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It’s… It’s a dream.
Just a dream
He knows this, because it’s one of those. One where he can sense the wrongness of the charge in the air around him. Where he is lucid enough to know that he knows he is dreaming, but not lucid enough to control anything that is happening.
It’s just a dream
And he is absolutely terrified.
Something is off. So very very very off, and it’s making his skin crawl, millions of ghosting needles prickling into his spine all at once. He wants to lift his arm, touch his neck, run his fingers over it to rid himself of the sensation. But he can’t. His body isn’t his at the moment. A puppet in a reality his own mind has conjured, a lackey to a sequence of events his own psyche has determined; that’s all he is. And he knows, he knows something unbearable is going to transpire, can sense it in the ambience of the place around him.
It’s just a dream
Kitchen. He is in a kitchen and everything is amiss, figuratively and literally and in every way. The colours are wrong, saturated and bleeding outside the lines. A two-dimensional error in a three-dimensional realm. It’s dirty, cartons of food, glasses, and cans are littering the countertops and floor. He recognizes it, he knows he does, but his brain is only working at the pace that this dream will allow it to. He doesn’t know anything, doesn’t feel or notice anything until his dream wants him to. Just like he doesn’t realize that he is stepping towards the drawers in front of him before it’s already happening. There is a large red apple resting on the counter above them, and he watches as his hand reach forward to grab it, bringing it to a halt right in front of his own face.
It’s just a dream
The set for their newest video, that’s where he is, he remembers now. But it isn’t a set, not really. No cameras. No lights. No people. And it’s cold. So so so cold that the windows have frosted over, rime creating tiny artworks on the glass, concealing whatever existence is waiting outside. The apple in his hand falls to the floor, and he follows it with his eyes as it melts into it. The puddle fizzes and froths, colourful tendrils of smoke curling around his legs. Soon the smoke is so opaque the ground is undistinguishable, and everything he sees is red red red red.
It’s just a dream
And then it’s gone, and he is on the floor. He is on the floor, kneeling over someone else, and there are rotten apples everywhere.
It’s just a dream
His hair is falling over his forehead, and it’s sullied with a syrupy substance that runs slowly, oh so slowly, down the side of his face. He knows what scene played out in this kitchen. Where the faux act of violence ended with him embedding a fake blade in his hyung’s chest, kneeling over him. Like he is now.
It’s just a dream
The one underneath him isn’t Seokjin.
It’s... it’s not just a dream
This isn’t a video shoot.
It’s a nightmare.
Jimin is pale where he is pinned pitifully under him, hair matted with sweat and grime sticking to his skin. The clotted substance on Taehyung’s own face reaches his chin at last, and goes on to drip down onto the other’s cheekbone. Scarlet against white. Red so dark it’s almost black.
Drip drip drip drip.
His lover doesn’t even wince, just keeps on staring up at him. His beautiful, beautiful eyes, made to crinkle in happiness, to flutter shut in contentment and passion alike… His eyes that always gaze into his own with so much love it’s astonishing and world-shattering all at once … Now they are tearful and strained in pain. And he knows, he knows that he is the source of the agony painted in the lines on Jimin’s face. And he knows, he knows that this tale will proceed to have him harm him even more, tint the whole being of the man underneath him in colours of misery.
He raises his left hand from where it’s been holding the other’s shoulder into the floor, and runs his fingers over the collarbones exposed by the tattered neckline of his shirt. There is no viciousness to the act, just blunt nails gently scratching along Jimin’s fair skin. It leaves faintly elevated streaks along the bone, familiar markings that had only ever been left as mementos of lust. Now it’s the equivalent of pushing a gun against his lover’s temple.
The tears are running freely down Jimin’s ashen face now, and he gasps pathetically as Taehyung wraps his fingers around his throat and presses down once. Blood trickle out from the side of his mouth as he coughs weakly, and he wants to let go, wants to let go…
Let me let go let me let go let me let go let me let go
Let me stop
The dream is pulling his strings, and he can only watch as he releases the dancer’s neck, no sense of ease to follow in the move’s wake. Because not a moment later everything is worse, and the safety is off, gun cocked.
