The Memories Scratch

Jimin has made much dumber mistakes, he’s sure, but this time he’s really ed up. What’s strange though is the fact that he’s endured no bodily harm and yet feels like he’s been lit on fire and left to burn.

Love is a strange thing.

*****

Jimin is 9

In fourth grade Jimin gets a cat. It isn’t well bred or expensive like all of his other possessions; it isn’t even an insincere gift from his father who, in most cases, couldn’t be bothered to remember his own son’s birthday; no, the little orange tab is a stray Jimin finds hiding near a dumpster behind the raymun shop he frequents during lunch hour.

Halfway through his cup of noodles the faint meowing catches his attention and out of curiosity he tiptoes around the alleyway to look for the source of the sad little cry.

“Hey,” he smiles, surprised. “H-hey, little guy.” He can’t help but coddle the small kitten - even at the ripe age of nine, Jimin recognizes how vulnerable the kitten is (and how much it resembles himself). “You can come home with me,” he beams, “I’ll take care of you!”

He names him Ash.

In the sixth grade Jimin gets another kitten, but this time the stray is a foot taller than him and has the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

“Hi! I’m Park Jimin!” he announces with a bright smile and outstretched hand. Jimin is already used to switching schools yearly and has the how-to-make-new-friends routine down pat. He wiggles his fingers excitedly as he waits for the boy standing in front of him to take it. “And your name is...”

The other reaches out hesitantly, a bit intimidated by Jimin’s enthusiasm. “T-Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” He flinches a little when a bubble of laughter erupts from the shorter and stumbles forward when a tiny hand latches onto his arm and drags him forward.

“Great! You can sit next to me, Taehyungie.” Jimin plops down in the first row of desks then pats the seat on his right. “Since we’re friends now, we should sit next to each other.” He leans forward gingerly and lowers his voice so that only Taehyung can hear him. “And just so you know,” Jimin whispers, “I’m new here and don’t know anyone yet, so technically you’re my best friend.”

“O-oh,” the younger stutters. “Okay. Cool,” Taehyung smiles shakily. His heart pounds heavy against his ribcage, louder than he’s ever heard it; he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never had a best friend before or because of the way Jimin sits back with another blinding smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

*****

Jimin is 12

Over the years, Jimin comes to find that Taehyung is exactly like the stray kitten he found behind the ramyun shop. He’s poor and underfed and in need of a best friend, someone Jimin vows to become.

“R-really it’s okay,” Taehyung mumbles shyly as he’s pushed roughly inside the brightly lit mansion. (When he gets older, he’ll realize with a snort that he goes most places either being shoved or dragged by Jimin.) It’s his first time visiting Jimin’s home, but, given how expensive everything looks, he doubts he’ll be invited in again if he continues tracking mud behind him. Ahead of him the younger is discarding his coat and shuffling around looking for matching slippers, all the while beaming because this is the first time he’s had a friend over and thank god his father isn’t here to ruin it.

“You can wear these,” Jimin says as he tosses a pair of gym shorts and a plain white shirt over his shoulder, “They should fit you ‘cause they’re at least two sizes too big for me.”

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as he watches the other dig through a pile of mismatched slippers for a pair that will fit Taehyung’s abnormally large feet. Despite the fact that they’ve been best friends for almost three years, Taehyung doesn’t know much about Jimin’s family other than he lives the largest house in a fancy gated community with his father and that said father’s main form of “bonding” is buying his son expensive gifts. It’s not a crossfire Taehyung particularly wants to get caught in.

“Jimin, I can just wash up at home it’s okay, really-”

Jimin straightens up, matching shoes in hand. “Don’t worry Taehyungie, my dad’s not home, so we have the place to ourselves.”

It’s scary how Jimin can read him so easily.

“Oh. Well… Okay then.”

He ends up getting an in-depth tour of the house and by the time it’s over Taehyung has a stiff neck and sore jaw from staring up in awe. There’s a room covered from floor to ceiling with mirrors which Jimin uses for dance practice; another room with shelf after shelf packed with manga novels (Taehyung’s personal favorite); and another room with a trampoline embedded in the floor and a mishmash of other exercise equipment littering the ground with yoga mats sprinkled in between. Between these three rooms, one of the six bathrooms, and Jimin’s bedroom, the twelve year old spends the bulk of his time when he’s not out roaming the streets with Taehyung.  

“And this-” Jimin booms with an elegant arm flourish, “Is my bedroom.”

There are no words to describe-

“Hooooooo-ly .”

*****

Jimin is 16

“Wait wait wait-” Taehyung cuts him off excitedly, “You’re saying you have it already?? That game isn’t set to be released for another two weeks! How the hell did you manage that?!”

