Link on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6577885
Some of you are probably already familiar with this artwork. My friend was inspired by it to write a (very angsty) Yoonmin fic:
âDo we have a chance? DidâŠwe ever have a chanceâŠ?â
Yoongi felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked down at the source of the weight on his left shoulder. Jimin was sleeping and although Yoongi used to push him off, muttering a barely there âget offâ under his breath as he wrapped his arms around himself, something made him stop and stare.
Jimin smiled as the dream he was having continued to make him feel as if he was floating. He had wings. Flying and soaring far above the world where his problems lay, festering in their own putrid pool of obscurity. He could see it all, but they couldnât touch him. Not while Yoongi was here.
Heâd been saved. Thatâs why he could fly. Thatâs why he was flying right now. Because Yoongi had been the angel who had come to his rescue when all but everything else in the darkness had swallowed him whole. It sounds clichĂ© if you say it like this but in that moment, it was like nothing heâd ever seen or felt. Which struck him as odd because werenât clichĂ©s meant to be familiar? Predictable even?
He could feel the rough fabric of denim on his cheek. He was waking up, almost lulled gently onto the shore of consciousness by the tide that was winning against the persistent current desperate to drag him down into slumber once more.
âYah, Jimin, open your eyes already.â
Seeing him like this, Yoongi felt like heâd been temporarily transported back to the first time theyâd met, emotions filled with both uneasiness as well as a higher level of appreciation. Perhaps it was affection.
âJimin, Iâm serious.â
He could tell that the younger boyâs breathing had gone from quiet and even, to that of someone who was awake and yet it seemed like Jimin had the nerve to keep pretending as if he was asleep.
âYou have three seconds before I start tickling you into obedience.â
The corner of his mouth quirked up as Jimin opened one eye languidly, gauging the threat with an air of nonchalance. He straightened up, stretching his arms above him as he attempted to get rid of the crick in his neck. Yoongi, on the other hand, tried his best not to let his side-glance linger as the thin layer of coloured fabric covering Jiminâs abdomen lifted ever so slightly.
Jimin, however, was quick to catch on, so his hyungâs fixated gaze didnât go unnoticed. He purposely licked his bottom lip, bringing his arms down as he leaned back into the bus seat. Yoongiâs eyes widened slightly behind his fringe and he blinked before turning his head back to face the front of the bus.
An airy chuckle was his response as Jimin rested his elbow on the windowsill to look out at the downpour coming in with violent winds. A banner suddenly came into view, its bold letters sliding against the wet glass.
âYeah, good nap. I was flying again.â
A fond smile made its way onto Yoongiâs face as he watched the windshield wipers go back and forth in sync with one another. Jimin had told him about those dreams. The ones where he was flying, getting to see the many wonders he otherwise wasnât privy to with his feet so firmly planted on concrete.
Yoongi suddenly became aware of the fact that he was being pulled out of his seat, Jiminâs adorable giggling catching him off-guard as they were met with the onslaught of rain outside the provided warmth of conveniently heated public transport.
Monsoon season was in full swing, rearing its unpredictability any which way it saw fit.
Jimin was spinning around with his face tilted towards the sky, arms open as if to say to the heavens that it was okay if they claimed him as one of their own. Yoongi froze, his hair clinging to his forehead as the rain fell fast in large drops, plastering the mint dusted strands to his skin.
âDonât goâŠJimin.â
He felt his lips move but no sound came out. A rumble of thunder drowned his voice. The racing cars and the squirming umbrellas all over the place had him second-guessing the words heâd finally managed to process in his mind. The weather seemed to reflect how he was feeling.
Itâs cloudy and the air is clear. YetâŠeverything is grey.
The rain lightened and Yoongi saw himself in the enormous puddle on the path. He was standing there and Jimin had come to a still. Looking back down at the pavement, the surface rippled as a cold breeze blew past.
