Archive of Our Own

It does not take much for a soul to remain behind.

All it takes is a sliver of doubt. A thought, a regret, a small inkling of a wish to remain.

Hoseok sighs. Lets his eyes stray from Jimin's form before him, so ethereal, so beautiful. So out of this world. He's watching him intently, one hand tucked into the pocket of his pants while the other rubs at the back of his neck. His gaze is unnerving, dark eyes staring at him beneath short lashes, intent and vigilant. Curious.

Hoseok doesn't let his eyes linger, however. Does not allow himself to bask in his image - Jimin's hair the fresh, vivid color of amber he had tried so hard to obtain dying it himself. After many tries, many failed hues of yellows and reds and inbetweens, he'd finally done it and rushed to his dingy, bare apartment soon after. The smell had been strong, fresh still when Hoseok ran a hand through it, smiling and congratulating him. He remembers it well, the smile Jimin had worn then.

He's also wearing the thick eyeliner and shadow he'd worn that night. The one he'd fussed over for almost an hour while Hoseok all but took a nap in his bed, tired of waiting. Tired of complaining for him to hurry up. At least his make up is still in tact. Prim and perfect, just as he'd announced it himself, loud enough to wake him up before Jimin pulled him up and guided him out the door.

A smile is inevitable, pained as it is, but Hoseok finds himself doing so. Pressing a hand against his eyes so he can't look at him. If only he could somehow stuff something, anything, into his ears so he could block all sound out. So he wouldn't have to deal with Jimin's soft, questioning calls. Voice still the exact same he remembers, whispering his way. Calling him 'hyung' over and over again.

It's maddening. It's tearing at his chest, at the pain lodged there ever since that night that he’s tried so hard to ignore. It’s constricting. Almost hard to breathe, almost hard to contain the choke, the sob that wants to escape so, so much. Threatening, teetering between his chest and the length of his throat, clawing its way even as he tries to swallow it down.

So close. Jimin's so close. He didn't leave, he's watching - ever so intent, ever so observant and vigilant and hopeful. Hoseok can hear it in the tone of his voice, in the way he calls his name again and again. In the way a cold shiver runs up his spine and he knows, he knows - doesn't need to open his eyes, to pull his hand away from his vision and see for himself - that Jimin tried to touch him.

The temptation is so tantalizing. To pull his hand away and stare long and hard at him - take every small and minuscule detail, everything, in. He's torn between letting the sobs overtake him and reaching out to run his fingers through his amber colored hair. Answering to his calls. Hoseok wants to, he wants to, he wants to - but neither is a viable option right now. Neither puts Jimin to rest.

Hoseok throws himself over the mattress. Lets his limbs tumble loose and limp and waits. Eyes closed, forcefully evening out his breaths - starting with deep, exaggerated gulps of air he fears give him away but Jimin doesn't say anything and soon they're even and rhythmic and could almost let him pass off as being asleep. Jimin is silent. No shiver runs through his spine. Hoseok wants to open his eyes and confirm that he’s gone but decides against it.

Instead, he keeps his eyes closed. Tries to empty out his head of all thoughts and wills himself to succumb to sleep.

Fitful and restless, Hoseok sits up on his bed with a start. Panting, heartbeat fast and pounding. Jimin's still there - amber colored hair, make up prim and perfect, pristine white shirt and black pants just like that night and looking his way longingly from the other side of the room - and for a full minute Hoseok can't look away from him, eyes wide. Breathing still heavy and choked sobs already threatening at his constricted throat, he throws himself back into his mattress and presses his face against his pillow before Jimin can see the tears welled up in his eyes.

A shiver runs through his spine. A soft voice, pained and almost desperate and so real, so close, calls to him again. "I'm here, hyung, I'm here," and with each repetition Hoseok buries his face harder into the fabric. That's the problem. He's here, Jimin's here.

It's so easy for a soul to remain behind. Just as easy for them to stay, but Hoseok knows they shouldn't. He's learned the hard way, young and naive and early enough for him to know better than to repeat that mistake. To give in to the temptation that is to give a soul a reason to remain earthed even though they don't belong.

Mickey had remained behind as well. Passed from old age but not moving on, he'd barked his way back into Hoseok's small arms and he hadn't questioned it at the time. He'd giggled happily, even squealed as he saw the shih tzu making his way towards him again after they'd scattered his ashes in their backyard. He'd pouted some as he tried to pet his soft fur and realized he couldn't but Mickey was there, wasn't he? And in his childish mind that was enough - to hear his barks, to see him wander around by his side. To have him back.

His mother had pursed her lips into a thin line as she saw the two of them in his room. Shook her head and kneeled down besides him, a hand at his shoulder and a sad look he didn't understand at the time on her face. She could see them too, the souls that remained behind, and her words had been soft, sympathetic, but stern as she asked him to never speak to any of them again. Never speak to them, never look at them too long, never acknowledge them. Never encourage that inkling of a wish to remain on Earth.

He'd cried, then, and turned to Mickey curled by his side, asking whether he had to ignore him as well in between hiccups. The smile on her face had been strange, one he'd never seen before on her sweet face, and with gentle fingers she had wiped away his tears, caressed his cheeks, and cupped his face. Hoseok will never forget her eyes, her expression, as she said quietly, "Enjoy him while you can."

At first he didn't understand the sadness hidden in her voice as she spoke. Mickey was fine. Sure, he couldn't touch him, and when Hoseok threw the ball for him to catch he always came back empty handed, but he was there and he had been happy. Happy, joyful, until he saw Mickey's deterioration with his own eyes.

