Chapter Text
Yoongi stared blankly at the white ceiling as if he’d been pinpointing every single flaw he could find there. A slight sigh escaped from his lips. The non-ceasing ticking of the clock, his own frantic heartbeat, his own dark thoughts – it was all too loud, he needed to shut it all down. The voice in his head that’d been his worst companion for a few years chuckled as Yoongi felt a growing headache. ‘Why won’t you just leave me alone?’
‘Because you have no one except for me, and I don’t want you to feel lonely. I know how much that’d hurt,’
‘That’s not true. I have my family, I have my friends, I have Jimin. There’s plenty of people who care about me,’
A loud laugh echoed in Yoongi’s head making him squeeze his eyes shut, fingers digging through his bleached hair as if he were trying to find the “shut down” button. Oh, how he wished there were a button! Sadly, he was not a robot and he hadn’t come to this world with a manual in the box – or with a box, for that matter. He didn’t quite get it, though. How was he supposed to survive when he had no idea what to do? He didn’t know how to live as Yoongi, he didn’t know how to live as a human.
Yoongi scoffed as he slowly sat up in his quite-soft-I-am-not-a-king-but-at-least-my-bones-don’t-hurt- bed. This whole train of thoughts was ridiculous. This small box he called home was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Yoongi looked around searching for the only thing that could lower down the annoying voice which was currently screaming in his head. Maybe he should admit himself into a mental institution. ‘You’re broken beyond repair and you know it,’ teased the voice.
Yoongi took a deep breath and then focused his gaze on his salvation for the night. There, in the corner of his shitty room, laid the bottle of vodka that had been ushering him to take it all night. Of course he’d succumb, that was Yoongi after all. He was notorious for his drinking habits, bottles lying down on every corner of his flat ready to tell every visitor the story of how they’d ended up there.
“Hi there, beautiful,” Yoongi crouched down to take the bottle in his hands, smile never faltering.
The liquid burned his throat and Yoongi shivered a little at the sensation. He was about to enter Heaven, he was sure. ‘No!’ yelled the voice in his head and Yoongi smirked almost choking. Over time he’d learned how to make that little shit disappear, even if it was for a little while. Alcohol was there when the voice’d told him to jump off that bridge the night he’d been turned down by a big music company. Alcohol was there when the voice’d been singing a song which lyrics went something like “Roses are red, violets are blue, you are a failure, fuck you.” Alcohol was there, the pain was gone. It was kind of funny actually, how something could be both poison and cure. It never ceased to amaze Yoongi.
Almost a whole bottle later he found himself on the floor, head resting against the yellowish wall and eyes wandering. It was so quiet. Yoongi smiled to himself savoring the moment of bliss. It felt so good, not feeling anything but your heart humming a carefree melody. At that moment he wasn’t Min Yoongi, the blond-haired boy with crushed dreams, a self-destructive voice and no idea what to do with his life. He was Min Yoongi, the almighty god of the former Yoongi and he was oh, so great! He was so very engrossed with his current state of nothingness, weightlessness he had to close his eyes. He felt happy. It was finally quiet. It was finally hollow. He was hollow and he loved it. After all hollow meant nothing and nothing meant serenity.
“Hyung?” a familiar voice echoed in the room and Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows.
“Jimin? What-,” his words got lost somewhere in the daze in his head, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for hours. Do you know how worried I – are you drunk?” the question had no sign of anger, only a strong concern, and Yoongi imagined how tight Jimin’s lips must be pursed. If only it were a bit lighter. Yoongi wanted to see Jimin’s face.
“Only a little bit. Not too much. ‘s okay,”
“Why?”
“It was too loud. I wanted to make the voice go away,” Yoongi shrugged and searched for Jimin’s hand in the dark. He was getting cold. He didn’t like being cold.
“You should have called me, hyung. I can make the voice go away, you know it,” Jimin’s pleading voice caressed the other boy’s ears and Yoongi could tell he was close.
‘You don’t deserve Jimin. Sooner or later he’s going to get tired of you,’ the taunting voice returned along with a piece of Yoongi’s sobriety. The serene nothingness had turned into a violent flood. The boy cursed under his breath. It was true. Jimin was going to get tired of him, eventually. After all, everyone got tired of a sad person being sad.
“You should go, Jimin. I’m fine. I really am. Please, just go,”
“What?” In the dark Yoongi couldn’t see younger one’s eyes but he was sure they were about to pop out of his eye sockets. He was cute when he was shocked, “Hyung, please. You’re drunk and you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. Let me just get you to bed, okay?”
The lights were now on – Yoongi knew it was Jimin’s doing- and the latter’s hand was reached for Yoongi to take. He wanted to feel Jimin’s skin on his, he really did. Alas, the voice rang in his head reminding him he was so unworthy, so tainted. He was a walking poison. He couldn’t risk poisoning Jimin. Jimin was a bright white canvas and Yoongi was a dripping black paint. He didn’t like mess.
