BTS HORROR ONE SHOTS

emaciated; myg (ANGST)

AUTHOR'S POV

MIN YOONGI had always been naturally skinny. Or at least that is what he always told his members.

At first it had started out as something innocent, dieting to lose just a little bit for him to look nice on camera for their debut stage. It had worked, and he was satisfied with what he saw when the program was aired. He had lost the weight in the correct way, at first.

He worked out and ate well, but towards the end when he still needed to shave off 2 more pounds, he had stopped eating. He chugged water and isolated himself in his room to avoid the temptation of the yummy food Jin would cook up for them in the kitchen, the delicious smell wafting into his shared room.

His members grew concerned with his sudden halt in eating, and the lack of times they would see him presently putting nutrients into his body, so he would reassure them that he ate, it just so happened to be when weren't present. Despite them albeit reluctantly agreeing with him, he could still feel their watchful gaze on them.

After the two days had past successfully without his band mates truly catching onto what he was doing to himself, he couldn't help but feel a small sadistic laugh tumble out of his mouth. He just felt so in control. Not being caught by his members, and being able to shape his body the way he wanted, it made him feel almost giddy.

He did however stop after the debut stage, and returned to eating happily with his members. The stress of the schedule caused him to sometimes come into the kitchen at ungodly times to settle his stomach's pleads for nutrients.

The time of comeback had arrived, and Yoongi was back to his old mentality. Abstaining from all types of food in order to be as slim as everyone wanted him. However, know a new ability had been added to his arsenal to avoid food: purging.

The sickening feeling of his fingers scraping against the back of his throat gave him such a sick sense of pleasure from the amount he can exude over himself made him resort to it on many occasions.

Looking up from where he was washing his hands, he took in his appearance. His pale skin had now appeared ashy, devoid of any colour. The purple bags under his eyes sticking out more. His dyed hair now laid dull against his forehead.

Focusing back on washing his hands, he notes how subtlety they shook. Ignoring it, he dried off his hands before pulling out the scale he had stashed in the bathroom's cabinet. Expressionlessly, he stepped on it.

47kg

He stepped off rather quickly after receiving his result, tsking. He pulled up his shirt to observe his concave stomach, and the way his stomach and collarbones would stick out without him trying to suck in.

Pinching at the fat that no longer could stick on his body, he spat out in utter dissatisfaction.

"Fat."