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It was always someone else. Something you saw on the news, read in the papers, or heard about on the radio. Always someone else. Never your own.
The funeral was a loud, messy thing, but Namjoon couldn’t really pay attention to any of it. He stood at the head of it, in his suit and the white armband tight around his upper arm. The white satin gloves felt stuffy and he wanted to just whip them off and throw them to the opposite wall.
But he just stayed stock still, only just numbly aware of Hoseok crying at the end of the line, so hard he could barely stand. Yoongi was next to him, just as stoic and just as silent as he himself was, dressed the same way except for the white band. It felt heavy on his arm, and Namjoon was certain it must have been made out of the heaviest material there was, not out of cloth. He glanced to his side to see Seokjin’s brother, face devoid of emotion, Seokjin’s father, face twisted in agony, and Seokjin’s mother, crying just as hard was Hoseok was. Seokjin’s brother had slid the armband onto him and Namjoon had just watched numbly as he patted Namjoon’s shoulder.
Thanks for always being there for him, Seokjin’s brother said, and Namjoon wanted to scream again.
There were fans screaming in despair outside. Fellow idol groups dropped by to see them, offering condolences that didn’t sound at all sincere. Topp Dogg’s Hyosang cried until he couldn’t stand and VIXX’s Jaehwan beat his chest sobbing. The 2AM sunbaes looked broken. 8eight sunbaes cried harder than ever, but the rest just bowed their heads in respect. A few showed tears, but that was it. Seokjin only really kept to them.
“Fuck you,” Hyosang yelled at the picture of Seokjin, smiling as he always had - brightly with the corners of his eyes crinkling. No one stopped him. “How dare you,” he shrieked, grabbing his hands into fists and slamming them onto the mat on the floor. “How dare you!’
“Taeyang-hyung,” Yoongi spoke up quietly. “I think he needs a break.”
“Yeah.” Taeyang glanced at the wake and then shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Hyosang.. come on.” Hyosang let himself be dragged up and Seokjin’s brother went with the pair to the halls outside.
Namjoon went back to staring to the opposite wall, listening to everyone tell them the same thing over and over again – Sorry for your loss. He was such a good kid. Sorry for your loss. Sorry for your loss. Sorry. Sorry. Insincere, all of them. Or the loss was insignificant to them. He wondered how many of them would leave the wake and immediately go back to their regular life. Seokjin wasn’t much to them. A fellow idol. But there were so many of those.
He wondered if any of them realized that a big hole had been blown in Namjoon’s life, one that he would never be able to heal. He forced himself to glance at the wake, where Seokjin’s picture was smiling at him, and wrenched his eyes away before he could start crying.
He didn’t have time for that. He was their leader. He had to be strong. He didn’t have time to cry and mourn.
The white armband around his arm felt like it was digging spikes into him.
--
Yoongi made the others go back and wash up from time to time, but he stayed with Namjoon and Seokjin's family for all three days, staying awake and alert by the wake as people visited, paid their respects and expressed condolences.
Namjoon refused to look at Seokjin’s picture, and Yoongi couldn’t say he didn’t understand, but he also couldn’t let go. Pretty soon the picture would only be in the crematorium, where Seokjin would be nothing but a pile of ashes inside a nondescript vase. Yoongi wondered if they could get a pink one for Seokjin, but figured that was probably just… not done.
Plus, it wasn’t his choice. It would be his family’s choice.
Because in the end, even though they’d become closer than family, legally Yoongi or Namjoon or anyone else in Bangtan had no claims over Seokjin whatsoever. Everything would be the family’s decision and Yoongi didn’t have any rights to make any other suggestions.
All he could do was stand at the wake and spend every single moment of Seokjin’s last road with him. He already missed Seokjin and he hadn’t even stepped once outside the wake. He smelled. His hair was matted together. He probably looked gross as hell and Seokjin would have yelled at him for it, but that was too bad, wasn’t it, because Seokjin wasn’t here to yell at him anymore.
