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Waking up was always a hard task in the morning. No, scratch that, not only in the morning. Naps counted too.
Waking up was difficult. His senses would come back to him suddenly.
The rush of the traffic, cars running around, and the chattering of people, screaming, yelling, laughing loudly, mixed all together with the sound of the wind sometimes hitting his window, would welcome him; the warm light or the cold darkness, would seep into his body, going deep to his muscles and then his bones.
During winter, they would ache, a dull pain surrounding his back and legs and feet. In summer, instead, blankets and clothes would stick to him, making him feel uncomfortable and annoyed.
From times to times, he could smell a pie (his neighbour was a old lady who loved only three things. One of these was baking as the first thing in the morning. In all the honesty, Yoongi often wondered if the woman slept at night, because, when he would woke up early in the morning, there was already the sweet smell lingering around his room).
All his senses would come back to him suddenly, leaving him confused and dizzy, and he would open his eyes and the first thing he would see was a deep darkness.
No matter how bright the sky was or if he had left the lights on before falling asleep after noon, his eyes would always meet the dark. He would get up and wash his face and teeth, and he would look up in the mirror only to remember that he didn't have one anymore because why should he, if he would never be able to see his reflection ever again?
That day wasn't different.
He woke up grunting, eyebrows furrowed. It was cold.
"Ugh," he moaned, still laying down on the hard bed. He had to buy a new mattress and every time Hoseok came to have a sleepover he complained that it was "too hard and worn-out to sleep properly, that's why you're always in a sour mood, hyung".
More often than not, Seokjin would add "why do we bother to take a car, which is guided by me, for your information, and get here, when you don't even have a bed for us to sleep in?"
Seriously, he had very shitass friends.
A knock on the door dissipated his thoughts of hate (Namjoon would call it "love", but he was pretty sure it was hate or something akin. Wasn't love supposed to be sweet and shit? Wanting to punch your only friends wasn't really caring, was it?) and he pushed his legs off the bed, finally getting up.
Who's the asshole who decided to die today?, he thought.
Another knock and he yelled a short "I'm coming!"
Finding the keys in the mess of his room (he could feel a pair of underwear - he hoped not-so-dirty, on the floor, and next to them his right foot found a set of pants. Ew) was enough troublesome to bring Yoongi close to just give up and let whoever was the fucker out of the apartment, but of course, of course, destiny was a bitch.
"Yah, hurry! We're running late!"
Seokjin. Who else would they be.
"Yeah, wait a second," he mumbled, knowing the other wouldn't be able to hear him but not worrying about it.
He found the keys already in the lock and so he turned them once, twice and the door opened.
He took a step back, letting Seokjin in the room and then closed the door behind him.
Seokjin stumbled a bit over his clothes, whispering "this room is so messy," and okay, well, it was true, but his friend didn't need to say it.
Seokjin was remarkably great and very talented in reminding him of his incompetence.
Yoongi fought a sigh and settled down to just give him a dirty look.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, putting in his words only a little bit of venom. Just enough so Seokjin would know he was pissed off.
The older gasped and Yoongi really didn't like talking with people as soon as he had woken up and Seokjin was running his patience thin.
"Hyung, can you please answer me instead of doing a fish-face?" he said, rolling his eyes. He didn't know if he was making a "fish-face", but teasing was fun, so whatever. "And it's not a request," he added.
A moment of silence followed his words before Seokjin started to move around his flat, open his wardrobe (emptier than the floor, surely) and scramble in it.
"Did you forget today is The Day?"
Damn.
Yes, he had forgotten.
"Shit," he cursed to the void, restraining himself from insulting himself in front of his friend.
Fuck, it was The Day. And he had forgotten about it.
Honestly, there was a reason why he only had three friends and these three friends were people like Hoseok, Namjoon and the one who was still searching something in his closet (he guessed he was trying to find some decent clothes for him to wear, and Yoongi really wanted to yell at him to back off. He could do it on its own, he didn't need help. But he didn't, because even if he was a shitty friend he wasn't so shitty).
A short sleeved shirt, a pair of long pantaloons and socks were pushed into his arms and he managed to not make them fall on the ground.
"Wear those, we need to hurry or we will be late, Yoongs," Seokjin huffed.
Yoongi scowled at the nickname (not really) and at the tone of his friend's voice.
"Yeah, yeah, mom, I'm getting ready."
After having washed himself and taken a fast shower, he was ready to go.
"Let's go," he said, grabbing his jacket (it had started raining and he didn't exactly want to get sick, thank you very much) and keys (he had gotten locked out of his apartment, about a year ago. This had been how he had discovered the old lady's second obsession - cats. And also that he was allergic to them), pushing Seokjin out and closing well the door.
His friend grabbed his hand and dragged him down the stairs. He bit down the urge to take it away.
"I took the car, if there's not a lot of congestion we can actually make it in time."
Yoongi snickered. "You always take the car, hyung, don't lie so shamelessly."
The Day was a special day the four of them had been waiting for since the start of the year. It was Hoseok's graduation and he had been talking about nothing but it since the start of the month. How had Yoongi managed to forget about it, was a mystery even for him (at least that's what he told himself. He didn't want to deal with guilt, he didn't need to bear the truth. And he knew, he knew, that if he told himself it, the cause of why he had forgotten, Namjoon could see it in his face, in the curve of his lips or the way he talked; and he didn't want his friends' pity), but now he had to try and come out with an excuse to give Hoseok about why he and Seokjin were late - he wasn't going to ruin his day, nope.
