Missing Halo | bts + k.th

Reunited

Taehyung broke almost all of his promises. All of them. And now he was gone.

Hoseok sat on the edge of his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. The suitcase was still on the floor in front of him. Taehyung had forgotten to move it. Hoseok just stared into space as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

Why did this hurt so much? It had happened before. What was the difference? Hoseok knew there was a difference, he just didn't know what.

Twice. This was the second goddamn time. The second time a boy had come into Hoseok's life, made it great, and then left by killing themself. Hoseok sighed. His heart hurt, as well as his head.

But Taehyung... He was different from the other boy. The other boy's loved seemed fake. Unreal. Fabricated. They almost had no connection. But Taehyung... His love was real. Hoseok knew it was.

The other boy... It seemed that he only killed himself to make Hoseok's life even worse. Which it did, because Hoseok felt guilty about everything after the death. But Taehyung... He only killed himself to escape. And Hoseok couldn't blame him.

No, Hoseok felt empathy. Not sympathy.

He was done. He couldn't handle the game of love anymore. It was a game where no one won. And Hoseok had lost. Badly.

He grabbed a knife out from underneath his pillow. He couldn't do this anymore, just like Taehyung.

He missed the boy with all his heart. He couldn't bare living without him. Why was love so strong and deadly? Why did it hurt so much?

Hoseok got up and headed outside into his backyard, knife in hand. He looked up. The stars above were winking down at him again, just like they used to. Hoseok smiled at the sight of them. Then, his smile became a face of agony as sobs escaped his mouth. The stars reminded him too much of Taehyung.

He sat down on the soft grass as he ran his fingers along the blade of the knife. He continued to look up at the sky as tears fell to the ground.

      Taehyung was so far away. It was as if the dead boy were amongst the stars that they had gazed upon so long ago. Hoseok sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

He took a deep breath and raised the knife. He wanted to be reunited with his lover, even if it meant death. Taehyung meant too much to him. He honestly couldn't live without him, no matter how cliché it sounded.

Once.

Twice.

Four times.

Hoseok's body fell to the ground in a puddle of blood, which was soaking into the surrounding grass. The knife fell from his grasp. He smiled as white spots blurred his vision. He smiled as more tears fell from his eyes. He smiled as he heard shouts coming from the inside of his house. He smiled as he breathed his last breath.

      He smiled because he knew that Taehyung was waiting for him amongst the stars above. The stars that seemed closer with every passing second.

-

[Epilogue, After the Shooting]

      The halls were silent. Not a soul was present in the abandoned, dark school building. Everything was cold and still, especially the bodies collapsed on the floor, resting in blood with tarps thrown about them carelessly.

      In one hall, there lay a boy, far gone from the world. He hadn't known what hit him, nor would he ever. He would remain frozen in time with dreams of playing football, hanging out with Jimin, laughing, having fun,

existing,

all going to waste.

      But while time was frozen for him, it continued for everyone else. As the hours passed, Jimin would sit at home, crying, sulking in anger and regret. Why couldn't he have just listened to Taehyung and taken the gun? Oh, how different things would be...

      And just around the corner from the lifeless boy, there lay another. But this one had a darker story to tell. This boy was broken.

Lost.

Angry.

Lonely.

Hated.

Hopeless.

Misunderstood.

And because of this, there lay a gun by his side and a bullet in his head.

      And to be quite honest, the boy, Taehyung, didn't care if people understood him or not. He knew he'd be known as a monster, a killer, a cold-hearted psychopath after all of this. Because frankly, that's what he truly was.

He would never get to tell his story, never get to defend his un-defendable actions.

Though... there was still something left that could possibly allow people to take a small glimpse into the dark boys tortured mind. Perhaps it would tell the public all they would need to know about him, the boy who was born and raised on a jagged mountain and had been hopelessly walking towards a cliff ever since.

This "something" sat inside of his coat pocket, protected from his own puddle of blood. He made sure to obtain it before going through with his devious plan, even if it were the last thing he do.

Inside his coat pocket, there was a piece of folded up paper. On the paper was a bunch of scattered sentences. And at the top of the paper, in messy handwriting, it read,

"Fallen Angel."