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Yoongi didn’t eat nearly enough. And this broke Taehyung’s heart.
He tried to gulp down the lump in his throat as he watched Yoongi go for days without eating anything, refusing everything he was offered, spending nights awake to study or to work on music.
Taehyung and Yoongi were flatmates, studying at the same university, both having plans and dreams for a better future, one of them never having noticed how privileged he was in comparison to the other.
Taehyung had never felt starved and with no possible way to afford food. He had always had a pretty big collection of clothes and he had never felt the need for something more than what he already had, there were only whims and wishes, nothing vital or necessary.
But when he met Yoongi, he felt appalled to find out that all of his possessions could fit in a backpack. He was abashed to discover that people this poor really existed. He found it even more absurd when it was well into the early morning hours and Yoongi told him that he hadn’t eaten anything all day long.
He felt deliriously livid whenever he came with warm food to Yoongi and he just refused it.
“I can’t pay you back for it,” he said with empty eyes and Taehyung wanted noting more than to shove the food down his throat. Most of the time he wouldn’t eat it, but sometimes, when he had gone for days without any trace of food, he ate. He would always say “I’m sorry,” after finishing, as if he had committed a shameful and horrible crime that could never be forgiven, and Taehyung would just hug him tightly, too happy that he finally ate something and he wouldn’t die from starvation.
However, Yoongi would often wake up early in the morning, sometimes even before the sun woke up, if Yoongi had even slept at all, and would make pancakes for Taehyung. Yoongi knew all too well that Taehyung’s favourite food in the entire world were pancakes, and so Taehyung would usually wake up to the most wonderful smell of all, anticipating a great morning to start off the day in the best possible way.
Sometimes, Yoongi would take a bite from Taehyung, but hardly ever did he eat an entire pancake. Taehyung would feel guilty for eating too much when he didn’t do anything for the food. There were his parents’ money, Yoongi’s work. And he took it for granted.
Yoongi was everything Taehyung wanted to be. Top student, hard working and passionate, thoughtful and intelligent. He had never missed a due date and he composed lyrics during the majority of his free time, besides hardly sleeping and spending time with Taehyung.
Taehyung considered Yoongi his best friend, the one he would call if his house caught fire or if he planned to murder someone, the one he could tell anything to with the assurance that he was listened to and not judged.
Taehyung was an emotional wreck by nature. He sees a cute animal (all animals are cute, shut up Yoongi, that bulldog is the most adorable thing in the world!) or flowers blooming or snow falling or leaves changing colours and his heart jumps in exhilaration and he wonders how this world could possibly be more beautiful. He eats and the food he is eating instantly becomes the work of the most skilled chef on this planet (even if it’s just cereals or ramen), he sleeps and his dreams are vivid enough to become reality, he looks at Yoongi and he is so thankful that he starts crying tears of joy and gratitude.
But also, if he sees a puppy caught in the rain, or a pigeon without a finger, or if someone is shouting, he instantly starts crying.
Sometimes the world was perfect and absorbing, and sometimes the cruelty he found in it sank its teeth into Taehyung’s frail heart and leaked poison which traveled up to his eyes and came out in the form of tears and ugly sobbing.
And always, always when he was feeling down because someone had been mean to him or he questioned his existence, Yoongi was there for him. He didn’t try too hard to comfort him, but he was there, and he listened. He didn’t give any advice, but he understood.
Whenever Taehyung asked what to do, Yoongi just patted him on the shoulder and said, “That’s entirely up to you, buddy.”
When Taehyung caught a cold, Yoongi was the one that didn’t leave the side of his bed except to make him chicken soup and buy him pills and call his teachers to excuse Taehyung. He skipped class to take care of him, and he damn well knew how important it was for Yoongi to attend every single class.
But one day Yoongi caught a nasty cold, much more nastier than Taehyung’s had been. It was because outside it had been freezing cold and Yoongi didn’t have a coat and he refused to take one of Taehyung’s, and so he went outside wearing only a tee and a blouse, walking for forty minutes to the university because he couldn’t afford to take the bus, weakened from the lack of food and lack of sleep.
