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Yoongi had never been one for Christmas festivities. The glittering lights, the cheerful songs, the endless stream of well-wishes—it was all pleasant enough, but it never quite resonated with him. But as he sat alone in his room, he found himself missing it all. COVID wasn’t just an illness; it was a thief. It had stolen his connection to the familiar rhythm of his days, to the laughter of his members, to the simple warmth of having people around.
They gave him ten days. Ten days of isolation, of muted mornings and nights that bled into one another, stretching endlessly.
He passed the time scrolling through his phone, scribbling lyrics in a notebook that had more doodles than words, and staring out the window, watching the snow slowly melt away. The days blurred together, each one dragging more than the last, leaving him restless and missing the people who had filled his life with noise and chaos.
There had been plans for the holidays—plans he’d quietly looked forward to. But all of it had crumbled as soon as he tested positive. Yoongi had resigned himself to spending the season alone, so much so that he hadn’t bothered to dress up or even try to make the days feel special. He spent the night in the same worn-out clothes he’d slept in.
But then his phone lit up on the table, breaking the monotony of the room with a soft buzz. It was a video call from Jimin.
Yoongi hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering above the screen.
He glanced at his reflection—barefaced, hair tousled, a hint of stubble on his chin, and a faded hoodie hanging loosely on his frame—and almost declined it.
But then he thought of Jimin’s smile.
Jimin had always been the warmest presence in the room, the kind of person who made Yoongi’s world feel a little brighter just by existing. But thinking about Jimin too much was dangerous—it brought back feelings Yoongi had buried deep. Yoongi had accepted, quietly and completely, that he was in love with his friend—a love he could never ever act on. Yet, he treasured every fleeting moment of Jimin’s attention, letting it fill his heart with an unspoken, unlabeled affection that he was content to carry in silence.
When he answered, Jimin’s face appeared, glowing and cheerful despite the pixelated connection. He was dressed in a glittery cardigan, his darkly lined eyes shining, and his rosy lips looking impossibly soft—so kissable it made Yoongi gulp.
“Hyung, Happy New Year!” he chirped, his voice light with the kind of energy Yoongi found impossible not to admire.
Yoongi couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at his lips. “Happy New Year, Jimin-ah.”
“Hyung, how are you feeling? Have you been resting all day?” Jimin asked, his voice warm before he suddenly paused, tilting his head with a playful grin. A laugh bubbled out of him, carefree and slightly tipsy. “Your face looks better today. Very soft… and squishy.”
Yoongi froze, his heart skipping in a way that felt almost juvenile. “Shut up,” he mumbled, glancing away, but he knew the blush had already crept up his neck.
Yoongi froze, his heart skipping in a way that felt almost teenage-like. “Shut up,” he mumbled, glancing away, but he knew the blush had already crept up his neck.
Jimin just laughed, the sound warm and familiar.
For a moment, the weight of the past days lifted, replaced by something softer—something that made Yoongi feel as though he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
“I’m serious,” Jimin insisted, laughing lightly. “You always look good, but like this… that hoodie suits you.”
Yoongi wanted to disappear. His heart pounded, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a reply that wouldn’t betray the way those words made him feel. “You’re being ridiculous, Jimin, and you’re tipsy…” he said finally, his voice softer than he intended.
Jimin just laughed again, and Yoongi found himself smiling despite the embarrassment. They talked for a while—about how much Jimin missed him, about the plans they’d make once Yoongi was free to meet the rest.
It was a simple conversation, but it was just what he needed to hear.
By the time the call ended, the weight in Yoongi’s chest felt lighter. Fireworks burst outside, their glow reflecting in his eyes as he whispered a quiet, “Happy New Year” to himself, his thoughts anchored to Jimin’s smile.
The warm, comforting scent of kimchi jjigae filled the apartment, clinging to the air like a promise of home. During his quarantine, Yoongi and Jimin had talked almost every day, their conversations being the highlight of the monotonous isolation. So, when Yoongi was finally free to step outside, the first thing he did was deep clean his apartment from top to bottom before inviting Jimin over for dinner.
They’d planned a simple movie night—drinks, homemade food, and good company. Yoongi handled the cooking, his quiet way of showing care, while Jimin brought his usual burst of energy, filling the space as if it were his own.
They shared a single bottle of soju, passing it back and forth between stories and teasing. Laughter spilled into the room, soft and familiar, mingling with the scent of spices. It was easy and natural for them, like slipping into an old, well known rhythm that neither of them wanted to end.
