Just Leave It Behind
Just Leave It Behind"It's Too Late, Too Late..."
Rain splattered against the fogged up window of the tired old bus, catching V off guard. He lazily adjusted his chin in the palm of his head and sighed, inhaling the heavy musk of the nighttime. Taehyung was tired and sore from the days antics with his friend, Namjoon, who was sitting beside him, picking black spray paint from his grimy fingernails and half heartedly humming a song that echoed throughout the otherwise empty bus. The sound rattled around V and spurred on his early onset headache, but he was used to it. It was more comforting than the sound of his own voice, and Namjoon seemed to do well even if V rarely spoke.
V wanted to sleep, but his work wasn't done yet. There was one more stop for him and Namjoon to go, the last area to check off on their list of vandalism spots. Jin's old, dirty apartment. His eyes watered bitterly at the reminder, and before he could help it, Namjoon was staring. He tugged his tattered hoodie over his eyes and slumped his shoulder against the cold, dented metal, waiting stiffly for their stop.
****
"Wake up, we're here. Hey."
V shook himself awake at the raspy, broken sound of his friend's voice. He blinked once, and reached up to rub his face, embarrassed at the discovery of tears on his cheeks. Looking away, he groggily recognized the dimly lit streets and crooked buildings that characterized Jin's old neighborhood. Namjoon roughly grabbed his wrist and stood, tugging urgently. "This driver's gonna be suspicious if we don't get off soon."
Jumping from the platform of the shuddering bus, V tilted his face up to the darkened sky, letting rain and mist wipe off dirt and sweat that he neglected to wash off earlier in the day. If he was honest with himself, he would have been more open about the fact that he hadn't looked at himself in the mirror since the last time he spoke to Jin. The only one he had back at his apartment was smashed, and he made sure to kick the shards of it under his bed for no one to find. He kept a lot of things in that private space. Pictures, mostly, and a dried up white lily from a memory so convoluted he forgot its importance.
Namjoon, full of energy, grinned as he ped his torn backpack, revealing a wide array of stolen cans of spray paint. He tossed one up into his hand, a dark, harsh red, and stuck out his tongue. "Follow me."
The two dogged through alleys and ducked past street corners, Namjoon whooping and throwing rocks against apartment windows, and V sulkily dragging a stick over fences, offsetting the gentle pit-a-pat of the rain with his own metallic tang of his melow racket. But there was nothing, no sound at all, when the two nearly tripped over unwatered, wilted lilies growing from an overturned pot on the side of the road. V turned away from the curb, feeling sick. His lips quivered as if to say something, but Namjoon's swift kick to the pot did to the speaking. The older male clenched his fists and tugged at his hair, gasping as if to gain control of himself.
"Damn...well, we're getting closer to Jin. Do you remember when we put these here?"
Taehyung grimaced and bent down to the pot, gingerly sweeping a splintered off piece closer to the curb with his hand. Of course he remembered, how he could he not? He wanted to scream. He bit his lip as he looked down at his hands, his fingers curling as if mimicking the movement he executed when scribbling over a picture of his friend-Jungkook-with black sharpie, erasing the younger teen from his memory. Well, at least that was the theory. The picture was under the bed now, probably collecting dust. It wasn't as if Jungkook would get offended. But he couldn't help feeling a familiar pang. A pang that he had tried to grow out of, forcefully. It was a feeling that he would never get used to. The feeling of returning to a scene, relieving a memory. V gasped and clawed his way back to the present, before he could sink into Jungkook's trap. He took one look back and ran, leaving Namjoon behind.
Namjoon rubbed his knuckles, feeling remorseful. He spat next to the memorial, however, shrugged his shoulders, and carried on.
****
Namjoon and V stood casually, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at what seemed like the most run down apartment in the neighborhood. The door was unhinged from a kick delivered by Namjoon, and the stairs wound up, littered in rain that had splattered through holes in the weak roof. The windows were uneven and the bricks were layed at odd angles. But V smiled, for the first time in a while. Home. It was a pity they were there to destroy it. Like a house of cards, V thought bitterly, and he his lips.
Namjoon went first, stomping up the stairs and swaying as if he had had a little too much to drink. He wasn't drunk, of course. He hadn't touched a drop since he admitted to ignoring all of Jungkook's frantic, unanswered phone calls, begging to get the two of them to help Yoongi, a grumpy but fun addition to their team turned inconsolable drunk. The thought, once again, caused V to falter in his ascent. He had nothing but bitter thoughts for Yoongi. Or, that's what he told himself. There was no use holding onto the grudge. Like Jungkook and Jin, Yoongi was kept under his bed.
Shaking himself out of his dark cloud into his regular hazy fog, V spun, finding himself leaning on Namjoon. The two were in the emptied out living room of the apartment, but there was a weight in the room. He almost found it disrespectful to be holding a shaken can of spray paint in one hand, ready to cover the floors and walls. He made a motion with his free hand, flicking his wrist and pointing to the rooms. Namjoon nodded slowly, taking it that V wanted to explore the rooms first. There were only a few in the apartment. The living room, which was empty, the bathroom, and the bedroom.
V dragged his feet to the bathroom, first. He knew what he would find, and his eyes were closed. It was only his hope that it would have been cleaned out. But he was wrong.