Wake up
Jimin throws his head back and screams. The cry is shattering, bloodcurdling. Heart-breaking. Pure anguish bared as nothing but sound spilling brokenly from his lips. And he knows why, knows what he has done, but he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to look, wants to wake up, wants to wake up…
Wake up wake up wake up wake up
His eyes travel by own accord, the invisible force compelling them to move. But he already knows what he is going to see. Can feel as the heart of his lover beats against his palm. Can feel as the blood oozes through the spaces of his fingers. Can feel himself dig his hand deeper into Jimin’s open chest and his broken ribs that scrapes along Taehyung's wrist.
The man underneath him is still watching him when his gaze shifts back, shallow breaths only interrupted by moans of pain. The blood is flowing steadily from his mouth now, adding to the increasing puddle on the floor. Jimin is shaking and crying and the room is melting and he wants to stop, he wants to stop, but instead he squeezes the organ harder, and his finger is on the trigger.
Wake up.
“Take it.”
Jimin’s voice is ruined and weak, and Taehyung wants him to shut up, wants him to stop talking. Because it’s all too wretched, too sad, and he doesn’t ever want to hear what he knows is coming.
“Take it.”
Wake up
“Take it.”
WAKE UP
“Take it. It’s already yours. Take it.”
Bang.
He doesn’t wake up gasping for breath, clutching his chest. He doesn’t wake up screaming Jimin’s name. He wakes up crying softly, fresh tears making their way alongside the dried tracks already on his skin. His sore eyes blinks against the darkness of the room, and for a second he is petrified by the possibility of still dreaming. There is a sheen of cold sweat across his body, and he shivers a little as the temperature of the dorms registers in his brain. The covers are on the floor next to the bed, discarded at some point in the night - fought off in desperation to escape. He exhales shakily and sits up.
He wakes up alone.
They have an agreement; Never go to bed angry, never end a day without fixing what broke. Jimin had insisted on the rule after their first big fight three years ago, having gone to sleep in Yoongi’s room after it happened without resolving anything beforehand. And it had been torture. Taehyung had spent the night too anxious and worried to sleep, the bed they usually shared too big now with just him in it. Jimin had cried so much Yoongi had been worried he was never going to stop. When they had met at the breakfast table the next morning, and Taehyung had seen Jimin’s red and puffy eyes, and he in turn had seen the dark circles so prominent on his pallid skin, they both broke down once more. Clutching Taehyung’s shirt in his hands as he whispered apologies and forgiveness into his lover’s chest, Jimin had made him promise ‘never again’. They had managed for three years, never going to sleep before having come to some sort of agreement.
Until now.
It had been a stupid fight, such a stupid, stupid fight. But Taehyung had been exhausted and on edge already, the day long and rough on all of them. So, when Jimin had stepped out of the dorm in the middle of it all, he had thought ‘fuck it’, and gone to bed. He knew why Jimin left, knew it was only to give himself a minute to cool down that temper of his before he said or did something he didn’t mean. Knew it was a good thing, and that he would only be gone for a short while. He even told him that he needed to take a breather, it wasn’t like he suddenly stormed out the door. But he had been selfish and gone to bed anyway, and now he was waking up alone after literally pulling his soulmate’s heart out of his chest.
He had had these kinds of dreams for as long as he could remember; the ones where he knew he was dreaming. Most of the time they were pleasant, and he woke up blissful with hazy memories of a fantasy world soon to be forgotten. But the ones that weren’t as nice... he couldn’t forget a moment if he tried. They always left him raw and strained, desperate to escape the images his treacherous mind wouldn’t stop replaying over and over and over. Jimin somehow knew instantly every time, gathering his broken frame into his arms, sleepily whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Lulling him into a tranquil state blanketed by nothing but Jimin Jimin Jimin, and telling him that Taehyung was okay, that he was okay, and that he wouldn’t ever let anything happen to either of them.
But now he was alone.
