Chapter Text
Is waking up supposed to be this hard?
Eyelids flutter, streaks of bright white light flaring through his lashes, blinding him. Sharp pain pulses around his ears, behind his brows, even in his jaw- oh, there’s something in his mouth. It goes all the way down his throat. It-
Is this a hospital?
He forces his eyes open, just long enough for the blinding light to shock a moan out of him. Closes them.
Why am I in a hospital?
More questions flood his mind: what happened? Am I injured? Sick? Did I-
Who am I?
“Yoongi?”
There’s a boy- no, he’s a man, it sounds like- gripping his hand tight. He’s...
“M’yoonmi...” The breathing tube makes it impossible to speak.
“Yeah, yeah baby- hyung, sorry. Fuck, where’s Chim? Jimin-ah!”
Yoongi- my name is Yoongi- tears his eyes open once again, long enough to glimpse the shouting man. Tan skin, smooth all over, like his soft hands. Eyes dark, only one creased, and hair darker.
Fuck. He’s hot. At least that’s what Yoongi would be thinking if he could breathe, if the tube down his throat didn’t make his skin crawl, if he wasn’t tucked in so tight to the hospital bed he couldn’t move his arms.
“It’s okay, relax! Relax, hyung, I’m here. It’s me, Jimin. I’m going to take the tube out as soon as you relax, okay?”
There’s another boy, and Yoongi couldn’t close his eyes if he wanted to, they’re gaping open. This one is smaller, gentler features, hair dyed a sweet honey-colour. Sharp eyes, but kind. He’s smiling. He’s trustworthy.
The first boy is still holding his hand, and Yoongi clings to that as he lets his body sink into the bed. Wills his knees to stop shivering. Tightens his fingers to stop fidgeting.
Soon, the tube’s gone, and he’s breathing so hard he’s sobbing. “Shhh,” the nurse boy- Jimin- cooes, wiping a cloth around his drooling lips. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yoongi’s breathing slows, his eyes blink out the tears, his mouth opens and closes as he stretches out his jaw. Jimin’s still smiling down at him, strokes his cheek. “Stay quiet while I get Jin-hyung, all right?”
He’s on friendly terms with the doctor then, that’s good. This is a good place. Nice staff.
Yoongi lets his grip on the first man’s hand loosen, ready for him to leave too. But… he brings a second hand to his face instead, pushing the hair off his forehead. Yoongi’s able to get a better look this time, see the purple bags under his eyes, the tear that threatens to grace his barely stubbled cheek. He’s still gorgeous, but there’s something else there. It looks like worry, except he’s smiling, this big, boxy thing that overwhelms until Yoongi smiles too.
“That was really mean, you know,” the gorgeous man tells him, and damn, his voice. Low and a little growling, probably from lack of sleep, but still. “Not waking up when I told you to. I’ve been worried about you for almost a week, you know that? You’ve missed a lot, but don’t worry, I’ve been taking notes. Here…” he stands off the rolling chair where he’s been planted, reaching into the pocket of checkered pajama bottoms that perfectly match his collared top. He retrieves a phone, opens it to what must be his notepad.
“Kookie got into his Master’s program, he’s itching to tell you. We’re planning a party to celebrate, but don’t worry, we’ll wait until you feel more up to it. Joon-hyung’s bike got stolen from the hospital parking lot. I know, I know-” he coos at Yoongi’s creased brow, “-but he really did remember to lock it up this time, Hobi-hyung was right there. Jin-hyung’s been working way too much overtime, that one is actually your fault. Not that anyone’s angry with you, hyung. Not even a little bit, just super worried. And I think Jin-hyung feels bad, even though I keep telling him it’s not his fault, there was no way to tell if you would hemorrhage that long after the surgery. And it’s not like he wasn’t following up-”
“-Yes, yes, I’m a brilliant doctor, you can stop now please.” A doctor enters, rolls up another chair, and sits. Yoongi can tell he’s a doctor since he’s in a long, white coat. And he’s- well, if the first guy is hot, then this one is on fucking fire. And he’s a doctor.
Yoongi really hit the jackpot.
“How are you feeling, Yoongi-ah?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s not supposed to, right?
“You can answer him, hyung.” The nurse is back, ever-slowly rolling the first man away until Yoongi’s hand is free. It feels cold.
He answers the doctor. “My jaw hurts.” His voice is- what is it? Low, kind of growling too, but that might be from lack of use. His tongue feels heavy, and it’s hard to swallow, so everything comes out a little slurred.
“Yeah, that’s from the breathing tube. But your head, Yoongi-ah. On a scale of one to ten, how much pain do you feel behind your eyes.”