Souls are not meant to remain earthed no matter how much they want to. No matter how much their own wish or someone else's keeps them from moving on, it's not meant to be. It's not meant to be and little by little they lose themselves, bit by bit the soul that remains is not the same and their inability to move on warps them. Changes them and then they fade to nothing.

A few months after Mickey's death his mother decided they needed to move and Hoseok couldn't sleep through an entire night for years to come. Ever since, he's avoided souls as much as possible but he still sees them, those who remain earthed. Hears their screams, their cries. Their regrets.

"It's not your fault, hyung. I don't blame you. I'm here, I'm here." Jimin's voice is almost soothing now. Almost. But a shiver runs down Hoseok's spine and he chokes on a sob. His hands are all but numb as they fist at the fabric of his pillow, the initial sting underneath his bandages dulled. He turns his head, faces the wall so that he can't look at Jimin, and takes deep breaths through his mouth. Crying like this, it isn't going to help convince Jimin to move on, not in the least.

Hoseok wipes his tears away. Presses the heels of his hands over his eyes even though it aches and continues to force his breathing to calm down. Deep breaths, in and out, slow and exaggerated, the pressure of his palms over his eyes almost soothing. The stars behind his eyelids almost convincing him that he's seeing things, imagining Jimin there in his room. He knows it's not true no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, to convince himself, but he can't help but hope that if he lies to himself enough it'll come true over time.

It has to. For Jimin.

He breathes out a long, deep breath. Ensures himself that his breathing is even and well, almost rhythmic. His eyes are blurry from the pressure of his hands and as he waits for his vision to focus he rubs a thumb over his bandages, gentle and tender as the ache is back. There's a smudge of rouge in the white, he sees as he brings it close to his face.

In one quick, brisk motion he all but jumps off the bed, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants before Jimin can see and speeding his way to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, almost sighing in relief as he doesn't see Jimin come through the door or walls. A look in the mirror reveals he's quite pitiful - eyes puffy and red, dark bruises underneath to make it worse, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. Pitiful, indeed, horrible - even worse with Jimin as a witness.

Hoseok lets the tap water run. Cups a handful of water - his stained bandages now wet, but the cool liquid is soothing - and splashes his faces. He dries himself off with the hand towel and begins to unravel the soaked gauze, avoiding to analyze his injuries too closely as he cleans them.

Perhaps he's cleaned them too fast - a job half done, unlike him and his neat nature but he can't find it in him to care - but he's quick to cover the cuts and scratches of his hands, deft and eager to wrap them up beneath bandages and not have to look at them.

He leans against the sink and takes deep, exaggerated breaths. His head bowed, eyes staring unseeing at the white porcelain. There's no sound coming from the bedroom and he's been there long enough - if he doesn't get out soon Jimin will come in, he knows him well enough to be sure of it. But he's not ready. Hoseok lets his forehead fall until it rests over the cold edge of the sink. He's not ready, he doesn't want to, and yet he takes one last deep breath before standing straight and all but striding outside the bathroom as if nothing were wrong.

Jimin waits for him in the middle of the room. Standing, eyes worried and intent on his form as he makes his way through the room. Hoseok doesn't let his eyes stray his way too long, gaze flickering over the room in search of something. Out of habit, Jimin makes his way towards him and Hoseok has to restrain himself from sucking in a breath.

He walks through Jimin towards his closet as if nothing.

The gasp is audible. A painful sound to his ears as he keeps on walking, as if he didn't hear, as if he didn't feel the cold sensation washing over him as he went through Jimin's soul. It takes everything he has to ignore Jimin's presence behind him as he bends down to open his drawer - almost pulling the entire drawer out in one strong tug because the old and bent wood gets stuck and he doesn’t have time for this right now - and pretends to scan through his clothes.

"Can you really not see me?" Hoseok has never been more thankful for his inability to open up completely. Jimin knows him better than all, better than anyone else, but he'd never mentioned it. Never, not even once and it'll all work in his favor. It should. "Hobi hyung?"

The drawer closes with a loud thump. Hoseok's out of his sweatpants and thin white shirt within minutes, every day jeans and simple black tee replacing them. He's quick to pluck his cellphone from the small table by his bed - Jimin trailing behind his every step, eyes boring holes into the back of his head - and he can feel the strain of his muscles as he smiles, small as it is. All but hears the complaint of his vocal chords as he speaks into the receiver.

"Hyung?" He hopes Jimin doesn't catch on to the strain in his voice. "Are you at work? I was thinking of maybe stopping by for lunch."

It's much too cheery. With a quick glance Hoseok confirms the frown pulling at Jimin's full lips, forces himself to ignore it as he reaches for his wallet and keys and makes his way to the door.

Almost cheerful. Almost normal.

Definitely not mourning.

The purse of Seokjin's lips mirrors Jimin's.

Side by side, Seokjin seated in front of him and Jimin standing right by him. Both staring his way, full lips pressed into a thin line, studying his face as Hoseok tries to ignore them - tries to ignore Jimin in particular, keeping his eyes from straying his way - and eat his noodles.

"You haven't even pulled out your chopsticks, hyung. Not hungry?" He brings his own metal chopsticks to his lips, speaking through a mouthful of food, "That's weird. Honestly didn't think I'd be alive to see this day come."

His choice of words was poor, he realizes as soon as he speaks. Hoseok sees Seokjin's lips tighten, sees the worry in his eyes and notices the way he doesn't even reach into his bag for his set of chopsticks even though each has a big, overflowing bowl of noodles before them. "Hobi..."

Hoseok isn't looking at him anymore, eyes trained on the contents of his bowl, chopsticks stirring at the noodles absent mindedly. He anticipates the words before Seokjin utters them, words careful and cautious. "Are you okay?"

