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Kim Taehyung’s skin was heavy with makeup, the artists fingers that were way too cold tilting his head this way and that. His temper was rising, being tired and frustrated enough that the chattering of the makeup artists was enough to piss him off, despite usually joining in with their gossip and laughter.
He hadn’t slept properly in a few days, being way too busy with preparations for the band's latest comeback and the stage that they were due to be on in less than twenty minutes. He was being worked to the bone and the few hours that he had time to have a nap, he was being kept awake by another member or simply his recurring anxieties that plagued him until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. It seemed all he did lately was stare at the darkened ceiling and pray to any of the gods out there to take mercy on him and allow a few hours of sleep.
Nobody out there listened.
He couldn’t make himself fall asleep in the makeup chair like he usually would, so Taehyung nabbed a newspaper that was on the side, hoping that the words would lull him to sleep like they usually would.
Except they fucking didn’t, and Taehyung had ended up reading the entire newspaper, cover to cover, for the first time in his entire life. Well most of it; Taehyung had skipped the birth announcement and obituary page, usually finding it both uplifting and depressing.
Shrugging slightly, he ignored the constant sensation of the makeup brush dancing across his skin despite the fact that he had so much product on his face it almost felt like he couldn’t smile without it cracking, and turned to the aforementioned page - promising himself he wouldn’t look at the obituary page for fear of resuming his crotchety foul mood. However, when he was finished smiling about all the little babies that had been introduced to the world, he couldn’t help himself when his eyes darted to the opposite page.
It was all black and grey, as dismal as the topic the ink was describing, and his eyes absorbed the words like they would fall off the page if he didn’t do it fast enough. It was mostly elderly people that had passed away, which in a way was a good thing. They had lived full lives, had plenty of experiences, and Taehyung absentmindedly thought that he would prefer to die when he was old and grey.
Maybe he would be surrounded by his huge family and hundreds of dogs, thinking back to all the experiences he’d had. All of the times he’d had with his closest friends growing up, all of the hardships getting through school, all the times he’d met a cute dog in the street. All of the times, the hours, the days he spent with his brothers; on stage, in the studio, in the practise room, sitting around the dining table at the ass crack of dawn, eyes swollen shut and no words needing to be shared to express a shared exhaustion. Eventually he would think to the woman he would marry, his soulmate, and all of their children they would have. All of the sleepless nights and changing nappies, all of the birthday parties and school runs.
Yes, Taehyung would be okay with dying when he was old and grey.
His eyes finally made it to the bottom of the page, to the smallest little section of writing, and he read it quickly.
It was a woman, his age. His heart was already heavy at the loss, and when he read it was a murder, a robbery gone wrong, that claimed the lady’s life, he felt even more sorrowful. He couldn’t imagine what the family and friends of this woman were going through and he was thankful it wasn’t anybody he knew.
He folded up the paper, and set it down to the side of him again. The stylist was just spraying his face with setting spray, his eyes closing automatically, and he couldn’t sleep now even if he was about to drop off. His mind was swimming with a faceless woman, alone and defenceless. Did they have long hair? Short hair? Were they tall, or short? Was she a mother? Did she have a job? Are her family okay? Were her friends dealing with this alright?
Taehyung had too many questions that he would never find the answers to.
“Thank you, Osaka!” Namjoon shouted over the roar of the crowd, and all of them bowed again before running offstage.
Panting and breathless, Taehyung was quick to pull off his microphone wires and had the equipment to a nearby stagehand. Grabbing a bottle of water, uncapping it and sipping at the liquid that had never tasted so good in his entire life, he allowed another stylist to start dabbing at the sweat that had built up around his face.
Knowing he was expected back in the chair to have all the makeup taken off him, he shirked off his heavy, velvet jacket and trailed off after Jimin and Jungkook, barely mustering the energy to join in with their banter. The sweat was beginning to dry up in the cold air, leaving him feeling slightly clammy and gross, and he hoped the stylists would hurry up this time and take all the crap off his face so he could go and shower.
Better yet, go back to the hotel and shower there. The water pressure was divine.
Staring at his reflection with incredibly blank eyes, Taehyung didn’t even find it within himself to flinch when his bags were revealed under the shield of makeup he was wearing. He hoped that the fans hadn’t noticed how tired he was. He didn’t want them to worry needlessly about him; he was okay. They had a few days off soon and they would spend it resting. He was alright.
Just as his face was being moisturised, one of the managers approached Taehyung unsteadily, biting his lip and clutching a phone tightly to his chest.
“Taehyung?” He started, and immediately Taehyung was on edge. The tone of voice was too nervous, too worried, and Tae wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why.
“Yes? What’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, barely able to turn his head to make eye contact that wasn’t through a mirror before the stylist tutted and brought his head back round. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her sudden need for speed, Taehyung merely raised his eyebrows at the manager through the mirror reflection.
“You all gave your phones in before we started, but yours has been ringing constantly. I didn’t check who it was because I don’t want to invade your privacy, but I thought you should probably call whoever it is back,” The manager said, holding the phone out to Taehyung. “They sound pretty desperate to get into contact with you.”
His heart in his mouth, Taehyung took the suddenly offensive rectangle of metal and turned it over. Quashing down the urge to vomit, he skipped past the twenty something missed calls from his mother, and called her back.
Stepping out of the chair and ignoring the outraged stylist, Taehyung started rubbing the remaining product into his face by himself, stepping out of the room and into the much quieter hallway.
The phone rang only twice before his mother picked up, as if she had been waiting for her phone to go off.
“It’s me, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, Taehyung, sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry!” Taehyung grit his teeth, remembering what he had lost the last time she had said these words.
“It’s Y/N! I only just found out today - in the papers - I can’t believe they didn’t call or say something, I can’t-”
“What’s wrong with Y/N, Mom?” Taehyung asked, his oesophagus closing up in panic. If something had happened to you, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle his oldest and most treasured friend being hurt.
