Work Text:
“Hi, I’m Park Jimin, Min Yoongi’s contact. Which room is he in?”
“Room 206.”
He jogged and burst into the room as soon as he spotted the metallic numbers. His eyes were so disoriented and the heavy rain against the windows overloaded his senses- the weight on his chest seemed to get bone-crushing heavy. Right before another flight of chortled sobs, he came to the last bed on the row, facing a head-bandaged Yoongi looking at him with an indifferent expression.
For a whole minute, he didn’t move or breathe, allowing his mind to soak in the fact that Yoongi was here- and he was okay. It took more than a few minutes to calm his heart.
“Who-?” Yoongi took his eyes off Jimin to address the nurse stationed beside his bed, getting ready to insert a needle into the yellow vial of medicine and didn’t notice the exchange between her patient and Jimin. She promptly looked over, dropping her tasks momentarily. Jimin’s stomach dropped at Yoongi’s confusion. What-?
“You must be Park Jimin.” She ignored Yoongi’s question and picked up a sheet of paper, “As they’ve informed you, Min Yoongi was just in a car crash. Physically, there wasn’t much damage other than a small concussion. But…” She looked sympathetic, “He’s suffering from temporary amnesia. We called you since you were his last contact.”
Jimin’s mind spiralled downwards, sideways, and every other possible direction except north. What was happening?
Yoongi stared intently at Jimin for his reaction. He didn’t return his gaze, choosing to keep his eyes trained at the nurse who was explaining the process of discharge, and how he had to privately consult the doctor before Yoongi could be discharged.
“Can I talk to the doctor now, please?” he finally found his voice, although weak and unsure, and rushed.
“Yeah, of course, just to verify your “relationsh-”
Jimin was already walking out, with a huffing nurse following behind, who promised Yoongi to return for his dose of medicine.
Yoongi sat on his makeshift hospital bed, dazedly staring at his palms .
******
Jimin returned when Yoongi woke up after his injection, holding a small brown bag in his hand. He looked tired. Tired and miserable. Red-rimmed only added to the effect.
He took the small stool next to the bed and slumped forward to rest his forearms on the bed. Yoongi’s eyes lingered on the stranger's face longer than what was deemed polite. But his flushed cheeks and full lips incited a sense of home in him. They looked familiar, but also at the same time, strange and out-of-this-world. If Jimin noticed his conflict, he didn’t say anything and let Yoongi contemplate his face until he forced himself to croak out, “Who are you?”
“Jimin. Park Jimin. I’m a close friend of yours.'' His eyes were so soft and low as he spoke in a hushed voice that surrounded Yoongi like soft petals, “We met in university. We’ve been friends for almost eigh- nine years.” His loose shirt slightly revealed his chest, and a little silver flash glimmered in Yoongi’s eyes as he noticed a little silver band hanging from his check on a chain.
“Are you married?” As soon as the question posed, he backtracked, flushed and embarrassed, “sorry, I don’t know if that appropriate to ask someone I’ve just met-”
“Yeah but,” Jimin gulped loudly, and flashed another forced smile, “I’ve known you forever and you know everything, Yoongi-hyung.” he waited for some sort of objection to his informal language, and when none came, he silently prayed a prayer of relief, “I am married.” Yoongi’s chest thumped painfully against his ribcage, and he rubbed circles over it with his hand, “But we’ve been separated for a few months.”
“Oh.”
They both stayed silent for a few minutes, not uncomfortable. Soon, Jimin stood up and called over the nurse, asking her to help Yoongi prepare for discharge while showing her the doctor’s prescription. Yoongi blankly followed Jimin's instructions like a lost puppy, allowing the nurse to slowly strip the IV drips attached to his arm. He stayed limp on the bed in the same worn-out jeans and shirt he had been wearing during the collision of the cars, rubbing the textured material of the thin bandage on his head. The nurse promptly undid his bandages too, telling him that the bleedings from the shallow cuts had dried and there was no need.