When Taehyung got back home, he found Yoongi hugging the toilet bowl, slumped pitifully on the toilet floor, his cheek squished on the toilet seat. Taehyung gasped and shouted his name, and in a moment he was next to him and raised his head so he could look at him.
Taehyung’s heart started furiously thumping in his chest as he looked at Yoongi’s face and noticed that his eyes had gone to the back of his head, only the whites being visible. A trickle of vomit went from the corner of his mouth to his chin and it was gross and pathetic and Taehyung was too panicked to even start crying.
He shook Yoongi and shouted his name again, and this time his eyes came front, unfocused, and he blinked, slowly regained his consciousness and looked around with a bewildered expression. Taehyung was so relieved that he wasn’t dead and he actually woke up that he started crying. He bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t start sobbing too.
Look what you did to yourself, he wanted to shout at Youngi, but he didn’t. Look where you’ve gotten with your stubbornness. Is it fucking worth it?
“Shit, I might’ve fallen asleep,” Yoongi said in a raspy voice that scratched Taehyung’s insides. The disgusting trickle of vomit was still on his chin, so Taehyung took a piece of toilet paper and wiped it before dumping it in the toilet and flushing it with the vomit that was still inside.
“Imma take you to bed and you’ll rest,” he said, grabbing Yoongi’s arm and helping him stagger to his feet.
Taehyung was flabbergasted when he grabbed his arm because it was so thin that he was afraid he could break it if he squeezed too hard, and when he put his arm around his chest to support him and help him walk to his bedroom, he was surprised of how well he could feel his ribs through his tee. He was literally only skin and bones, and Taehyung could carry him in only one arm without any problems. Yoongi tried to hide his frail and tiny figure by wearing oversized clothes, but he couldn’t fool Taehyung. However, he didn’t expect him to be quite this skinny. He knew it was far from healthy, and if he went on not eating, he was sure to head towards an early gave. Taehyung made a note then to persuade him to eat more, no matter what it took.
“No, no,” Yoongi tried to resist him, but he was too weak to struggle much. “I need to- to learn. Tomorrow I have an exam, I need to-“
“Fuck the exam!” Taehyung snapped. “You’re in no condition to be out of bed right now, you hear me?”
“But I need to-“
“Shut up!” He screamed a little to loud and he regretted it immediately when Yoongi flinched. “You’re eating or you’re sleeping, I don’t care as long as you do anything but studying or working.”
Yoongi’s eyes were closing and snapping back open, and it was clear that he struggled to remain conscious. Taehyung didn’t think he realised when he got to his bed, for he looked betrayed when he found himself somewhere else instead of his study room. He made to get out of the bed, but Taehyung pushed his shoulders back down.
“Sleep,” he demanded. “I’ll stay with you for the night, just in case you get sick again.”
Yoongi hesitated, widened his eyes, and rushed to say, “I can’t sleep if you’re here.”
“Just try.”
“I can’t,” he shook his head.
“Okay,” he pushed a lock of hair away from his sweaty forehead. God, he was burning. “Call for me if you need anything. And promise me you’ll sleep.”
“I promise.”
But later, when Taehyung went to check up on Yoongi, he wasn’t in bed. He wasn’t even surprised to find him in his study room, barely awake but still working on song lyrics.
“Why did you lie to me, Yoongi?” Taehyung crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his door frame.
Yoongi was startled to hear his voice, but didn’t move away from his study.
“You don’t understand.”
“What I don’t understand,” he said, walking towards him, “is why you broke your promise. You lied to me, Yoongi. This is what I don’t understand.” But they could work this out in the morning, now it was important for Yoongi to rest. He put his hand on his arm and tugged at him. “Come back to bed now-“
“No, you fucking spoiled brat!” Yoongi yanked his arm free and turned to look at Taehyung in the eyes with a gaze that could scorch his skin. He flinched. Yoongi went on. “What you don’t understand is that I need my scholarship. I need to work and write songs and make it big ‘cos my mom’s sick and I can’t afford her medication with a part-time job! You dunno how’s it like! You dunno how’s it like to grow up seeing your mom not eating anything for days so you could eat a corner of stale bread!”