Suddenly wishing he had thought to call you this morning, he pressed the phone further into his head.
“Mom? What’s wrong with Y/N?”
“She’s dead, Taehyung! She was murdered!”
Some person, some filthy, scum of the earth, had put their hands on you and they had murdered you.
Why had Taehyung not heard about this?
His stomach was clenched uncomfortably tightly and there was a burning sensation in his eyes. Was he exhausted or was his grief not registering with his mind?
He couldn’t believe it. You had been murdered. Your presence, your stunning, beautiful being had been robbed from him and everybody around you. He couldn’t even fathom. His mind was moving far too quickly for him to comprehend, his heart slamming against the wall of his ribcage and his lungs were being squeezed too tight and suddenly Taehyung was lurching forwards, spewing his guts all over the floor and everybody around him were exclaiming in shock, asking him what was wrong and running to get cleaning equipment (maybe a bucket too) and Jimin’s hands were on his shoulders and patting his head and Taehyung was
He was crying, crying your name and other words he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand it. He was picturing your smile, the most wonderful thing he had ever seen, and then he tried to picture someone even thinking about harming you. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make the connection.
Taehyung was crying desperately in Jimin’s arms and he couldn’t answer any questions, his tongue not allowing him to make any movements. Not when it felt like his heart had just been removed and there was an empty hole where it used to be.
People were asking his mother questions through the phone, but Taehyung’s mind was elsewhere. Swathed in horror and agony, he thought back to the newspaper and the obituary page and suddenly he was retching again, spilling possibly everything he’d ever eaten all over the floor again.
He needed to call somebody. He needed to call you, even if it was to hear your voicemail message. He needed to do something even as tears were dripping down his face and his nose was all snotty and his eyelashes were clumped together. His hands were shaking and he needed to grasp onto something; something soft and something that smelled like you, not Jimin. He wanted you, he needed you, but he got Jimin and that wasn’t good enough anymore.
It was the same Thursday and he was standing in the queue to check in his baggage and get through security. He was flipping through his passport, ensuring that he still had his boarding pass tucked inside for the hundredth time, then adjusted his beanie and face mask to make sure there was no risk of anybody noticing who he was.
Honestly, without the familiar six bodies flanking him as well as all of their managers, it would be harder to identify him as V from BTS.
For today, he just wanted to be Kim Taehyung. That’s all you knew him as and for once, he wanted to make everything about you.
Taehyung was sickened to think that everything else up until then had been about him.
Eventually he made it through security, with a minor issue where he had to remove his face mask and sunglasses to let the woman checking passports that it was actually him. Her eyes had widened marginally but she was thankfully professional about the situation, especially when Taehyung had raised a finger to his lips in a motion that told her to keep this under wraps.
As far as everybody else knew, Taehyung was lying in his hotel room, suddenly taken ill with some kind of flu. Only the members and a select few managers knew that he had booked a flight back to Daegu to visit your parents, his family, and then go to your funeral.
Your funeral. Tae hadn’t thought this day would come for many, many years yet.
His mind felt very detached from his body. He was going through the familiar motions of finding an empty table at a coffee shop and connecting to the WiFi, ordering a coffee that he probably wouldn’t drink, unable to keep much down since the devastating blow had been delivered to his very soul.
He pulled his phone back out of his back pocket and plugged his earphones in. There was no music playing, but Taehyung was hoping that having his earphones in was enough of a deterrent for anybody that might have approached him.
He was leaning his head on his hand, scrolling absentmindedly through the last messages the two of you had sent to each other. The last text was only last week, from him, mentioning briefly that they were doing a show near Daegu in less than a month and he would be able to get you a ticket to come and see him. He didn’t know if he even wanted to perform in Daegu anymore if you weren’t going to be there.
You had replied with only a series of texts full of happy emojis, and he sent his own in reply. Tears lined his eyes when he remembered that you would never send a text again, waking him up at 4am because you’d had a nightmare, or you couldn’t sleep, or - even better - you were drunk and uncharacteristically affectionate. When that was the case you usually only called with the sole purpose of reminding him how much you loved him.
His stomach clenched uncomfortably again when he recalled how he didn’t put nearly enough effort into your friendship. He never text you first or called you to see how you were like you did. You even ordered him food from the local delivery place, paying for it online, at stupid hours in the morning so he wouldn’t go without dinner. The few times that you had visited from home, you had made so much effort to get on with the other members. It was you that managed to coax Jungkook out of his room and to play video games with you, Taehyung and Jimin, exclaiming that ‘Two against one isn’t fair! Jimin will be slaughtered, you couldn’t have that on your conscious, Jungkook’.
After that, Jungkook had actually started talking to the rest of them and Taehyung had gained another invaluable friend.
You were his best friend for years and years, and he didn’t even give you the time of day; now you were gone, and Taehyung felt like he was dying too.
He sighed, resting his head on his carry on luggage. Retrospectively, bringing his favourite Gucci holdall as his hand luggage was a poor decision, based on the few glances he was receiving, but nobody seemed to think too deep into it. Making the connection between a Gucci bag and him leaving the country seemed like a stretch, but Taehyung knew enough about his fans to know that they were all detectives in the making. One picture would be all it took for thousands of questions to be asked and he was way too tired - incredibly too sad - to answer anything.
The next thing he did was scroll through your private instagram that he had followed a long time ago but never really checked. It was a normal instagram that you’d see from anybody; pictures of scenery, pictures from nights out, the odd selfie here and there. He scrolled and scrolled and scrolled - mentally thanking you that you had a love for photography because even the pictures of leaves, cozy coffee shops and woodland walks were so intrinsically you that he almost wept - all the way to the start, and the first picture you had posted made him pause.
It was you, smiling so widely it must have hurt, and your eyes were screwed shut. Ice cream was all over your face and your hair was wild around you, but you looked so unbearably happy that Taehyung couldn’t find it within him to look away.
