sentimentality || yoonseok

2

How unbecoming to be placing your happiness in the hands of another. Giving yourself over to them, to hold, to cherish. The plasticity of human emotions, blinking hints no longer; now rolling over you like waves, any ray of sadness inclined by multitudes. We give our flesh to the ones we love, hoping they do not crush it between their fingers. All buckled knees and wavering hearts. Love is nothing but an experience, a mass of life lessons. I urge you – don't be fooled into believing it will be forever.

His life had been nothing but a number, a malicious reminder of what was to come. Pity written onto the faces of many who saw the number above his head wind down. Yoongi calculated that he would be exactly 23 years when he perished. He only had 4 months left.

And that's how Yoongi found himself surrounded by sweaty bodies and a deep bass rattling through the club, the flame in his throat rising as he downed his seventh shot of vodka in the last hour. His mind was hazy and his vision was clouded as he swayed to the music. He liked it here.

He liked not having eyes follow his every move, observing the numbers as they ticked down. He liked not having to worry about his death that seemed to be just around the corner. He liked the lack of emotional connection that people had while they danced, not caring about the countdown that hovered above each other's heads. They just wanted a good night.

And who was Yoongi to deny them of that?

So, just like every other night for the last 3 weeks, Yoongi left the club with a person in tow, taking them back to his flat. His neighbour often complained about the shrill whimpers and the bang of the headboard against the thin wall.

Yoongi had drowned himself in his own sorrow, letting the overwhelming reality of his departure pull him into the darkness of depression. His only remedy being the burn of alcohol against his throat and the smell of sex in the air. 4 months until he died, but only a week until his life turned around.

The counter of the bar across the road from his apartment had become home to him. Scotch had been his choice for the night, peanuts the only solid he had eaten that day. It had become habit for him, now. An obsession. The only way to forget.

"I can't believe it."

Yoongi rubbed his eyes and groaned before turning around and eyeing the man in the tattered suit, "Please, wish me my condolences now. Get it over with."

It wasn't like what the romance novels tell you. There was no fluttering heart and his legs did not cave beneath him. It could be the scotch swirling through his veins but, Yoongi felt nothing at all as he looked over him.

But then his eyes drifted to the numbers that ticked above his head. Such a small number. He would pass so soon. It seemed so oddly familiar. "4 months."

The man smiled and sat beside Yoongi, "Seems as if Death believes in love."

How could he utter that word? How could he say thatword without hesitation? "Well then, Death and I have a few things to chat about."

"Looks like you will soon enough," He laughed, his eyes bright and face flushed in a rosy tint that looked so charming on him.

"Looks like we both will in 4 months."

And it took that sentence for Yoongi to realise just how vital this man might be on his life. As much as he didn't believe in happy endings and the word beginning with 'L', he couldn't deny the fact that their death count was just seconds apart. "I'm Min Yoongi."