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"Okay, let's go over the basics." The therapist says, opening up his clipboard. "What have I told you?"
Yoongi closes his eyes. "My name is Min Yoongi. I'm 27 years old and I was in love. Once."
"And?"
"Dreams are not reality."
-
Gold intermingles with the ribbons of blue and Yoongi tucks his knees in as the laptop screen plays another movie he’ll never finish. He presses pause and closes the laptop, pushing himself off the bed to put it back on the desk. When he turns around, the bed glows with darkness, sheets a scrambled mess and pillows uneven, the fluff drifting all to one side. He blinks. Gold intermingles with ribbons of blue and it’s 2 pm again, and he’s back in his shared room with Seokjin with the two of them watching another rerun of another drama series they’ll never finish and-
The color fades and the opened window Yoongi always forgets to close puffs out a wisp of air, nudging Yoongi. It is gentle but it pushes and pushes, until Yoongi is falling back onto the bed, a collision against soft but cold sheets that have felt and seen warmer days. He closes his eyes and he shifts around so the blanket covers him, it’s thin and full and much too big for Yoongi himself.
He falls asleep and he dreams of the gold carpets and blue ribbons, white petals thrown all over the place. He dreams of a memory that no longer exist, or, a memory that could have, if only.
-
It’s another hour that passes by until Yoongi finally lifts his fingers from the keyboard and takes off his headphones. He’s suddenly aware of the bustling noise around him, of tinkering coffee machines and clinking ceramic mugs. He looks at his own drink, wrapped up in the to-go packaging, paper cup and plastic lid. Inside is a caramel macchiato, far too sweet for his taste but far too precious for him to ever give it up.
He tips his head back and finishes his drink, before crumpling up the paper cup with a single hand. Yoongi scowls at it’s disoriented form, watches as droplets of the last remains of the drink drip down his hand. Yoongi doesn’t bother grabbing napkins to wipe it off. He watches as the milky brown drink flows from the crease of his palm to the side of his thumb and he watches as it comes in contact with his blue sweater.
Yoongi sees the color gold flashing before his eyes, and he sees blue flowers and pretty glittery lights. The coffee smells nicer and the people grow louder and suddenly, it hurts. It’s not gold or blue or anything but a loud drumming sound that thuds in the low of his ear. It drills against him and he bangs his head against his hands, uncaring of the sticky substance that clings uncomfortably to him.
Then he sees red, and the memory disperses and everything is gone.
He is alone, there are no coffee machine tinkering in the back, no cups of caramel macchiato waiting for him to devour. What he does have, is ink running down his hand, and messy sheets of paper scribbled with lyrics he can no longer comprehend. The clock beams brightly with the digits 3:05 and Seokjin is calling for his name. There is the light smell of tea floating throughout the air and Yoongi feels something lifting off his shoulders. The door creaks open as Seokjin calls out again and the light outside shines in. Yoongi turns around, anticipating with a smile on his face, uncaring of the ink that clings onto him like a second skin and-
It’s loud again and he’s back to where he belongs. He has a cup of black coffee in front of him, a camera that has long lost its subject, and a blue ribbon, plain and ordinary just like any other.
-
Yoongi walks down the busy street, hands full of groceries, stumbling as he tries to avoid crashing into the crowds. He passes one man, tall and lean, and he makes Yoongi stop in the middle of the crosswalk, staring at a blue ribbon that encircles the man’s ring finger. The man pushes past him and Yoongi opens to call out his name, a whisper that is swallowed by the screams of others. Even he himself does not catch what he says. Seokjin, Yoongi thinks, is what he says. Yoongi has never been able to put a face to the name, and now he’s missed his chance to do so.
The blue ribbon stares at him through the gaps of each passing person and it disappears within seconds and Yoongi sees flashes of gold and blue. He’s still frozen until someone pushes him forward impatiently. Yoongi stumbles over his steps before looking down to see a blue ribbon tied neatly around his ring finger.
-
The memories become more vivid. But much more red. So much red, so much silver, spilled all over the place. Shattered pieces of silver dancing in pools of red. There’s a ribbon of blue floating around, wistfully and gently and Yoongi feels the caress of a warm hand against his cheek before he feels a sensation, one of gold lights and tingles, molding into him.
Yoongi opens his eyes. He is back in bed, and it’s warm, for a change. He makes move to get up before his hands brush over a body, he turns and sees a pile of black hair, flopped against the pillow. Yoongi leans over, hands brushing over Seokjin’s shoulder and Seokjin turns, slowly, to face him, Yoongi leans in even more closer and he stares and-
He’s back in bed and it’s cold, like always.
-
The next few memories, Yoongi remembers and he keeps them locked up tight in his safe. He doesn’t want to forget what he’s already lost.
-
Yoongi asks Jungkook about it and Jungkook freezes. He does not move an inch and he only stares at Yoongi’s face, concern and confusion and everything in between.
“You remember,” Jungkook says.
Pools of red and stained tuxedos, broken glass and crushed gold.
He shakes his head, “No, I don’t remember all of it. Only a bit.”
“Oh?”
Yoongi purses his lips in thought, “I don’t remember what he looks like.”
Jungkook smiles softly, sighing, before his fingers graze over his empty ring finger, “He’s beautiful.”