You were wrapped in his arms and he was also covered in ice cream, hair pushed from his forehead and slightly sweaty. His tongue was sticking out towards you, as if he was about to lick the sweetness from your cheek. His hands were gripping onto you, pulling you closer as it looked like you were about to squirm away.
Taehyung’s entire body went cold. The picture had a modest amount of likes, and the two of you looked like you were having a lot of fun, but he could not remember a second of the moment shared between the two of you.
He tried. He tried so hard, searching within his very soul for any moment shared between the two of you involving ice cream and shoving it in each others faces, but there was absolutely nothing there.
He might have vomited again, right in the middle of the airport, if he had eaten anything for the last few days for him to vomit up. Maybe it would be entirely coffee based.
It was almost surreal, staring at that picture. The two of you were obviously young in it, maybe mid-adolescents, but it was startling how much the two of you had changed. There he was in the airport, an internationally famous singer, and there you were, reduced to a single obituary. Different though you were, Taehyung didn’t think scrabbling for happy memories of you would make him this… Nervous.
He couldn’t seem to remember you properly. How long had it been since he saw you last? A year? Two? It couldn’t have been more, could it?
Taehyung couldn’t even remember that much.
Landing in Daegu and getting into a taxi to go home was something that he thought would make him feel better. He thought that he would be able to feel the exhaustion leaving him, seeping from his body through his pores, but it only made him feel more miserable. For a long time, he had wished to go home for at least for a few days, but he hated - no, detested - that the reason he was flying home for a week was because you had been stabbed to death. The weight of the things he should have done whilst you were alive was physically causing him to droop, his shoulders curling forwards on himself, and even the taxi driver asked him if he was okay.
Taehyung just shrugged, saying that he had a lot of things on his mind, and the taxi driver had nodded as if he understood.
A single flicker of his temper from the days before flared up before inevitably dying down - How could this man, this stranger, possibly understand what Taehyung was going through? How did he know? How could he feel the same impenetrable numbness that came with the sudden death of his best friend?
Were you even his best friend? Did he have the privilege of calling you that anymore? He didn’t know that much about you anymore.
He sighed, scrubbing his eyes angrily to remove any evidence of his momentary lapse in strength. He wanted to spend time with his family, but he had a suspicion that he would spend most of his visit in your room, surrounded by your things lest he forget what being with you feels like.
He was lying in his childhood bedroom, staring at the blank ceiling. Being home, lying on a mattress that was as familiar to him as his mother’s arms, was supposed to make him happy. He wasn’t even meant to be lying down, he should have been spending time with his mother and father, perhaps going out and treating them to a dinner.
On the contrary, the house had been almost deafeningly still and quiet when he got home, his mother only embracing him and kissing him twice before he holed himself in his room like he was fifteen years old again.
His walls were completely bare, lines indicating where posters and pictures once were. Where your face used to be, alongside his, plastered all over his room. He didn’t know when your pictures and his posters had been taken away but he didn’t care enough to get up and ask his parents.
Perhaps his room was about to be converted into something, figuring he wouldn’t come home for a long time, but the tragedy had shaken apart those plans. He wondered what it was going to be changed into. Probably a small gym, knowing his father wanted to do exercise to help his health and weight.
He realised he didn’t really care what his bedroom was turned into, as long as he could have those pictures back. If he couldn’t have you, then he would take your pictures back to Seoul with him. You hadn’t seen his new bedroom anyway and he knew you’d love Namjoon’s extensive Ryan plush collection.
The sun was beginning to go down, and Taehyung still hadn’t moved. He’d ignored his mother when she knocked on his door to call him down for dinner and he didn’t even move when his stomach growled angrily. His phone had fallen off the side of the bed several hours ago and, even when it vibrated several times, he didn’t make any movement to collect it.
He didn’t really do anything at all for what felt like several minutes but was the entire day.
By the time the sun had completely gone down and the slight draft from the open window was beginning to get uncomfortable, he was up and pulling his shoes back on. Thundering down the stairs and grabbing his coat, he merely nodded at his father who gave him a thin smile in return.
Heading out the door and down the darkened street, his feet carried him all the way to your face like they had a thousand times, before they had taken him to the other side of South Korea and away from you.
Staring up at your house, with its dark and cold windows, Taehyung felt another part of him disappear. It was almost as if a part of him hadn’t believed it, and seeing your house as empty as his life suddenly was shocked him.
The last time he had been standing in this spot, hands wrapped around the top of the wrought iron gate at the end of the path up to your door, he had been shorter. He had been smaller, weaker, completely unknown. He had been wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt and he didn’t even have any money on him. His hair was black and his skin was darker, imperfect, but you still opened your door to him and smiled at him like he had brought you everything you could have ever wanted even though his hands were empty.
You were always smiling at him like that, even when he had done things that were less than desirable. No matter what mood you were in, you always smiled at him like he had hung the sun in your sky for you, and goddammit he would have. He’d have done anything for you and he still would.
He’d launch himself into space and bring you the brightest star if it meant that you’d open your door, right now, to him.
You didn’t though, even after standing there for what could have been hours. His hands were burning from the coldness of the gate and he couldn’t help but let go.
Turning to leave, he grit his teeth and dug his hands into the pockets of the coat that he suddenly hated. It was too big, too white, too expensive and staring at himself in the reflection of a car he walked past made him uncomfortable. He didn’t recognise himself at all, and if it wasn’t so cold he would have ripped the coat off and left it there in the road.
The street was deserted thankfully, and he made his way straight to the arcade that was on the small high street not far from the centre of town.
After school, you would usually go there together and try to beat your high scores. If one of you’d had a particularly trying day, you’d spend even longer, running back home and begging your parents for more money to spend on the machines with the bright flashing lights and excitable music that rang through his eardrums and sent pre-pubescent Taehyung into a frenzy.
