Yoongi’s life was,at least according to him, pretty boring. Different day, same routine. He woke up in his one-room apartment to white, lifeless walls and an empty bed. Usually around four am. Usually because of a nightmare. He got up, poured himself a cup of cold coffee that was left untouched the day before in favour of feeling his abdomen cramp at the emptiness in his stomach, then sit on his balcony. Mesmerised, he admired how quiet and still Seoul was this early in the morning. The only lights were those of the lampposts lining the wide, deserted streets of the usually frantic city. Nonetheless, Yoongi hated the city he abandoned his family for. He hated how cold, unwelcoming, and indifferent everyone was. He hated how you could just threaten to kill yourself in the middle of the busiest street and no one would even bother to give you a single glance. He hated how insignificant it all made him feel. But Seoul was beautiful, especially under the summer rain. He’d always loved the rain. The chill floating in the air, the smell of wet concrete and soil, the ticking sound raindrops made against his bedroom window. Which is why he cherished mornings like this, when a still asleep Seoul’s deafening silence was being drowned out by the sound of tiny droplets falling from the sky. He could have spent hours on that balcony just admiring the lifeless city beneath his feet, but his boring routine didn’t allow him to unless he woke up before his alarm could ring. Fortunately for him, his nightmares woke him up with two hours to spare before duty called. Guess every blessing comes with a curse. When he heard the clattering sound his phone made while buzzing against the marble floor, he reluctantly snapped out of his haze and started getting ready.
6:00 AM - throw the mug in the sink, he’s gonna wash it later -he never does, too preoccupied with other matters to pay attention to pile forming in his sink, and still too used to having someone else around to do it for him to remember to attend to the dishes.
6:01 AM - brush his teeth and shower under ice cold water -he wants to avoid thinking about a certain someone who liked to stand under a scorching hot spray and would always manage to make Yoongi join in on the suffering.
6:30 AM - throw on the same old outfit, a white t shirt paired with black jeans, a leather jacket, combat boots, and a black beanie -he bought a whole wardrobe worth of the same items of clothing because that is what he was wearing the day they met.
6:45 AM - leave the apartment -taking the long way to the station to avoid walking in front of that one flower shop where he bought flowers for their anniversary.
7:01 AM - take the monorail to work -and pretend to not be looking for anyone in particular when it reaches a particular stop.
He worked multiple jobs.Not out of necessity. His parents were kind enough to send him money to pay for half of the rent and he mostly lived off of coffee, soju, and instant noodles. Yoongi did it to avoid the ghosts haunting his apartment. Wherever he turned around they were there, waiting. Memories of happier days creeped up on him without warning, and it was all too much. So he worked in three different places at the same time to escape the emptiness of his home. In the morning he worked as a cashier in a small convenience store in Myeongdong, in the afternoon he was a barista in a popular cafe in Itaewon, and at night he played the piano in a stupidly fancy restaurant in Jongno-gu. When he got off around midnight he just started aimlessly roaming the city streets, not yet ready to face the reality of what his life had come to. Usually he would come across a bar and go in for a drink. However one drink soon turned into one too many, and he’d find himself stumbling home, drunk out of his mind, at two in the morning. He’d manage to close the door by collapsing with his back against it, but he would forget to lock it once again. He would drag himself to his cold bedroom and, without even bothering to stand up from his half sprawled position on the floor, he’s take out his phone. Despite his blurred vision he would type that damned blog’s name and would start scrolling through pages of recounts of romantic adventures until he saw that one picture. It’s a mirror shot, taken in a hotel room bathroom. He’s still wearing the necklace Yoongi got him. But it’s a girl pulling on it to get a kiss from him. They’re both smiling. His free hand is on her waist, her on his bicep. And that’s when Yoongi breaks. He thinks about when he was behind that smile that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. He remembers how he was able to smile like that too back then. Now that he has left is a broken heart and rivers of tears waiting to be shed. He takes one more shaky breath, his phone falling from his hands, and looks up to the mirror next to him. The tears stop while staring himself in the eye, look full of hatred. Then the alcohol and tear induced migraine would put him to sleep, though it would soon be disrupted by those ghosts that he’d spent the whole day avoiding.