Work Text:
Denial
“So…” Hoseok stood in the doorway, leaning casually and eyeing Taehyung much too calmly.
“So what? I’m fine.” Taehyung stood in front the mirror, adjusting his shirt until it hung just right, tugging his belt a smidge lower. Jimin had always told him he should use the sharpness of his hipbones to his advantage. “Let’s go.” Hoseok nodded mutely and fell in step behind him.
The club was loud and crowded and perfect. Taehyung headed for the bar as soon as they were in the doors, downing a shot and then practically running to the dance floor, where he lost himself. The music shoved every though out of his head, shoved the memories aside, pushed the surging grief down, swallowed with every beat. He was fine. He felt alive. He was full of music, letting it push its way through him, hips and arms moving without conscious thought. He danced with whoever was near, grabbing hands and hips, pressing himself into the crowd.
“Smile for me, Hobi!” Taehyung shouted above the music, shaking his head and arms to the beat. And Hoseok indulged him. He smiled, moving like liquid and smoke, but his smile was wrong. It wasn’t right. His mouth wasn’t the right mouth. It wasn’t Jimin’s smile. He wasn’t Jimin. Taehyung smiled as wide as his face would let him, manic laughter pressing its way out, and he danced. He danced until he couldn’t think.
Each time a song that reminded him of Jimin came on, he disappeared to the bar. Shots slammed back to keep the creeping sorrow at bay. Shots of everything. Shots on fire. Shots in glasses dropped in larger glasses. Shots offered in the hands of pretty girls. Shots on collar bones and belly buttons. Shots with whipped cream and layers. Anything he could slam back fast enough to push any feeling down to a manageable roar. Then he went back to dance.
Hoseok was right there beside him, movements familiar and comforting. They’d done this often enough they could dance with only inches between them and never bump into each other unintentionally. But tonight it was different. Hoseok wasn’t quite himself. Taehyung couldn’t find the right wavelength. He was jarred. On one of his trips back to the dance floor, he saw it. Hoseok wasn’t dancing like himself. He was dancing like Jimin. The difference was subtle but identifiable and Taehyung felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. How dare he? Hoseok was in the center of the floor, surrounded by strangers, alive and celebrating. Which is what Taehyung was doing, damnit. He was celebrating. He was alive.
But Hoseok was celebrating Jimin’s life in the best way possible, through dance. He was expressing his joy at having known him through his body. Taehyung was trying to drown every thought of Jimin. Shit. He headed back to the bar, the numbness he’d carefully cultivated slipping away with each step. One more shot. He relished the burn. The glass was cool and heavy in his hand. He hefted it a little, feeling the smoothness of the glass, the balance of it. He gave it a tiny toss in his hand and it felt good. Really good.
Before he quite realized what he was doing, he’d pulled his arm back, but a firm hand was gripping his wrist and Hoseok whispered in his ear fiercely, “Not here.”
Taehyung wrenched his hand free, setting the shot glass down with deliberate carefulness. He stared at Hoseok and let his face go blank. “I’m leaving.”
Anger
“Wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“No, I want Hoseok to keep his fucking mouth shut.” Taehyung pushed his pillow down over his face. He didn’t need this helpful intervention. He wasn’t a child. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum or a shot glass.
“Hoseok is smart enough to know that keeping you in check is more important right now.”
“Really, hyung? That’s your life mission now? To keep me in check?” Taehyung sat up, chucking his pillow to the floor. “Well, check it out, I’ve got it under control, ok? So, how about you get the fuck out of my face and leave me alone.”
“Taehyung, I know you’re hurting, but you need to watch your mouth.” Namjoon stood, back stiff and anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention would have known to be careful, but Taehyung wasn’t paying attention to anything but the raw, raging ache in his throat and behind his ribs. He was being eaten alive and he wanted to scream. No one had any idea what it was like to be living this half empty life.
“Do I? Do I need to tread lightly so I don’t hurt your feelings? Because I know you were so close to Jimin.”
