Chapter Text
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Red.
That's what Jimin remembers. Red and blue and flashing and—
—yelling? No, no. Not yelling. Wailing. Wailing and screaming and pure, unadulterated agony. Is that him screaming? Can’t be. His voice isn't that shrill, enough to make his ears bleed and his brain rattle inside his skull. It can't be him, because he can't even open his mouth. It’s bolted shut, metal and plastic and pain like when he'd fractured his jaw in fourth grade playing soccer and had to drink supplement through a straw for a month.
But that's not right. It isn't yelling and nor is it wailing or screaming. At least, not coming from somebody’s mouth. It's the screeching of sirens; ambulances or police cars or maybe even fire trucks—but why? Surely not for him.
Surely.
He tries to sit up but his body is bolted down, too; locked and chained to the hard, wet ground. He wriggles, trying to free himself from whatever's keeping him pinned down but white hot pain sears through his neck and back. There’s metal in his mouth and battery acid in his windpipe and he can’t breathe. He can't breathe. Why can’t he breathe?
Something is very wrong.
Jimin?
He remembers all the times he'd played dead with Jeongguk as a kid. It was generally after he'd had a fall, a way of coping with the embarrassment of it all. Instead of groaning and crying, he'd lay very still, eyes shut. Jeongguk would run to him, calling his name and begging him to wake up. Jimin would wait until his screams got a little too high-pitched and then he'd suddenly bob up, making Jeongguk gasp and then pummel him in delighted fury.
Jimin?
Jimin shuts his eyes now and pretends to be dead, praying that when he wills it, he'll be able to leap up, laughing. When he tries, he's still stuck. It seems like he's stuck in time, too.
Is he dead already? Perhaps this is what death is like. No bright lights or beautiful Heaven. He's somehow killed himself and now he's going to have to lay here forever, reliving the moment of his death for all of time.
All he can do is blink, so he blinks and blinks, once, twice, again, again, again, praying that his eyelids opening and shutting will somehow make enough noise for someone to come and find him. It hurts, it hurts. His eyes are on fire, but the pain in his body is worse.
He squeezes his eyes shut tight, counts to one hundred, and then makes a supreme effort to open them again to white.
A hand on his shoulder. Hey, Jimin? Not red, white. White walls and floors and ceilings, white faces above him, all the red blood drained away. Jimin, can you hear me?
He blinks again. Yes. No. Yes, but I can't talk.
Can you hear me? Yes. Yes, and it's so loud. It's in his head, reverberating off the walls of his skull. He blinks. Too loud. Stop shouting! He blinks, and his eyes don't open.
Jimin. Can you hear me? Jimin? Jimin!
“Hm?”
Taehyung's worried face is right up in his. His eyebrows are pinching together, fat wrinkles forming up his nose as he makes a face like he's concerned or annoyed. “Are you okay? Lecture’s over.” He glances at his watch. “It finished, like, five minutes ago.”
Jimin laughs, but somebody else's voice comes out. “Oh. Whoops.” He straightens up, leans back to crack his spine. “Did I fall asleep?” he asks, quickly scanning the room. Sure enough, the lecture theater is deserted, and dead quiet aside from the rumble of voices outside.
Taehyung's frown deepens. “No…?” His hand is still on Jimin's shoulder and he squeezes, five points of heat seeping into his bones. “You were just staring, all blank and shit. It was creepy. Jeonggukie thought you died.”
“Whoops,” Jimin says again. “Guess I just got distracted. Sorry, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung stands up from where he'd been crouching beside him. Not looking entirely convinced, he says, “As long as you're okay.”
Jimin smiles, lips curling back to show his teeth. “I'm okay, promise. Wanna grab something to eat? There's this new barbecue place downtown I've been dying to check out.”
Dying. Jimin hides his grimace behind his hand with a fake cough.
