"If this can no longer resonate, No longer make my heart vibrate, Then like this may be how I die my first death"
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There was a period of time Min Yoongi really wanted to die- and get rebirthed as a rock, but that was beyond the point. Moving was tiring. Breathing was tiring. Existing was tiring. In conclusion, the blonde shooting-guard had wanted to die.
Had, mind you, because he absolutely didn't now.
"Fuck!" he gasped. "Oh fuck-"
Yoongi's legs went out from under him. He thudded hard onto the floor on his back. He pressed his hands weakly to the gutting stab, hoping that by some miracle -any of that dumb luck Soyeon always somehow had- doing so would stop the bloodflow, or at least reduce it. He felt his own hands drench with the oozing red liquid as clear as rubies. The rubies floated down his hand like a curse, reminding him of his identity; the unluckiest soul alive.
Fucking Kim Taehyung, he internally sighed. Why did you have to stab me? Now i really am going to die. Pity. I just found the will to live.
He had just gotten back with his childhood best friend, dismissed his petty grudge towards her unnatural luck, and he was happy with how his life was going. Sure, he still occasionally thought of life as a rock, but his current life was appeasing enough for him.
Now as the life fluid drained out of him in it's garish red and his skin took on the pallor of a corpse, all he could think of was what he had ever done wrong in his previous life to deserve such a horrible end. He felt greatly wronged- he suddenly felt that he was way too young to die. He hadn't even graduated from high school for crying out loud!- and his stomach felt sick, then one by one he lost control of his limbs until finally his head slumped. He could hear the faint sloshing sounds of the tall soccer player smearing something- most probably Yoongi himself's or Jimin's blood- on a surface, but he could control none of his body, he couldn't open his eyes nor raise a middle finger. Then, like a ghost, he slipped into sweet sweet memory-lane.
Seventeen years old Yoongi's heart had leaped the moment the Coach gave him the congratulatory sheet.
He had made the cut. He had made it into the main team. He's one of them now.
One of the Seoul Royals.
"I'm a Seoul Royal," he whispered to himself. The title felt foreign on his tongue despite it being repeatedly said by himself all his life, but he knew he could get use to it. The whole situation just felt so...surreal.
His petite best friend scurried over on her short legs, dashing at lightning speed from the bleachers where she was originally chatting with a very good-looking blonde boy at.