And he knows, he knows that it was a dream. He knows that he is okay. That Jimin is okay. On some level he knows all of this, but it doesn’t stop the fabricated memories from flashing behind his eyes. He needs to see him, to hold him and be held. He needs to feel the heart he’d been given beat surely in the chest of its owner.
He grabs a hoodie of the floor and pulls it on. It’s his own, but Jimin had kidnapped it a while back, and it smelled like him now. Smelled like spring and cologne and Jimin. And that alone gives him enough strength to get up and walk to the door on shaky legs, stepping out into the living room. It’s dark, the only source of light being the city outside the windows, and it ends up bathing everything in a faint and cold November glow. It doesn’t matter. He would know his way around the dorms with his eyes closed at this point.
Jimin is lying on his back on the couch in the middle of the room, wearing what he was last night. His right arm is raised to pillow his head, and it has resulted in the white t-shirt lifting up enough to expose the jut of his sharp hipbones. He doesn’t have a blanket or anything of the sorts, and Taehyung’s stomach churns uncomfortably thinking about his boyfriend having to sleep without one. It’s even colder out here, no one wanting to have the heater running in a room normally abandoned at night. He reaches down, runs his fingers tentatively over the side of the dancer’s face and watches as he subconsciously leans into the touch.
He is breathtakingly stunning, as always. His blonde hair is dishevelled from sleep and from what Taehyung guesses is running his hands through it in frustration the night before. His long dark eyelashes fan over his strong cheekbones, and his lips are parted slightly as he breathes slowly in and out. Because he is breathing. He is alive. He is here.
Taehyung swallows the feelings threatening to suffocate him from within, and kneels carefully down between Jimin’s legs. The couch is big, and he manages to place himself so that he is facing the open room, the couch’s back against his spine. He is lying half on-top of his lover, one leg between the other’s and his head on his chest. Jimin is warm and tangible beneath him, undisturbed in his deep slumber.
He squeezes his eyes shut as they water once more, his turbulent emotions too many and heavy for his exhausted body.
You’re here.
I’m sorry.
I didn't mean to scream.
I’m sorry.
It was only a dream.
I’m sorry.
“Baby?”
A delicate hand starts to slowly card through his hair, and he shifts his head enough on the dancer’s chest to catch his gaze. Jimin is looking back at him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy, a soft almost apologetic smile on his full lips. He is so so so beautiful, even through the tears slightly obscuring Taehyung’s vision. He doesn’t know why he is still crying, doesn’t know why he still feels like his stomach is trying to claw its way up his throat. Everything is a little too much and too real, and he is sorry for the fight and for the dream, and everything is wrong and right all at the same time. He sniffles piteously and burrows his face into the soft cotton of Jimin’s shirt as the hand in his hair comes to rest tenderly at the nape of his neck.
“What’s wrong Taetae? Did you have another nightmare?” His Seoul accent has been stripped away by the night - leaving nothing but his drowsy Busan lilt in its wake, and the warmth of it curls around Taehyung’s form in the most comforting of ways. He nods, and discreetly tries to wipe away his tears, but Jimin catches his hand with his free one, carefully intertwining their fingers before bringing them to his lips.
“You’re okay, love.” He kisses each of Taehyungs knuckles sweetly, murmuring the words into the back of his hand. “I’m okay too. Everyone is fine. It was only a dream.”
They lie there for a while, no words spoken. They don’t need to speak right now. Their hands are clasped together on Jimin’s chest, and he has gone back to carding the other one through Taehyung’s soft locks. He knows they have to talk about the fight, and the he knows he has to tell the dancer about the dream, he will never be able to rest if not. But for now they just breath each other in, caught up in the secureness of the other’s embrace.
He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally turns his head and glances up at him, but Jimin is already looking at him when he does. He leans into the hand cupping his face, Jimin’s thumb delicately wiping the lingering tears away from his cheek.
“You ready to tell me?” There is no pressure in his tone, only the linger of a sweet smile. Taehyung kisses the smooth skin above the other’s collarbone in lieu of an answer, letting his lips rest there for a second, before pulling away. He takes a deep breath, collects his thoughts, and begin to tell him about the dream.