Taehyung's face relaxes a little, but he's still holding tension in his shoulders. “You sure you're feeling up to it?” he asks tentatively. Like Jimin's fragile. He isn't. “You... You looked pretty spaced out, Jimin-ah. I don’t—”
“I'm fine,” Jimin reiterates. “I was just daydreaming. You know how it is.”
Taehyung's lips quirk. “Ha, yeah. Guess I'm rubbing off on you.” He finally removes his hand from Jimin’s shoulder to scratch at his nape—a telltale sign that he's still nervous—as Jimin slips his unopened textbooks into his backpack. “You’ll be coming in with an ADHD diagnosis next week.”
Jimin laughs again, and it's his own voice this time. “I'm spending too much time with you and Guk,” he sighs fondly.
He twists around to hook his bag on the back of his chair before dislodging himself from his space in the front row of lecture pews. Although he has an unofficial reservation at the front of the class, it can still be pretty frustrating to manoeuvre around the unyielding slabs of wood.
Taehyung pretends he isn't watching, because he always does. It's well-intentioned, but it makes Jimin inwardly squirm sometimes. Having lived in Daegu—not exactly the most accessible city in the world—for the majority of his life, Taehyung still isn’t quite accustomed to hanging around with disabled people. It isn't his fault, and he is trying his hardest to pick up on the way Jeongguk treats Jimin, but it's still a little uncomfortable for the both of them.
Jimin grunts softly, irritated, when his wheelchair gets stuck between the wooden seat and the desk. Taehyung glances up from his phone, his soft features painted with curiosity and concern. He opens his mouth—probably to offer a hand—and Jimin scrambles to get himself out as smoothly as he can.
He feels awful turning down Taehyung's gentle offers to help because he always means well, but he just doesn't need it. And even when he could do with the assistance, Jimin is far too proud to accept it.
Safely out and onto the carpet at the front of the hall, Jimin grins as sincerely as he can manage. “So, dinner?” he prompts, pushing himself towards the door as Taehyung trails behind him. “Where’s Jeongguk?”
“Shitting,” Taehyung deadpans in his usual tactless way.
Jimin snorts. “Lovely visual to have right before eating.”
Taehyung reaches over to push open the door and Jimin nods at him gratefully. Help like this is fine; the subtle, everyday things. Just so long as he isn't being manhandled, pushed and carried without his consent like he's a ragdoll or some helpless little kid. Or being used for people to fulfill their life’s good deed.
Taehyung isn't like that. He tries not to be. He doesn't have a bad bone in his body, but he can be a little oblivious when it comes to reading people or social cues.
The first time Jeongguk had introduced them over lunch at the university’s coffee shop, Taehyung had grabbed the bar on the back of Jimin's chair (he'd opted out of the handles after self-proclaimed good samaritans had taken them as an invite to push him around one too many times) and tried to push him when Jimin had announced he was going to the bathroom. But he'd spluttered incoherent apologies for all of five minutes when Jimin returned—probably the result of bearing the brunt of Jeongguk's scolding.
He hadn't done it again after that, but Jimin still catches him staring at his legs sometimes, as though waiting for him to stand right up and start running. He fumbles over figures of speech like take a walk and step-by-step. Jimin had almost barfed when Taehyung started saying differently abled, and subsequently had to sit through another five minute stream of apologies.
Now, they meet Jeongguk outside the music department building, and the three take their time making their way to the restaurant Jimin has his sights set on.
It's late spring, almost summer, and the wispy clouds are slowly giving way to clear blue skies. The campus is bustling with students and staff alike, everyone enjoying the onslaught of warm weather as much as their hectic schedules will allow.
“Is this place accessible, hyung?” Jeongguk asks around the gum in his mouth, looking pointedly at Jimin.
Jimin's stomach lurches and he blanches. Even though he's been living like this for five years now—six, this August—he still manages to forget that some places are shut off from him completely. Or rather, he foolishly tries not to think about it until he has to.
He quickly recovers, laughing easily. “Guess we'll see. You've been working out, Gukkie. You can carry me in, if you want.”
