Boy By The Sea • taekook

Twenty Four

There's drizzling rain outside again. The pitter patter of the raindrops on the roof and windows echo throughout the house. The curtains are closed, and in the darkness, Taehyung wonders where Chim Chim is. The thought drifts, untethered, before fading into the void, like all the other shadows that pass in and out of his thoughts.

His mind is in a haze, days and nights bleeding into each other until no longer distinguished. Every time he leaves the house, the world always feels jarring to him - the sun a little too bright, the people a little too loud, and he is disoriented, detached. So Taehyung stays at home, clinging onto the guitar, or absently scribbling down the images in his dreams. A steady stream of drinks and drugs keeps his mind blissfully numb.

Hoseok still texts him sometimes, although he's getting used to the excuses and prolonged periods of silence. The solo music plans are on hold, and the performances have stopped since Sub Rosa. Strangely, he doesn't seem to miss any of it. Taehyung's mind is stuck on one thing, most of the days.

He hasn't been back home.

Once the frustration has passed, Taehyung has tried to text cautiously. The responses have been delayed and brief. Enroute to New York, staying over at Yoongi's, or at some hotel; and the reasons are all similar, boring - work and such.

A myriad of emotions runs through his mind - exasperation, anger, doubts and insecurity. Is he being punished? Was it something he did, something he said? In the end it doesn't matter, over time, emotions wear out, until the sharp corners are replaced by dull and rounded edges, still there but no longer push out the tears at the first moment of remembering.

Instead, he has dreams, vivid dreams that make it hard to separate memories from reality. In them, sometimes he's back in the shabby little shed in New York, half delirious and sinking deeper, with Taemin whispering hoarsely into his ear - doing well baby, you gonna be just like me in no time. He shivers, but the bony hands clamp down onto his shoulders, refusing to let him go. Sometimes he's facing the blindingly blue sky, with cherry tree branches trembling over him and millions of wet petals falling into his vision, dazzling and obstructing the silent figure standing next to him.

Taehyung turns and curls into the wrinkled sheets more. His body is on fire, and lips parched; but stubbornly he pushes it all aside - it'll pass, everything always passes eventually, then the next, then the next.

There's a noise in the room, and Taehyung squints his eyes open, gritting his teeth through the throbbing headache, "Chims? Is that you?"

He winces when he spots a dark silhouette by the bed. No, it can't be him. He sighs and screws his eyes shut, "fuck, Hoseok, I told you I'm not going to the studio, leave me alone."

There's a hand by his forehead, the coldness of the touch is comforting, and Taehyung leans into it. Must be a dream, he must be tripping out.

"Your phone's been off for four days, nobody could reach you." The voice is deep and frustrated, and Taehyung can feel his breath faintly hitting his skin.

Taehyung gulps and feels mist rising in his eyes, but instead he snaps back, his tone icy and petulant, "whatever, I'm fine."

A sigh, and the figure retracts into the dark. Taehyung ignores the urge to look up, ignores the emptiness from the sudden loss. He turns around with brows furrowed.

Leave me be, get out of my head.

His lids flutter as mind sinks back into lucid dreams, of broken branches and melancholic guitar riffs, spiralling and wallowing and refusing to wake up.

Then he feels a strong arm supporting him from the side, plopping him up, and the deep voice whispers into his ear, "drink this and take the pills."