Chapter Text
The sea was calm today, the sun disappearing periodically behind the clouds that were sailing slowly across the sky. Jimin sat on one of the dark rock formations surrounding the beach. It wasn’t really an actual beach, just a small stretch of rocky shore he liked to stop by on his daily walk. But it was quiet, just what he needed. He hugged his knees to his chest. A small salty breeze made the hairs of his growing fringe dance in front of his eyes. He closed them and tilted his face towards the sun.
He had been on the island now - he quickly counted - thirteen days. Thirteen days ago he stepped out of the aeroplane with everything he still owned and hid himself in his grandmother’s spareroom. The first few days he spent mostly sleeping. Then on the fourth day he managed to head down to the restaurant and help for a few hours. On the fifth day he went out venturing the familiar paths that he remembered from his childhood. After that he had taken the same walk every day, sitting on the same rock every day, just letting his mind go quiet. The breeze grew into a sudden gust of wind, bringing freezing air from the sea. He should have brought his coat with him, the sunshine had fooled him with its warmth, it was still March.
Even though he was starting to shiver from the cold, Jimin didn’t make a move to leave. Feeling the cold was feeling something.
“Watch out!”
Jimin didn't have time to react when he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his forehead. He opened his eyes and pressed his hand over the pain. A pink frisbee was lying on the ground next to him and the sound of hurried footsteps were crunching over the rocks towards him.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
Jimin looked up, squinting at the bright sky, trying to make sense of the silhouette of a man now standing in front of him. Still holding his forehead he crouched down and took the frisbee to give it back to the stranger.
“Here,” he said.
The stranger looked back at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Finally Jimin removed his hand, he had a few drops of blood on his fingers.
“You’re bleeding,” the stranger gasped. “I am terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to - “
Jimin lifted his other hand to make the stranger stop talking. “It’s fine.” He stood up from the rock he was sitting on and touched the wound again. There was a cut, but probably not too serious, he grimaced at the sting.
“But - “
“It’s okay, really.” Jimin bowed at the stranger a few times as he retreated back towards the walkway. The stranger still stood there where Jimin had left him, stunned, holding his frisbee when Jimin gave a last glance back at him over his shoulder. Two other men ran towards the stranger. Jimin turned his head forward and quickened his steps.
Hiding his forehead from others with his hand, Jimin slipped back into the restaurant from the backdoor. The kitchen was currently empty so he took out the emergency kit from its own small cabinet, dug out disinfectant and a band-aid if he needed one and headed towards the staff toilets.
Once in front of the mirror Jimin could see the wound was nothing but just a scratch, though he had some bruising under it, which would only darken. He doused the gauze he brought with him with the disinfectant and let out a hiss when he touched it to the wound. It was mostly just a precautionary measure, the wound didn’t look too dirty, but you never knew what kind of germs could end up in your bloodstream.
He tried to remember the stranger whose unsuspecting target he had been, though accidentally. The man had been Korean, but definitely some kind of tourist, he didn’t sound local. Tall, the stranger had been tall. Young, maybe. Jimin shook his head, it had happened so quickly, he didn’t get a good mental picture of the man. And what did it matter anyway. Jimin put some more disinfectant on the gauze, it was probably the kind you used to disinfect your hands and not wounds since it evaporated so quickly and stung more than it should. He was examining the bottle when the door to the toilet flew open.
“What the hell happened to you?” Yoongi asked as his eyes went from what Jimin was doing to his injury.
“Nothing,” Jimin said, turning his head this way and that in the yellow light trying to figure out if he needed to put the band-aid on or not.
“Someone hit you?” Yoongi came to stand next to Jimin, arms crossed, looking at him through the mirror now. “You want me to deal with it?”
Jimin lifted his eyebrows at what his hyung was suggesting and regretted it instantly when he felt the pain. “What do you mean? It was an accident. No one hit me.”
Yoongi didn’t look convinced, but seemed to let it slide. “Your grandmother was looking for you. Wanted to ask you about something.”
”Okay, I’ll be out in a moment.” Jimin held Yoongi’s intense stare for a bit longer, until he couldn’t handle it and returned to dab at the wound a few times more, even if it already was clean.
”I’ll tell her.” Yoongi opened the door. He gave one of his rare smiles as he walked out.