“You entitled little shit. You don’t have the corner market on grief, ok? Everyone knows Jimin was your best friend, and I’m sorry this sucks, but don’t be mad at me.”
“Why not? You weren’t there, leader.” Taehyung saw Namjoon flinch at that. A dark part of his heart leapt and he pushed it to the front. “I was, so I think I’ll go ahead and be as mad as I want.” Taehyung was standing now, nose to nose with Namjoon. He wanted to push him. Throw him against a wall. Taehyung wanted to hit him until he felt as badly as he did right now. He wasn’t weak, but he knew he was outmatched, so he lashed out with his words instead. “You couldn’t keep us safe, could you? You left us to fend for ourselves. You helped the golden maknae and told us to hurry along. Catch the next shuttle and meet you later, right?” Taehyung was right up in his face, spit flying with the force of his words. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “Where was your shuttle, leader, when we were being crushed against an embankment?”
In a flash, Namjoon’s hands were at his collar, fists of fabric hauling him up on his toes as he shook him. “You think I don’t know that?” Namjoon growled. “But who are you pissed at, Taehyung? Me for saving Jungkook, or you for killing Jimin?” His voice was like ice, slicing through the inferno pressing against his skull.
Taehyung’s hands scrabbled at Namjoon’s fists, trying to pull back but his grip was too strong. He was too strong. And he was right. It wasn’t Namjoon’s fault they’d been lagging behind the rest of the members. It was his. Taehyung had been distracted by the beautiful view, chasing a pigeon off to the edge of the pier. Taehyung had held them back. Taehyung had held Jimin’s hand and made them miss the shuttle that took everyone safely back to the hotel. Taehyung had held Jimin’s hand.
Namjoon’s hands were the only things holding him up now.
Depression
“He hasn’t come out in days.” Taehyung heard Yoongi’s voice through the door and cringed. “So I’m going in."
Taehyung buried his head in the covers, trying to feign sleep. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d showered. Yesterday? Or the day before? When had he last worn pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband? He’d just grabbed whatever his hand landed on, sobbing when more often than not that turned out to be something of Jimin’s. The T-shirt Taehyung had borrowed and never returned, despite constant nagging. The shorts Jimin had left on Taehyung’s bed, promising to pick them up when he got back. But he never came back.
The door opened and Taehyung tensed, preparing the litany of refusals that had been his only communication lately. No, I’m not hungry. No, I don’t want to play. No, I don’t want to come. No, I don’t want to. No, I don’t. No.
But Yoongi didn’t speak. He sighed as he closed the door, but was otherwise silent. Taehyung itched to roll over, curiosity and distrust twisting knots under his skin, but he wanted to be left alone more. The bed dipped and he grunted as Yoongi pushed his way under the covers, throwing an arm over Taehyung’s ribs and using him for leverage to scoot in close. Taehyung tried to squirm away, pushing with his shoulders and his hips, but Yoongi was persistent and unflappable, holding him and adjusting to each new position without complaint. Taehyung didn’t want to be held. He didn’t want to be cuddled. He didn’t want them to be nice to him. He didn’t deserve it.
Namjoon’s anger had cast a harsh light on the truth. Jimin was dead and it was all Taehyung’s fault. Yoongi was on top of him now, head pressed to his chest, tucked under Taehyung’s chin. He fit just the way Jimin did, only not at all like Jimin did. Taehyung tightened his arms around Yoongi, holding him tight and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to remember what it was like when he and Jimin would collapse together after a long day.
He couldn’t squeeze hard enough to keep the tears inside and he was too tired to fight them. So he let them fall. Down cheeks that were hollower than they should be. Into Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi was silent, but his shoulders shook too, soaking the front of Taehyung’s shirt. They lay together until sobs stilled to sniffles.
"I’m so sorry, hyung,” Taehyung choked out.
“Ya, you should be.” Taehyung wrinkled his nose. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but it rang too true. Yoongi understood. Yoongi would listen.
“It’s…it’s all my fault.” Taehyung’s voice was barely a whisper, just pain and guilt escaping through his raw throat.
