Chapter Text
Cold.
Cold, frigid…. water? Is that water he feels?
He doesn’t know. His fingertips feel numb, to the point that he wonders if they’re really there. His toes haven’t fared much better.
He tries to get a sense for the rest of his body, checking if everything is still there. He flexes his calf muscles, his arms, his back. Seems to be in working order. There’s a cold floor under him, he deduced.
He decides to roll over onto his side.
Pain, hot stinging pain. That was a mistake, he rolls back. The pain is coming from his left side. It feels hot and searing, like a wasp sting but instead of concentrated in one area, it’s stretched over the entire expanse of his rib cage. He decides to start smaller by wiggling his fingers. He then lifts his right arm up and feels over his rib cage. There’s gash there, but the wound doesn’t seem fresh. It’s covered in a crust, of what he assumes to be dried blood. It starts to sting from his touching so he pulls his hand away and lays it back on the floor.
He needs to open his eyes now, but he doesn’t want to. It would mean that whatever’s happening is really real.
But he knows he needs to, so he does.
The light is blinding, and bright.
He’s in a small room with walls that seem alight? As if the walls are made of light themselves, but the ground is solid. There’s a pristine, sterile white door that stares at him from across the room. He thinks about getting up to get a closer look, but even from where he is positioned on the floor, he can see that there is no door knob.
That there is no escape.
He wants to panic and scream but he knows he can’t, he can’t waste time or energy, especially when he doesn’t know when his captors are coming back, or if they ever are. Despite his increasing confusion and his dwindling hope, he needs to situate himself and work on finding a way out. He decides to check the rest of his body for injury. Remembering the feeling he had when he turned over, he was not surprised to see the gaping wound that donned his ribcage, beginning from his 3rd or 4th rib down to his hip bone. The rest of his body however seemed to be in tact, save for some heavy bruising on his wrists as well as his ankles. He deduces that at some point he must’ve been bound by rope or zip ties.
Another fact that seems glaringly obvious, is the fact that he’s as naked as the day he was born.
His (what he assumes to be) captors really didn’t leave him with anything, did they.
He lets his eyes drag over the skin of his body, allowing his vision to further adjust and assess any other damage he missed during his first scans. All is well until he spots a small mark on his left wrist, so minuscule and insignificant that he had missed it initially. He attempts to wipe it off, but it doesn’t smudge. It’s a tattoo. He stares at it a little longer, not fully processing the image.
Until he does.
It’s a date.
The birthdate of his ex-lover.
Suddenly, Jimin remembers everything. Who he is, why he’s here, what led to him being here, and most importantly the meaning of that insignificant, unimportant tattoo.
Yes, he remembers all of it now.
--
2 weeks ago.
Jimin’s head was pounding. So loudly pounding.
It felt as if someone had been repeatedly bashing his head in with a baseball bat, slowly killing him- but unfortunately, he couldn’t be granted the sweet relief of death. His skin felt cold and sweaty to the touch as the first wave of nausea began to settle in.
This is how Jimin spent most mornings after a night out.
Actually it’s how he spends most mornings in general.
Jimin attempts to slowly peel himself from the sweat-soaked sheets, doing his best not to disturb the nausea and put it off for at least a little while. He’s slightly confused, and in his vision he’s seeing multiples of everything. Jimin knows that he’s in his apartment but he doesn’t know how he got back home last night. In fact, he truly doesn’t remember much about last night at all.
It all kind of gets blurry after the 8th shot, but he tries to remember anyway.
Jimin closes his eyes for a second, trying to get enough of a grip to go and get some water. He doesn’t know how long he sits there with his eyes shut trying to balance himself, but before he gets a chance to get up, a soft pair of hands cups his cheek. He opens his eyes.
Yoongi.
Yoongi.
Yoongi with his delicate features, his loving eyes. Yoongi with his thin wrists and small lips. He appears in front of Jimin, like an angel descending from heaven. He places a glass of water on the adjacent nightstand along with some Advil. An angel, truly.
Jimin takes a moment to take in Yoongi’s features. He looks more tired than he usually does, has he been sleeping? Jimin tries to think about it longer but the alcohol muddies his worried thoughts almost immediately after they come up. Sometimes he’s grateful for that, but in times like these it makes it hard. He leans forward to press his lips against Yoongi’s but Yoongi places a finger against his.
“You still smell like alcohol,” Yoongi remarks. Yoongi removes his finger and Jimin lowers his head in shame.
Yoongi looks off to the side, he can tell he’s hurt Jimin’s feelings. “Sorry”, Yoongi sighs. He runs his slender fingers through his hair and looks back at Jimin, whose eyes seem to be closing as the seconds' tick on. Yoongi hates to see him like this. Unable to control himself and barely conscious. It wasn’t as bad at first but at this point, Yoongi fears for Jimin’s health.
It started with just a little too much drinking at parties, just enough to forget some parts of the night, but now it seems that there isn’t a time where Jimin is actually sober. Yoongi tries not to think about it too much, but he can’t help but to worry. He can’t help but to see that his boyfriend is becoming a hollow shell of the person he used to be.
Jimin’s eyes are closed and his head is lolling off to the side, his thick lips perched slightly open. Normally Yoongi would coo at the sight, but he knows that this is all apart of the alcohol-induced stupor. He gently cups his hand against Jimin’s face and rights him.