"Do we need to give Namjoon a lift?"
"Nah," Seokjin answered. "He texted me five minutes ago. Told me he's already there and saved the best seats for us."
Yoongi smirked. "He knows how the world works," he said. The other laughed and Yoongi's chest got lighter.
"Ah guys, I can't believe I just graduate!"
The after graduation party was as great as someone would expect from poor (not Seokjin), broke (not Seokjin), college boys (not Seokjin. He was in damn uni).
Pizza, a few beers and water, or, preferably, orange juice. The last two because he wasn't allowed to drink alcohol, even beer, since what had happened the last time he had gotten drunk. He didn't really like to remember that night.
"How does it feel to be finally free from college, uh?" Namjoon teased Hoseok, earning a groan from him and a laughter from Seokjin. "Fucking beautiful," was Hoseok's reply and Yoongi found himself smiling at his friend.
"I bet you'll miss it," said Yoongi. "No way!"
He laughed slightly. "I'm telling you, soon waking up at eleven will become boring and you'd wish you could just go back in school."
Someone's elbow (Seokjin's?) nudged him and he slapped the arm away.
"Don't tease him too much, Yoongs, - yes, Seokjin - he might run away and beg the principal to let him become a student again."
"Hey, stop it! You are all assholes!"
Beside him, Namjoon chuckled.
"What do you think of doing now?" he asked, resting his arm on Yoongi's thighs. He let him.
"I don't know, man. Maybe I'll just take a year off and then see if there's some interesting university near," Hoseok replied nonchalant, and if he hadn't known him for five damn years, he wouldn't have noticed the choice of words. But he did, and he understood what the other had implied.
Hoseok would take time "off", going in and out from Yoongi's flat, pretending to be only "chilling a little" and then he would search for a public university, with a low price and easy to reach, probably even boring and centered on something the other didn't even want to do.
Hoseok's dream was dancing. It had always been that. Dancing and moving and following the music with the body, whatever that meant.
Yoongi was aware of the fact that Hoseok had a scholarship and with that, he could go away from that small city and reach Seoul and realize his wishes. But the other wouldn't do that. Hoseok was so selfless and irritating.
He didn't say anything, though, for the millionth time. He just closed his hands in fists, pressing the nails on the palms of them, probably leaving small half moons.
Sometimes, Yoongi wished he was able to talk. To open his mouth and talk and talk and talk, rant and say everything he wanted to say, without holding back; scream at his friends to leave him alone and go away, go some place better, where to achieve whatever thing they wanted to achieve.
He couldn't.
Last time he did, it was almost a year ago, in summer, and he remembered how hot it was.
He remembered the noises of the city, suffocated by his own mind, his thoughts whirling and shouting, drowning themselves and then coming out of the water, laughing at his expenses.
He remembered the crash and then nothing else.
After, in his memories, there were his friends worried hands, holding tight his, patting his head and hugging him; and their voices, not loud enough to wake him up from his slumber, but able to make him feel at peace.
He remembered telling them the truth. And he remembered regretting it.
“And this way, stars aligned themselves in the empty space of ink, lighting up the void of words with lights and warm yellow paint; and the sky sough, "oh, thank you"; and the earth cried, "oh, bless you"; and Atlas' soul prayed, "oh, save me".”
"Hyung! Hyung!"
Yoongi turned to the source of all that unwelcome noise and raised a eyebrow, putting away the device he was using for listening to the audio book Hoseok had bought him long ago.
He had loved reading and since he had became blind, that was the thing he missed the most.
He didn't care about the sunsets or the dawn, nor about the grass he could feel under his feet when he and Namjoon would go walking in the park near his apartment.
But reading. He missed it.
"What's that, Joon-ah?" he said, a little concerned by the hushed way he had been called.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and he felt Namjoon's breath on his checks, fast and unsteady, as if he had run a marathon.
The worry started crawling under his skin, ripping it to pieces.
"What happened?" he asked.
He didn't want to know.
"Seokjin."
The world fell down from his shoulders and crushed him.
Seokjin was sick.
He had known that since when, in middle school, the other had come to him and told him he liked his shirt.
He had said, "I like your t-shirt, let's be friend!" and Yoongi had wanted to say no, thank you, but there had been something into the boy's eyes that had made him hesitate. The older boy look had changed a little, as if he had noticed.
"I am sick," he had explained, even though Yoongi hadn't asked anything. "People say I am dying; I don't believe that. I feel very much alive."
That time, Yoongi had felt okay with it, shrugging it off. But one day, Seokjin had fainted in class and started bleeding from his nose, and he had understood what that weird kid had said. He was ill and doctors said there wasn't hope for him to get better and heal.
Kim Seokjin wasn't a god. He might not believe in the doctor's sentence, but that didn't make it less real. Less true.
Even though Kim Seokjin wasn't a god, the next year the illness started to retract. Doctors and his family were amazed and called him a "singular case, extremely unique in his own genre, a living miracle."
The fourteen years old Yoongi didn't believe in miracles. Instead, he believed that his friend - his best friend - had fought and won a battle.
He believed in his best friend.
