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The bathroom was cold. That was one of the only things that Yoongi could recognise about where he was; the bathroom was cold.
The light bulb was too bright, at first burning marks into his blurry eyes, and Yoongi hadn’t looked up since he got into the tub, which had initially been boiling hot, making his skin itch and turn into a bright red. But the water now was cooling, cooling so rapidly that Yoongi felt like it had dropped thirty degrees in a single minute, like he was now in a place where winter never ended. How long had he been here? Time was a fluttering construct in Yoongi’s mind, the lack of window in the room making it impossible to judge how many hours he had been surrounded by water, no clock in sight in the ever same room, with the same mirror, tiles, towels...
Water was odd, he had decided to himself. It was one of the things almost all life depended on, all life needed to stay... well... alive. If you didn’t have it, you would be pulled into the realms of death within a matter of days, slowly dying of dehydration, drying out like a fish trapped in a small lake in a drought, no hope of surviving. A lack of it ensured a slow, painful death which would feel like it took years, the victim wishing for something swifter by the end. But if the opposite, if you had too much, death was also knocking at your door.
To drown seemed like a nice way to die, Yoongi had decided a while ago. It seemed peaceful, to be surrounded by blue, not able to hear a thing as you slowly lost consciousness, lungs being the only thing screaming about what was happening. Despite this, it was one of the methods Yoongi hadn’t tried in his life. It was too unreliable, too easy to accidentally save yourself out of habit. He hadn’t wanted that to happen, and he didn’t trust his wretched body to cooperate.
Condensation around him was turning back to water, drops flowing down the tiled walls, leaving streams of clear glass on the window, the mirror appearing to be cracked and shattered. Seven years bad luck, but Yoongi wasn’t afraid of misfortune. He had had the worst luck almost imaginable for the first years of his life, seven more years felt like nothing in his eyes, felt like a paradise compared to what he went through. And maybe if he had seven more years’ bad luck, karma would take over and let him live in peace, live a happy life with family, with his perfect, perfect family, with Jeongguk...
But the room was cold. Yoongi was cold.
Perhaps it was the now-freezing water surrounding him, the warmth long having faded, leaving an icy pool of glass behind. Yoongi watched the ripples spread through the water, clear surface shattering, ripples from the tap which was rhythmically dripping small tears, ripples from his shivering body which he couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried, how hard he willed his muscles to just give in. It was odd, how his body was so cold but his mind was at such peace, the pain drawing out everything until there was nothing left but a reassuring numbness. One of Yoongi’s most familiar feelings.
The chilled water was nothing compared to the pounding of his heart, every beat feeling like a toll on his body. The pulse should have been comforting, showing Yoongi he was actually alive, actually present in the now, but it was anything but. He didn’t know what he wanted right now.
He didn’t want to die, no, Yoongi was much more content with his life now than he had been in a while, but there was still a small voice wondering why he hadn’t left so long ago. In fact, he hadn’t felt like leaving in such a long time, the thought almost scared him. Yoongi should be grateful. He had a loving family, two fathers and brothers people would sell their souls for. He had a perfect, perfect boyfriend, who never gave up on him no matter how hopeless Yoongi was, how damaged and broken life had left him. So why was he thinking this way, seemingly wishing for something he truly didn’t want?
So why was he sitting in the icy, chilling bath?
The cold must have been clouding his mind by now, the ice seeping into his skin, his bones, making him delirious, his judgement unbalanced and purely wrong. But the numbness was so good, so comforting, so familiar... It was like coming home after a long holiday away, the only feeling he had felt for most of his childhood back again, although this time more artificial than before, self-created, but it was almost perfect, almost so, so alluring, his mind dragging him deeper, and deeper, and deeper...
A hand on his arm felt like a burn, a brand, the warm fingers making him flinch because it hurt like fire, disrupting the numbness he had missed so much. He missed it so, so much. It was like losing an old friend, and Yoongi screamed because it hurt, it hurt like burning and the hottest heat he had ever needed to endure. And perhaps that was counter constructive, the burning of his throat making the numbness fade even more, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, and maybe that was what made the tears fall from his eyes, warm streams of liquid contributing even more to the absence of the empty feeling Yoongi craved so much. He couldn’t stop.