Taehyung shoved his knuckles into his mouth as his wary gaze swept over a rusted out sink, with the cabinet above shining eerily as the only source of reflected light. The drawers were open, and a mixture of pills, red, black, white, littered every space. There were smudged fingerprints over the mirror, and V shakily sighed with relief by realizing that he wouldn't have to confront his appearance. But it wasn't himself he was thinking about. It was J-Hope. Hoseok. He swayed and stumbled, stabilizing himself on the rim of a cracked bathtub, crushing drugs into powder under his clumsy feet. Even touching the pills and the tub made him sick. He remembered the last time he was there, the first time he saw the chaos left by J-Hope. Not long after that, Jimin was found, a lighter in his blue tinged hand as he floated in that very tub. The lighter was, of course, cast aside right near the scribbled over photo of Jungkook. V turned his back on the memory and gasped for air, his toes curling in his too-big boots. He scrabbled hastily for the crushed in doorknob, and shut the door behind him, cursing himself for coming to the apartment in the first place. But he forced himself to go on, to the bedroom. If it was closure he was after, he would find it there, surely. It would be easy, he told himself. He had been doing better at fending off the memories of the others, and he wasn't hearing their voices anymore. Maybe that's why he came, though, a bitter voice reminded him. To hear them again. To see them again. To convince them not to do what they did. But that wasn't the case, V firmly told himself. The bedroom would reassure him that he could leave in peace. If he could only ignore that annoying tingle, the pit in his stomach, the unraveling, helpless sensation that had started to unfold far before he started looking around at the place. It had started weeks ago, the first time he ducked under his bed. The last time he said something out loud to Namjoon. Just then, when he found Jungkook's flowers. Then, when he saw the bathroom. And now, while he was still exploring. He willed himself on.
The only bedroom in the house was unrecognizable, isolated in its burnt out state. The walls peeled back and faded up to black where smoke trailed up to the ceiling only weeks ago, and the floor was covered in soot. V clamped his hands over his mouth, but the dust found its way up his nose, down his throat, clogging his senses with the scent of gasoline and fire. His eyes widened, red rimmed and desperate, searching around for someone he could save, only someone he could see. It was his coping mechanism, landing himself back in the situation and replaying it constantly in hopes that he could see something, do something to make him relieve his burden. But he found nothing. He moaned and dropped his hands, his jaw falling slack as he accepted the heavy, inescapable weight of the air. It was too much, and he hit the wall, his force leaving his palm black and dried out wallpaper to peel off from its place. Whatever he had told himself about closure, it was a lie. It was all fake. He had fully unraveled. He was floating, off the ground, or maybe sinking, he couldn't tell. But maybe it wasn't his imagination that his vision was turning black, as black of the soot he was smearing over his hands.
****
V was being shaken, handled with rough hands. He stirred, his eyes blearily adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The realization that he was still in Jin's apartment made him stiff, and he jerked up, looking around wildly.
Namjoon swam into his vision, biting his lip and nervously zipping and ping his backpack. The older male opened his mouth, casually, then rethought his strategy. He adapted a more serious tone.
"Taehyung...back there...it was bad. Not, the worst I've seen. Thank god." He added hastily, concern in his eyes. "But I was wrong. Coming here isn't good for you. We can, vandalize other places they've been. The tunnel, over by the railroad junction, just not here. Not yet. You'll slip back into your memories. And..." He trailed off, bitterly cutting off something that he was yearning to say.
V curled his fingers against his lap, biting down on his lip so hard he almost drew blood. It was all his fault, he figured. He was ruining everything, for Namjoon, too. So he shook his head and stood up, frantically wiping his hands on his jacket. Namjoon followed suit, gaining his leaderly control.
"Let's go. And hey. You can sleep with me tonight." He was being serious, too. When they slept together, V seemed to be calmer. Not that he even knew what V was thinking, he reminded himself bitterly. He wished that Taehyung could talk, just once. He wanted to say something important to his best friend. That he wanted to be more than...well. It wasn't important. At least not right now, Namjoon reminded himself, tugging on his beanie. "Let's go." He turned towards the door, gingerly holding on to V's sweaty hands. But he halted, being met with resistance.
"Wait."
****
It was V, and his voice was rusty with disuse. The younger male was gulping, his fingers shaking, with his hand outstretched. He wanted something, the black can of paint dangling out of Namjoon's backpack. Namjoon wanted to gasp, hug Taehyung, do something than just stand there dumbly, with his heart beating fast from the sound of another voice, a voice he missed. All he could manage was to hand over the can.
V took it gingerly, rubbing his thumb over the nozzle. He bent forward, towards the main grimy window in the room. It was big and still intact, next to a door that opened up to a balcony. While people still lived there, it wasn't safe. As Jin reminded all of his friends, it would collapse under weight. But it didn't matter now. The apartment was in shambles, and it would probably collapse eventually. Even so, V stayed close to the window, rattling the can softly. Namjoon watched curiously, his fingers knotting together.
What he painted was small. It was centered on the window, still dark against the dust and grime covering the glass. V had painted a butterfly. He stepped back, almost stumbling, and murmured,
"I...I want to paint five. One for each one of them." His voice was cracking as he dropped the can, shaking.
"We'll be back soon. Just leave it behind."
****
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