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Is it even possible to miss someone who is right next to you? Breathing the very air you are breathing, taking in the exact scenery your eyes are staring at. Fingers fiddling by your side, as you struggle with the underlying tension in the air, standing very still and quite very upright.
It’s not your fault, he said, it’s no one’s fault.
Whose fault is it, then, Yoongi wants to scream, wants to tear his hair out in frustration, his head screaming for him to run, quick, run away while he still can- yet his instincts calling for him, just as strong, to slam his lips onto the man next to him; the man he loved, still loves- that no longer belongs to him, just for one more time, once more, to feel those blushing lips on him, to see that perfect doll face lit up with surprise and something more, anything.
But there is nothing. Yoongi would rather stay here, hands fisted by his sides and breathing ragged, than do anything to Seokjin. There’s too much hurt caused already, he knows; looking at the marks riddled on Seokjin’s pale skin, some wounds still fresh and raw and the others slowly fading into dark brown; scars that will remain as a constant reminder of how they’ve loved, how they’ve cried and hurt and in the end, scattered, withered away, leaving nothing but empty memories, the ghost of a self.
Perhaps it’s for the best. Yoongi wishes that it’s for the best. It’s true, Yoongi loves Seokjin more than any treasure in the world; Seokjin- he dares to hope- would lay down his love for him. But Yoongi is just not the one Seokjin needs; a cold, harsh, fact that whips him in the face, colder than any northern wind that snarls past the deserted bus stop where he and Seokjin are standing, stiff and unmoving; the only sense of movement between the two bleeding, dead hearts.
Yoongi isn’t the one Seokjin wants. He knows that- he knew that from the very start. It’s just that simple; the truth rips into his heart and even the gentlest caresses from Seokjin as he weeps into Yoongi’s shoulder, the muted murmurs of - “it’s all right, Yoongi- it’s all right” doesn’t soften the blow, if anything, Seokjin’s gentleness ruins him even more, reducing his being to smoke and ashes, as he stares at the scarlet dripping, sliding- sinister and prominent against the expanse of snow white skin, because what have I done, Seokjin? What have we done?!
And for years the pain, the anguish, an arrow piercing through his very lungs, watching Seokjin slowly wither and fade yet still with that gentle smile on his face; and they would have been destroyed, both of them ruined, Yoongi slowly losing his sanity as the wounds on Seokjin increase, what should I do, Seokjin? Tell me what to do, Seokjin, please-
Or the night when Seokjin stumbled into his studio, deep in night, where the stars didn’t shine, crying crimson; Yoongi, Yoongi, help me- the quiet confession of Seokjin that he hasn’t been able to sleep properly for months, now- and the voices in his mind that don’t go away even when Yoongi tries, kisses and hits the side of Seokjin’s head when the latter pleads for him to do so with tears in his eyes, the countless words with no meaning, a thousand, empty words more- sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry-
Grief is the price we pay for having loved.
Yoongi understands, when one day his cell phone rings at the middle of his shift and instead of the warmth of Seokjin’s voice, he was greeted with screams in the background, a woman’s voice, hoarse and urgent, pleading and begging him to run, go to the hospital, Seokjin is there, they are about to take him away to an institution- please don’t let them take him away, Yoongi, please-
And then Yoongi was off, running, tearing his way to the hospital, and then he was there, at the hospital itself, chest heaving and head pounding as he dashes through the doors, shoving and pushing his way across the nameless people with no faces, breathing in the scent of sanitizer and alcohol and metallic instruments Seokjin is terrified of, and there he was, sedated and tongue lolling out of his mouth, tubes connecting everywhere across his body that Yoongi knows like the back of his hand, leather belts dark against the pristine of the bedsheets and taut against Seokjin’s skin.
“Where are you taking him,” Yoongi remembers growling, his heart beating faster still, the sight of Seokjin, vulnerable and pale and lifeless yet still so lovely, to the institution, where is it?
They didn't allow visitors, but Yoongi threatened and pleaded and wept; and they finally relented, once a week; Yoongi is allowed to see Seokjin, but they don’t understand, it’s different- Seokjin isn’t Seokjin anymore-
The Seokjin he knows, he knew- he thought he knew- his eyes wouldn’t look so… desolated, so empty, so blank- Seokjin would at least know his name, but this Seokjin- he doesn’t do much except for whimper, strain against the bonds, ignoring the streams of apologises from Yoongi who clutches at his heart and gasps as tears flow from his eyes; the distance between them no more than a thin layer of metal bars- they are so close, yet so far.
“No… Seokjin is just sick; he’s not… “
“Seokjin shii has been tried to commit suicide and he is schizophrenic, it’s for his own good, Yoongi shii, please try to understand, we’re doing our best here-”
They tell him that it’s a family problem, and Yoongi dimly registers Seokjin once mentioning about his sister who hung herself when he was three.
“He’s not supposed to feel emotions that are this strong,” the masked man says, reaching for Yoongi’s hand but he snatches it away. “He needs to keep his emotions in check; his mental capacity is so weak it’s surprising how long he has managed to last, all these years-”
And then when the night falls and the staff calls for him to leave; they are closing now, it’s off hours- Seokjin doesn’t even respond, Yoongi doubts he knows he is here; standing and looking at him; desperately, pleadingly; longing for Seokjin; the real Seokjin.
Yoongi isn’t the one who Seokjin needs.
And if you do wake up-
I’ll take your loving hand in mine, and together-
we’ll walk, and walk, and walk; a long, long way-
all the way across the galaxy; your hand in mine; as long as you’re here; I’ll always be-
Seokjin needs medicine, needs care. Needs rest; needs medical staff; needs emotions, safe emotions that won’t overwhelm him; not the fire that he once shared with Yoongi; a fire that burnt too fast, too bright; until it engulfed both of them into the sea of destruction; slowly but surely, turning them into bones and ashes, lighting their world into a dazzling display of blazing fire then tearing it down with a deafening roar that leaves Yoongi’s ears ringing.
I’ll wait for you forever-
Seokjin said, once, his eyes glowing in the dim light as Yoongi weeps over the new scars on his body, that it wasn’t his fault; that it was nobody’s fault.
Later; at three o’clock in the morning when Yoongi barely feels the prickle of shattered glass bottles ripping into his flesh; alcohol muddling his brain and leaving him strangely numb, his vision slowly turns to black and there’s wetness at his wrists.
It isn't your fault either, dear Seokjin-
Grief is the price we pay for having loved.