I see myself looking more miserable todayâŠ
He glanced at his Jordans. As if the rain hadnât done enough to soak him to his bones, his shoes were now dirty.
I already acknowledged your existence.
âHyungâŠ? Is everything okay?â
Truthfully, everything was okay. There was nothing wrong but it was in Yoongiâs nature to have his gut twist uncomfortably at this new sense of dread. He thought it had faded but he didnât realise that it had just been lying dormant all the while. He had to shake it off, like he always did.
âYeah, no thanks to you. Dragging me out here.â
Jimin grinned, replying in a mock singsong voice.
âYou love me either way~â
This caused a scoff from Yoongi as Jimin made his way over, doing a silly little dance that made his gums appear from underneath his lips.
âYou love me~ You wanna date me~ You wanna kiss me~â
Yoongiâs smile stopped halfway, showing his surprised reaction at the trivial but ever-so-true lyrics Jimin was spouting. It may have seemed like nonsense to the younger boy but it made Yoongiâs heart skip a beat. Here he was, dripping from head to toe with all the previously loose clothing on him sticking to his skin. He could make out Jiminâs muscles, lightly framed by the useless material covering him.
âHyung, you look good wet.â
It was Jiminâs turn to laugh, as Yoongiâs expression became unreadable. Although, Jimin couldâve sworn his hyungâs cheeks were tinged a very pretty shade of pink.
âPark Jimin, what are you trying to say?â
Muttering the question with what he hoped was an exasperated tone, he stepped closer, invading what would have been another individualâs personal space was it not for Jiminâs uncanny way of being so open to skinship. He really could get away with anything. Yoongi was met with a shrug.
âIâm jussayinâ. You know, all that glistening and dewy complexion stuff. Itâs a compliment hyung.â
Jimin met his eyes dead on, the corners of them crinkling as he tried to contain his amusement.
Yoongi was now within an inch away from him. If he just tilted his head, heâd be able to make their lips meet.
âYou really do want to kiss me donât you hyung?â Jimin whispered, lacing his fingers with Yoongiâs.
They were alone, so why did all the oxygen in the air seem to dissipate so suddenly? Yoongi could feel the warmth radiating off of Jimin, his hand gripping the youngerâs tightly.
Theyâd broken into the bathroom of a rundown gas station, drying off in separate cubicles, as there were only two toilets, each fitted with a hand-dryer of their own.
Yoongi eyed his reflection through the damp strands of his fringe. He looked scared.
I rely on you so much more than you rely on me.
âGodâŠJiminâŠI-I love youâŠâ
That sentence alone had his hands shaking. He couldnât tell him. Wouldnât that make everything void of what kept their friendship going? Yes, they kissed. Yes, Yoongi could still taste Jimin on his lips. But as long as he didnât say those words out loud to him, theyâd be able to pretend as if nothing had happened.
A middle-aged couple came onto the subway, the woman looking particularly disgruntled. There werenât many seats left and the two ended up sitting opposite one another. The husband, Yoongi inferred, suddenly put his arm comfortable around the young woman he was sitting next to. His wifeâs expression soured indefinitely and the bubbling tension finally broke when the man openly flirted with the girl beside him.
âSo this is your limit, huh? Sick of my face already, are you?â
âI canât put up with your shit anymore. Look at you, picking a fight in public.â
âSays the fucker who goes around trying to get his hands on everyone elseâs liquor! Youâd be lucky if you ever came back to a family after the nights you spend getting piss drunk!â
It was raining again. The weather had been doing that a lot lately.
Am I someone who will engrave my existence to you like the rain? If notâŠam I someone who will have come and gone like a rain shower?
Jiminâs orange hair came into focus, the few strands on his head that were sticking up, moved with every blow of the heater. The train pulled up shortly at their stop.
They were back at their shared apartment. Yoongi had just hung up on Namjoon after their intense discussion taking into account their current song proposals. The album wasnât going to write itself but he sometimes really wished it would.
