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“Here! Just around this corner!”
Taehyung’s triumphant call echoed until it reached Yoongi’s ears. His jaw clenched as a sharp pain snaked up his leg. Why were they running so fast when his ankle had been twisted, and Hoseok’s arm had practically been sliced in half? There was nothing chasing them anymore, either!
Did no one know that two out of seven of them were hurt, including one with hardly any ability left to see? He was limping as fast as he could toward the alleyway Taehyung took off next to.
It was pathetic, he thought with spite, how he was hopping and sulking like an injured animal. Beside him, Hoseok’s steps were faltering a bit, his face scrunched up in pain. One hand was clung tightly around his scarred bicep, but his eyes showed nothing but determination.
It was ridiculous. How in the world had this happened?
One minute they had only been dancing, with what he realized now was without a single care in the world—
—to running and running, for hours on end, just to keep his life; just to see another sunrise. . . .
Yoongi blinked.
That was it. He’d finally figured it out.
That was the mistake.
They hadn’t cared, and this was where it got them.
If one of them, just one of them had ever bothered to question Taehyung this morning—or yesterday morning, Yoongi could tell it was well past midnight now—about why he’d been looking so concerned and skittish, maybe they would still be safe. Maybe they would have been able to go home.
Yoongi hated this.
He hated this so much, and the repetitive realizations that it was only going to get worse from here sent a savage chill down his spine.
Yoongi’s worry was beginning to swirl into anxiety in his gut.
Goddamn it.
Goddamn it all!
His brain felt inflated with thoughts driven by nothing but desperation and fear for him and his friends. He raised his head, an ache throbbing in his neck, and scanned his eyes around for Jimin. It hurt him internally to think that his bandmates might have sustained any kind of serious injuries, but the blonde singer nearly turning blind from the bombing’s blasts and Hoseok almost bleeding out scared him, to a severity he didn’t want to admit.
He sucked in a deep breath, tensed himself, and furrowed his brows until it felt uncomfortable. If Hoseok could run with an arm wearing the deepest cut in the world, he could at least sprint with a sprained ankle.
He was strong, wasn’t he?
He could do this.
He was already trying his hardest to block out the stinging in his foot. He could tell Hoseok was attempting to do the same with his arm.
The faster his pace picked up, the louder the snarls and growls of the undead beasts from earlier became, still ringing so clearly in his head. Out of all times for some bullshit like this to ever unfold, it had to be at the very start of their world tour .
They’d have been everywhere, probably places that they had never been before, performing for thousands upon thousands of people.
But now, they . . .
. . . they wouldn’t even get to, would they?
They wouldn’t be able to fly to and fro across the globe to feel the love and joy that they hadn’t felt in so long. They wouldn’t be able to fill their bellies with all their favorite foreign delicacies. They wouldn’t get to have fun and vlog. They wouldn’t even be able to get home in this situation!
This sucked.
It really did.
A slight wheeze puffed out next to him. It sounded hurt, and weak.
Yoongi never turned his head faster. “Hoba?”
Hoseok stumbled a little before he gained balance again. His breaths were coming heavy, and his eyes faintly shook with nausea. “H-hyung, I feel dizzy. And . . . and my arm hurts. I can’t—I can’t take this anymore. When . . . when are we going to stop?”
Pursing his lips straight, Yoongi stole a quick glance at the path up ahead. Taehyung was getting farther the faster he ran, and so was the group. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hoseok try to quicken himself, but he was only hurting himself more in the process. Were they really going to leave them behind?
“Alright, stay calm, Hoseok,” Yoongi told him, limping closer to support his friend’s weight. “They won’t leave us, we’re nearly there. You trust Taehyungie, don’t you?” He tried to convince himself the same.
Hoseok nodded. “Yeah, I do! Really. I just . . . I’m just so tired, Yoongi.”
The break in Hoseok’s voice was enough to practically stomp on whatever was left of Yoongi’s already shattered heart. The younger rapper sounded so exhausted.
“I know,” Yoongi sighed, running a hand down his face. He eyed his bandmate wearily, suddenly feeling the heaviness of his head. All he wanted right now was sleep, and nothing other than it. “I know, ‘Seok. When we get to the hotel, we’ll finally be able to rest. We’ll finally be able to sleep, for as long as we all want. That is, if it isn’t in ruin. You just gotta keep going for me, alright?” He wasn’t really one for throwing around nicknames like that, but in this case, using them felt necessary.
Hoseok took a moment to try and catch his breath. For a second, Yoongi thought he was hesitating, when he finally nodded his head again.
The older one huffed silently. So much for having a fun time.
After another short passage of time—to Yoongi’s surprise—Taehyung had begun to slow down, as did his bandmates. They were getting closer and closer to their hotel. He felt his muscles aching once the tenseness had settled in. As much as the rapper hated to have been walking for this long, he did his best not to think so negatively about all this. After all, it hadn’t been Taehyung’s fault that any of this happened, right? They’d only run so fast because it wasn’t just Taehyung that was excited to get to rest, either. If focusing on only themselves and turning their backs to this cruel world weren’t so rude, everyone, including Yoongi, would have done so a long time ago.
