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The haunting silence across the corridor was broken by quiet but quick footsteps, always steady and hard against the clean white floor. Yoongi walks with his back straight, both hands holding a notebook behind his back, steps radiating confidence. He can see the guards standing in their position already when he turns a curve in the hallway, one on each side of the fourth door along the corridor, hands behind their back, tasers strapped to the belts around their waists. They were always supposed to stay out there when one of the inmates were moved to the room, never inside; but always alert. They didn’t carry guns in this ward, but Yoongi knew the guards from the upper one’s did. “It makes them feel safer,” his coworker had once mockingly whispered to him, a cigarette between her fingers as she blew smoke from her red painted lips, “Like there’s just you and them in the room. Makes them feel like they can trust you like that, you know?”
Yoongi didn’t, not really, but he just hummed at the time, a silent answer to a question he didn’t feel like delving into. He wondered why they had cameras on two of the four corners of the interview rooms if the goal was to make the inmates feel safer; like whoever was inside with them was trustworthy. Yoongi often wondered if the two way mirror wasn’t doing the exact opposite, making the inmates feel like an animal strapped in a cage in the zoom, in the open for everyone to see and point at. The lights flicker on the ceiling, and he’s reminded once again of where he is, and what he’s here to do.
He steps in front of the door, hands tightening on the black notebook still being held behind his back. The number 24 is written in black ink at the upper part of the door, the black paint staring back at him like it was taunting him. Yoongi takes deep breaths; one, two, three, then one more to make it four, because three was never good, but four was always perfect. He nods to the guards, a silent confirmation to their silent question. The guard on the right side of the door leans away from the wall, a keyboard on the wall lighting up with the movement.
Yoongi watches in silence as the guard punches in the code, heart beating slightly faster than usual inside his chest. The small LED screen above the keyboard turns green, and a small metallic noise can be heard as the door unlocked, the other guard pushing it open for Yoongi to be able to enter. He hesitated, just for a split second; not enough for anyone beyond him to notice, but enough for him to chastise himself mentally.
Taehyung is already looking at him when he enters the room, sitting on the usual chair on the opposite side of the metal table across the door, staring straight at it as soon as he hears the door being unlocked. Yoongi doesn’t bother greeting him, knows it would lead to nowhere; and if by a chance it did, it definitely would go down to a road he didn’t like to deal with. He didn’t waste time standing by the door, instead taking a seat on the only available chair as he heard the door close behind him, lock going back to its place, still feeling the man’s eyes following his every movement, not once leaving his frame. He finally takes the notebook out from behind his back, places it on the cold table, fingers spread across the cover, and finally looks up to stare back at Taehyung. The intensity of the gaze Taehyung would always give him would always send a shiver down his spine, something cold and uncomfortable filling his veins, but he’d never admit to it.
He looks away when it becomes too much, looking down at the tape recorder in the middle of the table as an excuse to take his eyes off of Taehyung. He cleans his throat, opens his notebook and takes the pen he always keeps in the middle of it out. Taehyung is wearing the usual white uniform of the clinic, the large white shirt that hung over his thin frame; matched with equally white pants, a striking contrast to his jet black hair, a mess on the top of his head. It was getting too long now, his fringe covering his eyes. It comes back to Yoongi that they took away Taehyung’s right to haircuts when he tried to kill someone with the scissors.
There’s a lamp hanging right above them, the only source of light in the whole room, and it flickers, just once. Taehyung starts drumming his fingers on the table, the sound echoing inside the quiet room, making it louder than it should be in the small room. Yoongi knows he is doing it on purpose, trying to get Yoongi to say something, to react , even, but he keeps his composure, pressing the red record button on the device, leaning back against his chair again, crossing his arms on top of his chest. He’s good at controlling his body language around him by now, never allowing Taehyung to see more than what Yoongi allowed him to.
Or so he hoped.
Their sessions always went like this, funnily enough, since the very beginning, dating back to all those months ago. Taehyung would never speak at first, always waiting for Yoongi; watching him like he’s the most interesting thing in the room for him to watch, like he was waiting for Yoongi to break, maybe. Maybe not. He never got an answer out of Taehyung regarding this, and he doesn’t think he ever will.
It took less than five minutes for Taehyung to break this time, a smile starting to form on his lips. “You’re awfully silent today, doc.” He states, turning in his chair so he could be sitting sideways, eyes still glued to Yoongi. His fingers never stopped drumming on the table. “What happened, cat got your tongue?” Taehyung’s smile grew just a tiny bit larger. “Or someone else did?”
