Chapter 1: heavy
Worthless. So fucking worthless. Stupid. Ugly. Useless.
He couldn't look away, couldn't stop staring at his reflection. The mirror was dirty with dried toothpaste and fingerprints. Foggy. He liked to take hot showers, feel the steamy water as it covered every inch of bruised skin.
He looked away. Finally. His eyes were watery, thin veins contrasting against yellowish white, heavy eyelids displaying black lashes. So fucking ugly, he thought.
Yoongi was a good person. He was a talented, almost gifted musician. He was kind, loved by his neighbours and by his dog, Min Holly. He always helped that one grandma when she had trouble crossing the street by herself. He had no reason to think so poorly of himself, yet he did.
Yoongi was also beautiful. People would check him out in the streets if he didn't hide his face and body behind a messy fringe and oversized hoodies. He looked frail, his body always covered in black. Black ink, black clothes. His hair was blond and so pretty. He barely took care of it, but the messy look fitted his small face. He was ridiculously good-looking. Feline eyes, doll-like skin and lips. Kissable nose.
He lied in his bed, naked, closing his eyes in a poor attempt at taking a nap. He had been sleeping like shit for a while, he didn't remember why. It didn't even matter. The dark circles under his eyes and his lack of coordination were getting more clear with every sleepless night.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he found himself falling into slumber. Deep, caused by his exhaustion. His body became too heavy. Unbearable. Those nights were filled with nightmares. He often woke up sweaty, gasping for air. He would scream and cry, because his dreams were just too much, too real. Holly would stay by his side until he calmed down, breathing properly again. Then, he would fall asleep in his arms, unaware of Yoongi's eyes scanning his soft fur, his peaceful expression. Yoongi didn't fall asleep, however. It was hell.
Yoongi didn't eat properly. He would scavenge whatever he could find in the fridge and call it a day. The cupboard was almost empty, but there was some old bag of rice infested with worms. At this point, he was too grossed out to throw it away, so now the cupboard was a nest of flies. Disgusting, but bearable. Bearable was enough. He could live with it.
Daylight bothered him. It made his head burn. How long had it been since he last went out? A while, probably. Time meant nothing when he was lying in bed. He looked at the calendar that was pinned to the wall. April. April? He had been there for two weeks. Shit. No wonder he was running out of food.
Holly looked at his empty dish, and Yoongi sighed. Do it for him. Don't let him starve.
So he grabbed some old jeans, an even older t-shirt, and headed to the supermarket. Trying to avoid his neighbours wasn't easy, but it seemed like the best thing he could do. He knew they cared about him, so it was natural that they were starting to worry. Fuck, he could have been dead for weeks. Luckily for the neighbours, the stench coming out of his apartment wasn't that disgusting yet.
Fuck me, he thought. Fuck.
"Yoongi! How are you? I haven't seen you in ages."
"I've been sick. I'm better now."
Grandma looked at him with a worried expression. He called her grandma because she was almost like one. He couldn't know, of course, but she was too warm, too welcoming and caring. So he imagined that was how a grandmother would act. She loved him way more than he deserved.
"You look tired, Yoongi, are you sure?"
"Mmh. Yeah. Pretty sure. Just haven't been sleeping well lately, grandma."
Grandma frowned, but she didn't add anything. She knew Yoongi, knew how he was a quiet kid. Even if she had known him for years, there were many things she hadn't figured out about him yet. And that was okay. Yoongi loved grandma.
She took some vegetables out of her shopping bag and shoved them in Yoongi's, now comfortably heavy.
"Buy something nice for dinner, sweetheart."
"Will do. Thanks, grandma."
"Take care, Yoongi. Remember that you can call me if you need anything."
He wouldn't call her unless the world was falling apart. Not even then. Grandma had her own problems, she had a homebound husband and absent children. One of them had disappeared from the face of Earth. The other one was a drug addict and only showed up to ask for money. Yoongi hated them, hated how a sweet old woman had to suffer so much, when all she did was give without receiving anything in return.
Maybe that's why she loved him as a son. Because Yoongi was messy and shy and quiet, but he was a good boy. The way his eyes lit up when he saw a dog on the street, or how he showed his gummy smile when she called him "sweetheart". Yoongi had a pure, untouched soul that was slowly decaying, and grandma wanted to save him before he could ruin himself.
Yoongi cooked some meat that night. He was a decent cook, so, somehow, the bland beef tasted good. It was the first proper meal he had eaten in those two weeks. But it felt wrong. Did he really deserve to feel good? Did he deserve to fill his fridge with the vegetables grandma gave him? No, he fucking didn't.
