Stylist Noona

Stylist Noona Pt 42 (Clear My Head) (fluffy angst)

You open your eyes and you're back in the living room, sitting on the floor. Its dark and grey, and the floor is cold against your hands as you press against it to stand up. The plush fabric of the throw pillows has crystals of frost stuck in to the tips of the shag. Your breath plumes out in white fog in front of your face, you follow the cloud up seeing the stairs frosting over.

A shout of struggle echos down from the top floor, you run to the stairs, racing up to the first landing. The last flight of stairs is completely iced over, you slip with every step, scraping your shins on the hard wooden steps. You reach the third step and the slick ice forces you onto all fours, using your hands to gain extra traction, as the shouts continue to get more violent and frequent. The voices are muffled and unintelligible, like they are speaking through pillows.

The ice burns against your palms, and your nose and fingertips are starting to go numb. The air gets colder as you climb higher into the house, and the fabric of your jeans and the skin of your palms start to stick to the steps making the ascent that much more painful.

Finally you reach the top of the house, your body aches with cold, and your constant shivering impedes your movement. Step. By. Step. Slowly, as you move closer to the bedroom door, your legs become heavier, like your shoes are filled with lead and your knees unable to bend.

You reach out to grasp the door knob, the cold metal stings your hand and it brings a tear that freezes instantly on your cheek. You push against the door but it doesn't budge, trying once again you throw all of your weight into the door and you crash through landing in the middle of an ice sculpture.

The bedroom is the coldest by far, its a heavy cold that makes it difficult to breath and your eyes hurt from how fast any moisture is freezing. Forcing your eyes open you look up above you to see glassy statues of Hoseok, and Yoongi with their arms wrapped around you, or rather the statue version of you. Wretching your head around to the other side you see Jungkook on top of Jimin reeling back for another punch, while Jin and Namjoon try to separate them.

You look back to yourself, you had just stood there, watching. Your statues eyes are glued open into the most clueless, emotionless expression. How could you just stand and watch?

Your fingers had been so numb you hadn't realized they were starting to freeze over like the rest of the statues, now up to your elbows was clear and glassy and frozen in place. Now up to your shoulders, and your legs up to your waist, it doesn't hurt until it hits your lungs, and your heart, and you black out from the pain.

All that surrounds you is black, your eyes are open and its black. To your left there is nothing, and to your right there is nothing, not that you can feel at least. You are completely alone,or so it seems. You try to take a step forward, but, the muffled voices start again, they are quiet but agitated and menacing.

"(word fuzz)"

"What the fuck did you say to me?"

"You heard me"

The words slowly become more clear until you recognize them as leading up to the fight.

You try to yell for them to stop but when you open your mouth nothing comes out, no matter how hard you strain your vocal cords. Clasping your hands around your ears you desperately try to block out their shouting, shaking your head furiously, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You just want it to stop.

"Please." you whisper defeated by the swallowing darkness.

Everything is quiet.

Your fingertips graze against a soft fabric, and there is an inviting warmth on your skin. A thin beam of sunlight glints in your eyes and you blink against it, shifting to sit up.