His breath hitched in his throat but he refused to cry. He wouldn’t. Everyone had cried when they first found out. Hoseok had cried so hard he’d passed out, and even Namjoon had buried his face in his knees and cried. But Yoongi hadn’t. He’d watched over everyone else, because if Seokjin was gone he was the eldest hyung and he just couldn’t. He had to hold everyone as they cried and tell them everything was going to be all right even though all of them knew it wasn’t going to be, not for a long time if ever at all, and he knew that the best. He had to spit lies through gritted teeth and had to hold them together as they pulled on black suits and he’d rubbed Namjoon’s shoulder when Seokjin’s brother gave him the armband because he didn’t know how else to comfort people. That had always been Seokjin’s job. He’d always been a crybaby himself but he’d always held the others, offering warm words that he always meant sincerely.
He never had a harsh word for any of them. Yoongi knew Seokjin saw absolutely no faults in them. He was always worrying about them, but they were always the best in his eyes. Yoongi couldn’t be like that. Yoongi wasn’t like that. That was Seokjin’s job – just. To always be on their side, to be there waiting for them if they needed a break and to offer up bowls of hot soup if they wanted.
Seokjin was gone. Yoongi was now the oldest, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. He’d never even thought about being ready for it. Never dreamed about it in his worst nightmares. Never even once wanted to be the oldest hyung because that would mean Seokjin would be gone.
But Seokjin was gone. And wasn’t coming back. Couldn’t come back, no matter how much Yoongi wanted or begged.
He bowed his head and cried for the first time since Seokjin had passed.
--
He’d never cried so hard in his life.
Hoseok cried a lot. He admitted it. He was pretty sensitive to emotions. He got happy and excited easily. He got scared easily. He got sad easily.
But apparently he’d never known what it meant to be sad until now, because it felt like his world was ripping apart, shredding itself into pieces that he couldn’t put back, and his chest throbbed like it was being stabbed by a hot knife over and over again and nothing would alleviate the pain.
He wished he could turn back time and apologize for every single time he’d made fun of Seokjin. He knew Seokjin always took it in good nature and he knew Seokjin knew he never actually meant any of it, but he still wished he could take every one of it back. Gobble down everything Seokjin made for them gratefully because it always had tasted like heaven, but they always complained just because they could and because Seokjin loved them anyway.
He stood at the side of the line as they carried Seokjin’s ashes to the crematorium and stumbled because he was crying so hard. It was warm, just the beginning of spring where flowers were beginning to sprout up. All bright colors that bloomed everywhere with butterflies flapping their wings and birds chirping happily.
Seokjin would have loved it. He’d probably bury his face in a big pink flower and sneeze because of the pollens.
The thought made Hoseok laugh sadly, watery and damp with tears. Jimin squeezed his hand and Hoseok squeezed it back before letting go, rubbing his tears angrily. He didn’t have a right to be sad. No one else was crying so hard, not even Jungkook and Taehyung and Jimin, who were all younger than him, and not even Namjoon, who still had the white band on his upper arm that just meant so much responsibility, and not even Yoongi, who loved Seokjin the most out of all of them, and not even Seokjin’s own family.
But Hoseok couldn’t understand how. He was supposed to be a rapper, good with his words and all that, but the only word he could think of to describe himself was sad. Not even despair or sorrow or depression or misery or despondence or desolation or gloom or anything. He was just sad. It was such a simple emotion and it made him feel so many things. Everything hurt.
“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, looking like his world had broken apart. Their world had broken apart. “Keep yourself together.”
Hoseok nodded and tried to stop, rubbing angrily at his cheeks again. His gloves were soaked now, and they felt uncomfortable on his hands, sticking to his fingers in places and stiffly dry in others. He almost laughed again because Seokjin was dead and he was thinking about how his gloves felt on his fingers.
He watched Seokjin’s parents push the white vase behind the glass window and sobbed harder than he’d ever done.
--
People were talking. It’d only been a few days since the funeral and the wake, and people were already talking. Over their supposed grief already.
There were articles wondering if BTS would make a comeback – could make a comeback - and whether or not that would be ‘acceptable.’ Some lamented BTS’ broken future, when they were just starting to climb into fame and success.
Jimin wondered if people thought it actually mattered. If they really thought now that they’d lost Seokjin, if anything else at all even mattered anymore. He felt like his life had lost meaning. He wasn’t like Yoongi or Namjoon. He didn’t have a music producing need to base his efforts on, and now that he’d lost someone who meant more to him than family did, he just didn’t feel like doing anything. He felt absolutely listless.