The illness became a memory.
Yoongi knew Seokjin had check-ins once a month, to see how he was doing, if his health was okay. And it was.
Until it wasn't.
Yoongi was sitting in the waiting room on the plastic chair, his legs shaking a bit.
It was so dark.
His best friend was in surgery, doctors trying their best to restart his heart (shit, shit, his heart, his heart stopped, Namjoon, his heart stopped, he die-) and he couldn't stop thinking about how dark everything was.
How he missed the light.
He had turned blind an year and half ago, due to an accident that involved fireworks and a prank in a party went wrong. The first months, everything was scary. Panic attacks. Anxiety. Paranoia.
Nothing had helped him. He shut down, closing himself to anyone, not letting people in. Until Seokjin had broken the door of his apartment - literally - dragging him out of his bed and put him in the elder’s car. They had driven for hours, and whenever Yoongi had asked where they were going, Seokjin had told him to just shut up and let him be a hyung. He had responded he was a shitty hyung and the other had laughed brightly.
His laughters were always full of happiness.
They went to the sea. Although Yoongi couldn't see it, couldn't see the blue nor the green, couldn't see the waves and the white foam and the dark sand, the bright sky, he could feel them, could feel the wind through his hair and his best friend’s hand, grounding him.
Seokjin had become his light, and now that the man was dying (dying, dying, dying, ill), everything was darker.
His breath start coming out in rants, his hands trembling too, and his checks were wet, why are they wet?
"Hey, are you okay?"
He looked up, searching uselessly for the voice. "I'm here," the voice said again.
He couldn't focus.
Steps found their way towards him, getting closer to his figure, and Yoongi's first instinct was to run away, find Namjoon, who had gone out to call Hoseok (Yoongi had a presentiment the younger boy was crying and didn't want him to notice because if Seokjin was his light, he was also Namjoon's everything, and that was why he hadn't taken Namjoon's hand and asked him to stay, stay because he was only a mask of strength and the true him was scared).
Without having time to do anything, a small hand touched his knee and he jerked away. The touch disappeared as fast as it had come.
"It's okay, breathe with me, slowly," the voice returned. It was high pitched but clearly the one of a male. It held a softness that was able to reach his panicked state. He felt like crying. No, he was crying, he realized.
"Breathe, breathe, come on, you can do it."
He followed the male's instructions, taking short and shattered breathes, lungs refusing to work and fill up with air.
"You can do it."
They kept doing this for a long time - Yoongi couldn't control the flow of his mind,thinking about Seokjin and death and soft voice - until finally he calmed down a little, enough to get up and not fall on the floor. Damn shaky legs.
"I'm fine," he said, wanting to sound cold but his hoarse voice broke a little at the end, betraying him.
He tried again and this time it sounded luckily better.
"I'm glad!" the male cheered, and Yoongi could feel the smile in his words.
"My name is Jimin, by the way," he said. Yoongi nodded, not knowing what to say. He just wanted to stop talking to the boy.
A minute passed and Jimin still hadn't left. He sighed. "I'm Yoongi."
"Yoongi!"
The boy's voice sounded so happy and Yoongi was blinded - ah ah - by it.
"I hope you're feeling better! I was here paying a visit to my mom, you know, and I saw you here, all crumbled, and thought I could give a hand," the boy rambled and Yoongi slowly tuned him off.
He wasn't a people person before the incident and after it had only gotten worse.
"So, why are you here, Yoongi-ssi?"
Jimin's last words were the only ones acknowledged by Yoongi and he wished he hadn't. Fear swallowed him again.
"Oh, you don't have to tell me, Yoongi-ssi! I'm sorry, I didn't want to pry, please forgive me." The boy started apologizing, words surrounding him unexpectedly, and he decided he didn't really like that kid.
"Listen, kid," he said, taking a step back, trying to distance himself the most possible. "I don't know you and you don't know me. Thank you for helping, but you didn't have to. Go back home or to your mom, she might be searching for you."
He sat down again, waiting for the other to turn around and go away, and the coldness of the plastic hit him.
Then, someone sat beside him. "You're welcome, Yoongi-ssi. And I have a name, I told you, it's Jimin."
Yoongi nearly screamed. Was the kid stupid or what? He wanted to stay alone.
"I mean, you're kinda right. But you definitely need help and whoever this Namjoon is, they aren't here, aren't they?"
Yoongi's heart skipped a beat.
"How do you know about Namjoon?" he asked surprised. Who the fuck was this kid?
"I told you, I'm Jimin - Yoongi cursed internally. Of course he had to say it out. Of course - and you said their name before. Are they your friend?"
Yoongi sharply nodded before stopping himself.
"Good! Then I'll stay until this Namjoon comes back!"
The brat really didn't want to leave him. Knowing he couldn't do anything to change his mind, Yoongi decided to give up and let the brat bore himself to death (death, Seokjin, illness, cars).
He leaned on the wall, closing his eyes. His fingers were playing with the hem of the shirt he was wearing (was it the Mario Kart one?) and he thought about stopping, not wanting to give away his true feelings, but the anxiety was raising again and he couldn't, he needed to stay calm, stay controlled, like always, for his friends.
A hum reached his ears. His eyes opened, not that would have made a difference. Beside him, the brat was humming something. It didn't remind him of anything but it was nice.
