Unstitched Wounds

Chapter 1; Afterthought

-as if they are gods in human form-

"Why in the hell am I here?" Min Yoongi grits out between clenched teeth, waving away the dozen of vultures disguising themselves as makeup artists that attempt to crowd him. "I hate public appearances and leave all of this fucking bullshit to you!"

"And I take that honorably, but not even you can squirm your way out of this one." Namjoon's voice is his stern no-nonsense voice that may as well be a cheese grater to Yoongi's nerves. "You're the guest of honor, after all."

"Guest of honor my ass," Yoongi retorts sharply, baring his teeth at a rather persistent makeup artist determined to put something suspiciously pink on his lips. She is either stupid or doesn't have a single self-preservation bone in her skinny body. "It's not just me that the guest of shit. You're one of three members of Bangtan too or have you forgotten?"

Meeting Yoongi's irate glare from his reflection in the mirror, Namjoon offers a faintly bemused smile. "It's a little hard to forget. Now, sit down, shut up, and allow the nice woman to put on your makeup. We're live in ten minutes and Jin will have my pelt if you don't look at least somewhat presentable."

Growling, low and more animal than man, Yoongi plops back into the makeup chair and glares harder at Namjoon through their reflections. "I hate you."

"Get over it. We're doing this."

"I'm not public appearance worthy."

"You're going to be this evening."

The persistent makeup woman sighs in relief at his begrudging acceptance to his fate and murmurs a brisk expression of gratitude before she signals to her team to descend upon like the vultures he is almost certain they are.

There is hands in his hair, powder on his face, and someone putting something heavy on his lashes. He holds his arm rests in a death grip and resists the urge to snap at them.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, they leave him alone and disappear elsewhere with smug smirks donning their faces. He shakes himself off and jumps from the chair. The plume of their perfume clogs his nose and grimaces at his appearance in the mirror.

"I look like a clown."

Namjoon rolls his eyes and graciously thanks his own makeup artist, a middle-aged woman with glasses and a mole, before he stands. He brushes off his suit and adjusts his tie. "You do not look like a clown."

"Easy for you to say," Yoongi mutters petulantly. "You look like a fucking teacher."

Heaving a grievous sigh, Namjoon levels Yoongi with a dry stare. "Are you going to be like this all night?"

"Yes." Yoongi yanks off the tie one of the vultures wrangled around his neck and tossed it aside. He unbuttons the top button around his neck and forgoes the jacket entirely. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows. "I told you. I have no desire to play celebrity. I'm a solider. Not some Idol."

Namjoon gestures towards the TV in the corner of the screen where a commercial for a new action figure of Yoongi appears with some lame tune in the background. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Idols don't even get nearly as much attention as you. You know how this works- Defenders are this nations pride and joy. We can only operate if the public favors us."

Tell him something he doesn't know. When Yoongi promised Jeongguk the day of his Ceremony that he would become the best Defender, he didn't think about the sheer amount of publicity that it required. He may as well be the Lantern's Poster Child- the one that they shove in commercials, make action figures out of, and force into stupid shit like interviews and talk-shows to continue to win the public's favor.