when yoongi opened his eyes- he knew where he was.
"home."
"shower. i need a shower," he thought to himself, brushing over his chin to check for stubble, just like how he used to every morning, before school- seven years ago.
hyperthymesia;
noun
(uncountable)
also known as
piking; hyperthymestic syndrome
(medicine)
A rare condition in which an individual possesses a superior autobiographical memory and is able to recall the vast majority of personal experiences and events in his or her life.
yoongi's mind was half tuned to his 16 year-old self's life and the other was tuned to his present life- it was like he lived in a split screen; where certain memories and certain objects would trigger him to have the perception that he was living in the past, which he was not.
for example, yoongi had spotted the vacuum and had cleaned his entire house, arranging and wiping his books, scrubbing the floors clean on his knees like he was living the korean cinderella life and even sunning his clothes out- something he never did because he had a dryer.
yoongi picked up his cracked phone, placing it on the coffee table. he then picked up his laptop and turned it on, syncing it to his phone with a cable.
his face remained emotionless, his eyes were no longer glinting with life, and his cheeks were hollowed and drained of its colour. as his phone begun to turn on, he walked to the kitchen to whip up a simple meal for himself.
systematically, as if he had been doing this for years and years, he took out four pieces of bread, planning to make two tuna sandwiches, but as he was filling the first one, he stopped to think- who was the second one for? he blinked, batting his eyelashes in confusion then put down the butter knife and stuffed the extra two pieces of bread in the bag, bound it up, then tossed it at the kitchen counter, returning to spreading his tuna and mayonnaise spread on his bread.
he stared at his sandwich hungrily while it toasted in the oven- it was his first proper meal in six days, excluding the alcohol and the snacks.
as he was walking out of the kitchen, he attempted biting down on his straight-outta-the-oven sandwich.
not a good idea, yoongi.
"fuCK!!" he yelled, dropping the glass plate as he jumped backwards, wincing as he anticipated the sharp sound of the glass plate clinking against the marble floor, bound to shatter into a million uncountable tiny shards of glass once in contact with the cold, hard floor.
but no sound of breaking glass was heard,
and no pain was felt by yoongi when he had expected the glass shards to pierce his feet even though he moved backwards.
moments seemed to pass, and yoongi finally moved, looking down at his feet, then at the arm that stretched to his right, placing the plate on the dining table. he blinked in confusion once again, before being bear-hugged by someone who- someone who smelled familiar.
like vanilla.
like vanilla and strawberries.
