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Yoongi blinked up at the cracked ceiling. He could hear Namjoon’s snoring and Taehyung’s muttering through the thin walls. If he walked into the room Namjoon and Hoseok shared, he’d find the two of them dead asleep, Hoseok with his ears plugged because of Namjoon’s snoring and Namjoon with his arm thrown off the edge of his bed. Taehyung and Jungkook and Jimin didn’t have beds in their rooms and he was pretty sure Jungkook would have stolen Jimin’s blanket again in his sleep and Jimin was sleeping curled up. Thankfully it was summer.
He turned his gaze to the side. The bed wasn’t big, but it was big enough to fit two people. He’d bought a bigger bed than he needed on impulse and he stretched his arm out, fingers caressing the pillow before falling to the cold sheets. He always slept on one side of the bed.
He sat up and pressed a snapback on his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He hadn’t even bothered to change.
They were all going to need time alone today.
--
Hoseok got up once he heard the front door click shut. He hadn’t bothered with earplugs today to block out Namjoon's snoring because he knew he’d be up early anyway. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trudging to the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror. “Get a hold of yourself, Jung Hoseok,” he whispered, forcing the corners of his lips up with his fingers. “Yoongi-hyung’s obviously going to be out of it today, meaning you’re the oldest and in charge. Keep it together.”
He stared at himself, squishing the corners of his mouth up with his fingers, and then sighed, letting his hand down and rubbing his hand along his chin. “Everything’s going to be all right. Today won’t be any different from any other day. Get up, go visit Seokjin-hyung, get him new flowers, go talk to him a bit, and then head to the studio. Simple.”
Hoseok turned away from the mirror and grabbed the doorknob to the bathroom, and then paused. His eyes caught the electric razor plugged into the wall that Seokjin used. Hoseok himself just let his stubble grow until it looked a little too gross, swiped shaving foam across his face and worked with a plain razor. But Seokjin had always carefully preened himself. Came with the job, Hoseok thought bitterly, and then shook the thought away. He grabbed the razor and turned back to the mirror, pressing his palm against his chin again. He barely grew any facial hair anyway, but he pushed the button and tested the electric razor against his palm before carefully bringing it to his chin.
He had no idea what to expect, but the gliding smoothness wasn’t it. Huh. That was simpler than he could have imagined. He let the electric razor do its work, and it was strangely saddening. He looked at himself in the mirror afterward and a bottle of aftershave caught his eye. It looked new, and he turned it around in his palms. Definitely new. It was an expensive brand, something Seokjin would have never bought. It wasn’t his, and he wondered if Yoongi or Namjoon had bought it. It was probably more likely a fan gave it to them.
He patted it on and tried to smile at himself in the mirror. “Pink flowers,” he told himself in the mirror. “How do peonies sound?”
He stared at himself in the mirror at his forced smile for a while. He ended up sliding down, gripping the sides of the sink, and sobbing until his tears soaked his shirt collar.
--
Jungkook slipped out before Hoseok could leave the bathroom. He’d heard Yoongi leave and he could hear Hoseok sobbing, but he’d told himself he wouldn’t cry today.
It was still early enough that there wasn’t much going on in the streets outside. They hadn’t moved from their sorry excuse of a house, even after they’d bought the building, and Taehyung and Jimin and he still commuted. He climbed to the roof and stared out into the gray sky. He’d come up here, sometimes, with Seokjin. Usually never in the mornings because Seokjin was too exhausted and he had school, but after, when the sun was setting.
Out of spite, he hit one of the poles that Seokjin and Yoongi had put up, way back when, to dry their clothes. He remembered Seokjin washing clothes on Sundays, carefully rubbing soap onto the clothes and hand-washing everything because they couldn’t afford to go to a laundromat. He remembered Seokjin had put lotion on his hands after that, carefully and repeatedly, because he had to make sure his hands stayed soft.
They didn’t use it anymore – Yoongi and Namjoon had bought a washer and a dryer that sat in the first floor of their shitty building. He grabbed the strings and tore them down, angrily tossing them to the side and bringing the poles down along with it. It probably made crashing noises in the rooms below. He didn’t really care.
