Work Text:
Taehyung doesn’t remember what they were fighting about.
It could have been anything, big or small — probably small because they didn’t usually fight about the big stuff. The petty fights held more weight and dragged on for days longer than they should. The both of them too tied up in their pride and stubbornness to relent and put down the sword.
Today, however, Taehyung was ready to wave the white flag first.
He’s been trying to reach Jimin all day, but so far, all his calls have gone to voicemail, a frustrating turn of events when he really needed extra help.
His stomach had been aching dully last night, and he thought it would go away if he waited it out. Jin Hyung even stopped by briefly on his way to another meeting to drop off a round of medicine from the pharmacy for indigestion and nausea, but so far, he has had no luck.
Yoongi had asked if he needed someone to stay home with him before he left for the studio with Namjoon and Hoseok to work on a cypher for their new album, and while Taehyung had said “No” initially — even going so far as to tell his manager to go home as well.
It just didn’t make sense for him to keep the man around when he was doing nothing but rotting in his bed. Plus, the man had a wife and two twin daughters at home. He didn’t need to bring whatever germs Taehyung managed to inhale home to his family.
He regretted the decision to be alone now, though. His bed felt so far away, his head throbbing as he stared up at the lights far too bright to be comfortable, glaring down at him. Taehyung was unclear on what happened; he’d started feeling nauseous and hurried to the bathroom to throw up for a bit, and honestly, he felt a bit better afterward. That was until he was halfway across the bathroom after cleaning up, more than ready to sink into his plush bed and sleep the rest of whatever bug he had away when the room began to swim uncontrollably.
Transported onto a teacup ride straight to hell, he panics when he realizes his vision is blurring out, darkness eating at the edges. Swallowing hard, he reached frantically for the edge of the sink, but only cold air met his skin, and he was on the floor, but not before the side of his head hit the edge of the counter.
Jungkook had turned off the floor heater before he’d left last, and Taehyung would do anything to have the energy to turn it on. He had chills before this, but the cool marble seeping through the thin fabric of his pajamas wasn’t helping. There was blood running along the side of his face and streaking through his hair, something that had been disconcerting to discover when he touched the source of the pain, only to find his fingertips coated in the dark red liquid.
Thankfully, he had his phone, but unfortunately, no one was picking it up. He didn’t blame them; they were all in meetings and classes. They probably had their phones shut off out of respect. Jimin, though…Jimin’s should be on. He was hanging out with a dance friend on a rare day off and clearly wanted some space, especially from Taehyung.
Taehyung wanted to respect that, and he did. Considering the magnitude of their fight and the fact they hadn’t talked to each other much outside of dance practices and recordings, etc., he would be a fool not to. But this was an emergency. Taehyung didn’t think he had hit his head that hard, but when he went to stand, he couldn’t. The room spun around in pandemonium, pain lancing through his skull enough to leave him breathless, nausea starting back up in earnest.
However, Jimin wasn’t answering his phone, and if Taehyung had to hear his chirpy voicemail one more time, he was going to scream.
Curling up in a ball, he closes his eyes against the lights and breathes through his nose as another wave of nausea gushes through him. Holding the uninjured side of his head, he applied gentle pressure, remembering how it sometimes helped with Jungkook’s migraines and hoping it would take the edge off the pounding. It doesn’t, but at least he tried.
Once he thought he could open his eyes without puking his guts out, he fumbled for the phone on the floor in front of him, wincing at the harsh blue light assaulting his retinas. He considered calling his manager back, but pulling him away from his family felt cruel after being assured he had the time off. All his members were booked.
Jimin was his only option because he was sure as hell not going to give the media anything to feed off of if they found out he called an ambulance.
Hitting speed dial on Jimin’s number again, he stares at a suspicious spot on the floor. After the obnoxious beep, his head aches so badly that he almost forgets what he’s supposed to say.
Gathering his last two uninflamed brain cells, he pulls himself together.