He pressed his feet on the ground to follow Jimin out. Everything had gone by in a blur. Nothing made sense to Yoongi, and his sight didn’t carry further than the slender back of his only friend in the world at the moment, who he was following to- to wherever he would take him. He didn’t pay attention when Jimin spoke to the staff, or the counter opting to look down at his feet instead.
Then they were in Jimin’s car driving away with Yoongi.
Yoongi silently observed the grey roads, strange and new to his eyes. The buildings he passed blurred into shapes and colours, and flashing lights in the sinister seoul rain. Plus, he felt a little embarrassed to look towards Jimin, who seemed troubled. Taking care of someone who had an accident, lost their memories and will mostly have trouble functioning in their normal lives does seem like quite an inconvenient responsibility.
“Hyung?” Jimin spoke out loud taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds, “They had to scrap your car. It was trashed.” Yoongi nodded, still cloudy. Perhaps, if he remembered the car there would be some sentimental value but as for now… he couldn’t really see the problems that would arise from that. “I got your things from the doctors. We can go back to your place and you can change your clothes and we can have dinner, hmm? You must be hungry. We can talk about what’s going to happen with your work and recovery.”
“Uh- yeah.” Yoongi hesitated, “Do I just call you Jimin? Sorry, I’m just a little hazy right now, I don’t know how close we are.”
“You used to call me Jiminie, hyung.” he giggled nervously and the sound of it rang in Yoongi’s ears. In the haze, his mind felt less lost. The loss of memories left him feeling purposeless and hollow, but he clung to the hope of hearing Jimin laugh like a lifeline. Maybe it was just the sound of home in the unknown, but it gave him solace anyway.
“Okay, Jiminie.” he blushed and clasped his hands together, “I’m sorry that you have to take care of me like this. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
He looked over with a concerned look. “It’s- It’s the least I could do for you, hyung.”
The car came to a stop under some fancy black building not too long from the hospital. Jimin got off, but not before grabbing the brown bags from the boot of his car.
***
“No, I can’t, Gguk! He only came home yesterday, I can’t leave him alone today. I can just go with you the next time.”
Yoongi inadvertently scoffed at the final reveal of Jimin’s husband’s name. His back was planted to the wall beside the main door.
“I-I have to take care of him. I’m not.. Doing anything wrong.”
Some silence.
“Jeongguk! Just…” he sounded almost tired now, “I’m going home after this. Just leave it. Please.”
Yoongi’s gaze towards the innocent hallway turned rigidly poisonous. He didn’t like knowing the name of Jimin’s husband at all. Instead of quenching his curiosity it just permanently plastered a patch of discomfort on his chest.
He waited a couple of seconds to open the door after Jimin knocked. He was looking awfully clueless in his black and yellow plaid shirt like he hadn’t just quarreled with his husband over taking care of Yoongi. He pasted a flimsy smile on his face and burst in through the door like a bubble of giddiness. Opening the curtains, turning the speakers on, opening all the doors.
“Good morning, hyung!” He exclaimed, rushing through the house like rent was due.
“Good morning, Jiminie.” Jimin beamed at him with a sparkling smile at the name, “No need to rush.” he called as Jimin began fumbling with the pans in the kitchen to cook breakfast, “I can do that.” And made his way to the kitchen to grab the pan from his hand.
Before he could though, Jimin’s phone beeped.
He looked down at his pocket with a barely concealed frown. Yoongi paid no mind- or at least, paid no reaction- and grabbed the pan and placed it on the stove. With the oil heating and the figure fidgeting beside him, he asked, “Your husband?”
Jimin nervously glanced up.
He didn’t look back, choosing to stir the crackling eggs instead.
“Yeah.”
The scrambling continued, “Jimin,” he looked at him with an indescribable look, “I’m thankful for your help but if you have plans or issues with your husband because of it, don’t feel like you have to take care of me, okay?”
