Chapter Text
i’ll fix that broken heart
[Begin]
{Chapter 1}
Blue was most of what he could see. Pale and soft, with meshes of white that looked like the foam of a warm cup of mocha. It was dotted with a wavy orange and beige which seemed to merge with the blue and make an odd pink purple colour that was strange yet so pleasing to the eyes. So unique and calming and it sung symphonies he couldn’t imagine and all he could do was soak up the view.
Blue.
Blue was most of what he could see up on the cliff top.
Yoongi wondered what it looked like bellow, bellow where he was too scared to look down because he feared it would swallow him whole and he would truly be lost in an oblivion of invisibility.
But wasn’t the gift of never being seen good?
Shouldn’t he be grateful he could not be seen, that most of the horror of the normal lives these people lived avoided him like a plague.
He should.
He really should.
But he wasn’t-
He wasn’t because after a while it became torture of never being noticed. Because maybe he wanted to be noticed, maybe he wanted to be cared for. Maybe he wanted love. Maybe he didn’t want to keep thinking he was worthless. Maybe he needed someone to save him.
“Save me…”
Words he could say for hours, screaming-whispering-crying-sobbing.
But who would hear?
Who would care?
He wanted to be held tight.
“Hold me tight…”
But who would?
For who clings onto broken things?
After all, Yoongi was just a broken thing that could never be fixed.
Blue, white, orange, pink, purple.
Those colours painted the sky.
White, blue, purple, pink, red.
Those colours painted Yoongi’s skin.
White that was the canvas of his skin. Blue that circles his eyes and his fingertips, from lack of sleep and cold. Purple that erupted from his cheekbones, trailing down his body and hidden under his jumper, curving and blocky at the same time, but something so suddenly splattered onto that blank canvas that it was vivid and bright. Pink that was sucked to his skin. Under the soft skin of his ear and bitten deep into his neck. Small love bites of colour that looked like constellations and he wondered if he matched the stars up on his skin would it make a shape. Lastly red. But red was too plain to describe this colour. It was too deep and heavy to just be classed as red. No, it was all of it; carmine, maroon, crimson, scarlet, imperial, mahogany, garnet. These colours highlighted the most important details to Yoongi. The harsh scraps that licked at his cheeks like claws from a sharp ring. The deep splits in the plumb lips. The nips of colour on his knuckles that were scraped and swollen but not put to rest as his hands were fisted up in tight balls. The sweet candy apple red that climbed up the peaks of his jumper sleeves to reveal the deep lines drawn on with a fine brush of metal and comfort wrapped into the friendly bearing of a blade.
Yoongi was colourful.
He was a work of art that was never sold. He was a work of art that eyes just skipped over. He was a work of art that was rushed in the making, too ordinary and insignificant to be put on display.
Sometimes he would curl up in his room, lost in the sea of his insecurities. He seemed to not care about anything around him but everything was eating at him and soon there would be nothing left to take a bite out of.
Tears were something Yoongi despised. They were too emotional and girly for him. He didn’t need to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He was taught by his father that boy didn’t cry, they were strong, they were men.
But he guessed he failed his father in more than one way.
Because, Yoongi cried.
He cried and cried and cried till his eyes were red and plump, till his head felt full of water and he was drowning. Drowning in that sea of depression, stranded at sea and the last boat had just left, leaving him behind because they could see right through him, like he was nothing.
And he guessed he was nothing.
“Yoongi…?”
Body tensed at the sound of the voice. It was low and quiet but so eerily loud in the terror he felt. He knew that voice.
Memorised it like a prayer. Knew every tone and every pitch in that voice. It was like a warm blanket over his cold heart and he internally begged for it to never stop.
But his head knew better.
“Namjoon,”
The voice of his best friend.
The voice of his lost love.
The voice of the person who broke his heart without even realising.
Yoongi hadn’t turned around to face him. No, he still stood scarily close to the cliff top. The wrong move and he would fall down and would be lost in the crashing waves of death. He could tell Namjoon wanted to see him, wanted to examine the damage to his body.
But what was the point.
Was it not him that made him like this.
