him.
Yoongi sat up straight, wide awake and aware of his surroundings now. The lighter he was fiddling with had caught the cheap bedsheets, and was licking up every corner of the bedsheet. He jumps upwards, cornered into a damp and musky corner as the flames began to lick up every piece of fabric and furniture in this tiny room. The smell of smoke suffocates Yoongi, and to make matters even fucking worse the windows were locked with no absolute way of opening them.
He rushes to the bathroom, filling a bathtub with water and he sits and waits inside. There was no way the fire could end up traveling into the bathroom right? He shuts the bathroom door to keep the smoke out and it works, for a while until the smoke began to seep through the cracks in the door. Yoongi knows he’s fucked and pulls out his phone, stumbling to call the police but at this point, could anyone even help him?
He dials the one person that he knows can help him.
“Hyung,” he whispers into the phone.
“Yoongi? What’s wrong?” Jin’s concerned voice laced with post sleep huskiness emitted through the line. Yoongi’s heart clenches, Jin had no idea what was going on.
“I… Nothing. I just wanted to hear one of your terrible jokes,” he lied. Smoke was now slowly filling up the room and it took all of Yoongi’s will not to inhale any of the smoke in case he choked.
“At three AM Yoongi?” Jin’s voice changed into his usual playful and nagging voice. “Hmm, so before you rudely woke me up, I was swimming in an ocean of orange soda. Turns out it was Fanta Sea.”
Yoongi laughs, covering his mouth with his free hand as the smoke began to travel dangerously closer. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“That was weird, but I love you too,” Jin responds back. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to sleep,” and the line goes dead. Yoongi stares back at his homescreen, a photo of Jin that he took when Jin was half asleep on one of their road trips. He leans back against the bathtub, coughing and spluttering as the smoke entered his systems. He keeps the photo of Jin on though, staring at it until his body eventually gave in to the smoke, his eyes slowly shutting until he saw an abyss of nothingness-
and then the light.