“Drink some water, please.” Jimin cracks open one of his eyes and places his hand over Yoongi’s larger one. Yoongi grabs the water and slowly pours it into his mouth, small drops escaping on the way down.
“There you go....” He removes the cup from Jimin’s lips and sets it back onto the nightstand. He gently wipes the remaining drops off of his face with the hem of his sleeves. Jimin hangs his head low, seemingly staring at the ground. Yoongi doesn’t really know what to make of this sight, so he just guides Jimin back down to bed and under the covers. Jimin’s eyes look glassy and glossed over, and it’s quite obvious that Jimin isn’t really processing information anymore.
But suddenly, there are hot tears spilling from Jimin’s eyes. He’s crying. He’s pouting and crying.
Yoongi’s heart constricts just a little.
“Jimin, what’s wrong?” Yoongi tries to place his hand over Jimin’s forehead but he abruptly turns away. Yoongi doesn’t understand why, can’t find a point where he went wrong. He had done nothing than care for his still drunk boyfriend. But now, it’s his fault. Yoongi is annoyed. He’s fed up. Not with having to look after Jimin everytime he goes overboard, but with the fact that Jimin will never tell him why. He just drinks himself away at every chance that arises. But even Yoongi can tell he doesn’t enjoy it. So why, he asks. This question is on his mind, but no matter how much he pushes it, Jimin continues to deny that there’s a problem. Continues to deny the fact that it gets worse with every passing day.
So this is why Yoongi doesn’t feel bad when he gets up and retreats to the living room. Whatever Jimin’s crying about, he’s sure he can’t fix it. Especially not with him in this state. So he lays back down onto the couch and pulls the covers over his body. The blankets aren’t nearly sufficient enough, especially not with the winter chill that lay just beyond the glass windows, but Yoongi hadn’t slept in a bed with Jimin for a long time and he had no intention of returning anytime soon.
--
Jimin finally wakes up some hours later with a still pounding headache and a quick dash to the bathroom to relieve the nausea that had been plaguing him for hours. When he’s finished emptying the contents of his already empty stomach (he forgets to eat on occasion), he takes comfort in resting his cheek on the cold porcelain. The cool temperature is a nice contrast to his face, which is overtly warm from being pressed against the pillow for too long.
For a moment he lies there, catching his breath.
It’s hard to believe that the bowl of a toilet is where he finds comfort now, but Jimin doesn’t try to make sense of things as of late. He doesn’t try to search for answers. He lets the hollow feeling of an empty stomach and the neck of a bottle be the only answers he needs.
He realizes that he’s thinking too hard again and gets up to cleanse his teeth of the rancid aftertaste.
In the living room, Yoongi’s putting on his shoes and preparing to leave their apartment. It’s well into the afternoon at this point and he’s made plans to meet with Hoseok. He’s not completely sure if Jimin has woken up yet, but he takes the rapid footsteps he had heard in the hallway a few minutes earlier as an indication that the blonde-haired male was awake. Yoongi makes an effort to leave faster, hoping to avoid interaction with the younger. Yoongi doesn’t know when the shift occured, but acknowledges the ever-present tension that lies within their relationship.
Unfortunately for him, Jimin makes it into the living room before Yoongi can exit.
“Hey.” Jimin says casually. Yoongi doesn’t know why this choice of words annoys him, but it does. Maybe it’s the curtness of it, suggesting that Yoongi isn’t worthy of anything more than a headnod. Maybe it’s the lack of an acknowledgment to the fact that once again, Yoongi had dragged Jimin back to the apartment in a drunken stupor after being called by the bar manager. This time, as the manager had told him, Jimin had passed out on a table by himself accompanied by nothing but empty glasses and bottles of soju. But no, Jimin doesn’t even thank him for bringing him home safe. For taking care of him.
Yoongi chooses not to reply and instead ties up the remaining laces on his shoe.
Jimin tries not to falter, but he’s hurt that Yoongi won’t even respond to him. But he understands why. Doesn’t need to exchange words with him to know that Yoongi is reaching his limit with how many times he can drag Jimin out of bars at ungodly hours in the morning. With how many times he can take care of his sorry ass without receiving any affection in return.
It’s not like Jimin doesn’t want to do these things, it’s just that he can’t.
Jimin wants to reach out to Yoongi, he wants to love him, and kiss him, and give him the affection he knows Yoongi needs . But it’s like there’s an invisible wall that separates what he wants and what actually happens. And when he does manage to breach the wall, and actually does make it to Yoongi, it feels wrong. It makes his skin crawl, and brings out the ugliest, darkest monsters that exist in the pit of his mind. Yoongi’s touch burns . And Jimin is scared because this is someone he’s supposed to love, someone he’s supposed to confide in for support. But with every passing day a bigger rift grows between them. Jimin isn’t blind, he knows the inevitable future.
But despite how his body reacts to Yoongi, he can’t help but dread the day he will leave.
One day the shining pillar that had served as his beacon of hope for half of his life, the one thing he’s held onto while his entire world crumbled around him, will be gone.
And he will have nothing left.
--
Across Seoul is Yoongi, who is currently tucked away in the corner of a quaint family-owned coffee house. Of all the coffee shops in Seoul, this one is Yoongi’s favorite. He knows all the people who work here and they all know him. The menu never changes, but when it does it always brings along a new pleasant seasonal dish. This place is familiar to him, and he presumes this is why he likes it so much. It feels like home, a place that often seems to get misplaced for Yoongi.
