Past denial and the rage
The what if and the praying on the hardest days
You accept what you can't change
But no one really dies if the love remains
Yeah, nothing that dies really goes away

Glitter
- Patrick Droney

»»————-　➴　————-««

Sneaking his camera into his workplace may not be very ethical. Sneaking his camera into his workplace in the name of artistic matters, however, made sense in Jeongguk's head.

Everything was a form of art. The tone of voice to which people spoke, their mannerisms, the things they create.

Jeongguk remembered high school like a tattoo embedded on his forehead. He didn't stand out much, nor was he friendless. Some people made light fun of his hobby and he didn't hold it against them— the photographs he took before he understood basic composition were worse than embarrassing.

Those pictures were buried deep under the floorboards, figuratively, and he hopes to never see them again.

"Jeongguk." His coworker tapped his arm.

He shot to his feet, having been hiding behind the bar with his camera cradled in his hands. "Yeah, Dasom?" he replied over the heavy music.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom real quick," she told him, "Cover for me?" She peeked over his shoulder when he nodded. "You brought your camera again?"

Jeongguk blushed a deep hue, always reduced to this state whenever someone noticed his photography habits.

Dasom laughed. "Knock yourself out. Just don't forget to stay busy."

"Thanks, Dae."

Jeongguk placed his camera down as she walked away, giving his job the best of his undivided attention. People came and go, meeting with friends or drinking alone. "Hi there," he beamed when a burly man took a seat in front of them, "Can I get you anything?"

"I'll just have a Margarita."

"Margarita," Jeongguk repeated, brushing invisible dirt off his apron, "Coming right up."

The man stroked at his mustache as he waited, steely gaze fixed on the chestnut boy as if in deep thought. "Say, boy, how old are you?"

Jeongguk looked up with a friendly face, shaking the ingredients of the drink with ice. That was a common question. "I turn twenty in a few months." He avoided answering with a simple nineteen because it would always lead to—

"You're young for someone who works here."

That.

Jeongguk chuckled. "I get that a lot," he said, garnishing the edge of the glass with a piece of lime, "What can I say, living is expensive."

"Oh definitely," the man replied, holding his hand out, "Charles."

"Jeongguk." He accepted the firm handshake. "Pleased to meet you."

Charles seemed a little lost, like it was his first time at a bar and he was soaking in the whole experience. His cargo shorts prompted a suburban dad image in Jeongguk's head. "How long did it take for you to master all these recipes?"

Jeongguk slipped the drink over and nodded when the man thanked him. "Well, my dad's a barista at a coffeehouse but alcohol beverages was like a side hobby to him so I picked up a lot growing up."

His customer seemed impressed. He looked around the place, lights flickering across every surface. "It's a lot more hectic than I remembered?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever kicked someone out?"

Jeongguk propped his elbows on the high counter. "Not me. These scrawny arms can't do anything," he joked, "But I've intervened with fights and people who can't take no for an answer." He paused. "What brings you here?"

Charles shifted his weight around, folding his arms on the table. "My friend and I used to drink here during our twenties," he answered, "I haven't been here in ages. Barely remember a thing. He passed away last week and I wanted to come back for old times' sake."

Jeongguk's expression changed in a whirlwind. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss."

The man smiled, grief crinkling the skin near his eyes. "He lived a good life. That's all that matters."

Jeongguk was called away to serve another customer, but his eyes were drawn back to the man every minute or so. Charles' gaze was glued to the seat next to him, conjuring up memories of his friend sitting on that stool with jokes rolling off his tongue.

A wave of realization washed over Jeongguk.

This. This was essence without being.

Charles drowned the rest of his glass and Jeongguk was afraid he'd leave.

"Sir?" he spoke, containing his excitement out of respect, "Will you be back any time soon?"

He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "I'm not sure."

"This will sound strange, but would you like me to take a picture of you here? I'm a photographer. I can print it out at my studio and give it to you next time."

Charles mauled over the offer for a few seconds. "That's very kind of you," he decided, nodding, "Sure."

Pulling out his camera and hooking the strap around his neck, Jeongguk stepped out from behind the bar and went to stand a reasonable distance in front of the man.

Charles didn't force a smile onto his face for the camera. He simply existed there, his fingers touching the stool next to him, seeking his friend's hand to hold.

Click.

Suddenly, a couple ear-piercing yells sounded from the back of the bar, traveling over the music. Most people had stopped to investigate the origin of it and Jeongguk leaned his upper body over the counter to get a better gist of the commotion. Glass bottles shattered against the wall and the crowd dispersed.

"Dasom?" Jeongguk cried.

Dasom, with her broad shoulders and arm length enough to give her an advantage in a boxing match, was always the one to break up fights. But she was nowhere to be found.

Taking responsibility upon himself, Jeongguk abandoned his camera with Charles and pushed his way through the dance floor.

There were men wielding glasses in their hands, waving them in the air as they towered over a mop of blonde hair.

"Cut it out," Jeongguk shouted, grateful when a few other coworkers approached the scene.

They wrenched the men back, politely asking them to leave, and the chestnut boy went to assist the victim left on the floor.