Yoongi felt his tense shoulders droop slightly. Just the sound of his voice was enough. No matter what was going on, if it were to do with Jimin, Yoongi would find time.
âWhatâŠwhat exactly do you like about me? Youâre notâŠhaving to put up with me are you?â
He put his phone down on the desk with a clatter. Narrowing his eyes at Jimin, Yoongi tilted his head to the side.
âWhat on earth makes you say that?â
âI-Itâs just a question.â
He wasnât one to voice his diffidence but this was more of a probing question. One he could ask as a friend and perhaps as a lover.
Yoongi was out of his seat now, crossing over the length of the room with long strides, only to stop short in front of Jimin. The younger wasnât meeting his eyes and had instead opted to fiddling with the hole in his jeans, feigning fascination to the unravelling material.
It eventually dawned on Yoongi as he remembered the hazy scene in the subway. Werenât those the words the man had uttered?
âJimin-ah, youâre being stupid.â
Jimin stopped fiddling, feeling something catch in his throat. His worst fears had been recognised. He replied quietly, folding in on himself.
Just then, Yoongi hugged him, resting Jiminâs chin on his shoulder as he stroked his hair.
âYouâre so stupid sometimes, seriously. As if I would ever have to be putting up with you. Youâre precious. You know that, donât you?â
The boy relaxed in his arms, burying his face into the all too familiar scent of the very bane of his existence â Min Yoongi.
âWell try not to. I can remind you everyday if youâd like.â
He felt the boy giggle, hoping he was able to put him to ease. Yoongi would forget too. How insecure Jimin tended to be when heâd get silly ideas in his head. He frowned, crinkling his nose as he realised that this was why he usually wanted to keep him by his side.
Yoongi groaned in frustration as his phone rang again. Neither of them moved.
âYou should answer that hyungâŠâ
âI know. But I donât want to.â
Jimin was stepping away from him now, smiling cutely at him and shaking his head.
âDonât let me get in the way of your precious work hyung.â
He ruffled the younger oneâs hair, feeling the disappointment get replaced by mild irritation as he reached to answer the blasted call.
âHello? This better be good.â
Yoongi was barely listening as he watched Jimin sit back down on the couch, snuggling one of the many soft-toys heâd bought for the studio. Most of them had wound up in the living room regardless.
Jimin knew Yoongi was in fact, a big softie with a heart of gold. He knew. Yet when he heard about the time Hoseok had been all alone and craving fried chicken, and how Yoongi showed up right after, said box of fried chicken in hand so as to keep the younger one happy, he felt it. A tiny jolt of insecurity. A spasm of anxiety. That one gnawing sensation had become aggravated with each exaggeration he managed to conjure.
The first time, heâd been able to push it away at a momentâs notice. Albeit he stuttered, his resolve had been firm. Assumed to be the decrepit mindset tossed to the curb, Jimin slowly fell into it again, not realising how deep heâd sunk until he could no longer see the sun.
He put the tiny roll of kimbap down, he was all jittery inside but nothing ever surfaced. Jimin wasnât going to get that bad again. He was way over it. Right?
Yoongi shrugged, his tousled hair further adding to his unconcerned demeanour. Jimin looked sickly and his eyes were hooded. Yoongi could make out a faint sniffle every now and then.
âFood can have my attention for one minute and then not the next. You know I cherish my sleep.â
Jimin laughed, pulling his sleeves down so as to bunch the ends up in his palms, hiding away his hands. The boy said heâd been feeling cold lately. Surely winter couldnât have struck him that hard.
âI always think about food. Itâs kinda like a foolish pastime, ya know?â
He couldnât help the feeling that Jimin was almost trying to compete with him sometimes. As if he was being constantly watched. Especially when it came to mealtimes. He knew it was probably just his misinformed intuition, however that didnât mean he brushed the idea off completely.
âWant me to heat some leftovers?â
Yoongi held the fridge door open, turning back to look at him. There it was again. Jimin was shaking his head, looking slightly offended. Another laugh. Just as forced as the one before.
