“And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.”

-Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath 

The concrete is hard, cold and unforgiving on his back. But he doesn’t really care. 

He doesn’t care much anymore. 

The dreams come in broken fragments, snatches of memories that he thought was locked away in a safe in the back of his mind but which seem to worm their way out every so often to torment him. 

And he remembers now, what he did before he succumbed to their lure. 

It’s kind of pretty in a grotesque kind of way, the redness of his hands as he holds them up to the light. It’s not pretty in the way it’s drying in his fingernails, drying on his skin like paint. 

And all he wants to do is take it off. 

The water helps a little; but it can’t do anything about his shirt. It was his favourite one too, a plain white shirt and a present from Jungkook but now it’s a ruined mess like Taehyung. 

Taehyung, who doesn’t know what to do. 

Taehyung who wears the blood of another man like war paint. 

Taehyung who breaks down and cries because it’s the only thing he can do in a place where there’s nobody. 

It takes a pathetically long time for him to calm down, to stop the sobs that rack his body like seizures and to stop the tears that run down his face tasting like salt and bitter memories. But he manages it, manages it just enough so that he pulls out his phone and dials a number. He doesn’t know why he does it, but when the phone rings, he holds it to his ear and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits until his heart shatters when the voicemail comes through. It’s a chipper, warm, ‘Sorry! I’ll call you back as soon as I can!’ that sends icy shards through his body but he clutches onto the voice like a lifeline, because it’s the only thing that’s saving him from drowning. 

There’s a beep, to indicate that he should start talking now, to say what he needs to say, but he sits there in silence, unable to speak. But then, he opens his mouth. 

‘Hyung,’ he rasps, and the sound of his broken voice cuts through the air like a knife. 

‘I want to see you again, hyung.’ 

The call ends and the phone clatters to the ground. 

And he wishes he could take it back, because who was going to answer but a ghost? 

~ 

His memories take him to the beach. 

They take him there, because that’s the first time they had hijacked a ute and he still remembers Seokjin and Namjoon yelling at them, not for the actual stealing, but because they had tracked wet sand and salt water into the leather interior. But the younger ones don’t care, smiling mischievously in the polaroids that Seokjin had taken earlier. 

They take him to campfires that stretch into the early mornings, smoky flames and amber light cast over their tired faces. Jungkook’s lying on Yoongi, who’s playing idly with his lighter. Hoseok and Jimin talk to each other and bond over their undying love for pretzels and pocky, whilst Namjoon sleeps on in silence and Seokjin tinkers around with his polaroid. It’s just another night they’ve spent outside together, as normal as sitting around a heater in one of their homes. Outside though, the possibilities are as endless as the stars in the sky. 

They take him to the gas station where Jimin lies in the back of the ute, where Namjoon takes an ultra-cheesy, cringeworthy photo of Seokjin and Yoongi whilst the others are asleep in the back, oblivious to the world around them. 

They take him to the docks, where they used to sit by the edge of the piers and watch the seas roll in and out. 

And that’s where Taehyung finds himself. 

The brine in the air gives his cheek stinging kisses as he teeters along the edge of the pier. It’s not quite sunset yet; the sky is a baby blue and there’s not a cloud in sight. Moored boats bob happily in the water, creaking along to the rhythm of the tide and there’s a rickety looking scaffolding that Taehyung’s aiming to reach. 

‘I though I’d find you here,’ says a voice behind him and caught by surprise, Taehyung wobbles on one leg. He manages to catch himself, but not before a pair of steady arms wrap around his waist and pulls him down from the ledge. 

There’s a silence as he stares at his feet. Boots, scuffed and dirty. Across from him are another pair of shoes, pink converse, because he gives no s and that’s why Taehyung loves him so much. But he can’t bring himself to look up, because he knows that’ll break the fragile dam inside him. 

‘Hey,’ says the voice softly and there’s a finger tilting his head up. ‘Tae-‘ 

And the dam falls apart. 

Taehyung’s crying harder now, and Seokjin is holding him together, barely. Nothing matters anymore except that moment, breathing in his hyung’s familiar scent and the lost memories that comes along with it. 

He doesn’t know how long he takes to calm down, but Seokjin doesn’t care, patting his back with soothing words and murmurs that finally drain the last of the sobs away. Taehyung wipes his nose and steps back to look at his old friend properly for the first time. He’s a lot leaner now, broad-shouldered as always but there’s a haggard look in his eyes, a weighting sorrow that speaks in the lines of his face and his body. Seokjin smiles tiredly and beckons to Taehyung to sit down with him, legs dangling over the pier’s edge. 

For a while they sit without talking, drinking in each other’s presence. Taehyung looks up at the sky, soft blue slowly merging with swirls of pink and orange as the sun is disappearing over the horizon. 

‘I got your voicemail,’ says Seokjin. When Taehyung doesn’t respond, he presses on. ‘You didn’t tell me where you were; I looked everywhere. The old abandoned warehouse, the pool, your house… but then I thought about this place and I gave it a shot.’ Seokjin sighs. ‘I suppose it’s luck and everything but-‘ 

‘I killed someone.’ 

It comes out of his mouth with a bitter taste; Seokjin stops mid-sentence and Taehyung can feel his eyes boring into his head. 

‘Tae-‘ 

‘I don’t know why,’ he starts slowly, churning through the words like mud. ‘I can’t remember much of what happened.’ He laughs bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ 

‘The hell it matters.’ Seokjin puts a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. ‘I care about you Taehyung. A lot. And I don’t care about whatever you did and that probably sounds horrible in its own right but you had reasons and I’m not going to press you.’ 

‘Thank you, hyung,’ Taehyung mumbles and leans his head on Seokjin. ‘I just- I have nightmares every day. Ever since the…’ His voice trails off and catches in his throat.

‘I do too,’ Seokjin finishes. ‘It’s not easy. But Taehyung,’ he turns to look at the younger boy. ‘It’s destroying you.’ 

Taehyung nods, trailing a hand along the chipped, worn surface of the wooden pier. ‘It feels like someone’s holding my head underwater and refuses to let me breathe.’ He exhales loudly, feeling the breath rush out of him. 

‘I’m trying to hang on, hyung. But there’s going to be a time when the idea of falling is much more pleasant than the idea of trying to survive.’