Empty~ Jhope x Suga

Chapter 1

Yoongis point of View

     I woke up today. Nothing special. I'm still tired. I don't want to get up, but I know I have to. I still feel empty. Nothing abnormal. It seems that everytime I wake up, I think that the emptyness won't be there. It always is, it dampens me even more. I just exist. No more than a mere human being, unable to truly feel anymore. Yes, I can still feel normal emotions: Happiness, sadness, anger, etc. but they aren't as stong as they once were. They don't last very long either. Like a match wavers and finally dies out affter a whisp of air brushes by it. I'm used to not feeling content, so I'm okay I guess.

     I groan after a few minutes of staring blankly at my wall and get up. I have an unflawed technique of my morning routine. I hate it. It's too spotless and uptight. I don't fight it though. I don't want to make mom and dad mad. I shuddered at the thought of it. I've tried to do things my own way before. In the most discret way I could possibly imagine, but they always find out. It puzzles me how. I shrug it off and proceed into my bathroom. I do everything in exact order, and at the upmost perfection I can acheive. Which is never enough to my parents.

     I'm finished and go to get dressed. I open up my wardrobe to pick something. It's hard to choose, speaking of which every shirt is basically the same style, but different by the bland, distasteful colors. Another thing I was forced to have. Come to think about it, every aspect of my life is forced by my parents.

     I pay no attention as I slip on my shirt and an ordinary pair of jeans. I pat my hair down once more before walking into the living room to say 'good morning to my parents,' feeling more as if I am going into a buisness meeting.

     "Good morning, Mother," I bow in her direction. "Good morning, Father." I bow to him as well. They give me stern looks in return instead of saying anything. Especially my mother staring into me.

     "You have woken up late again, Yoongi." She said, with a tone of disgust in her voice. "This is the second time this year. You are getting out of control. You are such a disgrace." She spat. This was a normal thing. To get on to me for the simplist things.

     I hang my head down. "Sorry, Mother, I did not notice. It will not happen again." I say on auto-pilot. Having this conversation at least once per day on different topics on how I am such a screw up.

     "You never notice anything you ignorant boy." She scoffed once more. "Now go make your lovely Father and I some tea, while you will have none."

     "Yes Ma'am." I lift my head up and go into the kitchen preparing everything very meticulously, making no noise, knowing that if I do, consequences will be made.

     Once I finished I brought the tray to the small table in the living room I sit it down and bow once more. "Please, enjoy your tea. May I be excused to my bedroom?"

     She gave a curt nod and I walked stiffly to my room. Words hurt. They really do. But I've learned to block them out. I must if I want to remain sane. I inaudibly sigh and sit at my desk, that is piled with books. Medical books that I have no interest in. My parents want me to be a doctor, and make good money so I can one day take care of them as they did me, but I couldn't care less. I don't want to be a doctor. I haven't read any of the books. I pretend to though, while I write music. It's my passion. It fills up the emptyness, it's euphoric. Music is like a drug to me. It takes me out of my life for awhile, sends me somewhere nice. My parents don't know. I'm only allowed to listen to classical music, but I don't. I'm in love with hip-hop. I love all types of music, rock, reggae etc. but I don't feel as connected with them as I do hip-hop. The strong lyrics and the upbeat vibe. How could you not love it? I write my own music, and rap. I also compose. It's the only time I can be myself.

I carelessly grab a book and open it, grabbing my notebook too to "take notes." I put my headphones on and turn on BigBang, a k-pop group I look up to and shuffle their music that I have on my phone and lay my head down for a few seconds, letting the music consume me. I'm creating more lyrics for an album that I'm working on. It's nothing serious, speaking of which I'm a nobody, but I don't really care. When I rap a take on a new persona. His name is Agustd. He is everything I want to be. Fearless, he can't be held back. He listens to no one, and gives no fucks. He is who I would be if I didn't have these invisble ropes holding me down and causing my depression to get worse. But I can't do anything. I have no where to go.