Chapter Text
It swallows me, that lunatic
Please save me tonight
Alcohol is buzzing in Yoongi's system, he's so drunk that his tattooed hand shakes, causing the glass in it to tip over dangerously.
He can feel the bartender's eyes on him, some tall guy whose name tag reads Seokjin. Despite the fact that he should be promoting the business, Seokjin watches Yoongi concernedly, like he wants to tell him to stop.
"That's enough." There it is. Seokjin's voice is soft but firm; almost commanding. Yoongi doesn't realise that the glass was pulled out of his hand until all he feels is dampness from the condensation that had previously gathered on the outside of the glass stick to his fingers. He blinks.
Yoongi turns to look blearily at Seokjin. He grins, lopsided from his tipsiness.
"Okay, mom," he slurs out. Seokjin just frowns slightly at him, seeming exasperated. Yoongi begins to laugh. He doesn't really know what he's laughing at, its just so unbearably funny. He can't stop.
A wide smile appears on his face, wide enough that his gums are visible, and for all intents and purposes he seems to be a cute toddler, small figure, gummy smile and cheeks flushed slightly pink, giggling. Thats if you didn't look at it in context: he was drunk out of his mind, bitter, alone. Self-loathing.
He vaguely hears Seokjin ask for his phone, and Yoongi, too intoxicated to really think, just hands it over. Seokjin is dialling something, the keypad tones faint to him. The next thing Yoongi knows, he's being pushed into a taxi cab by Seokjin, who thrusts Yoongi's phone back into his palm.
"Go home, Yoongi, is it? Go home, have a glass of water and sleep. Take painkillers in the morning for the hangover."
Seokjin seems like a caring kind of guy, Yoongi thinks drowsily. Maybe he was right to call him "mom."
Yoongi giggles drunkenly at the thought as the taxi cab nears his appartment building.
Yoongi stumbles out the door of the car and even in his non sober state, he tries to pay the driver (way too much money for the relatively short ride home) who declines, saying that the guy at the bar had paid.
Yoongi didn't know what to make of that, except that perhaps Seokjin would become a great friend of his.
Yoongi nods and begins to totter towards the staircase leading up to his appartment. He slowly manages to climb up the steps, his tattooed hand, veins showing through his pale skin, clutching tightly to the railing.
When he finally reaches his floor, he nearly collapses in relief but he has yet to reach his door.
He stumbles to it, number 136. Fumbles with his keys at first the gate and then the door. He hears a jangle to his left and looks up to see a figure, blurred by the alcohol that is only starting to fizz out now. The person has wild hair, dyed orange but somehow it suits their pretty face.
They are unlocking their own door, and though its late, seem significantly less intoxicated, if at all.
They walk forward and wave slightly.
"I'm Jimin, your new neighbour."
Yoongi just nods.
"You look like you need help with that," Jimin says, amusement clear in his soft dark brown eyes as he points to Yoongi's door.
Yoongi shrugs and Jimin moves forward and places the correct key into the lock, turns the right direction and pulls the handle down. He ushers Yoongi inside, makes him promise to lock his door afterwards, his face expectant.
Yoongi promises and Jimin makes his way to his kitchen, pours a glass of water and leaves it on the counter for Yoongi.
Jimin gives him a small smile before reminding him again to lock his door.
Yoongi does, this time he manages to turn the key properly. He turns around but waits at the door, mind blank as he sips the last bit of his water and stares at his own living room. He can hear the distant rattle of Jimin locking his own gate.
He feels much more sober now, but the exhaustion and headache kick in and he almost drops his glass back on his counter and makes his way to his room.
He groans as he enters his room, ignoring the empty shells of cup ramyun (he is in fact a mostly broke college student, don't judge) lying around and forces himself not to look at the photo frame on his nightstand that used to remind him of happiness but now makes him feel bitter, cold, unlovable and threatens to break through his front of indifference so that he becomes a grieving, angry mess.
He shrugs off his leather jacket and tugs his watch off but then promptly falls onto his bed, groaning because the sudden movement caused a stab of pain to shoot through his head.
Tiredness catches up to him and he falls asleep to hazy thoughts that maybe the world is not always that cruel, Seokjin, though they just met that night (early morning?) seemed like someone he can trust if not a bit parental.
Just as he falls asleep the image of a kind face and wild orange hair flashes through his mind and he smiles, falling into a deep, albeit mostly alcohol induced sleep.
Never mind, never mind
Even if it’s a road of thorns, we still run
Never mind, never mind
There are many things in this world you can’t do shit about