His eyelids covered his eyes and he let himself being lulled into calmness by that voice without face but full of names.
Reality became blurred and then disappeared completely.
Yoongi felt himself being pulled out of sleep slowly.
He wanted to keep resting — he had dreamed about something nice, flower's petals falling down in a dance without ending and a sweet song playing in distance.
"Just another minute," he whined (later he would deny this, saying it was totally false and a made up story told by the biggest asshole in the world, Kim Namjoon), hoping the other person, who insisted to keep scrolling his body like a damn bell, would let him sleep.
"Yoongi-hyung, you should wake up. We're in hospitals."
All the things that had happened that day came down on him. He straightened up, instantly more lucid.
Seokjin. Heart. Death. Jimin. Jimin?
He raised his arm, reaching out on his left, almost expecting to find the body of a young man; instead, there was nothing. He lowered the limp, ignoring the disappointment.
After all, he had told the brat to leave him by himself, hadn't he?
"Hoseok?" he asked, feeling like a child lost in a market. "He went to talk with the doctor. He came here a few hours ago and told me it was better if we would wake you up now," Namjoon explained, his voice quiet.
He swallowed. "Seokjin?"
Namjoon sighed. "He's fine. I mean, he's not fine, but he will be."
Relief was, in Yoongi's experience, the best kind of emotion a human being could prove. It came crushing over him, filling his chest with something warm. He would be fine.
"Thank God," he whispered, and tears started to well up behind his eyes. He gave his all to stop them.
He felt Namjoon's grip tighten on his shoulder and Yoongi realized how much scared Namjoon must have been. He got up and hugged his friend.
It was a short hug, nothing big nor loving. Namjoon's back was bend and little under his hands.
"It's gonna be alright," he said, his words muffled by the shirt Namjoon was wearing. "Trust hyung with this."
The younger nodded against him and Yoongi pulled away, hoping his face wasn't as red as he felt it.
"Thank you, hyung," he said and Yoongi gave a last pat on Namjoon's back, missing it and ending up slapping his side.
"Hyung, you're awake."
Hoseok's usually happy tone was dull, tired, and Yoongi pondered if he sounded like that too; crushed and broken.
"Yeah," he answered, unsure of what to say. "What the doctor said?" asked Namjoon.
Hoseok sighed. "He said Seokjin's fine. It's not the illness he used to have; apparently there's a malfunction in his heart and they had to operate him right away. Now it's stable, but..." he trailed off, and his voice so much older than he was. Yoongi waited for him to end the sentence and, when it didn't happen, the silence began to feel heavy on his chest.
"But?" he pried, needing to know. A weird sound came from Hoseok and Yoongi wished he could see, wished his eyes could work so he would be able to read his friend's expression.
"They had to give him a pacemaker."
That was it. Seokjin's life, depending by a small machine, which helped his heart beating. It could have been worse. No, it wasn't true. Seokjin had died for nobody knew how much time, and now everything keeping alive was a fucking pacemaker. How worse it could have been?
He breathed in.
"It's alright. If hyung needs it, then it's alright. When can we see him?" he said, and Namjoon poked him. "See? Aren't you supposed to be blind, hyung? Don't tell me you have been lying to us all this year!"
Yoongi growled. Namjoon sounded too smug. "Shut up for once and lead the way, or I'll make you become blind."
Hoseok, now behind him, laughed breathy. "Scary," he whispered.
Yoongi couldn't believe it. "You little shits, making fun of my condition uh, I'll cut your dicks!" he screamed and he could feel people starting to stare. Whatever. He couldn't see them, so what was the problem?
"Hyung?"
"Yes, Namjoon?" he asked, while holding onto Hoseok's arm and trying not to stumble and fall. "You have something written on your hand."
What?
"Let me see! Ah, yes, they seem... Numbers?"
"Numbers? What type of numbers?" he said confused. He could see Namjoon's eyes rolling and looking up. "Numbers, hyung. Do numbers have a type?"
"Well, they may," Hoseok answered to Namjoon, and Yoongi nodded, not because he actually believed what he had said but more because it was something he had said.
"Like, civil numbers, or dates, or even phone numbers."
Yoongi stopped walking. "What did you say?"
"Phone numbers. Have you got deaf, too?"
In another moment, Yoongi would have been angry at him, but the two words — phone numbers — were shifting into place.
"Oh. The brat."
Obviously. There was no other way the numbers would have got on his hand. And if it was really a phone number, that it meant it was Jimin's phone number. Shit.
"What brat? Yoongi, are you alright? If you need to feel unwell, you're in the right place."
"Do you ever think before talking, Hoseok?" he snapped, taking a piece of his shirt and beginning to walk. The others guided him and he followed.
"Don't be such an ass, hyung. And answer the question."
He huffed.
"When Namjoon went out to call you, I met a boy and he sat with me for a while. This must be his number. I think."
This time, Hoseok's steps came to an end. "Can we keep moving without stopping every five seconds, please?"
Yoongi agreed with Namjoon. He wasn't enjoying this game of push and pull — literally.
"A boy, a stranger, talked with you and you left an impression good enough for him to give you his number? Damn, hyung. Seokjin would be proud of you."
"For what I think," Namjoon said, "I'm only amazed. You're getting better at socializing, congrats hyung."
"I hate you guys a lot," he murmured.
