𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢. oneshots

y si fuera ella - YOONGI

"You need to move on." Yoongi stays pliant. He's heard this too many times. Too many voices demanding him to keep moving forward. There's an odd tone of comfort in this one. But familiarity is still evident.

"You can't lock yourself away like this." Another voice says. Yoongi knows who's here to pity talk him. To whisper sweet words into his ear and rub his back like a parent would do to their child. Yoongi doesn't want that, he just wants people to understand that moving on won't be solved with a few words and a pat on the back. Reassurance will only be accepted to him if it's from people that truly understand what he's feeling. He doesn't need people to tell him what to feel.

"In a few days or weeks it won't matter." This time his fist clenches. Six boys pile in his room to circle around him and let their voices bounce around before hitting him. No, in a few weeks it won't matter if he's dead.

"You can't be sad over something like this." They say it like his situation should be taken lightly, like it doesn't matter. This makes Yoongi's blood boil, his jaw clench in anger.

"Fuck you." Yoongi spits out pathetically. Eyes not meeting any gazes with sorrow he'd label as fake. He doesn't need it, doesn't want it. He can move on fine if people didn't pester in his problems and makes things worst.

"We're trying to help." A different voice. He can't bring himself to scoff, to say anything. The overwhelming silence gives him time to think before he can say anything that'd be used against him.

"Why do you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks. "I'm starting to feel a lot crazier every time you come to talk." Yoongi wants to look around, but what is there to look at?

"You need us and you know it." One says, Yoongi slowly shakes his head to argue. To object at such a dumb statement.

"I don't need you."

"You need help."

"To hell with your help," he says, voice steady. He can't show anger, can't show them he can crumble. "Help by who? Who will help me? Who will help and understand without laughing at what makes me feel this way?" Yoongi tried pushing them, voice urging them to get angry and disappear like usual.

"Professionals." Yoongi can't fight away the scoff.

"Professionals my ass," Yoongi pauses before putting up some fingers. "I've went to three professionals, one of which laughing after my appointment was over. The other one telling me it's not a phase but the impression of being sad. And the other chuckling before telling me my problem isn't worth discussing." He puts his fingers down after every replay of the past.

"You can't go through all of this alone."

"I have and I'm doing great." Yoongi says.

"Sundays aren't exactly a Maroon 5 song anymore. Jin on Monday, Hoseok on Tuesday, Namjoon on Wednesday, Jimin on Thursday, Taehyung on Friday, and Jungkook on Saturday," Yoongi shows his hate for Sunday with a groan. "Then all six of you on Sunday."

"We can't leave you alone, we need to know how and what you're doing."

"Horrible and staying in bed, now your daily checkup is over. Get out."

"Out of where? Your room?"

"Out of my head!" Yoongi screams before finally looking up to an empty room. A cold sweat runs down his face. He grips his hair with his hand, trying to steady his breathing.

"I don't need you following me around, just get out of my head. I don't need you to come back," Yoongi cries out in pain. "I just want him back." He cries yet again. The marker on his wrist with the date of his death smearing his face from the tears running down his face. He doesn't bother about it, the pillow most likely going to wipe it away when he cries himself to sleep again.

Nights weren't always this lonely. Sure he had no one to sleep with, or to look forward to seeing after he wakes, but the feeling of emptiness stays with him when he sleeps and wakes up. He feels nothing.

Yoongi has cried himself dry at this point. The house being quiet again when the voices have stopped. He can only silently thank them for understanding that he wanted to be alone.

'Alone.' Yoongi thinks. He looks at the flashing bright light coming from his bedside clock. He should be asleep. With a heavy heart and heavy eyelids, he lets himself fall back into bed. He lays there, staring.

He lifts his arms above him to see the smudged black ink.

'12.18.' Written on his wrist. Tears fall down his face once again. Ugly cries almost make their way out of his mouth, he uses his palm to muffle it. But after failing to let obvious intakes of breath from sounding like a choked sob, he uncovers his mouth letting it fall limply to his side. He screams for mercy, screams for someone to take him away. He doesn't fear the obvious outcome of his neighbors knocking on his door to keep it down.

He keeps screaming. He didn't know he still had more tears to waste, but with the obvious wet spot on his cheeks and pillow, he still probably has another day or two before he's just a screaming mess and red dry eyes.

He prays for a sign that everything is alright.

He only gets six voices watching with obvious pity. Their soul like figures the voices posses shake their head, watching the tantrum. They question how long it would take before he breaks fully. There's nothing they can do but wait for Yoongi to end it all.

The voices stop coming back.

The neighbors knock obnoxiously louder when Yoongi doesn't answer after a day filled with knocking.

There's people kicking his door down. Taking his body. He opens his eyes to a bright light that could blind him. He smiles.

I tried hard to make this and convey whatever I've felt so far. I dunno, anyways, this was just to take some things off my chest. Reading over this, everything feels a bit better. Maybe I'll come back soon. Yeah.