Yoongi considers it. There’s a blurriness, a dull pressure, but no active pain. “Three or four. My ear hurts.” He raises his right hand, gesturing a finger to the side of his head.
“That’s from the incision. Not my fault, I swear, I wasn’t allowed to do the surgery. For obvious reasons.”
“Obvious reasons?”
Doctor ‘Jin’ smirks. “Still a little out of it, are you?” He nods to Jimin, who leaves the first man behind to start carefully manhandling Yoongi into an upright position. When he’s finished, Yoongi is rewarded with- a kiss on his forehead? The doctor rolls his eyes. “Pretend to be a little professional, Jimin-ah.”
“Sorry,” the cute nurse whispers, winking at his patient. Yoongi blushes.
“Any new pain?” the doctor asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. “Awesome. I’m going to do the questions now.”
“Questions?”
“I know, I know.” Doctor Jin shrugs. “But it’ll make Tae feel better, okay?”
Yoongi has no idea what a ‘Tae’ is, but he nods this time, and the questions begin:
“What year is it?”
That’s a good one. Yoongi feels his forehead crease and his eyes narrow, and the doctor chuckles.
“Fair point. Next… who’s the President?”
“Of where?”
“Don’t be smart. Here.”
Where’s here? Yoongi thinks, but doesn’t dare voice. The doctor is peering at him more closely now. He holds up a finger. “Follow this,” he commands, moving his hand back and forth. Yoongi follows as best he can. “Tell me your name.”
“What kind of a question-?”
“-Shhh, Tae.”
“Your name. Please.”
With a gulp, Yoongi responds.
“Your full name.”
He doesn’t know.
“When’s your birthday, Yoongi?”
“I don’t…” Yoongi trails off, and suddenly he’s surrounded. Not just by the doctor and the nurse, but also the first boy. Tae, they keep saying, trying to keep him from grabbing at Yoongi’s hands. He’s getting frantic, starts asking more questions, saying things like, “March ninth, you’re born on March ninth, you remember that! It’s okay, he remembers, look at him. Min Yoongi, this isn’t funny anymore! Hyung, just tell him you remember-”
The nurse drags him out of the room, leaving Yoongi alone with his stern-faced doctor. It’s quiet for a minute, then:
“Do you remember me?”
“You’re my doctor.”
“No, I’m not allowed to be. I’ll go get her.” Doctor Jin stands, already leaving.
“How come?”
He stops. Turns, just for a second, and says, “Because we’re friends, Yoongi-ah. I’m not allowed to treat my friends.”
*
Yoongi had a seizure, a late response to a simple blood-clot removal the hospital allowed Jin to scrub in on. There had been no mistakes, no obvious reason for the complication, but Yoongi sits quietly in his hospital bed regardless as several young men are presented to him, each begging the same question: “Do you know who I am?”
There’s the nurse, Jimin, a mochi-cheeked boy with the sweetest smile and the darkest glare when the bunny-nosed boy- Jungkook- makes fun of him. Jungkook is lively, a little too touchy, and apparently studying to design video games.
There’s the doctor, Seokjin, who regards Yoongi with a constant frown and worried brow. A sunshine-y dancer named Hoseok, who insists that they’re “best friends, you’ll remember that eventually, don’t worry, hyung!”
Taehyung stands by through every introduction, watching Yoongi like a hawk for any hint of recognition. If Yoongi so much as lifts a brow, he claps, insisting, “See?! I told you, Jin-hyung, he remembers us. He’s just messing around, aren’t you, Yoongi?”
But Yoongi’s not messing around, doesn’t so much as know if he’s the type of person to make a joke like that. Doesn’t really know his own sense of humour yet, or if he’s really comfortable with the way Taehyung crushes his way onto the hospital bed, snuggling warm into his side and constantly petting his still tender head.
Then… a final visitor. A co-worker, Hoseok said, but with a mischievous glint in his eye. The co-worker is tall- absurdly so, really- with lanky limbs and friendly dimples and dyed-blonde hair and-
“Namjoon-ah?”
The room erupts in cheers, even Taehyung sighing loudly into his neck, and for the first time Seokjin looks calm.
Namjoon rushes to Yoongi’s bedside, gripping him by the shoulders. “You know who I am?” he questions, shaking Yoongi far too dramatically for the situation, and Seokjin has to pull him away so Yoongi can answer,
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re Kim Namjoon. We make music together, I met you in… in second semester. You work at BigHit, which means… I also work at BigHit?”
And Taehyung does something…unexpected, despite his clinging and general comfortable-ness. He… kisses Yoongi.