Jeongguk scowls. “I'm not that strong. Ask Taehyungie-hyung.”
Jimin would certainly not allow Taehyung to carry him under the most dire of circumstances. Jeongguk knows this, of course, but the joke seems to fly over Taehyung's head. Looking mildly horrified, he hikes his backpack up his shoulder, stalling, then says, “Uh-uh. I can barely lift my bag with all these fucking textbooks.”
“Am I really that heavy?” Jimin whines, vaguely amused. “You're gonna leave me to crawl on the floor?”
Taehyung opens his mouth, most likely to profusely apologize, but Jeongguk is having none of it. He grins and shrugs. “We’ll park you outside and enjoy lunch without you stinking up the place.”
Another laugh bubbles up from Jimin’s throat. It's a refreshing change; that Jeongguk is comfortable enough to make jokes about his disability without taking it too far. Most people—Taehyung included, unfortunately—like to tiptoe around it. Pretend it isn't glaringly obvious. Or better yet, pretend that it's all there is to him.
He's also the only one who'd stuck by Jimin's side through it all, doesn't treat him any differently than he ever had. He doesn't walk on eggshells around him the way Taehyung does, doesn't treat him like an invalid or an inspiration as lots of people like to. They're still just Jimin and Jeongguk, as they always have been. (Maybe, Jimin supposes, sharing trauma gives you some crazy strong bond for life. Either way, he's grateful for him.)
The restaurant, as it turns out, is not accessible. Right before the front entrance are not one, but five steps leading up the door. Jimin stops in his tracks when he spots them. There's something stirring uncomfortably in his chest—disappointment? Anger?
He hears Taehyung gulp behind him. “C’mon, Jimin-ah, let’s go somewhere else.”
Jimin swivels his chair around and smiles tightly. “You guys can go in. I’ll just eat at home.”
Jeongguk looks like he wants to march right in there and give the employees a piece of his mind. Jimin isn’t sure if he would stop him. “You’re kidding, right?” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “They don’t deserve our money, hyung.”
“We can go to mine,” Taehyung pipes up. “My apartment’s on the ground floor. No hidden stairs or anything, promise.”
Jimin reluctantly agrees. He is hungry—sort of ravenous, actually. He'd snoozed his alarm three times this morning and had to skip breakfast in favor of getting to class semi-on time, and now he's facing the consequences.
“Yoongi-hyung cooked last night,” Taehyung says happily, falling into step beside Jimin as they start back in the opposite direction. “There's loads of leftovers. He's trying to fatten me up, I think.”
Jeongguk practically glows, but Jimin finds he can't quite match his enthusiasm. He's embarrassed, and he feels guilty and selfish and angry. He bites his tongue the entirety of the walk to Taehyung's, mouth drawn in a hard line.
It's not like this is an uncommon occurrence. Jimin could fill notebook after notebook with times that he's had to change or cancel plans because somebody decided to save a couple thousand won on not installing a ramp. But it never really gets easier. Sometimes, it feels like it's being done intentionally, just to draw a line in the sand between abled people and people like him.
He perks up when they arrive at Taehyung's. As promised, the apartment is spacious and open-plan, and Jimin has little trouble getting around. His anger fades more when Taehyung sets a tupperware of reheated japchae in front of him.
“I can't be bothered to wash the dishes,” Taehyung shrugs when Jimin questions the lack of a proper bowl. “Yoongi-hyung gets mad if I leave them in the sink.”
They eat on Taehyung's bedroom floor with a shitty comedy playing from his laptop, laughing through mouthfuls and dripping food on the carpet.
(Jimin had gotten himself out of his chair and onto the floor while the other two fixed their dinner in the kitchen, still insecure about Taehyung watching him transfer. As open as he is about his disability, he doesn't really like people seeing him struggle with stuff like this—and admittedly, chair-to-floor transfers and vice versa are two of the harder things he'd had to master.)
