Chapter Text
Yoongi's line of business meant that he was almost always surrounded by death. The blood spilt either by his hand, or through his command, a constant reminder that his domain is grim and gritty. He doesn't mind, really. He's made himself used to it; a pragmatist, if not by heart, then by necessity. He's desensitized to the violence, the underhanded dealings, the double speak. Yoongi was groomed for this inevitability after all, and he took to it like a fish to water.
Despite this, there are times when he catches the familiar scent of petrichor, or a snippet of an old song that brings him back to remembering. And all of a sudden, amidst the death and violence and danger he wears on the daily, his mind is filled with thoughts of Namjoon. He remembers his laughter, remembers the way his eyes light up in excitement, the timbre of his voice.
He remembers the boy who lit up with delight when he talked about his interests. The boy who would stop in the middle of a conversation to crouch down and marvel at insects. The boy who made Yoongi feel his heart go thump thump thump like a janggu drum whenever they held hands and ran amok. Yoongi remembers it all, and a small part of him grieves, that the most alive person he's ever known, he can now only refer to in the past tense.