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Jimin held his rib as he stepped off stage, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in deep breaths. His lips felt dry, and his throat more so as he gulped in dry stadium air. With one particular inhale, he gasped. A stitched jabbed him in the muscle, the spasm causing his expression to twitch in pain.
A stagehand put their hand on his back, guiding Jimin to an empty equipment box. A moment later, a water bottle was in his hand. Fluttering fans waved that dry stadium air into his face.
Jimin vaguely tuned into several crew members and Namjoon asking if he was alright. He nodded if only to dissuade any fear. Jimin did not feel alright; dizziness and the soreness of his rib worsening with each breath.
“Drink,” Namjoon shouted over the hustle and bustle. Fans and concertgoers still cheered from beyond the stage despite the event being over.
A foreign hand forced the water in his hand closer to his mouth. Jimin tried to finish the movement, bringing the water bottle to his lips, but the muscle spasmed once more. Jimin clenched his teeth and jerked, causing water to splash over his facing and dripping onto his pants.
He doubled over, eyes screwed shut. Wavering breaths passed his lips, and his left hand squeezed to counter the convulsion.
“Can we get a medic?” Someone called, their voice demanding but still worried. Namjoon? Perhaps Jin.
Another spike in his lungs, this time from rising anxiety. He gripped his rib harder. A hiccup. Jimin waved a hand. “Fine, I’m fine,” he breathed. He sounded winded, more than usual.
“Don’t be an idiot, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi said behind him, tone even and lazy as always. “Just let the medic check you.” Heat and blood shot to the surface of Jimin’s cheeks.
The medic appeared next to him, and he pushed away Jimin’s hand. The heat and sweat of the performance gave way to the heat of embarrassment and shame.
Doctor-grade fingertips pressed firmly into Jimin’s side, causing Jimin to take in another sharp breath. His jaw set as he kept his mouth closed. “Doesn’t feel like a twisted rib,” the medic commented.
“Pulled muscle?” He suggested, grimacing as he took another breath. The medic nodded in agreement.
“Rest easy. Take pain killers.” The medic looked up to their managers. “He should be fine by the next show so long as he doesn’t exert himself.”
Jimin let out a breath as the medic pulled his hands away, the sigh of relief still corrupted by his stuttering lungs. His nose wrinkled as he sat up straighter.
“Drink some water, Jiminie,” Namjoon ordered again. Jimin, slower this time, did as he was told. “Sit there and breathe. We’ll get changed. Come on, guys.” Namjoon shuffled the other members along, and Jimin was left in the dying heat of the stadium.
***
Jimin was last to arrive back at the hotel. He waved farewell to his security detail, thanking them, as he stepped into his room. He was careful to act like the soreness in his side had subsided. It hadn’t.
He stumbled into the bathroom with a grunt and a hiss. The vanity lights irritated his eyes, but that wasn’t new. After any show, all his senses become heightened. It was the raw skin at his rib mixed with his aching eyes that made it worse.
Slowly, Jimin lifted his shirt. The artist told him it would hurt, that it would stay sore for a few days. He assumed that it would have passed by the time the concert came around.
What he hadn’t planned for was the insane amount of movement, and the tight clothes.
Jimin let out a breath as he let his shirt fall to the floor. Carefully, he lifted his right arm once more.
The text was strange in the reflection. Already, it was in English, and in a scratchy font. Even though Jimin knew its meaning, hell Jimin had seen it before, the writing seemed completely foreign to him. Perhaps it was cognitive dissonance, trying to reconcile the absurdity of it being permanently etched into his body.
The skin around the blank ink was red, irritated. He gingerly pressed his fingers to the raw flesh. He grimaced at the unnatural heat.
Arm still raised, Jimin reached for the balm the artist gave him. His fingers fumbled with the lid, but once off, he dipped his fingers into the jelly and brought it to his fiery skin.
He instantly let out a shaky breath as the cool balm met the heat. He welcomed it as he began to smooth it across the covered bone and muscle, his fingers moving in soft, small circles. He let his head lull forward at the relief as he continued to rub the thin layer around his body.
“Jimin-ah.” Jimin froze before he curled in on himself, hiding the scarred writing on his ribs. A moment later, Yoongi was at his bathroom door, spying on him.