No matter how hours Taehyung spent at the arcade by himself after you had gone home, practising at that one game that you were always frustratingly better than him at, you always beat him. He was going to confess one of these days, but now he never could. You would have scoffed probably, then laughed at his pettiness; back then, his anger at your perfect streak of wins was the most vexing thing in the world.
He wondered vaguely if anybody had beaten your high score.
It was closed now, the shutters brought down tightly over the entrances. No lights were on, leaving the place look unfortunately rundown and abandoned. The paint peeling from the sign was a far cry from its glory days during Taehyung’s youth, with its constant stream of happy, screaming children with exasperated adults in tow or equally excited friends.
Now, it was vacant and dark and old, and Taehyung didn’t feel the familiar surge of joy at the sight of his favourite hangout. It just wasn’t the same, staring up at the sign, without you next to him. You would have been rolling back and forth on your heels, as you always did instead of standing still, and your hands would have been clasped together in front of you. Eventually, sick of his standing and staring, you would have tugged on his sleeve and whined about going in already.
Taehyung didn’t realise he was crying until a tear fell off the edge of his jaw and onto the floor below.
It was stupid, really. He’d been crying on and off for the better part of the entire week before his flight back home, and he still wasn’t done. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d ever be done crying over you.
Scrubbing at his eyes furiously, almost angry at his own grief and how apathetic it made him feel towards everything other than you, he turned on his heel and strode down the road away from the arcade. With every step away he took, he felt a tugging, as if it was the last time he’d ever visit the place. He knew it wasn’t, though.
He’d come and play games again, one day. Maybe with his own children. Perhaps he’d even beat your high score, finally.
The walk to the dessert shop was incredibly quick, which is how the two of you preferred it. Knowing that you’d have to walk any longer than five minutes to get a huge bowl of ice cream to share would have put the two of you off, so the place that was within walking distance was too perfect for you.
Sometimes you’d skip the arcade completely, too drained by life to play, and just immediately grab your usual booth and devour the biggest sundae together before walking home, complaining about your bulging stomachs and promising never to eat that amount of ice cream again. You always did the next day.
The place was more or less the same. Perhaps the colour of the walls had changed to a more obnoxious pink rather than the muted cream it used to be, but other than that, it was all the same. The tables, the seats, the counter, the menu. Walking past and staring in, his eyes zeroed in on the booth you usually sat at and he knew that if he went in now, he’d find your names carved into the top of the table, near the wall.
It had been a good day, and exhausted from at least two hours of shooting zombies at the arcade, the two of you had chosen to sit rather quietly after demolishing the mountain of ice cream.
The sun was out, despite it being nearly evening, and Taehyung’s shirt was stuck to his skin uncomfortably with sweat. Your cheeks were slightly flushed and you were fanning your face lazily with your maths exercise book.
He was just rummaging through his backpack to locate his water bottle when his eyes fell upon a maths set that his mother had insisted on buying, despite the fact that Taehyung didn’t know what some of the stuff did. Bringing out a compass and pressing his finger gently to the sharp point and withdrawing immediately when it hurt, you laughed at him.
“What the hell is this thing for?”
“It’s a compass, Tae. You use it to draw circles or whatever.”
“I know. People use it to carve stuff into the tabletops rather than draw actual circles.”
“Carve stuff? Like, names?”
“Shall I carve our names into our table?”
He had slaved over it laboriously, determined to make his handwriting perfect. You had watched him silence as he dragged the sharp instrument back and forth, making the rivulets in the table even deeper so it’d last for a long time. Initially, he had been quite reserved when scarring the table for fear a staff member - or, God forbid, the belligerent owner that Taehyung swore hated him; the only reason he didn’t say anything was because Taehyung was a loyal customer for years - caught him. However, halfway through carving your name into the table, he hunched over so his eyes were as close to the surface of the table as possible and scratched with a desperate fervour.
When he had finished, and was satisfied with the results, he wiped away the flecks of wood that he had carved out and smiled impishly at you, making you laugh and swat his hand that was resting on the table. You had called him a criminal and, laughing, gathered your things together, saying that you needed to get home soon for dinner.
Pouting but nodding, Taehyung was quickly to shove the compass back into his bag and hightail it out of the dessert shop after you.
Feeling almost as if he was watching his past self, Taehyung stood outside the window of the establishment, staring at the door. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the ring of the bell above the door and your laughter, morphing into a shriek when he started to run after you.
Now, he was completely alone and his ears were beginning to go pink from the cold. Zipping his coat up and tucking his chin into it to defend himself from the cold that still somehow managed to wrap itself around his body.
He couldn’t even bear to look at his reflection in the window of the dessert shop.
Continuing down the still vacant road, he stopped for a moment in front of all of them. The formal wear shop, that you had dragged him into to help you choose a dress for prom. You had forced him to rent a tuxedo and it was the first time he had ever worn anything so expensive. The fear of accidentally ruining the suit nearly overwhelmed the fun he had with you that night, but spending the entire night with you looking as exquisite as you did helped quash his anxieties.
He paused in front of the pet shop, that always had a great display of puppies or even kittens, rolling around and playing, in the front window. You would both spend more time than necessary with your noses pressed against the glass, cooing and tapping on the glass to attract their attention and yelling at the other when the animal chose their finger to go towards.
He stopped in front of the bookstore that he personally hated but had still spent hours in. The WiFi was good, and watching you get excited about a newly released book or gushing over a book you’d read a thousand times before, or even a book you’d never heard of before but had just discovered, made it worth it. The atmosphere was refreshingly calming too, although he would never admit it to you. Maybe he would now, when you couldn’t get mad at him for his constant whinging when you would take him by the hand down the road and into the shop.
Honestly, he just liked the feel of your hand in his. He feared that if he didn’t whine loudly about it, you wouldn’t hold his hand, and he liked that bit the most.