"Yeah, your daily 'I hate you', we aren't really new to it."
If they didn't shut up, someone would be found dead in the morning, he swore.
Seokjin's hospital room smelled like meds and desperation and Yoongi didn't want to stay there one more second. He wanted to take Seokjin, his hyung and best friend, out of that place, back into his nice house with a small garden and flowers (Seokjin loved flowers almost as much as he loved eating and cooking, so, whenever he would go there, he would bring with him some kind of plant and his friend would just beam at him).
Seokjin's place was Yoongi's apartment, nagging about how messy and untidy it was, or how he didn't have enough food — why should he have it, he couldn't even cook. Apparently the older didn't think like that.
Seokjin's place was with his friends, not in a cold hospital.
"Is he asleep?" he questioned.
"Still resting. It would probably take a while."
Namjoon's voice was soft on the edges and Yoongi shivered, thinking about a similar sound, yet different, sweeter. He shook his head, freeing himself from those weird thoughts.
He took a hesitant footstep towards, trying to reach his best friend's bed. It took him two full minutes and a bit of swearing when his toe hit the bedside table to get to the bed his friend was laying on.
He hoped he hadn't broken anything.
"There's a chair," Hoseok warned him and he gave a small response, moving the chair and sitting on it. He stretched out his palm, taking Seokjin's hand into his own. It was clammy.
"Asshole, you need to get better, alright? If you decide to pull us another prank like this, I won't forgive you."
Seokjin had been his only family after his mom and dad had divorced; the only one who didn't turn the back on him when he had dropped out of college two years ago; the only one who fought to keep him near. He had to get better.
"He's strong."
Yoongi almost fell out of the chair. He hadn't heard Namjoon getting close to them, only paying attention to the coldness of Seokjin right there, the way the machine beside the bed beeped, checking the vitals.
"Yes. He is."
"Are you gonna call him or not?"
Yoongi almost wished Seokjin was still in hospital and not in his room, stressing him out more than he thought it was possible.
"Who?" replied Yoongi, although he already knew what he was talking about.
The boy he had met in the waiting room a few weeks ago had given him his number and Yoongi didn't know what to do with it. He couldn't obviously text him, but he couldn't call him, too. He was a stranger.
Yoongi hadn't really wanted to do anything in the beginning, but then Seokjin had asked what was the new number on his phones — laugh at him, he only had a few numbers; beside his family's ones, he had his friends' and some useful ones, like the police. Just in case someone decided to try and kill him for good and he had grown attached to his life — and had wanted to know everything.
Yoongi had told him pretty much what had happened, excluding his little break down (he didn't really want to think about it, embarrassment and annoyance growing every time his mind decided it was good to remember it).
Seokjin had found it funny.
"Jimin! He is interested in you, right? Otherwise he wouldn't have left you his number!"
That, was uncharted territory. He had been with girls, in the past — his first kiss given to a girl when he was eleven: she was short and had chapped lips that tasted like cherry and he had found it disgusting — and even a few guys, in high school, but after that, nothing else.
College days were filled with depression and numbness and who cares about a boy who scowls at everyone?
Now, Jimin, the brat who had helped him through his panic attack and crying crisis, had been somewhat interested in him.
A thought rose.
"Maybe he isn't interested in that way. Maybe he's just, I don't know, joking around," he said tentatively.
Seokjin hummed. "Maybe," he replied, and soon added, "or maybe he's waiting for a answer! You should give it a try."
"I'll think about it, alright hyung?"
Both of them were aware that he wasn't going to call him.
Half an hour later Seokjin left the flat, leaving him alone with his own mind.
He turned his phone on and off repeatedly, feeling his mobile vibrating every time. It was a weird habit of his, one he had picked on after losing the sight. It was comforting.
He was tired. He hadn't been sleeping, nightmares haunting him in his dreams, not giving him any possibility to escape from them.
Since the night — the one where he had drunk and drunk and drunk and then decided that some fire play was a good way to blow up a party — all his dreams were centered on that; in his dreams, he would see red, red, red, the only colour that had stuck with him. They were hot, uncomfortably hot, they burned and there was so much pain, more than he had experienced that time. His therapist used to say that it was all in his head. Psychological pain and shit like that. Yoongi liked to think he was simple beyond repair.
"Yoongi-ah! Boy! It's me, open up please!"
Yoongi got up from the desk, where he was sitting, to open the door.
"Oh my, this house is all a mess! You should take care of it better, my boy."
It was his neighbour, the old woman who loved cats and cooking. And, Yoongi. He had never quite understood why, but since he had transferred there, after dropping out, the old lady had begun to take care of him. She would give him food (once she gave him cat food and he had to do his best to convince her he didn't want a cat) and even help with the housekeeping. In exchange, he would go and meet her a few times a week, listening to her ranting about his son or how the youngster were all so rude, they never care about anything. You, instead, are such a dear boy, a good man.
"Hello, Jeong-ja," he greeted her. "I was about to come over," he lied.
Jeong-ja snickered and hit him with her cane. She ignored the way he complained and said, "You shouldn't say bullshit to older people, you know? Or I'll start to think you're like everybody else, my boy."
He sniffed. "Did you bring the pie?"
He avoided another hit ("You are really predictable, granny. Are you getting old?") and extended his arm, trying to aim for Jeong-ja's one.