Five years. Five years since Seokjin had died. It’d probably been decided from the moment Seokjin knelt on the floor for him in the school meeting. Maybe before, when Seokjin took the beating for him for stealing another boy’s bread because he was so hungry at the orphanage. He wasn’t particularly passionate about studying or doing well in school, but every time he wanted to just throw his pen down, he remembered Seokjin and he tugged his notes closer to him.
Jeon Jungkook studying. His high school teachers would say the sun was rising from the west.
He looked numbly over the mess he’d made and reached out to fix it, standing the poles back up and stringing everything the way it was. It was one of Seokjin’s remnants. He didn’t want it destroyed. He quietly pulled the last string taut and rested his forehead on the one of the poles.
“Mom,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut so he wasn’t crying, “I miss you.”
Tears spilled past his eyes anyway.
--
Taehyung normally didn’t drink much. Seokjin hadn’t approved, and he’d lived his life pretty much according to Seokjin. He knew as much as Yoongi did how much Seokjin had given up for them. He didn’t want to be a bother.
Sometimes he wanted to yell at Jungkook for causing so much trouble. Wanted to yell at Namjoon and Hoseok for being idiots. There were plenty of times where he wanted to blame Namjoon and Hoseok and Jungkook for everything. For Seokjin dying.
If he was being honest, he still sometimes blamed them. He sometimes stood in front of the little glass box containing Seokjin’s ashes and all the random stuff they kept putting in there and rested his forehead on the window, crying quietly and wishing nothing more than to have him back. Sometimes he gripped his fists and blamed Namjoon and Hoseok and Jungkook because it was easy, but then he’d collapse against the wall and apologize to Seokjin, over and over and over again because he looked Namjoon and Hoseok and Jungkook as much as he loved Seokjin.
Or almost as much, because all of them really loved Seokjin the most.
He leaned against the cool cement wall. Yoongi and Namjoon and Hoseok had bought the entire building – and that was less impressive than it sounded, considering it was pretty much falling apart – and renovated it, but they hadn’t been able to touch much because too much had Seokjin all over it. Five years and they still couldn’t wipe Seokjin away.
He snagged up a beer bottle and chugged it down. He was already through three and it was barely noon. He laughed sadly when he felt his tears drip down his chin. He’d thought they’d get over it, but the pain returned so badly every year. They were good at ignoring the big hole in their lives for most of the year, but every year on the anniversary of Seokjin’s death, they all fell apart.
He downed the rest of his beer bottle and pulled his hoodie down over his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was outside drinking.
Maybe he was hoping if he was drunk enough, he’d imagine Seokjin turning the corner after the staircase. His eyes would widen, and then he’d scold Taehyung for drinking so much in the middle of the day.
Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut and twisted a fifth bottle open.
--
Namjoon took a deep drag of the cigarette and pulled the cap down over his head. He knew Jungkook purposely didn’t smoke today, but Namjoon usually found himself smoking even more. Seokjin would hate it. Would probably yell and then cry and then yell and then cry some more.
He rubbed the half-smoked cigarette out and lit a new one. The club was loud, enough to hurt his eardrums, but apparently not enough to make him forget about anything. The basement was filled thick with smoke – not just from cigarettes but also from other drugs. Namjoon scrunched his nose at the stench of the weed. It’d take days to take the smell off his jacket.
He looked around. Girls were blowing guys in the middle of the dance floors, and he could see some were just plain out fucking in the dim light of the illicit club. Seokjin would definitely not approve.
“I’m good, hyung,” Namjoon muttered, taking another long drag. “I’m good every other day. I just need to forget today. You get it, right?”
He stood and grabbed the mic from the performer on stage. There was a silence at first, but he started rapping along to the beat and the crowd went back to what they’d been doing – fucking each other and doing drugs. He watched them and wondered if he had the right to judge, but he decided he wasn’t going to care.
