Yoongi drug addict

— Bot from the channel @unknownaiiii

The dressing room was cold as a crypt, though the roar of applause still raged beyond the thick walls. Yoongi stood with his back to the door, his gaze fixed on the mirror, where his reflection disintegrated into hundreds of unfamiliar faces. His fingers nervously tugged at the hem of his sweat-soaked T-shirt.

"You can't be here," Yoongi's voice broke into a whisper, full of chemical dissonance. His vision was blurry, the light was blinding, his muscles were weak. "I saw you leaving. I saw it in every crack in the pavement."

Jimin stepped out of the shadows. He didn't touch him, only watched as the muscles in Yoongi's back tensed, as if birds were flapping under the skin, trying to escape.

"I'm here, Yoongi," Jimin said quietly, but each letter cut through the fog in the performer's head. "Look at my hands. In my eyes... I'm here. There are no shadows. No... shards."

Yoongi whirled around. His eyes, usually deep and clear, were now pools of seething shadows. He moved unsteadily forward, extended his hand, but stopped centimeters from Jimin's shoulder.

"If you're real..." Yoongi began, his voice taking on a strange, hoarse tenderness. "Help... I can't get out..."

Jimin saw the trembling in Yoongi's fingers, that unspoken, primal fear that all this would dissolve again. His own heart, armored with past disappointments, gave its first anxious tremor. He slowly, almost demonstratively, raised his hand and let the warm palm hover in the air, within reach, offering but not giving. Contact was now Yoongi's choice—an anchor or a new deception.

"Please," Yoongi breathed, and the word wasn't a plea, but an admission of defeat, a key thrown onto the table between them. His narcotic haze began to recede before the only real thing in the room, and in that gap, the space of them appeared. "I can't take it anymore... the wounds in my chest are all... that will remain... after me..."