Jimin hunched over to better hide the writing. It didn’t help the look of confusion on Yoongi’s face. “How the hell did you get in here!?”
“Left your door open—How’s the rib?” Yoongi asked suspiciously. Jimin gave a nervous laugh.
“Good, good, just trying to stretch.” Jimin gave him a big smile. It faltered as Jimin realized it wasn’t fooling him.
Yoongi, ever the polite man he is, remained silent on Jimin’s strange behavior. He raised up a full plastic bag. “We got you food.”
“Put it on my bed?” He gestured with his head to the rest of his room. Yoongi shrugged and disappeared further into Jimin’s room.
Jimin stood up straight for a moment, relaxing his shoulders. He kept his arm wrapped around his torso.
“Jimin-ah, quick question,” Yoongi called from deeper in the room. He rounded the corner, his eyes on Jimin. “What’s with the Aquaphor?”
Jimin began to stutter, but Yoongi cut him off. “I’ve had plenty of friends get tattoos, Jimin. Underground rappers still make sure their tattoos heal right.”
The fact that Yoongi knew at least half of the story only made Jimin hug himself tighter. He couldn’t stop himself from making a face somewhere between embarrassment and disgust.
“Is that why your side was hurting?” Jimin gave a shy nod. “And you got it, what, two days ago?” Jimin nodded again. He had managed to break off from the group to explore the city with one of his most trusted security guards. Jimin was planning this for awhile. He had even spoken to the artist before they arrived.
“Well, let’s see it.” Jimin’s face turned red as he shook his head furiously. “Why not?”
“It’s all scabbed and gross! You can’t tell what it is!”
“Bullshit.” Right. He knew what tattoos are like. “C’mon, the taboo isn’t that bad. We’re not even home, and of all the members, I’m at least second in line for not freaking out.”
Before he truly realized what’s happening, Yoongi tugged Jimin’s arm away from his body. Jimin let out a cry of protest as Yoongi’s face lit up and then fell in confusion.
The visual was, of course, familiar to Yoongi. The artist had made slight changes to the design; the letters were sharper, even in its early stages of healing, and the spacing slightly altered. Regardless, it was familiar enough, Nevermind standing out against the muscles and skin stitched to his ribs.
Yoongi shut his mouth tight and swallowed. Jimin began to stutter out an explanation. “I, you see, Yoongi hyung, I got it—.”
Yoongi raised a hand. “Stop talking.”
Jimin stilled, watching painfully as Yoongi’s face lacked any sort of emotion, save for the clear outline of a clenched jaw.
They remained in that awkward silence for an eternity: Jimin watching Yoongi’s face, Yoongi’s eyes on the exposed tattoo which glistened with salve.
“That’s really weird,” is all Yoongi whispered before he turned and left the room.
Jimin’s eyes fell. His stomach churned, and suddenly, it felt as though the artist was digging the needle into his ribs, his lungs, all over again.
***
Jimin didn’t know tattoos itch when they healed. Well, he did, but he didn’t know they itched that bad.
It had been several days since he spoke with Yoongi. They of course had to speak to each other, but Yoongi did his best to ignore Jimin. Whenever Jimin smiled to him, or tried to enter conversations he was in, anything, Yoongi would look down and become quiet.
Part of Jimin wanted to scratch at his tattoo. Not because of the itch, although that was part of it. But when Yoongi looked away or only gave a slight nod in response, Jimin wanted to scratch away the ink that marked him for life. The shame of it, of alienating Yoongi, of the stigma he was raised with, flared the discomfort stitched into his side.
They only had a single day to explore before their next show. Most of the members had left to explore the city. Jimin remained in his hotel room, shirtless, repeatedly smacking the tattoo on his rib. Probably a little too vigorously.
As he tapped the letters, the thought of Yoongi once again filters through his mind. His eyes crinkled further as his face contorted, trying to force the idea of Yoongi out of his mind. He tried to focus on the push and pull of the sensations: the unbearable itch of the healing skin, and the relieving sting of flesh hitting flesh. But, Yoongi’s expression remained in his mind’s eye. His confusion, the slight downturn of the corner of his lip, the curl of his cupid’s bow. Disgust. That’s what it was.