He even slowed down in front of the row of clothing stores that you had dragged him around. Well, he said dragged, but he quite enjoyed this bit too. He would pick out the ugliest things for you whilst you went elsewhere and actually put together an outfit that looked amazing on you. You’d try it all on, even the most hideous things, because you said that the way he giggled was adorable. He always corrected you and maintained that he didn’t giggle, he’s a man, but honestly, seeing you in embroidered jacquard flare trousers was too good not to giggle at.
You had quite the eye for fashion, and he’d never forget the months of bullying he’d endured from you when he had first debuted with the rest of Bangtan and you’d seen their outfits. Honestly, his fashion sense had only developed out of fear of your reaction if he wore anything bad again. He was traumatised.
He stopped outside the tattoo parlour that was still open, neon signs flashing and painting his face an orange shade. It was here that you’d come to for your first ever ear piercings, and he had held your hand throughout the entire ordeal.
Again, it wasn’t because you were scared. He just liked holding your hand.
Considering entering and getting a spur of the moment tattoo, Taehyung was brought out of his reverie when he heard voices down the road. Turning his head, he saw some students exit the bar, obviously drunk.
Figuring they may recognise him if he hung around any longer, he slid his hands into his pocket and abandoned all thought of getting a tattoo that Namjoon would kill him for. Not only Namjoon, but he’d have to explain to his fans why he’d lost his mind and got your face tattooed across his chest.
Deciding it was probably a good idea to go home and try to get some sleep, he began the ten minute walk back to your neighbourhood. The front door was left unlocked, probably for him, and he went straight up the stairs without bothering to take his shoes off.
Flopping face first onto his bed and burying his head into his pillow, he sighed heavily.
He didn’t feel any worse, or any better, from his walk. Perhaps he was slightly more raw, like his soul had been pulled out and bared for all to see, but he felt no different. It’s not that he expected to, honestly, but he was thinking he’d feel more of something. Maybe slightly resolved? Perhaps sobbing so loudly his parents woke up? Something slightly… More.
Instead of sleeping, like he originally was going to, Taehyung found himself staring into the blackness of his room until the sun rose and brought the pale light flooding in through the window he had forgotten to draw the curtains over.
When his mother knocked on his door for breakfast, it wasn’t so hard to act like he’d just woken up. Rolling out of bed and messing up his hair slightly, he stripped out of his clothes from the day before and pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then, almost tripping down the stairs, Taehyung sat himself at the dining table adjacent to his father who was already reading the paper.
Feeling strangely like he wasn’t quite in his body, Taehyung could only muster eating some of the food his mother had made him before returning to his room. He didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or suddenly having nothing to do at all for the first time in a long time, but he still felt like he was dreaming. It was a strange sensation of nothingness and Taehyung wasn’t sure if anything was tangible suddenly.
It was a Friday morning and, if his entire world hadn’t been tilted off its axis, he’d be in Manila, preparing for this evening's concert with his members. Currently, however, he was lying on his front with his head slightly off the edge of the bed, staring at his phone as Yoongi’s face pops up on caller ID. He didn’t make any move to pick up the phone, not having the energy and for the first time ever, Taehyung purposefully ignored Yoongi’s phone call.
The screen went black and Taehyung’s eyes slid shut.
It was a few hours later that his mom knocked on his bedroom door, opening it and seeing her son sitting on the carpeted floor, knees drawn up to his chest and still in what she thought were his pajamas.
His clothes were crumpled on the floor, his costly coat thrown onto the ground without a second thought, and his Gucci bag was still on the bed that he had slept on; not having the energy or motivation to even put it on the floor, Taehyung had merely slept alongside it. The room was freezing, the window still open and untouched. Taehyung was doing nothing except scratching his nails gently at his knees, but he turned his head slightly when his mom entered the room.
“Oh, honey,” she said, shutting the door behind her and immediately Taehyung’s face crumpled and tears started flowing down his face. She sat on the floor next to him and brought his head to her chest, kissing his head and smoothing down his hair. Her hand ran rhythmically up and down his back, occasionally kissing his head again, but the tears didn’t stop. They fell uninterrupted down his face, soaking through his mom’s blouse, but she didn’t say a word.
She just let her son cry in her arms for the loss of his best friend.
Later in the day, when Taehyung had mustered up the drive to shower and brush his teeth - skipping washing his face - he dressed himself in the most inconspicuous clothes he had brought with him and his mother drove him to the nearest drugstore.
Entering quickly, he ignored the suspicious look he received from the checkout guy when Taehyung reached forward to hand him his card and his jacket sleeve rode up, revealing three cartier bracelets on his wrist that were a stark contrast from his old and slightly ratty clothes. Thankfully, the guy didn’t seem to actually recognise him, and Taehyung was in and out with a box of black hair dye without any incidents.
Until, of course, he accidentally almost ran into a mother and her teenage daughter.
“Kim Taehyung!” she exclaimed, much to the bewilderment of her mother, and Taehyung forgot his manners momentarily, turned, and sprinted towards his mother's car. “Taehyung! V!”
Only when he was settled into the seat and his seat belt was strapped around him did the beginnings of guilt settle into the pit of his stomach; he regretted running away from the girl, wishing he’d stopped to talk to her and treat her the way she deserved to be treated, but he was still meant to be sick with the flu. If she had taken a picture and posted it anywhere on the internet, he’d have a lot of questions to answer, and he was enjoying his time away from the spotlight for now. If people knew he was back in Daegu - without the other members and without any kind of security - he’d suddenly appear all over the front of most magazines and branded a liar.
Technically, he was lying, but it was for a very good reason. He didn’t want to expose your existence, fearing that your relationship would be taken the wrong way, and he still needed time to grieve for you without the added hassle of explaining everything to everybody.
When he left, even Hoseok, Jin and Jungkook didn’t know exactly what had happened. He just got home from his embarrassing breakdown in front of everybody in Osaka, showered, packed some stuff, and left the dorm immediately without even getting proper permission from management.