“I know,” Yoongi sighed, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. “I still can’t figure out how you managed to give that semi-driver an aneurism though. You must have incredible super powers. Not enough to stop a wildly out of control three ton truck from crashing into your shuttle, but still. ”
Taehyung felt a laugh get stuck in his throat despite himself. He couldn’t let it escape, couldn’t laugh now or he would go mad. Yoongi was joking, but the truth was still plain. This was all Taehyung’s fault.
“I’ve seen the scars, Tae. Did you try to hug him to death before the impact?” Taehyung flinched, closing his eyes against visions of shattering glass, Jimin’s mouth open wide but silent. He’d wrapped his arms around him without thinking. It’s just what he did. He was always holding him. Suddenly, Yoongi was much too heavy. Taehyung struggled to sit up, pushing Yoongi to the side, but Yoongi wouldn’t let him get too far. He kept a hand on Taehyung’s back, tracing the pattern of scars.
There was no laughter in Yoongi’s voice now, just quiet resignation. “You did everything for him. You gave him everything.”
Taehyung felt the panic rising up as the enormity of the situation crashed down around him. How truly helpless he was. He’d done everything and it wasn’t enough. He grasped for anything to ground himself, something to cling to. He reached back to twist his fingers with Yoongi’s and the fabric of his shirt, pressing their hands to the scars that would always remind him that he had survived. Jimin would want that. Jimin would want him to be ok. He would do what he could for Jimin.
Bargaining
“When was the last time you slept, Taehyung?” Seokjin’s voice cut through the drone of the vacuum cleaner.
“I’m fine, hyung. I’m almost done in here. I’ll rest after.” Taehyung kept his head down. He looked around the spotless living room, pride and satisfaction glowing in his chest. He was doing a good job.
“Not that I don’t appreciate all your hard work, you know I do, but you can’t run yourself into the ground like this.” Seokjin sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he eyed Taehyung warily.
“It’s not trouble at all, really. I just want to keep busy.” Taehyung had to keep busy. He had to work hard. They were missing Jimin, and he’d been practically useless for more weeks than he could count. It was time to buckle down. It was time to earn his keep again. He had to be worth it. He had to make it worth it. “Besides, many hands make light work, right?” He smiled. Jimin would like that. Jimin would want him to keep going. He would keep going for Jimin. He would work hard for Jimin. Jimin wasn’t here to do these things, so Taehyung would do them instead.
“There’s a difference between busy and ballistic. Turn that thing off and go eat.”
“I will in a minute. I just need to finish this.”
“You just need to eat,” Seokjin countered, voice rising sharply.
“I can’t!” Taehyung shouted back. “I have to do this. I have to do all this,” he said, waving his arm around the room. “I have to make it worth it!”
“Make what worth it?”
“My life!” Taehyung screamed. He shoved the vacuum away and walked towards the kitchen. Seokjin followed, only pausing to unplug the vacuum. The room was eerily quiet without it. Taehyung could hear his ragged breaths but felt helpless to calm them. “I shouldn’t be here. It should be him. It should’ve been me instead. He’d be handling this so much better anyway.” Taehyung wouldn’t meet Seokjin’s eyes. He grabbed a sponge and began to wipe down the already spotless counters.
“He’d be a wreck and you know it.” Seokjin put his hand on top of Taehyung’s, stilling the restless movement. “You can’t bring him back by punishing yourself for being alive.” He pulled the sponge out of Taehyung’s hands and set it by the sink. Taehyung’s hands were trembling now. He felt like he hadn’t been still for days. Empty hands and empty heart were just too much to handle, but his hands weren’t empty for long. Seokjin threaded his fingers through Taehyung’s and tugged him along. Down the hallway to his room. He pushed him down gently on to the edge of the bed and fixed him with a firm stare.
