Brotherhood BTS AU

Bad Influence

The sound of a phone ringing woke him up and it took him a few minutes to figure out that it was actually in his dream and not reality.

As with most mornings Yoongi awoke with a sudden jerk that made him roll off the settee. In the process he not only smacked his head on the flooring, which wasn't even hardwood and rather just plain concrete, but he also managed to slam his elbow hard on the broken coffee table. Before he could even open his eyes fully he heard the loud thud of the contents sliding off to hit the floor and he knew one thing.

He had finally broken the goddamn table.

For a few minutes he didn't want to move, to open his eyes or even breathe if it was possible. He knew that if he did he would catch sight of the time on the clock across the room and he would see that not even an hour had passed since he had been able to drift off. He would much rather pretend that it had been an entire day even when he knew that he was lying to himself. He could still hear the faintest sound of a telephone in his ears, a blaring rather than a ringing noise, much like a high-pitched siren that got right under his skin and set his teeth on edge. What had he been dreaming about? No matter how hard he tried to think about it he couldn't seem to figure it out. Dream or nightmare? Nothing but blackness punctuated by the noise of the stupid phone? If a phone was ringing then it was a nightmare, that much I fucking know... Yoongi sighed heavily and finally opened his eyes slightly, peering up at the ceiling and seeing that the room was well lit; morning sun coming in through the window behind him. It looked bright and he could picture the sky outside devoid of clouds, a vivid blue in which the sun would hang overhead all day long. No threat of rain at all, not with the summer just now in full bloom. Where were the others right now? What were they doing? They had probably gotten everything ready hours ago and yet here he was: not even dressed and without a bag packed. What had he been doing during the early morning hours since he had gotten back home? Well...

Yoongi turned his head slowly to observe the sight beside him. The coffee table had always been broken since he had owned it, but his thrifty trick had kept it stable for quite some time. Yes, a hard knock usually made most of the contents fall off because it was rickety, but it still kept standing in sheer defiance of any stubborn slams from his shins or boots. He would just need to right it once more and stack everything back onto the top, yet not this time. This time the poor coffee table was well and truly dead. The left leg in front of him, the one he had wrapped twine around several times tightly, was no longer wobbly but otherwise stable and straight, instead it was now on such a crooked angle that he could see a snap clean through the wood, no doubt from where his flailing elbow had struck it a moment ago. He could see jagged little edges sticking out, lighter wood visible under the dark coating revealed like teeth behind lips in a smile, and when he reached up to touch one of them he had to pull his finger away for fear of a nasty splinter. The lengths of twine that had been wound around the other legs securely was now hanging loose, not straight like a ruler but rather drooping like a hammock. It might be able to be repaired someone but right now he didn't have time for that. He didn't even have time to move the shit that had fallen off it anywhere else. He was counting himself rather lucky that none of it had landed on him, or more specifically on his head. The near mountain of newspapers and wrappers, food containers and cans, had spread across the floor but he could see the telephone directory just a few inches away from the tip of his nose, having fallen to land open on the floor, pages bent under its weight and spine folded inwards slightly. Had that landed on his head then there would have been two outcomes: a crushed and gushing nose, or he'd have been knocked unconscious, which right now sounded rather preferable to being awake.

There was an open, half-empty packet of cigarettes by him so he reached over to retrieve them, thumbing the top to check the contents: eleven little filtered sticks in two neat rows. Yoongi lifted the packet to his mouth and pulled one free using his teeth before tossing the packet onto the settee and shoving his hand into his jeans pocket to get his lighter. He sat up slowly and held the flickering flame to the end of the cigarette, taking a quick drag as the tip smouldered to help it alight and breathing the smoke out his nose as he did. He flicked the lighter close again with a quick flick of his wrist and then took a deep pull on the cigarette, holding it in his lungs as he reached up and got the stick between his middle and ring finger. He was in the act of blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth when he caught sight of black wires snaking along the floor and he stared at the sight across the room dumbly, cigarette hovering in front of his slightly pursed lips.