The innuendo doesn’t fly by Yoongi’s head but he pretends it did, plainly choosing to ignore the man’s choice of words, “I’m simply waiting for you to finally start talking, Taehyung-ssi, since my attempts to get you talking have been rather useless so far. Can you blame me for choosing to save myself the trouble of wasting any words with you?” he shrugs, hoping it’d get a reaction out of the younger one.
He’s glad to see that it did when Taehyung scoffs, finally ripping his eyes away from Yoongi to stare down at the tape recorder between them. He turns his nose at it. “I thought we were past this, hyung .” The honorific was anything but a surprise right now, barely getting an eye twitch out of Yoongi. “We’re acquainted by now, aren’t we? You know me better than that, c’mon now.”
“Do I?” Yoongi is quick to ask, raising one of his eyebrows as he follows the moments of Taehyung’s fingers. He started the drumming with his middle finger first, then his pinky; he’d switch to his thumb, then. His pointer finger came next, and then his ring one; then he’d do it all over again in a quick motion, like he barely realized he was even doing it at all. He looks back up to Taehyung’s face. “You haven’t been very open with me so far, have you?”
Taehyung pouts at him, like he was offended at Yoongi’s accusation. “You wound me, doc.” He says, and when Yoongi doesn’t react in the slightest, he sighs. The drumming stops. He sits straight in his chair again, hands flat on the table. His nails were chewed this time, Yoongi took note. Wonders if the confinement was finally getting to him. “Fine, I’ll entertain you. This is getting boring.”
Yoongi halts. Stares at Taehyung, waiting for the catch these conversations usually have. Waiting for him to smile, to giggle like he usually does, to sweetly whisper, “Ah, hyung, you’re so easy to play with! You should make this harder for me.” like he had once, but it never comes. Taehyung just sits there, hand still on the metal table as he stares back at Yoongi, arching both his eyebrows when the man goes quiet for too long.
“Why did you kill your father, Taehyung?” It’s what he asks, his self control slipping for a split second as the question escapes past his lips before he can think better of it. He starts grasping to make up for the slip up. “We never really talked about this directly, did we?”
Taehyung smiles, to Yoongi’s surprise. He giggles, shaking his head, like he’s disappointed. “You’re so predictable it hurts, hyung.” He sighs. The drumming starts again this time. “You should work on that, really. That can’t be too good for your profession, right?”
“You didn’t answer the question.” Is all Yoongi replies with, testing what buttons Taehyung is allowing him to push right now. How far can he go before the other shoves him off again.
Taehyung’s face grows darker, but it’s gone before Yoongi can take proper notice of it, can analyze it better. The pen lays forgotten on top of the white, clean pages of his notebook. The blankness stares back hard at him. Taehyung leans on the table, arms pressed against the cold metal. “I killed him because he deserved it.” Is what he says, voice dripping with something Yoongi is hesitant to acknowledge. Taehyung’s face relaxes again, though, and he smiles. “And because I fucking felt like it. Can you blame me for that?”
“Why do you think he deserved to die?” It’s what Yoongi settles on this time, ignoring the rest of Taehyung’s words, resisting the urge to pick up his pen and write it down. Doesn’t want to take Taehyung’s attention away from the conversation.
He shrugged, leaning back on his chair, arms crossed across his chest, mimicking Yoongi’s own pose. “Reasons.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Yoongi counterattacks, raising one of his eyebrows at him when the younger grows silent again after that.
“It’s the one you’re getting.” Taehyung says, and his voice is serious, a drastic change to the carefree tone he had just before. Yoongi blinks. Picks up his pen, watches as Taehyung follows the movement of his hands with his eyes.
“I thought we agreed you’d entertain me, as you yourself just said.” He points out, playing with the pen in his hands, still watching as Taehyung doesn’t take his eyes off of it. “I don’t think this is entertaining me much.”
Taehyung snorts, but goes back to the relaxed posture he had before. Yoongi only then realizes how tense his shoulders are, and forces himself to relax, too. “What do you want to know? No dumb questions, hyung, I’m not answering those. Give me something fun.”
It takes Yoongi a few seconds to think of something, racking his brain to find a way to keep Taehyung talking like this. “What did it feel like, when you killed him?”
