“Jin, we will never leave, you know that.” Namjoon's soft voice whispered.
“I know.”
 
*

Namjoon on the strawberry lollipop bored. His job wasn’t a dream one but still was something. He earned enough to keep himself alive. He actually hated this gas station.
Just week earlier Yoongi burned to death. He was suicidal and he refused to be helped.
The tall boy clenched his fist at the thought of his friend’s disfigured body. Tears threatened to wet his face but at that very moment a car showed up.
After all he was at work.

“Fill it up, will ya? Faster, boy.” A booming voice of a man told Namjoon from the inside of the car.
Tch, I hate this place, I hate all these people whose ego Is above everything. you, just YOU.
“Okay.” Simply replied the boy.

The same men tossed the money in Namjoon’s feet and drove off.
The boy took the lollipop out and dropped it on the ground. He didn’t even bother picking up the money. Angry with the customer he lit up a cigarette.
Intoxicating smoke filled his lungs. Such a sweet taste- just like death.

When he was a kid his father was a smoker. Their house was always filled up with that awful smell- the smell of a sick person. The way the cigarettes’ smell combined with that of all the medicine made him throw up every time he got home. Still, he couldn’t help it. His father had lung cancer and instead of trying to get better- he smoked his life out.
“Namjoon, don’t cry for me when I die. You must live on.” That was what his beloved old man always told him.
Until that day.
That day he lost him.
Namjoon had just come back from school when he found his father lying senseless on his deathbed. He stepped forward hesitantly dropping his backpack on the floor. Next thing he knew he was kneeling beside the dead body holding that cold hand that took care of him all these years. His eyes were red and puffy, tears ran down like a river. Endless waterfalls and silent screams until his head hurt. He called the ambulance to take care of his old man.
The next day was the funeral.  Namjoon stood alone in front of the wooden coffin which was slowly being buried 6 feet deep. He broke down again. He stared unknowingly. His warm brown eyes were now completely empty and at the same time full of emotions. These black holes of sadness could’ve scared even Death itself.
Just then two warm hands embraced his torso. He couldn’t turn back- he knew he would start crying again. 
“I know it’s tough. But we’re here for you.” A soft voice began comforting him. Even though he was whispering Namjoon recognized that voice. Jin.
“We love you, hyung. We’re here for you.” Jimin? Yes, it was him.
Namjoon hesitantly turned back when he saw all of his friends- Jimin, Yoongi, Jungkook, Jin, Taehyung and that kid, Hoseok- a friend of Jimin’s. They all were smiling, they all made him feel like home.
Just when he was about to go he turned to face one last time the hole where his father was now lying.
“You must live on, huh…”

Namjoon snapped back to reality the moment he heard a car’s horn. Yes, he was at work.
Yet again the same rude attitude towards the poor gas station boy.
He was sick of it, honestly, sick of it…
He looked down at the money on the ground, wet from the drops of gas covering them, and dropped the cigarette.
Foolish, wasn’t it?
He opened the group chat and he wrote
You must live on

And it all went black. The gas station blew up together with him.
Was it normal to feel pain while dying?
He found himself in a room full of mirrors, bottles of absent spilled all over the floor. Wasn’t he dead?
He looked at the mirror.

                I  wish I could love myself

Ugly and alone, unable to deal with his problems.
ALONE.

                It’d be nice if I had friends too
 

He stood up and ran. It was like an endless corridor of pain. He tripped and fell on his already bruised knees. He wanted to scream . He looked around, HE HATED HIMSELF. Was this his punishment? To be locked in his reflection?
He turned around and suddenly a hallway appeared. He took a step forward, scared, only to see a big painting of a beautiful landscape. He smiled to himself.
He opened one of the bottles. Drank some of it and threw the glass bottle on the floor. Helpless he soaked his hands in the mess he had just made. He cut himself and blood started mixing with the green absent. He looked at one of the mirrors, stood up and started writing on it. He struggled, his knees were weak.
The smell of the drink made him collapse.
Now the mirrors weren’t full only with his ugly posture.
There was now an inscription:
 

You

Must

Live

On.