Yoongi x Reader
Thriller/ Horror (Warning! There is blood and evilness)
*A/N: This work is for @starlighttaek8, who has been eager and willing throughout this whole process, only to be short-sighted. Again, I apologize and hope you enjoy this story in subsitute for something your writer should have written for you.*
You’re cloaked in neither dread nor relief as you drag the storm door open. Coming to this building so early in the morning has become a routine that does not necessarily tire you in any form. Moreover, it’s your favourite class to date, so trudging through the empty halls and the circular, winding architecture of the building an hour before the class begins gives you no trouble.
You never stop walking until you bound up the few stairs and tug on the brown door to what you know will be an empty lecture hall. Each time you enter, you worry that maybe this will be the day that there’s a lecture going on and you’ll stumble in like a bumbling idiot, unaware of what is what; so you sigh quietly in relief as you meet rows upon rows of gaudy orange seats reflecting the lights situated on the high ceilings. The whole room. Completely. Empty.
Your earbuds are nestled comfortably in your ears, blaring a song with an invigorating beat to keep you energized in the morning. With no other sound, you can easily imagine the room filled with the hard hitting snares, blaring trumpets, mixture of high angelic voices, low booming basses and raspy chants of elated celebration of boys just having fun. It all feels so surreal, even after months of experiencing this exact moment.
Once you sit in your usual groaning, orange plastic seat, your eyes trail over the room, finally turning back to look at the last row, high up, and the window cut by the sharp corner of the beige stone wall. The last time you ever went to that top row was during the summer of last year, when you visited the institution. Although you couldn’t see much from the rectangular ceiling-to-floor glass, you felt as though you were standing on top of the world, peeking through at the city skyline.
You feel yourself moving forward with involuntary steps, taking you up and up, balancing as you move one foot in front of the other until you’re back into obscure yet familiar territory, shifting ever so slightly on your soles. Pressing your face to the glass, you’re faced with a chill crushing at your forehead, the cool weather from outside rolling off the thick, transparent barrier. Eyes trained past the murky wall, you meet, again, the hint of a city skyline cloaked in a thick, low bearing fog.
It’s beautiful, really! A sight to behold, peering through a hidden channel and catching a glimpse of a world moving on. Even though the picture in front of you is utterly satisfactory, it is the image of the room before you as you turn around that creates the jubilant noise forming in your chest.
Again, the room is expansive, and with the melodies flooding your ears, it seems to be drenched in such lively music, that it contrasts the dim lighting attempting to cancel out the darkening skies outside.
You see rather than hear the figure walking into the room. Although the mint green strands of hair artfully splayed in disarray atop the boy’s head should have been the first thing you noticed, your attention focuses on the tan, knitted sweater draping off his shoulders over a black turtleneck. Surely, you knew how lovely the weather was for a late winter morning - but certainly not so warm as to dismiss a coat altogether.
You know this boy, not by name, but by face. Whenever you enter the room, he’s either situated in his own creaking, orange throne to the far left near the front, close to the professor’s podium, or creeping in not so subtly just minutes after you’ve arrived. You both have always easily shared the expanse of empty chairs, and you don’t expect any different. He barely gives you a glance, only noting your unfamiliar position - hiding in the back of the hall, rather than your usual seat on the far right side, near the front.
Your eyes glaze over his familiar figure, the speck of green fitting into place as you carefully slide into the seat next to the window.
You always dreamed of sitting back here, watching and listening from such a far distance; however, your wavering eyesight prevented you from the joys of far places, lest you wanted to undergo the squint challenge, trying to decipher the blurred, jumbled shapes into proper, intelligible words. You sigh, cursing the small things in life you most desired that were so completely unattainable.
You’re not sure how long you sit there before your ears begin to hone back in on the continued cacophony of harmonies tickling at your senses, refocusing on how the music flowing from your earbuds seems to ascend and descend in sporadic waves. You grab your phone, intending to inspect the volume, before the music fades completely, cutting off and leaving echos of mingled magic to fall on your ears, feeling somehow unfinished and empty.
Like the lecture hall.
Tugging at the buds sitting snugly in your ears, your actions are interrupted by the sight in your peripheral. You glance through the window, awestruck, at the clouds rolling in. The day has been immersed in thick, grey clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening stormy weather - this you know. But the jet black ink seeming to mix in with the gloomy weather only screams of something much darker - literally - and dangerous.
You lean in closer, fascinated by the speed with which the skies blacken, wind rushing through the bare branches and shoving at the brick laden walls. It is not until you see the metal railing of a balcony just outside the window begin to sway, and you will your eyes to ascertain whether the nuts and bolts screwed into the concrete ledge are secure, that you lean away.
