"What do you want?" You grumble as you swing your front door open too hard, waving a half empty beer bottle around with your free hand. Your body swayed erratically to keep up with your arm's momentum and you end up leaning against the doorframe in an effort to retain some form of bolster. Other than that, the tipsy consciousness that blinks your mind's eye black and white offers you little help in upholding you as you stood. You flash a cockeyed smile at the figure who banged on your door at the wonderful hour of 4 am.
You barely catch his familiar features when you come face to face with the mint haired fellow, the skin between his brows creased in an expression you're too intoxicated to even try to read. The moonlight illuminates every disheveled strand of green on his head, but the chocolate swirling in his eyes stay dark. He's panting and almost doubled over. He must've ran all the way here.
You're taken aback when the alcohol in his rugged exhale hits you two times harder than the swig of burning liquid you just downed in the middle of the doorway.
"Are you gonna let me in or not?" The person in front of you inquires. He leans in dangerously close to your collar and attempts to brush past your shoulders, but only his peppermint head makes it around you. He strains to peer inside the apartment, pink lips forming a stout "o" as he tries to count the beer bottles and boxes of takeout that enter his line of sight.
The slur in his voice matches yours if not overpowers it, and in the moment he lays his chin down on the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around your waist do you realize that your ex had way more to drink than you did. If his gestures weren't enough to alert you, the fat whiskey bottle in his hand certainly was.
You don't know if it's the Budweiser talking, but a "yes~" rolls off your tongue at his query. You pry his fingers away from your lower half and a giggle bubbles up your throat as you take a wobbly step to the side, making way for the man you had spent a year trying to forget- who guilelessly ruins your entire efforts with every passing breath he takes in your living room. You guffaw at the irony of it all, clutching your sides because they begin to feel a bit unbearable.
"I haven't been home in such a long time.." He croons wistfully all of a sudden, his gaze pointed and brimming with a sense of belonging that comes with being in your previously shared living space. He runs paled digits along the armrest of the weathered sofa and smiles at the memories that surge from within. The sleepless nights, rainy days, warm summers- all of which you'd pass by in his loving arms as the both of you tangled with one another in a messy splay of limbs upon the aging furniture.
"I never sit here ever since you left." You singsong, throwing yourself chestfirst onto the cushions. You breathe into the fabric, "It hurts too much."
A silence grows between you, and it's neither awkward nor is it comfortable. You part the eyelids you absentmindedly shut, flickering up to gauge his reaction. Again you see that his brows are furrowed and you simply can't tell what he's thinking as he bores his brown pools into yours. Nevertheless, you scoot over and he sees it as his cue to seat himself next to you. You don't protest when he bends his knees and the couch dips evenly. After all, this is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? You watch as he takes your beer from your hand and sets it down on the coffee table, beside his own unfinished whiskey bottle.
"I left because you told me to, remember?" He sighs and loops an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to nuzzle into the indent of your collarbone. "If it hurts, then why did you tell me to go in the first place?" The gravel in his voice smooths out and his lips press warm kisses of air on the exposed skin of your neck. You shudder, old wounds reopening as the estranged ministrations slowly don't feel foreign anymore.
"I don't remember saying anything like that," you mutter quietly, bringing your hand up to rake through his silky hair, "you must be drunk talking." A laugh rumbles out of his chest and he peels himself away from you before your fingers can thread through his scalp. He withdraws just enough to be able to eye your profile down and you squirm under his scrutiny. "That's a lie and you know it." He chides you gently. His features soften when he notices you growing uncomfortable towards his gaze.
"You're supposed to be drunker than I am," you groan, tossing your head back before reaching for the bottle sitting on the adjacent table, "how the hell do you read people so well?" He slaps your hand away, stopping you from plunging into an inebriation that's worse than your current one.
"Not people, just you." He whispers, bundling you in his arms to stop you from moving altogether. He weighs you down and the both of you end up lying together in the cramped space.
Nostalgia painfully washes over you as you relax into a position you've memorized all too well. After he has you in his embrace, he'll let an arm trail to your hip while the other lingers around your shoulder. You have more freedom to move that way, and you'll use it to sling a hand to the back of his neck, toying with the tufts growing on its base. He's distracted by the gentle tugs you're giving and you take the chance to slip a limb between his legs. He feels the friction in his thighs and realizes he can pull you even closer than this, which is exactly what he does.
And so you lie flush against him, the distance between your faces nearly impermeable save for the amalgamation of intoxicated breaths spilling out his and your lips. You savor the moment with a stare into his eyes, drinking in the glittering adoration he withheld in them. You wonder if that was what he hid behind the earlier haze over his irises.
"I miss this so much." His voice cracks, but it only takes a second for him to regain composure, quickly shutting his lids and allowing his lashes to cast shadows on his cheekbones. They're more defined than they used to be, did he lose weight?
"You think I don't?" You whimper, burying your nose deeper into the folds of his bomber jacket. You inhale as much of his presence as you can because you know it's not going to last till the morning.
"I wonder if we would have more nights like this if I hadn't left you."
"... Maybe, but it isn't likely."
"I should've stayed with you."
"No." Your response is immediate and more rounded this time around. You owe it to yourself, sobering up before you ultimately gave in to the chimera he offered. "That'd just be painful for the both of us." You assure him, and your words seep under his skin like an unpleasant cold.
"You already left and there's no turning back, Yoongi." You bite your lip to keep the tremble in your voice from leaking out, but he must've heard a sliver of it because his grip on your forearm tightens.
