Of Gods and Misfortune

Snow lay laden on the ground, coating the vast expanse of the city before him. The city held her breath, it seemed; no sound was permeable save the crunch of his feet. Flurries met him in resistance and clouds littered the sky.

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower lay bare, void of the season's change. The color of the design a stark contrast to the abrasive nature of the endless whites and muted grays. Flocks of ravens swarmed the tower, flying in between the metal of the structure.

He stood on the top of the step, turning briefly to glance down at the eerie tunnel. The weather won him out and he descended, hoping to find solace; from the cold and a broken heart. People greeted him left and right, though he opted for a place of solitude. Sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey was procured. The music thumped weakly throughout the club, a song by the name of La danse de la mort filled the silence. A chuckled emitted from his mouth, dry and empty of emotion. Fitting, he thought.

Bodies met each other in the dark of the room. People desperate for something to feel alive, never minding that the atmosphere was suffocating. It was if the troubles of the outside world carried over, a constant flirt with death nipping at their feet. Lights danced around and reflected off the glass, allowing for patterns to dance across his skin.

"Is this seat taken?" He turned to look at the voice, losing all color as he did. He wished he hadn't.

He swiveled back in his chair, "I suppose not."

The man smiled and accepted his words as an invitation. The tightness of his pants a minor distraction from his glass, his gaze averting quickly. His form was oddly graceful and stare full of knowing. It felt that when he looked at Taehyung, he understood him. He wasn't supposed to be able to read him like he did. "You know, I lost someone close to me too," with that, his head snapped up and eyes narrowed. He offered a small smile of reassurance, his fingertips meeting Taehyung's skin.

The night carried on and the couple progressed from strangers to acquaintances to confidantes; drunken secrets spilling from their lips into the air of the bar. The pair stepped out into the cold of the Parisian night, impervious as they reveled in each other's warmth. Jimin turned to him with an inquisitive look, "Shall we continue this?" Paris was indeed the city of love. Lust, more so.

Bodies met each other once again, full of passion and want. Searching for something to fill the void others had left behind. Taehyung's moves were hesitant, where Jimin's were quick and desperate. Jimin sat abruptly, his weight sitting against him, reminding him that this was ever so real and wasn't a cruel joke played by his alcohol induced mind.

Bile rose within his mouth. "You remind me so much of him."

"So don't think about him, focus on us tonight," Jimin's lips clashed with his and the night ensued.

His eyes trailed him in the early hours of the morning, rays of light filtering in from the drawn curtains. Jimin reached into his pocket coat, fishing for a card. The swaying of his shirt against him coming to a halt as he read the name: Kim Taehyung. Quickly, he stuffed the card back into the coat and crawled back into bed as to not get caught. He tensed against the movement, laying still as to not allude to the fact that he was awake. Great care was taken in rising from the bed; as to not acknowledge the mistake that both were aware of.

"Taehyung, come back to bed," Jimin's hand reached for his, only to meet a turned back.

"Don't call me that," Taehyung's tone sharp and piercing. He no longer went by that name, dead to him with the passing of Jungkook. His eyes glinted in a way, telling Jimin more than words ever could. A soft sigh could be heard behind him, the sound of sheets shuffling as she rose from the bed. The gathering of strewn clothes and the opening and closing of the door, though only regret resounded throughout the room.

A tune so often played, Taehyung knew it by heart; remorse. He approached the billowing curtains, looking out upon the city that tempted his virtue. A distinct replication of the night they met in his view. His husband or the man he spent the last of his morals on? A hollow chuckle, sullen in the morning air. He could no longer tell, his thoughts a jumbled mess as the streets beneath enthralled his gaze.

I've betrayed you...us. A bitter thought for a bitter man. A broken sob permeated the open air, tears unable to follow; he had done his fair share of that before. "Jungkook," it was like a mantra against his lips, repeated till it melded with the sound's of the world. For what would he not give but to go back in time. Jungkook turned to meet him in a field, the smile that greeted only reserved for him. Undoubtedly, it had been one of their finer moments. All that greeted Taehyung now was a sharp gust of wind and the knowledge of a sinful act. The cold pervaded his frame, and unlike before, nothing could starve off this pyrrhic feeling residing inside him—nor did he want it gone. For this was his punishment; to himself and for his disloyalty.

There Taehyung stood, locked behind a door with nothing but a plan. The water was steadily rising and with it, the longing to be reunited. He sat at the edge of the tub, the water dancing under the tips of his fingers, his thoughts trailing to far off places. Longing for something to feel alive from, he drew two lines on the inside of his wrists. The remainder of his clothes and dignity were discarded, sitting down in the bath and drawing in a sigh. He raised an arm, aimlessly watching the blood race across his skin. La danse de la mort . "Forgive me," it wasn't so much a question as it was a plea. He slipped beneath the water. A voice called out to him. He would know it even in madness.