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Seokjin - Depression
Seokjin stood next to the couch in the dark living room and sighed. Jimin, sprawled on his belly with his legs askew and his cheek smashed into the cushions, barely moved to glare up at him. “What do you want?”
“You haven’t moved from that couch in days,” Seokjin said.
“So?” Jimin replied listlessly. “What do you want?”
“I want you to eat something,” Seokjin said, his voice gentle but firm.
“Go away,” Jimin said sourly. Seokjin perched on the arm of the couch and ran his fingers soothingly through Jimin’s lank and unwashed hair. Jimin didn’t shy away, but he did growl, “Leave me alone.”
Seokjin sighed and left the room. Jimin exhaled in bitter triumph. But he was too quick to accept his victory. Seokjin had returned, plunking a bowl of something on the coffee table.
“I said eat.”
“And I said go away!” Jimin spat, pulling himself up to glower at the older boy. Seokjin stared back, unfazed. Jimin was stubborn, but Seokjin was had more years of practice and plenty of experience with intractable maknaes. Somewhat guiltily, Jimin took in Seokjin’s bloodshot, swollen eyes and remembered he wasn’t the only one hurting here.
Finally, Jimin caved, swearing under his breath as he pulled the dish toward him. He took one giant bite, smiled rudely to show the whole mouthful to Seokjin petulantly, and shoved the bowl back across the table. He chewed, swallowed, and flopped back onto the pillows. “Satisfied?”
“Hardly,” Seokjin said, rolling his eyes. “You have to eat more.”
“I don’t want to,” Jimin said.
“Please?” Seokjin’s voice broke one the word. Jimin clenched his jaw.
“What the hell’s the point?”
“He wouldn’t want you to starve,” Seokjin said softly, tears pooling in his eyes.
“Well, he’s not HERE, is he?” Jimin roared, sitting up again. “And if he’s not here, what’s the fucking POINT?”
Seokjin sat back, his body seemingly braced for the explosion, but his face flinching as if each word was a physical blow. But Jimin couldn’t stop now. There was a fire growing in his chest that refused to be extinguished now that the spark had fallen on such dry tinder.
“So just STOP, okay? Stop trying to make me feel better. Stop trying to take care of me. Because I sure as hell don’t deserve it and I don’t fucking WANT it, alright?” Jimin’s chest heaved from the exertion of rage after days of barely lifting his hand to wipe away his tears. It took him a second to notice Namjoon standing in the shadowy doorway of the room he shared with Jungkook. A silent frisson passed between him and Seokjin, who stood eagerly and slipped out of the dorm.
Namjoon - Anger
Jimin sat back on the couch, slightly deflated. He hadn’t intended to scream at Seokjin. He hadn’t even really wanted him to go away. He didn’t know what he had wanted, but it wasn’t this. It was never this.
Namjoon strode over to him and flicked him on the forehead. Jimin cried out in surprise and jerked away, his ire instantly whitehot once more. “The fuck?” he said, clenching his fists at his sides.
“You’re not the only one hurting here, jackass,” Namjoon said, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “We all loved him.”
Not as much as I did, Jimin thought bitterly, but even in his anger he knew it was wrong to say it out loud. “He was my best friend,” Jimin said, settling on the easier statement, though both were true.
“I know,” Namjoon said simply. “And you have every right to be pissed. But don’t take it out on Jin-hyung.”
“Then who should I take it out on?” Jimin volleyed back, though in his heart he knew exactly who. His stomach churned with guilt and he felt like vomiting the single bite he’d managed to choke down.
“Me,” Namjoon said. Jimin blinked at him. “Seriously, I can take it. Scream, rant, hit me if you want. Leave the others alone and take it out on me.” Jimin furrowed his brow skeptically but remained silent. Now that he had permission, he suddenly didn’t want to yell anymore. Namjoon seemed to sense this and smirked ruthlessly. “Where the hell were you that night anyway?”
Jimin was off the couch before he’d thought to move, his hands fisted into Namjoon’s collar faster than lightning. “I was with you!” Jimin screamed. “I was in the motherfucking recording studio with you instead of out with him.”
“He texted you,” Namjoon said softly, unfazed. “Why didn’t you go with him?”
“Shut up!” Jimin yelled in his face, spit flying everywhere. “Do you know how many times I’ve asked myself that, you asshole? You think I don’t know how things would have turned out if I hadn’t stayed to work on your goddamned song? Like it even matters now. We can’t finish it without him.”
And with that, Jimin was off. Days of pent up energy came pouring out of his mouth, bitter vitriol splashing around them, enough to maybe drown them. He paced around the room, kicking the couch and throwing things. He expected Namjoon would try to stop him from destroying their possessions. Instead, he watched in near silence, occasionally tossing out a barb that fueled Jimin’s ire. At the height of Jimin’s rage, Namjoon chuckled bitterly. Jimin whipped around, one of Hoseok’s figurines falling out of his hand and clattering onto the floor.