Yoongi wasn’t sure when he’d stopped paying attention to the conversation and started focusing on the way Jimin’s lips curled when he laughed or the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about something he loved.
When Jimin polished off the last shot of soju and leaned back on the couch, looking far too content to leave, Yoongi had casually suggested, “Stay the night. It’s late.”
Jimin hadn’t argued.
Yoongi’s bed was big, but it didn’t feel big enough that night. Jimin had flopped down on the far side with a lazy grin, his hair mussed and his cheeks faintly flushed. Yoongi settled carefully on his side, trying not to think too much about how close they were and how cute Jimin looked with one of his shirts. It wasn’t their first time sharing a bed, but every time felt like the first for Yoongi—his heart racing, his thoughts a mess.
“Goodnight, hyung,” Jimin murmured sleepily, his voice soft in the dark.
“Goodnight,” Yoongi replied, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep.
Yoongi woke up to a muted sound, almost like a muffled groan. He blinked against the early morning light filtering through the curtains, disoriented for a moment before he realized Jimin wasn’t in the bed.
“Jimin?” he called softly, his voice husky with sleep.
There was no answer. He sat up, the unease gnawing at him immediately. It wasn’t like Jimin to leave without saying anything, and they’d been perfectly fine the night before—or so Yoongi thought.
He climbed out of bed, padding through the apartment in search of his friend. It wasn’t until he reached the main bathroom that he heard it—a low, choked sound that made his stomach drop.
He pushed the door open and froze.
Jimin was on the floor, hunched over the toilet, his body trembling as he retched violently. Sweat clung to his pale skin, his blond hair sticking to his forehead. He looked up at Yoongi, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, his face twisted in pain.
“Hyung…” Jimin’s voice was barely a whisper, raw and broken.
Yoongi was at his side in an instant, crouching down and reaching out to steady him. “Jimin-ah, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” His heart was pounding, his mind racing through every worst-case scenario.
Jimin shook his head weakly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I… I think it’s the alcohol… last night…” he mumbled, but even as he said it, Yoongi could see the doubt flickering in his eyes.
“No way,” Yoongi said firmly. “You know you can hold your alcohol, Jimin-ah. A few bottles of soju wouldn’t hit you this hard.” His hand found Jimin’s forehead, and the heat there made him pull back with alarm. “You’re burning up, Jimin.”
Jimin winced, curling in on himself as another wave of pain shot through him. He clutched his abdomen, his fingers digging into his side. “It just… stings. Hurts a lot. It’s been happening for a couple of days, but this is the worst I’ve felt,” he admitted, his voice strained.
“A couple of days?” Yoongi’s voice rose, panic threading through his usually calm demeanor. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Jimin gave a weak shrug, but before he could respond, his face contorted again, and he let out a low cry of pain. His entire body tensed, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach tightly.
Yoongi felt the fear spread through him like wildfire. “That’s it. We’re going to the hospital.”
“Hyung, no, it’s probably nothing, I probably… maybe it’s something we ate last night—”
“We are leaving now.” Yoongi snapped, his tone leaving no room for protest. He slipped an arm around Jimin, helping him up as carefully as he could. Jimin leaned heavily against him, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as Yoongi guided him toward the door so they could change and leave.
The ride to the hospital was tense. Jimin’s head rested against the window, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to manage the pain. Yoongi kept glancing at him, his grip on the steering wheel tight.
Once they arrived and explained the situation, a nurse pushed Jimin in a wheelchair through the long corridor. Yoongi stayed by his side as long as they allowed, holding his hand while trying to mask his worry.
The image of Jimin hunched forward, arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen, looking paler and sweating was heartbreaking.
Every so often, he would wince, and Yoongi would stop for a moment next to him.
Once they reached the consultation room, the nurse helped Jimin onto the examination table. Yoongi stayed close, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if holding himself together. The doctor came in shortly after, his expression professional but kind.
“How long have you been experiencing the pain?” the doctor asked, pulling on gloves as he approached Jimin.
“A few days,” Jimin admitted, his voice small.
Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “He said it started as stings. But this morning—” His voice faltered for a moment before he pushed on. “This morning, he could barely stand. He had a fever and was vomiting.”
The doctor nodded, taking Jimin’s temperature and asking a few more questions before pressing gently on his abdomen. Jimin flinched violently when the doctor pressed on the lower right side.
“Does it hurt more when I let go?” the doctor asked.
Jimin nodded, biting his lip.
The doctor’s face grew serious, and he turned to the nurse. “We’ll need an abdominal ultrasound and blood tests immediately. It’s likely appendicitis, but we’ll confirm.”