Pain flared in response to the expression as Jimin struck himself hard in the ribs. Harder than he should have, fueled by rage and shame and fuck it itches.
A strangled cry of anger and hurt ripped out of his mouth as he rolled onto his left side. The pain of the strike morphed and melted into the vision of Yoongi —disgust— and Jimin buried his face into rumpled hotel sheets. He brought a fist down on the bed, causing his arm to springboard as it met the mattress.
A knock at the door snapped Jimin away from the pain and into panic. He shot up, head turned to the hotel door.
“You alright, Jimin-ah?” His cheeks burned as Yoongi’s muffled voice passed the door. Jimin groaned and folded back into himself, hand shamefully covering the tattoo on his side.
“I’m fine,” He mumbled into the bed. Low voices go back and forth for a moment outside the door. A quick click and fumbling of the door handle. A knot tied in his stomach as light footsteps entered the room.
“It’s fucking dark in here,” Yoongi commented nonchalantly. “Do you have a migraine?”
Jimin groaned as a weak response. Not a yes, not a no. More a why are you here?
The tattoo felt hot beneath his fingers. It practically burned as he felt the bed dip beneath Yoongi’s weight.
“Is it infected?”
Jimin looked over his shoulder but still avoided Yoongi’s eye. “What do you want?” The question came out harsher than intended, but the older simply shrugged.
“Jeongguk gave me the key. Said I should be the one to check in.” Jeongguk knew about that tattoo. It was partially his idea, in fact. They decided to room with each other for the rest of the tour, or at least until Jimin felt comfortable to reveal his decision to the rest.
Jimin remained silent, turning his head away. Not seeing doesn’t help as he still felt Yoongi’s soft gaze on him. Well, the arm that haphazardly masked the purposeful scar. Permanent. Fuck.
Fingernails curled into the wound. A hot flush took over his skin, making him look like a peach.
A sharp sting hit the back of his hand like the smack delivered to a child reaching for cookies. “Don’t itch it. It’ll pull up the ink and ruin it.”
It’s already ruined, Jimin thought. It’s ruined, it’s embarrassing, it’s this mistake I can’t get rid of. Allicanseeisyourfacelookingatmelikeiamcrazyand—
“I’m sorry.” His words came out as faint as the pulse beneath his fingers.
“Jiminie, look at me.” Yoongi’s tone was direct and clear. Jimin felt the need to obey as he looked over his shoulder again. Distantly he thought about how it made him feel like a child.
Despite Yoongi's insistence, he broke their eye contact after only a few seconds. He stared into his lap. Jimin could see the flicker of his gaze as he searched for the right words. “I just don’t get why it had to be my song. I don’t care about the tattoo, just, why my song?”
Something stopped his jaw from moving. Lips parted but mouth tight, Jimin simply stared at Yoongi. He had expected an “it’s alright” or a “don’t apologize.” The question felt more like an implication in a crime. He stole from Yoongi, the way he emphasised possession. My song. It was an accusation.
At least he could explain himself.
Jimin slowly sat up, arm still tight around himself like a bandage. “There… there are a lot of reasons, actually.” He barely glanced up, shocked at Yoongi’s stare. He didn’t let it show, however. “Where do you want to start?”
He gave a shrug. Helpful, Yoongi. Really helpful. But, Jimin smiled anyway at the familiarity.
“Well… for one, I enjoyed the way it looked. You know, when we performed for MAMA.”
Yoongi’s brow knit together. “That was, like, five seconds of you with your shirt off.”
Jimin felt blood rise in his cheeks once more, but he continued. “Yeah, but, but the henna stayed for a bit. I saw it on me for days. I got used to it, and when it faded, I missed it.”
Yoongi nodded, processing. Jimin waited for a moment to see if he would add any commentary. The lack of any words made his body tingle with nerves.
“Plus, I became a sort of hint. It would be ages until your song got released. It’s like I was the keeper of a secret, or I was a riddle no one could figure out.”
A small smile appeared on Yoongi’s lips, coupled with a small huff of a laugh. Jimin couldn’t help but join in. He lost sight of the boy across from him as his eyes closed with his growing grin.