Expectedly, Jimin’s eyes went wide and his mouth gaped in an incredulous look, seemingly caught on to the fact that Yoongi had overheard his earlier conversation, “Hyung- no, no. We’re- we’re separated. We just-” He bit his lip in short contemplation, “He just doesn’t like you a lot because of,” he gulped, “things. I’m here with you right now because I want to be.”
Yoongi nodded compliantly just to end the conversation, not sure how much more of Jeongguk he really wanted to know.
****
“Oh, come on! I hate surprises.” Jimin pouted dramatically as he crossed his arms on the seats. Yoongi laughed out loud, taking another turn.
“I think you’ll like it. I don’t know.” he muttered shyly, while Jimin kept bickering about how Yoongi was acting like he had ‘grown up’ just because he left his way around from Jimin. The scenery from the car started to change from the blue and grey buildings to light greens, straying further from the city scene. All the while, they kept talking about random things, Yoongi entertained Jimin's senseless blabbering. But as they inched closer to the venue, Yoongi noticed the change in the other’s demeanor. The chimes became less frequent, and Jimin nervously looked around more before completely ceasing to speak. Yoongi was becoming more unsure by the second, hoping it was just- something. But when the car came to a halt at the side of the road, he was sure there was something wrong.
Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes.
Jimin absent-mindedly stepped out of the car. Opposite to him laid a green field covered in soft coloured freesia, standing perky and welcoming with its dewy petrichor scent. The flowers beckoned him with the sway of the wind, as if calling him to lay on them. His nose flared painfully at the reminiscent sight. The orange gradient of the sky only further brought forth the thoughts of simpler times. It was as if he was twenty-four again, shell-shocked standing in front of the flowers with promises of young marriage. Yoongi trailed behind with a nervous rub to his nape, waiting for Jimin to say something; anything.
“Why here?”
“Huh?” Yoongi seemed taken aback by the sudden question. Jimin’s face was still unreadable with a distant look.
“Why, did you bring me here?”
“Do you not like it?” He immediately became defensive, throwing in a string of explanations, “I saw a lot of flower scented candles and oils- and uh- flower decor in the house so I assumed you like them- Sorry I shouldn’t have… I assumed you’d like it.” Jimin stared out at the field and Yoongi bit his lips, “Look, we can go elsewhere too, I know we’re a bit far from the city but we can get to some restaurant-”
“No. No.” Jimin suddenly grabbed his wrist to pull him towards the large tree by the field, and Yoongi internally sighed in relief, although still a little upset that Jimin didn’t seem as excited as he thought he would be.
They both sat down on the untrimmed grass facing the array of colours ahead, senses overwhelmed by the fresh freesia scents flying in the light breeze and soft jazz humming from Yoongi’s phone. Yoongi dropped his bag to lay the picnic mat and pull out the food basket while Jimin remained impassive. For someone so uninterested, he seemed pretty occupied with the pretty scenery of rainbow-coloured flowers. They lazily laid on the mat just appreciating the ambience of nature. Jimin closed his eyes and let his mind take over, opening his mouth without second thoughts.
“My husband.” The other’s ears trained up, “He proposed to me here.”
Yoongi’s heart lurched in his chest in a painful crash in the form of a faceless Jeongguk kneeling in front of an ecstatic, teary Jimin. Jimin’s infatuation with the flower field no longer looked like an indifferent gaze, but a longing look full of hope and nostalgia. And Yoongi didn’t like it; Jimin’s husband wasn’t what he wanted to fill his mind with- not today.
“And-” Jimin subconsciously played with the ring hanging from his neck, squeezing the material around his chest, “He told me nothing mattered as long as we were together. Then… we got married and it all changed and I- yeah.” he didn’t speak anymore.
“He wasn’t good to you?” Yoongi blurted out before he could slap a hand over his mouth. Jimin let out a hearty laugh- for reasons Yoongi didn’t understand.
