Colors Of Fire

August 7

[Trigger warning: Mention of past abuse]

8:30 pm

Yoongi was seated on the table overlooking a simple dinner meal. Both his parents work, so Yoongi didn't mind the occasional family dinners. As long as they didn't talk.

"Mr.Oh was talking about going abroad. He said his son is paying for his trip," His father said, eyeing Yoongi's plate, "While our's is sitting here, eating away my money."

That. That was what Yoongi feared, what Yoongi hated.

Like standing on a beach with legs underwater, he felt being pulled downward while still being on the same spot. He could almost feel the room getting hotter. A veil of hatred, being gently blown by sentimental winds.

"He's just in his third year, he will do better after he finishes college," his mom replied while she served her husband more rice.

Yoongi could almost hear all the noises inside his head. The shouting, things breaking, someone crying...

"With a major in arts? The most he can do is paint walls in houses. He can't feed himself, let alone us."

Yoongi couldn't pick up the chopsticks. He was shaking. He couldn't do anything properly. The noises were clouding his senses.

"Honey, I've talked to Mrs.Ahn, she advised us to sign Yoongi up for computer courses. With luck, he can get into small companies."

He remembered the sleepless nights, fearing for his mother's safety. He was reminded of being thrown into an abyss with his father's words.

"Why spend my money again? He's useless anyway."

The wretched words he had hoped to forget, the hands that had left marks on his face. It became all too clear, all too cold.

"Honey..."

There seemed to be no ending to that dark despair. No ending in being pushed down, only to get pushed down again.

"Just ask him to join his cousin's company. He will at least get enough to feed himself."

They didn't seem to love him. Not when he was bruised, not when he was limping, not when he was sitting under the kitchen table shivering under this bitter chilly storm of depreciation.

"I can't join any full-time jobs. I have assignment deadlines and final year projects start next month." Yoongi mumbled in his breath. His voice was raspy, and it made his throat hurt.

He needed to breathe. He needed to get away from it all. The constant belittling seemed like a claw, scratching at his throat until he had no voice left.

"Who cares about your stupid college? It's worth nothing. What are you going to do with your major? Planning to open a street-side shop in amusement parks?" His father yelled, fisting his hands on the table.

Yoongi flinched at that. Yoongi was raised to flinch and fear. It was like falling into a hard slab of concrete. Always ending up with broken bones and punctured lungs. It was too cold, too dark and too loud. Until-

It's a blessing to have dreams and a talent to back it up. Don't let it go to waste Yoongi. Don't make the same mistakes that I made.

"I care! I'm responsible for my dreams and passion. I can't abandon it for anything else, "Yoongi said with conviction, " It's not like I'm burning your cash. I study with my scholarship and get things I need with my own money by selling art online."

He felt it softly, like the whispering of sunlight on winter mornings. He smelt it like burning diesel and coffees.

"You think that is enough to make your ends meet in the future? What will you do after the degree? Listen to me, Yoongi, you are not ruining your life anymore!"

He heard it under the sun with wind breezing through this hair.

Get up Yoongi, life has so much to offer. Open your eyes and see. Fight for the view.

"You're not living my life anymore." Yoongi got up from the table to head upstairs. He had to do it. He needed to do it.

If you hate being belittled, then don't belittle yourself first. Your choices matter, give them your voice.

"I'm not going to be your puppet dad. I'm not living your dreams, nor am I going to live your reality. Even if I beg on streets, it's going to be because of my actions, not your decisions," Yoongi slammed the door shut.

He packed his clothes into a duffel and threw his art supplies into a weekender bag. If he stayed in one of the hostels outside the university for a while, he could apply for a dorm room and move in. He was ready for this already, but he needed one more push. He needed something, anything to do it for.

Yoongi did it.

He did it for a guy in plaid shirts with greasy hands. He did it for a guy with bruised lips and the brightest smile.