“This goddamn duplicity,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, tracing a delicate finger over the rendered image of the human heart.
Ziiiiing. He cringed, dragging his nails in pain across the glossy pages of his unused anatomy textbook as the cacophonous scrape of soles against the moldy, government-funded carpet in the library clashed with the resounding sting made by his rumpled bangs pricking his forehead. God, I have to get rid of these split ends before I go deaf.
Blue-green optical auras consumed the rim of his pupils as the poor boy desperately tried to counteract the searing pain by yanking on the darkened roots of his brittle, mint strands.
He was decrepit, now more than ever, and it was all because of them.