They’d passed more establishments and little corner stores along the way, and even small one-story houses. They had probably passed this way before, but now it was way too unrecognizable for anyone to possibly tell. All except for Taehyung and his senses, anyway.
Then . . .
“Guys!”
A pause.
Yoongi tracked his eyes up towards the path, an eyebrow arching in concern. The shout didn’t sound frantic or fearful, but . . . rather joyful in a way.
“We’re here!”
Yoongi snapped his head up, simultaneously with Hoseok. Had he heard what he thought he’d just heard? He shared a quick glance with his younger friend and stared further up ahead, holding his breath.
Hoseok guffawed a little, shaking Yoongi’s shoulder eagerly. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, hyung! Come on!”
It took Yoongi a moment to realize that the singer wasn’t just pulling his legs. As he stepped closer, lips pressed tightly together, he caught the fog and leftover smoke drifting apart to reveal a large, incredibly tall building, the huge bruised walls beaming a gorgeous navy blue in whatever light the night was providing. Giant skimming and what looked oddly like claw marks snaked all over the establishment, peeling and burning away the paint on the bricks. A majority of all the windows had been blown in, little shimmering pieces of glass dappling the dusty ground the further everyone came. There were huge dirt clouds billowing out of every opening there might’ve been, thinning quickly as they faded into the dark heavy-clouded sky. And right there above the entrance hung a crooked neon sign (which Yoongi assumed spelled out the hotel’s name in English), sparks fizzing out of it and its once beautiful red lights buzzing in and out. Within the next second, it collapsed, and landed lopsided atop a messy pile of rock, metal, and stone.
“Th-this—this is it,” Taehyung croaked, turning around to flash a boxy smile at his bandmates. Nothing but pure pride shone on his face. “This is it, guys.”
Staring so far up at this demolished place left Yoongi breathless. How in the world did Taehyung find it so . . . so easily? How could he have found it so fast, even through all this rubble and the dead coming to life? He did have a new extraordinary superpower, but, even then . . . how?
Yoongi was frozen stiff with awe. He stopped staring when Hoseok grabbed his shoulder to lead him on. The rapper watched Hoseok hobble to catch up with the group, his eyes lighting up with what looked like every emotion.
Although he hated to admit it, he disliked how badly he could relate. He was practically trembling with anxiousness—the good kind of anxiousness, if there was one. And before he knew it, he had taken off after Hoseok, his twisted ankle temporarily forgotten. He’d winced when he dashed forward in a partial sprint, but the pain quickly ebbed away as he limped on.
He couldn’t wait to rest.
He couldn’t wait to drift off to another—hopefully peaceful—sleep, and remain undisturbed until the first light of the coming day.
Scratch that, until at least midday.
Yoongi was within a few hundred feet of the hotel, inching closer to the caved-in entrance, when something came splatting down on the tip of his nose.
It rolled down his nostril, and as it went it burned.
“Yah, what the hell?!” he cried out, scratching intently at his nose with the back of his hand.
When his vision cleared, he could see Namjoon up ahead on the path, whipping around to face him. Jungkook turned as well, his doe-eyes huge with worry. “Hyung?” the youngest called to him, stopping in his tracks, just as Namjoon called his name.
Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I—I—the . . . the—whatever the fuck it was,” he stammered, shocked, “it fell from the sky and it burned me! That can’t be safe for us!”
Taehyung turned too, sounding very concerned. “Hyung, language. What was it?”
“Sorry.” Yoongi cleared his throat, shifting on his weight. He remembered that Taehyung was sometimes very against swearing and set his jaw. He looked up at the sky, and immediately had to dodge another one of those droplets. “You see? What is that?”
Jungkook hummed. “I . . . I think that’s rain.” He gazed upward, eyes fixated on the thickening atmosphere. He slipped out of the way as a raindrop came flying down from one of the crimson cracks in the clouds, glinting like silver as it hit the ashy ground, and . . . disintegrated away?
Yoongi blinked himself out of his shock. This wasn’t rain. It had to be something other than it; why else would it burn him?
He shot a glance over at Namjoon and Seokjin when he heard them both hiss in pain. Seokjin stumbled, still holding tightly onto a sleepy Jimin, and shook the water from his cheek.
Namjoon sniffed. “Yoongi’s right,” the leader muttered, as if he’d been reading Yoongi’s mind. “This is not rain. We need to head into the hotel, right now. Come on.” The older rapper motioned for them to follow him. “There’s no telling what this could be, or whether it’s dangerous—that’s our biggest concern at the moment: our safety.”
Watching everyone move out again, Yoongi heaved a sigh, half-relieved and half-disturbed. Never in his life had he’d ever been burned by rain, and he never thought that any of this would become reality. Trying to register the damage felt foreign to his brain—it was as if his saddened mind rejected every attempt to believe anything.