Yoongi felt his heart drop, his mind flashing back to his own experience.
He swallowed hard, stepping out of the room briefly to send a text to the group chat. His fingers flew over the screen as he explained what was happening:
[Yoongi]
Jimin’s in the hospital. Possible appendicitis. He’s in a lot of pain.
The responses came quickly.
[Taehyung]
WHAT? WHICH HOSPITAL? I’m coming.
[Jungkook]
Hyung, I’m with Tae. We’ll be there soon.
The rest of them were either out of town or on another continent, but together they flooded the group chat with worried messages about Jimin’s health.
Yoongi let out a shaky breath and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
When he returned to the consultation room, Jimin was being wheeled out toward the ultrasound unit. Yoongi fell into step beside him.
“I texted the others,” Yoongi said quietly. “Tae and Jungkook are coming.”
Jimin looked down, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to worry you all.”
“Nonsense,” Yoongi muttered, but his tone lacked bite. His hand hovered near Jimin’s shoulder before pulling back. “Just… let the doctors do their job, okay?”
Jimin nodded, his gaze lingering on Yoongi for a moment longer before the nurse wheeled him toward the ultrasound room.
Yoongi leaned against the wall outside, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t religious, but he found himself murmuring a quiet plea to whatever force was out there.
Let Jimin be okay.
The waiting room was too quiet, even with Taehyung and Jungkook sitting on either side of Yoongi. He couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The doctor’s words kept echoing in his head.
Acute appendicitis. Emergency surgery. COVID-positive.
Yoongi knew what that meant. He had been in Jimin’s position once, and he remembered the pain vividly—the sharp, relentless agony that made it impossible to think, let alone move. And now Jimin had to go through it too, alone and isolated.
“Hyung, are you okay?” Jungkook asked softly, his voice tinged with worry. He had come back from the cafeteria with a few snacks for him and Taehyung, but Yoongi had refused to eat anything, and just accepted a bottle of water.
Yoongi nodded tightly, though he couldn’t meet Jungkook’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Taehyung wasn’t convinced. “You don’t look fine,” he said bluntly, his own worry masked by irritation. “You’ve barely said a word since the doctor came back.”
Yoongi exhaled sharply, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I just… I know how much it hurts,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now he’s got COVID on top of everything else.”
Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged a glance, their expressions somber.
Feeling the weight of guilt settle over him, Yoongi decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped away from the group, pulling out his phone to call Jimin’s father. His voice was steady, though a faint tremor of unease threaded through his words as he explained the situation. He reassured Jimin’s father that the surgery was underway and promised to stay by Jimin’s side until he was okay. The call was brief, ending with Yoongi’s firm promise to provide updates as soon as there was any news.
When Yoongi returned to the waiting room, a staff member from the company had just arrived. Their expression was grim yet controlled as they spoke in low tones to Taehyung and Jungkook. Catching the tail end of the conversation, Yoongi heard them say that the company would release a statement about the situation as soon as Jimin was out of surgery. Yoongi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his focus already shifting back to Jimin and the hope that everything would be okay.
The minutes stretched into hours, each one heavier than the last, until finally, the doctor emerged, pulling off his mask as he approached.
“The surgery went well,” he announced, and the collective exhale from the group was audible. “We removed the appendix in time, but Jimin will need to recover in isolation due to his COVID diagnosis. I’m afraid visits won’t be allowed.”
Yoongi stood immediately, his expression hardening. “No. I need to see him.”
The doctor frowned. “I understand your concern since you brought him here, but—”
“You don’t understand,” Yoongi interrupted, his voice firm. “I’ve had this surgery before. I know how much it hurts when you wake up. And he’s not going to wake up alone. I’m not leaving him like that.”
The doctor hesitated, clearly conflicted. Taehyung placed a hand on Yoongi’s arm. “Hyung—”
“No,” Yoongi said, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving. Do whatever precautions you need to, but I’m not letting him wake up alone.”
After a tense pause, the doctor relented. “Fine. You’ll need to wear protective gear, including a mask and gloves. But only for a short visit.”
“Thank you, thank you so much,” Yoongi said, bowing deeply in gratitude to the doctor before quickly following the nurse who was preparing the necessary equipment. He glanced at the others before leaving, and they simply nodded in silent understanding.
There was still some time to wait, as Jimin remained in the ICU before being moved to his room. Once Yoongi was suited up, the nurse guided him down the sterile hallways until they reached Jimin’s room.
The sight of Jimin lying in the hospital bed hit Yoongi like a blow to the chest. He had tried to prepare himself for this moment—or so he thought—but the stark reality of it unraveled him completely.