Jimin leaned with his hands on the sink and sighed. He had known Yoongi for a few years now, always seeing him when he came to visit his grandmother. They always joked about how Yoongi was almost like an adopted cousin to Jimin, his grandmother treating Yoongi like one of her grandchildren. Yoongi had arrived on the island like they often do, a little bit lost and with a wish for something simpler. He had found work as a cook at Jimin’s grandmother’s restaurant and decided to stay.
Young-hee, Jimin’s grandmother, was standing at the counter when Jimin approached her, going through her supplier list. She still insisted on keeping everything written in a physical form, even though Jimin had offered to make her all the excel sheets she could ever need. Jimin stopped at the kitchen door, waiting for Young-hee to look up. Which she did.
“Aigoo! What have you done to your handsome face, Jimin-ah?” She walked towards him and took his face in her hands.
Young-hee was a head shorter than her grandson, but her grip was firm and she was in great physical health for her seventy years of age. She had been one of the Haenyeo, the sea women, before starting her restaurant, and still went diving regularly.
She pulled Jimin’s face towards her to inspect the wound. “What did you do now, my boy?”
“An accident,” Jimin managed to say while his cheeks were being squished between his grandmother’s small, but strong hands.
“You should put a band-aid on it, you wouldn’t want to scare our patrons.” She finally let go.
One good thing about his grandmother, among many other things, was that she didn’t ask too many questions. Like when he had suddenly arrived at her doorstep those thirteen days ago. She had taken one look at his face, given him a tight hug and directed him into the spareroom.
”Yoongi hyung told me you wanted to see me,” Jimin said.
Young-hee was already back to her previous task. ”Ah, yes. I will need to go to the market today, Seokjin-ah couldn’t bring the fish I asked for this morning. Could you man the desk and take orders while I’m gone?”
After the first time helping out, Jimin had been doing it whenever his grandmother asked. It’s not like he had anything else to do.
”Sure.” Jimin tried to smile, but got a sigh and scrunched eyebrows from Young-hee. He knew his smiles weren’t like they used to be, there was no real emotion behind them.
Young-hee took her bag from underneath the counter, put her shopping list inside and hung it from her elbow. She patted Jimin’s cheek with a sympathetic smile when she walked past him on her way towards the backdoor.
Once she was gone, Jimin quickly went back to the toilet and put a band-aid on the wound. When he returned, few of the regulars were already waiting. The restaurant offered simple and delicious traditional dishes, mostly with seafood and local ingredients from the island, and their menu changed with the seasons. It was a small place, a little hidden from the biggest tourist attractions, which made it a favourite for the locals.
Jimin put on his apron and took a notepad and pen. He then circled the counter to go and take the first orders.
Yoongi took one look at the paper Jimin gave him and sighed. ”These guys always order the same thing.” He had tied his hair up on a small bun, revealing his undercut.
Jimin peeked out of the decorative holes in the wooden kitchen door to see if there were any new patrons waiting to be served while Yoongi got to work.
”So, do you want to tell me more about the accident now?” Yoongi asked, cutting the black pork into perfectly even slices.
”Maybe.” Jimin twirled the pen between his fingers.
Yoongi raised expectant eyebrows.
”I got a frisbee on my head,” Jimin finally sighed out.
Yoongi stopped his knife work and stared for a moment. When he turned his head down and continued, Jimin could see his lips twitching from the corners.
”Yes, it’s funny, I know,” Jimin deadpanned.
”I mean - ” Yoongi stifled a laugh and shook his head.
The windchime above the front door made a sound, Jimin peeked through the holes in the kitchen door again to see a group of three men entering the restaurant. ”Got to go, it’ll be busy soon,” he said to Yoongi and stepped through the kitchen door back behind the counter.
”Wah, this place looks amazing,” one of the men said, he had a bright smile. ”Like from a historical drama.”
”It’s traditional architecture,” another one added, clearly knowing something about their cultural history. He was wearing glasses and had dimples on his cheeks as he smiled, seemingly in awe of the building.
”As long as the food is good, I don’t care about anything else, I’m starving,” the voice came from behind the others as they were settling around one of the dark wooden tables.
These men weren’t locals, they sounded like they were from Seoul. Jimin took a deep breath and prepared his customer service smile ready to go before he approached these newcomers.