Not like Jimin did, soft on the temple. He kisses Yoongi on the lips, hard, with a hint of tongue. “Now, now…” Seokjin grumbles, but no one makes any attempt to rescue Yoongi, to stop this… this… romantic attack? Assault, that’s got to be assault, except his lips were nice and plush and he sort of tastes like cherries and-
“I remember Namjoon. I don’t remember the rest of you, I’m sorry.”
Taehyung is still grinning, squeezing Yoongi around the waist like he didn’t just say he’s a complete stranger. “That’s okay, hyung. Fuck, you had me so scared. I thought I’d have to start all the way at square one!”
“Square one?”
“Of your re-Yoongification! You already know Namjoon, you know where you work, you probably still know how to make tracks… we’ll get you up to speed on the rest in no time!”
Jimin groans, loud. “You thought he was just faking.”
And Taehyung feigns offense. “How dare you! My Yoongi-hyung, lie about something so serious? You’d never, would you, hyung?” Yoongi shrugs. Taehyung laughs. “You wouldn’t, for the record. Don’t worry, I’ll add ‘personality alignment’ to the syllabus.”
Jungkook rubs his hands together. “Oooh, we should make him play D-and-D. He doesn’t remember how much he hates it.”
“Well, now he knows, Kook!”
“Okay, so not that, but we can tell him he loves dancing or something.”
“Yes! I can finally teach him the Renegade…”
Something’s off. Yoongi is… well, he’s Min Yoongi. He makes music. He has at least six friends, one of whom he works with and another who presumably kisses him relatively often. At least, enough that it doesn’t surprise the others, doesn’t even make Namjoon bat an eyelash. But… “Shouldn’t I have any family somewhere? Parents? Siblings?”
It’s instantly quiet. Taehyung rubs his stomach, and it should be strange, but it actually makes Yoongi feel lighter. They’re all looking at Namjoon, who takes a breath. “I called your brother,” he says. “He won’t be able to come until this weekend. He’s…” Namjoon trails off, giving Taehyung a look before explaining, “You don’t talk to your parents. Your brother told them. They’re not coming.”
Ah. So, his parents hate him. That… “That’s fine.” He glances around the room, then back to Namjoon. Joon, right, that’s he calls him. Gentle-giant Kim Namjoon, who’s never lied to him. Yoongi would remember that. Namjoon, who gives the best hugs, but only when you really need one. Who gives the best advice, but only when you’re too afraid to ask for it. Yoongi asks Namjoon, “What happens now?”
“Actually,” Seokjin claps, breaking the tension into a dull murmur. “You’re discharged.”
There’d been tests earlier, at least a dozen tests that all insisted he’d be fine, that his memory would come back eventually, that he just needed to go about his usual routine until he felt normal. None of it seemed medical enough to Yoongi, but he’d already been informed that he is without a lick of medical experience, so his opinion doesn’t particularly matter.
“Discharged to where?” he asks, and Hoseok giggles.
“Home, silly.”
“He doesn’t know where that is, Hob-ah,” Namjoon reminds his friend. Their friend. They all seem like they know each other, like they’re a group of some sort. Namjoon is especially close with the smiley dancer, Yoongi guesses, based on the way his co-worker gravitates towards the other. The way the other laughs right into his shoulder.
“Sure I do.” Yoongi’s interjection calls attention from everyone in the room. “Dongjak-gu, right?” Again, he turns to Namjoon, who laughs, and Hoseok with him.
“Hyung,” he says, dimples deep as ever, “we haven’t lived together since University. You live with Tae.”
Right. Taehyung, who’s still snug against his side, rubbing his arm, one leg hooked across his knees. Taehyung, who kissed him. “Okay,” Yoongi agrees, nodding to Namjoon. He’s going home with Taehyung.
*
Taehyung is a good driver, but his music is way too loud.
“How can you focus with this?” Yoongi asks from the passenger’s seat, fiddling with the dials because he knows at least how radios work.
“Music doesn’t distract, it inspires! This song makes me want to drive fast, should we speed up, hyung?”
He’s holding Yoongi’s hand. Is that something they normally do?
“Let’s not. I want to get home without another brain injury, thanks.”
Taehyung frowns. “Don’t say that to Jin-hyung. He feels bad enough as it is.”
“Well, he did the surgery.”
“He assisted the surgery. And he didn’t do your check-ups, the senior doctor did.” Taehyung turns the music down a little. “Besides, it’s not an injury, it’s just… a hiccup. We’ll get through this, like everything else.”
“What else?”
The music gets turned back up. “I’m going faster, hyung. Hold on tight!”