He shouldn’t even have to get permission to go home and attend his best friend’s funeral.
Arriving home, he ventured upstairs to the bathroom and tore into the box. His tresses were a pleasant honey blonde kind of shade that he had initially really liked on him, but suddenly he missed his natural black hair. Being back home in Daegu, and revisiting his times with you, had made him think that he had changed into somebody he wasn’t. He was just Taehyung; weedy Taehyung that played too many games and never studied enough and always hung out with Y/N.
Wearing the flashy clothes with the hair, the expensive jewellery and being in an internationally famous boyband didn’t change that.
Besides, you’d always said that you preferred him with black hair. He looked more familiar that way.
So, there he was, in his parents bathroom and colouring his hair black. He’d taken his earrings out, and taken off those bracelets that he had been able to buy without giving it much thought despite them costing more than they should.
He had lost his puppy fat - the muscles in his arms flexing when he raised them - and had grown several inches, but at least he looked more like your Taehyung than he did when he landed.
Raising his fist up to knock, Taehyung sank his front teeth so hard into his lip that the skin split and started to bleed. Wiping away the blood and ignoring the sting, he knocked again and soon after the door swung open, revealing your suddenly aged mother. A handkerchief was fisted tightly in her hand and her eyes were bereft of any emotion, face looking thin and gaunt.
Your mother looked exactly how Taehyung felt and he couldn’t even muster a weak smile at her. If she was surprised by his sudden appearance in Daegu, she didn’t show it. She merely bowed her head and opened the door wider to let him in.
Crossing over the threshold he had stepped over countless times before had never felt so awkward and alien. He didn’t even recognise the house properly anymore, time having taken away most of his memories of the house that was once as much home to him as his actual one.
Your mother didn’t say anything to him, she just disappeared further into the silent house and Taehyung shut the door behind him, took his shoes off and ventured upstairs.
Feeling slightly like he was a young teenager again, he felt weird entering your room without you accompanying him. Having the strange feeling that he was trespassing your privacy, he almost knocked before entering your room, then remembered where he was and what he was doing.
As much as he wished he was, he was not thirteen anymore. You weren’t here to tell him to come in, or leave you alone, or anything else you might have said.
He took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
The room was untouched. Clearly neither parent had entered the room either; or, if they had, they didn’t touch change anything.
The bed was still unmade from the morning that you left it, and your laptop was still on; plugged in and constantly on charge, it’s fan humming quietly. Making a mental note to turn it off before he left, Taehyung stepped into the room and closed your door gently behind him and took a seat at your desk.
It was almost exactly how he remembered it, with the addition of a few notes here and there on your pinboard from university. The same art was still hanging up - most of which he had helped you pick out - and the same photographs were still littering your walls and shelves.
The pens were all in the pencil pot, several lying scattered on your desk on top of a notebook, lids uncapped and ready for you to return to use them again. Your laundry basket in the corner was half filled, a jacket tossed over the edge of it, and your wardrobe had a shirt sleeve hanging out the door.
If Taehyung didn’t know any better, he’d think you had merely left the room several hours ago to run an errand or go to class; he didn’t think you’d simply not exist anymore. It felt too surreal.
Sighing heavily, he used one foot to push the chair so he span, facing the rest of the room. Retrospectively, that was a bad idea, as suddenly he was faced with several pictures of the two of you. Your eyes were glittering with joy at him from every direction he looked and he could have screamed in horror if he felt it strong enough.
It felt like you could see him. You were looking at him, with his poorly dyed hair and deep eye bags, thin looking face and skin breaking out. No matter what he looked like at that moment, you’d still be staring at him, immortalised forever in film, and the thought made him sick. If you were here, you’d lay a hand on his cheek and ask him gently what was wrong. If he said nothing, you’d switch tactics quickly; punching him firmly on the arm and demanding to know at once.
Instead, you merely stared at him, several years younger and arms wrapped firmly around an equally younger Taehyung.
He turned back around, facing your desk and the wall that was empty of your eyes, staring at him with an unmoving expression. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like not being able to tell you how sorry he was that you died, alone and in the cold, and he didn’t like not being able to tell you how sorry he was that he wasn’t around for the last few years of your life. He was sorry for not offering to help pay for your university tuition to make things easier for you, and he was sorry that he didn’t text you every single morning, telling you how beautiful you were and to have a good day. He was sorry that you hadn’t been able to travel around Europe like you had always wanted, and he was sorry that you didn’t get to move out and buy your very own cat like you wanted.
He was sorry for a lot of things, but mostly the fact that you had died and he hadn’t, leaving behind an empty, apathetic shell of who he was a few days ago.
Later in the day, he found himself with his face buried into your bed. It still smelt faintly like you, and he initially found himself inhaling your scent like it was the only drug that could satiate his craving. Now, he was content to bask in your presence, wrapped in your duvet like he was never going to move again. Honestly, if anybody had asked him, he would have said that he would prefer to stay there for the rest of his life.
He didn’t want to get out of bed and fly back to wherever the members might be, merely to continue his life as if a huge chunk of it hadn’t just been carved out.
He wondered vaguely if your parents would have any problems with him staying in your room this night, but he didn’t have the energy to get out of bed and ask. He didn’t think they’d come in, lest they disturb him in the middle of his deepest pit of grief that he had fallen into, and he didn’t have his phone on him so he couldn’t even do the lazy thing and call the house phone.
So, he stayed there anyway. He lay on his back in your bed, staring at your ceiling and barely noticing when the darkness swallowed all the pictures of you that were still staring at him from the walls.
Before Taehyung knew it, the sun had risen on the day he was dreading more than anything.
He dragged himself all the way home, scuffing his shoes all the way and kicking a random bottle that had been carelessly thrown onto the floor all the way to the front of his house.
It wasn’t a long walk at all - five minutes at the most - but for some reason Taehyung was exhausted by the physical exertion. He all but fell through the door, and the look that his mother gave him when he wandered into the kitchen was enough to tell him that he looked like shit.