"Keep those hands to yourself, Yoongi-ah!" she slapped them away before continuing, "I have your pie, don't worry. I've also brought something for the week," and with this she moved away and opened the fridge, probably putting something in there.
He heard her rummaging around a little more. He asked her what she was doing but she didn't answer, so Yoongi decided to just sit down on the nearest chair.
Then Jeong-ja finally stopped doing only God knew what with the small kitchen and sat with a sigh next to him.
Her hand found his and hold it tight. He squeezed it before relaxing.
"A little bird told me you conquered someone's heart."
Yoongi groaned, releasing the grip and covering his face. He couldn't see it but he was absolutely convinced Jeong-ja was grinning. "For being an old fart, you give in gossips pretty easily," he said dryly, hoping the other would just drop the argument.
Seokjin and Hoseok were already enjoying their time, teasing him.
Jeong-ja chuckled satisfied. "I may be old, young boy, but I'm not deaf. I could hear that friend of yours talking about a certain Jimin taking interest in you. Is that true?"
Damn Seokjin.
He slumped, defeated.
"There's nothing to talk about. We met one time, and gave me his number. Nothing else," he said. Jeong-ja didn't say anything for a while. Then, she took his phone from his hands.
He didn't react fast enough.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
She chuckled. "Don't worry about this old fart, how you called me. I'm doing my job."
Please, tell me it's not what I think it is, he thought.
He heard her pressing keys on his mobile, the keyboard making a chirping sound every time. He wanted to shoot himself.
Everything come to an end and the old woman — old shit — gave his mobile back.
He was scared to take it. He swallowed. "What did you write?"
"Why don't you discover it on your own?"
Fuck it, where were serial killers when needed?
The next day, Jimin was there.
Into is living room.
Talking non-stop about everything he could probably think of.
Apparently, Jeong-ja had texted him his address, nothing else, and a normal human being should have ignored that, finding it suspicious.
Jimin didn't. Yoongi didn't know if being surprised or not. After all, that was the brat who ignored every good sense and stayed with him even when he had told him to go away.
He had rang the doorbell and waited until Yoongi had decided to gather courage and welcome — with a glare, but welcome — the brat in.
"How can you speak so much?" he asked, without really wanting to know. He just needed to be left alone.
"My mom always told me that, too."
"Well, she's right," Yoongi said. Jimin droned.
"Yeah, she was."
The past tense crushed Yoongi. They didn't talk about anything else.
From then on, things changed. Slowly, he began to open up, letting this kid into his life. The boy would come over in the weekends, often encountering Seokjin or Hoseok.
He hardly saw Namjoon, these days, the younger one being studying for his entrance exam. He had chosen law. The university was in another city but he told him it was fine, he would have taken online classes anyway, it was a big thing.
Expect it was.
One day, he had let it slip out with Jimin. The other had stopped talking for a minute and nothing but the sound of the teapot and the cars honking filled the silence.
"I think," Jimin had said cautiously, "you can't really do anything about it. If they really want to stay, they'll stay."
Yoongi had wanted to say that was bullshit. They didn't want to stay. They just felt guilty of leaving him alone.
But the words didn't leave him the night, when he woke up from a nasty nightmare (fire, fire, hot, blood, red), and neither the next day.
"Namjoon," he said, almost whispering, the following week, "don't you wanna go far away?"
Namjoon caressed his thigh and Yoongi let himself breathe, calming his nerves.
"No, hyung. I love it here."
The sincerity in Namjoon's sentence was overwhelming. The other hadn't hesitated, said those words with pure conviction, and something broke free in Yoongi.
"Fine."
Namjoon's thumb grazed over his wrist. It stopped there.
"Fine."
He had met Namjoon on a sunny afternoon,during his second year of college. He hadn't gone to an important class and he didn't share it with Seokjin and Hoseok. He had been complaining about it, so Hoseok had told him about the other boy.
"He's a friend of mine," he said, thoughtful. "He's very diligent, you should ask him."
He did and Namjoon had smiled widely, two deep dimples appearing, framing his lips.
It wasn't hard to believe he had crushed on Namjoon badly.
The boy was one year younger, smart, funny, kinda awkward but kind and generous and hot.
He had learnt from Hoseok that he had always been like this, smart and kind.
He had learnt from Namjoon that he had been sexually abused.
The news had making him want to throw up. Namjoon was crying and shaking and pleading him not to hate him, not to leave. Yoongi had kneeled down and touched his shoulder, making the other retract and shrink.
"Alright," he had said, his throat stuffed, "you're alright. It's not your fault, Joon-ah."
His crush subsided.
Now, Namjoon was someone more like a brother, to protect from the world.
He had beaten up the bullies who had decided to team up on him. He had fought with him afterwards, the taller man angry and worried and they had hit each other and then made up under the disappointed gaze of Seokjin and teasing smirk of Hoseok.
"Hyung, I think I love Seokjin," Namjoon had told him in the middle of a test, and really, the boy should learn about timing, but he swore to himself he would shield him from heartbreak.
Namjoon was one of the best things he had ever got from life.
When he had become blind, he had felt his heart torn in pieces, because he wouldn't be able to see his dimples and cute smile ever again.
So, Namjoon was the person he went to, when he had caught himself falling for Jimin, who had small hands and little fingers and round edges ("Can I see you?" he had asked. "See me?"
