"I just couldn't resist."
"Only sacred things deserve to be messed with."
It all ended with a dead kid near the train tracks.
Six years later, the story repeats itself and two long-forgotten friends might find out that when death tries to play match...
- With your feet on the air and your head on the ground -
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This seems like an important moment; one I will remember later as a game changer. Something greater is going on, and for now, I'm not sure how to deal with any of it without falling apart. The ground, so solid and firm under my feet is shifting, revealing there is nothing much keeping me afloat after all.
Taehyung is a prostitute. Hoseok shot Yoongi.
I know those things to be true, yet can't fully understand it, like I'm still waiting for someone to grab my shoulders and look at me right in the eyes, promising me it's all a bad dream.
Minutes after Taehyung left, I'm still huddled behind the vending machine, my ass on the floor and wondering how much he hates me for spying on him and Hazel on a conversation that was definitely not supposed to be heard. I don't want to go back in that waiting room, sit beside him like nothing happened and watch Yoongi's mom go a little crazier every second as she waits for some news from her dying son. However, I can't go home or go back to school after something like this.
I truly feel like in this moment, there is not a single place on Earth for me to be.
"Sage! I was looking for you!"
I turn sideways, catching my dad's worried expression as he walks toward me.
"Dad!" I stand up, running to him.
He opens his arms and I hug him tightly, burying my head into his chest. His sweater smells like formaldehyde, dried thyme, and wool; the familiar perfume of my childhood. It's accompanied by the warmness of his arms around me, snippets of memories floating at the outskirt of my consciousness; salty child tears and snot soaking his shoulder as he kept me close and patted my back. I realize his presence is all I needed to let go of the lump in my throat, eyes watering as I press myself against him.
"My friend – Yoongi – he got shot," I stutter, emotions closing-in on me.
"I know, sweetheart," he sighs, "The hospital called me, I came as fast as I could..."
He holds on to me, and I can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the fast beat indicating he was truly worried about me. Usually, I would despise any form of public display of affection with my father, thinking it's totally uncool to do so, but today I need a free pass, and I certainly don't give a damn about what the nurses think. I feel small and childlike in his arms, protected, which immediately makes me feel a little better.
"Can we go home?" I ask, tears streaming down my face.
"Are you sure? You don't want to stay here and wait to see if your friend is fine?"
My heart sinks as I shake my head.
No. There is nothing I can do for Yoongi now, it's not like staying would make a difference in his recovery. He's in good hands with Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, and his mom. If I were him, the last person I would want to see right now is the one responsible for all of the mess that ensued a shot being fired.
