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you sweep the gauze over his exposed neck, down over to the middle of his shoulder where the bites finally end.
the dark flannel pools around his elbows; growing stiff in places it soaked up the blood.
jimin stays silent.
the anti-bacterial healing paste smells of flowers and fields of hay when it comes into contact with his skin, and only then does he twitch; the first sign he’s not a marble statue. his shoulders tense and he drops his head a little; his fringe falls over his forehead further. your heart grows heavy.
you sink into the spot next to him, so close that your thighs touch on the whole length, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. you wait, as you always do.
and eventually the tension steals out of his form, leaves him a tired shell, and he curls into your waiting embrace, tucks his nose into your welcoming neck, slinks an arm around your soft middle and then it’s all you can do to hold him, keep him safe while he breaks again.
-
he sleeps, later on. wrapped in three of your blankets, a tiny heap on your couch when it’s oh so late again.
you sit on the floor, head resting against the small of his back. keeping him protected until the ease of unconsciousness settles in. staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes.
you know he can’t continue like this. noone can. noone should.
but this is not your fight.
as much as you have part in patching him up, time and time again; provide him with a safe den to come hide in, to allow him to breathe in your scent until his muscles don’t lock with fear and the creases ease from his face.
you turn your head.
he seems asleep; so much so that he won’t notice you leaving his side.
his face is calm when you sneak a glance down on him.
the front door clicks open and then shut.
staying rooted to the spot you eventually make eye contact with your flatmate. their face takes on a somber look at the state the room is in, at the bundle at your knees.
“again?” they ask, and you lower your eyes. they keep silent but you know the words that don’t make it past their lips. you can’t continue on like this. tell him. you have to tell him. there’s more than the animals that claim to value him. people really do love him, you, love him. tell him. help him.
-
the sun hasn’t risen yet when soft feet tap on the floor, stop in front of your bed.
you lift your head, recognize the messed up hair and one of your blankets.
“i’m sorry.” he whispers. you lift the covers wordlessly, invite him in. he climbs up and hesitantly lies down, a safe distance from you, dark eyes glinting in the flat shadows that fill the room.
“jimin.” you whisper, hand stopping halfway between his and your face.
he looks at you, expecting more, but there are no words.
eventually his eyes droop close. or almost close as he looks down, studies your fingers lying openly on the pillow.
carefully he brings up his own and covers yours with them.
his lips are so close to your joined hands now that the words he whispers gently blow over your skin.
“i’m sorry.”
you shake your head, unable to speak.
he responds as you hold out your arms, settling down among them. with his hair between your fingers and the other hand balling up some of the fabric of his shirt on his back, with his weight against yours and both of you safe under the covers of your bed, it feels almost like nothing can touch you.
one of his cheekbones is mushed against your collarbone. it feels as if it might bruise in the morning. you don’t care.
-
you wake, facing the wall. there is no excess warmth around you, no arm draped over your middle, no leg wedged in between yours.
your heart gives a painful beat.
when you blink a few more times and finally manage to turn and sit up, there is a second body tangled in your sheets.
blond hair spills over your pillow, and the words you didn’t get to say last night are still stuck on your tongue.
he blinks up at your frozen form, expression turning shy the moment he’s awake enough for that.
“i love you.” the whisper escapes before you can hold it back.
he lays very still, eyes widened, breath held.
you lie back down, face towards him but on your own pillow.
“i love you.” you repeat, and you can see how his ears change colour, can smell how his scent turns from hazy, honeyed sleep to the trace of happy.
“i love you.” you say it, again, and again, until jimin whines and there’s wetness in the corners of his eyes, and he tugs at your shirt, trying to get you to stop without telling you so, but you whisper it over and over until the smile simmers down and he is really looking at you.
“jimin.” he makes a soft noise, that says he’s listening. he’s curled up against your body, hands fisted into the shirt you’re wearing, eyes round and waiting. you close your eyes when your forehead meets.
“i love you so much.”