Jimin meets Yoongi on top of his apartment’s rooftop. The red headed male leans on the railing smoking a cigarette. The smoke comes out of his mouth like coldness comes out of Jimin’s mouth. Jimin moves closer and stands beside him. Their shoulders are touching and Jimin feels Yoongi’s warmth.

“Jimin,” Yoongi says.

“Where were you when everything was falling apart, when I was falling apart?” Jimin questions.

“Jimin,” Yoongi repeats.

“I waited and waited for you to call me back. You never called me like you said you would,” Jimin says.

“I relapsed,” the elder says softly.

“You relapsed? I thought you were better. A year and a half sober gone just like that?” Jimin asks.

“I messed up okay! I’m trying!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Yoongi,” Jimin whispers.

          And Yoongi hates it. He hates when Jimin says his name like that. He hates it when the younger male enunciates his name. He hates how he can hear the disappointment in his voice. He hates how he can tell that Jimin is not happy with him. He hates how Jimin has scars on his wrist from harming himself when he should have been there. He knows that relapsing and Jimin’s depression do not mix.

“Seokjin found me in my room laying in the middle of a hurricane. He told me that you were going to call me any day now, but you didn’t,” Jimin explains.

“The middle of a hurricane is the calm of the storm,” the red head says.

“I’