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Yoongi's grip on the neck of the vodka bottle was so tight his knuckles were turning white.
Slightly surprised it hadn't shattered yet.
Much like everything else.
He seemed to have lost quite a lot in the past week.
Between being fired from his shitty convenient store job, to his alternator in his beat up 1999 Honda Civic going out, to shit he didn't even witness, like his little brother breaking his arm, or their family dog of 10 years passing away, all the way back in Daegu.
Everything was shitty.
But nothing compared to losing Jimin.
Potentially the love of his life, he thought.
He couldn't even remember the reason why he lost him, not really.
His mind was a bit hazy, already having downed a fifth of vodka.
Yoongi would be drinking whiskey, normally, but this wasn't a normal situation.
This called for the much stronger stuff.
The stuff that makes you forget. Black out.
Yoongi moved his limp hand still wrapped around the heavy bottle, struggling to bring it back up to his lips.
Tipping upwards, he nearly fell off the couch.
Oh, the same couch that Jimin helped him pick out whenever Namjoon and Yoongi moved into this apartment.
Jimin.
Yoongi winced.
He felt empty.
Much like his apartment, Namjoon having moved out 4 months ago.
Empty like his now bottle of alcohol.
Hollow.
He let the bottle slip from his fingers, hitting the hardwood floor, watching it roll away off under the coffee table and towards the front door.
Even that hurt his head.
You let Jimin slip from your fingers too, his mind shouted.
Yoongi tried to remember, but he still couldn't think.
Guess he succeeded in his plans of forgetting tonight.
But one thing he knew for sure was that everytime he closed his eyes, he was immediately assaulted with Jimin's bright, squinty smile. Yoongi felt his lungs nearly collapse. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
He never knew how much a break up could actually physically hurt. And that pissed him off even more.
How dare someone get him so tightly wound and under his skin to just leave him absolutely wrecked and alone.
But he knew it was his fault.
Of course it was. It was always his fault.
He started to see flashes of Jimin screaming at him, tears streaming down his face.
More was starting to come back to him. That wasn't good. That wasn't part of the plan.
Yoongi audibly whimpered.
He would have been embarrassed had anyone been there, but again, he was painfully reminded that he was alone.
Why was the sun so bright today?
Yellow cracked through black.
Yoongi didn't bother shielding his eyes, nor did he have the strength anymore.
He let the sunlight pierce his eyelids. The warmth reminding him of Jimin.
The curtains swayed against the window pane with a cool Spring breeze. The complete opposite of Yoongi's current mood.
He felt that Spring was a happy feeling.
The sky was probably blue too.
He sighed and turned his face into the couch cushion.
Lovely, it still smelled like Jimin's shampoo. Passionfruit. Most likely from when they had sex in this same spot a few days prior, not able to make it to the bedroom.
Remembering how he pinned him down.
Remembering how the whisper of “hyung” tipped his tongue.
Yoongi choked on the smell and sobbed.
He needed it to stop. It was all too much. Suffocating.
He contemplated on shooting a quick text to Joon, letting him know that he may possibly do something he'll regret, that was their deal, but it already seemed too late for that. Should have said something earlier.
Like with Jimin.
Yoongi screamed out in frustration.
More of his sorrow turning into rage.
He suddenly jumped up from the couch with a new found energy, trying to force himself out of this slump.
Head pounding, everything spinning, he tried holding onto the wall as he stumbled down the hallway.
He meant to head to his bedroom to hopefully pass out, but the bathroom came first.
Falling into the door, his boots kicked into the frame.
He caught himself on the sink, heaving a sigh of relief that he didn't go tumbling down onto the dingey off white tile. Although face planting to the floor still wouldn’t compare to the pain he already felt.
Yoongi's vision blurred remembering how Jimin's back arched, hand grabbing the side of the bathtub as he fucked him on the bathroom floor. Another one of those moments where they couldn't wait to find a proper, more comfortable place.
Everything was fast and rough with them. Chaotic.
Never pausing to take enough time to think clearly.
Jimin was pink hair, full body laughs, daisies, soft touches, eyes smiles, and sunlight.
Yoongi was black hair, grunts, ivy, calloused hands, smirks, and moonlight.
The more white you add to blue the more it fades. Loses its vibrancy. Its whole meaning.
He should have known.
Yoongi finally found enough courage to lift his head and look into the mirror. He knew it was bad, but seeing it was a whole nother story.
His blonde hair was slicked forward over his heavy, dark eyes.
The neck of his white shirt, stretched wider than it should from eager hands.
He doesn't think he's changed, nor showered in 3 days.