He hums an affirmative. Knows it won't be enough to convince Seokjin of all people, so he raises his head and offers him a smile. A slight quirk of his lips, not too strained and not too wide. Not too suspicious. "I'm fine, hyung. I wouldn't be out and running around if I wasn't, right?"

"Liar," and Hoseok doesn't have to turn around at the sound of Jimin's voice to know he's scowling his way. "You're such a liar - that's exactly what you would do." Part of him wants to smile at the words - a defeated, self depreciating smile at how well the other knows him, a pang of sadness hitting him again soon after but he pushes it down before it can do any damage - and another wants to chuckle - a dry, humorless laugh to mask his frustration. Jimin isn't going to make this easy for him.

"Are you sure about that?" Hoseok nods at Seokjin's words, trying to keep his eyes from averting his sad ones. Full of pity and worry. Guilt. It's hard to keep his gaze but somehow he manages, steady and still, although uncomfortable.

He juts his chin out towards the bowl in front of Seokjin, no longer steaming as much and yet to be touched. "Not gonna eat, hyung? It's gonna get cold." There's one last press of his lips before Seokjin pulls out his own chopsticks, not digging straight in as he would but instead following Hoseok in stirring his food.

"How're your hands?" It's an attempt at being conversational, although still heavy. Seokjin brings the chopsticks to his lips and Hoseok shrugs.

"Better." He doesn't have the heart to say he attempts to clean them without looking. The tears in his palms too painful to look at, more so than the sting of alcohol. "Still got bandages, though," and he pauses his stirring as he notices Seokjin's still and quiet, staring at the contents of his bowl with his brows furrowed.

"Hyung - don't," Hoseok says, nudging him with his foot underneath the table. It's hard to keep a smile or even neutral expression on his face when Seokjin's scowl is so clear and obvious, not hidden unlike his. Jimin's already hovering behind him, hands floating near his broad shoulders, hesitant to touch but worried. Worried. Hoseok bites at the inside of his cheek.

"I should've driven you all home like always," Seokjin mumbles low, almost to himself, but Hoseok catches on to the words. Sees the furrow in Jimin's brow and knows he's heard as well. "Maybe then things wouldn't have --"

"-- Stop. Hyung." Seokjin looks at him with an apologetic expression on his face, head slightly bowed, eyes dull. A look ill fitting for his handsome face, a look that doesn't belong there in the first place. Hoseok reaches across the table for his hand, placing his own above it. Unsure whether to squeeze or caress or somehow dissuade the guilt written all over him - in his posture, in the slant of his head, in the curve of his lips. "You're not at fault here. For anything."

"And you are?"

The press of Hoseok's lips is enough of an answer even if he doesn't speak. He doesn't have to glance towards Jimin to know the look on his face. He knows there's a deep frown pulling at his plump lips at the words, eyes worried and frustrated and sad as they focus on him and wait for his reaction. For his words. Or lack thereof.

"This doesn't taste half as good if it's cold, hyung. Eat." His voice is surprisingly even, steady and so is his gaze as he looks over Seokjin, nods towards his bowl again but the elder does not comply. Doesn't even touch it again after only eating one measly bite.

"Everything went wrong that night," Seokjin says without looking at him. Hoseok knows what he’s talking about before he even goes on, voice riddled with guilt. “If only I’d taken everyone back, Tae and Joonie wouldn’t have been caught doing something stupid. Yoongi wouldn’t have --”

“-- I heard. It’s not your fault.” Hoseok offers him the closest to a smile he can. “I promise to visit Joonie and Tae later.” The noodles are already lukewarm, almost cold on his tongue. He pushes his bowl away from him, chopsticks discarded besides it. “How’s… Jeonggukkie fairing off?”

"As well as he can," Seokjin sighs, following Hoseok's suit. Bowl almost untouched, nearly full to its brim. "Go see him when you can, will you? He -" Seokjin pauses, lips pressing together again for a second as he thinks, contemplates how to word things "- Jeonggukkie needs it."

Jimin's worried looks are not lost on Hoseok.

"Will do, hyung. Promise," he says. "How long does your lunch break last?"

Seokjin shakes his head, the near permanent tension in his mouth easing finally. No smile yet, not even small, but the scowl, the frown, the press of his lips are gone. A start. "A while but I've lost my appetite. Let me drive you home?"

"It's okay," Hoseok says, trying to offer another smile. Trying, its curl tiny, tainted with strain and tension and tearing at him but necessary. "You go back, I can take the bus."

He eyes him warily, unsure, hesitating to press on but Hoseok waves his hand in dismissal. Insists he's okay, insists he can handle himself.

Insists even through the ache in his chest.

Maybe accepting Seokjin's offer would have been the smarter option - it certainly would have been that day.

There's a pause in his step, a moment where he takes in the bridge ahead of him and realizes what a mistake he's made. Maybe he should have gone through with his initial idea of taking the bus, regardless of how stuffy it felt. Regardless of Jimin's close proximity, the cold that ran through his veins as he all but passed through him in the cramped space.

The shiver of his spine was too much, however. The constriction, the suffocation of everything - the metal walls of the bus enclosing him, caging him, the crowd surrounding him, hounding him. Jimin floated closer to him, fading in and out as person after person passed in the small, crowded space. On their phone, staring off deep in thought as they moved on automatic. They didn't notice - probably couldn't, the feel only a slight breeze, a slight chill in the warmth of the bus - but Hoseok almost couldn't look away.

