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i.
Jungkook isn't afraid of heights. He spends his breaks on the rooftop, leaning on the wall next to the stairs, staring off to the skyline. He spends days closing the distance between himself and the ledge, finally looking thirty stories down to the busy traffic in front of his building. It's pretty easy from then on.
The next day finds him sitting on the ledge, feet dangling fearlessly in contrast to the tight grip his hands have on the surface he's sitting on. In a couple of days his hands break free and the next thing he knows, he stands up, looking at the street thirty stories and 177 centimeters below him. Add another centimeter every two weeks or so.
Jungkook isn't afraid of heights. It takes only three seconds to leap forward, his footing replaced by thin air and his body pulled down by gravity. The night is cold and colder by the second, as he goes fast and faster, head-first to the pavement. Jungkook smiles, finally free, two seconds before his skull cracks.
ii.
Jimin always dreams of flying. He'd share it with Jungkook and they would get into competitions of who can jump higher. And like in everything else, Jungkook won. Only this time he won't be around to gloat.
Jimin doesn't enjoy losing to Jungkook. He wants to be a cool hyung, one Jungkook can respect, but how could he when Jungkook is always cooler than him. Jimin is supposed to be sad, maybe, but honestly he's just pissed off. He needs to beat a thirty-story jump.
Jimin always dreams of flying. So one night he scrambles awake, sweating but excited, because brilliance had just struck him. What if he doesn't touch the ground? He'll forever be flying higher than Jungkook.
Jimin always dreams of flying. He kicks the chair and struggles to breathe, hovering half a meter higher than Jungkook will ever be. And with a rope looped around his neck, he smiles, finally better than maknae, six seconds before he runs out of air.
iii.
Hoseok is not afraid of blood. So a few scrapes he got from pieces of shattered mirror under Jimin's bed is definitely not a big deal. He had always known that moving into a bigger dorm would bring some ugly consequences. Especially when everyone had to pair up and Jimin got a room all to himself.
Hoseok should have roomed with Jimin—Yoongi would have survived sleeping alone better. Yoongi wouldn't have punched his own reflection every other week or so, breaking his mirrors in the process. Yoongi wouldn't have been so upset about Jungkook. Yoongi wouldn't have suspended himself to stay off the ground only to be put below it merely ten hours later.
Hoseok isn't afraid of blood. He picks up more shreds from under Jimin's bed, some sharper than others, some larger than everything else, and wonders how many mirrors Jimin had broken over the last year. It's upsetting to think of how lonely it must have been to not even have anyone to be mad at other than himself. Hoseok tries to crush the pieces in his hands—some break and some break him, leaving trails of blood down his arms.
Hoseok isn't afraid of blood. He thinks it's pretty, the way the red streaks set contrast on his skin. From one hesitation to another he finally lifts up a larger, sharper piece, and drags a line above his wrist. Once too shallow, then deeper than before. And with his arm stained by a mix of blood and tears and sweat, he smiles, finally understanding Jimin, a pretty appearance with such pain behind it, eleven seconds before he lost his consciousness.
iv.
Seokjin loves driving. He doesn't really get much chance after debut, and hardly ever anymore after Jungkook. They don't get to go anywhere alone after Hoseok, and Seokjin thinks it's suffocating.
Seokjin doesn't cook anymore—he doesn't know how to portion for four. Doesn't know what to serve people with no appetite. Silence is the only thing in their dorm and chaos is the only thing outside, as everyone wants scoop on how the most popular boyband gets even more popular for all the wrong reasons.
Seokjin loves driving, and Mario Kart can only last him for so long. Hoseok no longer wanders off his bed and into Jimin's room at midnight, and without that, it's pathetically easy for Seokjin to sneak out after three on a cold Thursday dawn. He drives slow with nowhere to go, speeding up at every red light because they remind him so much of the way he found Hoseok six weeks ago.
His phone is ringing endlessly and the managers have probably realized he's gone. Namjoon's probably convincing them not to worry—Seokjin will come home. Seokjin isn't that dumb. It won't be the first time Namjoon's got things wrong.