He spent the entire day lying in bed and staring at the bunk above him. Just lying and staring. Not thinking, because then he thought about Seokjin and how everything used to be and that made him cry. So he just stared. And tried his fucking best not to think.
He tried not to think about Seokjin cooking in the kitchen, humming Strawberry Milk’s O.K because he was randomly into that song after they filmed that Bangtan Bomb, dancing stupidly with Namjoon. “Fuck,” he hissed, blinking rapidly to try to keep the tears back. He flipped over onto his stomach and couldn’t help but laugh hysterically at the only outlet in the room. It was plugged up with power strips so all 7 of them could charge their phones, and Seokjin’s charger was still plugged into the strip.
Jimin reached out and his hand hovered over it. He couldn’t help the tears that spilled past his lids. Seokjin always used to ask him to tug it out of the wall for him and always look so sheepish. Sure, Jimin did get annoyed sometimes, but Seokjin usually offered him his trademark grin and Jimin wouldn’t be able to help but grin back.
He dropped his hand onto the charger. It’d probably stay there forever. He didn’t think any of them could ever muster up the heart to take it out. Even if they ever ‘got over it’ like everyone was telling them to. Jimin didn’t understand how people could even tell them that when they didn’t know just how big of a presence Seokjin had in their lives. All their lives.
Get over it. Like Seokjin was someone they could just forget even if they wanted. Not that Jimin wanted. Ever. He’d been staying up all night going through his KakaoTalk messages with Seokjin, scrolling all the way to when they first met and crying and laughing to himself at night as he read through the giant history. And when he was done he went through his pictures.
He didn’t care if that was unhealthy. It hadn’t even been a goddamned week since they’d lost Seokjin, and no one was going to tell him what was healthy or unhealthy. He missed Seokjin so much his chest literally hurt. He’d never had that happen before, where his chest stung so badly like someone was stabbing him with hot needles. He rolled over and pressed the heel of his palm into his chest to try and alleviate some of it. It didn’t work. Seokjin probably would have had some sort of stupid advice on how to make it better.
He smiled sadly and tears caught at the corners of his lips. They tasted salty.
--
Taehyung reached over and grabbed Seokjin’s pink sheets. They were done neatly, pulled perfectly over the corners with his dolls tucked under the sheets. His fists made hand-sized crumpled bunches in the smoothed sheets. He’d smooth them back out later, but for now he took comfort in the softness of the sheets in his palms. The same sheets he’d grab onto whenever he was trying to flip into Seokjin’s bed, not just to annoy him but because he liked hugging Seokin when he slept.
He still did, sometimes, when he was half asleep and not really aware. He’d throw his arms across to Seokjin’s bed. He woke up faster than when he was splashed with cold water once his hands hit the chilled blankets and he found himself crawling over to Yoongi’s bed, trembling and shaken, and Yoongi would wordlessly pat his hair until he wasn’t shaking anymore. But he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again.
At least they were sleeping, now. Or at least feigning to sleep. He remembered Namjoon and Yoongi hadn’t slept for the first three days, keeping a watchful vigil over the wake while they could. Even after that, none of them really slept – just stayed up thinking and crying. Passing out when their bodies gave out, and then repeat process.
They just stayed huddled in their dorms, quiet and muted, and no one bothered them. Sometimes their manager dropped by, still devastated but not as broken as they were, but he never told them they had to get back to work. Just brought them food, gave them all big hugs, and left again.
Taehyung dutifully followed Seokjin’s traces all over the dorm, starting from the stupid pink sheets and the dolls. He would climb down Seokjin’s ladder, with the bad rung on the bottom because Namjoon had crashed into it one night when he was trying to get water and he’d kicked the rung off its place. Yoongi had attempted to fix it but in the end just told Seokjin to skip the step or use Taehyung’s ladder. Seokjin, of course, forgot all the time and they’d always laugh every morning because Seokjin would fall off the last rung.
He then wandered into the bathroom, with Seokjin’s toothbrush still in the cup along with all of theirs. Seokjin’s laundry, still in the hamper. Seokjin’s laughably pink towel still folded neatly in the towel rack. His razor still plugged into the charger on the wall.