Yoongi had nodded and hinted to his body. "With my hands."
Jimin had asked him, when he had finished, how he looked. Beautiful, had thought Yoongi. "Like a brat.").
Jimin was soft and beautiful and fragile, with scars on his arms and sad songs, but happy voice and sweet words.
"You're in deep shit, hyung," had answered Namjoon.
Yoongi wheezed. "Thank you for your encouragement, really. At least, keep it a secret, okay?"
And this was how Namjoon had told Seokjin, who had told Hoseok, who had laughed so hard as soon as he had seen him in the evening that it was pretty impossible to Yoongi not to understand what had happened.
"Geez, I have the worst friends ever."
Hoseok hugged him tight, still laughing. Yoongi almost kicked him.
"When you two will be the best couple of the year, you'll apologize for these mean words."
And this was how Operation Yoonmin had started.
“TaeTae is feeling jealous because I spend so much time with you."
Summer had come in a blink of eye and with it the air had become full of sweet smells and happiness.
The sun shone all the time, no place to take repair from it, and the rays of light penetrated into every crack, lighting up even the darkest corners.
They were sitting together in Seokjin's garden, the five of them chatting about nothing. They had decided to have some good time, before summer passes and leaves its place to fall.
"Why?" asked Yoongi. Behind him, Seokjin and Namjoon were whispering to each other and he was glad he couldn't see. He was sure they were being lovey dovey and Hoseok's gagging sounds were enough for him to know the truth.
Jimin shook his head, which was laying on the top of his left leg. The shaking reminded him of the proximity and his heartbeat accelerated. "I don't know! I mean, I live with him! And it's not like he isn't pining so hard over Jungkook—"
The boy suddenly stilled. Yoongi moved his leg a little. "You're okay?" he asked, concerned over Jimin's unexpected silence.
"Nothing," he replied, but his voice this time was strained and sounded fake.
Yoongi frowned. In front of him, Hoseok whined exasperated.
"I'm sick of this tip toeing, I'm going away, call me when you decided to stop acting this obviously."
He despised Hoseok more than any other man.
"What's up with him," he muttered, annoyed.
Jimin's warmth disappeared and Yoongi tried not to feel disappointed.
"I think I should go too."
"No!"
In the heat of the moment, Yoongi had stood up and aimed to physically stop Jimin by grabbing his hand, but, instead, his fingers had met nothing. He lost balance, his foot twisting and he fell. He prepared himself for the hit with the ground.
It never came.
Rather, he had landed over someone's chest.
Jimin's chest.
Oh.
Shit.
He tried to get up but his body didn't listen to him. Jimin's arms were tight around him, as if to shield him from the fall, and everything was warm, pleasant and suffocating.
Every part of him wanted to meld with the boy under him, wanted to merge and never separate.
He didn't realize he was holding his breath until Jimin mumbled, quietly, to breathe. He breathed.
Oxygen filled up his lungs and blood rushed to his face and before he knew it he was blushing.
"Hyung," gasped Jimin.
Yoongi wished he could still see. Wished he could see the way Jimin's pupils would get bigger, the colour of them; wished he could see the pink in his checks and the silhouette of his lips.
They were so close. He could feel Jimin's plump lips close, gazing his face.
He wished he could kiss him.
He didn't.
They got up and Jimin left. Yoongi could feel his two remaining friends' eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
A few months had passed since he had met Jimin. A few months and things between them were so tensed, full of expectation from both sides.
Yoongi could detect that Jimin felt the same for him.
But Yoongi wasn't good. Yoongi was a broken person, lost inside the maze of lies he had built. His mind was messed up. His suicide attempt (death, blind, pain, cars, thoughts, drowning) — he winced at the thought — was a clear example of how damaged he was.
"Yoongi are you fine?"
He didn't answer that.
He didn't talk with Jimin until the next week.
Jeong-ja had passed away on a Sunday. He reflected on it. Jeong-ja had always hated Sundays.
"They're for people with nothing to do. I can't stand them," she had said. Yoongi had been amused.
"I'm a person with nothing to do."
Jeong-ja slapped him. "What are you saying, idiot. You talk with me."
Now, he wouldn't be able to talk with her anymore.
He didn't cry. He didn't sob, he didn't get angry at fate, destiny, God, whatever people usually did.
He just grieved secretly, thinking about their conversations, their weird way to care about others.
Jeong-ja had told him, once, that he was like a son for her.
That had been the closest thing to an "I love you" he had got from her.
He never told her she was like a mom for him.
Jimin came over with a blanket and ice cream.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said while playing with his hair, braiding them calmly.
"It's fine," Yoongi remarked.
They didn't say anything else.
September was coming and Hoseok and him were walking in the park.
"I got an offer," Hoseok told him shyly and Yoongi raised an eyebrow. "And?"
He coughed. Now Yoongi was curious.
"It's from a dancing company. They watched my videos on YouTube, the one we uploaded together, and said they're interested about me me. They want me to audition and if I pass, I can work there."
Yoongi wasn't surprised about the offer in se. But, damn. He was proud of his friend.
He smiled widely. "That's great! Why didn't you tell us before? What did you say?"
Hoseok's hand left his back. Yoongi's smile died.
