Work Text:
You’re lying on the ground in a public washroom. It’s in the building you work at, but nobody ever goes to this part of the building. You know this, because you spend an almost unhealthy amount of time here. No one ever looks for you, but if they did they’d never check here. You greatly suspect that the only people who even know of this area – let alone how to navigate it – were the janitors and yourself.
You like it this way; it’s peaceful. No one there to bother you. No one there to see you cry.
Today had been meticulously planned. You’d made sure that there was no schedule and that the other members of your group were out. You’d all become incredibly popular lately; ever since the Billboard awards, you’d gained an even bigger international fan base. It was no wonder that the others wanted to celebrate. You, on the other hand, preferred your quiet time. You’d opened up about some of the difficulties you are dealing with and lucky for you, your friends/co-workers/family had understood.
They just hadn’t understood how serious it really was.
You’d never been more grateful for the many layers you were required to wear on stage. You liked your image, and how boy groups wore knee-length shorts at the shortest. Sure, shirts were optional, but that was fine with you. It wasn’t like you were all that ashamed of your body, it just made your pastime (read: coping method) a little harder to hide.
You know that the others suspect what your method is, but they never say anything about it. It’s not like you’re the only one. Jungkook used to snap rubber bands before your group debuted. If you look in his room, there’s still a high chance of finding a bag of half-used rubber bands. Jimin and Hoseok would work themselves to the bones – Jimin in a vain (and usually unappreciated) attempt to lose the weight he keeps gaining and Hoseok in his need to improve.
You know Seokjin diets and obsessively went through his skincare routine and that Taehyung spent as much time with various animals as possible. You don’t really know what Namjoon did, but you suspect that it was songwriting.
You liked to write too, but sometimes it just didn’t cut it.
So you’d retreat to your hideout and pull out your swiss army knife – the one you got as a kid from your dad. You know it isn’t a good way to deal with the pressures of your chosen career, but it was easily concealable beneath the long baggy shorts. Shallow slashes kept it from being more than a twinge on your everyday life, and it helped you focus which was what you desperately needed. You were able to write some of your best work while bleeding all over the light grey tile.
You make sure to clean up after yourself every time, and you regretfully gaze at the patches of dark grit in between the tiles that just never seem to go away. Pity, you won’t be able to clean this time. You feel a little bit bad for the janitor that will find you. And you feel a little bit vindictive about how big of a scandal this will make because while Big Hit isn’t the worst company – in fact, it’s usually pretty decent – it’s also exhausting to work under.
BTS is basically the company’s biggest success so it was no wonder you were worked so hard. You love music. You loved making music.
But now you’re just tired. The joy has been slowly seeping out of your work for a while now. It had been one of your biggest fears when you’d first decided to go into music. You didn’t want to grow to hate it as the years go by. But you were part of an internationally loved group. You were successful.
Weren’t you?
You don’t hate music or performing. You were just tired. The entire thing was exhausting and you might be burning out faster than you thought you would. Well, you were burning out faster than you know how to handle. And you don’t know how to handle it because the coping methods you were using sucked.
But that wouldn’t exactly be a problem anymore. Would it.
No, today was the day that you had carefully planned in order to end it all. You had dug your little knife deep into your arms and collapsed onto the ground, staring at your arms as your blood began to flow all over the previously clean tile.
Your eyes begin to droop shut and you vaguely remember the phrase “as easy as falling asleep” from that one Harry Potter movie. In the inky blackness, you hear an almost muffled ringing noise. You scrunch up your eyebrows and reluctantly wrench open your eyes to stare at your jacket you’d lazily tossed in the corner by the sinks.
You glare at your phone as it buzzes around before ignoring it. Of course, your last moments will be spent being annoyed by Taehyung. Wonderful. You close your eyes and try to drown out the seemingly more and more frantic as time blended together.
You didn’t know how much time had passed, only that you were floating farther and farther away. Awareness was beginning to leave you as this horrid cold began to seep into your bones. Then, there were muffled but thunderous… footsteps? Coming towards you. You were too tired to bother opening your eyes again. So you did your best to ignore it.
That worked for a time, but then something, no, someone was grabbing your arm and shaking you. It was easy enough to ignore – the amount of practice you’d had was almost ridiculous – that is until a stinging sensation struck your cheek abruptly.
Your eyes snap open to stare blearily at the person who had slapped your face. You glare weakly attempting to mumble something along the lines of “rude” The person is still shaking you and there’s still that uncomfortable pressure on your arm so you reluctantly focus on what’s happening around you.
Seokjin is frantically yelling into a phone he has pressed in a white-knuckled grip, his other hand pressed over his exposed ear to block out the panicked yelling Jimin was doing as he stood over you, slapping your face every couple of seconds.
“-hmygod, Yoongi-ah you have to stay awake! When will that ambulance be here? Ohmygodohmygo-“
He wasn’t even pausing to take a breath. Your eyes drift over to Namjoon who was pressing his jacket to your wrist and practically sitting on it in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. His face was calm, but inside his eyes was sheer panic at the sight of the situation in front of him.
You open your mouth, your tongue sticking to your teeth with how dry your mouth was. “Na-…Namj…oon-ah,” you whisper, your voice just as raspy as you’d expected. It was like you hadn’t spoken in years. Jimin’s hands fluttered around his face as he shushed him and Seokjin’s voice began to take on a shriller tone to the point where he was near screeching into his phone.
“Let me go.”
At this point, your voice is almost inaudible, but Namjoon still managed to hear it over Seokjin and Jimin’s squawking. The jacket was soaked with blood and Namjoon’s hands were covered in the delicate red liquid. “Can’t do that, hyung,” he grunted shifting the pressure on his arm slightly.
You roll your head to look at the ceiling, distantly hearing sirens through the open window. In a hallucination like haze, you could see the red and blue emergency lights. Your gaze begins to blur and Jimin’s squawking increases in volume. His cold fingers are wrenched away from your face with a cry from Jimin.
You’re tired. Exhausted even. Sleep sounds really nice.
You close your eyes and everything just fades away.