"I've stared at you enough, haven't I? But you, your body, it makes me want to do all kinds of sinful things to you. Before long, I imagine us going at it like bunnies in the storage room, but I control myself. Good things come with time, after all...
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"If only there could be another way to do this, 'cause it feels like murder to put your heart through this."
~T.I
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There are hardly any cars on the highway when the stars are out, but the ones who have somewhere to be take on an almost zany quality about them, projected by my own sleep-deprived mind. I wonder where they have to be so early in the morning, if their reasoning is just as dire as mine. I wonder what motivated them to wake up at midnight or keep driving when the coffee's grip began to slip.
I hope I'm remembering the directions correctly. It has been a few years, after all, but the general scenery still hasn't changed. Maybe more trees to look at, more pointless fast food restaurants littered about the exits, but the road itself has been etched into my heart. I wish I didn't have to thank Seokjin for making me dig up that buried memory again.
All I want to do is forget about Yoongi, about him. I want to crawl into bed and pretend in blissful sleep that I don't need anyone to survive.
The pavement toward the shop is bumpy and in dire need of repair, cracks that were there 15 years ago now stretched into a canyon that didn't have to be there in the first place. Left to fester, they pulled their diseased bodies toward the ground and hibernated until strange footsteps trespassed into their realm.
I raise my eyes to Cheapo Discs' once glorious, freshly-painted sign. It crawls with wall flowers and graffiti now. I hear the doors below push open, and among the abandoned flora is Seokjin, standing in a T-shirt while I'm freezing in a jacket out in 50 degree weather.
I suppose we've established that he's not human by now, but if this doesn't drive the point home, I don't know what will.
"Where is he?" I ask, to which he tsks at me like I'm a dog.
"Why so eager?" he calls, throwing up his hands. "It's been ages since we've caught up-"
"It's 6 o'clock in the fucking morning, Seokjin. I didn't come here for a family reunion."
"Fine. Follow me." He doesn't wait for me to respond before shuffling to the entrance, but stops before I'm completely behind him. (he's thoroughly convinced everyone is waiting for an opportunity to stab him in the back when given the chance, and I'm not one to dispel such a grounded fear.)
We walk through the store in silence, and I notice that he's walking with a slight limp. His body instinctually shields it from the rest of the world by stiffening his arm where the wound is, but I don't have to see his face to know that he's wincing each time his left foot makes contact with the ground.
Good. It probably smarts, too.
I take the opportunity to look around, something I most likely won't have a chance to do again, and just a whiff of the processed air already has me reeling in childhood memories. Even without all of the luminescent lights working and CDs lined up on the shelves, I know it's the same place that served as a haven for me and, to an extent, my brother.