The smile broke as his nerves got hold of him once more. He bowed his head. “And… have you ever listened to your lyrics?”
“I wrote them so it’s possible but unlikely.” Jimin laughed, sending his right arm out to smack Yoongi on the arm.
“You know how I can be, hyung. I tear myself down, and I—.” He paused for a moment. He wasn’t going to cry, and all the members knew his struggles over self esteem, but admitting it out loud made the words catch in his throat. “The lyrics help me remember. You say ‘fuck the world, be you, keep going, don’t give up even if your lungs start to burn and it looks like everything is collapsing in around you’, and that… I need that reminder.”
Jimin looked up to find Yoongi’s features soft. He blinked softly, mouth barely open.
“‘Never mind. It’s not easy, but engrave it onto your chest.’”
Immediately Yoongi put his head in his hands. “Oh my God, I’m an idiot.”
Jimin furrowed his brow. “What, wait, why, what?”
“Of course, the ref— that makes so much sense. Why didn’t I think of that?” Laughter escaped Yoongi’s now gummy smile. Jimin was still painfully confused, but of course he smiled along.
“So, you’re not mad then…?”
It was Yoongi’s turn to look confused. “Why would I be mad?”
Jimin was dumbfounded. “Because you looked like you were about to throw up the other night!” His voice dropped as he sped through his words, his Busan dialect slipping in.
“I’m just confused why you would want something I made on you, permanently.”
Jimin, quick on his feet, smirked. “Min Suga, Genius. These words should be enough.”
That perfect smile returned as Yoongi dropped his head bashfully.
“Can I see it?” Yoongi asked, breaking a short period of comfortable silence.
His arm still hid the purposeful scar. It didn’t feel as hot anymore. It didn’t itch either. Small, quickfire observations that Jimin doesn’t properly register in his mind, but knows nonetheless.
He pulls away his hand slowly, revealing the English letters one by one until the sickly peeling flesh was exposed. Flecks of ink speckled the area around the tattoo. They stuck to his skin in the mix of balm and sweat he created.
Yoongi leaned in close. He gently pushed at Jimin’s right arm, silently suggesting he move it away so he could take a better look. Jimin followed his lead and raised his elbow away from his side.
He shivered from the warm breath that graced his skin. The sensation felt foreign but not unwelcome.
Gentle pianist fingers began to trace the letters. Yoongi had a feather touch; he barely grazed his skin, barely picked up the balm onto his fingertips. Still, Jimin could feel the faintest hint of his skin against his.
“You know, you’re lucky we know what this means, otherwise it would be like a foreigner getting something like shit-piss tattooed on them.” Yoongi cracked a grin.
Jimin’s cheeks grew red as he brought a hand down against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Shut up, hyung-nim!” But, even Jimin couldn’t deny the similarities of his situation and someone getting a translation they found on Google Translate engraved into their body for the rest of their life.
Yoongi remained painfully close to Jimin’s ribcage as he continued to speak, each exhale of syllables cooling his slick skin. “Who knows besides Jeongguk?”
“My security guard and my stylist, pretty much. They’re good at keeping secrets.”
“When do you think you’ll tell everyone else?”
Jimin shrugged. “They’ll find out soon. I might wait for it to heal a little more, so it isn’t so scabby and flaky and… gross.”
Yoongi traced the D. “I don’t think it’s gross,” he whispered softly.
Jimin instinctively cleared his throat as to try and ward off the growing anticipation in his gut. Yoongi didn’t seem to particularly notice as he sat up casually. He guided Jimin’s arm down as he did, sending another inexplicable jolt through Jimin.
“I approve.” Yoongi gave a simple, straight line smile and a nod. And then, he was standing.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“We all came back before lunch.” He offered a hand to Jimin. “Wanna come with?”
“Yeah,” he answered quietly, taking Yoongi’s hand and shuffling off the bed.
“Get dressed, I’ll let the others know.” He offered one last soothing smile before turning to leave the room. The door opened and closed with a soft click.
As he left, the room felt a little too large. Lazily, subconsciously, his hand trailed back to the tattoo. Fingertips skimmed the raised skin just a little more than Yoongi’s did. His heartbeat quickened, and he felt it in his pulsing veins