quiet ➫ yoongi-centric

0.5

His throat tightened up, pressure building up in his stomach.

He could feel it rising up, bubbling just over his chest. His eyes stung ever so slightly as he tried holding back chocked sobs. His fingers were numb from having been at work for nearly four hours now.

The tiny clock near his bed read 3:46 AM; marking the 36 hours he'd been awake. Sleep seemed like a distant dream now, something which used to come so easily to him was so out of reach. It used to be his coping method as a child on the days he felt terrible, earning him names such as lazy or useless. And even though he acted like he didn't care, the words got to him, ever so slowly mimicking a snowflake. Slowly drifting in the air, floating so weightlessly but eventually crashing into the ground.

So he gave sleep up, he gave it up for music, for writing, for dance practice, for his friends. Yet somehow, they never seemed to notice. The small sacrifices, staying back at the studio to work for a song so the rest of them could enjoy a night in; slipping in an extra piece of bread into one of the boy's plate so could have more to eat. Only it seemed to backfire, the members would often complain of him being too cut off, not even noticing the missing food item which suddenly seemed to have appeared on their plate.

But Yoongi never minded. He loved them too much, even if they would never reciprocate.

The bright melody of the song seemed dull to his ears, the brightly lit computer screen burned his eyes ever so slightly. It was supposed to be a love song for the album after Dark & Wild, although it seemed really far away. He'd rather lock himself up in his studio then go back to the dorm, he didn't want to be somewhere he wasn't wanted.

Fatigue had settled deep in his bones, seeped under his skin, regret merged with his blood cells, his thoughts were laced with a malicious voice he could not recognize yet it seemed so familiar to his.

A sudden notification from his phone lit up the whole room, his exhausted eyes slowly opening to look at the phone which lay on the desk in front of him.

A single text message, from Namjoon. A simple one.

R u ok?

Three words, three small words which may have held no substantial value. Which may have been a complete coincidence or a moral obligation for leaving Yoongi locked up by himself for long, yet they seem to trigger a reaction Yoongi would have been unable to predict himself.

A slight wetness made him realize the tears which seemed to flow from his eyes. His fingers suddenly seemed to stop mid-way, his hands trembling. A sudden flood of emotions seemed to burst through his chest, and suddenly it felt as though he could not breathe. Coughs and sobs came out together in one ugly mixture as he dug his face into his palms.

He was so tired, tired of everything.

Tried of failing, tired of never being good, tired of never trying hard enough, tired of disappointing everyone. He was tired of letting everyone down, he was tired of the words his brain through at him, digging through his pale skin, leaving scars which no one except for himself could see. He was so tired, tired of his friends being unable to see what was eating away at him, leaving a shell of the boy he used to be. He was tired of cutting himself up to please the people around him and yet, being unable to do so. He was tired of existing.

He wanted to scream, no-no, he wasn't okay, he hasn't been okay in a long time, such a long time that he doesn't remember who he is without his sadness anymore. He doesn't know how to live without voices judging everything he does. He doesn't know who he is anymore, he isn't sure he has ever known himself. He hates himself, he can't stand himself. The only reason he is still alive is because he can't die.