cold | min yoongi

an unspoken promise.

   it's cold.

the starting days of winter arrive early this year, and yoongi looks up to see millions of little snowflakes dancing their way down to the ground from a white, clouded sky.

a stray, ripped piece of newspaper is blown forward a few metres by the wind, being trampled on by the shoes of people as they scurry past, and from where yoongi is sitting, huddled under a bundle of blankets in an thin alleyway between two buildings, he can see the headlines on the page of newspaper declaring that temperatures have officially dropped to the lowest it's been in six years.

but yoongi doesn't need a figure on a dirty, crinkled piece of paper to know that it's cold. because he can feel it, even with three layers of clothes and a blanket. there are goosebumps painted all over his skin, and when he exhales out of his mouth, his breath comes as a billow of white air.

the piercing cold surrounds him, and the barriers of cloth are no match; it seeps past cloth and skin and flesh, freezing to the bone, the feeling of numbness spreading throughout his body, his heart, his mind.

really fucking great, he thinks, that out of all the seasons it had to be this one that his mother loses her job, turning her more out of control than ever.

but it's fine. it really is. because he'd rather sit there outside on the street and let himself be overcome by the emptiness, the tingling sensation of nothingness, of i'm slowly freezing to death but i don't care, so it's fine, right? than go back to that house he can no longer call home, face that person that he both loves and hates, and be trapped and suffocated by those four walls.

at least out here, he can breathe. he can breathe all the chilled air he wants.

out of the corner of his eye, an orange bouncy ball rolls to a stop near him, and it's followed by a little boy in a green jumper and a beanie. the boy runs forward to collect his toy, before registering yoongi's presence, and he pauses, staring at him with curious, wide eyes, reminding yoongi of someone he can't put his finger on.

'why are you sitting here?' the little boy asks, puzzled, 'isn't it cold?'

yoongi opens his mouth to reply, but before he can speak, there is a woman's voice directed towards him and yoongi looks past the little boy to see what is most likely the child's mother, staring at yoongi with contempt, and instantly yoongi's eyes harden in response with hostility.

'hey, get away from that... that stranger.' the woman says in a warning voice, wrinkling her nose at him, and he really can't understand. why is it that he is being looked down on for being homeless? or at least, sleeping on the streets for certain days of a week when he can no longer tolerate his mother's toxicity. why, because he is more lacking of hygiene? because he has no money? because he has his own circumstances and doesn't deserve to be judged by a stranger who doesn't know shit about him?

'it's cold.' yoongi says softly, staring at the ground, as the boy slowly walks back to his mother, still looking at him curiously over his shoulder, 'and i'm here because i have no where else to go.'

'bye bye.' the little boy says, but yoongi doesn't look up, not when he hears the boy's mother scolding him, not when he hears them walking away, the sound of their footsteps rejoining the chorus of others.

yoongi has to take a moment before he remembers the person the little boy had reminded him of. yes, he'd looked a lot like yoongi's friend, hoseok. friend... hoseok had been yoongi's friend through high school. they were close, but he wasn't someone yoongi could just easily pour everything out to. hoseok was fun and nice but he and hoseok were different sorts of people, and there were things hoseok didn't understand and yoongi couldn't explain.