UNIVERSE / BTS.

42: lost boy / taegiseok

LOST BOY
( part 1 )

FOR jjk_andtaewithsuga
WORD COUNT 2.5k
OVERVIEW "i'm just a lost boy, not ready to be found" ( TW – mentions of anorexia & self hatred )

PLAYLIST lost boy / troye sivan, love lies / khalid & normani, stigma / kth

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TAEHYUNG DIDN'T KNOW why he was there. he shouldn't have been there, nestled in hoseok's arms and breathing in his– no, yoongi's– cologne and listening to the gentle hum of the ceiling fan. it was wrong, god, he knew it was.

his legs were tangled with hoseok's, and the taller boy was asleep, peaceful. taehyung wished he could be like that. but he couldn't rest, not while he knew that hoseok had a boyfriend and yet they were here, embracing like lovers do, breathing softly, heartbeats matching, and yet taehyung still felt empty. hoseok had someone better, someone so much better than him, and for some reason the twenty four year old would rather come to taehyung's shithole apartment and fall asleep in his arms.

taehyung's wavy silver hair, then fading to brown after months of neglect, rested on his forehead, a sheen of sweat shining on the golden skin. he hated this. he hated that hoseok made him want to go past every parameter and cross every line between what friends can and can't do. hoseok just... made him feel special. in a way that no past boyfriends ever could. hoseok told him he was funny and that he was nice and that he made good food and he just made him feel enough.

yoongi was a fucking lucky man, taehyung thought. he had an angel-like boyfriend, a semi-sucessful music career, good looks... everything taehyung wanted. he felt dirty, even if he and hoseok had never done anything suggestive; he felt used, even if hoseok would never use him in that way; most of all, he felt unworthy of hoseok.

"what are you doing, hobi?" he asked to no one in a low whisper, looking at hoseok's sleeping features. yoongi wasn't aware of all this– this amorousness, between hoseok and taehyung. it was a horrible dirty little secret that hoseok kept. taehyung hated every second of it, but he just couldn't stop being with hoseok, this sordid not-quite-love-affair where they slept– fully clothed, usually on top of the covers– together, peaceful.

taehyung couldn't stand it.

he got out of bed carefully– thank god hoseok could sleep through almost anything– and stepped over the shitty cigarette-ash coloured carpet. he headed to the kitchen, which was adjacent from the room that doubled up as both a bedroom and living room– desperate times, desperate measures. he reached for the table and picked up the notebook he left there. it was filled with miscellaneous scribbled sketches and broken thoughts hoseok called poetry. taehyung couldn't understand how hoseok could call his mixed sentences and empty cluttered words poetry, which was one of his most favourite arts. hoseok seemed to see beauty in everything.

what are you waiting for? someone could love you more.

that was the latest thing, scrawled in messy black ink. taehyung's calligraphy had never been neat, slanting and curling when he wrote in english, leaning to the side when in hangul. the silver haired boy sat down, and picked up the half empty bottle of shit fruit-flavoured vodka he'd picked up from the off-license down the road. his thick lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle, and two sips of burning liquid, vaguely tasting of peach, went down his throat. hoseok didn't like to drink. but taehyung did. drink and smoke and crumble relationships.

if i say i want to settle down, your hopes would build up like a tower, ready to be knocked down. i'm a lost boy and i'm not ready to be found.