Jimin floated closer to him. Tucked himself by his side and the sight of his legs passing through the seats is too much, the sight of Jimin's shoulder through his chest sending a shiver that is much too strong. It is unlike the warm, comforting solid it used to be, the solid and very real legs that would tangle with his when they slept, the solid and very real shoulder he leaned against, closing his eyes and shutting everything off and focusing on him. On Jimin.

It felt wrong. Still does, and before he even knew he was scrambling for the door at the next stop. Pushing through the people, apologizing and trying not to seemed as rushed, as frantic as he was.

The metal structure of the bridge is imposing, intimidating, its long and winding trail almost eternal to his eyes, stretching further and further until he's almost dizzy. There's a pause in his step, a moment of hesitation as he takes the bridge in and regrets getting off the bus. Regrets not having waited at least until it had crossed to the other side of the river, but it's too late now. Jimin's watching, eyes locked on him and Hoseok can all but feel the tension emanating from him.

His steps are quick until he slows them, conscious of Jimin's presence behind him, his eyes boring into his back. The cars zoom by on the other side of the bridge, away from the pedestrian trail but close enough for the sound of their tires to reach his ears and distract him from the worried sounds Jimin makes, and there's only a single row of metal railings to separate him from the river beneath.

It's hard not to look, difficult and straining, but somehow he manages to keep his gaze straight as he power walks through the long road, keeping his mind blank and empty. Maybe it's Jimin behind him, sounds of concern by his side reminding him not to look, not to give himself away, but Hoseok persists.

Persists even though his chest aches.

Hoseok finds himself out of the house more and more.

He can't help it. Confined in his small flat, every nook and cranny and corner full of Jimin - his favorite jacket hung on the chair, his mug still in the kitchen sink unwashed and with remnants of coffee still stuck to its bottom, his make up kit still over the table by the mirror. Constant reminders no matter where he looks and even when Hoseok tucks Jimin's jacket into the closet, even when he washes the mug he always used and stores it at the back of the top cabinet, even when he puts the make up in the drawer beneath the bathroom sink - even then, even then reminders remain to ruin his efforts.

The scent of Jimin's shampoo stuck on his pillowcase, a sweet musky smell soft and yet harsh to his nostrils lingering to its fabric. Even as he takes it to the cleaners to wash, somehow it stays. The sound of his alarm clock in the mornings, the melody familiar and calming until Hoseok realizes how often Jimin used to hum it under his breath.

The way he still pulls out a pair of plates, a pair of cups - the way he still sometimes cooks enough for two.

Even in his dreams he can't seem to rest, the back of his lids plagued by Jimin. Memories of his coming late at night, sneaking out of his house under his parents' noses to spend the night with him just for the hell of it. Memories of the opposite - him climbing up the walls of Jimin's house using a rope the younger would always drop for him once Hoseok sent him a message, hiding in his cozy room behind locked doors so his parents didn't discover their unexpected guest.

Memories of things that had not even happened, memories of things to come, memories his imagination fabricates and tortures him with all night long until his subconscious remembers the reality and sweet, taunting dreams turn sour. At some point, heart in his throat and exhaustion weighing at his limbs and head and eyelids, he begins to take sleeping pills as a last resort and yet nights are still fitful and near restless.

Avoiding Jimin's eyes through it all is the hardest part. His following after him, never trailing too far behind, always close with eyes saddened and watching him. So intent, so vigilant, so keen on studying him and his every move. Sometimes he'll speak, call his name so soft and quiet Hoseok almost thinks he's imagining it. Other times he'll make comments, ask about the others, almost holding a one sided conversation as Hoseok tries to do his best to ignore him, giving up after a while, a press of his lips and a look of distaste on his face. Often, a sniffle follows.

Hoseok finds himself all but driven out of his own home.

He goes back to work. The dull, monotonous routine of smiling at the customer's behind the counter and offering small talk whenever possible as he scans their items at the checkout. Jimin scowls his way over the counter as Hoseok cracks a bad joke, pulling out a smile and even a chuckle from the lady he's attending, the tired lines on her face smoothing over, the ghost of the frown she wore all gone. He almost feels good about himself, but Jimin seems to disagree.

Once his shift is over - already much longer than the ones he used to do before, his boss's eyebrows rising at his request but not questioning him in the least - he takes the long way home. No bus or subway, only his feet to carry him over the cement and every time he passes by the bridge he can't help but glance its way. A fleeting look, quick and gone before Jimin can read too much into it, and a silent thought, thankful and relieved, that the market he works at is on this side of town.

"You promised hyung," Jimin mentions after a few days, pouting. "You said you'd see Tae and Namjoon hyung."

Hoseok hears him loud and clear even through the constant buzz of the city but doesn't say anything, keeps his eyes trained on the window of the store he's browsing before walking on back to his apartment. It's only a few days later that he follows through, calling Namjoon and asking when the both of them were home so he could see them.

In a careful, calculated voice Namjoon tells him to drop by the next day and Hoseok wants to laugh at his tone, but he bites the inside of his cheek instead.

He can't hold in his chuckles as Namjoon opens the door, its hinges creaking loud, and he gets a glimpse of their paint stained faces. A smear of white over Namjoon's brow and on his chin, blurry fingerprints along Taehyung's cheeks. Their clothes didn't fare much better, splashes of white against fabric, already dry and harder than the soft cloth of the fabric.

Hoseok offers Namjoon a smile as he steps into the entrance, not taking off his shoes since the bare concrete floor, much like the one in his apartment, is dirty anyway. His lips take on a teasing curl as he takes his friend in fully, peering into the house and catching on to Taehyung's appearance in the living room. "Isn't this a sight to see."

