Do you ever rewatch Welcome to Hell? Just for your own enjoyment?
In fact, if I’m around other people and someone pulls it up on youtube to show it off, I will actually leave the room. If I can’t leave the room, I will bury my face in my phone, or my food, or whatever else is nearby for me to fiddle with. If I happen to be in the middle of a conversation with someone else in the room, I’ll TRY to ignore it and continue having the conversation, but my brain will go blank and my face will go red and I’ll find myself trailing off, stopping every couple of words, because I can hear Welcome to Hell in all of it’s poorly-mixed glory echoing softly across the room; it’s dialogue like the ghost of an old lover whispering in my ears. How is the audience responding? Are they laughing with it, or at it? Are they silent because they’re bored, or invested? Do they know why it looks the way it does; what I went through to make it? Do they get it? Do they think I’m crazy?
You ran inside your old house, it felt strange to be home. But that’s where this place was… Home. Your place with John was never a home, it was just a motel; a room with four walls. That’s not what a home meant to you, it was a person more than a place. That person to you was your mom and you needed her now more than ever.
When you opened up the door you had expected her to be on the couch watching a movie or something. The TV was on, however she wasn’t there. Your mom would never have left the TV on and gone to bed, so where the hell was she? You shut the door behind you and checked in the living room once more.
Heading up the stairs you heard the noise of the TV from her room. Why would the upstairs and downstairs TV be on?
“Mom?” You called out, but there was no answer. “Mom, it’s me, Y/N… I’m sorry, things didn’t work out with John.”
You walked into her room and saw her foot hanging off the end of the bed. You figured she must have fallen asleep while watching TV. You smiled as you thought of her peacefully laying there and not having to worry about anything. You wanted to cover her with a blanket but as soon as you walked in, you saw something you weren’t prepared for.
memories 01. i don’t know if this is reality or a dream.
he grips the railing, metal kissing his bruises bittersweet. he stops.
he looks off, sharp eyes gauging hesitance in jin’s soft muted gaze, the warmth of his brown eyes soon replaced by film and hard glass, and it sets him back on course.
taehyung closes his eyes and leans forward, the adrenaline in his chest relieved by the sudden weightlessness caught between his heels. he inhales the pinks and oranges of the sky, the waning sun caught between his lips, and for very first time, he soars. he soars far above the ground, above the grass, above jin, and far beyond the dredges of reality he’d been grounded to for so long (and for much too long). and he keeps soaring, suspended in the silence of his chaotic headspace, soaring even farther, even as gravity tugs down his sleeves and begs at his feet.
jin watches, head booming with applause and excitement. the voices holler and cheer, ghosting whispers in his ears, knowing too well of their fixation towards the descending figure before him, as they clap-! whoop-! scream–!
but taehyung hears nothing. he doesn’t hear the chorus of gasps when he falls, he doesn’t hear the hurrahs, the satisfaction of having a full audience. he can only sense. sense a blank stare watching him through false mirrors and still windows. sense the impending fruit of his fall. he can sense gravity dragging plastic and glass from shaking hands to shatter on concrete as it drags him whole into the mouth of the tide, pulling jin and his illusions to drown with him.