Yoonmin Oneshots

survive

[Not my story]
Ao3 @ jinsonn

Yoongi chooses a house on the outskirts of town and parks in the driveway. He waits in the car for a good fifteen minutes, just watching. When no visible threat appears, he grabs his backpack, takes out his knife, and steps out of the car.

His movements are slow, but alert, as he circles the outside of the house. There’s one in the backyard. Yoongi approaches it with careful steps, stabbing his knife through its eye and into its brain before it has a chance to react. He watches it fall, stabbing it through its other eye just to be sure, before wiping the knife off on the grass.

He circles the house one last time, before picking the lock on the front door and slipping inside. He checks every room twice before he puts the knife away. It’s a small suburban house, one story, and—aside from signs that someone left in a hurry—relatively untouched, which is a nice change to some of the other places Yoongi’s found himself in. This will do for the night.

He spends the first hour rearranging the furniture, using couches and bookshelves and anything else he can find to block the front and back doors. Then he goes into the kitchen. He doesn’t expect to find much—it’s been a while since he’s come across a well-stocked kitchen—but the locked door and no signs of a raid give him hope. 

He’s lucky. There are a few cans of beans in the cupboard, a can of peaches, and a few packets of instant ramyeon. Everything else is too far out of date, or requires heat to be edible. Anything in the fridge would’ve gone off long ago, but Yoongi checks anyway, and it’s worth it. It smells putrid, but there’s a full jug of water sitting on the top shelf and Yoongi thanks whatever God hasn’t yet forsaken this cursed Earth. 

He’s going to survive a little bit longer. 

He pours himself a small glass of water and opens one of the cans of beans. He fills a couple of bottles with the rest of the water and puts them, along with the unopened food, into his backpack, before sitting on the kitchen counter to eat his meal. 

He eats slowly, ignoring the gnawing in his stomach that makes him want to scoff it all down, knowing from experience that if he eats slower, he’ll feel fuller. So he takes his time, looking around the kitchen as he eats. It was probably a nice kitchen back in the day, when electricity powered all the fancy gadgets and there wasn’t dust everywhere and cobwebs in all the corners. His thoughts inevitably come to the people who used to own this place. A young couple is Yoongi’s guess. He imagines them buying this house together, cooking together in this kitchen, laughing, kissing… He wonders where they are now. Dead maybe. Undead probably.

When he’s finished eating, he makes his way into the main bedroom. There’s a thick layer of dust on everything, and the mattress is slightly rotten, but it’s the best Yoongi’s had in a long time. He sits on the edge of the bed and takes his backpack off, then his shoes, before letting himself flop backwards into the mattress, coughing as dust flies into his mouth.  

He stares at the ceiling, and sighs. 

It’ll be dark soon. He’s secured the house, there’s nothing left to do now but wait it out until morning. Maybe he’ll sleep, for a couple of hours, until the nightmares shake him awake. But mostly he’ll lie here and stare at the ceiling as he replays every moment since the infection over and over in his head and wonder what the point of it all is. 

Out of habit, his hand slides into his pocket and he pulls out an old polaroid. It’s creased and fading and ripped at the corners, but Yoongi can still see Jimin’s smile, shining bright and beautiful at him from the middle of the picture. It was taken six months before the infection—nearly a year ago now—on their three-year anniversary. Yoongi had kept it in his wallet until it became clear wallets weren’t necessary in this world anymore. Since then, he’s kept it in his pocket, and pulled it out every night.