Namjoon, ever the enabler, goes along with it. "Shut up," he says, tone light and yet his words are still careful and measured, "You'd look even worse if you spent most of the day painting over graffiti."

"For that," he begins, pausing for dramatic effect as he widens his smile and quirks an eyebrow his way, "I'd have to be careless enough to get caught vandalizing public property."

Namjoon snorts at this. Gestures inside for Hoseok to go in and crosses the room over to where Taehyung is. He's oddly quiet, eyes dull and so uncharacteristic of him as they follow Hoseok while he crosses the room over to him, as he sits down across from him on the table. His eyes mirror Jimin's in a lot of ways, hints of sadness in their dark depths, and Hoseok tenses in his seat.

He tenses in his seat, his smile falters and Namjoon settles by Taehyung's side, hand gliding over his lap to where his hand is, probably to lace their fingers together. A flicker of tension in his arm muscles tells Hoseok he's given a light, perhaps not so light, squeeze on his hand and Taehyung's lips twitch as if he had tried but failed to smile.

"It was bad luck," Namjoon offers with a shrug after a minute of silence. "There were never any cops over there and that day there were. What can ya do."

Hoseok appreciates his effort. Thanks Namjoon in his head and reaches over the table to pick at the dry paint stuck to his hair. "That's a whole lotta paint all over you, though. Where've you been assigned to anyway?"

"Downtown." At Hoseok's exaggerated wince, Namjoon chuckles. He reaches out with his free hand to pick at his hair, running his fingers through carefully dyed pink locks and observing the dried flakes in his palm. "Yeah, lots to choose from there."

"Is there even a wall that's clean over there? It's graffiti hotspot.” Namjoon shrugs at his words. “How long?"

"Thirty eight hours left, isn't that wonderful?" he answers with a scoff.

Hoseok laughs at his tone, resting his chin over his closed fist. "Run faster next time."

"We were drunk that night," Namjoon counters with a roll of his eyes before tensing in his seat. Taehyung besides him, quiet all this time, finally raises his eyes from the table back to Hoseok and he tries to keep his expression in place under his gaze but fails. Hoseok's smile falters and his voice is quiet as he speaks.

"We all were," he breathes out, voice almost even. Quiet, so quiet as a silence settles over them and Hoseok wishes he could leave right that instant. He doesn't have to turn around to see Jimin's eyes boring into his back, intent and observant and waiting. He feels the gaze all but burning at his back.

"Don't you miss him, hyung?"

It's the first time Taehyung speaks since he's arrived. It's the first time Hoseok hears his voice after that night and it's low and quiet, so different from his loud and boisterous self. So different from the lighthearted Taehyung that would joke and play with Jimin and Jeongguk all day, every day and the change hits him especially hard.

Hoseok almost winces at the words. His smile is gone and when he looks at Taehyung he can see Jimin hovering by his best friend's side from the corner of his eye, a broken smile on his face while he stares Taehyung's way. Hand outstretched, hovering over his shoulder as if he could comfort him somehow. As if Taehyung could feel it somehow.

An eternity passes before Hoseok finds his voice.

"I - of course I do." He sucks in a breath, no longer looking at Taehyung and Namjoon or watching Jimin from the corner of his eyes, instead keeping them trained on the table. Hoseok bites the inside of his cheek, sucks in a deep breath. Tries to keep himself together, tries to fill in the cracks - or at least hide them. Cover them and make sure neither Taehyung nor Namjoon and especially not Jimin catch on to the ache in his chest.

"Every day," he lets out through the cracks before shaking his head, dispelling the thoughts. Avoiding the downward spiral to come. "Ah - sorry, you two must be tired, right? Painting over all the graffiti downtown's no joke - I should probably drop by another time." He doesn't give either of the two a chance to respond, already picking himself off the chair as he speaks, the scrape of its legs on the bare concrete sounding harsh against the silence.

Taehyung's mouth opens to say something, his eyes still dull and sad, but Namjoon's hand on his shoulder stops him. Ever the enabler, Namjoon goes along with Hoseok's doings, leaves his place next to Taehyung and walks him to the door. Even he can't help but gaze at him sadly, however, and he grabs onto the hem of Hoseok's shirt before he has a chance to leave.

"Come around another day?" He asks, careful.

Jimin's beside Hoseok at the door, hovering close and watching him intently. Hoseok nods at the words, a frayed smile already stretching at his lips. "Yeah, another day. Rest up, hm?"

Namjoon nods and the only reason Hoseok doesn't rush out the building is because of Jimin by his side. Watching.

Hoseok sits up on his bed, his breathing heavy, puffs of air coming out in pants and his chest almost heaving with each breath. His cheeks feel wet and he wipes at them with his forearm, falling back to the mattress and hiding his face because Jimin's right there. At the foot of his bed, his worried expression still vivid behind his eyelids. The furrow of his brows, the way he all but reaches out towards him even though it's useless now.

What it is he dreamed he has no idea, the pills at least save him from remembering and musing over it the rest of the day, but it can't stop everything altogether. His heart is still erratic in his chest, his breathing still heavy and almost painful and even though - despite himself, he should know better - he tries to recall what it is that caused this, his mind pulls a blank.

His mind is oddly blank, empty, and he wishes he could say the same for his chest, the ache still there and sharp and painful.

Deep breaths. Deep, even breaths he tells himself, forearm still over his closed eyes.

"Hobi hyung," comes Jimin's voice beside him, laced with concern. Upset. "You're okay, you're fine."

"It's not your fault."