“Well I could lend you-“
“Don’t fucking tell me you could lend me money,” he pointed a finger at him and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare! Do you have any idea how bad I feel whenever you say that?’
Taehyung felt something flare inside him, something cruel and powerful and mad. He was just trying to help, he hated seeing his best friend like that, he hated that he wasn’t allowed to do anything for him and just look at him suffer. He was tired and it was late and he wanted everything to be okay, but it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from being okay, that he lost control over his being. He became truly mad, not caring about how hurtful, how poisonous and sharp his words could be.
Let him suffer then, he thought to himself. He chose this. He regretted immediately the sheer cruelty in his next words, but it was already too late to take them back.
He snapped at Yoongi gesticulating wildly with his hands, “Well, remember this when your mom’ll die ‘cos you value your pride over accepting help for literally saving your mother’s fucking life!”
Yoongi’s eyes widened to incredulous dimensions and he slowly started heavyng and then wheezing through his teeth. Taehyung let his mouth hang agape, not believing that he actually said those words, and he took a step backwards. Yoongi looked ready to pound on him, truly mad, and he didn’t know if that madness was towards him or himself or the whole fucking world, but he seemed like he completely lost his mind, and so Taehyung turned on his heels and ran out of the room.
He slammed the door shut after him and he debated for a few seconds whether he should stay there and wait for things to cool down or go to his room and cry under his covers. His heart was beating like crazy inside his chest and it seemed to implode with every beat, knocking against his ribcage like it was trapped in the lions’ cage and it was desperately trying to escape.
He leaned his back against the door and slid slowly to the ground. When he heard Yoongi shout like his chest was being torn open and acid was poured onto his heart, he just hugged his legs to his chest and started crying softly.
“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered to himself, the sound lost under Yoongi’s shouts. Thumps were heard from behind the door, no doubt Yoongi throwing things around the room, books and chairs and notebooks, manifesting his raw fury in the most destructive of ways. He heard glass shattering and Taehyung actually thought for a moment that it was his heart breaking before realising that it was Yoongi’s favourite mug, from which he drank coffee every single morning without fail.
What had he done? He brought his hands up to his head to grab at his hair and tug at it until it came loose between his fingers. How could he enrage his best friend this much just with a sentence? How could he say something so hurtful to the one he would never want to hurt?
Taehyung thought about going back inside and apologising, thought about holding Yoongi to his chest until his screams ceased and his heart stopped racing, thought about making things right again.
However, he didn’t do anything. He just prayed for the ground to open wide and swallow him whole until his tears dried on his cheeks and Yoongi’s earth shattering screams stopped, and he fell asleep slumped against the door.
The next day Yoongi didn’t talk to him. He didn’t even look him in the eyes. They were just strangers sharing an apartment. Nothing more.
And when Taehyung got to school a little too late that morning because there had been a lot of dogs to be petted on the street that morning, he saw Young heading towards the bathroom in a hurry.
“Are you alright?” He couldn’t refrain from asking.
“Just need to go to the bathroom,” he cut him short, but Tehyung knew better than to trust him. He waited until he turned the corner and then started after him as silently as possible.
He didn’t even need to wonder too much about where could Yoongi be, for the retching noises came clear enough from the second stall as soon as he stepped inside the bathroom.
He hovered his fist in front of the door and contemplated knocking, asking Yoongi if he needed anything, assuring him that he was there for him. Then lowered his hand next to his body. Yoongi would’ve told him something’s wrong if he wanted his help. He heard Yoongi groaning and retching and moaning and that hollowness inside his chest grew bigger and denser until it swallowed everything inside his ribcage, heart and lungs and soul, leaving only a black void in its wake.
He left his friend behind in the dirty bathroom stall.
Upon walking out of the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. His fringe long enough to hide his eyes, his lips downturned, his shoulders slumped. “You’re such a coward,” he spat at himself. “Just a pathetic coward.”
And he didn’t do anything to change that.
-
They also had nights when they watched movies, Taehyung ordering pizza and persuading Young to eat. Even though he usually ate only one slice, it was still better than nothing (Taehyung still assured him that he didn’t need to pay him back for anything).