“You’re going to get tired of me, aren’t you? You’re going to get tired and you’re going to leave. I wouldn’t blame you, though. After all, everyone gets tired of a sad person being sad,” Yoongi let out a bitter laugh shaking his head. He had to get rid of the tears brimming in his eyes. He was even unworthy of crying. He was both the perpetrator and the victim, so why was he upset?
No answer. ‘See? I told you, he’s going to leave you now,’ snickered the voice and Yoongi wanted to drink whatever was left of the vodka –or throw himself off the window– whichever did the trick.
Suddenly two gentle arms engulfed Yoongi in a hug he could best describe as “Jimin”. He was soaring high, through half-closed eyelids he could see the bottles on the floor going further and further away waving him goodbye. Were they leaving him, or was he leaving them? Yoongi grabbed the fabric of the black shirt Jimin was wearing and held tight onto it. A choked sob escaped from his dry lips. He felt something but he didn’t know what it was exactly. It was everything and nothing at the same time. It was a strange mixture of strong and deep emotions and hollowness, distance. The emotions were there – the pain, the disappointment, the self-loathing – but they were kept at bay. Yoongi saw them but he couldn’t really feel them. They were close, though, too close for his liking. Soon they were sure to catch up with him. The train was approaching, its whistle echoing in the distance. Yoongi was tied to the rails. He held onto his boyfriend even tighter.
“You know, I’m not going to leave,” Jimin said as Yoongi felt the bed – when did he get to his bed?- dip. His mind was still in a daze, senses a little disturbed but he was sure he felt Jimin’s enchanting presence right next to him, “I came here to make sure you were okay, like I always have. Like I always will. What made you think I was going to leave you?” Jimin sounded so frail, his voice barely above a whisper. Yoongi kicked himself mentally.
“It was the voice. It was so loud and clear. The clock was ticking. My heart was beating. My head hurt so bad,” Yoongi rambled on hardly making any sense. He was a storm and Jimin didn’t have an umbrella. Good thing he liked rain.
“Shhh,shh. It’s okay now. I’m here. I won’t let the voice get to you again, I promise,” Yoongi hadn’t realized he’d been shaking until his favorite arms pulled him into a warm embrace, “You’re safe now, I’ve got you,”
And indeed, Yoongi was safe. He closed his eyes letting the scent of lavender take him to a field. The sun kissed his skin and for the first time Yoongi was grateful. The kiss felt like Jimin. Lavender brushed against his palm and for the second time Yoongi was grateful. The lavender felt like Jimin. It was all Jimin.
“Yoongi hyung?” Yoongi opened his eyes but still kept his head buried in the younger’s chest. He wanted to feel safe just for a little longer. Yoongi was selfish. Jimin was selfless. A tragedy, “Please, let me be here for you. Let me take the pain away. Next time you feel like that, turn to me, not the alcohol, please. I hate to see you so –,” Jimin stopped mid-sentence pursing his lips.
“Pathetic? Monstrous?” Yoongi mumbled into Jimin’s chest afraid to look up into the other’s eyes. He wanted to be okay just for a little longer.
“What? NO! I’d never see you like that. I guess the word I was looking for is “hurt”,”
“”Hurt”?”
“Yes, “hurt”. I mean, it’s clear that the voice hurts you so much and you try to drown it with alcohol. It takes the pain for a while but then you’re back to square one, am I right?
Yoongi was a mess. He didn’t like mess. Jimin liked cleaning.
Yoongi nodded weakly and felt hot tears threatening to fall. Maybe he was indeed hurt but he was just almost always too drunk to notice.
“Okay, so, here’s what we’re going to do. If the voice comes back, you tell me and we get rid of it, together,” Jimin pressed the blond boy closer to his chest. Yoongi was sand and Jimin was afraid to loosen his grip,” At least I’m not poison,”
“But I am,” simply replied the other boy, tone flat. Jimin should leave. Yoongi had had his time of “safe” and “okay”. He was slipping from the raven-haired boy’s hand.
“No! Your habits do not define you. I’ve known you for 10 years, Yoongi hyung. I remember the real you and I’m going to help you remember, too. Now, please cut the melodramatic crap and let’s cuddle. You need to sleep,” Jimin’s voice was gleeful, hopeful, quite the opposite of Yoongi’s.
“Jimin?” the blond boy finally looked up to see the younger’s face, “I like your hair. Black really suits you,” he reached out to ruffle Jimin’s hair playfully. The latter shyly chuckled, his eyes twinkling. Yoongi was a wilting blue iris. Jimin was water. Yoongi was revived.
“I like yours, too, hyung. Now, let’s go to sleep, shall we?”
Yoongi nodded, his intoxicated mind cheering. He kept his head on Jimin’s chest, the safest place in the world. The voice wouldn’t get him there. The younger boy’s hands were tightly wrapped around Yoongi.
Maybe in a way, they were both selfish. Yoongi was selfish for wanting Jimin to stay. Jimin was selfish for wanting to stay. The black-haired boy placed a soft kiss on Yoongi’s forehead and whispered “I love you” in his ear. Jimin was a bright white canvas. Yoongi thought that maybe he could still paint something beautiful, even with black paint dripping on the floor.