“Ohhh,” Taehyung goes, a smile growing wide on his lips again, eyes twinkling. “ Now we’re talking. I liked that. Good one, hyung, now you’re getting it.”
“So?” Yoongi presses, pushing the small button on his pen, hearing it click two times as he presses on it, then a third. He does it again, right after, never more than four, never one less.
“It felt good,” is what Taehyung says, slowly leaning against the table again. He smiles at Yoongi, sickening sweet. “But that’s not the answer you want, is it?”
“You’re a psychopath, Taehyung.” He says, presses on the pen again. He feels the button give in under his hold and get stuck inside the pen. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“I prefer creative.” Taehyung says, tilting his head to the side in an indifferent manner. “But whatever you say, doc. You’re the boss here.”
“Killing people isn’t creative, Taehyung.” He counters, and it makes Taehyung's smile grow bigger, a little more manic than before.
“It can be if you try hard enough.” Is what he says, winking at Yoongi, leaning back away from the table once more. “But you wouldn’t know much about that now, would you, doc?”
Yoongi chooses to ignore that, like he always does when Taehyung starts trying to get a rise out of him. He stops playing with his pen, places it back in the middle of the pages. He thinks of something that’ll get Taehyung’s walls down again, something he knows he’ll want to talk about. “Why do you switch between calling me hyung and doc so much?”
Taehyung seems to perk up at that, as if he finally got a question that is worth his attention. “Well, you are my hyung. Why wouldn’t I call you that?” Is what he ends up with, but before Yoongi can try and say something, Taehyung keeps going. “I call you doc when you’re asking me questions. I call you hyung when you’re not.” He explains, pursing his lips a bit. “I’m impressed you didn’t notice that so far.”
Yoongi had noticed it, in fact, a long time ago. He just wanted the verbal confirmation that he was doing it on purpose, which Taehyung was, after all.
Before he can say anything else, the red button on the recorder pops up, signaling that their time for today was over. Yoongi looks up to glance at Taehyung only to find the younger pouting. “Well, this was anticlimactic. Things were just getting fun.”
Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to answer, he simply closes his notebook back again, pen stuck inside as he gets up from his chair, the sound of metal scraping on the floor loud in the room. “I’ll see you again next week, Taehyung. Behave.”
“I always do, hyung.” He smiles, following Yoongi with his eyes. Yoongi knocks on the door three times, then one more, and the door gets unlocked again in a matter of seconds, the guards outside opening it for Yoongi to leave. “Just for you.”
Taehyung’s words stay echoing inside his brain as he walks down the hallway again, the notebook held tight between his hands. His fingers are cramping with how hard he’s holding the black cover but he pushes through, opening the door that leads to the stairs.
He’s alone again, then, and he sits on the steps, placing the black cover notebook on top of his thighs. There’s light coming from the glass windows right in front of the stairs, and he can see the sun setting from where he’s sitting, the bright orange star just about to fall under the horizon line. The sunlight hits his face, and his eyes hurt when he looks directly at it, but Yoongi’s too tired to be bothered to look away.
It’s always like this, after his weekly sessions with Taehyung. He’s drained out of energy as soon as he’s out of the room, like the man had just sucked his entire liveliness right out of him, leaving Yoongi a shell of exhaustion and emptiness inside.
He places his head in his palms, presses his fingers against his tempers until his ears stop ringing, until Taehyung’s words are just a faded echo; until he feels more like himself again and less like he’s losing it.
This is his job. He signed up for it. He shouldn’t be losing control like this, he can’t let Taehyung make him lose it.
“Get a fucking grip.” Yoongi mumbles under his breath, opening his eyes again and taking a deep breath, then two more. There’s a pause, then he does it a fourth time, and he feels like he’s got a grip of himself.
At least for now.
☪
It’s dark by the time Yoongi reaches his apartment complex, and the wind is colder than it had been for the past few days. He can feel autumn approaching slowly, the temperatures dropping lower and lower with each passing day, summer slowly fading away and taking its unbearable heat with it.
He sighs in relief as he steps inside the building, the walls finally cutting the wind out and his body starts to heat up again as he heads for the stairs, fixing his bag’s strap on his shoulder, preventing it from falling off. He’s tired, more than usual. There’s purple bags under his eyes that no amount of concealer can hide away, and he can feel exhaustion settling into his bones, slipping between the cracks of his ribcage and starting to weigh down inside his chest.