He was always careful not to eat too much, not to consume too much water, not to leave anything scattered or out of place. He wanted to be a producer, but he didn’t yet have the necessary equipment, and so he stuck to writing song lyrics. He worked on them well into the morning hours every day, and he had written at least a few hundreds, trying to sell them for a pittance and not managing to do that. Young told himself that he needed to work harder, eat less, sleep less, not take it easy for even a second. He was a dedicated workaholic in all the true meaning of the word and Taehyung was both admiring him and worried about his health.
He got mad sometimes. He started shouting at Yoongi and accusing him of slowly killing himself. Yoongi shouted back and Taehyung started crying. They went on fighting until they got tired and their voices got hoarse and Taehyung bawled like a baby, but Yoongi had never shed a tear. He just went into his study and poured his fury and anger into song lyrics, making art out of destructive thoughts.
Yoongi was the one to come back to Taehyung with a mug of extra sweet hot chocolate, exactly how Taehyung liked it. He was also the one to apologise, even if he wasn’t the one that started the fight, and this made Taehyung feel ashamed and stupid every time without fail.
Eventually, Yoongi managed to sale his song lyrics. At first, for so little money that they hardly made a difference. But soon people started asking who wrote the lyrics and they became more and more in demand. And they were worth it. The first time that Taehyung read them, he was astounded. He needed a few seconds to realise that he had lived with a genius that could hardly afford to eat once every few days, a genius with a mind so colourful and deep that he should’ve been a millionaire by now.
He was sure that if Yoongi were one of the rich guys, he would’ve become an international sensation by now. And he took a few minutes to be furious at the world for being so unfair, for giving so little chances to people who actually deserved all the praise and glory in the world when others with no talent nor depth were high in ranking.
But this guy made it. This guy came from extreme poverty with nothing but his talent and dedication and made it, and Taehyung was so proud of him, and so ashamed that he doubted he would come this far. He didn’t even read his lyrics before they were made public, never even asked to. But he was human, and he was learning, and everything would be alright now that Yoongi wouldn’t starve anymore.
In a few months, he had earned enough to pay for his mother’s treatment and buy the necessary equipment to become a producer. They celebrated by going on a picnic.
“What do you want to eat on our picnic?” Yoongi asked.
“Pancakes!” Taehyung cheered, throwing his hands up in the air.
“I should’ve guessed,” he sighed.
They went to the park. It was a warm September day, the grass still there and the leaves still mostly green. It was sunny and beautiful and perfect for a picnic, and so they put their blanket near the lake in the park and started eating pancakes. Taehyung was so glad to see Yoongi eat more than just one, and his heart grew so big it could’ve fitted ten elephants inside.
“Did you know that Nero didn’t actually burn Rome to the ground?” Taehyung suddenly said. He had been flabbergasted when he read that in the book at the library, so much that he actually jumped to his feet gasping like he had witnessed the greatest miracle in history. The librarian shushed him and he could do no more than look at her with eyes bulging out and mouth agape because holy shit he was trying so hard not to scream at the new discovery.
All his life, in all his nineteen years of existence, he had been told that Nero had burned Rome. And finding out that this huge audacity was put on the shoulders of that young, mentally unstable Emperor was unacceptable.
Apparently, buildings in Ancient Rome were wooden and very close together, and a house fire started everything. Not Nero.
“Duh,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows that.”
Taehyung narrowed his eyes and lightly kicked his thigh with his leg. “Liar.”
“Ouch,” he rubbed the tender spot on his thigh. “But did you know that Nero was playing the lyre and he also aspired to be a poet?”
“Uh-hum,” he nodded, eating and entire pancake in two big bites. “He was praised and appreciated for it. He even came in first place at a competition.”
“Aish, of course he did! He was the Emperor.”
“Actually, he said he didn’t deserve the first place but the jury insisted that he receives it.”
“Man, think about it,” Yoongi looked him straight in the eyes. “They would’ve been executed if they didn’t give him the first place. We’re talking about Nero here. They just wanted to get rid of him.”
Taehyung had to admit that it was true, but he still wanted to defend the poor unstable Nero for being wrongly accused by everyone who ever heard of him for burning his own Empire.
