To What Was Ours

tiring (taehyung)

'Kook

You know I was kidding when I said I wanted to be the youngest, right?

That was so long ago. We were just kids. But I was just joking. I wasn't being serious. I never wanted to be the youngest. And even if did, I can't even enjoy it, if you're not my Hyung instead.

I don't know how's it's been 3 weeks. Everything's just . . moving together, leaving me somewhere behind. I don't think about anything else besides you. You know I was kidding, right?

I love you. You were always the best little brother. If I wasn't the best Hyung, know that I always wanted to be. I wish that I could think of you so much happier, but I can't. I only think about you in the past tense when everyone else's tongue is still struggling to accept that. I promise I'm not this cold towards you, it's just the only way I can write it right now.

Tae.'

---

Taehyung didn't know until he woke up the next morning.

He couldn't recall when exactly he had fallen asleep, somehow able to through a raw throat, still choking on sobs, and the sounds of his Hyung's pulling their hair out - crying through the thin walls, destroying every inch of their room searching for the hidden logic, stepping into the shower only to stare at the faucet until the water eventually ran cold.

He didn't remember when they had gotten home. Who had dropped them off, or how they were able to even stand up and leave that hospital, without all seven in check.

There were hardly any full memories from that night - it all morphed together in a delirious haze, things he could vaguely remember only broken edges. His subconscious so overwhelmed with comprehending what had transpired that he had slept dreamlessly, resetting his thoughts by dawn, when he had awoken.

Taehyung breathed in, and there was a solid, profound, moment of peace.

It all came crashing down when he exhaled; instantly falling through his mattress, through the second and first floors, all the way underground, where dirt piled unrelenting pressure down on his chest.

And at that moment, Taehyung knew.

He knew.

He knew that Jungkook was dead and that he had begun the first 24-hour cycle without him. That every day for the rest of his life, he would have to wake up, again and again, knowing that Jungkook was dead.

Everything fell out of place after that.

Jin tried to feed him every day. And he tried as well, knowing that he needed to and Jin deserved a reward for his patience, but he couldn't get his mouth to chew. His jaw stuck like someone had turned a lock. If his saliva was able to water it down enough, then his throat would close, tight with the lump that always got in the way. They'd sit there and wait for it to dissolve and work its way down itself, his body eager to swallow any bit in. Wait in absolute silence.

He hated being awake. Being awake meant that he had to endure each terrible second, wandering around a home he had known intimately before, and so he decided to sleep until the pain went away. Even if that took a million years. It was better than sending a million texts, blowing up a phone that had been crushed upon impact.

When he couldn't take the easy route out, Taehyung's eyes remain glazed and out of focus, eyebrows scrunching now and then, presumably attempting to recognize something of the past. He stayed out of the sun, away from any of the windows (he drew the curtains shut, but Jin always pulled them back open,) and hidden under Jungkook's hoodie, wasting away on the couch, or his bed, waiting for the universe to finally take pity on him and return what had been taken.