petrichor » yoonkook

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under a darksome canvas, dimly lit by little sparkly pearls twinkling along with the winds, a small village was laying, in the farthest corner of the map. a place where the stars were meant to shine vividly & unchanged forever, people would make wishes upon them and keep faint glims of hope inside their desperate hearts. hearts begging for a miraculous turn for the better, endless hope for an abundant tomorrow. in between the pallid clouds and the rusty marple leaves, breezes found their ways sneaking and covering the dead tree branches like veils. godforsaken and melancholic, the village held in its clutches one of the strangest beings to ever walk on the carpets of deceased rose petals in the depths of its woods, a boy given the name yoongi.

yoongi's desire to stay concealed from the lilliputian world he was thrown into was burning inside his veins just like alcohol burned his tongue after an efficient amount of shots. he kept himself locked up in a petite house, where the light couldn't access his windows. those were everlastingly covered with emerald silk curtains. he passed his short life like a beautiful, isolated flower that could never fully blossom, 'cause the water he was fed with was too little. in actuality however, the water surrounding him was way too much.

every day of his existence since he was born, a foggy stone colored cloud, darker than the ones in the sky & always at daggers drawn was floating above his head – a furious halo that rested inches above his messy blond strands, always raining down on his tortured head. it let brooks of cold rain stream on his temples and left salty drops under his exhausted eyes. the cloud never rested, indistinct claps of thunder and distant buzzes would not let him rest or break free· echoing each moment, repeating in the back of his mind whenever he tried to mentally escape. it poured and poured buckets every night, a soaking wet yoongi in nothingness; he had to come to terms with his curse a long time ago.

perhaps there was a way for the boy to find release, maybe he'd wake up to a day when the buzz and deluge would have become past, long gone. when the sunrays would be able to peek through his stiff emerald curtains and caress the pale skin of his. on the rotten pages of some aged dusty book, possibly the solution to his erroneous default state, a salvation could be written down and forgotten over the course of time. but yoongi never intended to search for it.

was it even worth it? to try and drag yourself out of the suffering that you were initially born in? after all, the known is comforting. better the devil you know than the devil you don't, right?

twisting and turning in his oblong bed, the boy threw the covers off of his body and allowed a coat of fresh air to cool up his moist complexion. the fog above him was soon to begin burdening him with cats and dogs, he could feel droplets spilling on his forehead. that was when that familiar sting hit him, his throat was painfully dry again. he placed his slender fingers on top and rubbed it with his palm, threw a glance out the balcony behind him, thinking it was time to go.

yoongi was at all times thirsty.

his adam's apple throbbed and an unbearable rough cough that split his insides into two left him with no choice but to let out bloodcurling screams often. it itched and burned, but living there under those specific circumstances, left him with no choice.

midnight, the only part of the day when he'd dare to walk out of the house, and most of his hair was damp. he grabbed a coat and watched his brittle frame in the mirror, wished to be quick enough and prevent most of the rain to get in his clothes. unlocking his bedroom door, the living room door and finally the front door, he secured the latter and stepped on the street; locked up. now on his way to the village's tallest point.