“H- hi, it’s me. Listen, I know you’re mad, and you wanted some space today and probably don’t want to talk to me again, but I really need you to call me back.”
His stomach cramps, and he groans, hanging up and lolling his head to the side, saliva pooling in his mouth. How long has it been since he first texted Jimin, asking him to call him? An hour? Two? Taehyung doesn’t remember.
Actually, how did he get into the bathroom? Why was he in the bathroom in the first place? Shaking his head gingerly, he gasps as pain’s sharp claws dug deeper into his body. He reached up to the strange warmth trickling down the side of his head. Pulling his fingers away, he sees the bloody fingers, red and shiny. Why am I bleeding? Did I fall?
Head pounding too much to keep his eyes open, he relaxes into the tile and watches the world around him swim dizzyingly. I should stay awake. However, his body holds more over him than his willpower, and despite his best attempts, he loses the war against consciousness. Darkness swallowing him whole.
#
“Jimin, are you sure you don’t need to check that?” Haru, his dance teacher, asked curious.
Glancing at his phone on the floor between them, he saw it was just Taehyung again and shook his head. “It’s fine.”
“Did you two fight again?” Haru says, amusement coloring his tone.
Jimin wiped away a thread of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Ha! It feels like that’s all we do right now.”
“What did he do this time?”
Truthfully, Taehyung hadn’t really done anything. It was more of a series of things in a long string of petty arguments that had been settling in the bottom of Jimin’s stomach until the look he gave him a few days ago caused all that frustration, resentment, and anger to burst out.
Before anyone could react, they were in the middle of a yelling match, Seokjin trying to mediate, and the rest were too shocked to do anything.
They were being cordial now for the sake of the group, and Jimin should move on and let bygones be bygones, but he was stubborn, and the idea of letting Taehyung off the hook sent a sensation like ants crawling across his skin. No.
“Nothing worth talking about,” Jimin sighed, stretching his neck. “Want to run through that segment again?”
Haru shrugs. “Only if you want to. I promised Seung-duk-hyung I wouldn’t wear you out too much today. You have a tough choreography day tomorrow.”
Jimin groans and playfully throws his empty water bottle at him. “Don’t remind me.”
When Haru rewinds the track and music pulses through the studio, Jimin shakes off the niggling sense of “off-ness” hanging around him. It started after seeing Taehyung’s name, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He didn’t want to dwell on it. After all, he wanted to dance today to get out having to see Taehyung. Shrugging his shoulders, he waits for the right beat before jumping into the choreography Haru created, the worry fading along the music notes until he’s weightless and free, barely tethered to earth as they work out a section of the dance, giving him trouble.
It’s not until a few hours later, when Jimin feels the cool evening breeze wafting in the scents of Seoul that he checks his phone.
6 missed messages from Taehyung? I know we should talk, but isn’t this a bit excessive?
Pulling his jacket tighter, he nods to his manager in thanks when he moves to hold the car door open. He perks up at the smell of japchae wafting from the backseat and stares at the man through the rearview mirror. “Is that?”
His manager, Byeon-seok, smiles. “Sure is. You’ve been working hard, Jimin-ssi.”
After thanking him profusely, Jimin settles into his seat, excitement bubbling at the thought of showering and curling up on the couch with his japchae later. His phone buzzes again with a notification from Haru thanking him for hanging out with him earlier and a video of Jimin dancing to the polished piece. Smiling, he swipes to respond, and the trail of missed calls from Taehyung pops up.
Sighing, he swipes to listen to one, curiosity winning out. Putting it on speaker, he settles back into the seat and stares out the window. The afternoon gives way to night, and the moon is visible in the sunset of vibrant oranges and purples.
“Hey, it’s me. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I’m interrupting your day off, but I’m not feeling well. I’m assuming since you didn’t answer, so I’ll uh- I’ll maybe talk to you later?”
