Chapter Text
"Like a child who has grown up, like a tree that is left alone. Look at someone’s world that is exhausted with loneliness."
Min Yoongi stares up at the ceiling with blank eyes, tears running down his pale cheeks. He can't remember when the waterworks started, all he knows is that at some point he became a broken mirror. At some point he lost the will to go on. He can't be bothered getting up from the ground and making his bed, he can't be bothered eating food that will just taste like ash in his mouth.
He's so goddamn tired, he can't be bothered anymore. Life isn't what he expected it to be. After fulfilling his dreams everything became dull, his life became a colourless painting against thousands of other grey and black pictures that continued to drain of colour, leaving only a dark shade behind.
Waking up is a chore; eating is a chore; changing clothes is a chore; smiling is a chore; everything is a fucking chore.
He can't do this anymore, he can't wake up to a dark ceiling in a dark room to shadows that lurk in his dark vision. Everything is so dark here.
He can't remember when the loneliness came, maybe it was before his friends gave up on helping him with his problems, maybe it was after they left him to wallow in his own self-hate and pity. Maybe it happened when he ran away from home to follow his dreams, or maybe it started before that. Maybe he was just born this way, with no will or purpose in life left anymore.
Yoongi lets out a broken sigh and closes his eyes, blocking out the nothing he has grown accustomed to day by day. His friends left him behind as they moved forward with their fame and fortune, they left him behind, standing on the last step with nothing, yet attempting to make something out of nothing because that was what he was taught as a child.
His life is going downhill as far as he is concerned, except he's never been concerned, things will happen and sometimes it won't pass over. Sometimes it's permanent.
A sob chokes him and he curls up on the ground, breathing heavily through the tears, trying to be quiet as to not disturb his neighbours. They've complained about him so many times that Yoongi can hardly believe his luck when he's allowed to stay for another day that soon turns to a couple of weeks and months.
Curled up in such a foetal position, Yoongi buries his head in his fingers, not bothering to wipe the stray tears sliding down his cheeks mercilessly
He wonders what his parents would think of him if they were alive, but they died a long time ago. His mother, struck by grief after he ran away, killed herself by overdosing on sleeping pills. His father, he was coming home when he got the call about his wife.
He didn't even see the car.
Yoongi bites back a scream of frustration and wraps his arms around his body, his fingernails digging into his skin. The pain distracts him for a few seconds, but like every other time, the pain numbs, lasting momentarily, and he can feel the emotional pain surge up again.
The loneliness haunts him as well, it mocks him for thinking he could achieve anything in life. He knows he chased his friends away, he blames himself for that, for continuously pushing them away until finally they left him behind to his own self. To his own hate.
Yoongi is a screw-up, he wasn't ready for this world. He wasn't prepared for what being an adult would entail. And now this is what he has become; a lonely, jaded, broken man sobbing his eyes out on the floor, forgetting about dignity and pride. In these moments, he truly doesn't care if someone walks in on him. He doesn't care if they see him cry.
His pride and immaturity killed his parents. He killed his parents.
In his dreams the "what if's" chase him. What if he didn't run from home? What if he didn't leave to pursue his dreams? What if he didn't isolate himself and dedicate himself fully to his music? What if he accepted the help his friends offered before they looked at him for the last time? What if he didn't hate his life?
The endless thinking does him no good, that he knows, but he can't stop it. He can't stop the craving for change.
Yoongi wants to go back to his old life. This isn't life. This isn't the life he dreamt of, this isn't the life he spent his childhood years daydreaming about.
This is not life.
This is the opposite of life.
Tears that won't stop no matter what, stream down his cheeks, making his eyes itchy. He can't lift his head up far enough to check the time on the clock, so he lays there, escaping reality for a few minutes before pulling himself up with shaky arms and standing up on unsteady legs.
Yoongi doesn't want to live anymore. He doesn't want to be himself, he doesn't want to live his life even if it's not all that bad.
But it is. Waking up to the harshness of life is too much for him. He's too weak for that.
He wants to escape. Even his dreams don't help him escape. In reality he is chased by his inner-demons, and in his dreams he is chased by his monsters. There's no escape from this thing called life.
There's no escape at all.
Yoongi looks at himself in the mirror after changing into a black shirt and black jeans, ripped at the knees and various other places. He runs a hand through his hair and stares at his swollen eyes, red and puffy from crying. His whole left side aches from lying down on the floor, and his eyes look so sad and tired. He looks like a man who has lived and lost; lost his friends and himself.
He's too young to look so jaded and insecure.
Without eating anything, because honestly, even walking is too much for him, he can't be bothered with something that feels trivial. He can't remember the last time he ate, but he's been surviving, he can live without much anyways, the ache in his stomach will soon disappear just like his will to live did.
Yoongi yanks on a black snapback and puts a little kohl around his eyes so that he looks less like a mess, and more like someone who isn't literally falling apart at the seams.
He'll never be happy with life.
He suppresses the scream building in his throat and opens his front door, tugging on a pair of black converse before slipping shades on his eyes, making his world seem even more darker. It's night-time, he can tell. Tonight he doesn't want to feel the 3AM tears that will run down his cheeks, he doesn't want to feel even more hollow in the morning.
Walking around has always managed to let him drift away to somewhere better than here, so he takes one step forward and lets his feet lead him to wherever it wants to take him.
Anywhere is better than here.