Jimin looked so small, so fragile, his pale complexion blending almost seamlessly with the crisp white of the hospital sheets. His lips, usually pink and full of life, were dry and slightly parted, his breathing slow and measured under the steady hum of the monitors.
The weight of it all pressed heavily on Yoongi, but he forced himself to take a step forward, determined to be strong for Jimin. His eyes roamed over every detail on his face, even the small wrinkle between his brows that told Yoongi he was still feeling discomfort, even unconscious.
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi whispered, his voice breaking.
He wanted to touch Jimin, to brush back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, to tell him how brave he was, how Yoongi would give anything to take his place in that bed. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“You scared me,” Yoongi murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft beeping of the machines. “You always do.”
Jimin stirred slightly, his head turning toward the sound of Yoongi’s voice. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy from the anesthesia. When they finally landed on Yoongi, a small, drowsy smile curved his lips.
“Hyung,” Jimin croaked, his voice rough and weak.
Yoongi’s breath caught. In that moment, he couldn’t look away.
“Jiminie…” Yoongi said softly.
Jimin blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Try and stop me then,” Yoongi replied, his tone gentle and playful, as usual. He reached out, gloved fingers wrapping around Jimin’s hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Hurts,” Jimin admitted, his brows furrowing. “But you’re here. That helps.”
Yoongi’s heart clenched. He squeezed Jimin’s hand lightly, careful not to hurt him. “The others are outside, Tae and Jungkookie, but they won’t let them come in. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again, his gaze meeting Yoongi’s. “You’ll stay?”
“As long as they let me,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut again, his grip on Yoongi’s hand weak but steady. As Yoongi watched him drift back into unconsciousness.
In the days that followed, Yoongi made sure Jimin knew he wasn’t alone. Despite the hospital’s restrictions, he found ways to show Jimin he was there—sending flowers and home made soup almost every day, and even leaving a small plush toy on the windowsill of Jimin’s room. Each time he spoke to the nurses, he asked a hundred questions, ensuring Jimin had everything he needed to feel cared for.
While Jimin was isolated at home recovering from surgery, Yoongi was consumed by helplessness. He had never been good at openly expressing his emotions, but Jimin had always been there for him, especially during his own recovery from shoulder surgery. Yoongi still remembered how Jimin had shown up, bright-eyed and determined, insisting on helping him redo his physical therapy exercises at home. Jimin had been patient, encouraging, and so steadfast that it had made Yoongi’s recovery bearable.
Now, Yoongi wanted to return even a fraction of the care Jimin had shown him during his own recovery.
But his feelings were a tangled mess—deep affection, protectiveness, and frustration at not being able to be there physically. He texted often, asking about Jimin’s pain levels, reminding him to take his medication, and slipping in dry jokes to coax a smile from him. Sometimes, he’d send a voice note with a short melody he was working on, hoping the gentle tune might bring Jimin some comfort.
But late at night, when the world was quiet and the weight of his memories pressed on him, Yoongi let his mask slip. Pouring those feelings into his music, crafting a soft piano track in the stillness of his studio.
It was his quiet confession, one he wasn’t ready to say out loud, but it was there in every note.
True to his word, Yoongi was the first to visit Jimin once he was discharged and finished with isolation. He showed up at Jimin’s apartment with bags of groceries and a determined look that left Jimin laughing.
“Hyung, I can cook for myself, you know,” Jimin said as Yoongi unloaded everything in the kitchen.
Jimin’s face was thinner, and the usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, but he still radiated a quiet stubbornness that made Yoongi smiled.
“I don’t trust you near a stove right now,” Yoongi shot back, tying an apron around his waist. “You’re still recovering.”
Jimin watched him work with a soft smile on his lips. Yoongi bustled around the kitchen, his movements efficient but full of care as he prepared everything.
They settled on the couch, the TV playing a movie in the background. Jimin ate slowly, picking at his portion, his movements careful. Yoongi didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help glancing over every few minutes, the concern simmering beneath his calm facade.
After a stretch of silence, Jimin finally spoke, his voice soft. “Hyung… can I ask you something personal?”
Yoongi blinked, his chopsticks pausing midair. “Of course. Ask me anything.”
Jimin hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sweater. “Did it...hurt you a lot after the surgery?”
His mind wandered briefly to his own experience back in 2013. He’d been younger then, just starting to navigate the pressures of his career. The surgery itself was a blur, but he remembered the aftermath—the stiffness in his movements, the way every cough felt like his body was splitting apart,and the frustration of having to pause when all he wanted was to keep moving forward with their group schedule. It had been scarier than he let on at the time, and he wouldn’t wish that helplessness on anyone, especially not Jimin.