âIâm alright hyung. Jungkookieâs got another workshop planned so Iâm thinking of heading to the studio early to warm up.â
âAhâŠokay. Iâll come get you after you finish?â
Jimin nodded, pecking the older boyâs cheek. Even his lips had a slight chill about them. Yoongi grabbed his wrist, wanting to put his arms around him but Jimin awkwardly wiggled out of his grip, scratching the back of his head with an apologetic smile.
âI went to the gym earlierâŠstill a little sore hyung. SorryâŠâ
He apologised again before going up the stairs to his room to get dressed, to âpack his bag for the dance sessionâ. This was going to be okay. Yoongi could deal with this much. His expression wasnât supposed to falter. He had always been the immovable one.
This isnât an exceptionâŠ
Yoongi watched Jiminâs bouncy hair flounce out of the room before turning to address the person who called him. Maybe the lighting was off because why else would it look so lacklustre?
The boy was looking extremely uncomfortable for some reason, having also watched Jimin leave the studio. He had something to say but Yoongi was going to have to inquire further in order to get him to speak. Did he have to do this with everyone?
Jungkook was grappling thin air as he slowed his actions, trying to get the words out. Truth be told, heâd been a little scared when heâd discovered this currently pressing concern. He stopped shoving his spare clothes into his bag and sat down, defeated.
âEarlierâŠwhen we were getting changedâŠâ
Yoongi felt his exasperation cause pressure to build on the sides of his temple. The album was coming along fine, or was it?
âI-I donât really â Iâm not sure what I sawâŠâ
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
âSpit it out already Jungkook.â
Jungkook was flustered, hurrying to tell his story, his expression growing more and more confused.
âJimin-hyung was muttering to himself. He was staring into the mirror and heâd fumbled to put his jumper on when I walked in. Hyung, I donât think heâs slept in a while, let alone eaten anything in that time either. He kept up with the choreography butâŠIâm really worried.â
When heâd finished, Jungkook had to go over this dialogue to make sure what heâd said had made sense. His eyes were trained on the reflective quality of the floor. He was embarrassed. His inability to deal with confrontations was a stark contrast to the usual cocky attitude he wore. Yoongiâs eyes were blank and unreadable, almost as if he wasnât standing in front of him anymore.
âWeâll be heading home now, Kook-ah. You should get home quickly too. Okay?â
Yoongi spoke slowly and softly. Jungkook fought off the urge to shiver as he came across a thought. Serene. His hyungs were going to solve this, yet uncertainty claimed him as one of its own.
He opened his mouth to ask again but Yoongi had already left. Jungkook figured that the least he could do was to listen to his hyung. Gathering the rest of his belongings, he went straight home. Heâd paid the water bill so the prospects of a hot shower were very reachable.
It was all so wrong. Jimin felt cold and clammy. Yoongi felt him trembling slightly and held him tighter.
âHyungâŠI need to go the bathroomâŠâ
âNoâŠdonât moveâŠâ
You need to stop shaking.
âHyung, please, câmon.â
Jimin started squirming, trying to wriggle out of Yoongiâs admittedly pleasant embrace. Yoongi knew he had to let him go but he couldnât bring himself to do it.
I feel like I wonât see you again if you leave my arms even for just a second.
âJimin, if I let you go to the bathroom, when you come back, will you promise to tell me whatâs been on your mind as of late?â
His voice was hushed; somewhat husky because he didnât want to betray his emotions, knowingly allowing them to slip through his tone wasnât going to help in the slightest.
Jimin stilled, his quiet heartbeat picking up slightly as he nodded, not bothering to look up.
âI promise hyung. I really need to pee.â
Yoongi realised, as he regarded Jiminâs retreating figure that he was always watching, never articulating enough. His response was constantly being put off. âNevermind. Maybe he wouldnât have to bring it up.â
But he had to this time because Jimin needed a little nudge. He blinked. Speaking of which, Jimin was definitely taking longer than normal.