This coffee shop is also where Yoongi decides to meet up with Hoseok.
In terms of familiarity, Hoseok sticks out like a sore thumb.
Hoseok is new. Hoseok is different .
Don’t get Yoongi wrong, it’s not like he and Hoseok have just met. In fact, he’s probably known him for as long as he’s known Jimin. They were all childhood friends back in Daegu. But this Hoseok is different.
This Hoseok kisses his hands, and swipes his thumb over his cheeks, and whispers words into his ears that make his heart hurt.
This Hoseok gives him what Jimin no longer can.
Yoongi is currently updating him on the recent events taking place between him and Jimin. Hoseok doesn’t speak, just holds his hand from across the table, stroking his thumb over Yoongi’s fingers when Yoongi tears up at times. And it makes him feel so warm. But always lingering in the back of his mind is guilt. The ever-present weight that remains on his shoulders. Yoongi knows he feels something so real with Hoseok, but he also knows that at one point, he used to feel this way with Jimin too. And maybe that feeling left a long time ago, but Yoongi still cares for Jimin. Still picks him up from bars late at night. Still gives him ibuprofen and water.
Yoongi wouldn’t bother doing these things if he didn’t care about Jimin.
So inevitably, Yoongi feels guilty. He’s hiding a monster, a monster that if Jimin ever found out existed, would ruin him. This is why he decides to keep his feelings for Hoseok hush hush. Because no matter how much love Yoongi has for Hoseok, he’s also bound to Jimin by an inseverable amount of loyalty.
“Everyday he’s getting worse Seok, I don’t know what to do…” Yoongi remarks sadly. He remembers a time where he and Jimin were happy. A time in which the thought of seeing Jimin sent butterflies through his stomach. But now it seems those butterflies have been replaced with an insurmountable sense of longing. For what, Yoongi still doesn’t know but he pegs it as having something to do with missing the way things used to be.
When he didn’t have to go to someone else for comfort.
Hoseok looks back at him with a steady gaze. He seems so focused. Yoongi finds it unusual, since it’s a sharp contrast to the man’s typically bright personality.
Despite that, Yoongi continues.
“Many days he refuses to eat, he’s gotten so thin Hobi. He’s just skin and bones at this point. All he does his drink. He doesn’t even look at me anymore. I don’t know how much longer I can do this…” Yoongi covers his eyes with the palms of his hands, he lets them ground into the skin beneath them. He feels tears welling up, but he’s trying hard not to cry anywhere in public. Hoseok stops him though. He gently grabs his wrists and lowers them from his face, and once again he meets his steely gaze. Hoseok still hasn’t said anything in response.
Yoongi starts to feel slightly panicked at Hoseok’s lack of response. Maybe he thinks Yoongi is pathetic. Hell, even Yoongi would think that he’s pathetic. He’s fallen apart because of a few bumps in the road and is effectively ruining the one good thing that’s held him up all these years. Even when Yoongi could barely get out of bed, Jimin was there. Jimin was there bringing him love and acceptance and he made Yoongi feel like a person. And now when Jimin is struggling, when he needs the same tender care, Yoongi is almost nowhere to be found.
He feels like a failure.
Hoseok tightly grips Yoongi’s hand, his vision directed more towards the table now. Yoongi can tell he wants to say something, but he’s afraid to know what it is. Afraid that it’s going to confront his fears and pinpoint to Yoongi exactly what he’s doing wrong. That he’s going to vocalize outloud what Yoongi is scared to acknowledge most.
But he doesn’t say that.
What he says is much worse than that.
“What if we didn’t have to worry about him anymore?” Hoseok says it so casually that at first Yoongi doesn’t pick up on the implications of what he’s saying. But when he does, Yoongi freezes up. He’s stunned. Surely this is a joke right? He can’t be serious. Yoongi prays to whoever’s listening that he misheard something or that Hoseok is playing some cruel prank on him.
But Hoseok doesn’t say anything. He just stares back at Yoongi, like he’s waiting for a response.
“You can’t be serious right...and what do you even mean by that? Don’t play jokes on me Hoseok…” But with the more seconds pass on, the more that Yoongi realizes that Hoseok is completely serious. Yoongi suddenly feels very cold, like a ghost has just passed through his body. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s hearing. Hoseok, the typically bright and happy man is dark and completely devoid of emotion. This is not his Hoseok. This is a stranger. And Yoongi feels very uneasy.
He pulls his hand away from Hoseok’s own.
Hoseok takes this as an invitation to explain himself.
“Yoongi. We’ve known each other for a very long time. I’m sure you remember back in Daegu, whenever you’d come over, my father was nowhere to be found.” He’s right, Yoongi does remember. He also remembers Hoseok living more lavishly than the other students at school. At the time he didn’t question it, because according to Hoseok his father was a famous surgeon who was often away on business, but now he begins to doubt if that was even the truth to begin with.
Hoseok continues, “I know we told you that he was on business as a surgeon but...that wasn’t the complete truth. My father...dabbles in some other side businesses as well.” He pauses to clear his throat. Yoongi inhales. “Y’know sometimes Yoon, in the pursuit of knowledge, you can’t always make the ethical decisions.” Stop. “Sometimes you have to break boundaries in order to better understand the world as a whole.” Please stop talking. “Now I won’t get into the details of it, but basically there is a demand and we have a supply.”
The final sentence rings in Yoongi’s ears.
A supply, huh.