Well maybe he didn’t throw the punches and hurl the kicks at his body but he didn’t care enough to save him. Didn’t care enough to see the signs of abuse even when he showed up bruised and bloody to school. Even when he forced a smile through his pain.
Why didn’t he notice?
He didn’t need to stop the pain, he just needed to give him something that didn’t hurt all the time.
Hurt was all he knew.
He wanted to know Namjoon’s love.
He fantasized about how they would proclaimed their love for each other like in cliché shows. How they would fight. How they would get a happily ever after.
But no.
No, Yoongi wasn’t allowed happiness.
Yoongi was allowed to watch Namjoon get strung away by a handsome man who was so much better than Yoongi. Who had so much more to offer.
Kim Seokjin.
A beauty of a person. He could sing, cook, smile like the world couldn’t turn him down, confident, unique, good looking. And most of all, he made Namjoon so happy. Ever since he entered his life his best friend was all smiles and joy. Something Yoongi had never seen before, something he never sparked up in the person he loved.
He was pathetic.
He couldn’t even be happy for his best friend. No instead he ran away. Stopped coming to the studio as often. Skipped classes. Spend day and night out. Woke up in bed of people he couldn’t even remember the names of. Couldn’t even remember the night only that he had more hickeys and more pains.
“Oh my god, I can’t belie—you weren’t picking up your calls and I—I was so worried—you idiot! What if something happened to you—I haven’t even been able to sleep—it’s only because of Jin’s tea remedy that I’m still not a zombie—why didn’t you text back—“ Namjoon continued to ramble and blurt out his sentences. But Yoongi stopped listening.
Look at that. He wasn’t even in his life and he was still hurting him. He should just kill himself. If he died Namjoon wouldn’t have to worry about this bullshit anymore. He could forget Yoongi eventually. He was sure “Jin’s” remedies could work their magic and simply get rid of Min Yoongi completely from the mind of his best friend.
A hand took him by the shoulder and whirled him around before he could even try and stop the action. But he had enough time to forced down the flinch of pain that threatened to appear. “Are you even listening to… Oh my god… Yoon-hyung, what happened to you.”
Oh right.
He was covered in blemishes. He almost grinned.
He met the purple-haired boy’s eyes and blinked at the sight of tears in those deep eyes. he smiled at him.
“Nothing.”
Yeah nothing happened to him.
This was what he always was, under all the facades and lies.
This piece of trash.
Namjoon suddenly looked angry. “What the fuck do you mean ‘nothing’?” he cursed. “Have you fucking seen yourself? You look like you were run over by a damn truck and your saying ‘nothing’?”
“Well what do you want me to say?” and the Yoongi was angry.
He had the right to be.
It would be easier if he just broke it off now. Make Namjoon hate him before he left him for good. Left everyone for good.
The younger recoiled at the harshness of Yoongi’s tone but didn’t back down. “I want you to tell me where the hell you’ve been all this time! I barely see you and if I do you look like this!” he yelled.
The white-haired boy avoided those dark eyes. He knew if he looked he would fall under the spell and say everything on his mind. “Why do you care?” he settled for.
“Why do I… Why do I care!?” Namjoon screamed. “Are you an idiot. Of course I care about you, you’re my bestfriend! I’m fucking worried shitless!”
Yoongi didn’t reply so the purple head just continued.
“In fact, I’m still worried Yoongi. We’ve grown apart and I don’t know what I did wrong. You’re my best-friend, my brother in arm, were supposed to talk to each other and stay together till the end.” His voice was getting softer and laced thick with emotion.
The black-eyed boy felt guilt creep back to him and then all the other emotions. The heartbreak, the stress, the hate, the pain, the depression, all of it.
And he felt his throat tighten and his eyes become misty with fresh tears. Namjoon watched as the other slowly crumbled in front of his eyes and rushed towards him and wrapped him into his arms. He let Yoongi bury his head into his chest and cry.
“Joon!” he sobbed loudly. “Joon!”
Namjoon also felt his eyes water. And hugged the smaller even more fiercely. “I’m here, I’m here.”
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