strawberry banana ♕ yoonseok

dix

yoongi felt different.

he felt as if he couldn't trust anyone

even though he knew that jimin was lying and manipulating him because he wanted to confuse him and leave him an emotional wreck, he still let it get to his head.

yoongi was a mess.

there was constantly that thought in the back of his mind that told him, what if he isn't lying?

what if jimin was telling the truth?

what if he really was looking out for him and all the things he said about hoseok were true?

what if hoseok was really using him?

it wouldn't surprise him. why else would he all of a sudden try to be his friend?

no one ever wants to be yoongi's friend.

he had been avoiding the smoothie shop for about a week.

hoseok texted him three out of seven of those days. he kept asking how he was doing, if he was okay, if he wanted a free smoothie, if he needed a friend to talk to.

yoongi never replied.

and even though he knew he did it to himself, even though he knew it was his fault that the other boy stopped texting because he wasn't getting a response, yoongi couldn't help but feel sad that hoseok seemed to give up.

he hated constantly feeling sad, so he decided to change things up the fourth day.

he dyed his hair grey and got an undercut.

he actually felt really good about himself the rest of that day, and even though he knew it wouldn't last, he was still grateful for that moment.

like expected, the fifth day he felt terrible. everything came crashing down on him once again, and he didn't know what to do about it.

he couldn't sleep. he couldn't eat. he couldn't do anything.

he didn't understand why he felt so bad when his life, though it sure as hell had many bad moments, wasn't the worse.

why did he feel so sad when there's people in other parts of the world who have it so much harder?

the sixth day was too much for him.

he just had to distract himself, and the only way he knew how was by dragging a razor against his already damaged arm.

and as he sat on the cold floor against the bathtub, he just watched the warm blood trickle down his arm, panting heavily as he did so.

it hurt.

it hurt a lot.

he had done more than he had planned, but he didn't mind.

it somehow made him forget about everything that was happening.

and maybe one day, he'll accidentally go too deep.

that seemed nice to him.

so all the dark and warm blood on his arm and hands was worth it.

the seventh day he stayed in bed all day, feeling too weak to get up. everything was hurting, but he didn't mind. he just wanted to sleep.

sleep was nice.

and if he could

he would sleep forever.