𝐵𝑇𝑆 𝐼𝑀𝐴𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆

𝑚.𝑦𝑔/ 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔

To say he seemed on edge would be declaring a demon a roach. He was suffocating, suffocating so slowly he barely felt breath enter his lungs, even when it was there. With each rising and falling of his chest, his passion was dissipating. The will to see and hear and smell was slipping from his fists like grains of sand, and he didn't even notice.

He'd been breathing false air, and he couldn't bring himself to stop. He had deluded himself into feeling secure in his position, into feeling like a future was ahead for him to find. In reality, he had no clue what he wanted. He had thought he wanted to pursue music. Songwriting, rapping, the glory that came with the sweat. It seemed like such a grand dream. Even training, losing weight, becoming only loosely connected to his former sense of concreteness; none of it had deterred him from what he wanted to do. But now that he'd gotten where he wanted to be, he didn't know what to do with himself.

Why had he backed himself into this corner? This glorified corner, with its thin walls painted in gold? With its rickety, worn floors masked with lavish carpet? He wasn't capable of upholding the glamorous half-truths of his lifestyle. Everything he did was in the public eye. He could have been projecting something, but he didn't know what to project. Being honest didn't seem feasible when Yoongi had never had an identity. He was deeply flawed, and it was a part of him. 

He had been drawn in by the beauty, had survived the most painful of the dangers, and was suffering at the presentation of the prize. His entire life had been built around his lust for music and passion. But when the passion drew back, what was left?

Min Yoongi wasn't a fake, but he no longer felt real.

☀︎︎Of course, I've never had to deal with fame or the mental struggles that come with it. I just wanted to try something different. Let me know if you feel this was insensitive.☀︎︎

☀︎︎Do you easily become cold, or easily become hot?☀︎︎