Hoseok loved the night.
It was the most beautiful time for him. When the sun would retire from its place and the sky would darken, it filled the boy with the close proximity that the stars were never out of reach for him.
He loved the stars and even more, the possibility that there was more life outside this rotating planet of ours, that there was the hope that we could navigate beyond the theromosphere of the Earth and witness the untold.
He loved the stars and the moon and the nebulae and cosmos all so much that he majored in astronomy at the local university, studying to graduate as an astronomer.
He was currently in his final year. There were ten months left until he could graduate with flying colours and prove to his parents it was truly worth it for him to keep going, despite what the doctors had told him. Ten months until he could fulfil his final wish he'd dreamt to accomplish since he was a mere ten year old boy.
He loved the stars so much that he held the belief he'd become one after the next eleven months.
After the next eleven months, Hoseok would become one of the brightest splotches of burning, hot light and become a compass for the travellers which set out to explore the vast night.
After the next eleven months, Hoseok would no longer feel the most painful headaches and the hours of being hunched over the toilet, puking his insides out because the tumour in his brain was just so damn painful.
Ten months until I'll become an astronomer. Eleven months until I'll become a star.
Hoseok smiled as he cracked his knuckles for the third time, getting ready for another five hour long study session.
The exams were never ending and the professors refused to go easy on the university students. The lunch breaks were often skipped and the libraries were like his second home. The parents which worried that their driven son would collapse somewhere in an aisle of a supermarket. But their only boy would smile and assure them that this life was to be experienced to the fullest by him, despite it being cut very short, despite it being eleven months.
How he'd managed to convince his parents to continue his final year was beyond him, especially since the day the CT scan had come back and the doctor had delivered the news.
Eleven months, that's all he has left.
And even though Hoseok is continuing his studies and his parents are always reminding themselves that their only son will die before them, Hoseok will have just enough time to fulfil his lifelong dream of becoming an astronomer.
And the one month he'll have left over, he'll peacefully spend those thirty one days underneath the stars with the thought that he knew just enough about them before becoming one.
And Hoseok told himself that this too was one of the beauteous aspects of life. The green tea he'd sip on at 2 AM as he'd describe the levels of the planet's atmosphere, the anatomy of a star in his essay, the gravity would bring him back to his reality.
That even though this life was often portrayed as a bloody tragic one,
it was still so damn beautiful.
___
Yoongi really shouldn't get another tattoo.
He stiffened as the needle pierced his skin hungrily, but he soon let himself be strewn together as the ink invaded his pale skin, permanently etching the words his tongue refused to say.
After half an hour, with the disinfectants and the sigh of the tattooist, there it was;
a sun just above his collarbone, illuminating a sense of warmth that was so absent inside of himself and in the very things he did and said.
Yoongi loved having tattoos, but he only preferred the simple ones. Despite them being small, black and white ones, the most recent tattoo of his was his sixteenth one. He loved the black ink, a stark contrast to his bleached blonde hair, that defined against his pale neck and blanched arms.
But even more than tattoos, Yoongi loved smoking.
He knew he shouldn't smoke as the years of lessons that had been fed to all middle and high schoolers came rushing back each time he'd light a grey cigarette and breathe out the slow swirl of hazy smoke.
He loved the feeling of having control of his life. Not the control of, himself, taking each day away of his life with each cigarette.
But the control of momentarily choosing warmth, temporarily choosing a source of comfort that nestled deep in his ribs, be it tar or smoke or even something else.
Yet even more than tattoos and smoking and all actions justified,
Yoongi loved poetry.
Poetry consumed him whole as he'd quickly write the rhyming words; he loved the feeling of being consumed.
But he'd never admit that to anyone. He'd never let the mates that raced against him illegally or smoked with him until their throats burned ever find out he carries around a journal and a black 0.7 gel pen that he uses to pen down poems.
His poems.
And despite being an avid individual that hated life and the cruelness and filthiness of it, despite always coming up with poems with a pack of cigarettes nearby, despite always penning down words that rhymed and strung and spoke of pain and grief and just, life,
he felt tired of writing sad poems.
___
A/N
Ayeee new storyyy