"I really wish I hadn't. I swear to God, I wish I didn't, (Y/n)." His grasp on you grows even tighter, but he's holding onto you for his own sake more than yours this time. You can tell he's losing his grip on reality the same way you're losing yours as the weight of regret crushes the both of you; you have no idea why it does. There was no other way you could have gone around the mutually dreaded break up, anyway. You pondered alternatives countless of times, but you truly had exhausted all the available options; your relationship with him was simply fated to end.
You trace along his side with your fingertips to find his hand and its slender appendages. Your palm hovers over the coldness you realize are his knuckles, and you lace over them for dear life. His fingers feel like wisps, slipping between yours no matter how hard you held onto them. Saltwater threatens to brim over your eyeline and stings the corners of your eyes, but you don't want them to spill. Not when you finally have Min Yoongi by your side. Not after a whole year of not looking into those dazzling brown eyes, glazed in a layer of tears similar to yours.
You shouldn't have let him in.
You shouldn't have let him go.
God, you'd gladly volunteer to take his place had you been given the choice.
You honestly never wanted him to leave, how could you ever? You had only wished for his suffering to stop, and letting him go was the only way for that to happen.
You couldn't bear to listen to the gradual slowing of his heartbeat on the IV monitor any longer and you despised the mechanical clamor made everytime he drew in an artificial breath with the machine. His lashes cast hollow shadows on his cheekbones, and you realized the ghastly amount of weight he had lost- continued to lose. You couldn't continue seeing Min Yoongi 'live' like that.
"Just go, Yoongi. Move on. You don't need to be here anymore." You urged him tight-lippedly, kissing the entwine of your fingers around his near-lifeless ones. It was the ungodly hour of 4 am and you had failed to get a wink of sleep for the umpteenth night. You knew the man lying beside you would have given you hell for it if he weren't absorbed in his own deep sleep. You reminisced the times when he'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear to get you to lie down in bed with him, hoping the remembrance would inject into you a tinge of slumber, though the idea didn't work out as you wanted it to. If anything, it made it even harder for the drowsiness to kick in.
On that fateful night, you prayed for Yoongi to be taken off your hands, not because he was a burden but because you didn't want whatever higher being there was to drawl his end out any longer. His condition was already caught in a decline for the longest time, and all you wanted for him was to rest in overdue peace.
God seemed to listen to your bitter prayers because exactly one year ago, Yoongi laid to rest in his hospital bed. Something eventually came over you and you successfully fell asleep, but you woke up to the infernal bleeping of the IV monitor coming to an eternal monotone; the high pitched noise you had both dreaded and hoped for.
A thousand emotions boiled in your blood as you realized you had prayed for your own demise.
The day Min Yoongi died was the day you stopped truly living.
You glance up again at the beautiful delusion intoxication had kindly graced you with. You hold a hand up to his flushed cheek, and you realize it's damp with the tears that flow freely down his chocolate orbs.
"Y-You're beautiful, you know?" Yoongi manages, almost as if he was voicing out your very thoughts- though you remind yourself that he may very well be a mere figment of your drunk imagination.
"I love you so much." He chokes out as he plants wet kisses on your cheeks, forehead, the whole expanse of your face. Your tears finally fall because the osculations he leaves so fervently feels like nothing but air blowing softly onto your features. Imagination or not, Yoongi loves you, and without a doubt, you feel the same way.
"I love you too." You reply hushedly. You're afraid of speaking up, as if the faintest of sounds would segregate whatever fantasy was holding him together in front of you.
"I never left you." He clinches, his thumbs brushing away the stray strands of (h/c) that stuck to your wet cheeks, "And I never will." He presses another kiss between the arches of your brows. You commit the flutter of nerves his feathery touch leaves in its wake to your memory, pushing away the fact that everything you're feeling, every sensation and every tingle, is just a hallucination. You wish you had a notepad nearby to jot down the things he did in your dream, because that's the only place you'll ever get to meet him again.
"Stay with me, please, babe."
You screw your eyes shut, and can no longer distinguish his voice and yours as they become blurry in the background. You don't know who's who when frantic cries rack the otherwise still air of the room. All you can remember is that you initiated the final kiss, crashing your lips onto Yoongi's and efficiently silencing whoever's weeping it was. Your eyes stay closed throughout the bittersweet exchange, as you want to fully experience the unspoken words he had to share with you through the bare caresses of his tongue against yours. You map out his orifice by sheer memory that you had garnered through finite amount of practice that you exercised with him and him only.
He eagerly lets you in his cavity, he himself tracing shapes along your entrance as if it was a blank canvas and he was a painter given a palette of the world's vibrant colors. You wish you can feel more of his earnestness without the boundary of existence, because all you can catch is the ghost of air grazing your swollen pink crescents. Your tongue swipes over his to brush over a feverish sensation, cherishing it however faint it was. You don't know when the kiss actually ended, because the black behind your eyelids persists as you- or he, you're not exactly sure who- carve an "I love you" into the other's lips.
Darkness ebbs over completely and the moment your eyes shoot open, morning sunlight sifts through the blinds and the sofa isn't as narrow as it used to be. You stifle the agonizing disappointment you feel as you flip to your side and don't meet with a mess of green hair and sleepy brown eyes greeting you lazily behind half-hooded lids.
Just when you thought you'd gotten over waking up to nothing in the morning.
Numbness courses through your veins, and you lie still for the first few fleeting seconds. You've gotten so used to your raging hangovers you barely feel it when you actually get them, but you know you're having one when the smell of ethanol is thick in the air.
You glance over your shoulder to calculate the amount of bottles you drank dry the other night, wondering if you had broken a personal record. You must have, for getting such a sensible dream to visit you in your sleep. Your gaze falls on the coffee table and your heartstrings turn taut. The blood pumping vessel returns to a throbbing pace against your ribcage as you count the bottles sitting on your table.
One beer, one whiskey.
