Colors//Finished

1. Blue

"Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so
You said your mother only smiled on her TV show
You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope
I hope you make it to the day you're twenty-eight years old"

---Hoseok---

I step into the house, my footsteps echoing across the wide expanse of the front hall. Hoisting my backpack higher on my back, I walk quietly to the kitchen. Any noise could wake up mom, and I know she went out last night. When I get there, Taehyung is sitting at the table, picking at a small container of ramen.

"Hey Taehyungie," I say softly, setting my bag down. He looks up and smiles, his mouth stretching into a box.

"Hi, Hoseok! How was school? Did you draw anything cool today?" He bounces like a puppy, always the easily excitable one.

"School was alright, did you take your meds when you got home?" I ask, certain she did nothing to remind him. Not like I was expecting her to. He nods, his smile never wavering. You would never doubt that this kid has ADHD, but it doesn't stop him from being his own, ninth grade type of popular. I miss those days when nobody cared. "How's Jungkook?"

"He's really good!" He says happily, pulling out his phone. "I was thinking about him meeting mom, do you think that's a good idea?" My heart drops, and I shake my head.

"No, I really think that's a bad idea."

"Why?" He asks, his bottom lip pushed out slightly. "There's nothing wrong with him." I sit down, shaking slightly. There is no way Taehyung can take his boyfriend home to meet our mom. I know she'd be supportive. But there's no way he'll ever want to come near us again.

"Taehyungie...you know mom is sick," I say softly, reaching forward and grabbing his hands.

"She doesn't look sick." He retorts, his chin beginning to tremble. God, no. I can't see him cry.

"Her sickness isn't like that. It's like ours, you can't see it, but there's no pill for this kind of sickness." This is so hard to explain. How do you tell a ninth grader that his mom is so unbearable lonely that she turns to parties and alcohol in a desperate search for comfort? How do you explain the constant stream of men entering and exiting our home, and how none of them ever even stay for breakfast?

"It's because of dad, isn't it? So it's my fault." He pulls away from me, and I see a tear make its way down his cheek. As it does, I realize he's wearing stage makeup. Dress rehearsal. The play is this weekend, and our mom is laying upstairs, most likely passed out. No wonder he's upset.

"It's not your fault, Taehyung. I promise. Dad didn't leave because of you, he left because he's a fucking asshole." His eyes widen at my language, and again I curse myself for forgetting his innocence. "I-I need to go," I say quickly, grabbing my backpack and turning away from my little brother, running towards the stairwell. He calls after me, but I don't look back. I never do.

I stop for a second in front of my mom's room, peeking in. She's laying in bed, still asleep. I don't remember what last night's guy looked like, but I do know he was loud. Looking around, I spot a glass of water and two Advil on the nightstand next to her. Taehyung undoubtedly put them there, he really is the sweetest person. Unconditionally loving and trusting. Someday it's going to hurt him, but for now, it's his most endearing quality. Pulling back through the door, I head up three flights of stairs until I reach the floor my studio is on. I really should be grateful we don't have to worry about money, but what good is a big house when my mom is a drunk and I need to take my little brother to the doctor? What good is being able to afford therapy when I had to take myself to my first therapist appointment? What's the point of wealth when you don't have a real family to enjoy it with?

Sighing, I step into my studio, dropping my bag and heading over to my paints. I like realistic drawings, but when it comes to painting I just go when my emotions lead me. Today, my hands are drawn to cool colors. I put out bottles of every shade of blue and purple I have, adding a few shades of green to the mix. Heading over to my easel, I drop everything and pull out a thick brush from the small tray. I start with broad, straight strokes of a deep violet, slowly transitioning to curvy lines of navy blue. The colors bleed together, some areas where the paint is thicker dripping slowly down the white canvas. Before long, the entire thing is covered, with lighter blues standing out against the deep indigos where navy and violet mixed. Then I pick up the green. With a smaller brush, I paint winding lines of ivy all over, from corner to corner. I take a step back and now that I'm really seeing it, I can tell what I meant. It's me. There are the shades of blue, covered and contained by stand strands of happiness. I guess to some people, happiness is yellow, but it's always been green to me. 

Turning around, I go over to my backpack and pull out my sketchbook. I used to draw a lot of plants(green), but now it's mostly people. Or a person. Min fucking Yoongi.

Flipping it open, I go to my latest drawing. It's of him leaning against the wall of the school, a cigarette held to his lips. The smoke curves around his head and hand and all you can see of him is his jawline and the outline of his body. His sleeves are long as usual, but I want to draw them short. I like to imagine him happier than he seems. I want to shade it more, so I pull out my pencils and begin at his neck, trying to recall how the light fell. I guess it could be considered creepy to draw someone without their permission, but I've never thought of it as weird or stalkerish. I just draw what I see, and I draw what I like. And god, do I like him. Taehyung and I have joked about the chances of two brothers both being gay, yet here we are. The only difference is, he liked a boy, talked to him, and became his boyfriend. I've liked the same boy since freshman year, I barely talk to him except to say hello in the hallways, and I draw him.

I sigh and pull out my phone. No texts, but that's normal. Ever since Namjoon and Jin graduated, nobody talks to me in school anymore, and they've stopped texting me. I don't blame them. College is tough, and I'm just a senior in high school, not exactly their top priority. Checking the time, I realize it's already time for dinner. I head down the stairs, hoping Taehyung won't be mad at me. Even if he is, I know he won't stay like that. All I need to do is make him some soup, and he'll be smiling and telling me all about school in no time. Just like always.

Authors Note: This was a random idea, based off of Halsey's Closer. It is finished, but I'll be posting a new chapter each day, just for the suspense, I guess. I don't have a beta for this one, and it is just written in chunks of text, as there's not a lot of dialogue. I hope you enjoy it!