Post-Apocalyptic (A BTS Fanfiction)

15

The house is dark, the only light coming from the setting sun shining through the broken windows. I enter slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. It's quiet, the glass from the shattered windows crunching loudly under my feet.

I enter what used to be the foyer and look around. "Yoongi?" I call out, my voice almost a whisper. But there's no sign of the dark-haired boy anywhere.

Taking a deep breath, I begin searching the rest of the house. He's not in the kitchen, nor is he in what appeared to be an old office. I carefully make my way up an old set of stairs, the railing wobbly underneath my grip. I enter the first bedroom, but he's not in there either. Nor is he in the bedroom next to it.

One more door stands at the end of the hallway, shut against the world. He's in there, I think to myself. I shudder and take another deep breath. Come on, Y/N. You've dealt with zombies and your parents. Talking to Yoongi should be nothing.

Still, my hand shakes as I reach out to the door. I slowly turn the handle and open the door even slower. Poking my head in, I can barely just make out Yoongi's form sitting on the old bed in the dark, his back to me.

I enter the room fully and quietly shut the door behind me. He doesn't move a muscle and I take a cautious step towards him. "Yoongi?" It comes out as a shaky whisper. He doesn't respond and I take another step forward.

"Yoongi," I say a little louder this time. Swallowing, I close the distance between us and place my hand on his shoulder.

He flinches at my touch, but doesn't pull away. Taking that as a sign that I'm welcome, I slowly sit down next to him. His back still faces me, but at least he's not telling me to get lost like I thought he would.

After a few moments, I lay my chin on his shoulder and look up at him with wide eyes. "Talk to me?"

He turns his face slightly to me, his eyes vacant of any emotion. The moment they look into mine, though, he seems to melt and gives me a sad smile. "You followed me."

I frown. "Jimin's a jerk," I say. "I don't want to talk to him right now."

Yoongi sighs. "And I'm innocent?"

I furrow my brows and lift my head. "Well... No. But he had no right to throw that in your face. And he shouldn't have hit you." I place my fingers on his chin and gently turn his face so that he's looking at me. "Are you okay?"

He shakes my hand away. "I'm fine," he says, his voice cold.

"Yoongi," I scold. "Let me see." I put my hand back on his cheek and turn his face towards me again. He winces at the pressure and I frown. "You have a black eye."

He laughs. "I probably deserve it."

"How so?"

He shrugs and looks away again. "I don't know."

I move so that we are shoulder to shoulder. "Well, I don't think you did."

He shakes his head. "He has a point, you know," he says with a frown. "About my grandfather. Maybe I should be grateful that he's alive."

"What happened?"

He turns to me. "What?"

"What happened between you and your grandfather?"

He doesn't answer me at first. I take his hand and give it a light squeeze. "You can talk to me," I whisper.

He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand back. "I know. I'm just collecting my thoughts."

"Take your time." I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

Moments pass before Yoongi let's out another deep breath. "Before the disease broke out, I had only met my grandfather a couple of times," he starts. "My parents never really took me around him. They didn't like when I was left alone with him. My grandmother had divorced him years before I was born, but I didn't understand. I was just a kid.