“At least he loved Poppaea Sabina, his second wife,” he shrugged.
“He literally killed his wives.”
“And regretted it,” Taehyung pointed out. “He has been found hugging Sabina to his chest and crying like a baby. It was just a fit of fury, he didn’t mean to.”
“Taehyung,” he said, slowly. “Can you hear yourself when you’re talking?”
Taehyung realised that his arguments weren’t the best he could’ve chosen, but he wasn’t done. He wasn’t that stupid.
“Yeah, well I can tell you something that might interest you.”
“Surprise me.”
“I know you like all those ancient guys that no one has ever heard about and that liked to write complicated texts with lotsa fancy words and no sense that anyone can hardly understand without a historian’s help, like Titus Livius and Tacitus and Seneca and Cicero-“
“Haven’t you heard of Cicero?”
“Not the point here,” Taehyung waved his hand. “So. They all lived in Rome and wrote in Latin. And in Rome were only two types of people. Now gimme some paper and a pen.” He knew he had them just in case inspiration hit him and he wanted to write some lyrics. After he gave them to him, he wrote three words in latin. “Sapientis and ceteri, aka stulti. Sapientis were the wise ones,” he explained, circling the word, “the intellectuals, while ceteri were… um, the others.”
“What does stulti mean?”
“Stulti means stupid.”
“Well,” he shrugged. “Thanks for the information.”
“See,” Taehyung beamed. “I knew something you didn’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows something I don’t. And it applies to you too.” He quirked an eyebrow. “But what if you tell me everything you know and you run out of information that I don’t know?”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make up stories to tell you.”
“Wanna do it now?” Yoongi asked, taking one of the last pancakes.
“Of course!” He almost jumped to his feet. God, creating stories was such an exciting thing to do, it made Taehyung so, so happy! “So,” he started, taking his serious narrator stance, legs crossed, back straight, mischievous look. “There was once an isolated town of people that thought they were the only ones on Earth. And one day, aliens came to visit them. And those aliens, they had dozens of eyes, all over their body.”
Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but Taehyung raised his hand to stop him.
“Shut up, it’s a great story, you’ll see.” Yoongi took the last pancake. Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Share it.” Yoongi did. After he finished his last supremely delicious half of pancake, Taehyung licked his lips, savouring the remaining taste on them, let out a little moan of satisfaction, and continued his story.
“As I was saying, those aliens had lotsa eyes. And they fell sometimes, but they were quickly replaced ‘cos they could grow other eyes as they liked. And they didn’t know it, but this was actually a disease. And, like, they gave it to humans. And their eyes just simply started falling out.”
“Ew, gross,” Yoongi scrunched his nose in disgust. “I regret eating so many pancakes now.”
“No, listen. It’s real nice.”
But Yoongi didn’t listen. He took the piece of paper on which he wrote the Latin words, and wrote next to stulti ‘aka Taehyung’, and then circled the word and said, “Look, this is you.”
“Aish,” Taehyung playfully hit him in the shoulder as he chuckled. “Let me finish my story, will ya.”
He sighed. He didn’t have a choice. “Go on.”
“Well, humans were freaking out at first. They panicked and threatened the aliens to burn their ships. But thing is, they didn’t even know where their ships were ‘cos they had no eyes to see and, you know. And then their eyes started growing back. And they realised a fantastic thing. Their eyes had each person’s favourite colour in them. And there were people who had more different favourite colours and people who liked more shades of the same colour, and all of them were blended together in their eyes. And they looked amazing like, the most beautiful and vivid colours you could imagine. And their eyes fell and reappeared again when their favourite colours changed, and so people started making necklesses and earrings from their old eyes and they wore their favourite colours all of the time, and so they thanked the aliens and lived happily ever after.”
Yoongi didn’t say anything for a while. He just stared at him.
“Oh, congratulations Taehyung,” he said in a dry voice. “You made the story even more fucked up than it already was.”
“I think it’s nice,” Taehyung continued to beam. “I’m very proud of it.”
“People wearing their own eyes as jewellery,” he narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“A lot of things, but none of them has anything to do with my original story.”
“You’re very proud of yourself, huh?”
