Wolves and Bread (COMPLETED)

Chapter 11

I do not know how many rounds were made around the campus, sneakers trodding heavily upon the sandstone tiles that line the perimeter in the hopes of finding the platinum-haired chap, before I find him in the auditorium. Difficult not to, so it seems, since the loud and furious melody from a piano, which should have been noticed earlier, leads all those who seek him straight to the pianist. With a straight back, completely focused on the furious yet gorgeous music, he continues playing as I sneak up with the heart stuck in the throat.

'Yoongi?' I ask on a careful tone, scared to provoke the unforgiving wrath in his deceivingly calm attitude, after having come to a halt behind him. Slowly, I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder, but withdraw it quickly, prevented by images of earlier and what he might do in case I pursue the action.

With an aggravated last note he ends the piece of music. 'What?' He sounds about ready to chop my head off.

'Are you okay?' A stupid question to ask when he sits before me like this, but there is nothing else that seems sufficient to say.

'Do I look okay to you?' The musician turns to face me, looking me straight in the eye. Fury lights the flames in his eyes, making the rage even more tangible in the room filled with nothing more but the onyx lacquered piano and a few chairs.

'I heard you had a fight with Hoseok. Do you... want to talk about it?' Cautiously the proposal is made and the doubt is immense at the final words because they give off the feeling of signing my death warrant.

'Scarlet, you are so naïve. I need to vent for a while, so leave.' He turns away once more, obviously done with the conversation.

Despite the commanding tone, I do not heed the wish. Instead, I lean against the piano and cross my arms over my chest defiantly. Every fibre of my being begs me to go nonetheless and not make the situation worse than it already is, but in case that instinct is handled upon nothing shall be established in the way of an actual solution.

It is in that moment I notice the rolled-up sleeves of the ashy grey jacket and the small white faded scars on his forearms, on display for the world to see.

So that is what he has been covering up.

Minchul sees me regarding the old, perhaps some even more recent, wounds, the unintended inspection causing a low grunt to surface from the depths of his throat. 'Dammit, you weren't supposed to ever see those.' Bony fingers rub over the pale skin of his round face.

'Yoongi,' I begin, voice full of concern and fright at the sight of the faded wounds.

'I don't want to talk about it. Just forget you saw it.' Still our gazes do not meet, the platinum-haired chap's steadily focused on the ivory keys.

'How can I forget that? This is not something you can simply erase from memory. If you want to talk, then-'

'I just said I don't want to talk about it,' he bursts out, fiercely roaring like a lion. Dark eyes bore into mine, dangerously poisonous and wanting to kill the nuisance before them. 'What good will it do anyway? It has always been like this, silent, without anyone's knowing.'

'Nobody knows?' There are six others that have his back, are as close to him as brothers are, even when they are at odds, and yet none of them has knowledge of what he does to himself. Then again, one can be surrounded by friends and nevertheless feel incredibly alone, stuck in a void in which nobody hears you screaming and from which you secretly do not want to be saved in fear of being treated like a drama queen.

The same black hole I had been living in until I met him and the lads, being slowly pulled back from it day by day.

'Rap Mon does,' he admits, the tone in his raspy voice hushed. Of course the leader knows, because he is like a father to them. That is what it seems to me, at least. 'But what do you care anyway?'