He barely comprehended what he was saying – all he knew it was just angst and anger and frustration. And longing. He missed Seokjin so much that his chest physically hurt, and screaming about it through his mic made everything worse. He threw his mic back at the original performer who looked pissed, and when he stepped off the stage he was stopped by a girl.
She was wearing way too much make up. Black stockings with a hot pink thong, and she hadn’t bothered to wear anything on top except a bra and a gaudy white fur jacket. The girl blinked owlishly at him. “Aren’t you that rapper?”
He wanted to tell her how cheap she looked. That Seokjin sold sex but he never looked like a two-cent slut. He wasn’t turned on. At all. He just lit another cigarette. “..No. I’m just a little brother today.” He pushed past her and looked at his barely-smoked cigarette.
He threw it down onto the ground and stopped by the corner store to buy a bag of lollipops instead.
--
Jimin knew what everyone else was doing right now. Yoongi was probably holed up in his studio. Hoseok was probably rooted to the ground in front of Seokjin’s ashes. Namjoon was probably visiting that illegal club he always went to once every year. Taehyung was right outside the door, getting himself pissed drunk. Jungkook was on the roof, destroying things and putting things back.
Jimin was sitting in the bathtub with a picture of 6 of them.
He remembered the little trip to the trainyard nearby. Seokjin had argued against it because it was dangerous, but in the end he hadn’t been able to win over his little brothers. They’d walked on abandoned tracks and climbed on top of empty train cars. Seokjin had taken the photo of 6 of them.
They looked so young and carefree. It was back when Jimin and Taehyung and Jungkook had no idea what Seokjin was doing for rest of them, and everyone looked so happy. They were all smiling for the camera – probably smiling for Seokjin, now that Jimin thought about it. He loved Seokjin so much. They all did.
He put the picture down and carefully picked up the other piece of paper he’d brought over.
It was a letter of invitation from one of the prestigious dance academies in Europe. One of his friends had sent them a video of him dancing, and they were interested and wanted to see him dance in person. It would be such a great opportunity. Jimin lived to dance. Yoongi had rented him a small studio, just like Seokjin had asked him to the day he died.
Jimin danced because he loved it. He’d never expected something like this.
He thought of Seokjin, giving up everything he wanted so they could have a better life. He thought about Seokjin giving up his dreams and his entire life, just so they could stay together. If Yoongi found out about the invitation, he’d make Jimin go. He hadn’t even told Taehyung about it because Taehyung would tell Yoongi.
Jimin flicked the lighter on and held the flame to the corner of the invitation until it caught, and held the other end. He watched the letter burn, the flames swallowing up the fancy signature first before it started eating away at the black words, and when the flames got too close he dropped the remains onto the damp tiles and watched it burn.
--
“Hey, look who finally made it.” Hoseok sniffed, trying to smile.
Yoongi only nodded and glanced around at the hall. Taehyung looked drunk out of his mind and Yoongi didn’t know how he was standing. Namjoon smelled and Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him, but Namjoon just shrugged. Jimin’s hair was wet, Jungkook’s knuckles were bruised, and Hoseok looked like he was about to faint from all the crying, but they were all there.
He put his pink roses behind the glass. “Hey.” He whispered, and that was it. They stayed silent except for Hoseok’s sniffles, gathered around Seokjin’s resting place, until Yoongi coaxed them out and bought dinner.
He lied down on his side of the bed. He took the outer edge, because Seokjin had a tendency to roll around. Also, the radiator was on that side, and he knew Seokjin always got cold at night. He turned his head and ran the backs of his fingers down the pillow before letting his hand fall down to the cold side, meant for the person who never got to lie in it.
He looked around his room – the smallest, because he got it alone while the others shared. The wallpapers were torn where he meant to put up new ones and never did, and if Seokjin was still around he’d probably roll his eyes and put up fresh wallpaper himself. He blinked back up at the ceiling. The clock would hit midnight soon, and it would no longer be the day Seokjin died, and everyone would go about pretending that the anniversary hadn’t happened. He himself would go down to his studio and make more music. He’d tried to fill up Seokjin’s empty space with music. He’d mostly failed.
He closed his eyes.
“I need you.”