"It's just," he stuttered, his steps faltering. He sighed and Yoongi just waited for him to calm down and shake off the nervousness. "I don't want to leave, you know? I like what we have. I like this place. I like the people here."
Yoongi nodded, hoping he was being supportive and comforting and not just creepy.
He brushed the younger with his own shoulder. "Do you want that job?"
"Fuck, yes."
Yoongi grinned. "Then you can do it."
He knew it wasn't a lot.
But he also knew, fear was paralyzing. It would crawl and suffocate you. He lived in fear, fear of the dark in from of him. He wouldn't let his friend bury himself in that feeling.
"It'll be hard but we are here for you, so don't worry. We support you."
They kept proceeding.
Hoseok broke the idyllic atmosphere.
"So, you and Jimin, uh?"
For someone who was part of the 1.3% of the population, Namjoon could be really dumb. He could take about racism, political issues, history and even shitty philosophy for hours, without resting a fucking second, but when it come down to love and relationship and Seokjin, all the smart in the guy would vanish and leave space for obviousness.
Yoongi had known his friend for years now but everytime was always amazed about how the other could make such a fool of himself.
They were in a pet shop — yes, a pet shop, for God's unknown reasons, — and every cells in Yoongi was screaming to leave right now, for two particular reasons.
First, there were cats there. And no matter how hard Jungkook, Jimin's younger brother and the youngest of the group that had been formed during spring, would coo and say the little devils were cute and all, their fur still made Yoongi sneeze nonstop.
Second, his two companions were probably eye-fucking each other, because whenever they went out, they always eye-fucked. Really, he was lucky: these were the times he was glad of his condition.
He scoffed, catching the attention of the others. "For your information, I'm still here. With you. Even if I can't watch you being you, it doesn't mean I have to sense it."
Namjoon coughed a little and he heard some ruffling.
"We were thinking of, uhm," started Seokjin, having at least the decency to sound embarrassed and guilty, "adopting a dog."
"Or a cat," added Namjoon fast. By the prolonged silence Yoongi began to understand why they were taking so long.
"A dog is much better," said Seokjin, sweetly, in that tone that if Yoongi had been older he would have slapped him. It was the "do as I tell you to and there won't be any consequences" tone.
"I agree with him."
Somewhere around him, at his right, Namjoon snorted (and did a parrot copied that?!). "You hate cats," he stated. Yoongi shook his head. "I don't hate cats. I am allergic to them, remember?"
"Well, I think cats are better than dogs. We should take a cat."
"Forget about that, we're getting a dog, no buts."
In the end, they adopted both and the only thing Yoongi was thinking about was if Jimin was more a cat person or a dog one.
(He asked him that night and Jimin had laughed, saying he preferred the second ones. "Dogs are more fun," he commented, "and loyal.”
His chest felt like it was holding some kind of living creature.
He was so in love.)
His phone rang. Once, twice, thrice. It was Jimin's ringtone. He whined, trying to reach for his mobile. He didn't take it in time and the called ended. He waited for the other to call again.
The mobile rang another time but this time it wasn't a call.
A text message?, he thought. Wasn't that a little bit weird?
The only texts he received were ads ones but the ringtone that had come out of the telephone was clearly Jimin's.
He grabbed it, unlocking it after a few failed tries. Not really useful, since all he could do was staring at the screen without being able to read the words that were written there.
He touched the icon of the address book and selected the second number (there, it should have been written "Minnie" and Yoongi wasn't shy to admit he had wanted to name Jimin like that. Nope. Not at all), awaiting for the call to start and the regular beeping sounds.
No one picked up.
"Alright," he murmured, clicking again on the number.
This time, Jimin answered quickly, with a small, strained "hyung".
Yoongi sighed, relieved.
"Jimin-ah, are you oka-"
"I'm in love with you, hyung."
Oh.
Wait, what?
He didn't know how to answer. His throat felt stuffed, unknown words stuck in between, choking him. In his ears, his heartbeat was hard and fast.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He had to say something.
Minutes ticked away, melting like snow on the road as soon as the sun comes out from the clouds.
He needed to say something.
"I'm- I'm sorry. "
Jimin's voice brought him back in the reality, shaking him away from his confused thoughts. He sounded broken and Yoongi wondered if he was like that, too. If his voice would sound so shattered too.
He realized Jimin was talking, apologizing over and over again, every time more desperate and sorry and Yoongi wanted to say, “don't apologize, don't”, but his lips stayed sealed and his tongue heavy in his mouth.
He needed to speak now.
"Forget I said anythi-"
"I love you too."
"Oh."
"Can you," Yoongi stopped, clearing his throat, hoping he could make it and finish the sentence.
"Can you come here? I wanna- I mean. I wanna touch you. Your hand. And, and face. Also kiss you."
For a moment, he thought he had said the wrong thing, his mobile cold on his ear. Then, "yes," Jimin replied and it was so soft, so breathy and ethereal, like Jimin himself; so full of love. "Yes. I'd like that."
That night, they didn't kiss. They just talked and talked and held their hands, bodies close and their faces even more, grazing each other. Yoongi's finger skimmed over him, trying to touch every part of his features, his shoulders, his back. Jimin hugged him as if his life was everything grounding him down.
They fell asleep like this and Yoongi woke up trembling, his mind plagued with fire and hotness, in the younger's arms.
Not alone.