Taehyung skipped the kitchen because that was just too much, just Seokjin everywhere in every single one of its corners. If he tried to go in there, he’d cry. None of them had dared. The frying pan still was on the stove top, where Seokjin had last left it because they didn’t have enough room in their kitchen for it.
Taehyung tore himself away before he could think more about it and slipped into the living room, where the drying rack still had all of Seokjin’s clothes, now dried stiff. Gifts from fans to Seokjin. Seokjin’s slippers, pushed neatly to the side because none of them really wore slippers anyway.
He pushed into their closet, with Seokjin’s clothes folded and hung all neatly, organized by color. So different from everyone else’s closet where things were just thrown haphazardly in and stuffed into corners, much to the chagrin of their stylists.
He grabbed one of Seokjin’s knits and pulled it over his head. It smelled like Seokjin. Not his cologne or anything, just Seokjin. He pulled the neck of it up over his nose and wandered back into the bed, climbing up onto Seokjin’s side and slipping under the pink covers. He grabbed one of Seokjin’s dolls and hugged it tight. If he pretended hard enough, it was like nothing had ever changed.
--
Jungkook never knew how much Seokjin had cared for him until he wasn’t there to do it anymore.
And the thought hit him hard, still, that Seokjin wasn’t there anymore. That Seokjin wasn’t there anymore to shake him awake in the mornings to get him ready for school, or to pack him lunch, or to tell him to stop doing diets, or… anything.
But here he was, in the kitchen. None of them had dared to set foot in it since Seokjin had gone. It hurt too much to stand in Seokjin’s space. Somewhere Jungkook had only really come in when Seokjin needed his help cooking. Seokjin knew where everything was in the fridge. Get the onions, Kookie, they’re in the bottom left drawer. Oh, and the lettuce? It’s in the top right. Grab Tae’s milk while you’re at it. It’ll be in the middle shelf on the left door.
Jungkook wrenched the fridge door open. He drew open the bottom left drawer, where onions were starting to rot where they’d been left untouched. He opened one of the food waste trash bags and dumped the entire drawer into it. Next went the lettuces, and then the apples. And then the soured milk that made the entire fridge stink.
By the time he was done, the only thing left in the fridge were the never-diminishing packets of chicken breasts. He tied off the top of the trash bag even though it was only about half full, and Seokjin would probably yell at him about wasting trash bags and how they were supposed to throw them out only when they were completely full to the brim. Except Seokjin couldn’t. Not anymore.
Jungkook left the trash bag propped on the door and turned to the dishes. They were all done, because Seokjin believed in washing dishes either as he cooked or right after everyone ate. The kitchen was flawlessly clean and there hadn’t been anyone to touch any part of it.
He grabbed the little piece of paper Seokjin sometimes kept to make notes of how much food he needed and started jotting away. Onions. They were going to need onions, because the only thing Jungkook knew how to cook were things he learned from Seokjin and Seokjin put onions in everything.
He stared down at the single word on his list and blinked. He didn’t know what else to buy. How did Seokjin go grocery shopping? He usually came back with bags full in each hand. Jungkook had one thing written on his list. He crumbled the paper in his fist and threw it in the nearby trash can, half-considering stuffing it in the food waste bag but then remembering how much Seokjin had yelled at him about the fines that came with doing that.
He took the elevator down to throw the trash away but climbed the stairs back up, slowly taking each step. He ended up running into Namjoon by the window, smoking. “…Seokjin-hyung is going to hate that.”
“..It’s my last one.” Namjoon nodded to the empty case he was holding in his hand. “I went to see him today. Any of you ever go see him?” Jungkook flinched. They hadn’t. None of them had even left the dorm. Namjoon nodded, looking sad. Jungkook remembered how he looked with the white armband around him at the wake, bearing the responsibility for everything like he always did. “You should.”
Jungkook nodded and watched Namjoon take a long inhale in. He left Namjoon to smoke there and ran into the dorms. Yoongi was staring out the window. Hoseok was still crying, curled up in the bathroom. Jimin was laughing and crying at his phone. Taehyung was buried in Seokjin’s bed. He grabbed all of them and pushed them out the door toward where Namjoon was. None of them protested, like they’d all just been waiting for the right time. Jungkook managed to smile at all of them. It wasn’t forced, he thought.
“Let’s go see Seokjin-hyung.”