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the stars do not call to him at night. the planets do not sing him to sleep like they used to. he can’t hear their lullaby. the blackness does not soothe him, does not calm his racing heart. the moon does not feel like his friend, it feels more like someone he once knew; an estranged lover, a childhood friend, a long lost parent. he did not know them, not anymore. it inspired an ache behind his ribs; it pulsed with every heavy beat of his heart, drumming out a rhythm he did not know the name of. there were occasional hints of familiarity, lighting up like fireworks and scattering sparks behind the closed lids of his eyes. he recognised these parts, these fleeting moments when the drums and the vocals became one and he could think clearly again.
he wonders where he went wrong, what mistakes he made that lead to this. the sky doesn’t recognise him now, he doesn’t relate to the solitary nature of the moon. he sometimes thinks he can blame himself for this, sometimes knows he can blame himself for this. this song is not his to sing, this melody does not belong to him. he has stolen harmonies from the stars and woven them together with the warmth from the sun, creating something new and untitled. it changes constantly, the lyrics never stay the same. there are days when he knows every word by heart, can feel the echo of the drums reverberate through his very bones. there are days when he has never heard this song before, and everything falls like water droplets dripping slowly down the curve of his spine.
the voices are still there, that has not changed. he has not lost the gentle whispers that constantly seem to conspire against him. they still linger there, crooning lullabies of his demise in ways that never fail to make him shiver and shake. he does not like them, he never has, but in this strange plain of unfamiliarity he has learned to welcome any semblance of comfort he can find.
he learns. he learns how to ground himself, how to find his way home without using a map even though he’s never really been good at directions. it’s the way his fingers dig into the cool bed sheets, fabric pulled taunt beneath his fingertips. it’s the patterns the sun makes on the bedroom floor when he wakes up in the morning, golden patches of light illuminating the floorboards and he holds his hand out in front of it, casting a shadow of palms with fingers outstretched just so he can be sure that this is real, that he is real. it’s the way he wakes up with a body warm next to his, an arm thrown over his waist and legs tangled with his own. it’s the sense of belonging that comes from being in jimin’s arms, the sensation one that is powerful enough to only be able to be likened to the planets coming into alignment, creating something new and unseen, something powerful and unknown.
jimin is an anchor. jimin is also solid, safe, trustworthy. jimin is also the rise and fall of the tide. jimin is a thunderstorm, all loud noises and bright lights and heavy rain. jimin is what sparked the fire, nimble fingers clicking a lighter, bright eyes watching as even brighter flames burned everything they could touch. there are days when he knows jimin. he knows the pattern of his breathing and the sound of his footsteps. he knows flowers grow when he walks by and his tattoos shift under his skin and his lips are actually as soft as they appear to be. there are days when he doesn’t know jimin. he doesn’t understand the words that spill from his lips. he doesn’t know the rapid rise and fall over his chest and how his usually soft features contort in anger. he doesn’t know the heavy weight of his demons that cling to him like a second skin.
it could never be as bad as what he’s been through in the past, he rationalises. it could never be as bad as sharp blades digging into his side, the heavy weight of a gun in his palm, the constant heartbreak that follows abandonment. flashes of nightmares, bright grins, explosions, red blood no longer representing death but rather devotion. he doesn’t wake from these dreams with tears streaming down his face, instead he wakes with laughter bursting from his lungs and lips stretched into a maniacal smile. this laughter did not belong to him, it was borrowed from a man who wanted to take and take and take but never give. taehyung never missed that man.
he never missed him, but he misses the comforting grip of a metal baseball bat. he misses the ache in his arms from the to and fro swing of the weapon. he doesn’t miss the blood, doesn’t miss the unnecessarily high pile of bodies. sometimes he still uses it. sometimes, when he and jimin go out, he takes the bat. it brings make memories of darker times so he tries not to touch it too often, but with jimin there he can stand it. with jimin there, he can stand a lot of things.
he is still filled with sadness, a heavy ache that spreads through his body turning blood into ice and bone into heavy steel. he doesn’t break on the outside, he never breaks on the outside, yet on the inside he is freezing. that’s why he sings this song. that’s why he strings together stolen lyrics and broken chords, making music out of melancholy. the music is not complete, it is never complete; the song simply starting again just when he thinks that it’s about to end. a constant cycle depicting the life and death and consequent rebirth of the human heart. there’s always a moment at the top of the loop where his stomach drops and he thinks he isn’t going to make it, that it’ll be the end of him this time. it never happens. he’s still waiting for it to happen.
it’s not all bad. jimin is there. jimin holds his hands and kisses his cheeks and laughs when he does something funny; all the things that normal couples do. it helps. some days he forgets that one day his ribs may shatter into a thousand pieces from the weight that sits on his chest, other days he prays that they will. it never ends though he hopes that it will. it continues on, even though he doesn’t want it to. his heart still beats in his chest and his chest still rises with every breath he takes. the music that he makes might have taken away the moon and the stars but he still has his heart, and with it, he has jimin.
the stars do not sing to him and the moon does not recognise him anymore, but he holds the heart of the sun in his palms and is filled with such warmth that he begins to wonder why he ever spent his time looking at the night sky in the first place.