The figure ahead was cast in a half shadow.
Every muscle and curve on their body flowed from the light into the dark. It was a living work of art. Their skin looked so tempting to touch; every move gave away their strength. Yoongi's eyes were locked onto the body of the female hundred or so metres ahead of him. He edged himself closer and closer. He wanted to see who it was. He had no sense and couldn't determine who they were, yet he felt he knew them. He wanted to see her face, illuminated by moonlight. He wanted to see who had him so hypothesised.
He reached close enough to touch the girl when she finally turned to look at him. Still, he couldn't see her face nothing was blocking it. However, his mind had put a mental mask over her.
Deep down, he knew who it was. He knew who it was all along.
He reached an arm out, and his pale fingers grazed the top of her shoulder. The girl seemed to dissolve into his touch and hastily enveloped her arms around his neck. For a brief moment, he was frozen in shock from the sudden contact, but as soon as he gathered his mind, he squeezed back.
Yoongi's nose rested in her neck's crook, and the familiar honeysuckle scent filled his head. His hands rested on her back, slightly gripping the black fabric, but after a few minutes, they started to feel sticky and wet. He looked over her shoulder to see his hands were drenched in a crimson liquid.
Blood was leaking profusely out of the girl's back.
The blood didn't gush out; it was more of a constant flow in time with the beating of her heart. At first, it came thick and strong, flowing through Yoongis fingers as they clasped the ripped flesh. He felt the blood move over his hand, the viscous fluid no warmer or cooler than his skin. After a few more moments, the blood was still leaving the rapidly paling flesh, but the pulses were slower and weaker.
Then he realised the body was no longer holding on. It was draped over him, all limp and unresponsive. Yoongi felt his insides curdle.
As he looked down, the clothes on the girl's back had disappeared, replaced by a mixture of fresh and old cuts, all ranging in size. The more he looked, the more cuts appeared, and the more blood oozed out of the dead body. His small intestine started to make loops around his larger one and squeezed tight. He wanted to be sick, but something was in his throat, stopping anything from coming up.
The strong scent of death filled his nose.
A short scream tore through Yoongi like a remarkable shard of glass. He felt his pulse quicken. The cry came again; it sounded desperate. It brought his head up.
All around him was a ring of people hidden in the fog. They had to be at least eighty people dressed in various items. Some had soldiers' uniforms; others were dressed in rags. Every six or so people, someone would hold a touch. The orange glow lit up the dark green of the grass.
He heard a sequence of thuds. Some heads had fallen from a body.
This time he could see the faces, but the heads were no longer attached to their bodies. Yoongi watched his six closest friends bounce and roll in his direction as they were thrown. He felt he could finally be sick.
His lip curled together, and he kissed his teeth. He gagged. His body felt like lead coursed through his veins instead of blood.
All his friends were disfigured and hacked into something grotesque. It hurt. A watery layer started to glaze his eyes. So, he kept his gaze on the sky.
If Yoongi looked forward, he would see an army holding his brother's decapitated bodies, and if he looked down, it was the body he refused to acknowledge the identity. He couldn't bear to look any direction other than up because Yoongi thought he might die if he looked again.
Before he could register what was happening, the ring of people swarmed him. They all ran at full speed, not even stopping to step over the bodies until they reached him. Yoongi didn't even have time to brace himself for the dozens of blades slicing his body.
He gripped the dead girl tighter and tighter until he could hold on no more.
There was no harsh jolt or cry Yoongi just woke up. Plain and simple. However, he had woken to a horrible heavy feeling in the depths of his stomach. He felt it before anything else. It was like a piece of soldering hot coal was burning a deep hole in his abdomen.
He proceeded to make a mental check of his body. Nothing was hurt or out of place. There were no sword-shaped holes in his stomach, and his back wasn't bleeding out.
Nevertheless, there was still this dreadful feeling. One that would usually pass after realising the nightmare wasn't real.
His belly began to churn, his throat was burning and felt scratchy, and he could tase something slickly sweet coming up from his stomach into his mouth.
Yoongi let out a deep breath. It wasn't real. It was just his imagination mixing with his fears while he slept. It never happened. He kept taking deep breaths hoping the oxygen would expel the dream from his body. But, the dreadful feeling didn't leave, nor did the images of all his friend's heads rolling towards him like he hoped it would.
It kept replaying and replaying non-stop until it was too much for his mind to keep at bay.
