Colors Of Fire

July 20

[Trigger warning: mentions of minor death, drunk driving accident, anxiety attack]

8:00 pm

Yoongi rushed into his house with two big bags of snacks. He didn't know what the gang would like, so he bought a bit of everything. Even though they had asked him not to get anything, he felt obliged to buy something.

It was his first time at the so-called SCA (Ignoring Jimin's whining, the rest of them denied the name Jimin gave and simply called it THE CAMP), so he was nervous.

He knew Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung well enough by then. Seokjin, the owner of the cafe Hoseok part times at was also a well-known face for him. Namjoon wasn't that familiar with him, but he thinks he can manage.

The hallway of his house was long and narrow. It was littered with his mom's vase collections and a display of their family photos. The light in the kitchen was on and it seemed like people were talking there. He cursed under his breath and passed through the kitchen to reach the stairs.

"Isn't that Yoongi? Whatever happened to his hair?!" He heard a loud whisper, not necessarily trying to be discreet.

Yoongi ignored the old female voice and rushed up the stairs to his room.

The lady must be one of his mother's old friends.

He transferred the snacks to the backpack and shrugged off his bomber. There was 15 minutes more until Hoseok arrived to pick him up.

"He used to be a very nice boy," he heard the lady say downstairs.

Times like these made him hate the thin and old walls of the house. He couldn't block out everything here. He couldn't hide here. Nothing seemed safe.

"The therapist said it was his friends. They were a bad influence." his mother sighed, "Do you remember his middle school friend? He was such a bad exposure to our Yoongi."

Moments of his past started to flash by, leaving Yoongi unbalanced and disoriented. He remembered nights in a suffocating space. He felt a dark and heavy mist settle on his chest. It was cold and mocking. He couldn't escape.

"I heard that guy died in an accident while driving drunk. Poor kid."

It was cold, he was cold. He didn't know when, but he was starting to shiver. He felt like his knees would give up on him if he moved.

"He did. Our Yoongi used to get such high scores in school. He even got admission in the medical department, but he went on to join the arts instead!"

There was a fog blocking his vision. He could hear everything too clearly from the ticking clock at his desk to the clawing voices downstairs. It was too much. It was too cold.

"Why didn't you stop him?"

His vision became blurry. The room seemed dull in his eyes, the single light in that cranky space was too bright. His head ached with all the lights and darkness. The moon hovering out his closed window sill seemed too far outside the glass door. A bone-chilling breeze came rushing in.

"He didn't even tell us. He changed the department on the day of admissions. We came to know of it only on the date of the results."

He couldn't breathe. There was too much air and too little at the same time. His chest felt heavy frozen under the shirt.

"How ridiculous!"

He tried to scream for help. He did scream but there seemed to be no reply from the other side. Did he scream? Was the piercing sound only ringing in his ears?

"I know! It's probably the work of that guy."

He heard a car horn. He didn't think it was his friends but still grabbed his bomber and backpack and hurried downstairs. He stumbled out of the house before anyone, including him, could fully comprehend it.

It was too cold.

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Note:

The episode Yoongi has is purely based on my personal take. It is in no way, medically accurate nor generalizing. Attacks can feel different to every person, all their emotions are valid and appropriate. I hope whatever you or others are feeling is acknowledged and given importance. If anything, I'm personally here to listen.