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The piano keys are nothing but cool ivory underneath his fingertips. His hands are playing, but he can’t feel the music - can’t feel it flow from the instrument and into his soul. He can’t feel it become him. They’re lifeless.
So he stops.
He huffs slightly, slitted eyes glaring at the keys beneath him. They do nothing.
He hears a dull clunk coming from above him, and directs his narrow eyed glare to the sudden noise, mouth already twisted into a scowl. Soyee glares back down at him with one eyebrow raised in a challenge. There’s a steaming mug of coffee sitting on top of the piano, and Yoongi knows that it’s black - exactly how he likes it.
His mouth softens into the tiniest of smiles, and Soyee returns it before plopping down onto the squeaky stool beside him. He grabs the mug of coffee and takes a sip, loving how the bitterness of the drink matches his soul at the moment. Setting it back down, he lays his hands on top of the keys, lets his fingers skim over them. He tries to feel.
He can’t.
The sheet of paper in front of him stays frustratingly blank.
Yoongi slams his head down onto the keys in front of him. The piano emits a cacophony of mixed notes, expressing its discomfort. Soyee muffles a small laugh, caramel colored hair bouncing around her head. Yoongi turns his head and glares. She tilts her head at him, lips tugged into a teasing grin.
He flips her off.
This time, she does laugh.
He straightens, and the piano practically groans in relief. From his pocket, Yoongi extracts a packet of cigarettes, already half used. He takes a new one out and sticks it into his mouth with a sigh, balancing it between his lips. He reaches for the lighter, but Soyee is already there. She slaps her hand over it, slides it across the piano towards her.
He stares as she uncaps the marker she always keeps with her, writing the initials of Y.K. before capping it again. She smiles, holds the lighter up. Then, she stands up and walks away with his only escape. She sits down on the ripped rug, unpacking her guitar from her case. Soyee loops the strap of the lighter around one of the pegs, tying it. It hangs suspended from her guitar, taunting him.
Casually, Soyee strums a chord.
Yoongi knows she can feel his burning glower at the back of her neck.
He knows she only enjoys this.
Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he pinches it between his fingers tightly. His mouth is set in an annoyed frown. She strums another chord. She tweaks one of the knobs to tune it and tries again.
“Hey.”
Soyee pauses, fingers hovering over the strings. She turns slightly, and Yoongi can see the beginnings of a smile tugging up the corner of her lips. Yoongi, on the other hand, is unamused.
“Give it back.”
“Why?” she sings.
He scoffs. “I need it.” Yoongi holds out his hand, waiting. She makes no move to return the lighter to him. “Give it back.”
“No, you don't need it.” Her fingers lightly brush the strings, a clear chord ringing out from the guitar. She bends over to grab her backpack, digging through the front pocket for something. Yoongi watches from his seat at the piano, cigarette still in his hands. He can feel himself losing his mind.
Finally, Soyee makes a triumphant noise. There’s a crumpling noise, and then she’s holding up a lollipop. It’s bright yellow - not quite a perfect circle, but close enough. “Try it,” Soyee’s saying. She turns to look at Yoongi, and there’s a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “You might find that you like it better.”
Yoongi’s getting better.
His cheeks have filled out and his eyes are no longer the sunken-in, black-rimmed holes set in his pale, gaunt face. No, there’s a bit of color in his cheeks, and his eyes are dancing with happiness. In his mouth is a lollipop.
His piano lies in the corner, cover open. Dust floats through the air, illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the dirty window. Sheet music lies around the piano, hurriedly scribbled notes done with runny ink filling the paper. There’s a constant rumbling noise from the rusty heater sitting in the corner.
Yoongi is lying on the ratty couch, arms crossed. His phone is thrown on the floor, screen black. He’s waiting for a call from Soyee. He finds that he misses her. Misses her smile and her bubbly presence. She’s the perfect balance for his personality.
He needs her.
Where did she say she was going earlier? He racks his brain for the answer, and can find none. He lets out a frustrated huff, scratching the top of his head. He rolls over on the couch and spots her empty guitar case in the corner. Neatly stacked papers are organized inside of the case, held together by colorful paper clips.
He spots something familiar inside of it.
Sitting up, he squints his eyes at the case. There, lying on top of the papers, is his lighter, with the scribbled initials still on it. His mouth falls open into a lazy grin. Reaching behind him, he grabs the pack of cigarettes left unused for months. He opens the case to find three of them still there. Yoongi’s grin grows. He reaches for one, and then stops.
Soyee’s face flashes behind his eyes.
His fingers falter.