Is that all Jimin is now? A supply?
In that moment, it feels like a pit swallows Yoongi whole. It feels like he’s swimming in his own brain. And despite the frantic panic that consumes his entire body, Yoongi’s head is empty. It’s devoid. Borderline non-existent. Hoseok’s few words have completely shut him down. Yoongi’s hands are turning numb, and suddenly he can no longer hear the quiet ambience of the coffee shop. It’s silent.
Completely silent.
The last thing he sees are Hoseok’s eyes widening as his vision turns black around the edges.
And then, there is nothing.
--
Hands.
Hands.
They’re everywhere, crawling up from the ground. They’re pulling at him, grabbing at him. They grip him so hard it hurts. And he’s afraid of what they might do to him if he lets them continue.
So he runs, he runs so fast that his lungs burn and his heart pounds against his chest. He runs until his legs ache with overuse and they threaten to give out. He runs until he has absolutely nothing left.
He looks back to find that the hands haven’t faltered.
They’ve been on his heels this entire time.
They’ve been on his heels this entire time, and he’s running out of fight to carry on.
He turns his face back to the path in front of him, but it’s so dark. His head is starting to hurt something fierce, and he’s beginning to trip over his own tired feet.
He wants to give up so much, he knows he can’t win.
But he keeps trying, keeps running because he knows if he gives up, it’s all over. And he can’t let go, not yet. He needs to keep going, he needs to be there for someone. Who, he doesn’t know. But he gets the feeling that someone’s waiting for him on the other side. He has to stay strong. The pain in his legs lessens, the wind in his hair cools the forming headache, and slowly a smile forms on his face. He can do it! He can make it, all he has to do is keep running and nothing can stop him, noth-
He trips. He trips over a small rock.
His bout of euphoria distracted him, and now he’s on the ground. And right there with him, are the hands.
He’s lost.
He’s been defeated.
And now the hands are pulling at his skin, ripping him up until his insides are on the ground.
It hurts . But there’s nothing he can do.
A single tear rolls down his cheek.
--
Jimin wakes up to his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He shoots up from the bed, absolutely drenched in sweat. He’s already forgetting the majority of his nightmare, but the distinct feeling of fear and defeat weighs heavy on his chest. A buzzing feeling begins to take over his body, which accompanied by the cold-sweat makes Jimin feel sick. He gets up to go wash his face, grabbing a change of clothes on the way out.
The cold water on his face is heaven. And Jimin is thankful for it. Not only does the sink wash away the sweat, but it also seems to wash away some of the aftermath of the nightmare. Slowly, Jimin begins to feel safe again. By the time he’s changed his clothes and climbed back into bed, the fear has left his body but now he’s left with the consuming emptiness that comes with intense emotional stress. He’s trying not to let it eat him whole, but Jimin is tired of fighting. Tired of fighting not only when he’s awake, but now when he’s asleep.
He doesn’t know exactly when the nightmares started, but everytime Jimin closes his eyes he’s haunted by horrifying visuals that shake him to his very core. And the worst part is, no matter how much Jimin wants to wake up from them he never can. It’s like some function in his body keeps him asleep at all costs, so he’s forced to see them through to the very end. And only then can he escape.
The emptiness grows stronger and Jimin finds himself trudging out of his room searching for his shoes. He needs to get out of this place, needs to get out of his head most of all. Needs to replace this empty space with the warmth of alcohol. He stumbles out of the apartment and into the street, dizziness overtaking him as the hot sun hits his skin. He hasn’t been out during the day time in a while, so he shields his eyes from the sun and leans his head back against the side of the apartment building.
He’s doing well so far, he thinks.
Once the dizziness subsides, he continues walking. He keeps eyes pinned to the ground, afraid of the judgemental stares that could meet his own if he were to look up. Jimin didn’t get a chance to look at himself before leaving, but he has a feeling that he doesn’t look the greatest. As Jimin walks, it seems as if the world slips away just a little. Like his grip on his surroundings is slowly loosening. At times, he wonders if he’s just watching himself from far away. With nothing but the tall buildings and sounds of the Seoul streets to accompany his now quiet brain, Jimin finds it easy to let the world go for just a little while.
It doesn’t need him anyway.
Jimin comes back to when he realizes he’s made it to his intended destination.
The bar.
Jimin can feel his shoulder’s droop in relief as he makes his way into the bar because he knows soon the thoughts that plague his conscious mind will be muddied by the burn of straight liquor. He won’t have to think anymore, and that’s a luxury he rarely takes for granted.
He walks over to the counter, planting himself on a bar stool. The rest of the bar is quiet and more on the quaint side. It’s less like a club for partying and more like a place you’d stop on the way home from a hard day at work. And while this particular bar is unfamiliar to him (he avoids going to the same places twice for fear of them kicking him out), they all provide him with the same relief. And so places like the one he currently occupies have become a second-home to Jimin for some months now.
The bartender, a man with a handsome face and round features approaches Jimin as he sits down. He offers Jimin a half-smile, his dark eyes shining under the soft lighting. The smile comforts him, once again reinforcing the idea that places like these are safe space for Jimin. A place where Jimin is finally in control of the thoughts allowed in his head. He smiles back at the bartender.
“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”
--
What wakes up Yoongi isn’t the cold dampness on his forehead.
It isn’t the uncomfortable cushions beneath him (from which he recognizes to be familiar).
And it isn’t the volume of the TV that’s turned up a little too loudly.