”Hello, I’m Jimin and I’ll be taking your orders today. What would you like to drink?”
”Isn’t that him?” came a quiet question instead.
Jimin looked up from the notepad he had been concentrating on to see all the three men staring back at him. One in particular looking almost panicked, staring at him with his big round eyes.
”Excuse me?” Jimin asked.
”I don’t know if you remember,” one of the men started, pointing at his forehead. ”It was our Jeonggukie here who threw the frisbee.” The man squeezed the shoulders of the round eyed man next to him.
Jimin wasn’t sure what to say, he felt his cheeks get warmer against his will. This Jeonggukie didn’t look much better, bowing his head down in shame or hiding his red cheeks.
“I am terribly sorry,” he mumbled.
Jimin cleared his throat. “It’s fine.” He turned his eyes towards the notepad again. “What do you wish to drink? And you can see our menu here.” He grabbed a menu from the table next to them and offered it to the men.
“I think we’ll have water,” the one with the dimples said.
“Alright, I’ll bring you water in a moment and ask for your orders then,” Jimin said quickly before anyone else had time to open their mouths. He turned around and walked towards the kitchen door trying not to look like he was speeding to get away faster.
Yoongi looked up at him confused when Jimin burst through the kitchen door and leaned his back on the wall next to it.
“More orders?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Jimin breathed out.
“Why do you look so strange?”
“The guy who threw the frisbee turned up here,” Jimin said, pointing with his thumb to the direction of the tables.
Yoongi tightened his grip on the spatula he was holding. “Is he following you? Do you want me to go and talk to him?” he asked.
“No!” Jimin hissed. “No, hyung. Besides, he’s with two other guys and all of them look bigger than you.”
Yoongi huffed through his nose. “Bigger than me,” he muttered under his breath. “You should have seen some of the guys I dealt with back in the day.”
“Back in the day? What are you, eighty?” Jimin could feel amusement bubbling in his chest, that would be the first time since he got on the island. He glanced through the holes in the door. “I should take their water. It’s just embarrassing,” he sighed.
“I’m sure the other guy’s embarrassed too.”
Jimin prepared a pitcher full of water, chilled with ice cubes and set it on a tray with three glasses. He pushed the kitchen door to the dining area open with his back against it, having his arms full with the heavy tray. Taking a big breath he braced himself, walking back to the new patrons.
“Here you go,” Jimin said, setting the glasses and the pitcher down on the table and pouring a full glass each. “Have you already decided on what you want to eat?” he asked, taking his notepad from his apron pocket.
“Um,” started the man with the dimples. “First I really want to apologise on behalf of my friends here, we - “
Jimin held up a hand before he could stop himself. “Really, there’s no need. But thank you and apologies accepted. Now, what would you like to order?”
The men seemed a bit taken aback, but Jimin wanted to get this over with so that he could hide himself in his room for the rest of the day.
The dimpled guy began listing the dishes they wanted to try. While Jimin was writing it all down, he could feel eyes on him. When he glanced towards the round eyed Jeonggukie, the man turned his eyes quickly to look at his hands on the table. And now there was a hint of pink on the man’s cheeks. Jimin returned to the list he was writing, brushing off the slight interest he might have felt stirring inside. He was not ready for anything and these were tourists.
Back in the kitchen Jimin gave Yoongi the paper for the latest order.
“How many did you say there were? This is like easily enough for seven people,” Yoongi said, eyeing the note. He pinned it next to the other orders on the small notice board.
“We’re just small, hyung. Those guys, though - “
“You have a thing for size or something?”
Jimin sighed. Before he could say anything back, the back door opened. Jimin half expected it to be his grandmother already, but instead he saw a flustered Byulyi, she was one of the official waiters in the restaurant.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she began. “Someone had parked their car on my spot so I had to find a new place for it. Oh, Jimin-ah, you’re working today?” She had taken her coat off, revealing her job uniform, as she liked to call it. Usually Byulyi dressed less in button ups and more in hoodies.
Jimin began untying his apron. “No, I mean yes, but now noona saved me.” He gave the apron to Byulyi.
“Oh?” She looked at both Yoongi and Jimin, but then she squinted and pointed at Jimin’s forehead. “What’s that?”