Jeongguk finishes his generous portion in less than ten minutes. “I ate too quick,” he groans like it isn't obvious, leaning back with a hand on his stomach. “I have dance in fifteen. They’re gonna have to haul me in with a forklift.”
Jimin laughs so hard that a noodle flies out of his nose, which makes him laugh harder, and soon enough, all three of them are in fits of giggles. Taehyung even chokes on a noodle of his own. Jimin loses his balance and when he grabs Jeongguk in an attempt to steady himself, he ends up pulling him down with him until they're both in a heap on the floor. It’s all stupid and immature and not even that funny, but the heaviness clinging to Jimin’s shoulders loosens its talons a bit.
“Okay, okay,” Jeongguk says once he's regained some of his composure. He tugs Jimin by the arm until he's sitting again (not without a little difficulty and another bout of giggles), then climbs to his feet and brushes off his wrinkled shirt. “I'm gonna head out. Thanks for the food, hyung.” Then, to Jimin, “You coming with?”
Jimin uses his hands to pull his legs into a criss-cross position and moves so his back is against the bed to keep him from toppling backwards again. Even after all this time, his balance isn't the greatest, and Taehyung tends to get all weird and freaked out whenever he comes close to falling.
“I'm still eating,” he says with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “I'll stay a bit longer, if, uh…” He glances at Taehyung, who’s chewing a mouthful of his own. “If you're happy to have me?”
Taehyung offers a nod and silent thumbs up, then swallows and says, “Sure. I have dessert, too.”
Jimin beams. Jeongguk pouts. “What? I want dessert!”
“Blow off class and stuff your face with us?” Jimin suggests.
“You're a horrible influence,” Jeongguk says as he shoulders open the bedroom door. “Bye. Make sure your stomachs don't explode.”
Taehyung gets up to see Jeongguk out, and Jimin stays in his place on the floor. He hasn't spent that much time with Taehyung one-on-one. Truthfully, he’s a little bit nervous. They've known each other for a while now, thanks to Jeongguk. He's nice and all, he's sweet and funny, but he's also one of those people who seems to be scared of Jimin. Scared of saying the wrong thing or asking questions. Scared to know him as a person, rather than just as a disabled person.
“So,” Taehyung says as he steps back into the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. “How about that dessert?”
“Mhm. I dunno.” Jimin shakes himself out of his thoughts and feigns deliberation with a finger pressed to his lips. “I'm not gonna be able to stand up if I eat much more.”
He giggles at his own dumb joke, but quickly stops when he notices that Taehyung hasn't followed suit and is instead worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He's so fucking awkward. When Jimin lifts an eyebrow, Taehyung scrubs a hand across his reddening face and comes to sit opposite him on the floor again.
“Sorry,” Taehyung says quietly. “I never know what—if I'm allowed to laugh, or whatever.”
“You can laugh,” Jimin says, leaning back on his hands. “It's a joke, you're supposed to laugh. Unless it's bad, I guess. Are my jokes that bad?”
Taehyung does laugh at this. “No, I'm just an idiot.”
Jimin shrugs and smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. “You're not. Even if you were, being an idiot is way better than being an asshole.”
He pushes his empty tupperware out of the space between them and shuffles forward a little. With the lack of function in his lower abdominals or the support of the bed behind him, he has to concentrate way too hard on not slumping forward. Taehyung all but gawks at him, wide-eyed, and then down at where Jimin hadn't realized their knees were knocking together.
Jimin pulls back. “You need to stop being so awkward about it,” he instructs. He attempts to look Taehyung dead in the eye but as usual, Taehyung struggles to hold eye contact. “I don't care,” he continues firmly. “I know you don't know what you're doing, but neither do I. I'm just winging it. Making jokes about myself is the easiest thing to do.”
Taehyung nods, his hand flapping idly by his side. When he catches Jimin watching, his eyes widen and then scrunch shut, and he presses his palm flat against his thigh for a few seconds before opening them again. His gaze settles a bit to the left of Jimin’s face but Jimin shifts so they're eye-to-eye.
