Work Text:
The walk was lonely for Yoongi – but nothing compared to the loneliness he felt on a daily basis. Yoongi staggered the few blocks between his unit and the petrol station, taking this as the perfect time to plan his grand exit. Whistling a familiar tune, Yoongi drew in another drag of his cigarette, throwing it on the ground and stomping on in it as a futile attempt to hide his relapsed behaviour. He placed one hand in his jeaned pocket as he pushed open the station’s door, miming a ‘hello’ to the man at the register as he made his way to the back of the store.
Yoongi strode towards the petrol containers - and without thinking twice - purchased the largest he felt as though he could carry the lonely journey home. Arriving home to an empty unit once again, Yoongi placed the heavy container at the inside entrance of his unit, aimlessly glancing around his room for something to distract him from his never-ending loneliness. The brown leather piano sitting in the corner of his single roomed house caught his eye, inviting him over to play a song – a final song, a song for help – that is what Jungkook and Yoongi had called the song they had composed together: only to be played sparingly.
Every chord and key; played perfectly, at its own precise moment created just for itself – the melody beautiful to an outsider but deadly desperate for the two boys behind the scenes. The song was concluding; the final note played. Shit. It was the first time Yoongi’s ‘piano hands’ had shaken so intensely that he had played C# instead of C. A mistake he never made – especially in this song. Yoongi’s anger steamed passed boiling point, his rage causing him to lunge towards the petrol container awaiting by the door, unscrewing the lid before carelessly dousing the contents on every item in the room. The white bedsheets, the carpet, the walls that painted was peeling off, the piano: everything, everywhere, anything she had even so glanced at.
Pain, pain, pain. Yoongi was in immense pain, his heart longing to hear her voice, to touch her, to see her. Yoongi’s rampage calmed only by a fraction, the room soaking in the intoxicating petrol. Looking around the room, he saw the unmistakeable thin white stick from the bright yellow lollipops she always gave him to calm his raging soul. Yoongi’s anger was fuelled once again. Reaching over the bed, he pulled open the bedside drawer, reaching inside for his spare lighter.
Igniting the lighter, the room blew up in extreme heat, the blaring orange flames feeding off the petrol-drenched items laying across the room. Like a scene from an action movie, Yoongi stood in the middle of the unit, smirking as the deadly fumes intoxicated his lungs far better than what the measly cigarettes had ever done. The pain was beautiful. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, any sane person would have begged to leave long before the fire was even ignited, but Yoongi stayed, not minding the elephant-like feeling in his chest. The world turned to darkness, the never-ending black void only centimetres away from Yoongi’s grasp.
Yoongi was once a controlled fire, but now, he is a wild fire, recklessly destroying everything in his path. Even if it includes himself. Especially if it includes himself.