But he was too tired to care. Seeing Holly happy, napping with a full stomach was enough for now. Holly was the reason he kept waking up.
Do it for him. Do it for him.
When he undressed and snuck under the covers, he allowed himself to relax. He closed his eyes, feeling the soft sheets against his sensitive skin. Goosebumps. He smiled, yawning. He could enjoy quietness now that he didn't have to spend the night hearing his stomach roar. It was nice.
Then, as he was falling asleep, he remembered something: his phone.
Shit, Namjoon must have been worried. Shit. He turned it on, connecting it to the charger. The battery was drained. He unlocked it with trembling fingers. At times, when things got bad, he had to disconnect. Had to stay away from the noise, the questions and the people who cared about him.
Namjoon was his best and only friend. A tall, gorgeous man, who Yoongi thought was too good for him. Namjoon held so much kindness in his eyes. Yoongi loved him. Namjoon loved Yoongi.
And he hadn't been able to call him. He just turned his phone off, hiding in his apartment like a scared kid. Forty-six missed calls. Eighty-seven text messages.
"Namjoon," he texted, after trying to find the right words for a couple minutes "I'm fine."
And his phone started beeping. Shit. He cleared his throat. His voice would probably sound weak, barely used in those two weeks. Still, he picked up. The first thing he heard was Namjoon's sweet, worried voice.
"Yoongi. Shit, I thought something happened... where are you?"
"I'm okay, Joon. I'm at home."
"You told me you were leaving for two months. Internship or some shit. That's why I didn't visit you. Fuck, Yoongi..."
"Hold on. What the fuck."
He put his phone on speaker, reaching for the cardboard box he kept under his bed. He had written "Important stuff" with black sharpie, in an attempt at keeping things sorted in case he forgot something.
It was common: his mind was constantly foggy, his thoughts were blurry. He didn't know why, but every memory, every detail seemed distant, as if they didn't belong there. So he forgot things.
He was supposed to leave for two fucking months. He would take a plane to America, he would have another chance. Somehow, they had picked him out of hundreds of people. Talented people, just like him, who would kill to get that opportunity. And there he was, lying in his bed, night after night, with the plane tickets forgotten in a shitty box.
"Yoongi, you there?"
He felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks, almost burning his skin. Worthless.
"Can you... can you come? Are you busy? I fucking need you."
There was silence once again. He feared Namjoon had left him. He didn't want to be alone. Not again.
"On my way".
Yoongi took a hot shower, but this time he didn't stare at his reflection. He had cried enough that night.
When he opened the door, Namjoon was there to hold him as he collapsed in his arms. Fuck, he was crying again. It didn't matter. Not when his best friend was hugging him like that. Not when he could feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his golden skin.
"I've got you. Yoongi, I'm here now."
The smaller boy nodded, looking at him, and he felt blood rushing to his face. He was flustered and embarrassed and so, so grateful.
They snuggled on the bed, Yoongi hiding his face in Namjoon's chest. He sobbed silently for what seemed like hours. They didn't talk, because nothing mattered anymore. Yoongi's sadness, his nightmares, the internship. He would be fine as long as Namjoon stayed by his side.
"I love you," Yoongi whispered, when he felt his eyelids getting heavy "I love you so much, Joon. Thank you for coming. I... things haven't been easy lately. I don't know why. I'm just... sad. I don't know".
"Baby, I know... I know. I love you too".
Yoongi hummed, smiling as he fell asleep, and, for the first time in a while, he didn't wake up covered in sweat and crying and gasping.
Namjoon wasn't there when he opened his eyes. He checked his phone, too sleepy to worry, but his bed felt empty once again. It was unpleasant.
"Yoongi, I had to go to work. You have scrambled eggs and juice in the kitchen. By the way, I didn't tell you yesterday, but I know someone who would like you to write a song for him. Call him if you want, baby. I love you."
Yoongi smiled. So he had job, huh? He wasn't ready, that was for sure, but money was money. And getting distracted sounded nice. So he saved the unknown phone number as "potential job?", took a deep breath, and called.
"Hello?" It was a soft voice, gentle. Yoongi felt at ease. "Who are you?"
"Umm... Yoongi. I'm Namjoon's friend. He... uh... he told me you wanted me to write a song for you?"
"Yeah! Thank God. I'm Hoseok, nice to meet you."
Yoongi smiled, his heart racing. Shit, so he had a job. A fucking job. And Hoseok's voice was the best thing he had heard in months.
Hey! So, this is the first proper chapter. Enjoy! <3