“You think this is FUNNY?” Jimin roared, launching himself at Namjoon. The older boy dodged him at the last moment, and Jimin crashed into the couch. “YOU NEVER EVEN LIKED HIM!”
“Whatever, Jiminie,” Namjoon said with a shrug. The nickname was a slap in the face. This time, Namjoon was too slow. His jaw absorbed the full force of Jimin’s fist.
“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT.” Jimin’s second punch wasn’t so lucky. Namjoon caught it and used Jimin’s momentum against him, flipping him around and pinning him face-first against the wall. “LET GO!”
“You can yell all you want, but nothing’s going to get any better until you admit who you’re really mad at,” Namjoon snarled in his ear. “It’s not him and it’s not me.” Jimin struggled for a moment. Finally, he sighed and Namjoon let him go, stepping away carefully.
“What do you want to hear? That it’s my fault?” Jimin said. “OF COURSE it’s my fault. He’d still be alive if I’d have just–”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Yoongi muttered sleepily from the other side of the dim living room. Namjoon nodded at him in greeting, apologetic for waking him. Yoongi ignored him, his eyes fixed on Jimin’s. “You’d be dead, too.”
“Hyung,” Jimin said softly, the fight leaving him as suddenly as it came. He glanced guiltily at his fist.
“You better go put ice on that,” Yoongi said, motioning to Namjoon’s already-bruising cheek as he made his way across the room toward them. Namjoon nodded, flexing his jaw with a grimace. He disappeared into the kitchen. Yoongi flopped onto the couch, looking for all the world as if he intended to take up residence there.
Yoongi - Bargaining
“Sit,” Yoongi said, pointing at the chair across from him. Jimin, suddenly exhausted from his outburst and feeling no small amount of shame, sank into the chair gratefully. His hand ached, but he figured he deserved it. It was the least he deserved. “You have to stop punishing yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jimin laughed mirthlessly. “Sure, hyung,” he said. He stopped just short of rolling his eyes. He slid deeper into the chair, wishing for the oblivion of sleep that had occupied him for the last week. “Whatever.”
“What would you have done differently?” Yoongi asked, mouth curled cynically. Jimin looked up and bit his lip, replaying the familiar scene in his imagination, all the choices he could have, should have made.
“I would have kept him from going in the first place,” Jimin said. “I should have made him come up to the studio and wait for me.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. Taehyung was never deterred from a snack mission,” Yoongi said. “You know that. And I know you asked him to wait for you that night.”
“I should have tried harder,” Jimin said, moisture prickling his eyes. He blinked them stubbornly. “Or I should have gone with him.”
“And what were you going to do against a semi-automatic?” Yoongi harped. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not actually bulletproof. Tae proved that.” Jimin glared at him horrified, but his gaze was quickly broken by the tears that blurred his vision.
“That’s not funny,” Jimin said, his voice breaking.
“No, it’s not,” Yoongi admitted bluntly. “But it’s true. And you need to remember it. Nothing could have stopped a drug addict looking for fast cash. You couldn’t have changed any of this.”
“I could have pulled him to the back of the shop,” Jimin protested. “I could have kept him from playing the hero.”
“The only thing you could have done was make us bury both of you.” Jimin wondered idly if that would have been such a bad thing. Yoongi pressed his lips together and swallowed. “I know you’d trade your life for his if you could, but you can’t.” Jimin let the idea wash over him in silence for a while, before other words clawed at his throat.
“I could have been there,” Jimin whispered. “I could have…held his hand.”
He buried his face into the arm of the chair. A moment later, he felt the soft arms of his hyung pulling him closer, smoothing his hair. He sobbed against Yoongi’s chest for several minutes before he pulled away. “No, I can’t. I don’t–” He shoved Yoongi away from him and stood, his limbs burning with fractious energy. “I have to get out of here.” He bolted for the door, scrubbing the tears from his face.
Hoseok - Denial
An hour later, Jimin was drunk, desperately trying to block out Yoongi’s reassurances. To block out Namjoon’s bruised jaw. To block out Seokjin’s tearstained gaze. To block out Taehyung’s parents’ drawn faces and his little brother’s quivering chin and his little sister’s devastating confusion.
He pulled Hoseok off of his barstool and dragged him onto the dance floor. There were two things he knew he could count on Hoseok for. The first was showing up at a club after a text that just said, “Dance. Drinks. Now.” The other was not asking any questions. When Hoseok had arrived, Jimin was already several drinks ahead of him, but he simply sat down and tried his best to catch up. Jimin tried his best not to notice Hoseok’s missing smile.
Now, they lost themselves in the music. They danced with each other. They danced with women. They danced with strangers. They danced until they felt more sober than drunk and returned to the bar to remedy that problem. Then they danced more. His whole life, nothing could make him feel as vital and vibrant as dancing. The music pumping through his veins and rippling across his skin. The bass pounding in his chest and ears. The trickles of sweat and the burn of his muscles drowning out any other sensation but this exact moment. For the first time in days, he felt whole and real and alive.
