So this is how it ends.

                Had Jimin known he’d end up on the floor cold, wet, and undeniably sticky, perhaps he would’ve stayed in class and continued talking to that cute girl who sits in front of him. Maybe he wouldn’t have denied his dancer’s diet and bought that soda, which is probably the cause of his entire demise. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have gone where he’s never been before and right into death’s hands.

                This is it, then. His vision is growing blurrier by the second, and before he realizes it, his life is flashing before his eyes… the last half hour of it, anyway.

                It was math class, he remembers. It was Advanced Functions because despite his reserved exterior, Jimin is a boss at math and Taehyung was always envious of that. He always offered to tutor him, but those sessions usually ended up with Taehyung surrendering and refusing everything but Pokémon for hours.

                That’s beside the point. Jimin is in math class, playing with his phone. 1010 to be exact, and he’s racking up a decent score until he’s startled by someone calling his name. He consequently loses that round, but doesn’t mind it too much when he looks up at a girl with really pretty eyes and dark hair.

                “Hey Jimin,” she says. “Want to be in our group?”

                He realizes that there are at least two more people in his immediate vicinity staring at him, and also that he has absolutely no idea what she’s going on about. “… I-I’m sorry, what are we doing…?”

                They start laughing (he doesn’t really see what’s so funny). The guy with the chubby nose on his right smacks him across the back. “See, I told you he never pays attention to anything.”

                “Ms Jeong wants us in groups of four to figure out the equation on the board.” Pretty-Eyes points to the long string of numbers written in chalk. “Also, she wants us to get to know each other, and what better way to bond than to collectively suffer over decimals?”

                “Well, I’m Sanghyuk,” says the chubby nose guy. “I’m an executive of anime club and uh, I like eating pig intestines.”

                The other girl adjacent to him speaks this time. “I’m Junghwa! Um, not really sure what club to join yet but probably the student council because the president is a super hot thing, am I right guys?”

                “Gross, isn’t Chanyeol the president?” Sanghyuk scoffs. “Guy looks like he’s either high or drunk half the time.”

                “He does not!”

                “It’s not that I’m ridiculing your taste in men, but really? Chanyeol?”

                “I’m Park Chanmi by the way,” the pretty girl interrupts, and Jimin thinks it’s convenient she’s already got his last name. Then he mentally screeches at himself and listens to what else she has to say. “I got early admission into the break dance club and I have two cats. And you?”

                Three pairs of eyes land on him and he can feel the pressure piling. His ears are probably red as hell but he still continues to glare into his desk. Eventually he mutters, “P-Park Jimin… I’m going to join the dance team.”

                “You’re a dancer too?” Chanmi is staring at him in awe, causing him to blush because gosh she’s really pretty. “That’s really… unexpected. Wait, I mean in a cool way! Yeah. That’s cool.”

                “… I-I have to go the bathroom,” Jimin blubbers, hastily standing up and making his way out.

                Pretty-Eyes looks genuinely concerned. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

                “N-No,” he assures, bumping into someone else’s desk in the process. “I just really have to go…”

                Sanghyuk lets out a laugh. “Nice job Chanmi, you gave him a .”

                Jimin half-sprints into the empty halls, quietly chanting ‘kill me now kill me now’ as his face glows pink. He decides to make several laps around the building to cool off, inching towards the first floor in the process.

                It bothers him a lot, the fact that’s he’s an awkward idiot around people who aren’t familiar. He still hasn’t warmed up to any of his classmates, despite that they make every effort to become friends with him. Instead, he just chickens out and stalks the hall for nearly half a period. At times like these, he wishes he were Taehyung, or at least the part of him that’s people-friendly.

                When he gets to the ground floor, he stops in front of a vending machine and fishes out some coins. It’s against him to drink anything carbonated because of his diet, but he feels like wallowing in his sorrows with a can of cola. He slides the money in and smacks a button, stepping back as the machine rumbles.

                There’s something unsettling about the way the soda can falls down, bouncing off the ledge and rolling away on the ceramic tiles behind him. One, because the drink is all shaken up now and there’s no way he’s going to have a fun time drinking it. Two, it rolls until it hits the foot of an unsuspecting freshman a couple metres away.

                “Oh sorry,” he stammers, running over to pick it up. He doesn’t realize how cold the can is and flinches, letting it hit the ground again. He can feel his face growing warm as he picks it up. “S-Sorry.”

                The freshman doesn’t even look remotely interested. He instead holds up his schedule and asks, “Where is the gym?”

                Recognizing the tone, Jimin realizes it’s the same tall boy from the other day (Jung… Jungkook?). He swears he’s done this before, but points the kid in the right direction. Once again he walks away without a word, and Jimin just stares before going on his way.

                He’s not sure how he’s supposed to sneak a can of pop into the classroom without his teacher noticing, so he decides to walk a couple more laps around the school while he finishes. It’s not like he’s all that excited to return, either.

                He takes his steps into the tech wing, which is mostly uncharted territory since he’s never been in this part of the building before. He takes his time admiring the hardworking wood shop students and the tiny robots crawling over the tiles.