Where was the boyband member he had become? He was in here, somewhere; hidden under the eyebags, greasy hair and scruffy clothes. Under the heartbreak and grief.
The other members would have a fit when he eventually rejoined them, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A toothbrush hung from his lips, toothpaste messily smeared around his mouth, and droplets of water from his freshly washed hair was dripping down his bare skin.
The originally golden skin seemed pale, and it was apparent that he’d already lost weight in his three day depression. He didn’t know that heartbreak could show through his appearance so quickly, but he swore never to think twice if he met someone with the same defeated look in his eyes that he was staring at himself with.
It felt horrible. He didn’t know what exactly felt horrible, but it did.
Suddenly he was stood in front of another mirror in his bedroom, a finely tailored suit enveloping his body. The lapels were firmly pressed, and the contrast of the black fabric against his sickly skin was harsh. He had even put in the extra effort and styled his hair, doing the best he could with just a hairdryer and brush.
Still, there was something off about his appearance. He looked like he was about to go to an awards show, not say goodbye to his most precious friend for the last time. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong with the way he looked, and he knew his parents felt something off about him when he finally stepped downstairs and met them where they were waiting in the front hall.
One of them may have asked if he had slept at all, but Taehyung couldn’t remember what he had replied with. They wouldn’t properly grasp the turmoil in his head anyway; Taehyung slid his sunglasses onto his eyes, despite it being an overcast day. He didn’t want anybody to look into his eyes and see what a mess he was.
Being that there was a chance plenty of people would recognise him at your funeral - the two of you were, of course, completely inseparable and the idea of him not attending your funeral was as absurd as the idea of you being dead at all - Taehyung had even mustered up the strength to slather some foundation over his suddenly flawed and blemished skin.
He almost smiled slightly when he thought that you existence was sustaining him, and now that you were gone he was starting to decompose whilst walking around the town that you had grown up together in.
Stepping out the front door, Taehyung’s anger suddenly hit him as hard as the blistering heat did. It was sunny, not a cloud in sight, and that pissed him off more than anything. It should have been raining and windy, akin to a hurricane, and the fact that the weather was happier than he was annoyed him greatly.
Feeling like he was ten years old again, he slid into the back seat of his Dad’s car and did his seatbelt up with the same clockwork motions that had been allowing him to do anything since he had read your stupid fucking obituary and received that call. He stared out the window on the way to the church - a location that annoyed him too; you weren’t even slightly religious - and he didn’t say anything in response to his parents lighthearted questions.
They asked him what he had been up to when he left the house, but he could only muster a slight hum, staring at all the houses and shops that whizzed past the car. Everybody was living their lives and he felt rather like an outsider looking in, watching all these people live their normal daily lives whilst he was feeling incredibly despondent. He felt almost like he was entirely grey, both on the inside and out.
Before he had any time to ponder this at all, his father was pulling into the car park of the church where several of your relatives had already gathered. They were all dressed in dark colours, and weirdly, the sight bothered him.
He hated the happy weather but he also hated the sight of any misery.
He’d prefer the constant catatonic state rather than these overwhelming waves of emotions Taehyung had never even felt before.
Irritation flared when his mother laid a hand on his bicep and he was quick to pull himself out of her grasp, striding towards the doors of the church without his parents. The murmurs of the relatives and friends did nothing but worsen his already foul mood, and he didn’t hang around long enough for them to take any pictures.
To take pictures of him at his best friends funeral was in poor taste, but perhaps he had put too much trust in those he didn’t know as he swore he heard at least two camera shutters.
Closing his eyes in frustration, he paused on the steps leading up the church doors that were propped open, and turned slowly to the small crowd of people that were staring at him in silence.
“Don’t take any pictures,” he started, voice slightly hoarse from the lack of use. “And if you can’t seem to control yourselves and take pictures anyway, there will be legal repercussions.”
He entered the church after that, and had to inhale sharply, deeply, before turning the corner. He knew that your coffin would be there, with your body so close to him yet light years away. There was nobody around to give him a fake, sad smile that he would have liked to punch off someone’s face. Not in a church though. Perhaps on the steps outside, in front of the crowd with the cameras and trigger happy fingers.
So, he stood there, staring at the stain glass windows that depicted a weeping Jesus.
Before any of this, Taehyung hadn’t been adverse to religion. He wasn’t a Christian, or a Buddhist, or anything else. He didn’t really believe in God, but he never thought less of anybody that did.
Now, though, he couldn’t fathom it. They said that God had a plan for everybody, that everything happens for a reason, but why did you die? What sick kind of plan was that? He didn’t think he could believe in a God that allowed your death. He refused to.
Staring at the Jesus that was crying only made him even angrier than before, so he cast his eyes downwards to the row of candles that stood on a metal stand. Some seemed to be recently lit, still tall and proud, but others were burnt down to a mere stub, light still flickering feebly despite its life running quickly out.
Taehyung didn’t ever think before this that he could relate to a candle.
He stepped closer, bending down slightly to collect an unused candle from the box full of them. Holding it above another candle to light it, he placed it in the highest bracket. Then, he stood back and admired your candle, taller and burning brighter than any of the others.
Turning his back, he tensed his shoulders slightly and held his breath as he turned the corner.
He didn’t blink or breathe as he stepped closer, eyes locked firmly on the mahogany coffin at the front of the congregation seating. It was an open casket, but Taehyung kept his eyes focused on one of the handles fixed to the side of it.
It was shiny, light glinting off it, and Taehyung figured that he could draw it perfectly from memory after standing in the middle of the aisle and staring at it for as long as he did. The smooth surface of the coffin grabbed his attention next, and Taehyung glued his eyes to the light that was reflected on it.
He didn’t want to look at your face. Jesus Christ, he didn’t want to look at you.