It’s the featherlight touch of fingertips against his cheek.
It’s the long, slender fingers that continue to methodically card through his hair.
It’s the soft pair of lips that plant themselves on Yoongi’s forehead. And even if that kiss lasted only for a fleeting moment, it erupts a sweet warmth inside Yoongi. Not the kind of warmth signature to moments of rushed heat and human desperation, but a softer, gentler warmth. It feels like honey inside of Yoongi’s heart, so much so he dares to open his eyes.
Hoseok.
It’s always Hoseok.
Hoseok stares back at him so kindly, with so much adoration his eyes. He seems caught off guard, as if Yoongi saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. Liked he walked in on Hoseok holding out his heart in his hands. To Yoongi. He feels a familiar tugging sensation in his chest, a feeling that is starting to seem so routine with every passing moment he spends with the younger.
But of course, it doesn’t remain that way for long.
Yoongi forgets himself, forgets to realize that he’s on borrowed time. The realization occurs as the memories of what led him being on Hoseok’s uncomfortable couch in Hoseok’s unusually clean apartment flood into his mind.
The warm feeling quickly drains his chest as it is replaced by something ice cold.
Fear.
Fear of the man before him. Fear of what the other is capable of, fear of the extent he’s willing to go to secure a future with Yoongi. Hoseok’s willingness to go so far for Yoongi, someone who barely has the courage to confront the one person who he is supposedly supposed to be able to discuss everything with. To be there when they fall. To fix things when they get rough. A pang of guilt hits Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi made a commitment, a commitment to the one (at the time) he truly loved. The person he always wanted to be right for. But now he’s running away from him and everything they’ve built. He traded the person he swore his life to for stolen kisses and illegitimate love. He’s giving everything away because he doesn’t know how to fix it . How to fix him . Yoongi’s lips draw into a deep frown.
He’s a coward.
Yoongi is a coward, and that’s not only because he’s been all but useful when it comes to Jimin.
Yoongi’s a coward because when Hoseok suggested that they take care of Jimin, a flutter of hope appeared in his chest.
And this scared Yoongi. All of it did.
His growing feelings for Hoseok, his emerging hatred and impatience in terms of his relationship with Jimin. But what scared him the most is the “what if’s” that swam around in his head after Hoseok had spoken. A life with no Jimin, a life where Yoongi and Hoseok could be together for real. Where they could hold hands in front of their friends, where Yoongi could peck him on the lips when he does something particularly adorable without having to worry about being caught.
A life where he can be Hoseok’s and Hoseok can be his. Where they could just be.
No rushed makeout sessions. No unsaid words. Just them and that intoxicating warmth that Hoseok sparks within him.
A feeling he reckons he’s missed out on for longer than he can tolerate.
And he feels unbelievably guilty for even considering it as an option, but Yoongi is so desperate to be loved. To love another. Even if Yoongi doesn’t want to accept it, he knows that the only way he can love again is if there’s nothing holding him back. And as long as he’s with Jimin, he can never be free.
But there’s still a part of Yoongi that cares so deeply for Jimin. Even if those feelings are no longer romantic, he loves the younger. They’ve been dating since they were teenagers, and friends for even longer. And Yoongi could not, in good conscience, abandon him to die. He owes the other man his life, because when no one else was there for Yoongi, Jimin was. When Yoongi’s parents died and everyone turned on him, Jimin was there. When Yoongi stood on the bridge over the Han river, pushed to his very limits, Jimin was there trying to talk him down. He told Yoongi that he was loved. That he mattered. That he was needed. Those words saved his life.
So no matter how fed up Yoongi gets, no matter how thin his patience grows, he’s still there for him as Jimin was there for Yoongi.
But it’s so tempting to say yes.
It’s Hoseok’s deep inhale that brings him back into the real world. The younger has worry written into the deep frown on his face. He probably thinks Yoongi hates him now considering the way he reacted at the cafe. If Yoongi could turn back time, he would have had better self control. And besides Yoongi could never hate him, not when he makes Yoongi feel the way he does. Hoseok doesn’t know that yet though, and Yoongi doesn’t think he can live a second longer without clearing the air between them.
“Hoseo-”
“Hyung-”
They both silence themselves. He doesn’t know whether or not to talk first. Hoseok makes a decision before he does.
“Hear me out, please.” He says, quiet and unsure. The younger closes his eyes briefly before starting again.
“Hyung, I’m sorry. I never meant for it to come out the way that it did. I really didn’t think about it until I said it, and I think that’s where I went wrong. I should have never brought it up in the first place. So I’m sorry for that. I just…” Hoseok looks down at his hands, unsure. He looks back into Yoongi’s eyes before continuing, “I like you a lot hyung. And not just regular like. Like like like. As in...as in I’m so deeply in love with you.. . ” He laughs, albeit a little nervous. “That’s why I was so desperate for a way out. But I know now that it was not the right approach.” He finishes.
Wow, Yoongi thinks.
Wow.
Hoseok had used the word love .
Hoseok loves him too.
Yoongi’s heart feels so full with warmth. The younger loves him, and he’s just as serious about this relationship as Yoongi is. Any fear or slight resentment he felt toward Hoseok about what he said earlier melts away and is replaced with the overwhelming love he feels. His chest feels tight, like he’s about to burst. He’s swimming in this feeling, and all of it is for Hoseok. He loves him, loves him so much.