Hoseok pretends to have fallen back asleep. Eyes still closed, forearm loose and slack over his face. He counts in his head for five minutes, ten minutes - time all but standing still, trickling slow and painful as he counts second by second - then turns on his side to face the wall. Sunlight filters through the room, through the small slit of his eyes he chances to crack open now that he's not facing Jimin. From the corner of his vision he sees one of his hands, now unbandaged, patches of skin lighter and still sensitive, a dull prickle that has yet to fully heal.

His alarm will ring soon. Soon, he repeats to himself, closing his eyes and laying awake. Waiting for yet another day to begin, Jimin still hovering behind him and not resting as he should.

He gets a text from Seokjin a few days later, asking if he's gone to see Jeongguk lately. He unlocks his cellphone without much thought at the sight of the notification, not even bothering to hide its screen behind the counter since there are no customers in the market now anyways. He doesn't expect the message, however, doesn't expect Jimin to be reading over his shoulder. Seokjin's message isn't followed by any emoticon, his wording simple and clean. Serious.

"What happened to Jeonggukkie, hyung?" is what he hears behind him, voice strained and bordering on panic. Again. Sometimes Jimin would ask him - questions he would pretend to turn a deaf ear to, biting the inside of his cheek at the tone of his voice each time, the worry lacing each syllable and the disappointment flooding after as he realized there would be no answer - and the past few days he'd seemed to have almost forgotten about it, after Hoseok had gone to see Namjoon and Taehyung.

The truth is he's avoiding it. A terrible friend, he's well aware that's what he is, but Taehyung's words still resound in his head, remind him how fragile the smile on his lips is and where Taehyung is soft and considerate in his words, Jeongguk is blunt and almost harsh in his boy-ish demeanor.

And his situation is worse than Taehyung's.

Hoseok bites the inside of his cheek as Jimin continues to speak behind him, besides him, circling around him as if trying to catch his eye and Hoseok makes it a point to organize the register at that time. One hand still clutched to his phone, cheek already raw as he debates on how to answer, on what to do.

Jimin is restless, demanding, and maybe it's a sign of Hoseok's weakening resolve, a hint of how torn and tattered and tired he is, because after days - almost three weeks he counts in his head - of holding on he gives in. He answers Seokjin's text to tell him he will soon, checking the keychain in his pocket and seeing that, yes, he still has the key to Yoongi's place.

He doesn't bother calling Jeongguk during his shift. He doesn't bother calling Jeongguk at all before making his way through the streets to his house. Seokjin's messages had been clear enough - Jeongguk had barely left the house for weeks now, relying mostly on Seokjin for food and only ever leaving for visitation hours.

Hoseok doesn't need any confirmation that he's home and knowing Jeongguk he might not even answer the phone if he tries in the first place. The keys are heavier than ever in his pocket, Jimin almost passes him in his rush instead of lingering behind as usual, and in the meantime Hoseok keeps his breathing deep and even to calm himself.

Still, he's not prepared to find broken glass and mirror fragments still on the floor after all this time. He's surprised Seokjin hasn't cleaned them yet, but Jeongguk most likely stopped him somehow.

The place is silent save for Jimin's muted noises as he floats to the center of the room, taking in the mess - the shards of glass and mirrors on the floor, the broken mirror propped on the floor against the wall. Hoseok doesn't take off his shoes as he pads through the small apartment, making his way towards the only bedroom without a word but the creak of the dry and almost cracked wood beneath his feet giving him away.

Jeongguk's all but a lump on the mattress, fully clothed down to his usual old and worn boots hanging off the edge of the double bed, covers strewn in a mess around him and partly splayed on the floor. A still lump even as Hoseok stands by the door frame and if it weren't for the gentle, regular rise and fall of his chest he'd be worried tenfold what he already is.

From where he stands Hoseok can see there's still a bandage on his face, stuck across his cheekbone, and faded, yellowing bruises on his skin here and there as Jeongguk keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. Jimin's hovering by the bed, lips pressed into a pout and not saying a word, eyes trailing over his friend's form over the bed, no doubt noticing these details as well. Hoseok keeps silent, standing patient in his place, waiting.

"You're here," Jeongguk says eventually and the rasp of his voice gives away how unused it's been these past few days, these past few weeks maybe. He shifts over the mattress to look his way, still laying flat on the mattress but turning his head so his cheek rests against the fabric, bangs falling over to almost cover his eyes.

"Hey," Hoseok says weakly, feet unmoving. "Want me to make you some tea? Some food?"

It's only then that Jeongguk shifts to sit up, resting his weight on his wrists. "Tea is fine," and as Hoseok turns to comply he hears the rustle of fabric behind him, the small sounds of concern Jimin can't help but let out. For once, the other doesn't follow him as he makes his way to the main room towards the small kitchen, puts the water to boil and rummages through the cabinets for some tea sachets and mugs, all the while noting how clean everything is - the counter, the small, neat pile of clean dishes left to dry by the sink, but also how empty. If memory serves him right, there used to be more than just one or two of everything.

Hoseok pours them each a steaming cup of tea in the only two mugs he finds and when he turns around Jeongguk is already at the small two person table, sitting down and eyes trailing over the glass littering the floor. Jimin's hovering close behind him, shooting him concerned looks that Hoseok ignores as he sets the warm mug in front of the youngest, sitting down across the table with his own drink.

"How's Yoongi hyung doing?" Hoseok asks over the rim of his mug once he tires of waiting for Jeongguk to speak up. It had been minutes of silence as he sipped on the hot tea, careful not to burn his tongue and mindful of the still sensitive patches of skin on his palms, while Jeongguk stirred at his drink, sugar long dissolved but spoon still swirling.