                There’s a particular neon orange robot that looks like it’s tripping out, and it kind of reminds him of Taehyung. He’s so intrigued by this metal thing what when he turns the corner, he falls head first over someone who’s crouching on the floor.

The first thing he registers is a male yelling ‘, my camera’ but in a really angry and low voice. Then the pains of floor burn catches up to him, following shortly is a huge headache, and Jimin decides that he must’ve hit someone, tripped and slid across the floor and oh look, pretty butterflies!

He doesn’t know when, but he also hears the metal of his soda can hit the ground. Cold pop splatters just about everywhere, though he isn’t completely sure on whether or not that was his blood. That doesn’t really matter though, because Sasquatch is about to pick him up from ballet in two hours and that’s wonderful, everything’s turning white.

--

                When he opens his eyes again, Jimin recognizes the old lady across the room as the office’s main secretary, and that he’s sitting in what they call the ‘infirmary’, which in reality would be two chairs next to the staff washroom. He straightens himself out, careful of the ice pack on his head and the towel wrapped around his shoulders. That’s when he notices the other boy in the chair next to him.

                This boy has straight brown hair tucked away in a snapback despite the school’s harsh regulations against headwear. He’s slouched over in his seat and gives off a careless attitude, but Jimin can see how hard he’s clutching onto that camera in his hands. He doesn’t recognize him as anyone in his grade, and the look in his eyes is too distant to read ‘freshman’.

                The boy looks at him and gives a curt nod. “Sup.”

                “Uh… what happened?” he asks.

                “You and your clumsy didn’t watch where you were going.”

                Jimin is a little taken aback by the response, so he can only muster an “oh”.

                “They’re calling our emergency contacts because apparently, you hit your head pretty hard and they don’t want the school to get sued or something… ing dip.” Jimin stiffens, and he panics. “Oh — I didn’t mean you, sorry. I meant this… situation in general.”

                “Oh,” he says again. “…I-I’m sorry for tripping over you.”

                “It’s cool, man.” The boy waves it off. “Just say sorry to my camera.”

                Jimin looks pointedly at the camera in his lap. “… I’m sorry?”

                “See baby? He’s sorry.” He starts petting the DSLR and Jimin just stares. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll buy you new lenses and this will be all over.”

                At that moment the office door opens and Taehyung jogs in, fear written all over his face. “PARK JIMIN!” he screams at the top of his lungs and runs over to hug him. “Christ, I was so worried! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did someone stab your face?”

                “No one stabbed my face, I’m fine, Tae.”

                “Hold up,” the snapback boy interrupts them. “Your friend is your emergency contact?”

                Taehyung puffs his chest as if that’s something to be proud of. “Actually, I’m his emergency contact and Jimin is mine. So if either of us gets in trouble for something stupid, the office doesn’t call our ‘rents and we basically pose as each other’s dad.”

                “,” he says, in genuine shock. “That’s smart.”

                “And illegal,” comes a fourth voice. Taehyung freezes as another boy slips into the conversation, making it obvious to Jimin who this person was. With his tall stature, red hair and refined looks, the one and only Kim Seokjin stands before them in some kind of ostentatious glory. “I can keep a secret.”

                Jimin thinks of only one thing. He turns to the guy beside him and asks, “Seokjin-sunbae is your emergency contact?”

                The camera guy makes a face of horror. “Oh, no.”

                “I find that very offensive, Yoongi. But no, I am not,” Seokjin clarifies. “I was actually looking for you. We need you back at the studio. The janitors are ready to take their yearbook photo.”

                The guy named Yoongi groans and stands up. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I’m gravely injured or anything. Just make me work, friggin’ slave driver.”

                “Please don’t mind him.” Seokjin looks at Jimin. “I heard about what happened, and I apologize on the behalf of the Yearbook team. I keep telling Yoongi to be obvious when he’s taking photos but he never listens. Are you alright?”

                “I-I’m fine.” Jimin stands as well, nudging the very stiff Taehyung who hasn’t moved for the past minute. When he does, he approaches their senior rather timidly, which is odd for the orange-haired idiot.

                “S-Sunbae, this is kind of off topic, but…” Taehyung looks down while speaking. Jimin winces when he thinks he sees blush on the guy’s cheeks. “I just wanted to know if you were hosting this year’s g-grad party. I’m not going of course, I was just curious…?”

                “Most likely, yes. It’ll be an event to remember.” Seokjin smiles and he looks faint (Jimin just stares). “I’ll be seeing you two around, yes? Take care of yourselves.”

                They watch as he drags Yoongi away. Once the seniors are out of sight, Taehyung turns to Jimin with the biggest grin in life. “He’s hosting the party. I told you he was hosting the party!”

                At this point Jimin could really care less about the party. He head hurts like a , he’s cold and sticky, and he should really get back to class lest his group mates worry about him. But Taehyung looks positively ecstatic for some reason, and it makes Jimin’s stomach churn with unrest.

                So he can only respond with an “okay” and goes to find the nearest vending machine.