"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...
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The moment I put my box of tampons on the counter, Yoongi's impenetrable cat eyes wash over me and I probably feel more exposed than that time last summer at the local swimming pool when I jumped from the highest springboard and lost my bikini top. It's subtle, the disappointment, the slight twitch of his lips as he narrows his gaze. Nevertheless, I can feel it like a slap of his hand on my cheek; burning shame making me look down at my feet.
"Why did you leave, the night I was shot?"
You can count on Yoongi to go straight to the point.
"Hello Yoongi, how are you today?" I reply, vexed by his accusing tone.
"Oh please. Like you care."
Alright, I really deserve all of his bitterness; I left the guy at the hospital and didn't talk to him for a few weeks after he got shot because of me. To this day, I still haven't found the courage to confront any of it, preferring to isolate myself like a coward instead of trying to even process the situation. I feel so bad about everything that went down to a point it's making me feel physically sick, and in the end, I rather push it all away then even apologize for my actions. Anyway, those four boys are so much better without me. My mere presence at their side seems to bring nothing but pain and troubles they certainly don't need. I'm a complication. A bad-luck magnet.
The look on Yoongi's face in this moment confirms everything I thought to be true; he loathes my guts. The boy is sitting on the other side of the corner store counter, strands of black hair poking out of his grey beanie and lips pressed together as he inspects the expression on my face, one I'm trying to keep as blank as possible. He's wearing a black raincoat on top of a hoodie despite the heater beside him, the insulation of the small shabby shop being bad enough to let the cold winter wind whistle its way inside.
"I actually care..." I begin, unsure how I should even start to explain how apologetic I am for his wound, "How do you feel?"
"I got shot, Sage, what do you think?" he brutally lets out, sarcasm dripping at every word, "I'm doing fucking great! So fucking glad to be here right now!"
His brutal tone makes me back off a step, remorse closing-in my throat. I wasn't doing awesome today to start with, but this is just the cherry on top of my already problematic evening. All of it crashes down a little too viciously and I start crying like an idiot in front of the boy, my eyes filling with water before I can even try to compose myself.
"I – I'm so sorry," I bawl, completely embarrassed by my lack of restrain.
Yoongi winces, raising an eyebrow and backing off in his seat like my display of emotion is a contagious disease he doesn't want to catch.
"Jeeez, lady, I was just kidding..."
I start grabbing chocolate bars from the display near the cash and putting them on the counter, Coffee Crisps, Snickers, and Caramilks piling up in front of me.