And the second he felt it, he stopped. Stopped dancing. Stopped feeling. Stopped breathing. Hoseok crashed into him, gripping his shoulders to keep them both from toppling to the floor. Hoseok caught Jimin’s broken expression and immediately dragged him back to the bar.
“Shots?” Hoseok asked. Jimin felt sick but nodded. Hoseok signaled the bartender. As the man set the glasses down, he smiled a rectangular grin. Jimin froze. Hoseok saw it, too. Without a word, he slapped a few bills on the bar top, grabbed Jimin’s wrist, and dragged him out into the cool night air.
Before Jimin could dwell too long on the tightness in his chest, Hoseok was singing at the top of his lungs. Jimin groaned at the off-key melody and punched him in the arm. But Hoseok was persistent and his energy was infectious. Jimin felt himself being swept along by the alcohol and Hoseok’s arm around his neck. He glanced over his shoulder at the receding door of the bar, thinking of the man with Taehyung’s smile. But he really didn’t want to think about that man. Or about Taehyung. Especially about Taehyung.
It was nonsense, not really a song, but Jimin sang along anyway. He funneled the pain out of his lungs and into the darkness ahead of him. They stumbled their way home for more blocks than he remembered traveling on the way there, though the effects of the alcohol were wearing off rapidly. They burst into the dorm, laughing and tripping over each other’s feet. Jimin glanced at the wreckage he’d left earlier and steered Hoseok toward their room quickly, making a mental note to apologize in the morning. For so many things.
He paused at the threshold. Hoseok fell onto his own bed, unconscious the second his head hit the pillow. Jimin stared at the empty bunk across the room. He hadn’t slept in this room in eleven nights. Not since before. Not since there were two pairs of lungs breathing him a lullaby instead of Hoseok’s solitary exhalations. Not since he had come back from the studio in the wee hours of the morning and fallen obliviously onto the bottom bunk, unaware of the emptiness above him. The eternal emptiness. He spun on his heel and shot across the living room. The couch held little appeal, facing as it did the scene of his meltdown. He sought the only refuge he had left.
Jungkook - Acceptance
Jimin crept past Namjoon’s snores and slipped into Jungkook’s bed. He expected the maknae to be fast asleep at this hour, practically unwakeable. He did not expect the boy to roll over and bury his face in Jimin’s chest, shuddering for breath.
“Hey,” Jimin whispered, pulling him closer and smoothing his hair, trying to forget how Yoongi had done this for him mere hours ago. “It’s okay.”
“Where have you been?” Jungkook sobbed. Jimin felt the words stab into his heart as the tears seeped into his shirt. He was never in the right place at the right time.
“I’m here now,” Jimin whispered. Jungkook sniffed and gripped his shoulders.
“I needed you,” Jungkook said. “All week, I’ve needed you.”
“I know,” Jimin soothed, although he really hadn’t until this moment. He had been so consumed with his own bitter regret, he’d failed to see how the others were coping. Jungkook was practically a child. How could Jimin have forgotten to protect him? Why was he always failing to protect them? “I’m so sorry, Kookie. I should have been a better hyung.” To both of you.
“It’s not your fault,” Jungkook whispered, barely audible. “It’s mine.”
“What?” Jimin said, pulling back to stare at the maknae’s crumpled face.
“I won the video game,” Jungkook choked out, his face a disaster of tears and snot. “I made him go buy me ice cream as a rewwwward.” He wept frantically, turning his face away in shame.
“Kookie,” Jimin groaned. “No. Oh, Kookie, no. It’s not… No, you didn’t…” He didn’t have any words to combat the sorrow spilling onto his chest. And suddenly he heard Yoongi’s voice in his head. He did his best to parrot the words that had brought him a modicum of relief. “No one could have changed this, Kookie. None of us could have known.” He rubbed Jungkook’s back gently, wishing he had something, anything, better to offer him.
“I just… I mmmmiss himmmm,” Jungkook sobbed.
“Me, too,” Jimin choked, his own tears mingling with Jungkook’s hair. He clung to the boy like he was his salvation. And maybe he was. All he knew was that he’d suddenly remembered a reason to eat again. “We’ve got to take care of each other, okay? We can’t do this alone. No matter what. You hang on to me, and I’ll hang on to you. We’ll be okay. Someday.”
After a while, Jungkook’s tears abated. Jimin wasn’t sure his own ever would. But for the sake of the maknae, he took several deep breaths. Stuck by a sudden idea, he whipped the blankets off of them and reached down, pulling Jungkook’s thigh up across his hip. Jungkook looked at him startled, but Jimin simply pinched the skin between two moles.
“He’s here,” Jimin said softly. “You carry him with you. Every day, you carry him on the path. The one he couldn’t follow.” Jimin swallowed hard, and Jungkook nodded solemnly. As the boy finally drifted off to sleep, Jimin knew he didn’t need his own Taelephant. He had so much more to carry with him, and he would bear the burden well.