Petals Behind Glass | Taegi

9- Poor, Unfortunate Souls

A sharp numbness clung to his cheek, its biting chill on his ear snapping his eyes open.

Yoongi sat up, his frigid face aching to be detached from the crisp cold.

Darkness surrounded him. No matter how much he blinked, squinted, or rubbed his eyes. There was nothing around him but pitch-black.

An icy cool still soaked through his skin, and looking down, he grew aware of his own naked body lying on a pink drape. Rushing to stand with a panicked gasp, he wrapped it around himself, but now his bare feet were vulnerable to the glacial floor.

He searched around in desperation, skipping from one shivering foot to the next, hoping to find something, anything, warm he could rest on.

Further away, in the midst of all the obscurity, shone a small yet bright light.

Yoongi dashed towards it, pushing through the piercing frost on his feet, though forgetting to be careful not to slip and fall the closer he reached his goal.

The bright light was in fact an array of lights cascading down from the ceiling like a chandelier curtain. As Yoongi approached, the lights bundled into a circle raised from the floor just enough to gradually disclose what was enveloped in their hold.

First, the familiar wooden structure of a grand piano. Then, sitting leisurely atop the piano's lid, his long hair covering the skin his dark robe couldn't be bothered to, a simpering Taehyung.

Yoongi blushed at the recollection of the garment he had worn the night before. "What's all this about?"

"Sit, dearest." Taehyung gestured towards the stool. "Your poor feet must be gelid."

In a matter of seconds, Yoongi was on the stool, his feet firmly pressed against the piano's pedals, sighing in relief.

Taehyung chuckled. "What a shame you have never charmed me with your musical talents."

Yoongi quirked his eyebrow. "Really? I've never played for you?"

"Scandalous, I know." Taehyung feigned offense. "I propose this treasonous act be repaired at once."

Yoongi giggled, his eyes landing on the music sheet perched on the rack holder.

"Will you be singing?" His lips twisted up.

"Do not be ridiculous, Yoongi. I am not one who sings."

Yoongi laughed. "I can see that."

"If you can see whether or not I sing, you are sharper eyes than most."

Yoongi rolled his eyes with a smile, releasing his hands from their snug confinement. "Sure, I'd love to play for you."

"Oh, lovely!" Taehyung clasped his hands together. "Please, play like this will be your last! Under no circumstance should you cease until the end!"

"As you wish, my Lord." Yoongi joked.

The music was dark and ominous, a heavy contrast from the previous light atmosphere, yet it undoubtedly belonged in the empty void in which it resonated.

From the first note, a story was being woven throughout the piece's strict pattern. It overflowed with a strange beauty only Yoongi's flexible fingers over the keys could lace together, a structure textured with simplicity and adorned with mature complexity.

Taehyung was far from immune to the composition's intensity. His eyes were shut tight, heavy breathing uneven, body shaking and sweaty. Long hair clinging to his skin, he pulled it up only to have it fall over his face as he hunched his back with a muffled grunt of pain, revealing his deep scars.