Yoongi breathed steadily through his nose. Despite the comforting silence, his finicky thoughts still raced. It could have been worse.
At least they’d gotten back to their starting point. Everything could have turned for the worst, faster than a blinking eye. After running back and forth across the demolished city for nearly eight hours straight with injuries all over, if they’d acted without their smarts, it could have all been worse than it was now, couldn’t it?
No. He couldn’t let his worries overtake him now. He survived. His best friends survived. There was no questioning it, no pondering and such.
They were alive, and they’d stay that way. They’d prevail. Come morning, and they’d bounce right back, prepared to fight.
Come the dangers of this newly fallen world, Yoongi would be ready.
• ⪼ ⟭⟬ ⪻ •
The rapper had let his feet mindlessly carry him further toward the abandoned hotel as he took a moment to gather himself. It seemed inevitable at first, but he’d somehow managed to keep from sustaining any more burns as he trudged along with Hoseok and Seokjin. The eldest had traded places with Namjoon in carrying Jimin, since the leader had volunteered to hold him the rest of the way. It probably didn’t do much, but it was a generous thought.
The very familiar wave of fatigue washed over Yoongi when he blinked. Now it meant nothing to him.
He was going to get to sleep soon enough.
Well, he hoped he was.
Relief quickly replaced the wave of sleepiness radiating in his brain once he felt the odd thrumming beaming from the sky soften a bit; probably coming from the seething red thrift glowing in the thick clouds. The roof of the torn hotel was huge, and guaranteed their protection (that is, if the weird acid-rain wasn’t strong enough to melt it somehow).
If it were, we’d be fucked.
Yoongi sniffed. The giant stones from the collapsed entrance up close looked even bigger than before. At the bottom of the doorway there lay a small hole—if not tiny. Most likely, no one in the band could possibly slip through, the rapper thought, without having to pry it open farther. If they’d tried that, Yoongi guaranteed it would make things worse, and probably block them out for good.
He stepped onto the platform, the pressure from above rolling off his back and disappearing completely. Another wave of weariness struck him again, and Yoongi collapsed where he was, unable to carry himself any further, letting his eyes finally slip shut.
He’d heard a couple more thumps in other places close to him, and Namjoon giving more orders, but the longer he lay, the more muffled and uninteresting his surroundings became as his drowsiness only grew stronger; even the painful throbbing of his twisted ankle.
Yoongi drew in a deep, exhausted breath.
At last, as last . . .
“Yoongi?”
And before Yoongi knew it, an irritated grumble slipped away from him as he turned onto his side, suddenly coming face-to-face with Seokjin. He flopped again, staring up at the brick and stone that made up the roof.
The eldest singer scoffed with amusement at his reaction. “What’s your problem?”
Yoongi shot him a look and huffed. “I am so incredibly upset.”
“What for?” Seokjin looked curious.
“That you and everything around me are making it a mission to stop me from catching even a wink of sleep.” Yoongi shut his eyes again, hoping that they would stay that way till at least dawn. Why couldn’t his friend just kick back and fall asleep?
He heard Seokjin chuckle. “Yeah, well, that’s a possible outcome when you make friends who actually care about you and live through the beginning of the world’s end with them, Yoongs. I’m offended.”
Yoongi reluctantly propped himself up on his elbows, looking first at his friend and around their shelter. “ ‘M just being sarcastic,” he muttered. “You all might drive me up the walls every day, but I’m still grateful that we’re together and safe. I always will be.” He caught sight of his leader, eyes as heavy as can be, curled up next to the trio of youngest members. They were bunched up, one singer spooning another. Namjoon had let them share his jacket, despite how cold it was out here, but he didn’t appear to be cold. Hoseok was dead asleep on the left side of him, one of Namjoon’s strong arms draped limply over his side.
Yoongi found himself fixing his gaze onto Jimin’s motionless figure. To his relief, the singer was lying snug in between Namjoon and Taehyung, the latter clinging onto Jungkook as if he was the last person on Earth. Yoongi wished he’d been over there with them too, finding his place next to Jimin, but his body refused to move with the weight of impending sleep pinning him down.
“Don’t worry too much,” Seokjin’s voice broke in, and he gave Yoongi a nudge with one of his broad shoulders. “He’ll be fine. For as long as we’ve known that kid, you should know that he won’t give up without a fight. He will pull through, Yoongi. We’ll help make sure of that.”
The rapper was a bit surprised at the fact that Seokjin knew exactly who Yoongi had been looking at, and he would have said something about it, but he did not have the energy to protest. The eldest’s words were enough to reassure him, and within a few more moments, his eyes were closing another time, and he was laying flat on his side, turning semi-consciously into Seokjin’s hoodie.
They would be fine, wouldn’t they? As long as they stuck together?
But there was no more time to doubt such thoughts as Yoongi finally succumbed to sleep.