“Oh, ugh,” Jimin starts sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, “I asked my dad and he pulled some strings.”

The admission immediately sobers Taehyung up and he stops pulling off his hoodie to consider the other. “And what did you have to trade to get it?” He’s a bit on edge, knowing that Jimin’s dad likes to use favors and possessions and money as bargaining chips. He treats his son with the same businesslike coldness he does his stockholders and Taehyung has grown to hate him for it even more than Jimin does.

“Huh? N-no it’s fine,” Jimin smiles unconvincingly, “It was worth it, really.” He pushes the other into the house and up the stairs, ignoring the complaints he receives in return. He presses the game remote into Taehyung’s hand and takes the spot next to him, actively ignoring how their thighs rub together from the close proximity. “Happy 16th Taehyungie. Now shut up and play.”

They game until the sun comes back up, shoving at each other and shouting at the screen for hours on end. And maybe it’s because it’s five in the morning and Taehyung is mentally exhausted and it’s below forty degrees outside, but the warmth of Jimin’s side is magnetic and tempting. He curls up beside his best friend without thinking, tangling their legs together and burrowing his face into Jimin’s neck with a soft pur. “Thank you.”

“H-hey-” Jimin pokes at him nervously. He’s not sure how to respond to this situation, especially since his heart is beating so loudly he can’t hear himself think. “I said it was no biggie.”

Taehyung’s brow creases as he nestles closer, a pout forming on his lips. “Ya, just take my thanks. There’s no way I can top this for your birthday.”

Jimin swallows heavily, then extends a shaky hand to push back the hair in Taehyung’s face. The lavender strands are as soft as Jimin imagined they’d be. “I said stop thanking me,” he chides. His voice sounds a lot more stable than he feels.

The shorter has to wedge an elbow into Taehyung’s side to get him to release his death grip before Jimin can get up and stumble on numb legs to the bed. He drops down heavily then scoots over to the far side for Taehyung to follow suit and there’s plenty of room on the mattress, but Jimin finds himself pinned down by 140 pounds of gangly limbs and dyed hair.

Jimin is more comfortable than he’s ever been.

He can barely make out the face in front of him in the dim, early morning light, but Jimin is pretty sure there’s a pair of deep brown eyes staring back into his own. He’s about to say something, anything, but is cut off when Taehyung leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, Jiminie.”

That morning, the first snow of the season touches ground.

*****

Jimin is 19

Taehyung loves the cold.

When winter rolls around, the two can stand side by side staring out at the frozen remnants of the Han River bundled up in jackets and scarves and gloves and no one will question why they’re tucked into each other, hands clasped tightly between them.

When winter rolls around, Jimin’s nose is always a pretty shade of pink and his cheeks heat up the instant Taehyung presses an icy kiss to a rosy dimple.

When winter rolls around, Taehyung doesn’t have to beg for cuddling time, Jimin subconsciously gravitates to his side to take advantage of the fact that his boyfriend has always been warmer than most. (Taehyung swears it’s because he was an alien experiment, but Jimin assures him it’s just because he has better circulation.)

When winter rolls around, the two are reminded of their first kiss over three years ago, of muttered confessions, of clammy hands, and of the shaky laughter that followed in its wake.

As Taehyung hovers over Jimin, eyes dark and tongue tracing patterns into burning skin, he forgets it’s winter for a moment. His hair is damp with sweat and his arms burn from the strain of keeping his torso propped up. His knees are still a little tender from the last time they couldn’t make it all the way to the bed before stripping each other bare, but he ignores the sting in favor of drawing pretty sounds from Jimin’s parted lips.

Taehyung loves how Jimin’s nails leave behind thin red lines as they scrape their way down his sides, loves how Jimin pretends he doesn’t get off on marking the other any chance he can get, loves how easy it is to slip into Jimin’s body, loves how Jimin begs for it shamelessly.

“I love you,” he moans, hips stuttering as he topples over the edge. “I love you, Jiminie.”

Taehyung gets a breathy sigh in response and the heat around him squeezes tighter with a high moan. “I love you too, Taehyungie”

And it’s cold outside but Taehyung feels so so warm.

*****

Jimin is 21

This year summer is hotter than ever.

Jimin forgets to water his garden one day and the next everything is dead, shriveled and scorched by the unforgiving sun.

“No.”

The clink of the glass stopper being set on a bottle of gin is the only noise that dares sound for a solid minute.

“...No?”

