𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍, 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍

m . y . g ー the lonely

HE STARES AT his reflection in the cracked mirror. The cracks running through his reflection, distorting his face. The dark circles under his eyes complimented the pasty white skin that he wore. He ran a hand over the skin that was covered in hair. Yoongi had never thought that he would ever have a beard.

But here he stood, in the small bathroom that was his, a razor in his hand, staring at a cracked mirror. The teenagers freeloading next door were making a raucous with whatever obnoxious music they were playing. Laughter and cheer could be heard from next door making Yoongi sick to the core.

There was once a time, an age. Before the harsh winds of winter came, where he would spend time with four men, four men he cared so deeply for. Those days brought back nostalgia and ultimately, pain. Yoongi sighed before proceeding to lather shaving cream on his face, then, taking the razor and analysing the sharp blades.

The light that was in his bathroom was flickering. But even then, the blade seemed to shimmer, the light bouncing off the silver metal. Yoongi smiled. Someone had once told him that silver was more than gold.

He would have those days back any day.

Yoongi mumbled a few incoherent words, then resumed back to shaving. Slowly but steadily he cut the unpleasant hair off his face. He hadn't gone out for days. He had stayed indoors, locked away from the outside world. In his tranquil space, shrouded in serenity, bleeding his emotions into the lyrics he wrote, mastering. Not only the art of poetry, but the art of storytelling itself.

An adolescent next door screamed, a loud shrill echoeing through the small bathroom that Yoongi was in. Causing the raven-haired male to jump, jamming the blade into his skin. He cried out and dropped the razor to the floor as blood began dripping down his cheek, the warm liquid dropping to the floor.

"Shit, SHIT!" He shouted, hitting the wall, making his mirror tremble, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Yoongi looked at his reflection in the mirror. Who was he?

"WHY DON'T YOU SHUT YHE FUCK UP, YOU OLD MAN!" The teenagers shouted back, giggling. Their speech was garbled. Yoongi could only stare at the mirror as he scoffed, picking the razor off the floor and finishing what he had begun.

After cleaning the blood off the bathroom floor, he placed a band-aid over the small wound on his skin. Yoongi had mastered the art of sporting a wound, a scar. He remembers when he was younger and used to climb trees, his brother would challenge him that he would not be able to climb an extra branch. But Yoongi was stubborn, he would fall, too many times too. But he never gave up. When he went to school, he would have some sort of injury that would grab all the girls' attention, they would crawl to him like diseases, wanting to hear the latest story of his fall.

Those were the times that Yoongi found the fondest. His brother pushing him further and further towards the top. Even when he fell. Like his brother, the four boys Yoongi hung out with, always pushed Yoongi further, towards the top. Even when he fell.

He put his black coat over his body. It was winter and the air outside was unforgiving.

"HEY GRANDPA, ARE YOU STILL THERE? HELLO?" Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled. "Grandpa, huh?" Yoongi remembered when he had once been called grandpa before, it happened at a small coffee shop in the city. The owner, an optimistic character, who always found the good in things had told Yoongi that he was a grandpa for being so mature. But what could he do? Mature was all that he knew. Ever since that fateful day, that day he wanted to forget.

It was a happy memory though, being called grandpa. He hoped one day to see the constant content and cheery face of the charismatic male once again. Yoongi took his keys, and after locking the door to his apartment, made his way past the apartment of the clamorous neighbours, and towards the exit of the rickety building.

He buried his hands into the pockets of his coat as he met with the cool air. He breathed out, and watched as cars whizzed past.

"Wow, can't say I would ever see you out here again," said a familiar voice, that husky tone, that deep voice. Yoongi turned to face Taehyung, still the same. Yoongi's expression remained unchanging, he felt so much hatred for the younger. He took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" Yoongi questioned.

"Relax grandpa-"

"Don't call me that," Yoongi interrupted Taehyung, speaking through gritted teeth. Taehyung cocked an eyebrow at the older male, confused by his actions.

"Calm down, i'm not here to see you," Taehyung explained, he glanced at the band-aid on Yoongi's skin, "what's this, are you ok?" Taehyung mumbled, taking a step closer and reaching out to touch the spot on Yoongi's face that was covered by the band-aid.

Yoongi took a step back, leaving Taehyung touching nothing but air. Yoongi didn't want Taehyung touching him, he didn't want to feel the warmth of his hand. He didn't want to embrace the sweet taste of his lips, he didn't want to hear that husky voice he held. He didn't want anything to do with Kim Taehyung. He didn't want the pain.

"Y-you too? Hyung?" Taehyung asked, slowly lowering his hand. He, himself hurt by the actions of the older male, Taehyung felt like crying. Not Yoongi, his Yoongi.

"Just stay away from me, please," Yoongi pleaded, looking into the coffee-brown eyes of the younger, he wanted to hurt Taehyung, to destroy him.

"Yoongi...Yoongi, I-I can explain I promise, it wasn't m-me, I...I promise!" Taehyung was almost shouting, he quietened down when Yoongi looked at him sternly.

"I rue the day I ever met you, Kim Taehyung," Yoongi said before turning his heel and walking away. Tears ran down Taehyung's face as he watched Yoongi walk away into the distance. They stained his cheeks, his life was crumbling before his eyes. He clutched his chest as the pain of heartbreak truly, engulfed him.

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! How could you believe them over your lover?"

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