Taehyung nodded excitedly.
Yoongi made a pause, and just looked around, taking in the scenery, looking back at Taehyung, closing his eyes and sighing. When he opened his eyes again, he looked so peaceful that it made Taehyung’s heart soar.
“Taehyung?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m happy. Right now, I’m really happy. And not that long ago I wouldn’t believe that I could ever feel like this.”
“That’s because I’m making you happy,” he winked.
“Yeah,” he snorted. “I guess you can put it like that.” And then laughed more genuinely, shaking his head. “You’re a weird stulti, but you make me so freaking happy, you have no idea. Like, it’s crazy how much better I feel just by being with you.”
Taehyung mirrored his smile, preparing a witty remark, but just then a blue butterfly sat on his nose and he went cross-eyed trying to see it.
“Wait, don’t move!” Yoongi chuckled. He took out his phone and took a picture with a cross-eyed Taehyung holding the butterfly on his nose. “Perfect shot!” He called out.
Taehyung blew upside and the butterfly flew away. “You should frame it and give it to me on our wedding anniversary as a present,” he winked at him.
“Wedding anniversary?” Yoongi quirked a brow.
“Aren’t you going to marry me?” He gave him his best puppy look, perfectly mastered thanks to his huge eyes and pretty pouty lips.
Yoongi laughed nervously. “Yeah, sure. Funny joke, Taehyung.”
Taehyung laughed too, but he would be a liar if he said that his heart didn’t sink just a little bit in his chest at those words.
They had finished eating, so they packed their things and went to the lake. The water was so clear that they could see their faces reflected on it. Taehyung brought his head closer to Yoongi’s and smiled as big and bright as he could.
“Aren’t we just the cutest couple?” He said dreamily to their reflections.
Yoongi choked and withdrew his head. “A couple?” He asked incredulously.
“Oh, right. I forgot to ask you.”
“I don’t think you should.”
The words were like a verbal punch to Taehyung’s chest. When he looked at Yoongi, he didn’t try to keep the sadness and disappointment away from showing on his face.
“What?” His voice was so small, almost there, almost lost.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, shrugging.
“But what did I do wrong?”
Taehyung really tried to be a good flatmate. He really did.
He did the laundry and respected Yoongi’s space and tried to be kind and gentle and nice, and everyone fights from time to time, right? And everyone has flaws, but he really, really liked Yoongi, like, actually loved him and now he felt his heart literally shattering in his chest and it was the worst physical pain he had ever felt, physical, not emotional, like it was caused by an emotional pain, but it was physical and it hurt like heck and he could die right now and it was worse than that night in which he told Yoongi that his mom would die because of his pride, worse than anything.
Because he wasn’t expecting this, he thought that he liked him too, and he didn’t want much, really, maybe a little pet name and a kiss from time to time, nothing sexual if Yoongi wasn’t comfortable with that, and he could try to cut away pieces of himself just to fit with Yoongi and what he wanted, he could try anything, because he was in love, and he had never been in love before, and he wanted Yoongi, but Yoongi didn’t want him back and he could do nothing about this and tears were stinging his eyes and he was looking at Yoongi and he became just a blurry image, but still oh so perfect, perfect for him and perfect in any possible way, because he loved him, he loved him, he loved him and oh God, this pain was so great, like all those times when their faces were so close together that they could kiss and he prayed like mad that Yoongi would be brave enough to close the distance between them and press his lips against his, and he wanted to have a nice and cosy house and live with him forever and ever and eat pancakes every morning and take care of his pets and wake Yoongi up with a kiss and hug him from the back while he was making pancakes because he knew they were his favourites like, he didn’t ask for much, really, he just asked for Yoongi and oh, Yoongi…
“You did nothing wrong, Taehyung,” he said and Taehyung let his tears fall.
“Then why,” he hiccupped. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”
But it wasn’t his fault and Taehyung knew he was playing the victim, and he felt like he was, he felt hurt and alone in the world and dejected. He felt pathetic, a fool who dreams of someone he could never have, just a heartbroken teenager.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said again, like it was his fault, like he did something wrong, but Taehyung knew better than this.