The sweetness of the lollipop in his mouth is melting on his tongue. It snaps him back to reality. He frowns. Closes the cigarette box. Tosses it into the trash can. With a satisfied smile on his face, he sinks back down onto the couch.
I did that for you, he thinks.
The phone rings.
Startled, he jumps a little and falls off the couch. He takes a moment, rolling on the floor, to regain his bearings, before he’s scrambling for his phone. He holds the screen up to his face and squints at the name flashing at the top. His eyes widen, mouth growing dry.
Jeon Jungkook.
He stares at the name, letting it ring through his head. The phone continues to buzz. Yoongi doesn’t know what to do. Then, abruptly, the name disappears. The phone screen turns blank again, showing Yoongi’s shocked reflection. A million memories flash through his mind. He shuts his eyes, letting out a tired sigh.
He thought he was getting better.
That night, he finds himself in the bar. He’s sitting at the counter, hunched over the granite tabletop. There’s a bottle of alcohol sitting in front of him. Two empty ones sit beside it on the table, downed earlier this evening. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead, plastering his hair to his skin. He’s breathing heavily, eyes closed.
All he can see is Soyee.
She hasn’t come back yet. His despair grows as he remembers the caller from that afternoon. Jeon Jungkook. His thoughts are bitter.
He slams his fist down on the counter, and the customers beside him glance at him with surprised looks. He ignores them and grabs the bottle, lifting it to his lips. The alcohol burns down his throat, and he loves it. Raising his hand, he asks the bartender for more. The bartender immediately replaces it with another full bottle.
Yoongi finishes it almost immediately.
He wants more.
Needs more.
He can’t take it anymore. The air in the bar is suffocating. The walls are closing in on him. He has to get out of here. He pushes back from the counter violently. Stumbling on his feet, he dizzily walks towards the exit. The bartender is yelling after him, but he is ignored. The traffic lights are red and green blurs in front of Yoongi’s vision. He lets his feet carry him where they want, trusting them to remember the direction to his apartment.
He can’t see straight. The cars are whizzing by in a flash, the sounds of the city are overwhelming him, the smells are everywhere - gasoline, trash, and more alcohol. Colors bleed into one another. He stumbles onward resolutely, and soon, he reaches an area where the streets are empty. Yoongi decides that he likes it here. This way, his thoughts could catch up with his brain.
His thoughts are filled with anger.
He teeters onto the road, trying to cross it.
He thinks he sees Soyee’s face. It’s worried, eyebrows creased. She’s swinging her guitar case by her side. Dreamlike, he hears her voice.
“Yoongi? What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He mumbles something in reply, not really meaning for her to hear it. There’s anger simmering under the surface of his skin, ready to burst. She left him. “I was looking for you at the apartment, but I couldn’t find you. What’s wrong? Why are you drunk?” He marches forward, not replying. “Yoongi!” She grabs his arm.
He yanks his arm out of her grip harshly. Soyee gasps, stopping in the middle of the road. Her hand is held out in front of her awkwardly, shaking slightly. “Let go of me!” he roars. “Just go away, Soyee. I don't need you here.”
“Yoongi, what are you saying?” Her voice is tight and barely controlled. Yoongi nearly loses his footing. “Yoongi, stop! You’re going to get hit!”
“Why do you care?” he calls behind his shoulder. He laughs drunkenly, nearly tipping over with the force of it. The world is spinning. “You don't even care about me, do you?”
“Yoongi!”
“Don't bother coming back to the apartment,” he says. “Don't come back.” He shakes his head wildly. He throws one last glance after him. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees tears glistening in Soyee’s eyes. He hopes she cries. He hopes she feels as broken as he does.
Five days later, it’s a cigarette in his mouth instead of a lollipop.
In fact, Yoongi threw out all the lollipops in his apartment the other day. Lollipops are no more. He coughs slightly. He knows the cigarettes are slowly killing him. He can already feel it, feel how he struggles to breathe sometimes.
He doesn’t care.
He had to buy a new lighter. His old one is still in the hands of Soyee, tied to the end of her guitar. He frowns. Soyee. He misses her.
No. He can’t miss her.
Yoongi grunts. He pours out his emotions onto the piano, smashing the keys with his hands. The piano lets out a cacophony of noise, horrifying and ugly. He hates it. Hates how Soyee made him feel. He feels too much.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Definition: a wish that isn't strong enough for you to turn it into being
Sentence: My dream of becoming the best surgeon in the country may just remain a VELLEITY
I chose this image because it seems that the people are trying to reach each other, but clearly they do not have a strong enough will - turning this into a velleity