As quietly as he could, he stood up to check on each of the boys.
With strained eyes in the dark, he looked over each of them. First, the boys closest to him. They had drawn the short straw and, much like Yoongi, were sleeping on a roll mat on the floor. The three youngest were wrapped in blankets on the mattress. All untouched and sound asleep.
A sigh of relief pushed past his lips. They were all ok. Of course, they were. It was a dream. Without a noise, he sat back down. He didn't have to try to know he couldn't fall asleep again.
Not at that moment anyway.
He still felt sick.
Maybe a walk was the best way to feel better.
The cold air bit at his ear relentlessly. Yoongi tried to keep them warm with his hands, but they were just as freezing. He began to instantly regret not grabbing a fur on his way out.
Winter was on its way. Yoongi didn't like winter. Winter was cold and brought a whole set of problems with it, from food to dry wood for fires. Also, the black of the clothes and the white of the snow contrasted too strongly for his liking.
Yoongi paused for a moment and just stopped.
He looked up to the sky. It now held no stars, no moon, just black. It was pure nothingness. He would have blended in entirely if it wasn't for his pale complexion.
He remembered once (y/n) had made a passing comment comparing him to saltwater pearls she had once worn. They were out on a nighttime walk. It was a strange comment, but, at the time, it had made him smile.
His feet began to move again, and he felt some unknown force pull him toward the only tent with some form of light.
He did not know why. Maybe he was sick of the darkness. Or maybe, it was the black flicks tickling at the edge of his sense. Either way, he didn't stop his heels from walking.
He travelled down the muddy paths of the camps, all the way to a small tent amongst others just like it. Though this one had a grey fabric tag on the guild lines indicating no entry useless, permission was given by a higher up. The tent he was sleeping in and the command tents all had one.
Yoongi simply ignored it and stepped in.
The tent was a lot smaller than his. There was only enough room for the mattress and a small box for possessions. The roof was low, so he had to duck his head down not to hit the canvas ceiling.
The room itself was warm. Yoongi felt the goosebumps on his arms slowly disappear. The orange ambient glow from the lamp drenched his figure in gold light, casting a strong shadow on the wall behind him. Sat on the edge of the bed was (y/n).
"Shut up," He cut the occupant off before she could even make a word. Yoongi didn't have the energy to explain why he was there. He did not know the answer himself.
Yoongi didn't say anything more. He didn't want to. It felt too awkward and too strange. He was also embarrassed to be there in the first place.
He had hardly spoken a word to (y/n), yet he had found himself coming to her room in the middle of the night, expecting an escape from his mind.
She raised an eyebrow at him before looking at the papers in her lap. She sat cross-legged on top of the covers with documents scattered around her.
A smaller version of the map layout in the planning tent was by the lamp. On (y/n) knees were several records with rough sketches of the land covered in arrows. Each arrow was neatly labelled with a unit and a direction. He assumed these were all possible routes and ways the army could attack and defend. The girl noticed the pair of eyes burning in her back.
"I need to do this before tomorrow," Her voice was hoarse and tried like she had been crying.
"Why, though?" His voice wasn't in any better condition. It was gruff, and his throat was like sandpaper.
"I need them for tomorrow's meeting,"
He scoffed, sitting down on the other side of the bed. He had never wanted to involve himself with politics and war; the idea of the outside world knowing he existed was more than offputting.
He had grown up in relative peace with Shiro in the little hut. Everything was simple, and he understood how it worked. He knew nothing of warfare, only duel and monks and his simple life as a warrior. War was much more prominent. There was so much needed to learn to stand a chance in one. Wielding a sword was only one aspect.
His feeling toward (y/n) was conflicted, and that was the only way he could describe it. He didn't want to be here, yet he wanted to have her presence back. It confused him more than anything.
"What? Akira is a good man; everyone else is the issue." Her voice came out soft and careful.
"Any man who has monasteries in their kingdom is bad." He grumbled while cosying up in the blankets, not caring about disturbing the stacks of papers. He laid his head on the pillow, his back facing her. She just rolled her eyes.
Yoongi let himself close his eyes to the sound of ink on paper. He saw the light go through his eyelids until the scenes of his dream returned. The unclothed body in his hands with a back shredded to nothing. He shuddered, but the girl beside him didn't notice; she focused on her little paper plans.