Yoongi set his chopsticks down and turned to face him fully. “A bit,” he admitted. “The first few days were rough, but the pain eased pretty quickly. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Jimin didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to his lap. The way he bit his lip made Yoongi’s stomach twist with worry. “Jimin-ah,” he said gently, leaning closer, “are you in pain? Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s not that,” Jimin murmured, shaking his head. He paused again, then looked up with a small, unsure smile. “Can I...see your scar? From your surgery?”
Yoongi blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the request, but nodded without hesitation.
Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it open to reveal the faint, barely visible scar on his pale skin. As he gestured toward it, he noticed Jimin leaning closer, his brow furrowing as he studied it with quiet intensity.
Before Yoongi could say anything, Jimin looked up at him, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Can I... touch it?” he asked softly, his fingers hovering near Yoongi’s abdomen but not daring to make contact.
Yoongi’s breath caught as Jimin’s fingertips hovered over his scar, hesitating just before they made contact. The question had been so soft, even if it had caught Yoongi off guard. “Yeah, go ahead,” he murmured, his voice steady, though his heart felt anything but.
Jimin’s fingers brushed against the scar lightly at first, hesitant, as if afraid he might hurt Yoongi. The touch was warm, and Yoongi found himself holding his breath as Jimin’s hand settled more firmly, tracing the faint line with care. His fingers lingered for a moment, as if trying to understand the story etched into Yoongi’s skin.
“It’s so light,” Jimin murmured, his tone tinged with a mix of awe and worry. “My skin’s a little darker than yours. My scar is going to stand out more.”
Yoongi knelt down beside him, his hand resting gently on Jimin’s knee. “Hey, listen,” he said, his voice steady and grounding. “Scars aren’t something to be ashamed of. They’re proof that you fought through something difficult and came out on the other side. It doesn’t matter how it looks—it’s part of your story now, and that makes it important.”
Jimin hesitated before slowly standing. He lifted his sweater, revealing the fresh, slightly raised line on his abdomen. “See? It’s so... ugly,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi frowned, standing to face him, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not ugly, Jimin-ah,” he said firmly. “It’s fresh, that’s all. This happened less than a month ago. Give your body time to heal—it’s incredible how much it can recover. You’re young, you’re strong, and more than anything, you’re healthy now. That’s what matters the most.”
Jimin’s fingers hovered over his own scar, tracing it delicately as if comparing it to Yoongi’s. “I just... I’ve never had surgery before. I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to feel normal again.”
Yoongi stepped closer, placing both hands on Jimin’s shoulders, grounding him. “You will,” he assured him. “It’ll take time, but every day you’ll feel a little better, and one day, you’ll look at this scar and barely even notice it.”
“Jimin… it’s okay to worry about how that scar might change things, but don’t forget what you’ve been through. You faced something terrifying, and when I look at you now, I see someone stronger.”
Jimin’s cheeks tinged pink, his lips curving into a shy, soft smile as he ducked his head slightly. “Thank you, hyung,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi’s gaze lingered on him, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in Jimin’s expression. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against Jimin’s shoulder. “You know,” he began, his voice low and steady, “I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Jimin-ah. You’ve always been. It’s one of the things I… admire most about you.”
Jimin’s eyes lifted to meet Yoongi’s, wide and searching, and for a second, Yoongi wondered if he’d said too much. But instead of pressing, Jimin smiled again, this time warmer, more certain. “You’re too kind to me, hyung.”
“I’m only being honest,” Yoongi murmured, more to himself than Jimin.
The room fell quiet, the soft glow of the television flickering across their faces. As the evening softened into silence, Jimin started to close his eyes, his breathing evening out as he grew sleepier, his head resting comfortably on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi allowed himself a small smile, tilting his head to rest lightly against Jimin’s.
“I meant what I said before,” Yoongi began, his voice low. “I’m always going to be here, Jimin-ah. No matter what.”
A faint hum was all Jimin managed in reply, too drowsy to form words. Yoongi glanced down, noting the steady rhythm of his breathing, and assumed he’d already fallen asleep.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Yoongi interrupted gently. “I just wanted you to know.”
For a long moment, Yoongi didn’t move. He simply let the weight of Jimin against him settle deeper into his heart.
And all that mattered was this fragile, precious moment where Jimin was close and safe.
For Yoongi, it was like a quiet promise he made to himself—to keep loving Jimin in whatever way he could.