He couldn’t stand this. He felt like he was just asking for pity and he couldn’t stand it. It stung like a bitch, yes, and he felt like his heart was torn open, and Yoongi’s face was still as a stone, his expression ice cold, his eyes much too old and tired for his age, much too emotionless and dead.
He ran home. Taehyung had never been in love and he had never imagined that the breakup of something that was only in his head could hurt this bad, he never thought it would feel like the world was ending or like it lost its meaning. He was certain that he was in love with the sky and with flowers and animals, but he had never wanted them to be his, to wait for him home every day and wake up in the morning with him. Sure, it would’ve been real nice to have them, but it didn’t feel necessary or vital for his happiness, not like he felt with Yoongi. He could pick any flower and he could pet any dog or cat, but Yoongi was the only one in the world for him and Taehyung didn’t know if he could ever find something to cover the whole in his heart in which Yoongi was supposed to fit perfectly.
Taehyung had always been too much. Felt too much, thought too much, talked too much, laughed too much, always, always, always too much. And he used to think that emotions made him more of a human being, more alive. He had always been a hedonist at heart, living life to the fullest, and this included also negative feelings as much as positive ones, but he never thought it could go this far, like his feelings got out of his hand and now they were out there to get him.
He remembered reading a study about two boys that had been raised by wolves since they were mere babies. Not the legend about Remus and Romulus, but other two boys, more closer to this era. They had been discovered when they were teenagers, and people tried to educate them, teach them how to talk, how to walk on two legs, how to act like a human being and not like an animal. With great efforts, they managed to teach them a few words, but nothing more. Eventually, the boys had died. They could not fit in, no matter how hard they tried to teach them how to be human, they couldn’t learn because that animalistic seed had been engraved too deep inside their beings to be altered. From this, scientists drew a conclusion:
That people were not born human. They became human.
Taehyung hadn’t been born so emotional, so sentimental, so full of feelings. He had become like this. Just like Yoongi had become hard as stone and freezing cold. Taehyung was warm and mellow and he admired Yoongi for being so tough.
But maybe he had created Yoongi. Maybe this whole world was just inside his head. He could never be sure that everything he saw and touched and heard was created by his imagination, from boredom or loneliness or despair. Maybe he was lost in space, hibernating, living inside his head, floating aimlessly through the universe.
Maybe this was why he had never had a lover before. Everyone that ever touched him were inside his head, and when they touched him, he was actually touching himself without realising it. Maybe this was why he had never been kissed before. He cannot kiss himself.
Maybe this was why scientists all over the world fretted so much about how powerful and strange was the human brain, and how people used so little of it. Maybe it was a signal, a warning to Taehyung to wake up and use his whole brain, because now he was using only that part of his brain responsible for creating this world.
And if that was true, he couldn’t even scream for help. In space there wasn’t an atmosphere that could carry the sound. He could scream all he wanted, nobody would hear him. Because he wouldn’t have a voice in space, no matter how hard he tried to use it.
Maybe the one he was using now wasn’t even his voice. Maybe he made it up because his voice would be lost forever, buried somewhere deep from where it could never get out. And everyone he knew, everyone he had ever met, had ever seen, would be just figments of his imagination, masks created by him and put on memories or imagination. If so, they would be fake people in a real world. The world would be real because he had created it. He created the world, and therefore the guarantee that it was real and it existed.
If not, if this was something that had nothing to do with his brain and imagination, then there would be real people in a fake world. The world would be fake because he didn’t know who created it, who wanted to make what of it, what purpose it served. It pretended to be friendly and habitable when who knows what it was its real final goal. And it was filled with real people pretending to be fake so they could fit in. But once you manage to crack their mask, you’ll see just how real they can be, how deeply human, and also deeply flawed when they’re not trying to pretend they’re perfect.
Taehyung had always believed that he was real, that he wore his heart on his sleeve and he never used a mask. But now he realised that even him didn’t know himself that well after all. He was actually a very positive person, and he never thought that one day he would be on the kitchen floor in foetal position because of a heartbreak, tugging at his hair and wailing until his throat was raw and bleeding.
This is not me, he kept saying through his sobs. This is not me, this is not me, this is not me.