At first, Jimin is angry. Taehyung is 22 years old. He can take care of himself, and he knows damn well where they keep the cold and flu stuff. Whatever he had was probably because he insisted on staying up until ungodly hours of the night playing computer games or watching anime. Aka, it’s his fault.
Erasing the message, he watches the phone flips on to the next one.
“Ya, Jimin-ah. Again, I’m sorry for interrupting, and I know you don’t want to talk to me. I understand, but I need you to call me back. It’s important.”
Frowning, Jimin watches the time on the recording come to a stop. Something in Taehyung’s tone sparks a note of worry in his gut. Usually, he sounds energetic and amiable, but in this recording, he sounds tired and congested and…something else.
Playing with a loose thread on his seatbelt, he switches to the following message.
“Alright. Message received. You’re pissed at me- you’re freaking pissed, and I’m sorry, alright? Just- pick up the phone. Please. I-I’m really not feeling well, and I think…I think I fell in the bathroom. I don’t remember. Just call me when you get this?”
Inhaling sharply, Jimin looks up and meets Byeon-suk’s eyes in the mirror. The man’s eyebrows are furrowed deeply. Without Jimin having to say a word, he steps on the gas. “I’ll get you there as soon as possible, Jimin-ssi.”
Nodding weakly, Jimin stares at his phone like it’s a bomb. There’s one last message to listen to, and he doesn’t know if he has the strength to listen to it, but he has to.
Staticy silence echoes back at him, and Jimin’s heart picks up at its length. A small whimper follows along with a choked sob. Silence again, a muffled curse, the sound of someone throwing up, and the message ends. Heat rushes through Jimin’s system, and he grips the edge of his necklace, the metal cutting into the meat of his palms. Hitting “return call,” he taps his foot anxiously against the upholstered floor.
The line rings and rings and rings, but Taehyung doesn’t pick up.
Swearing, Jimin texts Namjoon to let him know what’s happening, even though it won’t be seen till later. He’s a stickler for turning off his phone while working. All he can do next is keep trying Taehyung’s phone and pray he’s not as bad off as the voicemails sounded, but deep down, something tells him his hopes are in vain.
#
When he returns to their apartment, he signs in at the front and quickly heads up — running when there’s no one in the corridor. He had his manager drop him off while he found parking, each second precious. Jimin’s mind whirls with thoughts about everything that could be wrong with his dongsaeng. A heaping spoonful of guilt bubbled beneath it. If I just answered his calls.
Tapping in the passcode for the door, it unlocks with a soft beep! and the mechanical hiss of gears. Throwing his weight into the wood, he tumbles inside, tripping over his feet.
“Taehyung?” he calls into the noticeably dark space. All the shades are drawn, and the only sound is the purifier in the living room, humming away with a dull whirl. With his heart in his throat and sweat collecting along his vertebrae, Jimin races down the hallway just off the kitchen.
The bedroom Taehyung shared with Namjoon wasn’t far, and Jimin relaxed a bit when he noticed the cracked door. He’s fine. He has to be. Pushing the door back, he frowns at the darkness, an odor familiar to him when the other members get sick, smacking him in the face. A stale scent with undertones of sweetness and something else. It’s sour and pungent. Vomit? Dread rolling in waves beneath his skin, Jimin walks towards the bathroom, where a light glows around the partially shut door. Bracing himself on the handle momentarily, he tries to steady his breathing. Stop being a coward. He probably just fell asleep on the toilet again.
They are lies he uses to comfort himself. Inside, he knows it’s not true and that whatever is on the other side of the door is bad, but he doesn’t realize how bad it is until he pushes the door open and takes in the scene in front of him.
Taehyung lay on his side on the ground, a thin white t-shirt baggy around his skinny frame. A puddle of vomit glimmers a few inches away from his face, but what strikes the knife of panic so deep Jimin can’t breathe for a second is the blood dripping down the side of his face and congealing in the clavicle of his neck.
“Taehyung!”