Jimin slapped a hand on the bandaid. “It’s a long story, I’ll let hyung tell you. There’s a few patrons waiting for their food and another few who might need to pay soon.”
“You’re really going to just run away?” Yoongi asked. He did it in jest, but that didn’t stop Jimin from feeling the pang of guilt in his chest.
He tried to chuckle a little. “As if.” As if I already haven’t done it. Running away, that is. This was simply dodging an uncomfortable situation that he didn’t have mental power to deal with.
Grandmother’s little house was only a short walk away from the restaurant. It was a one storey hanok-style building that Young-hee had renovated into a cosy living space with Jimin’s father when she acquired the restaurant to her name. The two buildings had come as a package deal and both were in terrible condition in the beginning. But Young-hee was stubborn and when she wanted something to work out, it usually did. So not even Jimin’s father’s less than positive prediction of the outcome of her business ventures had deterred her. And here they were, the restaurant was a small success and Young-hee’s house still stood almost as good as new.
Inside it was a mixture of modern and traditional. Grandmother had wanted a well equipped kitchen area with the latest appliances and it was important to her that she’d have a bathroom that could be compared to a spa, with beautiful stone tiles, a rain shower and a bathtub suited for a queen. Other than that her interior decoration was rather minimalistic. The dining area had a long low table with firm cushions on the floor instead of chairs. You could fit close to ten people around it if you squished tight. The living area, which was connected to the dining area, had a couch and a huge tv screen, but Young-hee barely spent time there, it was more for her grandchildren. Jimin headed towards the spare room that was his bedroom for now. It was one of three rooms, the other two being his grandmother’s bedroom and a room dedicated to her hobbies. How she had time to paint on top of everything else she had always going on, was a mystery to Jimin.
Jimin was grateful that the guest room had a proper queen sized bed. Young-hee preferred a mattress on the floor herself, but knew how some of her relatives rather slept in a real bed, Jimin and his mother included. When Jimin got to the foot of the bed, he let himself collapse on it, lying on his stomach for a moment.
It was easier when he was with Yoongi or with his grandmother or when he was walking outside and having the world to observe, easier to handle the pain in his chest. But here alone, surrounded by walls that shut the outside world off from his senses, it all came back. Especially when he turned his head and saw his phone on the bedside table.
Jimin had turned it off the morning he packed his bags and decided to come here. He knew if he opened it, it would be full of messages. That was what he feared and hoped for at the same time. No new messages might be more devastating.
He took a deep breath in and sat up on the bed cross legged. He stared at his phone with a small frown. Maybe it would be like ripping off a band-aid. Jimin fleetingly touched his forehead and then reached for the device. Holding his breath he turned it on. He hadn’t cried since the night he cried himself dry before coming here, but seeing the amount of new messages made his eyes sting. He wouldn’t cry anymore, it wasn’t worth it. Jimin bit his lip hard enough to hurt and opened the first one.
Taetae: Did you get home alright? I’m sorry I couldn’t be more for you. I do love you though, you're my best friend.
The first one had been sent right after Jimin left Taehyung’s place two weeks ago. He wouldn’t cry.
Taetae: I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried calling you, but your phone’s off. I hope you’re okay.
Taetae: Minie, I’m getting a bit worried now. Your phone’s still off. I just want to know you’re okay, that’s all.
Taetae: Where are you? I went to your place, but someone else was already living there. What did you do?
Jimin held his chest, the pain more intense now. How could a broken heart actually ache so much? He had always thought it only to be a simple figure of speech, yet here he was, physically hurting. But he wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t.
Taetae: I called the police, but they couldn’t really help much. I do hope you’re alive. Please Jimin, just let me know you’re alive.
Damn it. The first tear began its way down Jimin’s cheek, another one joining in.
Taetae: I miss you. I don’t think I’ve spent this long without you here. I’m sorry. I wish I could be what you want, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay. Please be okay.
Jimin couldn’t stare at the screen. He buried his face in his hand and felt the sobs rip through him. He was wrong, he wanted to go back to the numbness he experienced only hours ago. He didn’t want this.
His phone pinged with a new message and it made Jimin even sadder.
Taetae: I see you’re reading my messages, so either you’re alive or someone else is using your account. I hope it’s the first one.
Then another.