“Sit. I’ll be back with some rice, which you will eat. Then you will take a nap.” Taehyung nodded, grabbing a pillow to lay in his lap. He felt the ache of exertion in his bones. Different from a hard day of performing or rehearsing or recording. There was no reward for this extra effort. He just felt empty. He couldn’t bring Jimin back. He started to shake again. Seokjin shoved a bowl of rice in his hands and he grabbed the spoon greedily, shoveling it into his mouth.
One thing at a time. First, he would eat. Then he would sleep. Then he would figure out how to move on.
Acceptance
“You’re drooling on my pillow, Taehyungie-hyung.” Jungkook was poking him in the ribs with his cold toes. Taehyung sat up, dragging his sleeve across his mouth as he mumbled his apologies. The light was dim, but he couldn’t tell if that was because it was late or early. He wasn’t sure why he’d collapsed in Jungkook’s room instead of his own. He used to do it all the time. But it had been a while.
“How long was I out?”
“Not long enough.” Jungkook sat near him, feet pulled up and arms around his knees. He wasn’t touching him, curled in on himself, protective. Taehyung’s heart ached. He wasn’t a baby anymore, but he also hadn’t grown into the man he would be someday. He knew Jungkook was hurting too. He knew he should be there for him, but of everyone, he’d been avoiding Jungkook the most. Somewhere in the haze of exhaustion, he’d let his guard down enough to seek him out, curling up on his bed in his absence.
"Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked. Jungkook only shrugged, chin resting on his knees. “Well come here,” Taehyung said, reaching to pull the boy down, but Jungkook shook his head and Taehyung pulled his hand back, shocked.
“Jungkookie?” He leaned forward, mimicking the boy’s posture.
“You know you haven’t touched me since,” Jungkook said flatly but it hit Taehyung like a slap. “You’ve hugged everyone but me.” Taehyung watched him swallow with difficulty, saw the tears in his eyes that he was holding back.
“Oh shit, Kookie, I’m-”
“No, I get it. You didn’t want the reminder. I was just the other boy from Busan. The one who got in the shuttle you should have been in,” he spat. “But did you ever think what it was like for me to lose both of you?”
Tears slipped slowly down his face and Taehyung lunged forward to wrap his arms around his precious maknae. Jungkook struggled fitfully. If he really wanted Taehyung gone he could do it with ease, so Taehyung clung tighter, wrapping himself around Jungkook, holding on until he stopped trying to push him away, until he was pulling him in, just like Yoongi had done.
Taehyung whispered his apologies into Jungkook’s hair, words falling from his lips as fast as his tears. He had no excuses. He didn’t deserve the easy acceptance that Jungkook offered between sniffles. Being alone with Jungkook was just as hard as he’d feared. Jimin had always been the glue between them, the first bridge in their friendship, the thing they had most in common. Taehyung never felt his loss more keenly than when he looked at Jungkook. Namjoon had saved Jungkook. That fact was, for the first time, not a wound, but a balm to his broken heart.
But being here with Jungkook was better than he had hoped. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Jungkook, his little brother, the only one who looked up to him. This was it. This is what Jimin would have wanted. He would have wanted him to take care of Jungkook. To listen to the hyungs. To do his best and live and celebrate every little thing twice as much as when he was here.
He untangled himself just far enough to look at Jungkook’s face. “You look like shit, maknae.”
“You’re not looking so hot either, hyung.” Taehyung tilted his head and squinted.
“Jeon Jungkookie,” he sang softly.
“Oh shut up.”
“Jeon Jungkookie-ie-ie!”
“Seriously? I thought I’d never have to hear that stupid song ever again.” Jungkook rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He also snuggled back into Taehyung’s arms. “I thought I’d never hear it again,” he said softly.
“Nah, I plan on picking up all Jimin’s annoying habits now.”
Jungkook poked him in the belly. “Then I guess you’d better start hitting the gym with me. Gonna have to work hard to get your debut body back.” Taehyung groaned and squirmed a bit.
“Ok, maybe not all his habits. I mean, after all, it makes more sense for you to take the high notes, so you can do the muscle stuff too.” Jungkook only nodded. Taehyung figured they would all spend too much time figuring out how to fill the Jimin shaped holes in their lives.