The stirring stops. "He's doin' better," Jeongguk says quiet and soft before bringing the mug to his lips, taking a sip and clicking his tongue at the taste. Putting another spoonful of sugar into his tea. "I went to see him the other day and he's -" he pauses, wetting his lips and averting his eyes again, "- clean. Says he feels like shit but he wants to get better this time."

"That's... good." Hoseok takes another sip, keeping his eyes on the murky waters of his tea. "He’s got his mind set, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk mumbles, fingers traveling to the bandage on his cheeks, trailing down over the series of yellowing bruises still left on his arms as he tucks one hand on his lap, the other still holding onto his mug. “We’ll finally get past this.”

There’s an awkward silence Hoseok isn’t quite sure how to fill. “He's still got a month to go, right?” is the first thing that comes to mind, “That's expensive, how did you - do you need --”

"-- Talked to my parents." Brusque and rushed, thumb rubbing at the stained porcelain of the mug. "They took care of the costs and everything. They still don't like him and say he's a bad influence, all of you but, but," Jeongguk sighs, breathing out almost in a shudder, puff of air shaky as their eyes meet, "but I'll be okay, hyung. Yoongi hyung and I will be okay, we'll be just fine - but what about you?"

"What about me?" The words tumble out easily, almost without effort, and Hoseok sees the distaste on Jeongguk's face, visible in the curl of his mouth, the scrunch of his nose.

"You think pretending is going to be easier?" His voice is oddly even as he speaks, collected and cool despite the heat in his eyes. "You're not helping yourself, if that's what you think you're doing. You're not --"

"-- Are you really one to talk when you barely even leave the house anymore?"

"You didn't even go to the funeral!" Comes the storm after the calm, followed by the loud scrap of the chair as Jeongguk sits up, the thud of the table as he slams his hand on its surface, the clatter of porcelain and metal against wood. "You can do whatever you want, hyung. Pretend nothing happened if that's what you want, but I lost one of my best friends that night and I-I'm not afraid to let myself cry."

True to his words, tears run down his face unrestrained. Hoseok standing, dumbfounded, reaches out across the table to wipe them without a word, aware of Jimin's eyes staring at the both of them, but Jeongguk rubs at his eyes roughly before he has a chance to do so. His sobs are loud against the silence that follows. Still hiccupping, he picks up his full mug and makes his way to the kitchen.

Hoseok watches his back, rattled by slight hitches in his breath, as Jeongguk dumps the tea down the drain, rinsing out the mug and setting it by the sink to dry next to the lone cup and bowl he had seen before. He leans against the sink without a word, breathing exaggerated and deep to even it, and it's only then Hoseok notices his shoulders have become even wider the past weeks. Sturdier than his would ever be.

"I'm moving back with my parents in a few days," Jeongguk says, breaking the silence, and Hoseok continues to stare at his back. He turns around and his expression is calm, his breathing even as he leans back into the kitchen counter looking his way. "Can't really afford the rent anymore, already took most of our stuff the last time I visited. I'll... We'll figure something out once Yoongi's done."

"Do you need any help?" Hoseok offers but he hates how weak his voice sounds. How shaken. How much his chest aches.

"I'm good, thanks," Jeongguk says with a shake of his head, tone gentle, eyes softer. “Please focus on yourself a little more, hyung.”

“Help yourself.”

Hoseok wakes up with a start, eyes flying open and heart lodged in his throat.

Whatever it is he had dreamed, whatever it is had haunted him in his unconsciousness, part of him expects to be relieved of it once his eyes open, once he's awake and yet Jimin's right next to him.

Right next to him on the bed, head splayed over the pillow and smiling his way as beautiful as ever. Amber colored hair so bright, the sunlight filtering into his room from the thin curtains making it even more brilliant, contrasting against his dark eyes rimmed with eyeliner and accented by eye-shadow. So beautiful, so warm and just as he remembers him.

Jimin calls out to him, his name a soft whisper right by his ear, so quiet it feels like a secret, something to be kept just between the two of them.

It's only when Hoseok reaches out to touch him, fingertips moving to brush a stray hair and passing right through him - his image fading away as they did, the smile on his face taking a certain hint of sadness at this - does he realize it's not a dream. Not a dream within a dream, but reality. The cruel, harsh reality where Jimin isn't with him anymore. Shouldn’t be, at least.

Hoseok forces his eyes shut but it's too late. He's gasped out in surprise at the feel of nothing against his fingers, at the cold shiver running down his spine, at the terrible realization that this isn't a dream but harsh reality and Jimin's faded, a mere soul besides him and nothing more. He's given himself away and after an entire month of arduous, painful effort he's ruined it all.

An entire month.

He sucks in a breath between gritted teeth. A month has already come and gone, torturously slow and yet much too fast, and Jimin is still here. Besides him, hovering behind him instead of moving on as he should. Jimin's still earthed and he's running out of time - how much longer until he begins to forget himself? How much longer until it's too late and he can't ever pass on? Doomed to rot away on Earth bit by bit, losing himself and clinging to only the rawest of his emotions until there's nothing left.

Mickey's howls, pained and delirious, echo in his mind and Hoseok shuts his eyes all the more tight. Holds in his breath, as if that would somehow make him or Jimin disappear, as if he could somehow change the situation, change the fact that he had ruined all his efforts. His mother's words rang in his head - never speak to them, never look at them too long, never acknowledge them. Never encourage that inkling of a wish to remain on Earth.

All he wants is for Jimin to move on and yet he's ruined his efforts.

Time stands still - eyes squeezed shut, breath stuck in his chest and burning as he refuses to let it escape - and Hoseok has never felt more pathetic in his life. Guilty, aching - it had been his idea to go out that night, his idea that the others were quick to go along with, and he’d never suggested it had he known what the results would be.