Dropping to his knees, barely feeling the ache of his kneecaps as they hit the hard tile, he scrambles forward and taps his dongsaeng’s cheek. “Taehyung? Hey, it’s me. Come on, wake up. Wake up.”
Taehyung’s eyes are closed, the dark circles under them horrifyingly pronounced, and his usually tan and honey-glazed skin is pale—paler than Yoongi's, which is startling, to say the least. Fearing the worst, Jimin sticks his fingers under Taehyung’s nose, shoulders collapsing when he feels the faintest bit of air, hot and dry, skating over his skin.
“Thank God.”
“Jimin-ssi?”
Byeon-seok.
“In the bathroom!” Jimin yells over his shoulders, loosening the collar around Taehyung's neck and wincing at the heat emanating from his member’s skin. Damn, Tae. Why can’t you do anything halfway?
“Call 1-1-9!”
Byeon-seok burst through the bathroom door a second later, his cell phone pressed to his ear. If he’s surprised by the scene before him, he does a good job of hiding it. His professionalism falls into place as he kneels beside Jimin.
“I think he hit his head,” Jimin explained frantically, pushing back Taehyung’s curls and revealing a nasty-looking two-inch gash along the side of his head. “He has a fever, too.”
Byeon-seok repeats what he says to EMS, and Jimin is looking for anything to get Taehyung cooler when a soft whimper breaks through Byeon-seok’s talking. Freezing, Jimin glances down in time to see Taehyung’s lashes flutter.
“Tae?” Jimin whispers, and then louder. “Taehyung? Hey, it’s me. I’m here.”
Taehyung’s head flops listlessly towards the sound of his voice, his brows furrowing even if his eyes don’t open. “Can—can’t be, Jimin,” he says, the words barely above a whisper. “Jimin hates me. Busy. I hurt him.”
Glancing at his manager, fear coloring his vision oscillating red, magenta, and purple hues, Jimin shakes his head and presses his palm against Taehyung’s cheek. “It’s really me, and I don’t hate you, Tae. I could never hate you.”
Taehyung groans in response, his head pressing heavier in Jimin’s hand.
“Get a cool washcloth,” Byeon-seok commands. "EMS will be here soon, but they want us to get him cool and, if he’s awake, try to keep him awake.”
Jimin nods mutely and taps Taehyung’s cheeks, the vice of his chest easing when his eyes flutter again and open to thin slits before slipping shut again.
“Jimin?” he whispers.
Emotion clogged his throat; Jimin leaned closer, hating the unnatural flush high on Taehyung’s cheeks.
“I’m right here, Tae. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jimin, why are you here?” Taehyung’s brow furrows harder. “Shouldn’t…you’re…you’re dancing.”
A choked laugh and a salty tear escaped him, his fear for his brother overflowing. “Silly, you called me, remember?”
“Called?” Taehyung’s eyes open again. “Jimin? What are you doing here?”
Ice stakes its cold claim over him again, and Jimin looks up at Byeon-seok. The older man’s worry slips through his stoic facade, the sheen in his eyes saying more than he could.
He’ll be fine. He just hit his head pretty hard. Of course, he’s confused.
Exhaling shakily, Jimin repeated the conversation they’d just had, his hands shaking when Taehyung stopped responding.
EMS arrived a few minutes later, urging them out of the small bathroom so they could help Taehyung. The female paramedic shines a light in Taehyung’s eyes. He doesn’t respond to it and she tsks.
“Unconcious. Pupils dilated. Based on the head trauma, I’m guessing we’re dealing with a pretty hefty concussion.”
“Heart rate is rapid but strong. Oxygen levels are low.”
“Start a drip and —”
Whatever she says next is overshadowed by Byeon-seok pulling Jimin in for a quick hug. It’s an unexpected move for the man, but Jimin welcomes it. Even though technically he’s an adult, he doesn’t feel like one now, and the older man’s presence is a blessing.
Silently, they watch as the paramedics hook Taehyung up to an IV and prepare him for transport. “We’ll be taking him to Seoul General Hospital.” The female paramedic notes as they wheel Taehyung out, " There is room for one in the ambulance?”