He leans forward towards the younger, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck and pulling him to his lips. Their lips fit together so perfectly he thinks, slowly opening his mouth to give the younger more access. He tries to communicate everything he’s feeling through it, wants Hoseok to know that he loves him too. That he is everything to Yoongi. Hoseok’s skin is so warm under his fingers, so tangible. He’s here, and he’s Yoongi’s. And that’s all he really needs.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hoseok pulls back, his eyes full of concern.
“Hyung..you’re crying. Are you okay?” Yoongi wipes at the wetness under his eyes.
“Oh..” He gazes back at the younger, a smile gracing his lips. He looks so beautiful like this, a slight flush adorning his cheeks, hair slightly mussed from Yoongi passing his fingers through it.
“Hoseok-ah...I love you. I love you so much. I could never be mad at you. Let’s just put this behind us please, let me just be with you today. No one else.” he finishes, more tears spilling out of his eyes. Relief visibly floods through Hoseok, his shoulders slacking. Yoongi smiles down at his hands, Hoseok quickly placing his palms over the other. The action makes butterflies rattle in his stomach. His skin is absolutely buzzing with every touch Hoseok places on his body.
“Hyung...I’m so glad. I love you..” Hoseok’s crying now too. They’re both crying, in relief, in love, in everything. And it’s so messy but this man is his whole world. He’s is Yoongi’s past, his present, and he really wants him to be his future. But they can worry about that another time. For once, Yoongi wants to live in the moment. With the man who makes him laugh at the dumbest things, holds him and keeps him safe, kisses him and makes him feel like a silly teenager again.
This Hoseok is so new. It’s uncharted territory, but god does he love him.
--
The act of waking up has never been a pleasant experience for Jimin.
Ever since childhood he’s always associated it with mornings and having to wake up early. As a young child he would complain about having to get up and get ready when all he wanted to do was get a few more hours of sleep. When he got a little older, however, he simply decided he just didn’t like school enough to actively want to go. The kids there were cruel, seeing how they had treated his best friend. And if he were honest, he was a little scared to go. He and Yoongi had just admitted their feelings for each other, and he really liked him, but he didn’t want to be targeted by the other kids in the event that they found out about their secret relationship. Jimin didn’t trust himself enough to not want to hold Yoongi’s hand.
Especially not with that beautiful gummy smile the elder had.
So Jimin avoided school, and therefore, he avoided waking up in general as well.
Now Jimin hates waking up for entirely different reasons.
He hates waking up for mornings like this.
As Jimin “fades” into consciousness (much less fades, his senses hit him like a moving truck), Jimin is assaulted by several sensations. First, and probably the most overwhelming was the smell. Wherever Jimin was smelled absolutely rancid , and stale. As if someone had left a 3 months expired carton of milk wide open overnight. It was awful, and made Jimin’s stomach churn. Secondly, it was the feel. The ground under Jimin felt squishy and slightly moist. All the various sensations were starting to kick Jimin’s brain into overdrive, not knowing where he was beginning to induce a painful cramping in his chest.
He opens eyes.
A fucking alleyway.
Jimin’s woken up in some strange places, but never, has he woken up in a place so fucking unpleasant and disgusting. God, it was awful. Jimin’s emaciated body was tucked close behind a dumpster away from the view of the sidewalk. From the view of people. He thinks it’s fitting, he doesn’t deserve to see the light of day. He looks down to where he’s sitting, and when he sees it he nearly vomits.
He’s sitting in a pile of rotting fruits.
He scurries away from the pile as fast as humanly possible, gagging in disgust.
The pile is covered in flies, and as he takes a closer look, he notices a small maggot crawling out of a brownish, rotting apple.
That about does it.
He dashes to the corner, pouring out the contents of his stomach onto the ground. It burns on the way out, the remnants of heavy drinking from the night before tinging his throat. It’s so intense that at points, he’s unable to breathe.
The spell ends and he sinks to the ground in defeat.
A tear slips down his cheek, and soon he’s sobbing.
He doesn’t know exactly why he’s crying, but he assumes it’s just everything. The binge drinking, Yoongi, his broken relationship, the nightmares, his inability to eat. Everything.
All of it because he can’t remember what happened those two weeks back in highschool, where he disappeared and came back with snapped bones and littered with bruises. Jimin’s hyperventilating now, the more he thinks. Repressed memories he has of being found swimming to the surface.
All because Jimin is weak, and because he doesn’t know how to solve problems that were caused by something he doesn’t remember.
Something horrible happened to him, and he doesn’t fucking remember.
He bangs his fist on his head out of frustration, the sheer force of it causing black spots to dance around his vision. He’s shaking now surely, and the telltale prickling feeling of numbness begins to overtake his limbs.
“REMEMBER, REMEMBER, REMEMBER!” The words chant inside of his head like a mantra.
It’s like Jimin can physically hear the sound of a rift forming in his psyche. In an instant, it’s like the world is flowing around him like lava. Ground isn’t solid anymore, and it’s all moving. Breathing, like a great beast. It’s so dark, and empty. He wonders if he’s entered purgatory. His hands and feet are completely numb, and he can no longer tell if he’s even breathing.
If he’s even alive.
But somewhere deep inside himself, he’s still holding on. Still holding on to the piece of himself attached and grounded into the real world. He can see it, the light shining from above him. And he’s trying so hard to keep a grasp on it, and never let it go. Because he knows if he lets it go it will truly be the end. It would be the point of no return. Jimin can drink, Jimin can wallow in crippling self-loathing, Jimin can push everyone away from him. But if he lets go of that last sliver of hope that sits heavy on his chest, he will die.