Seokjin was right, they should have accepted his ride. They had been too drunk, too reckless.

He finds himself wishing for Jeongguk’s strength. Taehyung’s quiet acceptance. Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s resilience.

"You know, you talk in your sleep." It's a quiet whisper, much like how he spoke his name moments before - a secret between just the two of them. "About me, about how worried you are since I'm... still here."

Hoseok doesn't say anything. His lungs still burn and complain as he continues to hold his breath, his eyelids trembling from the effort and force with which he keeps them closed. It hurts, everything hurts, and so do Jimin's words, despite how soft and gentle they are meant to be. "I know you can see me, Hobi, I've known for a while now. Will you please stop ignoring me?"

It's like a punch in the gut, the realization that he's been foiled all along, hurting Jimin even more than he knew every time he turned a blind eye to his gestures, a deaf ear to his calls all these days, these weeks. The entirety of this month. He lets himself open his eyes, his breath coming out heavy as he finally lets himself breathe, and he feels the cold sensation on his skin as Jimin reaches out to touch his cheek. Reaches out, fingers passing through him, and with a bitter chuckle he retracts, letting them hover over his skin and moving his hand as if he could truly caress him.

Hoseok closes his eyes and pretends he can feel them. "If you heard me then you should know you're not supposed to be here right now."

"I know."

"You should know that I don't know how much time you have left, how much time before you can't mo --"

"-- I know."

Hoseok opens his eyes to look at him, at the soft and loving expression on his face as he looks down at him hovering by his side over the bed, hand still going through the motions near his cheek. Small, gentle circles so close to his skin and yet so, so far. He can't keep his voice from cracking as he speaks, throat much too constricted, words almost lodged in his throat. "Then why?" and even then it's so low, like Jimin's whispers from before. "Why are you staying?"

"Because you needed me to, hyung."

It takes all he has not to give in to the sob bubbling in his chest. "Why would you do th-that? It's been a month, Jimin, any longer and --"

" -- I won't be able to pass on eventually, yeah. I know." The smile on his face is soft, as if he weren't admitting to possibly being earthed for the rest of his existence. Stuck where he does not belong and doomed to fade away, disappear into nothing instead of going where he should. "You said it enough times while sleeping that it's kinda hard to forget."

Jimin moves to wipe the tears slipping down his cheeks, not quite touching his skin but letting his thumb hover over it, going through the motions nonetheless. Hoseok doesn't try to wipe them himself, letting them slide down and drip from his chin onto his cotton shirt from where he's sitting up on his bed, leaning his weight on his wrists. "That's so - you're s-so," and he can't finish his sentence, sobs racking at his chest and constricting his throat as he chokes on his words. Jimin continues to wipe at his tears.

"You were willing to sacrifice for me, the least I can do is return the favor, right?" His measured movements slip and Hoseok feels the cool, chilling feel where his thumb goes through his cheek.

The words are a jab to his chest even if he doesn’t mean it to be. "I didn't do anything, I c-couldn't do anything,” and all he can think of now is the roaring laughter they had shared as they made their way across the bridge, arms tangled and leaning against each other. The bewildering and chilling moment when he realized he was the only one laughing, his side cold and lacking Jimin’s warmth.

The splash echoing through the night was what made him realize what happened, and even then his muddled mind had taken too long to process it. Much too long.

"That's not true. You tried jumping down the bridge to get me, didn't you?" Jmin shifts, reaching down to have his hands hover over his own, eyes trained on his palms, unbandaged and now fully healed. "You hurt your hands when you fell."

"I was s-so drunk I just fell backwards, I'm s-sorry." Hoseok tries to take a deep breath but chokes on the air, sputtering out words that don't make sense, wheezing, sobbing. Crying. His palms have longed healed - skin smooth now, tone even and uniform - but they ache and burn just as much as they did that night. "I called b-but they w-were t-too late. We s-should have gone b-back in the car with J-jin."

Jimin's voice is soft, gentle, soothing as he mumbles next to his ear comforting words. Words Hoseok doesn't quite hear, focusing instead on his tone - reassuring, relieving but also so, so painful to hear. So painful to bear as Jimin twists and turns to hover over his skin, so close and yet so far, and even as he goes through all the motions his warmth never reaches him. At most, only a chill runs through him and it tears at the ache in his chest until it's unbearable.

“Nobody blames you, it was an accident.” Hoseok nods but can’t find it in him to believe his words, and Jimin must see this as he goes on, “I don’t blame you.” Even the cool sensation of his fingers going through his skin is somewhat calming as he soaks in his words. Not as good as his warmth, but something, at least.

“You’re allowed to be upset over this,” and it’s like flipping a switch. Turning off whatever restraint he’d maintained, allowing for his tears to flow freely, for his sobs to take over him and render him speechless. Even as he tries to speak, his words are incoherent and Jimin continues to coo at him, comforting motions hovering over his skin.

"That's it, hyung, let it all out," Jimin says next to his ear, moving to wipe at his soaked cheeks. "Please cry it all out, please let yourself cry. Don't hold it in. Please, please," and his voice cracks for the first time, sadness visible in his eyes and a sob racked through Hoseok at the sound, at the sight.

"Let yourself move on, that's all I ask."

Hoseok chokes on his words as he sees Jimin fading away, smiling at him so wide his eyes close and his tears finally escape to run down his cheeks. It's all fast - words still lodged in his throat, mouth open to speak but it’s too late.

Jimin disappears and the ache in his chest bursts.

Full of grief, the pang of pain pulsing and spreading all over him, but most of all he feels,

relief.