He sat up; the sound of his skin brushing against the bed sheets resonated loudly in his ears. Yoongi was on edge. His muffled footsteps made their way down the corridor to the bathroom. He was recognizing a lot of things lately. Like how much he hated the colour of that door he was approaching.
âJimin. Jimin, are you still in there?â
The tap was running. A loud splash could be heard. Yoongi ceased to breathe.
âJimin? Jimin, Iâm coming in.â
The bathroom was locked. Yoongi tried the door handle uselessly, the cheap knob rattling in its confines.
âJimin, open the door. Open the door!â
He was pounding against the shoddy wood, the thick layer of varnish coating it making Yoongiâs eyes swim. He managed to wrench the door open. Water was flowing steadily out of the bathtub. Jimin was floating inside, his ghostly skin shimmering under the strained lighting.
Yoongi hurriedly plunged his hands into the depths, pulling the boy out. He swiftly reached to turn the water off. Jimin was freezing. He was unconscious.
The last thing he could recall was fumbling to dial the emergency number, the brightness of his screen making it difficult. Heâd rushed into the hospital, praying to the non-existent Gods of fate that this wasnât happening.
Yoongi didnât know if Jimin looked worse than he did before. He was lying within a pile of pristine blankets; tubes poking out like worms spread across what were covering him. Some sort of monitor was beeping in the background.
The worst thing was, Yoongi had known. A part of him had known all this time but he had never cared to admit to it. So many excuses, each one as pathetic as the last. Heâd been busy. Heâd been working constantly so of course he hadnât had time. Heâd been tired.
Devastation was settling in, causing Yoongiâs leg to vibrate the seat he was in. He was tapping his foot but was interrupted as he stood up, pacing around the foot of Jiminâs bed.
There was no point in becoming hysterical. He had to keep it together. Jimin was going to open his eyes. He was going to tell Yoongi that everything was all right because it really was and he was fine.
Jimin, please. Please. Please baby, open your eyes. Talk to me. Make me stop freaking out.
Yoongi began to hyperventilate; his self-awareness had him walking out. He could just see the doctor whoâd treated Jimin speaking to a nurse.
I canât hear them from here. This is bad.
Hours passed and Yoongi felt as if he was going to crack. He was sitting to Jiminâs right, unable to contain anything any longer. He hadnât told anyone. He hadnât bothered to call the others over because he wanted to be selfish.
How can I afford to be selfish right now�
The answer lay in the diagnosis the doctor had provided. His phone had been ringing on and off, even while he was talking to the professionals. They would come eventually when they understood that he wasnât going to pick up. Or maybe not.
Jimin wasnât waking. Yoongi had drifted away; blocking out reality, yet his tears kept coming.
He had never been one to believe in miracles or a higher power that governed over the events life threw at you. He was proven wrong when Jiminâs eyes fluttered open, blinking away at the glaring ceiling.
He took a moment to adjust to the number of people in the room, understanding at once what the situation was. After all, heâd been here once before.
Weâd be lucky if you lived the next few minutes, huh?
Yoongi edged closer, terrified of breaking the feeble boy. His mother only cried. His parentsâ words scrambled to leave, their voices mingling.
âCould IâŠtalk toâŠ?â
Jimin moved towards Yoongi, the older boy instantly halting him.
They left. Bless them. Did they know what was going to happen?
Yoongi gently squeezed Jiminâs hand, unable to start because this was inevitably going to be the end of everything.
âI took it too far, huh?â
His voice broke and Yoongi brought the back of Jiminâs hand up to his lips, kissing the ice with utmost desperation.
He could only nod, keeping his eyes trained on the dwindling flame heâd thought to spend the rest of his days with.
