"Is this okay?" Namjoon nervously asked, eyes flickering around except to land on Yoongi's face. Nervousness overtook him.
Again and again, he’d end up spacing out as of late –feeling detached from his own self, almost dissociating from the body that was sitting and looking at the dear friend, missing good half of whatever speech was leaving the taller’s plump lips except for that ‘is this okay?’ hurled out by that sultry voice causing icy shivers to run through his spine and his figure to almost look startled on his seat.
( and that profound tone reaching his hears while his soul would get thrown in and out of its meat husk and mangled to the point even said husk and bones would show the signs of inhumane torture and he’d lightly sob with ache, hiding the blackness of bruises in even bigger and tattered sweaters, becoming even tinier, even more fragile even closer to the end.
he can’t stop thinking about it. he can’t stop longing for the tortureand he feels dirty, so dirty, so impure. )
And he almost was afraid to speak, almost as if that would pretty much ruin the sense of freedom and peace given by those moments he’d reach for that one other person ( outside the glided prison that is his belltower ) he could really consider as ‘his first friend’. « I am sorry, ah– » Dammit, dammit, dammit. « I think I was distracted, what did you mean? » // @deathtorn
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