“Yeah?”
Taehyung nods again, smiling this time. “Yeah.”
Taehyung seems to have taken the stop being awkward comment to heart, because Jimin can feel his curious eyes on him as he scoots as close to the bed as he can and tugs his knees to his chest. His stare could melt steel when Jimin shifts his weight to his ankles and mentally prepares to hoist himself up onto Taehyung's too-high bed.
Jimin’s cheeks are already burning with embarrassment. He wishes Taehyung would just excuse himself to the bathroom or, at the very least, turn around so he can transfer in peace.
He's pretty much got this one down—but no matter how smooth it is, it’s always going to look like a struggle to people who can just sit down and stand up whenever they please. He keeps his head ducked as he pushes on the floor with his right hand, the left pushing on the bed to lever himself up, biceps straining beneath his weight. He's rushing so that Taehyung will stop staring at him, and his butt almost misses the mattress.
He makes it, just about, and wastes no time shuffling back to lean against the wall and straightening out his legs so they look somewhat normal. The whole affair is more than a little awkward. He's dizzy from rushing it, but at least he hadn't fallen. Jimin thinks the embarrassment of that would've killed him off for good.
Taehyung isn't masking his curiosity in the slightest. “You're so good at that,” he says earnestly. “I definitely would've ended up eating shit.”
Jimin's cheeks heat up even more, if such a thing is possible. “I've had a lot of practice,” he says. He keeps his eyes on the quilt.
The bed shifts as Taehyung settles in next to him. Jimin lifts his gaze to see that Taehyung's cheeks are pinking, too, and he doesn't notice Taehyung’s hand on his thigh until he glances down. He looks back up, confused.
“You okay?” Taehyung asks, blinking rapidly. “Your head’s gonna explode if you keep worrying so much.”
Jimin ducks his head again and bunches his fingers in the soft white linen of the duvet. “Mhm. Just thinking.”
“That's dangerous,” Taehyung teases. Hesitantly, he adds, “About what?”
Jimin's thinking about Taehyung and being alone with him in his bedroom. About Jeongguk and the restaurant earlier, about how he's going to have to use Taehyung's cramped little bathroom pretty soon. He's thinking about the medication he's been rejecting because it makes him feel like a zombie. About the pressure sores on his ass he's going to have to deal with from sitting on the hardwood floor because he was too embarrassed to ask for a cushion.
He's thinking about Taehyung's hand on his thigh.
“Y’know. Stuff.”
“Are you…” Taehyung pulls his hand away from Jimin’s leg and starts fiddling with the blanket instead, ever restless fingers tugging at loose thread after loose thread. “Did I say something wrong?”
“What? No. No, of course not, Taehyung-ah.”
“Is it the restaurant?” Taehyung presses, now wringing his hands anxiously. His hands never quite seem to be completely still. “That wasn't your fault. It’s bullshit.”
Jimin hums noncommittally. It wasn’t his fault that the building was inaccessible, but it was his fault that his friends couldn’t go in because of him. “I just feel bad, I dunno. You should’ve gone without me.”
“It's not your fault,” Taehyung says again, a little louder. “I mean, I never even had to think about that stuff before. I wish other people would think about it.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees quietly. “Me too.” He grips his thigh, squeezes it too hard and when he doesn't feel anything—because of course he doesn't—he squeezes harder.
Some days are easier. Some days are harder. There isn’t any reason for them to be harder, they just are.
Today is harder.
Most of the time, he pretty much forgets that the things he has to be so careful about don't even cross most people's minds. But he's neglected his meds for the fourth day in a row now, and believe it or not, there are some serious psychological consequences to learning that you're going to have to pee through a tube for the rest of your life.
Soon enough, Taehyung's hand settles on top of his. His fingers are long and elegant, covering Jimin's entirely. Jimin turns his head a fraction to the left to frown at him, and finds himself pleasantly surprised when Taehyung’s soft brown eyes meet his.