It reminded him of past distant memories. He never knew what happened inside those four walls all that time ago. It had to have been a long time since he found (y/n) chained up in the dark, lying in her own blood.
It was a frequent mystery that plagued his mind. He could only guess what led to the torment. He remembered carrying (y/n) body out of that hell hole and watching her get better slowly. He remembered watching her improve and join in with practice. He remembered holding her hand or stroking her hair when her body hurt. He just remembered being with her.
He missed it.
And there (y/n) sat, staring at something he had no care for. And he was there lying in her bed, almost like a stranger.
He found himself inching closer to her at the thought of these memories. He rolled over to the other side to see her and reminisce quietly to himself. He watched her with drooping eyes until they finally closed. But, the echoes of his bad dream stained his eyelids.
It didn't last; he woke up in buckets of sweat. His clothes were stuck to his back, and the silk sheets suddenly felt like blankets of fire. The same visions plagued him, and he attempted to sleep once again. He brought his hands up to his still closed eyes in a scramble and rubbed as hard as possible to get the moving pictures out of his mind. It didn't work, and his hand felt wet.
He strained his vocals, but nothing came out. Still, he tried to scream in frustration. A pair of hands gripped his wrist gently and pulled them away from his face.
Through everything they ever went through, in (y/n) eyes, Yoongi had been the epitome of strength, both physically and mentally.
When (y/n) first came to the little wooden hut, he was stand-offish and almost rude, but as soon as that hard exterior melted away, it left a warrior who was nothing but caring and compassionate. When they trained, he would hold himself with so much grace and strength it took her breath away. He was mesmerising.
Whenever she had a bad dream, he was there to ward off her fiends. He was the first person she saw when she was saved from the abbot. Even when Shiro passed to the next life - even in his states of grief, he looked like he was coping.
(Y/n) had always desired the strength he had.
But maybe she was wrong. Maybe Yoongi wasn't as strong on the outside as he appeared to be.
Or perhaps she had forgotten all the time when the cracks would show while she was away. Maybe she looked at all her memories with rose-tinted glasses.
Either way, it didn't matter. Right now, at that moment, yoongi wasn't strong. He was broken and dishevelled, crying.
Why was he crying? He felt the muscles of his chin tremble like a small child as he looked towards the lamp as if the light could soothe him. There was more static in his head, the side effect of everything around him.
He heard his own sound, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It was taking something out of him he didn't know he had left to give.
The fingers that held his hands quickly moved to his face and wiped away the tears with the pads of their thumb. They moved in a fluid motion to brush back the hairs stuck down on his forehead with sweat. Worry was painted all across (y/n) face as she tried her best to soothe him; it was clear she was taken back by his current state.
"Are we going to die?" Yoongi felt like a child asking such a question. He felt vulnerable and helpless. He was a blubbering mess. At that moment, he seemed weak as a spindle wound to tight.
(Y/n) looked down at him with uneasy eyes, "No." It came out less than a whisper, but he heard it. It was enough to calm his tears to a lesser flow.
When his breath steadied and his tears subdued, he sat up. His eyes were red, puffy and stung slightly. "Please don't mention this to anyone." His voice was muffled as he buried his face into (y/n) 's waist. His arms snaked around and held tightly, begging for any kind of comfort. The scent of honeysuckle, lemon and vanilla filled his nose as (y/n) brushed fingers through his hair.
"I won't."
(Y/n) let out a deep sigh; she hadn't slept since her breakdown. She had spent most of the night after her conversation with Jin working on her maps. She had accomplished a great deal considering her experience in this field.
(Y/n) let out another sigh. This one was slightly softer. Her eyes grazed over the maps to Yoongi. He had wrapped himself in her bed sheets while his head rested gently on the pillow. Dried tears stained his face; it crippled her already struggling heart.
It had shocked her when he came through the tent door, but she knew better than to question it. She wasn't ready to open up a hole she could close. So, she let him be and granted him stay in her tent unquestioned while she worked. When he had woken up crying, she wasn't sure what to do.
It was heart-wrenching to see.
Once he was back asleep (y/n) kept a close eye on him just in case. And now she was dying to shut her eyes for just a few minutes, but the sun had started to rise.
Hello, thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed it. I've now got Grammarly premium, so I've been having a great time with that; I make so many mistakes it's actually shocking. Also, 2k vote, I'm very grateful. I love you all xxx