And Jimin doesn’t want to die.
The realization hurts, even if he’s having trouble feeling anything at all or even knowing where he is (because truthfully at this point he doesn’t), knowing that he doesn’t want to die sends pinpricks of sadness through his body. Jimin never wanted to die, he just wanted answers. He wanted to know what happened to him, wanted to know why he felt this way. Wanted to know why he can’t reciprocate the feelings he’s had for so long.
He wants to know why he can’t love anymore.
He’s so utterly broken, that he doesn’t notice the figure walking up behind him, soft and careful footsteps trotting up to the man staring blankly at a wall in an alleyway in front of a pile of his own vomit.
No, it’s not the footsteps that alert him, it’s the hand that lands on his shoulder that pulls him out of the very deep end. The touch rips Jimin out of his delirium, the warmth of the person’s fingers single-handedly setting the world back to how it should be. Color returns to his world, the sound of the street becomes present.
The hand connects to Jimin’s shoulders, and it feels like he can breathe again.
Jimin gasps in surprise, whipping around to locate the owner of said hand.
Oh.
Oh .
The man staring back at him, in as few words as possible, is beautiful. His facial features are soft, delicate in a way but his jawline is still strong. His face is framed by gentle waves of brown hair, the locks catching the rising sun behind him. And his eyes, his eyes are probably the best part. They’re piercing, more than simple brown. Several shades of green and amber mixing together to form a brilliant hazel. He’s simply ethereal, the sunlight illuminating from behind him furthering the illusion. The only thing Jimin doesn’t like however, is the concern wormed into his furrowed brow and the slight downturn of the man’s lips. He doesn’t like to see such a pretty face in any state other than contented.
Jimin is so lost in admiration that he doesn’t register that he’s being asked a question by the other man, only sees his smooth unblemished lips forming different shapes. It’s only after the slight shake on the shoulder that he begins to process the words coming out of his mouth.
“Hey, are you okay?” The honeyed voice asks him. It’s not a strange question by any means, considering the circumstances but Jimin still has a hard time answering. Obviously he’s not okay, seeing as he was barely lucid before he was approached but he still has all of his fingers and all of his toes so it’s not a bad start. Strangely, he feels like the other man has a lot to do with his eerie calmness.
“...I..I thin-k I’m o-ka..o-kay,” Jimin stammers out clumsily. He touches his fingers to his lips surprised, not expecting his words to come out as messily as they did. He’s confused, he tries to form more words but nothing’s really coming out. It’s as if there’s a disconnect between what his brain wants to do and what his body actually does. He begins to panic slightly, and he assumes the brown-haired man takes notice judging by how his grip tightens on his shoulder.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. Let’s get out of here, yeah? Is it okay if I buy you something to eat?” he asks, voice steady and low. If he’s freaked out by Jimin’s behavior, he certainly isn’t showing it which Jimin appreciates. He nods in response, and the man offers him a small smile, meant to be comforting. And it is comforting, he thinks.
“C’mon, let’s go. My name’s Taehyung by the way. Kim Taehyung. And you?” He asks, hooking his arm between Jimin’s and beginning to lead him out of the alleyway into the sidewalk. Into the view of people.
“J-im-in,” he manages to get out, suddenly realizing that his throat is incredibly dry. He coils back slightly as they make it out of the alley, the sudden change in light exposure making it hard to see. Taehyung doesn’t comment on it, just guides him forward, arms still linked.
“Well Jimin-ssi, it’s nice to meet you. How does breakfast sound?” he asks, tone chipper. Too upbeat for this time in the morning, not like Jimin knows what time it is though. He just assumes it’s probably too early for anyone to have so much energy. He nods once again in response, and Taehyung takes the liberty to smile at him again (causing his breath to hitch slightly because wow, he’s just so beautiful), increasing their walking speed up a bit. Jimin’s body is not quite ready for so much movement yet, but he does his best to keep up anyway.
He doesn’t know exactly why he accepted help from this random stranger, for all he knows he could be on his way to being kidnapped or killed. He has a feeling that’s not the case though, and something about Taehyung is so intriguing. He can’t quite place it, but he thinks it likely has something to do with the mischievous glint behind his eyes. Or maybe his willingness to approach and offer help to a complete stranger in a dingy alleyway. Jimin doesn’t really know, and honestly doesn’t really care. All he knows is that he has some strange deep-rooted desire to follow the man, completely compliant to go wherever he wants him to.
And as they continue walking, maybe the warmth pressed against his side sparks something in him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. One that evokes a sense of safety and comfort, and maybe even, dare he say it, passion.
But who is he to say what that feeling is.
--
Ragged, quick pants fall from Hoseok’s lips as he thrusts into Yoongi desperate for release. He’s teetering on the edge, brought there single-handedly by the masterpiece that laid under him. He drags his hands down from where they were held on Yoongi’s hips, nails scratching as he lifts one of the elder’s legs over his shoulder. He groans in satisfaction, the new position allowing him to penetrate deeper into Yoongi’s tight heat.
Yoongi must be getting close too, judging by the long drawn out moan that slips from his swollen, pink lips.