*
Home is… nice. An open layout, two bedrooms, one with an en suite. Expensive furniture. Incredible lighting. “I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow,” Taehyung promises.
“BigHit’s doing okay, then?”
Taehyung sweeps across the apartment, placing Yoongi’s things- he’s been informed that the bag in Taehyung’s hand is full of his own things- wherever it seems they’re supposed to go. “Of course it is, it’s got two of the best producers in Seoul! I bring in a pretty penny myself, for the record.”
“What do you do?”
The younger man struts towards him, striking a pose. “Supermodel.”
Yoongi laughs. Taehyung scoffs. There’s a pause. Then: “Wait, really?”
A laugh. “No. Well, I did a campaign for Gucci two months ago, that was a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah…”
“Oh, hyung! You don’t know Gucci? What about Fear of God, that’s your favourite?” Yoongi shrugs. “Chanel? Acne Studios? This is terrible, this is the worst thing you’ve forgotten. I’m adding it to the syllabus.”
Yap! Yap! Yap!
“Come here, Tannie!” Taehyung calls, and all of a sudden a tiny critter- it looks like a Pomeranian- bounds into the living room and latches on to Yoongi’s calf. “He’s missed his daddy,” Taehyung pouts, dashing into the kitchen and retrieving a bag of dog food from a hand-painted cupboard. He hands the bag to Yoongi. “You always feed him dinner.”
Yoongi looks around the floor for a dog bowl, finding it in the kitchen area. He scoops what looks like an appropriate amount of food into it, Taehyung nodding to encourage him, and the Pomeranian sits politely in front of his meal. “You have tell him it’s okay to eat,” Taehyung explains, and Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, so he just mumbles:
“Go for it… um… boy?”
“Yeontan.”
“Eat up, Yeontan.”
The small brown dog yaps once again before diving into his dish, and Yoongi can’t suppress a tiny chuckle at the sight.
“That’s our son,” Taehyung sings, and Yoongi wonders again how he can be so bright under what have to be the weirdest of conditions for him. “Are you hungry?”
He’s not, but he lets Taehyung order in a hearty meal for both of them. Give him medication and hold the glass while he swallows cool water. Lets himself get pulled onto the brightly-coloured couch, Taehyung curled up against him while they watch a drama Yoongi apparently likes. There’s a simple plot, thankfully, and Taehyung fills in all the backstory he needs while the characters pine after one another.
The sun outside sets, light fading in the apartment to match the evening mood. “Where do I sleep?” Yoongi tentatively asks, and it’s Taehyung’s turn to laugh.
“In the bed.”
“Which bed?”
“Our bed.”
Of course. They snuggle, they kiss, and of course they share a bed. Taehyung grips Yoongi’s hand, and Yoongi clocks for the first time how big his hands are, how big both their hands are. Big and strong and clinging to each other. It’s a lot more powerful than he feels up for, but Yoongi lets himself be led into the master bedroom. Let’s Taehyung pull off his clothes, drag him into the shower, wash his matted hair. It’s intimate, but the younger man makes no indication that he should be uncomfortable, so Yoongi lets himself be scrubbed down. Let’s Taehyung wink at him without ulterior motive. Watches his handsome roommate as he undresses completely and rinses off himself.
Yoongi lets Taehyung dry him off, brush out his tangles (he has black hair too, apparently), dress him in somehow softer clothes than he left the hospital in, rub cream on his face.
“Do I always wear this?”
“No, but you should. Your skin is parched.”
Taehyung directs Yoongi to the side of the bed closest to the door. “You get claustrophobic. My fault, sorry.” He gets in the other side, pulling the covers over both of them, clapping so the lights go out.
A phone dings. It’s Taehyung’s, Yoongi forgot he owned one, hasn’t asked for it yet. “Joonie-hyung wants to know we got home okay.”
Joonie. Everyone loves Namjoon.
“What will you tell him?” Yoongi asks.
“We’re good. We’re good, aren’t we, hyung?”
Yoongi nods, watches the younger man’s face light up, lets himself be kissed summarily on the lips before he finds out what Taehyung meant when he said it’s his fault Yoongi gets claustrophobic. He hears Yeontan’s nails as they pitter-patter toward a dog-bed he saw in the corner. Waits for Taehyung’s breathing to slow before he lets his own mind wander.
Wrapped up in the arms of the man who must be his partner, Yoongi wonders where he leaves his phone. Wants to text Namjoon. Wants to talk to the one person he remembers, the one he knows without a doubt he can trust.
He’ll ask for it tomorrow. For now, he drifts off in the arms of a handsome stranger.