Boy By The Sea • taekook

Thirteen

Taehyung wakes to the sound of cars honking on the street, and people clamouring and shouting. His eyes flutter wearily, as he rolls over and clutches tightly onto the pillow next to him.

The worn out single mattress creaks when he moves, and the air is cold on his face even with the thin blanket wrapped tightly around his body.

He reaches for the phone on the wobbling nightstand, and checks the time through squinted eyes. 11:14am.

Not bad. Enough time until his shift at 1pm. Taehyung breathes out contently and retreats back into the blanket, luxuriating in the bit of warmth it provides.

His studio apartment is tiny and chilly even in March. Stained carpet, broken furniture pieces from the back alley and yard sales, and the tiniest kitchen - a cupboard that opens up to reveal a heat plate and a built-in sink. Nothing on the walls, saved for an old poster, of vibrant blue sky and outstretched tree branches filled with white blossoms.

Van Gogh, the consignment store lady told him when he paused to look at the poster, feet frozen in place.

Sometimes, when he's tired and his mind glitches, it feels like the walls of the small room is closing in on him, pushing into his face and suffocating his thoughts. Even the painting would feel a little sinister, all the branches casting a trembling web of shadows on his mind, with the bright blue tinting all the dark jumbled thoughts.

But he knows better now. Taehyung would close his eyes and curl up in bed, settling in with the storm raging in his mind, sometimes popping a pill if he could afford the prescription that month. His fingers would trace the tiny black butterfly tattoo on his wrist, drawing comfort from the slight bump of its outline under the pads of his fingers.

This life he has, it's not much, but already far more than he's ever had. And once in awhile, when the sun is high enough to shine through the small window by the bed, and his mind is blissfully silent, Taehyung allows himself to be just a little proud.

A place to call his own, a real photo ID with an address on it, and a job. He's almost normal.

By the time he locks up and leaves the apartment building, it's already past noon. He peeks his hand through the denim jacket sleeve, and slides it along the old wooden railing by the staircase, feeling the curve and grains as he walks down. Bright light sheds through the glass door by the front - another unassuming Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn. Taehyung savours the quietness of being alone before work.

As he steps through the door and closes it behind him, he recognizes a figure seated by the steps, and his body stiffens up.

The figure turns around, and there's a lazy smile on his face, "took you long enough, the coffee shop said you are probably home."

Taehyung eyes Yoongi warily and comments, "isn't this neighbourhood a little below you?" He hurries down the stairs, not giving him another glance.

Yoongi pipes up behind him, voice flat but each word carrying weight, "something happened to Jimin."

Taehyung's heart sinks, and his feet pause.

"Jungkook won't listen to me. I need you to talk some sense into him."

Taehyung blinks hard and turns around, hands gripping on the jacket sleeves, "what happened to Jimin?"

Yoongi tilts his head and signals the spot beside him on the step. Taehyung frowns with disdain, but reluctantly moves over and take a seat, maintaining space between the two of them. He notices a small black frame in Yoongi's hand.

Yoongi pauses for a moment, looking onto the street. Taehyung feels his heart thumping with each passing second. But when Yoongi finally pipes up, it's worse than he expected.