Jimin's alarm sounds miles away when it rings from his phone. He silences it without a second thought—probably not the smartest idea, but his legs haven't started their routine spasming, so he has a little time. He isn't ready to leave Taehyung's company just yet.
Taehyung opens his mouth in what Jimin assumes is going to be a question about the alarm. But he must be hallucinating or something, because what he hears is, “You're so pretty.”
Jimin blinks dumbly, once, twice. “What?”
“Sorry,” Taehyung says. He doesn't look sorry. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, pulling Jimin’s eyes down to the soft plush of his mouth. “Actually, no I'm not,” he amends. He smiles when Jimin laughs breathlessly. “I thought it the first time we met, but then I—I messed up.”
“For the record,” Jimin breathes, “I think you're very pretty, too.”
Somehow, some way, his face is centimetres from Taehyung's. He can see every imperfection that Taehyung doesn't have; his thick, long lashes, the moles dotted on his golden skin, his lips. His soft, perfectly pink lips.
“Sorry I'm always so weird around you,” Taehyung continues slowly. His eyes are downcast, and the words sound as though they've been rehearsed over and over again. Maybe they have. “It's not just 'cause of your... Your thing—”
Jimin cuts him off with a little chuckle and an amused shake of his head. “You can say it.”
Taehyung still looks vaguely nervous, but he clarifies, “'Cause of your wheelchair.” Then, the warmth of his hand disappears and when Jimin looks down, Taehyung's fingers are inching further up his leg. He inhales deeply before trapping his bottom lip between his perfect teeth, closes his eyes and says, “There’s other stuff, too.”
“Oh, Taehyungie,” Jimin says, because he doesn't know what else there is to say.
“Is that okay?”
Jimin swallows, dry and lumpish. “Yeah.” It comes out barely above a whisper. “More than okay.”
Jimin watches in stunned silence as Taehyung's fingers find the button of his jeans and he fumbles to undo it. Jimin's heart is in his throat, threatening to spill right out of his mouth. He hadn't even known he'd wanted this—wanted Taehyung—but now, he doesn't know how he'd missed it. It shouldn't make any sense, but suddenly, it's the only thing that ever has.
Despite the awkwardness and the misunderstandings, he wants it so much. Too much.
“Wait,” Jimin blurts, surprising himself and Taehyung in turn. Taehyung hastily pulls his hand away but Jimin reaches out to grab it, intertwining their fingers. “Taehyungie, are you sure about this? You know I can't feel anything down there, right? I—I haven't done this for a while. I don't even know if it’ll… Y’know. Work.” The prickling heat of embarrassment creeps its way onto his cheeks again.
“I don't care,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head, eyes suddenly hard. “We can try. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. I wanna make you happy, Jimin-ah.”
“Okay,” Jimin whispers.
Then, Taehyung's hand is on his chest and he's pushing Jimin down into the pillowy mattress. One hand is on his crotch, pulling at the zipper of his jeans while the other moves to rest next to his head. This is not what Jimin had in mind when he'd accepted Taehyung's invite, but he certainly isn't about to complain.
Jimin doesn't want to take his eyes off Taehyung's. He wants to relish in this rare eye contact, but he also wants to see exactly what Taehyung's doing with his hand.
Taehyung abandons his mission with Jimin's jeans for a second to tug at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” he instructs sweetly, and Jimin obliges. He throws it somewhere in the room then hooks his finger into the collar of Taehyung's shirt.
“You too,” he breathes. “Take it off for me.”
Taehyung does just that, stripping out of his t-shirt to reveal a long, golden torso. He's beautiful, in every sense of the word. Jimin's throat constricts.
Without having to be asked, Taehyung wriggles out of his slacks as well, leaving only his boxers and mismatched socks. His legs are long and lean; naturally thin, but not too much so. He shifts a little uneasily, toying with the bedsheets, and he won't meet Jimin's eyes. Slowly, he reaches out to pluck at the hem of Jimin's jeans.
