PICTURESQUE. | MYG

viii

When your tear ducts finally run dry, when your lips are cracked and chapped, when your eyes feel red and puffy, when your cheeks are stained with the remnants of your mascara, and when your makeup, tears, and snot has thoroughly soaked Hoseok's shoulder, you let go. His hands hold your shoulders as he ducks his head slightly to look into your eyes, brows knit in concern. You sniffle, feeling ugly from crying, but even uglier on the inside, too. The beautiful soul holding your shoulders doesn't show it if he thinks that, though. "Are you okay?" He asks, his voice hushed and his tone worried. Why he has the heart to be worried about you, you don't know. After what you've done to his best friend, you're surprised he doesn't throw some hurtful words at you and leave, but he doesn't.

"No. But I don't deserve to be." You rasp out, voice just above a whisper. Hoseok sighs, but he doesn't say anything. No matter how sweet he is, he can't deny that what you did was fucked up. Neither can you. "I'm so sorry, Hoseok."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to, Y/n." He says, and your shoulders slump even more. There are so many people you owe an apology. Sejun, Soomi, Yuna. Yoongi. You didn't think Yoongi would even care until it was too late. You and Yoongi had talked about having children when you were dating, and he had dismissed the idea, insisting that it was too soon and that you both couldn't provide enough yet to support a child, and you'd just assumed he didn't want children but didn't have the heart to tell you.

But that wasn't an excuse. Nothing could excuse what you did.

"I should go. Are you gonna be able to get home okay?" Hoseok asks, finally letting his grip on your shoulders loosen as he drops his arms to his sides.

"I don't think I can go home." You murmur. Sejun asked for time, that's the least you can give him at this point. Hoseok sighs, running a hand through his black locks.

"Let me call you a cab, or an Uber, or something." Hoseok says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. You don't have the heart to object, so you stand with your eyes trained on the floor as Hoseok orders you a car ride. He walks you outside as you wait, sighing softly as the early beginnings of a downpour begin to rain from the sky, only a drizzle now, but you know Seoul's temperamental weather. Within minutes, you know rain will be falling from the sky by the ton, casting a gray, wet haze over everything. How appropriate for the situation. Your life is beginning to feel like a drama gone horrible wrong.

"I booked you a room at the Palace, too." Hoseok informs you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your eyebrows jump to your hairline—you don't deserve a room at The Palace, one of Seoul's ritziest hotels. You don't deserve even an ounce Hoseok's kindness, let alone his money.

"No, really, I'll just—I'll go home—"

"You absolutely will not." Hoseok interrupts you, and when you look up, his eyes are no longer warm, or worried. No, they're angry. You've never seen Hoseok like this, never seen someone who radiates pure sunshine so dark. It scares you. "All that poor man wants is for you to leave him alone, and I'll be damned if I let you go back there. You're the last thing he needs right now." His words sting, but they don't wound you. If anything, they add salt to old wounds, wounds that fester and puss with infection and decay, bullet wounds that you have been putting bandaids on for nearly seven years. Bandaids that were all brutally ripped off today.

The Uber pulls up at the curb, and you can't make your legs cooperate. Hoseok's lip quivers, and he opens his mouth to speak, emotion in his eyes changing to one of remorse, but before his apology can spill out of his mouth, he clamps it shut again. He shouldn't be the one apologizing, anyways. "Thank you. For everything. I—tell Yoongi I'm sorry."

"That's the last thing he'll want to hear, unfortunately." Hoseok says quietly, and you sigh, fresh tears stinging the backs of your eyes. "Get to your hotel safely, okay?" He says, backing towards the door to your studio. You nod, and make your jelly like legs step gingerly into the waiting car.

"Y/n, right?" The driver asks, and you nod, buckling your seatbelt out of habit. You think of Soomi, who just learned how to buckle her seatbelt on her own, and your heart contracts. he begins the drive, turning up the radio to fill the awkward silence. The song that plays is sad, a song about longing for someone but hating them at the same time, wanting to see someone, making analogies to winter fading into spring.

A familiar voice fills your ears, and your blood runs cold as ice.

Is it you who changed?
(Is it you who changed?)
Or is it me?
(Or is it me?)
I hate even this moment that is passing by
I guess we are changed
Just like everyone you know

Yoongi. It's Yoongi's voice, and your breath hitches as you realize that this is his song. Fresh tears spring to your eyes. Is it you who changed? Or is it me? I guess we are changed. Maybe you both changed, but you changed for the worse. You built your entire life off of secrets and lies, selfishly making decisions that hurt the people who truly loved you in the end. All Yoongi did was pursue his dream, work hard for it. You manipulated others to get your own: a perfect, picturesque life.

"Stop the car." You choke out.

"Huh?"

"Pull over! Stop the car!" You say, voice unstable and louder than before. The rain is pouring down now, just like you knew it would, as the driver stops. You throw yourself out of the car as fast as you can, ignoring the driver's calls. You stumble down the street, vision blurred with tears until your feet betray you and you're in a heap on the ground, knees skinned and high heel broken. You let the rain soak you to the bone as you sob, feeling one with the sky as it cries with you.

You don't know how much time has passed when your eyes finally dry for the second time that day. The rain has stopped now, but the droplets leave a pearlescent gleam on the hoods of cars. You look up at the condensation on the window above your head, finding it pretty. You let your eyes focus on the black text that splay across the glass.

Counseling & Therapy.

You sigh, biting your lip, knowing what you have to do. You don't know if anyone can help you fix yourself now.

But you have to try.