#yoonkok

There’s a crash, and hundreds of plastic pieces scattering across the floor. The altered breathing of the cherry colored hair teen, disrupting the graveyard silence of the small room. Min Yoongi engages himself in a staring contest with the floor. The sight of the plastic remnants of his phone scattered across the mess of paper sheets, glares back at him.

His heart hammers against his ribcage, and sinks. There’s a cry stuck in his throat, as Yoongi shuts his eyes closed and covers his face in his hands. The cadence of his ragged breathing fills the gaping space of his barren room.

His feet seem to move on their own, as they stumble into the bed on the far end corner of the room. Yoongi’s body falls into the undone mattress with a creak, hugs his knees closer to his body. He can allow himself to feel this much at least. Pity. Shame.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and loud in-and-out breaths can do nothing to stop the incoming storm. His body breaks in hopelessness, sobs. There’s a bleeding, gaping hole in his heart that longs to hear those words. Three words spoken from cupid bow lips, sparkling doe eyes.

‘I love you.’

Is it selfish for him to wish so? Shameful, most positively.  He has nothing to offer in return but gloom, and unhappiness. Tragic endings.

There’s not much for him here, in this life. But an impossible wish for love, and the insufferable weight of living.

And insufferable, it has been. Yoongi cannot wish for better comfort than that of his senses being drowned numb in dangerous amounts of alcohol… or the warm lick of sunset flames in the palm of his hand. The phantom tingling of his bruised knuckles stirs something inside him. Jungkook’s blood smeared on his skin reminds him, he does nothing else but hurt those who come close to him.