I wish it wasnât night. I wish you couldâve seen the sun. JiminâŠJiminâŠ
âIâm so sorry. Jimin, will you ever forgive me?â
Jimin shook his head, his movements frigid. Was it possible to feel this much pain? This much sorrow? Could he have been prepared? Yoongi really hadnât.
âIâm glad I flew with youâŠeven if it was for a little bitâŠIâll never forget.â
Yoongi could feel it. He could feel deathâs presence.
Let me keep him. Please. Heâs all I haveâŠ
âDonât say that. Donât.â
âAnd hyungâŠthere was nothing to forgive in the first placeâŠâ
Yoongi was the one who broke. Jiminâs hand had fallen limp. His last thought, what could it possibly have been?
Iâll never forget the boy who gave me what Iâd only dream aboutâŠthe boy who offered his wings to me.
Disbelief. That was it. Anger. It was swirling inside of him, blending with the sorrow that was too much to comprehend. His perception and discernment were running away, miles ahead of him.
Iâll never forget the boy whose wings turned black right in front of my eyes.
Yoongi wasnât snooping. Jiminâs things had stayed untouched weeks after his death. He had to know. This wretched notebook he kept with him would give him answers. Opening up to a random loose page, Yoongi read aloud. It was so he could make sense and keep his mind distracted on the words he was saying rather than the words swarming in his mind.
âWhen youâve been in recovery, having had so much progress made, you would think I wouldâve ben able to handle it with a good mentality. Yes, the journey is accompanied by bumps along the road but the end result is resolute. I shouldnât have derailed so quickly. How did I stray so far from the track?â
âThe less I eat, the closer I am to death.â
What Jimin had started with better intentions had ultimately led him to be consumed. Yoongi shut his eyes, letting his fist curl around the pathetic piece of paper as his hands shook. Was this how heâd felt?
The notebook fell to the ground. Yoongiâs shoulders shook and his chest heaved as what heâd been trying to avoid came at him from all directions, surrounding him, suffocating him. He had no right. No right at all to feel this way. It was his fault.
Starving himself wasnât even a choice anymore. It was a necessity. But it was too late to try and understand. It was always too late.
Because it just wasnât fair. His baby was drowning. His baby had drowned. The one purpose he had found in life had given him too much hope but when he left, heâd taken it all with him.
The only thoughts that would plague him broke him, eating away at his heart until there was no longer pain but emptiness â gluttony in another sense.
Jimin, I love you. Jimin, I miss you. JiminâŠhow can I forget you?
As the weak sunlight streamed in, Yoongi watched as the walls of his apartment were painted in sickly yellow. Eventually, he got up off the floor. He didnât have anyone to meet and yet he took a longer shower than usual, oblivious to the distinct outline of his ribs, his hipbones jutting out beneath his sweatpants.
Did I always have this much time on my hands? You took down my walls but I never touched yours. That impenetrable glass mocked me while I watched the light in your wings fade.
Hoseok had been staying by his side for a while. The younger boy had claimed that there was âno way he was going to leave a friend at a time like thisâ, which initially pissed Yoongi off. But when the realisation sunk in and Jimin no longer came out of his room, clothes messily thrown on and sleepy smile on display, heâd had to rely on Hoseok to guide him through the day.
They were long but he was kept busy. It was the nights that bothered him the most. Hoseok was always with him, constantly watching over Yoongi and making sure the boy was at least getting out of bed at an appropriate time, as anything after noon was considered âlazyâ.
On a particular day, when Yoongi had felt indifferent, Hoseok had decided to inform him at last.
Heâd been working on a big project. Things were getting more demanding. Heâd hoped Yoongi would understand and of course he did. Hoseok had a life to attend to. At least, this was what he told himself.
Hoseok sighed, feeling a little imprudent as he glanced down at the pack of beer bottles he was holding. The tawdry commercial of the brand flashed in his mind as he tried again, knocking with a little more urgency this time.