"Hey, are you alright?" Jeongguk crutched his shoulder, signaling him to look up. He inhaled sharply when he recognized his face. "Yoongi?"

"He pushed my girl," one of the men accused.

"I bumped into her... for God's sake," Yoongi retorted, words slurring and palm against his forehead.

Dasom appeared over Jeongguk's shoulder a minute late. "Jeongguk, get him to the backroom, would ya?"

"He's not going anywhere!" the man raged, struggling against the restraints around him. He smashed the bottle in his hand down hard and an ensemble of screams ripped through the crowd.

Fractured glass ricocheted across the floor and a shard scraped across Jeongguk's forearm, leaving a gash. He gasped, pain branching across his arm like lighting.

Dasom came to his defense immediately. "You're banned," she gritted out, coming face to face with the man, "Get out."

Jeongguk kept his eyes screwed shut, jumping slightly when someone touched his wrist.

"Who... are you?" Yoongi asked, eyes squinting.

The chestnut boy couldn't tell if he was drunk or if he genuinely did not recognize the bartender. "Jeongguk," he replied briskly, lifting Yoongi's arm to hook it around his neck for leverage. He didn't dare glance at his wound, instead focusing on Yoongi's well-being. "Let's get you out of here."

The back room was lined with aprons and lockers, and Jeongguk guided him onto the bench before grabbing him a glass of water.

"Drink."

Yoongi took a sip before making a face of pure disgust. "Get me some alcohol, Jeongguk."

"Nope," he refused, ignoring the dull sting of his injury, "You don't need any more in your system. What happened out there?"

"God." Yoongi leaned into Jeongguk's neck like he was about to pass out. His breath reeked and his words fell under a whisper. "I love Cumulus clouds."

"Hm?"

"Sky..."

"Okay," the chestnut boy said nervously, pushing him off and steadying him by the shoulders, "You're clearly out of it right now." He gave it one last shot. "What happened back there, Yoongi?"

Yoongi ran his tongue along his inner cheek and collapsed into his hands, groaning softly. "Can't see."

"What do you mean?"

"Near-sighted. Can't see."

A frown pulled at Jeongguk's mouth. He had no recollection whatsoever of Yoongi wearing any glasses. "Are you wearing contacts?"

"Nope." Yoongi began his little onslaught of giggling and hiccuping. "Broke my glasses a few months ago... didn't bother getting new ones. Couldn't see clearly... bumped into someone..."

"You should. You could've hurt yourself out there."

"Jeongguk, Christ." Dasom head poked around the door frame. "Your arm. Are you okay?"

It wasn't until then that Jeongguk found the courage to look down at the wound. It wasn't deep enough for blood to trickle uncontrollably down his arm, but it was a horrible sight nonetheless.

"We have bandages? First aid kit?"

"Yeah but not big enough for that."

Jeongguk sucked air through gritted teeth. "It's okay. Just give me the ones we have. I have gauze bandages at home."

Dasom fetched him the first aid box and the chestnut boy felt pathetic, wincing while cleaning the cut and patching up his wound with small bandaids fit for children's paper cuts.

"Go home," she told him afterward, "I'd take you home myself but I have the rest of this shift to cover." She nudged her head towards Yoongi, who was slumped against a locker. "And I'll get someone to send this fella home too."

Jeongguk expressed his thanks and made his way out of the bar, eardrums ringing more than usual.

The walk back to his apartment complex wasn't ideal. He wasn't in the right state to admire his surroundings or absorb the city sounds. On the contrary, he was dizzy with the sight of blood and exhausted to the bone. The cold seeped through the fabric of his blazer and nibbled at his skin.

In fact, he was so worn out, it took him till his fingers fondled with his keys to realize that him— Jeon Jeongguk, who devoted his blood, sweat and tears to photography— had left his camera behind.

Jeongguk cursed loudly, banging his head against the door in frustration. He got a loud meow in return.

Dragging his heavy body into the living room, he collapsed onto the couch, an arm and a leg dangling off the edge as he fished for his phone.

He needed to call Dasom.

Tell her he lost his...

He lost his...

His camera...

Jeongguk's eyes fluttered shut before he could dial the number, head lolling to the side and thumb hovering over the screen.

A fond pair of yellow eyes surfaced from under the coffee table. Socks took the leap, joining the boy on the couch and sniffing along his arm. It sat there for a few moments, unblinking.

The lace-curtained window was around a meter off the ground, but Socks made it easily, using its petite head to push it open the hatch before dropping to the ground outside the apartment.

Out to find a certain ghost.

__________

ty to everyone who pointed out mistakes i've made like forgetting to change names while i'm editing :,)
here's a cookie 🍪 for you

i'm also VERY excited to write blonde yoongi in glasses

i know you haven't really gotten to know his character and background story yet, but lemme tell you— i picked the songs at the start of each chapter very deliberately
Glitter by Patrick Droney encapsulates what Yoongi is going through very well and i cried listening to it

grief is a BIG theme in this book
it means a lot to me that i tackle this topic rightfully, especially as someone who grieved, AND as someone who wants to help those who are grieving

ily an incredible amount
thank you for reading!!
see ya next update
- hay