Pairing: Medium-key Jikook

Warnings: vague hinting at depression, unhealthy attempts to cope with a breakup, self-destructive behavior
Word count: 1339
AN: So this drabble isn't about idolizing others and bashing oneself, it's not about being in a bad place. It's about getting help to find happiness again, and about learning to heal for no one but oneself. Love yourselves, lovelies <3

This is it, in the end. A chipped cup and ten billion regrets, but oh, how perfect it could have been.

It's raining when it all begins, but doesn't it always start with rain? Cold droplets sliding down windows and falling between layers of clothing; trickling from his hair down his nape and soaking into his shirt along the ridge of his spine like tally marks of his flaws.

It's so damn cold, and Jimin can't quite recall how he got here and where exactly here even is; trapped in a state between dream and reality, seeing and wishing to see.
That's where he meets him, and maybe we are all meant to meet the wrong people, but he looks so right, so real, that Jimin doesn't mind indulging in another wrong. Anything, anything to make him forget.

The man is talking, but all that Jimin's exhausted mind can filter out of the noises in his head is his own heartbeat, either too slow or too fast, who even knows?
 

He's warm. 

The other is so blissfully warm, big hands cupping Jimin's face and huge dark eyes staring at him in worry, and for a second, Jimin feels less splintered, even dares to hope the tendrils of warmth might linger.

But hope is a fragile construct of human consciousness; an entity even more breakable, so when the warmth leaves and he's enfolded by darkness instead, Jimin doesn't call for the man to come back. 

What would he even say; he has no idea whether the guy actually exists or if his drunken mind is playing tricks on him again. 

Who is he to call upon angels? 
Right. He's no one.
No one with a shot too much in his bloodstream, possibly two.

He's nothing but a broken cup in the rain, and it has always rained, but Taehyung left and now he is alone, facing the bitter truth that he's too damaged to hold the water inside any longer.

How fitting that it's also raining in that parking lot (or wherever the hell he even is), where an angel found him leaning against the car he's far too intoxicated to drive home. 
But where is home even?
Is it the apartment he can't afford to keep, but does anyway, because it's the last piece of Taehyung he has?
Or is it the cement on the streets he's walking on, as torn apart by elements as he is? 
Perhaps it's the rain that has followed him all his life and that continues to follow him everywhere; and how fitting is it that his life is continuing to mock him in this very second; making his misery audible in the dull pit-pat of drops against pavement.
It even smells like rain, wet concrete, and if anyone walks by and notices that the water on Jimin's face is hot and salty, they sure as hell do not tell.

That's who he is, that is how he blacks out, praying to a God he can't believe in for an angel he probably imagined.
It's better than nothing, but nothing would at least stop hurting somewhen.
This never does.