âYah Yoongi, Iâve come here to celebrate something of my own occasion. Open up!â
Sighing to himself, he chose to ignore the questionable odour coming from the limp figure. It couldnât be alcohol. Thatâs what Hoseok had brought for the two of them to consume together. He prodded Yoongiâs shoulder. He fell limp against the other wall of the corner Hoseok had discovered the other hiding away in.
âJust look at youâŠâ
He muttered, seating himself down beside Yoongi. He preceded his attempts to alleviate the other out of his drunken stupor. There was no point in denying it.
Hoseok suddenly felt Yoongi stir, rising to his feet so quickly that he didnât have time to support him as he tripped.
He followed suit, about to grab the pack off the floor when Yoongi turned on him.
All he saw was red and all he heard was a strangled cry as something landed heavily against a hard surface.
This was insane. Heâd never been one to lash out at others. In fact, he was the exact opposite. He just couldnât.
Donât go leaving me as well.
When the anger faded, his eyes came to focus on Hoseokâs stunned face. When had he fallen on the floor? Yoongiâs head span and his vision started going cloudy as he dropped into one of the seats behind him. They were in the kitchen. They had been talking. Hoseok had something. Something he did not want to hear.
The same mantra kept playing in Yoongiâs head, the words flashing across his mind, brighter and bigger each time until he felt that he needed to close his eyes. The words burned themselves against his eyelids, branding the thin layer of skin with the intense heat of searing metal.
He managed to whisper, hands covering his eyes as shame overwhelmed all his senses.
âJ-Just give me a second.â
Hoseok had not moved, afraid of how Yoongi was going to react if he moved even in the slightest.
Yoongiâs eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Hoseok again, his eyes surprisingly dry even though he felt he was on the brink of tears.
âI should be the one to ask you. IâŠIâm sorryâŠâ
Hoseok gathered himself, swallowing the lump in his throat as he stood back onto his feet. He brought his hand up to his face, feeling his cheek begin to swell slightly as the blood pounded underneath, trying to flow despite the shock to his system.
A nervous laugh escaped him, cutting itself off quickly because the bruise had started to form.
âI-Itâs fine. I-Should I go?â
Yoongi observed Hoseok, unable to recognise what heâd allowed himself to become.
âThe same thing happened with JungkookâŠâ
Hoseok paused, gauging the atmosphere peeling off of Yoongi in thick layers.
âY-You mean to sayâŠyou hit him too?â
He nodded, clenching his jaw because if he were to clench his fists, he would be met with a vivid reminder.
âYoongiâŠdo you think its time you saw someone?â
He was reminded regardless as his nails dug into his palms.
Jungkook had come over after calling Yoongi. Apparently Hoseok had asked the others to try and visit him in his absence. Yoongi had made it a point to leave the bar as fast as the sober side of his brain enabled him to.
Heâd come across the maknae knocking on his door, almost ready to give up and leave when he saw Yoongi struggling to get up the stairs.
Conversation was scarce but it led to Yoongi shoving Jungkook away in a daze, nonsensical remarks converting to violence as he kept asking Jungkook over and over again. Why didnât you stop him? Why did he die?
Heâd been drowning, floating further away from the surface in the background. Like a jellyfish, heâd âblended inâ, translucent and silent, only ever being noticed when he brought others pain. Only others learnt from their mistakes, knowing full well that if they were to come in contact with the jellyfish again, theyâd get hurt. But maybe Yoongi was too invested. Maybe Yoongi was a masochist. Maybe Yoongi liked jellyfish.
Jin hummed quietly. Yoongi figured the therapist was choosing his next words carefully.
âYou know Yoongi-ssi, it is said that 80% of oneâs total thoughts the human mind processes are negative, and that the lingering meagre 20% are positive. ItâŠis in our best interest to focus on the 20% and tend to them, to nurture so as to enrich our outlook.â
This was it. He was finally here.
How many will it take to make me better?
He couldnât make a sound. It was the silence that killed him.
