Insecure.

Let go.

   Head bobbing to the erratic, thrumming beat of their song, his hips swaying on their own accord and his eyes glazed over. All of them are covered in a sheen of sweat, small beads cascading down their chins as they lose themselves. The rap line is known to go hard at every performance. This is no different.
     Yoongi is easily the smallest of the three, but his presence is just as loud as Hoseok's or Namjoon's. His camouflaged coat is oversized, swaying at his calves as he bends at his knees. Head jerking with each syllable he spits out of his mouth, Hoseok is behind him. Moaning at his friends lyrics, a sly smirk on his heart shaped lips.
    Yoongi is anxiety riddled. He speaks of it in his own songs, his social phobia and his damn near hatred for the world. He can't speak in front of a singular person without his cheeks tinting red and his words becoming jumbled. But in front of the crowd, shouting his lyrics with his closest friends.. he's lost.
    He's not the typical Min Yoongi.
He's Agust D.
All too soon, the song comes to an end with all three males chests heaving for oxygen, trying to return their breathing to normal. Hair slicked to their foreheads and clothes feeling too restrictive. They bow and wish the crowd a goodnight before scurrying backstage.
     All too soon, Agust D diminishes and a mortified Yoongi returns. His hands tremble at his sides as the obscene amount of makeup is washed off of his face, his eyeliner smearing around his lower lids. His eyes look puffy and messy, but he can't bring himself to care. Everyone else is chattering in excitement, Namjoons praises loud for their nearly perfect performance. Jin is smacking at Jungkook's arm, and the youngest boy is raising his fists in mock offense. Taehyung is comforting Jimin for his one simple voice crack, but Yoongi can't bring himself to pay attention. He's zoning out, the voices in his head are all that he can hear.
    You dumb bitch.
Everyone would've done so much better without you.
They just feel bad for you.

    These voices are normal for him, he should be adjusted by now. He should be able to just brush them off and join his friends in their congratulations. But he can't. The feeling of disgust burns his throat, making him nauseous. Dizzy. He stumbles out of his chair and rushes into the small bathroom, locking the door before he sinks down onto his knees in front of the toilet.
      His stomach lurches and clenches as he empties it of everything he had eaten beforehand. Half a cup of ramen noodles and coffee. All that really comes up is bile and half digested noodles, making him cringe in disgust and cover his eyes with his trembling palms. His gags are loud, but the sound of the crowd is louder. They don't notice, luckily for him.
     Yoongi doesn't consider himself to have an eating disorder, really. But every single time he gets on stage or has to speak in front of others, he always finds himself on his bruised knees, spilling his guts out. Whether it's his anxiety or hatred for himself.. he's not sure.
      His constant vomiting and trips to the bathroom go almost completely unnoticed, as after long performances everyone simply figures he needs to empty his bladder. The only proof of these moments is his lowering weight, his clothing getting far too baggy for his frame. He used to be able to share clothes with Jimin, but now the shorts and pants fall right off of his hips. He even gave his favorite leather jacket away because it just didn't fit him right anymore.
      He completely gave up on gaining muscle when his stylist scolded him, telling him that he needed to return to his past size in order to fit into his clothing. Not that he was any healthier, really. He still wasn't eating enough, the only difference being that he was overworking.
     They return to their dorms a week later, after more concerts and more days of no sleep.
       Everyone seems ecstatic to get some much needed rest, except for Yoongi. He may take small power naps throughout the day, but sleeping at night is a nonexistent occurrence. Instead of going to bed with Hoseok, he rushes into his studio and locks himself in.
      And really, Hoseok should've known he'd be greeted with an empty room. It's always empty. He can't help the disappointment that bubbles in the pit of his stomach, or the worry that messes with his head. Nobody ever seems to notice Yoongi's distress but himself and Namjoon. Namjoon has known Yoongi the longest, certainly has a strong bond that no one could get in between.
     But Hoseok considers Yoongi to be his closest friend out of all of them. Yoongi hadn't even known him for two weeks before he joined him for New Years with chicken, for Christ's sake.
     Hoseok promises himself to bring Yoongi food in the morning. And with that, he's slipping into unconsciousness with his pillow underneath his head.
      When the morning comes, Yoongi has his eyes glued to his computer screen, headphones secured around his head. His new beats are blasting in his eardrums. Even after namjoon scolded him, exclaiming that he could go deaf one day. They already have concerts all the damn time, why not speed up the process?
    Maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with stupid voices.
    The bags under his eyes are prominent, but not as much as the tears that have slowly formed. He can't get the beats correct, he can't find what's missing. Min Yoongi is not a crier. But after days of no sleep, after days of constant vomiting and lack of proper nutrition, he's so tired. He's so weak.
    Yoongi lets out a muffled sob of frustration and rips the headphones off of his head, the cost of the expensive gear briefly fading out of his head as he tosses them to the floor. His hands are back over his eyes, rubbing them so harshly that he feels a dull sting forming. Even with his attempts to stop it, tears begin to slip down his flushed cheeks, dripping off of his chin and onto the desk.
    He's so tired.
You can't do anything right.
You shouldn't be alive.
You waste everyone's time.
You ruin everything.

Min Yoongi is so fucking tired. He wraps his arms around himself in a pathetic hug, curling in on himself as he releases his pent up feelings. His sobs come out as strangled wheezes, sounds of pure distress and sadness ripping through his throat. The only thing keeping him from shutting up is that the room is soundproof.
    Then, of fucking course, a knock on the door.
    Yoongi immediately snaps his head up in the direction of the sealed door, Adam's apple bobbing with his scratchy swallows and labored breaths.
   "Suga!"
  Of fucking course, the ray of sunshine has come.
   Hoseok. If it was anyone else, he would have told them to fuck off and suck a dick. But this is Jhope we are talking about, how could you tell him to choke on a cock?
    He rubs his eyes clean and swipes his fingers over his cheeks, ridding the wetness that formed due to his tears. He stumbles to the door and opens it, offering the most realistic smile he can.
    There stands Hoseok, grinning ear to ear with a cup of coffee and a bag filled to the brim with snacks. The smile on his face quickly fades away, though.
    And with that, he's pushing his way into the room, dropping the bags and whispering.
   "Yoongi, baby, what's wrong?"
  Yoongi begins to cry once more.