Her eyes flit between them, and Jimin freezes, unsure what to do. Byeon-seok is one step ahead of him.
“I’ll be right behind you with his…brother.”
The paramedic smiles with a quick nod. “All right. Don’t worry too much. We’ll take good care of him.”
Jimin watches them retreat down the hall, their heavy footfalls echoing long after they’d left. A thought strikes him. “The members. I need to let them know what happened.”
Byeon-seok grips his shoulder tightly. “I already texted their security teams and managers. They’ll join us at the hospital as soon as possible. Are you okay?”
Am I?
He didn’t have tubes stuck in his arms, an oxygen mask plastered over his face, or a bleeding head wound. Sure, he was fine, but guilt…guilt was eating away at him. The adrenaline from everything faded, and oh, he did feel a little dizzy.
“Whoa,” Byeon-seok reaches out to steady him. “Hey. It’s okay. Taehyung is in great hands. He’ll pull through.”
“I was such an ass to him,” Jimin groans, rubbing at his eyes violently, trying to erase the image of Taehyung lifeless and bloodied on the tile. “We fought, and I didn’t answer his calls. If I just picked up, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”
“God only knows, Jimin-ssi. Regret isn’t going to help Taehyung get better. You two can hash it out when he wakes up, but he needs his best friend right now. Can you do that?”
Directions. I can do directions.
Nodding jerkily, Jimin wiped away the salty residue of his earlier tears and straightened his spine, allowing Byeon-seok to lead him out to the car. His mind was a raging wildfire of thoughts and emotions, but the one thing standing strong amongst all the voices was: Be strong for Taehyung.
Staring listlessly out the window as his manager pulled out into the busy street, Jimin studied the reflection of his sad eyes in the glass. Please be okay, Taehyung. I need you to be okay.
#
By the time the others get to the hospital, Jimin’s been there for an hour. While the VIP lounge of the hospital had comfortable, plush chairs and was well-equipped with snacks and drinks of all kinds, he couldn’t sit still. He paced from one end to the other until Byeon-seok mentioned he would wear a hole in the carpet if he kept it up. Taking the hint, he’d parked himself in the nearest chair, but it didn’t last long.
The doctor had yet to come and update them about Taehyung’s condition, and until he did, Jimin couldn’t rest.
“Jimin!” Jin enters the lounge, his members — brothers, really — trailing close behind. “What happened?”
Jimin stands to greet them, his palms sweating, unsure of what to say or how to say the things he did. Would they be mad when they discovered his role in Taehyung’s condition? Would they —
“Hey, Jimin-ah.”
Yoongi.
Swallowing hard, tears dangerously close, Jimin swipes at them aggressively. The thin thread of his strength severed in the presence of the five other bodies crowding around him, their faces drawn in worry.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, he called me. Several times. I didn’t answer. We were fighting, but if I just stopped being stubborn for two seconds, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”
“Hey,” Jungkook steps forward and grabs Jimin’s wrists, his dark eyes sparkling under the fluorescents. His hair is sweaty. He must have just come from his boxing lessons. “It’s not your fault, okay? Sometimes sucky things just happen.”
Hoseok nods quickly. “If it makes you feel any better, Jimin. He called each of us at least once, and we didn’t pick up either, so according to your logic, we’re all to blame.”
Frowning deeply, Jimin shook his head. “No, I —”
Namjoon smiled.
Oh.
Jin sighs heavily and rubs his forehead. “That kid will never not be giving me headaches, will he?”
“Nope,” Jungkook agreed cheerfully. “That’s Hyung for you.”
The youngest’s smile wavers and Jimin gives him a brief side hug. “He’ll be okay, Kook.”
“Family of Kim Taehyung?”
Jimin looked over the sea of his brothers, sagging in relief when he saw the doctor in a white coat and blue scrubs enter the lounge.