Green and yellow bite marks scattered across his right collarbone, clashing with the greys and purples dotted along his left cheekbone.
An outline of Jimin's knuckles.
The argument had turned physical on Jimin's part. He had ended up slugging Yoongi at some point as Yoongi grabbed a hold of him, trying to stop him from swinging.
Jimin got him anyway.
He always got him.
Yoongi's fingertips stuttered against his cheek as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. His heart clenched, tight with hope that it might be Jimin, but he still didn't want to know..
He exhaled as he shoved his hand into his jeans to retrieve his phone. Blood still wiped across the denim.
Oh yeah. That's right.
He had went to punch the wall after Jimin slammed the apartment door and ended up hitting a picture frame, dead center, causing the glass to break and slice his hand. He didn't feel it anymore. Everything was numb.
And of course the photo was of him and Jimin. Of course it was.
An old snapshot of the two of them on the basketball court at the local park they always played at during the summer.
Probably around freshmen year of high school.
Long before they ever ended up together.
[ Yoongi please answer me. You're starting to scare me. ]
Yoongi blinked. Thinking it was from Jimin, since he was the only thing on his mind. Yoongi blinked again. Taehyung.
Oh shit. That's right.
Everything came rushing back.
Almost everything. He knew Taehyung was somehow involved.
[ If you don't answer me I'm coming over there. I don't fucking care. ]
Yoongi struggled to put the pieces back together.
Taehyung. Yoongi's ex.
Tae. Number 4 of their friend group of 7.
Kim Taehyung. Yoongi's ex fuck buddy.
Tae Tae. Jimin's best friend.
[ Like you give a shit. Leave me the fuck alone, Tae.]
Yoongi typed back. Probably nowhere near correct and coherent as he thought, but he's sure he got the gist.
An hour later in Yoongi's foggy brain, which in reality it was easily 4 minutes, his phone jumps with another text.
[ Dude, what the fuck?! Pick up your phone! Tae just called me flipping out. ]
Namjoon.
Apparently it was worse than he thought.
Apparently he had called.
His mind clearly isn't in the best state at the moment.
Biting his lip, contemplating on replying,
Yoongi's ears caught the sound of something rattling.
Shocked to look down and find a bottle of pills in his hand. Fingers curled.
When had he grabbed that?
Also, what was it even doing here.
Squinting, he could faintly make out the label.
Jung Hoseok: Oxycodone.
He inhales. Something about Hoseok giving Namjoon the rest of his prescription at the end of his recovery in fear of becoming addicted again.
Yoongi thinks that's right.
Meaning to let the bottle go and let fall into the sink, he tightened his fingers instead.
Reflexes backwards.
Maybe it was fate. What did he really have to live for now anyway. He fucked everything up. Lost the most important thing in his life. What was the point anymore.
He ignored any further frantic concern from Namjoon and Taehyung, deciding, settling on sending one last message to Jimin.
[ I know you don't want to hear from me and I know it probably doesn't mean shit to you anymore, but I love you and I'm sorry. You deserve so much better. You won't have to deal with me any longer. Thank you for the best 8 years of my life. Bye, Jiminie. ]
8 years.
7 years as friends. 1 year as lovers.
Yoongi knew he was being petty. He was hurt. But he knew he didn't have a right to be.
Petty or hurt.
He did this to himself.
Yoongi looked in the mirror again.
Letting out a humorless laugh, the right side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk.
He licked his lips.
"Fuck it."
Without a second thought, he twisted and popped the top off, downing all 10 pills, dry.
Bittersweet.
Finally dropping the now empty bottle, as well as his phone, Yoongi took 3 steps back, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor, next to the tub.
Arms slung over his bent knees, he ran his fingers through his hair and off his forehead. Eyes closed.
Head in his hands, he groaned at the sound of the constant vibration coming from the phone call that was buzzing in the sink, knocking against porcelain and plastic.
Yoongi laughed again. He had to. What a fucking joke. What a joke he and his life had become now. Whatever, he thought. There was no fixing this. Jimin would never forgive him.
He would definitely forgive his Jiminie. In a heartbeat. But he could never forgive himself.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Yoongi looked to the left into the shower.
Jimin still had some of his toiletries scattered about his bathroom. The boy was always staying over so it only made sense that Jimin had a bottle of his lovely cherry blossom scented shampoo in Yoongi's shower. Yoongi loved the smell of Jimin. It was his fav-
Wait. Fuck.
That wasn't the smell of Jimin embedded into the sofa.
It was Tae.
Yoongi’s eyes slipped shut.