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❝CHAPTER 38.❞
yoongi does as told and changes the sheets to his bed. washes them even because it serves him as a distraction from all the chaos. he even takes a shower, once he realizes he smells of dick and sweat; a disgusting combination that even he had grown to think of repulsive.
he doesn't know how long he spends under the shower head but his fingers are pruny once he gets out so maybe that's enough of an answer. he fits a pair of briefs on, snug over his hips and grabs a tee from his dresser, freezing in the middle of pulling it on once he catches a glimpse of himself on the mirror. so instead, he throws the tee on the bed and takes a good hard look at himself, at the way his wet hair has gotten so long that the dark roots are starting to become noticeable, so long that if it wasn't for the hair clip holding it back, it would be covering his vision. his eyes look dark and tired, dark bags proof of sleepless nights and his neck is bruised purple. it's emotionally draining to look at, yoongi still thinks they suit him. maybe because taehyung gave the bites to him, has to be because he's so whipped for the teen that he could be covered in hickeys (which he is) and he wouldn't even care. his gaze travels downwards, to his skinny boy abs which, to be honest, could be mistaken for food deprivation if it wasn't for the chubbier parts of his abdomen that confirm that he does, in fact, eat. his waist are adorned with the shape of taehyung's big hands, stark against his skin and then it's his thighs, that not much less than his neck, are also littered by red blotches soon to turn a nasty purple.
in conclusion, he looks like a mess.
with a deep sigh he grabs the tee and pulls it over his head so in the very least, it covers the fingers that decorate the small of his ribs. flopping onto his bed, he ends up thinking of taehyung, who yoongi hopes, is doing well. he wonders what the boy is doing now. if he's curled up on his own bed, door locked because otherwise, he wouldn't be able to sleep at peace, maybe reading or sketching on a pad that yoongi had bought him.
if only yoongi could stop thinking for a few moments, a few hours so he could go to bed because it's 10 am and he hasn't even had a blink of sleep.
but instead he reaches for his dead phone and stands up to plug it in, watching as the screen glows white seconds after. next, his screensaver, a picture of taehyung smiling bright and cheeks tinted pink, whip cream coating the tip of his nose because that night they had decided to go to a café and share a hot chocolate; a picture that reminds him that he's alone again. but then there's a message flashing on his screen and he almost drops his phone because it's taehyung and it's recent so maybe that's a good sign. or maybe he's hallucinating.
can i come over? it reads, and yoongi's a little confused. he has never believed in god but right now, he secretly prays that this is the universe giving him a chance.