“You too.” His adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Take them off for me?”
Jimin, admittedly, is a little hesitant at the idea of removing his pants. Since he'd cracked his back five years ago, effectively stamping out his ability to feel anything below the waist, he's lost pretty much every ounce of muscle in his legs. They don't exactly look normal, and although Jimin isn't too bothered by it anymore, it's possible that Taehyung will be.
“Look,” Jimin starts softly. “I really wanna do this, trust me, I do. It's just…” He falters. Bites the inside of his cheek so hard he's surprised his teeth haven't torn right through. “I'm not really used to people seeing my body like this. You might not like it. My legs look a bit... Weird.” He huffs out a breath, pushes his hair back then offers a wan smile. “Sort of what happens when you don't stand up for five years.”
Taehyung nods obediently, sitting back on his heels. “That's okay. I mean, um, I guess I already sort of knew that. But if you don't wanna... We can stop. Really.”
Jimin's chest swells. “I want to. Maybe not today but… One day. I really want to.” He props himself up on his elbows then inches back until he's sitting eye-level with Taehyung again. “Can we maybe start with just, I dunno, looking?”
Taehyung nods. He says, a little breathlessly, “I'd love to look at you, if you'll let me.”
Getting out of his jeans is a bit of a struggle. He'd definitely chosen the wrong day to wear his tightest pair. Taehyung watches awkwardly as Jimin uses the bed frame to hoist himself up so that his butt is off the bed, then uses his free hand to shimmy them down to mid-thigh.
“Sorry,” Jimin laughs. “Might take a minute.” Taehyung's goddamn lucky that Jimin wants this as much as he does, because otherwise he'd gladly have spared himself the hassle of getting undressed.
Thankfully, all his years as a dancer have left him pretty flexible, even now, so the whole process is a lot smoother than it could've been. Soon enough, he's tugging the right leg of his jeans over his foot, and then he's done it.
His body—all of it—is on display to Taehyung, and Jimin would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Taehyung sits patiently on his knees at the end of the bed, watching quietly as Jimin pushes up on his hands and takes a moment to steady himself.
“Well,” Jimin says eventually. “Like what you see?” He reaches under his thigh, takes hold of it and lifts so that Taehyung can see exactly what it is he's dealing with. When he lets it go, his leg falls back to the bed, deadweight.
He looks up, and he's suddenly all too aware of the way his body looks to other people. Just how different it is from non-disabled bodies. Jimin is the first to admit that it takes a bit of getting used to. He’s the one, after all, who’d spent month after year feeling completely detached from it, unable to fathom that it still belonged to him.
But half a decade has passed, and he’s long since accepted that this is just the way things are. It’s the same body that has housed him since birth and will continue to do so until death, the only difference being the ways in which it works—and by extension, the ways in which it fails to work. It’d been changed by chance in a split second, not fated or written in the stars, but Jimin had learned to change with it nonetheless. With any luck, in time, Taehyung will come to learn the same.
Taehyung appears to be thinking the same thing. He's openly staring, analyzing Jimin like he's a specimen under a microscope. His eyes run up and down his form as he takes him in, scars and atrophy and all. He lingers for a moment on the puckered little scar on his abdomen, probably imagining an origin far worse than the reality. And then, of course, come his legs; unmarked and yet unmistakably, irreversibly affected.
Jimin looks with him, down at his bare legs. Everything's where it should be: thighs, knees, shins, ankles, feet and toes. He tells them to move, as he sometimes does, just to check that nothing has miraculously changed. There's no longer that twinge of disappointment when they don’t budge, because he no longer expects or hopes for them to. He reaches down and touches his thigh, rubbing up and down with the palm of his hand. Nothing.
All he can do is wait, so he waits. And waits. And waits.
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I do. You're so beautiful, Jimin.”
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