“You heard me,” Jimin grits, “I said no. I’m tired of doing whatever you say.” He’s standing in the middle of his father’s study with his hands tight in fists, glaring angrily at the old man sipping slowly at his drink.

“Oh, Jimin,” he sighs into his glass, “I don’t think you understand. You will do what I say and I expect it done by the end of the day.” When Park Jisung stands up to his full height, he’s a full foot over his son, broad shoulders leveling out with the mop of newly-dyed blonde hair. He presses a thick finger into Jimin’s chest and pushes him backwards towards the door. “Now go. I’m tried of hearing about that Taehoon boy. Get rid of him.”

Only the minute twitch of Jimin’s eyebrow serves as a warning before he’s slapping the handcrafted, crystal glass out of his father’s hand and onto the floor where it shatters into jagged pieces. His knuckles are throbbing from the impact, but the pain is overshadowed by the anger raging through his body. “Leave us the alone,” he seeths, “Leave us the hell alone, you manipulative . I’m tired of you trying to force your way into my life by uprooting and destroying anything in your way. If you haven’t caught on by now, I’d rather eat glass than be stuck here with you! Mom would never-”

The bruising slap that throws his head to the side has Jimin’s ears ringing.

“Don’t you ever- EVER bring her up again,” the older man bellows. He all but drags Jimin out of the room by his shirt, throwing him to the ground when they reach the threshold. “Just wait and see,” he spits, “Just watch what I do to that Taeheon. When I’m done with him you won’t be able to recognize his face.”  And with that sick promise, the door slams shut, a string of curses pouring out into the hallway from under the door.

Jimin is running harder than he ever has in his life. The hospital is just under a mile away and even if he’s dripping in sweat and tripping over his own feet, he doesn’t let up. He pauses for less than a second at the front desk to ask for directions, then flies up three flights of stairs to the out patient rooms.

“Look!” Taehyung beams, scraped cheeks pulling up into an oblivious smile at the sight of the other, “I got a green one.”

The cast covering Taehyung’s arm runs from his hand all the way up past his elbow, locking his right arm at a 90 angle.

The doctor says it’s broken in three places.

The police say whoever did it got away.

Taehyung says he’s fine, but Jimin doesn’t miss how his hands shake when they climb into the taxi.

Jimin says he’s fine, but Taehyung doesn’t miss how he cries the entire ride back.  

*****

“I think I made it pretty clear,” Jimin spits back, “I’m in tired of this.” He ignores the tremble that runs down his spine and focuses all his energy into preventing the storm that’s raging inside his heart from showing on his face. He tries to remind himself that this is for the best even if it feels like he’s swallowing a handful of thumbtacks.

*****

Two years later, Jimin hopes it’s not too late to fix this.

Jimin is 23

He waits nervously inside the modest apartment with his hands crossed in his lap, back straight, eyes forward. He shouldn’t be here, doesn’t deserve to be here, but there’s a paw shaped hole in his heart that aches more for everyday it goes unfilled. The doorknob rattles and there’s an obnoxious screech of tires before Jimin’s world slows to a stand still.

Orange really suits him is the first thing Jimin thinks when he first lays eyes on Taehyung, who shuffles around oblivious as he shivers out of his coat and starts punching buttons on the thermostat. He’s gotten taller too he notes in slight annoyance. He continues familiarizing himself with Taehyung’s figure, getting so immersed with the fine details (the elephant is still there) that he almost misses how the other’s profile stiffens.

“W-who the hell-” Taehyung whips around brandishing his phone flashlight which he shines directly into his assailant's eyes.

“Holy , Tae,” Jimin lifts up a hand to block the blinding glare, “I know it’s been a while but damn.”

The light drops away quickly, but it’s because Taehyung loses his grip on his phone and the devices clatters down to his feet.

“...Jimin?”

Jimin bends over to retrieve the phone, setting it on the low coffee table before straightening up, a nervous “H-hey” on his lips.

“What are you- How-” Taehyung reels, a torrent of memories scratching at his heart, “What the , Jimin??”

And regardless of many times Jimin rehearsed how their first meeting would go down, regardless of how many speeches he wrote on the plane ride over, regardless of how many lies he needs to set straight once and for all, it all boils down to “I’ve missed you.”

And Jimin doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. He can see it in the way Taehyung’s eyes fill with tears, can feel it in the shaky arms that pull him forward, can smell it in the mop of orange hair obscuring his vision-

They were never fated to burn.

“I missed you too.”

FATED TO BURN

A/N

Holy shett people, this turned out so beautifully I still can’t believe I just wrote this <3 My writing inspiration is finally back!

Thank thank you for reading!! Comments and upvotes are greatly appreciated!