He didn’t know how long he was stood there, but when he turned around again, he was vaguely surprised to see most of the people had filtered into the church and were taking their seats. Your parents were talking quietly with the priestess, your mother clutching a handkerchief to her mouth and your father’s arm wrapped tightly around her upper arms.
He didn’t make eye contact with anybody, not even his own parents and siblings, he just took a seat furthest away.
He still did not look at you. He just stared at the Priestess reading mindless words, brain feeling like it was about to slide out of his ears.
He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Seoul and pretend none of this was happening.
He wanted to ignore the people that were turning to glance at him; at he who was still wearing sunglasses inside a church, at he who was doing nothing to stifle the tears dribbling down his face. The muscles in his face were tight, almost aching, but Taehyung refused to let his lip wobble or a sniff to escape him.
Hymns were sung that he did not join in on, and prayers were said as if they could do anything for you anymore, and when the pallbearers began to walk down the aisle to hoist you onto their shoulders, his eyes bored into the side of your face.
The thought that your pale, lifeless and stiff face would be the last image he had of you almost made him vomit all over the stone floors.
They shut the lid of the coffin, lifted you onto their shoulders and slowly carried you down the aisle and out the doors that were still propped open. Gradually, all the guests followed behind you, your mother being supported by your father. His mother could only muster a weak smile at her son but Taehyung didn’t even react.
His eyes were focused on another stained glass window at the back of the church, depicting Jesus spread across the crucifix upon which he died.
Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than contempt.
His suit wasn’t rented. He’d had it tailored especially for his body several months ago, and whilst the shoulders didn’t fit as perfectly as they had back then, the suit still fit him incredibly well. It had cost him a dear amount and at the time, he had worn it with pride and was able to feel relaxed in front of the thousands of cameras that were focused on him and the six others surrounding him.
Now, he was wearing that very suit, cross-legged on grass that was still damp from the earlier rainfall. Despite the blistering fucking heat, the grass was still cold and wet and he knew the odds of getting grass stains all over this damn suit were high. He didn’t care, though; he fisted the grass between his fingers, ripping it out of the ground and throwing it several feet to the side of him.
His legs were beginning to go numb, so he extended them flat in front of him, leaning backwards and supporting himself on his arms, hands getting wet on the grass.
The sky was completely blue, the odd white and fluffy cloud drifting slowly past.
His sunglasses lay next to him in the grass, and the leaves on the trees around the perimeter of the graveyard were rustling ever so slightly in the breeze.
The freshly dug pile of earth in front of him remained unchanged, even after several hours of sitting there and doing nothing. Honestly, he didn’t know what it was that he expected. Maybe for you to come up behind him and tell him this had been an elaborate, sick prank? Perhaps you would suddenly come back to life and crawl out of the ground.
That would be much better than the reality.
You didn’t even have a gravestone; the amount of time between your death and your funeral was too short an amount of time for the undertakers to design and commission your headstone, so all there was in front of him was a shitty sign, hammered into the ground, with your name, date of birth and date of death.
He was going to pay for the headstone himself. He’d’ve made it huge, made of the finest marble with gold lettering, but he knew that you wouldn’t do that. He’d design it himself, taking extra care into what you’d prefer.
Goosebumps broke over his skin as a particularly strong breeze brushed over him, and he tore his eyes away from the recently settled mound of dirt. He could barely register that your body was under that, six feet below him. Even though your killer had been caught and apprehended, and he had just attended your funeral and watch you get buried, he couldn’t believe you were gone.
He didn’t want to believe it.
His phone buzzed against his leg, and Taehyung had to lean back slightly in order to slip it out of his trouser pocket. It was Yoongi again; the only one who had been calling him regularly.
Deciding not to ignore him again, Taehyung answered and held the phone up to his head but didn’t say anything.
Yoongi was breathing relatively heavily, letting Taehyung know that the group had just finished practise for tonight’s concert or something of the sort.
Taehyung didn’t answer for a moment. His eyes were still trained on your grave.
Were you okay, wherever you were? Were you scared when you died in that dirty alleyway? Did you think about him?
He knew that when he died, he’d think of you. He’d think of his family, yes, and his friends, and his band members, but he’d think of you the longest and the hardest.
He wondered how you were doing. He knew that you’d be watching over him from wherever you were miles above him, smiling fondly at him like you always did. Taehyung knew that he’d join you one day and the two of your would walk to the arcade again, hand in hand. He knew that you’d spend every day of forever holding hands, shoving ice cream into each others face and carving names into everything.
When he saw you again, he knew you’d be surprised; maybe sad, too. But you’d run to him, leaping into his arms. You’d look as youthful and stunning as you always did and maybe he’d look more mature, but still the same. His happiest days were those with you, and he’d like to think he’d look like he does now when he sees you again. If he were wrinkly and grey you’d tease him mercilessly everyday for the rest of eternity; thinking about it, he wouldn’t mind that much. You were so pretty when you smiled.
Maybe the pain was so incredibly fresh in his heart currently, but time would help him heal. He’d be able to think back about all the years you spent together, the happy times and the most tragic, with a fond smile. He’d be able to tell his future wife and children about you; about how wonderful, smart and funny you were. How you were his first and only best friend, how you would write him letters despite being a phone call away because you always found something so wonderful and romantic about receiving a handwritten letter.
He’d tell them how hard you worked to get into University, and that you had started working at sixteen years old to support yourself and help your parents with the bills. He’d tell them about the time you sliced your finger helping Seokjin cook dinner, and Namjoon had stubbed his toe, breaking it, on his way to help you.
He’d even tell them of that time you had gotten so angry with him that you didn’t talk to him for a week because he once said that your annoyed face was so ugly that it offended him to look at it.
He’d tell them everything, and he’d keep you alive that way.
He breathed in deep, standing up and stretching himself out. He cast a single look back at the sight of your burial, before he turned his back and walked away.
“Not really,” Taehyung replied, his voice hoarse and slightly cracked. “But I will be.”