But who else? He asked himself afterwards, and the answer made the remaining of his heart break again.
That winter, he went to the lake and it was frozen. It was weird, seeing something that used to reflect your face showing nothing. If he couldn’t see his reflection where he was supposed to be able to, did he even exist? Was he waking up? Was he starting to forget this world already? Sure, it hasn’t been exactly kind to him, but was he ready to give up on it?
He thought about it and the answer was no. He didn’t want to give up on it, whether it was a real one that he had created or a fake one that had intentions unknown to others, he didn’t want to leave it, beautiful and cruel as it was, it was his, here were his memories, his life, everything he had ever known. He didn’t want to wake up in a see of nothingness, in a vastness so huge he would never truly live again.
And if his brain started to figure out how to wake his true self again and now it was starting to blur everything in this imaginary world, to make it fade out, he wasn’t going to let it happen.
He jumped in the frozen lake. He banged his head pretty hard against it, but he didn’t give up. He shook his head vigorously and saw that it actually made a crack in the ice. He started hitting the crack, making it bigger, water starting to come to the surface. He screamed as he banged his fists against the ice, using his voice, his voice, whether it was actually his voice or a sound created by his imagination, it was his voice and he used it and he loved it because it wasn’t utter silence, it wasn’t a dark void he was floating in, it was real and he was freezing and his knuckles were bleeding, but he still hit the ice and it cracked more and more until it shattered under his weight and he fell into the frozen lake, steam coming out of his mouth and the freezing water numbing his body until he couldn’t feel anything at all and he laughed because he was alive and who else could be mad enough to do exactly what he did just now, and who could tell him now that he wasn’t real enough to feel this numbing pain, this intoxicating agony that filled his blood with a wonder lost forgotten that told him it was alright, he was human, and he’ll get over Yoongi and he’ll find something just as good, and if not, he could be content with himself, weak and deeply flawed as he was, he could do it.
He felt like he just had a battle with the whole world and he won. He felt invincible.
He tried to get out of the lake. He grabbed the crust of ice and tried to drag himself upward, but he slipped and ended in the freezing lake again. He tried again and slipped again, and again, and again, but he would not give up, and that was what mattered.
Eventually, he managed to get out of the lake and drag himself, dripping wet and shivering to his core in the middle of winter, to his and Yoongi’s apartment. When he saw the pathetic state he was in, Yoongi came to him, took his cold wet hand into his warm and dry ones, and said something unexpected.
“You know, this hurts me too. What you’re doing to himself.”
Strange as it sounds, it had never occurred to Taehyung that by making himself miserable and sad, he also hurt Yoongi. That gave him a sense of reality, of humanity that he had never seen before behind that mask of concrete. He was ashamed that he never thought of Yoongi as being as deeply human as he was, and only now did he realise that by hiding his feeling under a thick blank mask didn’t mean that he didn’t have them. His eyes gave him away. His eyes had always given him away. They weren’t old or tired or dead, they were filled, so filled that it looked like there was nothing inside when in reality it was much more than he had ever seen before.
“Did you fall into the lake?”
“No, I jumped in.” Shivering like a leaf in the wind, he tried to smile.
“Why would you do that?”
“To feel real.”
Yoongi shook his head disapprovingly. “Aish, you’re a weird one, Taehyung.”
“I’m alive!” He called out as he was running up the stairs to throw off his soaked clothes and cuddle with five blankets, praying like all hell that he wouldn’t catch a cold.
That spring, he came back to the lake when he could see his reflection clearly. He looked at it for a few moments, and then hesitantly hovered his fingers over his cheek, tracing it from under his eye to the chin, watching his reflection in the water do the same. He felt human skin under his fingers, a texture so exquisite that he didn’t believe it could be imitated. It was warm and soft, but not smooth. It was full of imperfections and it was so very far from being flawless, exactly how it would feel if he could touch that person he was on the inside too.
“I am deeply human,” he told himself, tracing his hand down his throat and pressing it against his chest, feeling the rhythmic thump of his heart against his palm, a reminder that it was still beating, it was still keeping him alive, it was still offering him a chance to move forward and live more fiercely than ever before.
“And it’s alright.”