It’s Friday, though, Yoongi tries to remind himself. He doesn’t work on the weekends and he made sure to not schedule anything for this specific one, so he really does plan on catching up on sleep as much as he can, without having to worry about his job for once in a while.
He forces his legs up the few sets of stairs, feeling his knees ache after standing for an entire day, the harshness of the day finally catching up to him as he finally reaches his apartment door, punching in his code without much care. He just wanted to take a shower and drop dead on his bed, even if it was still barely nine pm; maybe drink a glass of wine to make himself feel a bit better inside.
The door unlocks and he pushes it open, drops his bag by his feet as soon as he does, taking his shoes off with his own feet and stepping into his slippers. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on, knows his apartment by the back of his hand by now, having lived here for so long.
He could, technically, move out by now. He has the money for it, now that he works at the clinic, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s been living here ever since he entered university, and this apartment matters too much to him for him to move, even if it’s small and old and — basically falling apart by now. He loves it, and he doesn’t think he’s brave enough to move just yet.
Yoongi heads to the kitchen, racking a hand through his hair as he goes. He went back to the black before joining the clinic, but he’s starting to get bored of it now; kind of misses how the blond looked on him, even if it was a pain to take care of. Maybe he could dye it pink again this time, just like he did when he first started his major.
He keeps the lights off in the kitchen still, can see just fine with the moonlight coming from the big window he has, goes straight to the cabinet where he keeps his alcohol, desperately needing that glass of wine now that he’s finally home and will be able to cool down for a bit. The bottle is heavy in his hands when he picks it up, closing the cabinet behind him as he starts searching for the glasses he usually keeps for occasions like this. He opens the bottle with ease, spilling the liquid into the glass until it’s half full, propping a hand against his balcony as he sips on its contents, staring at the street outside, feeling a bit better already.
Yoongi hears sirens somewhere far, wonders in the back of his mind what type of accident it could be but pays no mind to it when it fades away just a few seconds after. He places his glass on the sink, leans over it so he can open his curtains, stares down at the street for a few seconds. There’s no cars going at this hour, even if Yoongi’s street is usually a busy one filled with background noise and people going out and about.
He sighs. Lets the curtains fall shut again, picking his glass back up and taking another sip of it. He stares at the forgotten bottle by the balcony for a few seconds, pondering if he should just go all out today. He deserves it, even if he’ll probably wake up with a pounding headache.
He considers calling Namjoon, inviting him to come drink with him but gives up right away, not in the mood to deal with more social interaction than he already had to.
In the end, he picks up the bottle, is about to turn and exit the kitchen when his phone goes off, almost making him drop it to the ground.
“Shit,” he mutters, putting the bottle back on the balcony along with his glass, taking his phone out of his back pocket and seeing one of his coworkers' names blaring at the screen.
His brows get pulled together, confusion filling his brain as he wonders what’s the reason for this. He’s not personally close to any of his coworkers, usually keeps to himself at work unless someone comes to him. This couldn’t be a casual thing, then.
Yoongi considers ignoring it, for a second. He’s tired and he just truly wants to take a shower and throw himself into his mattress, forget about the outside world for a bit. He can feel the wine slowly warming him up, relaxing his muscles as the alcohol enters his system.
He picks up, in the end. It’s work, after all, and Yoongi’s not too keen on losing his job just a year after he got it.
“Yeah?” he mumbles, can feel a headache forming on the back of his skull. He scratches his eyes, picking up the bottle again so he can head back to the living room.
“Yoongi, oh my God,” he hears her say, can instantly hear the fear in her voice and it halts his steps, dread filling his body. The warmth from the wine has turned into ice. “Yoongi, everything’s in flames. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what’s going on but the whole clinic is in flames I—”
“Hold on, Seolhee, what? What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, feeling his heartbeat getting faster inside his chest, fingers tightening around the wine bottle. “Calm down first.”
“Calm down how, Yoongi!” she screams inside his ears, so loud that Yoongi has to take his phone out of his ear with a wince. “There were people in there, Yoongi! Jesus fuck. I’m heading back there now, can you come? I don’t know what’s going on there.”
Yoongi could. He really could, it’d be easy to catch another train back there, it’s not late enough for them to have stopped running already, but the fact is, he doesn’t want to. He can’t deal with this right now, doesn’t particularly feel like going back all the way he just came from. He’s sure Seolhee can do this on her own, and even if she couldn’t, she won’t be the only one that. He can deal with this tomorrow, when he’s fucking slept.
