Soulless

Lié

"What are you afraid of, Yoongi?" Jimin asked him once.

"Fear is a spectrum, in reality, none of us are scared, we've just seen too much."

"Yes, well according to that statement," Jimin sighed and leaned back in his chair, "What have you seen too much of?"

"Pain," Yoongi said plainly.

"Pain," Jimin parroted quietly, "Does pain scare you? Or does the climax leading up to the pain scare you?"

"Elaborate."

"Riding down a bicycle at full speed, knowing you're going to crash and it is going to hurt," Jimin laid out the scenario, "Does preparing, does the anticipation of knowing you're going to get hurt scare you, or does the cut on your knee afterward scare you."

"Maybe both," Yoongi scratched his chin, "Maybe the pain of knowing I could've saved myself, or maybe it's the trip down the hill, maybe both."

"Maybe," Jimin said, smiling.

It's bitter.

The dryness in his throat, the heaviness in his chest, the soreness of his eyes. It is all bitter to him. Not the kind that makes his face scrunch up in distress. This is the kind where he can't think, he can't feel, it's nothing and it's sour in every way.

Everything is bitter.

But nothing hurts.

Yoongi's trying to recollect the events from before he fell, yet he comes blank. Waking up in the previous days was agony, it was dreadful and Yoongi hated every moment. He wished to sleep but knew that it would cause more suffering. He saw Jimin in his lucid state. He could hear him, feel him, touch him, and it hurt all the more when he woke.

It was unbearable.

Now, Yoongi is awake and nothing is wrong. Rather than feeling weighed down, tasting bleak sandpaper on his tongue, his limbs weak and frail, Yoongi is fine. Better than he has in weeks. Maybe even on the verge of good, if he so dares to say.

He still feels nothing. He tastes nothing. He feels warm though. He feels safe. His eyes burn, yet he wants to see. He wants to open and look and observe the outcome of what has taken place since he collapsed.

He's still too tired to budge. No matter how hard he was to endeavor, he feels too wounded to even think about it. There's a weight on his chest, not the pulling kind that slowly suffocated him. This one is... physical. Like somebody is literally laying on top of him and keeping his limbs at bay.

This intrigues Yoongi to try and move.

He slowly jostles his shoulder up as much as he can. Whatever is on top of his right arm is making him feel pins and needles and it's becoming quite uncomfortable. He jolts his arm again. Maybe Hoseok is laying on top of him and will roll over with a nudge.

He expects to feel the presence go away.

He doesn't anticipate a high pitched whine to emit from beside him, for whoever has latched themselves to his chest to push themselves up further. He shivers at the hot breath crawling up his neck, along with the tug of hands at his shirt.

Now, he opens his eyes.

When Yoongi would dream, he would dream of citrus and flowers, of green tea and kisses. He would see smiles and hear giggles and teases. He would feel heat and favored. He would imagine that those feelings (the warmth, the contentedness, the security of those dreams) were what Jimin felt like to him.