He thought he heard a muffled voice, a voice he might have known, but all he could define was the throbbing in his ears, the throat-burning scream he was releasing from his lungs, barely stopping to breathe.
Why should he stop to breathe?
The hand shifted, moving along Yoongi’s arm to his waist, another appearing at the other side to try and lift his body from the white tub, but it simply served to make Yoongi panic, starting to thrash around and try to dislodge the unwanted appendages from his body, but the hands didn’t relent. They were white hot, they were pure agony, they felt like the deepest part of hell where he was sure he would recognise familiar faces. He wanted them to stop, he wanted to be let go to sink down into the bath and never emerge, to become so numb and empty he never had to feel another thing ever again. He wanted some sort of release from the pain in his chest, his head, his soul.
Were they hands of demons? Had Hell’s servants finally come for him? Yoongi could almost imagine the dagger-like claws digging into his arms, ripping flesh away from bone, and bone away from body, their screeches announcing his fate in a place of eternal damnation. He had done enough to get there, Hell. He had committed enough of the sins he had learned about as a child, he had murdered, stolen, cursed. He even lay with a man as he would a woman, and religion always seemed to focus on that more than anything else, more than the people he had killed in cold blood just because he was told to.
But then the burning stopped.
But then the hands were gone.
Disappearing in a flash like they were never present, like they had been an illusion to cloud Yoongi’s mind further, making him toe the boarder of insanity more than he had been in a long time, not since the last time his father had wrapped his calloused fingers around his pale, bruised neck. But the hands were replaced by another presence, a body he supposed, but it didn’t burn. Not like before.
It was warm. Not burning, not hellfire or acid or anything else of the sort. This was a blanket, a heated drink, it was so distinguishable and familiar and Yoongi knew it. He knew it.
“Jeongguk,” was the only thing he could force his damaged throat to say, the only letters his lips were willing to move to form, to sound out like a prayer.
Vision becoming clearer and more focused on the surroundings, the shapes becoming sharper and sharper, more and more coloured until a face formed in front of his own, a face he couldn’t forget even if hundreds of years were to pass. Brown doe eyes were soft, wide, maybe even scared as they looked at Yoongi’s own, searching for something, anything, and Yoongi couldn’t help but release a sob from the bottom of his chest, which felt like his body was being ripped apart, puzzle pieces falling out of place and onto a hard concrete floor.
The hands were back, but they were soft, all soft touches and careful motions, so, so careful, as though Jeongguk thought he would break into unfixable microscopic pieces if he pressed too hard. He felt himself pulled onto Jeongguk, the younger settling Yoongi against his chest in the still-freezing water, arms wrapping around his body until Yoongi couldn’t determine who was who or what was what. He wished he could sink completely into Jeongguk, become part of him so he never had to live without the lifeline he provided, but for now, this was okay.
Suddenly the warmth from the body now next to him wasn’t so dreadful. The shivers going through Yoongi’s body were stronger than previously, more taxing, and Yoongi couldn’t stop the constant shaking of his limbs in Jeongguk’s hold, gut pulling because of the constant movement of his muscles. The water seemed colder than before, but it wasn’t welcome, it just made Yoongi cry even harder, grasping at Jeongguk’s wet clothes which were unpleasant against Yoongi’s own bare form, but he couldn’t do anything to ward away the cold.
He let his body go limp, collapse completely into Jeongguk’s arms, letting his mind go blank and body surrender to the tiredness seeping through his bones. It was nice, that he could depend on someone so much and know they’d help him, especially after everything that happened with his father. How one of the people he should have been able to depend on the most had put Yoongi at the bottom of his priority list. But Jeongguk wasn’t his father. Jeongguk was... well, Jeongguk. Purely Jeongguk.
And Jeongguk was a being as pure as an angel, an angel sent straight from heaven to save Yoongi’s beaten soul, save him from the blackness crawling through his mind.
