The Last Of Us | tk ✓

thirty-four | with or without

"So," Taehyung inquires conversationally, hands on his hips and an adorable pout gracing his plump mouth before he speaks, "where'd you get all the animals, hyung?"

"Old McDonald," replies Yoongi, sniggering at his own joke as Taehyung gapes at him with dubiety, for he did not know what the heck his older friend just phrased.

There have been moments, those that rendered him speechless, not because he was forced to be shunned in his unbeknownst blur of what the world cradled before the apocalypse hit, but simply could not comprehend how living with an image of a serene, zombie-less parallel feels like.

Of course, he was only four when fate unfold the tortures faced by humanity, but while he was in the depth of it, his child's brain had but only few memories of the bumpy, noisy roads and the choas of life he journeyed through.

Taehyung's eyes rest upon Namjoon, who is petting the brown mane of a horse tied to the pole, has his shoulders slumped, a solemn, surrendered poise to let the people know he is broken, yet coming together all the same, taking his time to reign the battles that rage in his heart; he needs his time to heal.

Softly, Taehyung taps him, speaking with his features rearranged to seem giving, understanding; "Hyung. Did you find your family?" He looks at the long, smart fingers that held the gun to kill Hara, fiddling with the Firefly pendent she found by the river many moons ago.

Namjoon's eyes are puffy, bloodshot, when he nods at Taehyung curtly, sniffing, wiping something on his temple with the inside of his damp wrist, raising his short hair nearby to stand up. Taehyung got the impression the older must be having a painful headache, and decided to turn to Yoongi for an explanation after giving Namjoon a kind smile.

Yoongi analyzed Namjoon with an inscrutable expression, then looks away as if pity was something he did not give out.

On the horizon, the sun that takes its time to reach higher up in the sky, he lingers his gaze to and, despite himself, carried a wistful tone to his next words as he elaborates, "He has a cousin here, just the one. Told him the parents were killed with the scout sent up over the hills last year. Got a grandpa too, he's got thalassemia. Aunt may or may not have lost contact via radio after she disappeared few weeks ago for ration duty." As if all this was not tragic enough, Yoongi gave a long sigh that illustrated the morose nature of the tale.

Namjoon was watching the horse neigh under its breath, uttering not a single phrase in the duration of this conversation. Meanwhile, Taehyung's cluttered brain was shaken by the footsteps that approached the trio.

It was Kim Seokjin.

The man was gorgeous, up close. He had that certain aura, an easy-going wave of photons emitting from him. When Taehyung recounted the fact that he was the same guy who murdered the mother of Jeongguk, he found himself not repulsed, but drawn to the reasoning of that occurance. If Ms. Jeon was infected, why slaughter her in front of her own kids?

Eyes that happened to be right in that moment flickered with a certain dignity, but Taehyung was quick to snag that ounce of regret, the blatant remorse, he was so accustomed to spot in his own reflection every fucking time: "Should've killed each other," he'd think, "Shouldn't have left him... like that." Seokjin slipped a part of himself Taehyung held on to once the former came to indulge with the other two.

"I'm gonna take Taehyung away, he must be famished," said Seokjin tenderly, placing his hand on the said person's bicep. Nothing forced in his manners, Taehyung still found the other a bit commanding, if not authoritative."Come on, boy," says the forty-five years old, inclining his head toward the open space and the low buildings that stood erect. "Meat will do you some good, you look a bit skinny for thirteen."