Seokjin loves driving. He's way past speed limit on an empty road where nothing is stopping him, but he figures he has to. So he slams the wheel sideways at an entrance of a tunnel, flooring the gas much as he could. And as pieces of the front window scar his pretty face, he smiles, one last pain and it's all over.
v.
Namjoon is drowning. He drowns in work and he drowns in lyrics, in responsibilities and his own judgement for himself. He doesn't surface unless someone calls him up, and it's Seokjin who does that. It's Seokjin who did that.
Seokjin didn't even get to have an open casket that he deserved, where everyone can admire his face as much as he pretended to like it. They burned every Seokjin they managed to collect, although Namjoon wouldn't have minded piecing him together. But no, pretty boy is now ashes swept away by the wind. Namjoon doesn't even get to revisit. Not that he plans to.
Namjoon is drowning. In thoughts and exhaustion, and bottles of alcohol. But it's refreshing to be under actual water instead of pressure for once, although the breathlessness is just the same. He gurgles for air and commends his intelligence for making him wear a stupid bulletproof vest to keep him below. Namjoon smiles, finally doing something right after failing four people almost all at once, nineteen seconds before water fills up his lungs.
vi.
Taehyung doesn't like sleeping. It always feels like such a waste of time. Now being awake feels like a waste of time, but Yoongi says it's better than nightmares, and Taehyung agrees.
He feels bad about not crying. One funeral was horrible, two was devastating, but at five he's just numb. Taehyung is never really good at masking feelings, so he sat still and listened to Yoongi, no tears because Namjoon didn't need more waterworks.
Taehyung doesn't like sleeping. So nights are himself and Yoongi lying awake, silence broken only by moments of sobs and whispers of remember whens. Taehyung has his head on Yoongi's chest that night. "Will you write one for me, too?"
Yoongi stares at him, his fingers stop moving randomly on top of Taehyung's head, but after a sigh comes that small yeah that Taehyung needs to hear. So he promises to return the favor and continues not sleeping. Yoongi doesn't stop looking at him weirdly since then.
Taehyung doesn't like sleeping. Maybe it's tiring to count the sheep. Maybe the pills that are supposed to help tasted weird. Maybe mornings are too bothersome. But tonight he doesn't care how many sheep are dancing around the fences, as he swallows an entire container of drugs that still taste bad. And downing the last three pills, Taehyung smiles, sleeping is so much easier when you know you won't wake up.
vii.
Yoongi hates eulogies. He hates listening to them, hates writing them, hates reading them out loud. But you're the best with words, five of them had said the first time. And will you write one for me, too? the last one had asked him last week.
He'd say that he won't have to because they're going to be happy forever, but five lifeless friends taught him a lot more than happily-ever-after ever did. Taehyung had curled up next to him, hair fluffy under Yoongi's fingers, body frail and thin from the lack of food he managed to digest. "I'll write you one, too, hyung," he had mumbled back at Yoongi's whispered promise, no laugh and no life, but sincere, still.
The kid kept his word—of needing Yoongi to write and read his eulogy, and of writing one in return, folded neatly on top of Yoongi's bag, in scrawls of sweet words that are hard to decipher. People look at him with pity the day he sends Taehyung away, probably wondering when he'll go after. They won't have to wait long.
Yoongi hates eulogies. Hates having to write and recite six over the course of five months, hates that he has his own on his hands, written by a dead boy who thinks too highly of his hyung. The office is only full of morbidity, and Bangtan Room is just as dead as the owners. Yoongi reads the date to the blinking light of the webcam, muttering words of thank yous and sorrys and goodbyes while turning a piece of metal on his lap where the camera can't catch it.
Yoongi hates eulogies. We Are Bulletproof might as well be theirs, with the way it speaks so highly of the mighty Bangtan, emphasizing on the good and completely ignoring the bad. And with a gun pressed to his temple, he smiles, pulling the trigger at click, click, bang, bang to write his goodbye in splatters of blood, ending Bangtan on the walls of the room where they began.
—
We go hard, we have no fear