Again, you curse your failing eyesight and its inability to make out objects past short distances.
Dragging yourself to your feet, you glance down at the mint haired boy, seeing some pale form that could only be his hand tapping at the small grey wooden desk attached to the chair. Maybe he can’t exactly hear the whirlwind clattering just outside the walls you’re so tightly wrapped in, because he doesn’t seem to shift from his slouched posture, staring ahead and waiting for the students to file in and for class to begin.
The flurry of catastrophe sounding outside the building only looms closer, an odd groan sounding as the wind pushes at the structure of the building. Turning your attention back to the black bars bolted to the terrace, you watch as the nuts soar, the metal flailing on whatever hinges are left as debris flies with the angry air.
You don’t even register the resulting cry as your own, when the last screw holding the rail loosens and the iron comes flying toward the window.
There’s a distinct crack of glass and the sound of wind whistling through the crevices. You crowd toward the opposite wall, arms shielding your head, and when you peek out from underneath your arms, the lights are flickering and the rail is nestled in the glass, protruding halfway inside the lecture hall.
Your heart is racing with your feet, running down the uneven steps and almost tripping over the structural design - until you actually do slip on the glossy cemented floor. The harsh fall sends shocks of pain up your back, the hand that barely caught your misstep grabbing at a slab of stone. There’s another crash behind you and the lights flicker off completely; but time seems to move too quickly, and heart beating in your ears, you get up and haphazardly shuffle to get to your book bag and coat.
When you turn back to see the cause of the commotion, you see the row of chairs initially nailed to the floor now piled into a jumbled mess, the glass now completely shattered, with another pole of iron poking through the windowsill. The wind surges through the opening, dust and dead leaves flying inside. You’re sure a plastic bag has made its way inside, until you blink, only to find the black object flying around to be a crow.
You should be moving, instinct tells your body, but your feet stay rooted to the ground, staring in awe as more tumble in, flapping their wings to float almost effortlessly with the force of the wind. Soon the ceiling is littered with black, a plethora of crows drenching the air with their alarmed caws; they seem to follow each other, one flying behind the other until they all begin to circle the perimeter of the room.
There’s a sudden grip at your wrist. The green haired boy.
“We have to go,” both of you say almost simultaneously, with you not giving much thought to how little urgency there is in his tone. He drags you along, flying down the few steps that remain, until you get to the entrance hall.
“Fuck,” his curse is lost amongst the chaotic symphony of distressed birds and whirling air, and it falls on deaf ears as he shoves you to the ground right before the glass doors leading to the balcony swing open completely, dismantling from their hinges and sailing towards your intended exit.
You’re so close to sighing in relief, ignoring the pain screaming in your knees from the impact, when you realize the boy is nowhere to be found. You whip your head to the right, where he’d been a second earlier, and to the left. He’s not in front of you either.
Somehow, a low squeaky cackle cuts through all the commotion and urgent matters at hand, the noise erupting from behind you, crawling down your spine. You stretch your neck and see him leaning against the wall, hair moving with the air and smiling down at you.
“God,” he whispers through a groan, ignoring the wind demanding him to move faster, as he saunters to stand over you, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”
What? The question is at the back of your throat when suddenly, the boy drops to his knees, straddling your thighs and way too close to your face for comfort.
“A friend,” he sneers, answering the question you’ve yet to ask. His eyes are wild, flitting over your face as his grin turns wide and manic. You feel yourself leaning back before you finally use your hands to drag yourself away, crawling backwards. You maintain eye contact as he watches you move, making sure you are out from under him before running back to the chaos inside the lecture room. The birds sore too low, whipping past your head, and you duck to avoid them when you feel something at your ankle, the floor closing distance with your face as you fall to the ground.
“You don’t know.” He’s right behind you, voice low and scratchy. Soon he’s crawling over you again, pushing at your shoulder to flip you onto your back. He smiles, before his eyes twitch and he seems to writhe into a fit of shivers above you, groans crawling up his neck as he turns his head from side to side. He opens his mouth wide and there’s a sound of bone snapping, jaw dislocating as his head rolls forward. You're scrambling, crawling away from the face that stares back at you with eyes rolled back into his head and white skin, pale and ghostly, with black adorning the area around his sockets.
When he smiles now, blood coats his lips and gums. “You don’t know,” he repeats, “how fucking long I’ve waited for someone to join me.” Another cackle erupts as he watches you try to desperately drag yourself away from him, while he creeps forward, eyes on his target.
“You’ll stay with me forever,” he laughs, the reverberating cackle bouncing off the walls as if the room is anything but the turmoil it is.