Taetae: Could you let me know it’s you Jimin? Just something, anything. I miss you so much. I’m sorry.
”Stop apologising!” Jimin hissed at his phone through his tears. It was not Taehyung’s fault that Jimin had fallen in love with him when they first met at the start of university. It wasn’t Taehyung’s fault that Jimin had interpreted their closeness wrong while neither had outwardly spoken about their sexualities. Jimin had just wrongly assumed that Taehyung was bi.
It wasn’t Taehyung’s fault that after six years of friendship, Jimin had finally gathered enough courage to confess his feelings. He had chosen one of their usual nights with take out and movie watching. Both having had a beer or two already, Jimin had opened his mouth. It didn’t matter now, what made him believe that his feelings were reciprocated. At the time he had been almost sure. And yes Taehyung did love him, he believed that, and their friendship was always closer than some others Jimin had witnessed, but it wasn’t enough. Because Taehyung was straight.
Jimin closed his eyes, remembering how Taehyung’s face went from happily interested in what Jimin had to say to first surprise and then finally pity. And Jimin had known at that exact moment that he had been wrong. The realisation had fallen heavy into his stomach, face heating up with embarrassment, the overwhelming sadness settling into the empty space inside him next.
The silence had been deafening and awkward. Jimin hadn’t even managed to say everything he had prepared in his head when he noticed Taehyung’s expression change.
It had taken a moment for Jimin to gather what was left of his confidence and put a brave face on. He had laughed a little, deflected the topic to something else even though Taehyung still looked at him with those eyes. Then he had quickly made an excuse to leave early. Taehyung had hugged him at the door, said sorry, asked if Jimin was okay. And Jimin had laughed again although the ache had already appeared in his chest. Once he set his foot out the door, first tears had fallen.
The night had been a breaking point, the rejection only being the tip of the iceberg. He had cried, staying up, unable to sleep. He had made rash decisions. He called the office that night to tell them he’d quit. He informed his landlord that he was leaving and was ending the contract. He packed his bags, taking only what he wanted to keep, not caring about anything else, and bought the plane ticket for the next morning.
It wasn’t his nature to be this dramatic, but here he was, wiping the new tears into his sleeves and looking at his phone where he could still see Taehyung was waiting for an answer.
Jimin: It’s me. I just need time. Don’t be sorry, you did nothing wrong. It’s me who should be sorry. I’m sorry Taehyung-ah.
”Jimin-ah! Are you here?”
Jimin looked up from the phone and tried to wipe the rest of the tears from his face. His grandmother didn’t usually ask questions, but Jimin didn’t want her to worry more than necessary. He wasn’t quite fast enough, though. She opened the room door and peeked in.
”I’m here, grandmother,” Jimin said, but his voice was thick from crying. He cleared his throat and hung his head down so that Young-hee wouldn’t see his face.
It was quiet for a second and Jimin thought she would already be gone, she had very light and stealthy steps. But when he raised his head, she was still there.
”Aigoo, Jimin-ah,” she said, stepping into the room. ”Have you been crying, dear boy?”
Ah, shit. The tears began streaming again from the attention he got from his grandmother.
”Why are you crying?” Young-hee walked towards Jimin and sat next to him on the bed, taking him into an awkward hold since she was so much smaller than him. ”Aigoo, aigoo, dear boy, whatever it is, it is going to be alright.” She was patting Jimin’s head.
Jimin turned towards her and let her hold him better, taking in all the comfort he could get.
”You’ve always been such a sensitive boy,” Young-hee said quietly, while continuing to stroke Jimin’s hair. ”Such a sensitive soul. You’ll be alright. I will feed you and you’ll be alright.”
Finally Jimin started to feel calmer and the tears dried. His grandmother wiped them off this time and pinched his left cheek with a smile he considered encouraging.
”Everything will be alright,” she said before she left the room. ”I will bring dinner later and we can eat together. I’ll ask Yoongi to join too.”
Jimin mustered up a small smile in response. When Young-hee disappeared through the door, Jimin checked his phone for the last time. He had heard a faint ping while he had been in grandmother’s arms.
Taetae: Take all the time you need. And you don’t have to be sorry. I hope we can still be friends after this.
Jimin sighed and turned his phone off again. He really didn’t know.