Yoongi has always spent most of his waking hours searching for the Dome : a vast city, bright and shining on the horizon -- should be easy to spot, no? No. Time is falling short; he and Kookie are growing weaker; resources are dwindling. Yoongi is d...
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Yoongi was tired: a tired, unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
If the boy knew any one thing, it'd be the familiar droop of his eyelids, weighted down with numbingly dull awareness. But this—this was like nothing he'd ever experienced. This seeped through his bones, pulsed at his muscles, thrummed behind his eyes. Yet he still couldn't find it within himself to sleep.
From midday to night-long, the boy's stomach had been forced over and over to revolt against itself. If Yoongi managed to breathe in too deeply, he'd still feel the painful flutter of his pharynx. His flared stomach continued to drum against pulsating abdominal walls, mercilessly beating at his abused diaphragm. Even if the bloating had ebbed away sometime near midnight, Yoongi could personally guarantee even the slightest bit of pressure would make his strangely empty stomach explode all over again.
Looking back at all the nights he'd spent having starved, Yoongi still couldn't pinpoint a time he would've been so hollow.
His dorsals felt spread thin, pulled back by gruesome little gremlins. Their nails carved deep into his spine, scraping away at the bone within. Achy and throbbing muscles preened for attention, hoping through the futility to be soothed of their pain. But it never stopped. The thrum never left his burning body.
His sobbing probably didn't help much either.
The boy simply couldn't help it. Everything just hurt too much. Even with the man's rich cooing near his ear, nothing seemed to chip away at the overwhelming dread encasing Yoongi.
At some point during the night, the man (the name Namjoon prickled somewhere behind Yoongi's ears) had begun to coddle him. Yoongi had to admit, he did find some odd semblance of comfort having Namjoon's warm skin pressed against him. It was nice; Yoongi liked the skin to skin contact.
When his body first began to tremble, too over-exerted from the day's work, Namjoon had slipped off that weird shirt of his, bringing Yoongi close. Whenever the boy would begin to thrash, spasming with oversensitivity, Namjoon would grab his hands quickly, forcefully heaving him into himself. His method worked quite well, Yoongi's body having responded near-instantly to the personal treatment, the man's lean chest grounding him.
It had only been Namjoon and Jin with Yoongi throughout the night, Jimin (if he had heard correctly) had been shipped away to aid with Jungkook. They had called it surgery. Yoongi only hoped it wasn't anything too bad: nothing like what he was feeling.
Jin had been the one pumping weird things in his body, pricking him with all sorts of tubes and needles. Somehow, Yoongi wasn't mad at him. Though abusing his already hurting body, Jin was always so kind with what he did.
There had been a too thick tube at the beginning, a very large pointy thing at the tip of it. As Jin explained to him what he'd have to do, how he'd pierce it through his forearm, Yoongi wailed. Wasn't the small clear bag enough? Clearly not. Apparently, they did two completely different things! The bag was to keep him hydrated—fancy word—while the rest... he couldn't quite remember.