“That’s us,” Yoongi says calmly, his arms crossed over his chest.
The doctor shook all their hands with a gentle smile, the lines on his face softening the severity of his features. “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, but all things considered, Taehyung-ssi is doing well. He has a viral infection causing the sudden spike in his fever and a nasty concussion on top of it. He was lucid for a few minutes with us after we got his fever down to a more reasonable level, and he mentioned hitting his head on the counter. He’s lucky the edge hit where it did. A few inches closer, and it would have been extremely close to his eye.”
Rolling his neck, the doctor glanced down at his notes. “We put in a few staples to close the wound and are currently monitoring the concussion. I’d like to keep him overnight so we can do neurological checks due to the severity of the concussion, but he should be fine to head home tomorrow.”
“Can we see him?” Jimin asks before the doctor says the last word. Smiling, the man nods.
“Of course. He’s in and out of sleep right now; his body is exhausted, so make it brief?”
At their promise to do so, the man signals a young nurse passing by and asks her to take them to Taehyung’s room.
Seeing Taehyung is a burst of oxygen and sweetness on Jimin’s tongue. His head is bandaged, hiding the staples beneath, and his skin is pale but less so than earlier. He’s hooked up to an IV and miraculously awake.
His lids are heavy, but his eyes light up when he sees them.
“Hey,” he says weakly. “Sorry, I ruined your schedules.”
“Screw the schedule,” Jungkook says cheekily, the first to get to the second youngest bedside. “You’re more important. How are you feeling?”
Jimin hangs back while the rest of them arrange themselves around Taehyung’s bed as close as possible. His guilt rears its ugly head again.
“I’m okay,” he hears Taehyung say. “Sore. They gave me some Tylenol for the massive migraine because I can’t have heavy painkillers, but I’ll live.”
A pause.
“Where’s Jimin?”
Heart seizing, Jimin steps out from around Jin Hyung’s broad shoulders and smiles weakly at his soulmate.
“Here,”
Taehyung looks at him thoughtfully for a second before opening his arms, and Jimin hurries to fill them, leaning over the edge of the bed rail and tucking his head as gently as he can against Taehyung’s neck. He smells like hospital antiseptic. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” Taehyung whispers. “And for generally being an ass lately.”
Jimin can’t believe what he’s hearing. Pulling away, he stares down at Taehyung in disbelief. “Save it, Taehyung. I should be the one apologizing to you! If I just answered when you called…”
Taehyung squeezes his hand. “I honestly don’t remember too much about that, Jimin. You were busy. I get it. Can we…” he winces. “My head hurts too much for this right now, but let’s just let it go? It’s no one’s fault. Just…life.”
Jimin nods, smoothing his hand over Taehyung’s forehead briefly before letting the others get a chance to talk to him.
Just life.
He’s lived on the principle that if something bad happened, he was to blame for it. Either he didn’t work hard enough, do enough, wasn’t enough, etc., but maybe…maybe Taehyung’s right. Maybe things just happen, and it’s no one’s fault.
“Let it go, Jimin-ah.” Namjoon whispers in his ear.
Starling, Jimin turns his head to look at the leader, noting the appearance of his dimple. “He’s going to be fine, and so are you. I bet it was scary seeing him like that earlier, but I’m really thankful you found him. You always know what he needs.”
The words of comfort salve Jimin’s wounded spirit, and he rests his head on his hyung’s shoulder. “I thought he was dead,” he whispered on an exhale.
Namjoon rubbed circles across his back while they watched Jungkook prod Taehyung with a few questions. “But he wasn’t, and he’s fine now. Thank to you.”
Melting more into the warmth of Namjoon’s body, Jimin closes his eyes briefly. In the past several hours, Jimin felt like he had matured. The startling reality is that our time with the people we love is short and fleeting, and it is not worth letting a petty fight or any fight shorten it.
Jimin meets Taehyung’s questioning, pain-laced gaze and smiles reassuringly.
I hope I always remember that.