Water dripped back into the tub as Jeongguk lifted Yoongi from the icy bath, the drops rhythmic and soothing, like the rain which sometimes fell against the bedroom window, helping Yoongi sleep. He had always liked the rain.
It was nice, that Jeongguk knew exactly what to do for him. Knew exactly how Yoongi wanted to be treated, to be loved. Jeongguk sat him on his lap as he reached for a towel, Yoongi watching with half lidded eyes as the soft fabric was wrapped around his frame, soaking up the cold liquid and making Yoongi feel warmer than he had in years. He felt soft kisses being pressed into his hair, which had never been subjected to the ice, still dry and fluffy, and each kiss made a patch of skin feel warm, feel content.
It was like coming home.
Yoongi was pulled even more into fatigue as Jeongguk lifted him again, slowly carrying him to their bedroom, the swaying of the taller’s arms making Yoongi want to fall asleep like a young child, held against one of his most trusted companion’s chest. And maybe that would be good, Yoongi felt like he hadn’t slept in years, his brain fuzzy and heavy, making him want to just shut his eyes and surrender himself to the growing nothingness behind his forehead. But whispered words kept him in the present, careful touches and movements, Jeongguk telling him to ‘stay Yoongi, please, just for now,’ and how could he resist that angelic voice?
And staying wasn’t so bad, he decided, the weight relaxing and the promise of sleep later looking even more appealing if Jeongguk was by his side, protecting him and keeping him away from the cold he had so recently come to despise. Funny, how one’s savour becomes their downfall, how heroes can stay long enough to become the villain. It was only now that Yoongi remembered just how much he hated the cold, hated the icy fingers which dragged softly against his skin, coaxing shudders and shivers from his mind which was simply prey to the cold breezes and whispers.
Yoongi was sure he heard familiar voices around him, new hands running through his hair, new lips pressed against his forehead lightly, so, so lightly. He would have thought he might have panicked at being surrounded, people touching him from all directions, but his chest just became warmer and warmer, the flame which had been on the very verge of death earlier being rekindled, burning brighter than ever underneath Yoongi’s pale skin. It was soothing, calming, comforting, and Yoongi just wanted to sleep, but Jeongguk said not to. And Jeongguk’s word was religion.
Yoongi supposed he missed the journey to their bedroom, the fluffy towel being removed from his body and clothes being carefully pulled onto him before he had a chance to shiver. The hoodie that was placed over his form was soft, worn out, and smelled so much like Jeongguk that Yoongi felt surrounded, like he was completely covered in his boyfriend’s sweet, sweet scent which reminded him of the flowers Jeongguk got him on Valentine’s day, the cake the younger made for him on his birthday with Jin’s expert assistance, the pure love the younger held in his heart, all directed at Yoongi, unworthy, undeserving Yoongi.
It almost made him cry, but his body was too exhausted, his eyes not having had the energy to open since the bathroom, limbs like lead hanging uselessly by his sides. He probably looked like a corpse, but he couldn’t even find the energy to care. He was sure Jeongguk had seen him worse.
The bed’s covers were soft, and if he didn’t know better Yoongi would have thought he was lying on a cloud, warmth everywhere, feeling like he was floating. No cold was left in his body, his mind, and it was peaceful, beautiful, more calming than the freezing numbness which had held its place in Yoongi’s heart for so long as being the best feeling. His soul was finally settled, content in the feeling of being, content in the fact his pulse was beating and his thoughts were fading as sleep tried to coax his under.
A hand, a body next to him, fingers through Yoongi’s hair. It was so unmistakably Jeongguk, the presence which settled against his own form, arms wrapping over Yoongi’s back and pulling him closer, closer, as close as he could be, nestled into Jeongguk’s chest and listening to his heart beat a soothing rhythm, like a lullaby which never failed to send Yoongi into a sleep only accompanied by happy thoughts.
He almost missed the murmured ‘I love you’ which was breathed into his hair, eyes closed and mind slipping into darkness, but it managed to slip through the fog, making Yoongi smile, pressing his head further into Jeongguk’s being, arms tightening around him.
“I love you too.”