Immunity (BTS Fan Fiction) | ABANDONED

Chapter 1: Filoviridae

Okay I was gonna give myself a few more days to post this but I had to do something to celebrate Love Yourself: Tear because that shit's amazing.

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Maybe he's in the garden?

But Youngjae hated taking care of the garden. That was always Yoongi's thing. His solace, his safety blanket.

But maybe he took care of it so that it'd be ready for me?

That seemed plausible. Yoongi had been gone for seven months in Greece, fighting in their economic civil war because for some reason the rest of the world thought they had to bear the weight of every other government's burden. And so they went, America and Russia and the United Kingdom and China and Korea and even Japan, to splatter the smaller countries with the ichor of politics.

What a fucking waste, Yoongi thought bitterly, slipping a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. Wherever Youngjae was, he wouldn't be happy that Yoongi started the habit again.

Oh well.

Music wafted into his ears, soft and welcoming, and a small smile met Yoongi's chapped lips. The bedroom. Of course.

Taking one lasting drag, Yoongi searched for somewhere to put out his cigarette. He finally settled for his sleeve, knowing damn well that he'd have no need for the garb of a soldier anymore.

Bullshit. All of it was bullshit.

Yoongi had never been so tired in his life.

The smell of rotting food met his nostrils, and they wrinkled of their own volition.

"Youngjae?" He called, tossing the cig in the trash as he ghosted into the kitchen.

Nothing had really changed since he left. That made him smile a bit. Pots and pans still hung neatly along the wall, glinting in the pink afternoon light, just how Youngjae liked them. The knife block was missing one steak knife - what was it with their disappearing cutlery? A fork had vanished from their collection the day before Yoongi left. Youngjae was convinced it had something to do with goblins, and though Yoongi was a realist to a fault, he humored the man.

Other than that, the kitchen was the same. The marbled counter still had a chip in the corner from their one-year anniversary when Yoongi tried to make - what was it he tried to make?

He couldn't remember. That was four years ago, back when they were young and happy and there were no wars to fight in.

Pausing to deliberate on the chipped corner and all the memories it once held, now lost to the dust and sweat of battle, Yoongi almost didn't notice the half-eaten sandwich sitting on the kitchen island. It was chicken and cheddar, Youngjae's favorite. Yoongi cocked his head at it - there was a smear of something red along the bite marks. Grey mold peppered the center of the bread, while its green counterpart nibbled the cheese. The chicken had been reduced to an ashen shade of brown.

Mystery solved.

Pursing his lips, Yoongi picked up the plate and dumped the rancid sandwich in the trash, and then crossed to the sink to set the plate inside.

"Youngjae?"

As he stepped into the hallway adjacent to the kitchen, a new smell met his nose. He couldn't quite place it - it smelled a bit like war, yes, but also like something else entirely. Descriptors that Yoongi didn't want to stomach crawled unbidden into his head, but he shook them away and started off for his bedroom.

The house had been their shining achievement. Here were two young men, proving to the world that not only could they be in love, but they could be in love and take care of themselves. Yoongi and Youngjae against the world. That's how it was, at least until Yoongi's name was called for the draft.