To What Was Ours

tiring (taehyung)

It was so out of character - and he knew that, too. Over the years, he had matured from his eccentric teenage self, but he was still carefree, and somewhat wild when he could afford to be. In the dorm, with no cameras around and only his Hyung's to bear witness, Taehyung talked loudly and laughed even louder. He always wanted to explore something new, use his days off to take the chance of being in public and roaming the city with a suitable company. The sun may tan his skin more than the stylist's noonas preferred, but before, he hardly found it in him to give a damn, basking in its selfless warmth.

That was then. That was before his Hyung's exchanged worried glances when they thought he was too out of it to notice and tentatively touched him like they were afraid he would break under the slightest of pressure.

That was before Jungkook was dead.

When the news got out, and the whole world knew that Jungkook was dead, many viral posts were spreading around, telling the aghast and grieving fans to remember the remarkable person the Idol was, rather than the depressive shockwave his death had bestowed upon them all. Taehyung had seen them, garnering thousands of likes and thousands of more comments, sharing pictures and videos and memories; but all he could feel was the ache, and never a pang of love and fondness. Solely the knowing and never the gratitude.

He was only a ghost in the house. Jungkook was lucky, in that sole way, because ghosts did not feel, or resent if they were kind enough in life. He ate when told, bathed when forced, and he slept.

"Hold onto me if you need to," Jin whispered into his ear, his voice weak and quivering. Taehyung couldn't formulate an answer with his lips glued together, nodding once to acknowledge his Hyung. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, though it was autumn, from stress alone.

On the other side of the country, thousands of fans were gathered in Seoul, holding melting wax, bouquets, and albums in their mittens, clinging onto each other as Jungkook's voice filtered through a speaker. Other idols were present as well, giving the ultimate sacrifice for Bangtan by allowing their grief to be photographed, standing together on the stage, and reciting prayers to the empty casket in front of them.

It was a risky move to have both funerals take place, one in Seoul for the world, and one there in Busan, for those who had truly lost their world. But it paid off well. Busan was almost like a ghost town, anyone interested having traveled up to mourn the nation's treasure, not expecting anything to transpire in their city just yet. Especially when the six were only in the capital that morning, refusing to show their faces but making a few statements, leaving their respective items on Jungkook's gifted, flashy, casket.

But Jungkook never wanted to be buried in Seoul, and they knew that. He wanted to be in Busan, with his family and friends - home. At any moment, a hoard of cameras could've shown, ruining their private speeches in the church, snapping photos of Jungkook's real body being lowered into the ground, yet they knew that the anxiety was worth it. Jungkook deserved at least that much.

He dreaded the day with every bone in him. It had been two weeks since that night, and it was well due to time, but nausea crumpled him whenever he thought about facing Jungkook's extended family, hearing the anguished speeches, drowning in the guilt, the grief, the sorrow -

Taehyung thought that he wouldn't make it past the initial service. All six of them had been offered to make speeches, but only Namjoon and Seokjin had taken the opportunity. He knew that he'd regret it one day, far down the line, but what a waste of time it would be if he got up there only to break down after the first few words. Hearing his Hyung's struggle, with the words strangling in their throats while they tried to memorialize their maknae in all of his due glory, penetrated deeper into the hole inside of him, and he poured blood over Jimin as he held him and cried.