“Seok-ah, you feel s’ fucking good,” he slurs, the abuse on his prostate causing his brain to go foggy with pleasure. He slides his hands over the expanse of Hoseok’s back, fingertips leaving a fire in their wake. Yoongi looks so good like this, Hoseok thinks. Pretty pale skin dewy with sweat, a rosy flush adorning his cheeks. The elder’s hands slide up from his back tangling into Hoseok’s orange tendrils. He locks eyes with the younger, gaze focused and filled with desire.
But hidden behind that desire is an underlying softness.
“Hoseok, I love you.” Hoseok’s heart swells at the words, absolutely overwhelmed with affection. He leans down to Yoongi’s lips planting a delicate kiss against his lips. Hoseok intends for it to be soft, but Yoongi has different plans. The elder returns it with fervor, his response sending Hoseok into an almost animalistic pace. Yoongi eats it up, loves every second of it. Loves it when Hoseok is rough when him and doesn’t treat him like a doll, he drops his head back, eyes falling shut as he takes what Hoseok gives him.
Yoongi’s broken, high-pitched moans fill the room along with the sound of skin slapping as Hoseok takes him closer to the edge. He’s nearly there, the heat that’s been coiling in his stomach about to come undone. The younger reads it on his face, hand immediately reaching down to stroke Yoongi’s neglected cock. The sensations are so overwhelming. Hoseok’s long, slender fingers wrapped around him in a tight fist as Hoseok pounds into him is too much and soon he’s coming into the younger’s hand.
Hoseok only gets about one more full thrust in before he too is cumming inside of Yoongi, his stuttering hips causing Yoongi to hiss in oversensitivity. He finishes and promptly falls on top of the smaller man’s chest, panting. Yoongi winds his arms around him, attempting to pull him in closer. Wants to be filled with him in every sense of the word. Hoseok smiles, laughing quietly to himself as he returns the gesture by wrapping his boneless arms around the bits of Yoongi’s torso he can reach. He plants a kiss onto skin beneath him, relishing in the way Yoongi’s chest rises as he tries to catch his breath.
Hoseok raises his head to look at Yoongi, the elder’s gaze somewhere far off in the room.
“Hyung,” Yoongi snaps his head to look at him, a smile upturning the corners of his lips.
“Yes, my love?” Hoseok blushes at the pet name, his heart fluttering around in his chest.
“I love you too.” This causes Yoongi’s smile to grow wider as the elder brings their lips together again, sending sparks of electricity through Hoseok’s body. While their lips are connected and Yoongi is distracted, Hoseok takes the chance to gently pull out his soft cock. Yoongi breaks the kiss, letting out another hiss at the sensation of Hoseok’s cum slowly dripping out of his body onto the sheets.
“Ew.” Yoongi mumbles to himself, the sensation of the soiled sheets underneath him quickly becoming unpleasant. He brings his eyes back to Hoseok, who, he realizes, is watching the cum dribble out of his abused hole.
“Hey, idiot,” He cuffs his hand against the side of Hoseok’s head to get his attention. “As much as I love watching you watch cum come out of my ass it’s starting to feel gross so could you remove yourself from me please.” Hoseok smiles abashedly, peeling himself off of the elder. Yoongi starts to lift himself up, but Hoseok stops him with hand against his chest.
“It’s okay, I got it hyung.” He muses, placing another kiss against the elder’s cheek and swiftly hopping off the bed. He treks over to the open door of the master bathroom, venturing inside and popping out a few seconds later with a package of wipes in hand. He climbs back onto the edge of the bed, catching Yoongi by surprise when he drags the smaller to where he is by the legs. Hoseok laughs in response when Yoongi yelps at the action. Hoseok pulls out a wipe, running it across the elder’s thighs and backside to clean off any stray semen.
When he’s finished, he tosses the soiled wipes onto the floor declaring it a later problem as the post-orgasm fatigue sets in. Both men crawl back under the covers, Yoongi laying with his head on top of Hoseok’s chest. The younger wraps an arm around him, the other coming to run his fingers through Yoongi’s blonde locks. Yoongi sighs contentedly at the ministrations, the steady rise and fall of Hoseok’s breathing lulling him into an almost cathartic state. He feels so safe in Hoseok’s arms, so sure of himself.
“I wish every night could be like this, Hobi. If we didn’t have to hide this thing between us, y’know? If Jimin wasn’t in the way all the time.” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and as soon as they leave his mouth he regrets saying it. Hoseok’s hand pauses in his hair, and for a moment Yoongi is scared that Hoseok will be angry with him. He has every right to be, Jimin is his friend too.
But Hoseok doesn’t get angry with him, just sighs before continuing to run his fingers through his hair again.
“I know Yoongi, I get it. We’re both desperate for a way out, trust me I want nothing more than to just be with you. But sometimes you just have to wait, we’ll figure out something. I promise.” Hoseok breathes out, tiredness clear in his voice. The words comfort Yoongi. Hoseok’s right, he thinks. He shouldn’t be worrying about anything, or anyone for that matter. He’s tired of always being swarmed with his guilty thoughts and feelings of inadequacy. For now, he just wants to get lost in the security of Hoseok’s arms around him. Yoongi loves this man, and is loved by him and that’s all he really wants to think about. He pushes any ideas about Jimin to the furthest corner of his mind, letting himself get consumed by the solid form beneath him.
Yes, as Yoongi lulls into a restful sleep, he doesn’t think about anything at all.
And he especially doesn’t think about the patch of black ink burning a hole on the inside of his wrist.