“No… He didn’t treat me badly. We just drifted apart and everything just felt-” he struggled, “wrong.”
“You still love him?”
“Yeah.” Yeah .
“Are you going to get back together?”
There was no reply.
******
They couldn’t tell you how they ended up here. Lips moving against each other on the couch of Jimin’s living room.
It was tentative and slow, as if melting against each other. They chased each other’s mouths in feverish tension. Yoongi tried to block out the little voice of conscience in his head, distressing over the fact that he was essentially kissing a married man. Scratch that, a married man who was still in love with his husband but in the end it prevailed; his mouth reluctantly went slack against the kiss. Jimin didn’t seem to pay in mind, instead pushing further still invested.
Yoongi pulled away fast and harsh, and Jimin let out a choked sob still with his eyes closed.
“Don’t- Don’t cry. You know why I can’t.” He sighed, sounding exasperated. The huff of air contorted into sounds and vice whispers, rushing to sting Jimin’s skin like a gust of cold air. They called him irresponsible, selfish and the sole reason from where it all had come to.
More fresh tears fled past his straining eyes, rolling down to his clasped hands on his lap with every blink. Yoongi reached out to him with one hand, only to watch Jimin’s head hang lower with a recoiling hand. With a broken voice he whispered, “I know.” he cleared his throat and harshly palmed his wet eyes, “I understand... I’m sorry.” Both of Jimin’s arms came up to wrap themselves around his head. With his eyes hidden, he let out a desperate laugh. Yoongi shifted with slight discomfort in his chest, staring at Jimin worriedly, “I’m just sad. I’m sorry. I’ll stop. This is wrong.” But the sad smile adorning his lips did nothing to ease the mysterious pain in Yoongi’s chest.
******
The itch wouldn’t go away. The itch was unbearably subtle on his head. Easily ignorable, but enough so that when he was idle, it poked at his head like an inner skin being pricked with a flower stem. He ignored it.
Until he couldn’t.
One particular evening, after a day out with Jimin, he came home to his empty apartment (as usual). But tonight, he had grand plans. Grand plans- or in this sense, self betterment plans- wherein he attempts to keep the thought of a very helpful, very kind, and very very taken man out of his head by reorganizing his closet.
Something told him that finding a specific pleated shirt would ease the itch. Strange thoughts, but at this point he learnt to give in to his instincts.
That is what left him trashing his entire bedroom with all the clothes he could find.
He squinted at the tiny object on the floor. A little flash of familiar silver rounded in blinding light.
A ring.
Silver and bright, like the locks of Jimin’s hair.. Like the trinket that he hides under his shirt.
And everything came crashing at once- The broken plates and Jimin’s screams and Yoongi’s shouts and the shattered photo frames and the angry words, angry touches, loveless fucks and the insults thrown just to hurt, the nights alone, the late nights in the office, the days it hurt just to look at each other, the days the small conversations escalated into fights about fidelity, the day Jimin finally packed his things and left, the day Yoongi didn’t even ask where he was going, and then, the days Yoongi spent trying to stop himself from making two cups of coffee, the days he spent avoiding the bare right-side of the closet, the nights he couldn’t stop drinking to forget the empty bed and the times he would bag things Jimin left behind, in an attempt to erase the marks Jimin has carved in his life.
He remembered the day of his accident; he had finally come to his senses. He had once again made too much coffee- tears stinging the back of his eyes, he left the mug and grabbed his keys and rushed off to Jimin’s, calling him in the car, wasting not a second to ask him back into his life. He never made it to the house, and instead the truck that appeared from the side of the road crashed front. In that instant, all Yoongi thought was, is this how it ends? Without Jimin, without a goodbye?
Yoongi stood in front of the cabinet for who knows how long. Chest heaving, breathing frantic. Each breath called forth tremendous effort and the stinging of his eyes and nose intensified. What was happening? Where was he, now that he knew? He crouched on his knee to pick up the tiny band with shaky hands. But when he reached, his legs felt powerless and instead he let himself fall to the floor busking on the cool surface.