âHe used to singâŠâ Yoongi croaked out, appalled at how raw his throat felt.
Jin offered a comforting smile, glancing down at his notepad before prompting Yoongi to continue.
âWhat did he sing about?â
Jin nodded, feeling more and more pity towards the boy sitting in front of him. He looked so small when he got like this. Like a child, frail and unsure of himself, the way he didnât trust the words he said made it clear.
âYes. Did he sing songs you hear on the radio? Or from the 90âs?â
Yoongi let his memory do the work for him. Ribbons of film that managed to salvage the sweetest of moments had goosebumps erupting on his skin.
âNoâŠhe didnât sing those types of songsâŠâ
Distant, blurry images materialised. Jimin was singing again.
âHeâd sing about stupid thingsâŠsometimes he would just hum a tuneâŠâ
He wasnât going to lift his head.
âI know these meetings are taking their toll on you. All I can tell you is this. YouâŠseem to have a lot of pent-up feelings.â
Thank you, thatâs so helpful. Iâm still paying, arenât I?
How was that possible? He was always known for his straightforwardness. In fact, Jimin used to scowl in annoyance at his âway-too-bluntâ statements.
Yoongi left his seat, sliding out of Jinâs office, his back never turning.
His parents had been absolutely wonderful. They were very mind people with an amount of generosity unequivocal to what Yoongi deemed was roughly half the worldâs population, give or take another billion individuals. So it had caught him off-guard when Jiminâs mother told him what had happened. That Jimin hadnât always been as cheerful as he now lets on, how he lets others believe. Heâd willed himself not to choke on the grains of rice that had seemed to swell inside his mouth.
This was a strange dream. The scene dissolved to one where Jimin and Yoongi were alone. An alternate universe wherein heâd actually asked Jimin.
âYeah but not anymore~ Iâm as happy as can be~â
He woke to tears, which was custom now. Heâd felt himself getting better but relapsing was too easy. He had to go out today.
âIf the person you really really really love the mostest in the world can be taken away like that, why bother hyung?â
Heâd stared at Taehyungâs little brother.
Taken away so easilyâŠwhen you put it like thatâŠit sounds crazy doesnât itâŠ?
âYah. My dear dongsaeng, it doesnât work like that. One day, when you find that someone, the someone who you really really really love the mostest in the world, youâll look back at this conversation and realise that some people are worth taking that risk.â
Maybe. Just maybe if heâd been as good with words as Taehyung was, he couldâve helped Jimin.
At some point, Taehyung had chased his little brother out of his room.
âStop torturing yourself hyung.â
It took Yoongi a moment to register the statement heâd uttered. Bitterness glazed over his eyes. Darkness seeped in through his pores, the disgust ebbing as sorrow continued to torment him.
I canât Taehyung. I canâtâŠI canât stop anymore. Heâs everywhere. The more I try to stop myself from wandering, the more it chooses to disobey and wreak havoc.
âYou arenât going to all the scheduled sessions, are you hyung?â
âI stopped a few weeks ago.â
âHyung, weâre gonna go on a roadtrip.â
Taehyung threw Yoongiâs jacket onto the older boyâs head, clapping his hands together.
âCâmon! Up, up! Itâs an outing!â
Yoongi was pushed right out the front door, quickly zipping up his outer garment. Winter nipped at their bare skin, its timid snowflakes getting caught in their hair.
âTaehyung, what the fuck?â
Theyâd pulled up outside an alley, the lack of streetlights in this particular passageway casting looming long shadows that extended over the span of concrete.
The boy stood there, hands in his pockets as he gestured down the backstreet with a jerk of his chin.
âGo down there hyung.â
For some reason, Yoongiâs legs started moving of their own accord, taking him to the end of the path. There was nothing. But when he glanced at the sky, he saw what Jimin had left him. Covering the bottom of a stairwell, graffitied wings dusted with a perfect combination of mint and orange hung over him.
I love you Min Yoongi. Promise to never forget.
