Trying to behave

Chapter 14

December 2015

Wednesday, the 30th, 10:12pm

Seoul, South Korea

Hoseok isn't sure if love is supposed to hurt as bad as it's hurting him.

He's been wondering, day in, night out, but the universe's refusal to give him answers is about as strong as his refusal to stop being a little bitch.

Is love supposed to feel like this?

It sure didn't come with a fucking handbook.

Is it supposed to feel like his heart is being ripped to shreds with every passing second? Or how nothing will ever be okay in the world unless he either attaches his mouth to Yoongi's or gets laid in general very soon?

Is it?

He sure the fuck doesn't know.

Sure he'd heard about it damn near everywhere, heartbreak and loss and all that, and by come capacity, seen it on Yoongi's Bad Jimin Days, but aside from the sinking feeling of realising all the things he could never have, Hoseok hadn't given the concept much thought.

He was happy.

Happy with himself and his dance job and his circumstances.

Now, though, now that he's grudgingly timed himself for a straight three days just to see how much he's done so much as smile, he isn't so sure.

He gets the heartbreak bullshit. And he doesn't want to.

Fuck Min Yoongi and fuck love and everything else in between.

(He's only smiled once.)

The morning is cold and the chill hangs in the air like a thick blanket of nothing but utter depression when Hoseok stumbles out onto his front porch, bundled up in a jacket and a cloud of his own actual Yoongi induced despair.

Bitterly laughs a little.

When did he get so dark?

Maybe he should stop smoking so much, he distantly lets cross his mind when he manages to light up a cigarette with cold, shaky fingers but ends up not giving a fuck; wonders when smoking became regular for him.

Wonders when he actually started welcoming the smoke in his lungs.

Knows exactly when.

It's not really good for him considering he's a dancer and needs to be up and on his feet all the time, but none of that matters when Hoseok inhales; sighs in relief at the burn that descends down his throat and spreads through his entirety like wildfire.

It's not good for him.

But Yoongi wasn't either. Never had been. Yet here he is.

He sighs, lets out a puff of smoke and watches it mix with his breath, cold and visible in the air. Half-heartedly promises himself to at least show up to the dance studio later, or some time, and be productive, so as to not end up sinking into a hole of his own thoughts.

That's a lie, actually.

Hoseok breathes out again, a little slowly; marvels at the smoke coming out of his mouth and pretends it's a piece of his soul he doesn't want to keep. It's a lie. He's already sunk into his thoughts.

It's getting out that's the issue.

He sighs, chews the cigarette between his teeth and very faintly wishes death and demons upon everyone who has hurt him so.

And maybe, just maybe raises himself up on his tiptoes casually to stare into the yard next to his, still cold and barren but surprisingly devoid of Jumpscare Boy for once in this lifetime.