So he lies. “The trains back there have stopped running for me. I always catch the last one back home, I’m sorry.” he says, the lie slipping easily from his lips as he goes back to heading to where he initially was, a sigh trapped inside his throat. “I’m sure there will be other people there, no?”
“Then get a motherfucking cab, Yoongi, for God’s sake! Are you even hearing me right now?” He is, even if he wishes he wasn’t. He turns the lights on, finally, and his eyes burn from the sudden clarity, taking a second or two to get used to it. “Just get your ass there, I don’t care how you do it.”
Yoongi turns around, a not so lovely reply on the tip of his tongue, but it dies down as fast as it came, his whole body freezing in place. He can hear his heartbeat inside his head, can count each beat, how it skips one before it starts beating so hard Yoongi’s scared it’ll jump right off of his chest.
The bottle slips from his hands. It shatters on the ground, wetting his once white socks and staining his floor a deep red colour. “Yah, what was that? Yoongi? Yoong—”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He whispers, can’t force his voice louder than that. He turns off the call, slowly lowering his arm down.
“Well, that’s a waste.” Taehyung says, looking down at the red mess on the floor, a pout on his lips. Yoongi thinks he’s going to be sick. “I was excited to drink that too.”
“Wha...” his voice dies down, his throat refusing to function properly. Taehyung’s sitting down on his sofa, legs crossed with his hands between his thighs, smiling sweetly at Yoongi. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing here, hyung?” Taehyung asks, the pout back on his face, but he keeps going before Yoongi’s brain can catch up. “You know what, don’t answer that. I just thought I’d say hi!”
“How did you...” The words die down again, Yoongi apparently unable to finish a single sentence without stuttering first. “How do you know where I live? How are you even in here? ”
He gives Taehyung no time to answer, speaking on top of him as soon as he starts. “Wait. The fire. Did you—”
Taehyung scoffs. “You think too highly of me.” He shakes his head, like he knew Yoongi was going to ask that. “I wish I could take the blame, hyung, I really did. But I didn’t do it. Causing a fire it’s way too bothersome and besides, I don’t like the smell of smoke, so.”
“How do you know where I live?” Yoongi is convinced he’s dreaming by now. There’s no way this is actually happening. This is just a dream. This isn’t real.
Taehyung’s expression is dead serious when he answers. “I can read mind, hyung. Didn’t you know?” Yoongi doesn’t laugh, not even when Taehyung bursts out giggling only a few seconds later. It takes him a bit to calm down, and he pouts at Yoongi when he realizes the older man still has the same expression from before. “Yah, you were supposed to laugh. I just took a look at your file on my way out. It wasn’t that hard to find, anyways.”
“That doesn’t answer the question of how the fuck you’re inside my fucking apartment, Taehyung.” His voice gets louder and louder as he speaks, his brain slowly catching up to... Whatever it is that’s going on right now.
“For a psychiatrist, you’re way too oblivious, did you know that, hyung.” Taehyung says, slowly getting up from his seat. “You’ve kept your passcode the same for so long that the numbers are worn out. It wasn’t that hard to figure it out after a few tries.” He shrugs, taking a few steps towards Yoongi, eyes glued to him. “I knew you had an obsession with the number four but, 4444? Really?”
“Get off my face.” He knows he shouldn’t be speaking like this, not to Taehyung. Especially not to Taehyung, but Yoongi has long learned what he can and can’t do when it’s about Taehyung. Talking back to him is something the younger man probably gets off on.
“Well, that’s not really a nice way to treat your guests, hyung.” Taehyung mumbles, stepping around the pool of wine slowly spreading through his living room. He stays rooted in place, body not moving a single inch. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s even breathing when Taehyung stops by his side, just a few centimeters away from him. “But it’s ok. I forgive you.”
“You’re not my guest.” He whispers, voice not going any louder than that.
Taehyung smiles. Hits his shoulder against Yoongi’s in a playful manner. Yoongi can’t look away from him. “I am now. So you better get used to it quickly.
He looks down then, a frown gracing his face. “It really is a shame. I haven’t drank alcohol in so long.” He sighs, turning fully to Yoongi, pressing his chin against Yoongi’s shoulder. He can feel Taehyung’s breath on the side of his neck. “Hey, you don’t happen to have some hair bleach laying around, do you?”
Yoongi is not even nearly drunk enough for this.