His skin was too tough to crawl under.
His walls were too high to climb.
His mind was too black to see.
His true heart was too far to reach.
It was as if he locked himself away deep in his own dungeon designed to be his personal asylum with only...
It was after 1 in the morning when you all decided to exit the hot tub and head back inside. Most changed and left while one or two stayed to borrow a shower to clean off before going home.
You had Yoongi use your shower next to your room since you were planning to keep him all night while you rinsed yourself off downstairs.
You waited in your room for him to be finished and come out so you could blow dry your hair. You couldn't stand sticky, moist hair.
The bathroom door opened and Yoongi entered the room in sweatpants and a white t-shirt, slicking back his wet jet black bangs.
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(A/N: That's the best I can do for long, moist hair.)
Staring at him, you could've sworn your stomach was about to explode with butterflies.
"Look at the stray cat braving water." You smiled nervously.
The gaze of Yoongi's onyx eyes cut through your mind and soul, paralyzing you. The crease of his mouth stretched into a sharp grin. You felt your blood speed down the highways of your veins.
You didn't know why he was making you feel stiff and hot. You couldn't comprehend a valid reason. He's your boyfriend. You've been dating him for a quarter of a year now. You've cuddled and kissed him dozens of times, and yet his presence made you feel both protected and threatened. You came to love a good-hearted criminal who struggled greatly with financials.
He always acted as if he lived in a dystopian world. He was always hard on trust, hyper aware of his surroundings, extremely perceptive, kept his guard up, and he would break laws if he saw fit for his survival.
From analyzing him, you had noticed his traits of alertness. He was like this with you more than the other guys. One of your nicknames was "hellspawn." The name he gave the wealthy out of disgust and prejudice and hatred. It was as if you hadn't earned his full trust yet. It was as if he was waiting for you to turn on him so he could catch you in the possible act of stabbing him in the back; literally or figuratively. The way he looked at you most of the time was calm and concentrated, as if he was trying to read you and your actions.
He seemed to like you and enjoy your company, so why was he like this? Instinct? Habit? Wariness? Anxiety? Did he ever regret every kiss? Did he ever not believe your proclamations of "I love you?" Did he think contrarily every time you said that to him?
After all your observations, your best thesis was that he was traumatized by people of your social status, thus leading him to continue having suspicions about you.
His skin was too tough to crawl under. His walls were too high to climb. His mind was too black to see. His true heart was too far to reach. It was as if he locked himself away deep in his own dungeon designed to be his personal asylum with only him being the resident inside, bound in tight chains and forced to sit in his own filth, with the public persona he wore being the warden. He didn't even want to leave the comfortable dread of that prison.