He keeps his voice low throughout, scared that it will become too… tangible if he doesn’t. Jimin just listens, doesn’t interrupt once. He tells him about the confusion and trepidation he felt, how he knew something dreadful was going to happen without being able to stop it. He tells him about the fear and smoke, how everything was hazy and crystal-clear all at once. Jimin squeezes his hand tighter in support when he has to stop and breathe to keep himself from crying again, and he squeezes back in gratitude. Finally, he tells him about how he could only watch as his own hands ripped everything good and pure out of this world, about the blood and agony on Jimin’s own face, and nothing can keep the tears from spilling at this.
The images of the horrible act are still playing on loop in his mind, and he hangs his head in shame when he is done, unable to look into the eyes that the him in his dream had rid of life.
“I-I’m so sorry, Minnie. I don’t… I’m so so sorry.”
He feels as Jimin gently grips his chin, tilting his head to look up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern, but his mouth is pursed in amusement.
“Baby, it was a dream. Why are you apologizing?” He cups Taehyung’s face again, smiling down at him. “I know you would never hurt me, or my heart for that matter. Not literally or figuratively or in any other way.”
Taehyung turns his head a little, kisses the palm of his hand quietly. "I know you know. But I'm still sorry. I'm sorry for everything, for the fight, for going to sleep before talking about it, and for the... for the dream. I feel like I betrayed you somehow, you know? I know it's stupid, but you always say that I have your heart. And even if it was a dream, even if it wasn't real... I hate that there is even a part of my mind, subconscious or not, that is capable of harming the most wonderful thing I've ever been given."
Jimin hums lowly, an affectionate chuckle leaving his lips. He detangles their hands and presses Taehyung’s palm down over his chest. He can feel Jimin’s pulse through the thin material of his shirt, a steady rhythm safe under his skin. The dancer beams at him, crescent eyes sparkling even in the early hours of the November morning.
“Can you feel it? That’s what’s yours. The way it keeps beating, letting me stay here with you. And it will be yours for as long as it keeps doing that. Forever, if I have anything to say about it.” Taehyung snorts, and shakes his head fondly.
"And I'm sorry too, about the fight I mean. We'll have to talk about it later, but we'll be fine. And about there being even a part of you that's able to hurt me... I don't believe it for a second. You might be the owner of my heart and it's beat, Kim Taehyung, but you gave me the key to yours a long time ago. We're intertwined, connected. Locked and sealed. You can't hurt me without hurting yourself in the process, and there is no fucking way I'm ever letting you do that."
“We're so cheesy, holy shit.”
“You love it,” Jimin says simply.
He stares up at him for a second, watching the playfulness glint in Jimin's eyes. The rythm underneath his fingertips surges the longer they keep it up, and he shakes his head again, before propping himself up to finally capture Jimin’s mouth in a kiss. It’s soft and easy, just a gesture of pure affection and love. Nothing more, nothing less. He chuckles against the others lips when they part, muttering “So cheesy”, before kissing him again.
“You love it.” Jimin repeats, and pecks his nose cutely. Taehyung stares down at the man underneath him, looking tired and perfect and nothing like the broken soul from his dream, and he finally lets a small smile grace his weary features. “That I do.”
Jimin giggles as he starts pressing tender kisses all over his face, over his soft cheeks and small nose, his eyelids and chin, before ending with a fond kiss to his forehead. His chest feels so light and full at the same time, and he is certain he will spend the rest of his life trying to keep it that way. As long as his best friend is there with him, he can't imagine it will be too difficult of a task.
***
“I love you.” He whispers it into the other’s neck a while later, watches with drowsy eyes as the beginning of the day paints the room around them in calm tones of oranges and pinks. They have to get up soon, a day filled with practice and work ahead of them. He tightens his grip on Jimin’s waist, wanting to cherish the moment for as long as he can. Jimin nuzzles his face into his hair affectionately, resting his chin on top of the younger’s head. “I know you do, baby.”
“I love you too.”
And if they wake up to an empty dorm a few hours later, Seokjin’s blanket tucked around them by loving hands, no one has to know.