You don’t realize how fast your heart is beating, how you haven’t taken a proper breath, until his hand is coming up to your neck. But by then, you’ve lost all feeling, adrenaline coursing through your bones until you’re numb. You do not realize he’s squeezing down on your throat and crushing your windpipe until you choke out the weakest cough.
“Fucking finally,” he jeers, sitting up properly with his hand still encased around your neck. He pulls you off the ground, white eyes peering down at you. The world seemingly goes quiet as he whispers again.
“A friend.”
He drags you higher only to shove you back into the floor.
And everything goes black.
There’s a shove at your shoulder, and you realize your head is resting on something soft yet strong.
“Hey,” you hear someone call out. And you’re quick to open your eyes, blinking until your vision is filled with a pale face and green hair.
You jerk yourself upright, forehead knocking into the boy’s mouth. Ignoring the pain in your head, you try to stand, but find that not only is there a stiffness in your joints, there is also an arm around your waist, caging you in.
“Are you okay?” the boy asks again, brown eyes wandering over your face and doing a quick inspection of the rest of your body. His words are clear yet hold an edge of concern, and you have to take in the room as you fully come to.
The room is completely intact, and quiet, save for the noise of the whistling wind behind you. You turn your head to see the same rail stuck in the window.
You’re on the stairs.
“What happened?” You test your voice, only to feel it grind against your vocal chords as you speak your inquiry.
“You slipped on the stairs and knocked your head on the step,” he explains, slowly sitting you completely upright. The sharp edge that dug into your back can still be felt, painfully so, as you try to stretch. You look at the boy, noting the little colour in his cheeks, the narrow eyes that blink at you and the random strands that seem to fall into his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks again.
You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the knot forming on the back of your head. “Where is everyone?”
He fiddles in his pocket until he pulls out his phone. Showing you the screen with the email opened, he shrugs. “She actually just cancelled class.” He huffs out the smallest chuckle, averting his gaze from yours. “Probably should have done that a while ago, huh, and avoid the almost accident?”
You find yourself giving him a faint smile at his words, watching the way he runs his tongue over his teeth. “Oh, sorry for head-butting you in the mouth,” you blush.
He finally looks back to you. “I’m Yoongi,” he introduces, pulling back and holding his hand out.
You shake his hand, mumbling your name. You’re ready to pull back when he stands, tugging you up as well. He eyes the railing and so do you, sighing. “Should we maybe tell someone?” you suggest.
“I’ll do it,” Yoongi offers, clearing his throat at the way you flinch at his eagerness. Maybe you should question him, but you’re more than ready to leave the dreaded room that once held so much of your fondness. Your heart is still stuttering in your chest as you walk to your seat and grab your things, still a bit shaky on your legs and doubtful of each step you take.
You pause at the door when you find Yoongi right behind you. Was it possible that you dreamt the whole thing?
He reaches past your body, shoving the door open and holding it back so you can leave first.
“I guess I’ll see you soon,” you say, voice raspy, as you watch the boy walk next to you. He nods with a smile and you shrug your coat on, swinging the bag until it hits your tender back. You cough through the flash of pain and wave goodbye, walking through the winding halls until you exit through the door.
The wind is not as fierce when you walk through the door, and you laugh under your breath at the way your mind plays tricks on you. At any rate, you begin on your path, aimlessly wandering, though with a destination in mind.
Yoongi breathes evenly, staring down his reflection, and focusing on the twitch in his right eye. Jaw burning under the surface, he mindlessly raises his fingers to the itch, blunt nails digging into the pale skin as he drags them forward. It starts off as a few strokes, seemingly light handed, as he repeatedly scratches at the surface.
The fluorescent light above the dingy mirror flickers at the same moment his eye twitches again. Soon his hand becomes frantic, gouging out the soft flesh of his jaw like paper, until he feels it begin to peel away.
Yoongi sighs, the sound of ripping flesh so satisfying. He can feel the warm, thick blood under his fingers as he gets a better grip, peeling away until pale skin uncovers the red muscle underneath. Yoongi won’t deny that after the initial sensation that needs to be scratched, it turns into pain, but he doesn’t stop until the crimson mess falls into the sink. The lack of face he’s met with in the mirror now satisfies him, the twitch gone completely.
He stretches his neck, reveling in the cracks emitted and looks up at the ceiling, basking in the poorly lit restroom.
He pulls out his phone after haphazardly wiping the blood from his hands. Thumb running nimbly over the screen, he sends a text before glancing at the reflection of his face one last time. Stretching tendons into a smile at the mirror and cutting off the light, he exits the bathroom.
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