“Does he remember?”
A sharp intake of breath is all Yoongi needs for an answer.
-
The memories rush in faster now and it hurts. They come at the times when Yoongi is writing lyrics, or cooking or out in the public, exposed to everyone’s clingy eyes. They come in an introduction of gold curtains and carpets, blue ribbons tied to every surface possible, and white flowers drizzling down like soft petals of snow.
They all end in a warm hand caressing Yoongi’s cheek, a pool of red that drowns the blue tie Yoongi wears. The red stains Seokjin’s face and Yoongi still can’t make out, what he looks like, who he is, but he makes out the gold shining on Seokjin’s ring finger and for a moment, Yoongi smiles. It ends with the ring slipping off Seokjin’s finger to disappear forever into the pools of red.
-
“Is there anything else in these…. Memories?” His therapist asks, leaning in with a notebook in hand.
“Yeah,” Yoongi manages to croak out, “But I forgot.”
-
Gold intermingles with blue ribbons and it’s currently 5 in the evening. He stares in the mirror, brushing a hand over his hair. Yoongi stares at his outfit in disatisfaction before Jungkook knocks upon the door, entering with a giddy smile on his face. He drags Yoongi out of the room without any warning beforehand and suddenly he is thrust into the lights. Into the white flower rain and the gold carpet, into the blue ribbons tying off each bouquet.
The music starts, Seokjin enters, and Yoongi looks up.
He sees red. The squeal of the car tires and the burn of rubber against concrete infuses his senses and he opens his eyes to see the mess they’ve created. Something is burning, just a bit, and someone is screaming. Yoongi stares at the back of Seokjin’s head, and the man doesn’t move.
And then he does, and Yoongi forgets to breathe.
-
The flashes of gold blinks again. Gold intermingles with blue ribbons and Yoongi cries into his pillow at exactly 4 in the morning.
Suddenly, he’s back on one side of a pushed together bed, Seokjin by his side. They’re not watching a movie, or a rerun of a drama series they’ll never finish. The laptop is closed and shut and Seokjin is asleep, blanket tugged up to his chin. There’s a loud noise and Yoongi hears the tinkling of keys and Jungkook soon enters into the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“I hope you weren’t surprised when you saw Seokjin here, hyung,” Yoongi can hear Jungkook saying, “I pushed the beds together so he’d have more space. His house is way too far from campus and he was dead tired so I just took him here. I hope you don’t mind.”
Yoongi stares at Seokjin, who’s chest falls with every breath he lets out. He is soft, he is undisturbed and he is at peace.
“Of course not,” Yoongi had said, “I don’t mind.”
Yoongi looks up only to find the lights gone and the laptop open, again. It’s playing another movie, and the only sound in the room is the chatter from the screen and the ticking of the clock. That’s all there is.
Until there’s sobbing disrupting the peace, cries that lurch Yoongi’s body forward only for him to fall back on his bed.
-
There are nights where Yoongi has dreams. There are nights where Yoongi has dreams of old memories that have found a way back into his mind. He’s learning to distinguish between the both of them, what is real and what is not. But the line between dream and reality has blurred so heavily, and the line between dream and reality is one that he always ends up crossing.
All he knows is that his name is Min Yoongi, he is 27 years old and he dreams of things that no one’s sure is real or not.
He finds himself gravitating to this vinyl store just minutes away from his house and he’s scrolling through the urban 90’s rap section when the radio speaker pipes up.
“As requested, we’re playing JJK’s Desiderium feat Jin,” The speaker blares out, “From two faceless legends that have long disappeared from the music scene. The requester wants to dedicated this song to all those who have once lost something or someone. Enjoy.”
Yoongi blinks and he is back in his studio, a glass window opened in front of him. Seokjin’s back is facing him as he tidies his headphones and Yoongi looks down, back at his soundboard, fingers ghosting over the keys.
He looks up and Seokjin is smiling at him. Yoongi gives him the thumbs up, and Seokjin begins to sing.
It would be this memory, this moment, or this awfully real dream, that Yoongi can understand why he’s fallen head over heels in love for someone he doesn’t even know anymore.
-
“Are you sure these dreams you have are real?” His therapist asks, and Yoongi sees the disbelief and the confusion on his features. No one seems to believe him.
“They are.”
His therapist only nods slightly, writing something down on his clipboard.
Being delirious, Yoongi notes, isn’t a symptom of amnesia.
-
“You’re right,” Yoongi murmurs, “He is beautiful.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen, “Do you remember now?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “I think. We did a song together. Then… It was our wedding. Then a car crash. And here I am.”
There’s silence and a feeling of dread fills Yoongi as he looks up and sees Jungkook staring at him with something unutterable. It is regret, pain and anger all in one.
Jungkook looks down, “It wasn’t your wedding, hyung.” Jungkook frowns as he stares up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly as if he had tears stuck in his eyes, he’s almost chanting now, an endless mantra that Yoongi can’t ever forget hearing.
“It wasn’t your song. It wasn’t your wedding. It wasn’t your loss.”
Jungkook shakes his head, eyes still blinking away his tears, “It was mine.”
Yoongi shifts his glance to Jungkook’s ring finger, and there it is.
A blue ribbon tied neatly with a bow.