𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔 | 𝙺𝙽𝙹

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛

CHAPTER FOUR:
THE SPIRITS HAVE EYES IN BACK OF THEIR HEADS. 

RIFF'S TOWN 1990,

EAST BELDAM ST.

BLOOD RUNS THICKER THAN WATER...

UNLESS YOU HAVE A RIVER OF BLOOD...

There's an abhorrent inkling to the saying actions speak louder than words– Namjoon was never one to understand why it was one's job to see what people wanted rather than to have the said people say what bothered them. 

It wasn't his job to figure out the puzzle pieces, selfish people, like themselves, left for others to complete; that was until now. After discovering that Jeon Jungkook might not have really been Jeon Jungkook, his mannerisms, his way of talking to namjoon like he was nothing more than a piece of gum, you chew and spit out. 

This Jungkook was different and cruel– it was as if some diabolical being had zapped into his body and decided to play house within the chambers of his head. 

Although, namjoon could be less worried about jungkook and more worried about the pale boy who stands brazenly in his room, “This is all some big fucking joke, isn't it? Let's prank the shit out of the freak, namjoon, and beat him half to death right?” He questions, a big and tired sigh falling past his plump lips, “You're not actually dead, right? Because you look a-o-fucking-k, to me,” the taller sneers, tussles of forest ground hair falling just above his eyes.

“When you saw me hanging from that tree…" Did you see anyone else?” Yoongi questions, hands fidgeting with his neck, probably thinking back to the rope that had been made to suffocate him, he stands still, question lingering within the air for an answer. “Of course I saw someone else! There was a hoard of fucking people there at least 15 at most! You think I'm fucking blind?” 

The shorter snorts, and namjoon can't help the way his eyes zero in on the pale skinned boy, dragon-eyes burrowing a heated glare to his head, “what so fucking funny, dickwad?” The shorters eyes widen in disbelief; now namjoon, if you hadn't noticed, has quite the temper, he's never been one to back down from a fight– sure he'll cry about it afterwards, but never in front of the people he's fighting. 

But, somehow, right now, he feels sort of bad, he can't help that same gut wrenching feeling he's had eating at him since meeting the other– a nasty grip swarms its way into his rib covered chest, peeling and picking at his unsteady heart, splitting him open and eating him whole. 

It was the overwhelming guilt of knowing he wasn’t able to save yoongi– this disgusting overbearing feeling, felt like rusted knives being plunged into his honey dew skin. The guilt that is consuming his whole being felt as if it were a human that was constantly gutting him and slicing up his organs into chopped up pieces, like its teeth were continuously chomping down on his rib cage.

“I saw everything, yoongi… how they hung you, and stabbed at you like you were some slab of meat for them to share, I saw it,” A shakey breath leaves Namjoon's airway, he feels empty– emotions not really being emotions, just empty thoughts of how he should feel in this very moment.

“So you're saying you've seen how I've died, and you still believe I'm not dead?” The smaller queries, head tilting in a teasing way, “Is it because of how I look right now?” He laughs, holding his stomach and lurching fowards. “This is a cover, I don't really know how I did it, but I did, I can turn back to how you saw me at that clearing, if you can handle that?” 

Namjoon scoffs, eyes rolling so far back he was sure he'd almost seen his brain, “stop fucking around and tell me that it was a prank,” he seethes, head never once lifting up, until he hears footsteps making their way towards him, “do I look alive to you namjoon?”

The boy questions, muddied shoes standing in line sight of namjoons eyes, “come on, take a good look at me, and tell me what you see,” yoongi's voice is soft, but full of authority, it has namjoon lifting his head reluctantly.

He should've kept it down. Damn him. 

Yoongi stands there, smiling, it's beautifully heinous– his neck was bent in a peculiar angle, skin smelling of rotten and eroded food, his teeth were chipped and dirt filled. “Do I look alive to you, namjoon?” The carrion boy ask, question filled with anger and a hit of maybe sadness (Namjoon can only assume.) 

Namjoon slowly shakes his head, eyes never leaving the decaying skin of yoongi’s face, never once meeting the others dark eyes– he finds the grey duvet he sits upon to be much more fascinating, acclaiming as the softness of it entangles his calloused fingers. “How can I see you? Why me?” Namjoon whispers, voice cracking but sounding just as void as he looked. 

“I'm not sure… maybe it's in your blood? I've only ever met one person like you and she killed herself, or so I heard, a few days after, matter of fact, you have quite the resemblance,” yoongi smirks, arms crossing and back straightening. 

“Maybe she was your real mother?” The honey-skinned boys breath hitches, eyes glazing over with questions of confusion, “my mother's downstairs,” he starts, but yoongi interjects with a loud cackle

“I might be dead namjoon but I can still hear and be around, she's  not your real mother… You know that as well as I do, but who cares about that, you can see me, us!” He emphasizes, bloodied and nail-chipped finger pointing to his own eye.

“It's a gift for the dead, and a curse for you,” the shorter finishes, “so about that deal.”

@GFYPLS