The cold touch soothed the amplifying burn in his chest even for a little bit. Laying down, he found it easier to breathe through the panic. Closing his eyes only submerged him in the memories that flooded back into him.
Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.
His identity was now whoever Jimin let him be. Mind buried in the thought of Jimin.
Where was Jimin ?
He closed his eyes, letting the slideshow of memories crowd his surroundings once more. Then reached to the bottom of his pocket to pull out his phone.
Ring. Ring.
“Hey, hyung..” The earlier gloom was still evident in his voice. But Yoongi once again, laid his head on the floor, processing the voice of who he had promised his life to once. Who he had been so desperately chasing the day he lost himself. He was pulled out of his thoughts, “ … Hyung?”
“Jimin.” He began. In the matter of seconds his throat started to close up, choked by the crashing waves of guilt and uncertainty. The sharp words he threw at the broken figure in his memories, the back that went further and further without turning- it all tightened like vines around his throat. He let out a sob and yelled out one last, “Ji-Jimin!” before dropping to the floor under his head, laying against it flat and letting the cries out. Babbling useless apologies and excuses with the precious ring clutched in a cocoon close to his chest.
He heard a startled Jimin talk, “Hyung? Hyung?!!” Some rushed clatters and rustlings, “Fuck! I’m coming over, don’t do anything!” and the call dropped.
Jimin stumbled into the house with exaggerated motions. His mind has been jumping to all the worst places at the sound of Yoongi’s broken cries over the phone.
He rushed to the main area, eyes immediately falling on Yoongi’s curled form on the floor.
“Yoongi!” He bolted, crouching down and lifting Yoongi’s head onto his calf. Yoongi’s cheeks were marred red, eyes swollen with a pool of tears where his head was resting. Jimin’s heart broke. He pressed smoothly brushes his hairs with his fingers, “It’s okay, baby. What happened?”
Yoongi jolted from his delirious state in a frenzy, looking up at Jimin with blurry eyes before promptly bursting into tears and rubbing his face on his thighs, clutching on for dear life.
“Jimin…” He cried, “Jimin.. Jimin, Jimin.” He called out, left hand gripping his wrist as if he was going to run away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“No, No, hyung, come on,” Jimin held his face and pulled him up to crane on his elbows, pressing their noses together. Yoongi let out a shaky, wet and gargled sigh, before pressing his lips against Jimin’s with aggression. He kissed him, teeth, tongue, lips clashing in fervor. Jimin gasped before giving in to it, moving his lips in the same manner. He practically melted against Yoongi.
He pulled away as soon as he felt Yoongi’s wet cheek touch his. With a thumb, he wiped away a drying tear before pressing a kiss on the cheek. He spoke with his mouth against his cheek, “Come on, baby, tell me what happened.”
Yoongi had to suck in a few breaths before he pulled up his right fist from the floor, opening up to show the silver band.
Jimin stared.
For a few seconds.
Then minutes.
He didn’t speak and Yoongi broke further, pushing himself up to straddle Jimin on him. He pushed his head down on Jimin’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Jimin, I’m sorry.” his wails were muffled by Jimin, “Please… ‘M sorry.”
He didn’t stop rambling incoherent apologies until he felt drops of water on his own shoulder. He pulled off Jimin to look into his eyes, and Jimin was no better than him.
They both dipped in a rush, hands flying everywhere and anywhere they could. Jimin slipped his arms on Yoongi’s back to press him impossibly close, so they could feel the outlines of each other’s body. Even then, they seemed too far. They kissed, trying to slip into each other. It wasn’t enough.
Jimin grabbed Yoongi’s face with an angry, blotched and teary look, and pressed kisses on his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin and every other part of the skin.
“I missed you.” They both said with their disused, broken voices.