Suga

          The stitches on my arm are more itchy than painful, but I try to ignore them on the cab ride to Jin’s. I was so late for his party and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were mad at me. I had been missing for hours.

          But what could I do? The car was probably towed away, and I had turned off my phone in the hospital because I just didn’t feel like responding to anyone. 

          And then it hits me, Jin probably knew that I was in the hospital when I got treated because he had tabs on everyone. And I was going to be showing up, covered in blood, and Hoseok asked me to get the alcohol and-

          Ugh.

          It all seemed so unimportant.

          But I get out of the taxi anyway, adjusting the collar of my shirt and sighing, realizing I shouldn’t even bother because of the mess I probably looked like. There was still blood on the side of my face, and I tip the driver extra--mainly because he thought I was going to murder him when I got into the car.

          I ring the doorbell.  It opens after a couple of seconds, and Jin blinks back at me. In an instant he’s loosely strings his arms around me and squeezes; he kind of feels like a mother and usually I would freeze back, but I’m so tired and had seen so much today, I just stand there.

          “You’re lucky I got told it was minor,” Jin’s mouth curls up slightly. “Otherwise I would have ditched all of this,” he gestures behind him at the people milling around. “Also, you stink and look like you got hit by a truck.”

          His words make me freeze which he instantly notices and he changes the subject. “Let’s get you a change of clothes.”

          That earns a dry laugh as I mentally compare the difference in our shoulders, “Will I even fit?” 

          He flashes a grin, and I feel guilt bubbling up inside as I try to make light-hearted jokes and ignore the pressing issue of people dying. He throws me a pair of pants and a shirt, ushering me to the bathroom. 

          I look at the reflection, not recognizing my reflection with dirt and blood all over me. Even my hair had streaks of dark red and I tug at the strands with my fingers, feeling the dry crustiness. I yank the clothes off myself, feeling thoroughly disgusted, and I jump into the shower.

          I wash and scrub, trying to rid myself of the memories of today that would be permanently imprinted in my mind. I felt so numb. I was Min Yoongi. I was powerful. I had thousands of people and unthinkable amounts of money at my command. But even I had no power over the dead. I swallow thickly as the water changes colors at my feet. 
 

          What if? What if I hadn't accelerated the car? Would the parents still be alive? Would the kid be in a coma? Or would the victim's car crashed into someone else at the intersection? The guilt is pounding at the inside of my head. My hands curl into fists and I sink to the shower floor.

          The blood washes down the drain. But the memories don’t. And at one point I can’t be sure that the wetness on my eyes is from the shower.

          I breathe, trying to process and failing miserably, so I just let the water drum down before pulling on Jin’s clean clothes and steeling myself to be ready for interaction when I really just wanted to go to sleep. I owed Jin at least that much.
 

          So I step out of the bathroom, shaking out the wet strands of blondish gray hair, and I nearly walk into a girl that sends me a flirty smile. I can’t find myself caring or wanting to start a conversation as she leans forward with a breathy “Hello.”

          I push past her, heading towards the kitchen, pausing when I recognize Jin opening the front door. I was already late and I doubt that someone would come later than I had. That didn't make sense at all.
 

          Jin turns around with a bright smile, carrying a basket that looked like it was a bit random as it was filled with Mario plushies, ramyeon, and I could swear there was a tiara in there somewhere. He looked like he was full of life, while I felt like I was filled to the brim with death. 

          I raise my eyebrows. “Who is that from?”

          He flips open the card and his smile slides right off his face and anger flashes. “Happy birthday, Jin!” He reads, with a snarl. “From, Hana.” He holds up the card, filled up with drawings of balloons and presents and he growls, “She’s playing with me.”

    
          That was a complete one-hundred and eighty degree turn from the Byun Hana I saw earlier. I couldn't shake the image of her holding on to the woman's arm, begging her to stay awake and to hold on for her daughter. It was the same woman who extended an olive branch to her biggest enemy by offering a ride to the hospital. It was the same woman who sat quietly in the emergency room, eyes blankly tracing the patterns on the wall for hours while waiting for the doctors to come out and tell her that everyone was okay.

          She must have sent for the basket to be delivered before everything went down today. Even wh