He enters his house only to find his parents arguing, his father carelessly throwing a beer bottle and his mother screaming as she hides her face.
Yoongi backs out slowly, turning a blind eye like he's been doing for the past sixteen years of his messy life.
He closes the door and walks to the driveway of his house. Sitting down on the gravel and freely kicking at a few rocks, thumbing the pack of brand new cigarettes in his pockets.
There's a lighter in his left pocket inside of his jeans. So he takes that out first and runs it over in his palm.
It's a cheap old thing, one he picked up from his dad when he became obsessed with the idea of smoking. The music changes from something light and airy to dark and gloomy.
The voice of the violins are now singing in sadness, and it's their tears that play the barely there sound of the piano.
Yoongi takes out the box and stares at it, taking in the bold black letters of the brand and the little warning posted at the very bottom of the box.
A warning that this will kill you, and yet people still smoke them, knowing the consequences they can bring are deadly.
Yoongi finds that ironically beautiful, an attempt at suicide yet you enjoy those moments.
They bring no pain like that of the razor, nor are your lungs pleading to breathe as you hang yourself. It isn't pills choking you to death and making you fall to sleep.
It's a thick smoke that grows over your body and clogs everything that once use to live. Or in Yoongi's case, what was dead.
It sneaks past holes and curls into the soul, planting itself there and making a home in a dark void of nothing, streaks of grey and white being held inside.
Yoongi fingers the white stick in his hands, admiring it at all its angles. The violins are now sobbing, a cry of pain and anguish. The piano has stopped its melancholic playing, now just one beat of doom.
Yoongi brings the cigarette to his lips and with frozen hands and red, numb cheeks he flicks the lighter and lights the cigarette.
Within ten seconds the nicotine from the cigarette will taint Yoongi's lungs, painting them a grey like the moon and making him feel like stars are exploding in his mind.
He will feel a pleasure that he thought only came when he was alone in the bathroom, his thoughts on Taehyung.
A feeling of euphoria will threaten to eat him whole, leaving behind only the shadow of his soul.
Smoking the cigarettes becomes a need in Yoongi's life, he isn't sure if it's the reassurance that for every cigarette that he smokes his days for living are cutting down until he's gone.
Or if it's because for that one moment where the smoke becomes a part of his lungs and the chemicals in his mind are bursting, he can feel alive.
He can feel hope seep itself deep into his bones and plant itself there. Creating roots that water themselves with each inhale of the nicotine.
He can feel something besides wanting to die.
The smoking cigarettes are just the beginning.
An artificial happiness that comes when Taehyung isn't around.
Stars start to explode above in the sky. Slowly becoming a gust of what they once were.
