In the days following the eventful night of prom, Jimin expected some commotion about either how great and fun it was, or about the stunt Yoongi pulled on stage, effectively forcing both of them out of the closet to everyone in the entire school. He expected some hassle, some gossip, and random people muttering his name as he strides quickly through the halls to avoid eye contact. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he expected hate.

                  However, it’s been relatively quiet on his end. It’s not as if people still didn’t glance at Jimin with passive stares, but no one approached him with the whole ‘not being straight’ topic and he’s rather thankful for the peace. He’s a bit spooked, but thankful.

                  It’s been a little too quiet though; he’s been completing the last couple assignments in silence as the semester wraps up, and it’s only until now that he’s realized Taehyung hasn’t bothered him in well over a day. The only real excitement he received today was when an ambulance sped by him as he was walking home from school, probably because someone had a peanut allergy reaction or something. But it’s been quiet.

                  He meanders into his house and half-expects Taehyung to be sitting there when he enters his bedroom. He’s alone of course, giving him the rare opportunity to be productive. He takes out his binders and starts on his homework. Even though he’s feeling ominous about all this silence, Jimin churns through four pages of questions by the time his phone starts blaring on his desk.

                  He expects the person calling to be Taehyung, with news of where’s he been for the past day. So naturally, he answers the call with a casual “what’s up, sock wad?”

                  “… Jimin?” It’s a female voice.

                  He chokes on nothing and swivels out of his chair, taking a proper look at the caller ID; it reads ‘Miss Park Chanmi’. He starts blushing like crazy. “… S-—I mean— Sorry, I didn’t know it was you…”

                  “That’s okay,” she laughs softly. “How are you doing?”

                  “I-I’m fine,” he stutters. “H-How are you?”

                  “I’m good. I just wanted to ask how prom went for you.”

                  “Oh, um…” Jimin pauses, not sure where to start. “It was… interesting, I guess. I ate a lot.”

                  Chanmi giggles for a second and then says in a low tone, “you know, your boyfriend’s announcement is all over social media.”

                  He stops breathing. After composing himself, he sits down on his bed. “How… how bad is it?”

                  “I mean,” she pauses, and he can hear the faint sound of a mouse scrolling on her end. “People are pretty indifferent, but there are some outliers—wow, math term—who are pretty rude about it. I don’t think it’s much to worry about, though…”

                  Jimin lets out a sigh. “… Okay. I think I can live with that.”

                  “Are you sure? After what happened to them, I’m kind of worried about you.”

                  “I’ll be fine—” He furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, what happened to them?”

                  “Didn’t you hear?” Chanmi says, “they were taken to the hospital after school today.”

                  Jimin blinks. “What—what did they do?”

                  “Who knows... I thought you’d know about this.”

                  “I mean… I don’t really know anyone like that, so…”

                  “… Jimin…” she whispers. “Are we talking about the same people?”

                  “I— I thought you were talking about the outliers.”

                  “I’m not. I’m talking about your boyfriend and your friend, that orange-haired kid. They were taken to the hospital this afternoon.”

--

                  The door slams open and Jimin barges in, out of breath and red in the face. He’s angry rather than concerned, what with his small hands in tight fists. He glares at the other two boys in the room.

                  Yoongi is sitting up in his hospital bed, attached to the IV drip beside him. Taehyung is posted next to the window, seated uncomfortably in a wheelchair with an ice pack slung over his head. Both of them look absolutely ridiculous, sporting twin looks of surprise as if they weren’t expecting to see Jimin at all.

                  “… Did you tell him?” Taehyung asks Yoongi, who shakes his head in response.

                  “I’M STILL HERE!” Jimin barks, nearly bursting into tears. “What the hell happened?!”

                  “Well,” Yoongi starts. He glances at the bandage on his wrist. “We both got hurt.” He’s immediately given a scowl and shrinks into himself. “A-Ask him!”

                  “What, me?!” Taehyung looks morbidly offended. “Is this what I get for saving your ?!”

                  “That’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him speak! I’M ING SCARED, MAN!”

                  “Okay, okay!” He gulps when Jimin turns to look at him. “… Um, after school today… I finished ping pong practice and I was going to my locker when Yoongi fell on me.”

                  They both stare at him. “That is literally the worst explanation of anything I’ve ever heard,” Yoongi sighs. “Okay, for real. Someone pushed me down a flight of stairs and this kid caught me halfway.”

                  “You mean I saved your life.”

                  “I mean, shut the hell up, I didn’t ask you to save me.”

                  Jimin snaps. “Both of you, shut up! How did this happen? Why would someone push you down the stairs?!”

                  “Well,” he says again. “They said ‘go to hell, ’ before they pushed me—” Yoongi catches Taehyung making the universal symbol for ‘shut up’ and catches his mistake. He speaks no further.

                  But it’s too late. “… What?” Jimin chokes. “Why would they say that?”

                  “Dude, don’t worry about us.” Taehyung tries, but he’s ignored. The other boy is already breaking down, and again he blames himself.

                  “Is it because of prom?” Jimin looks at Yoongi for answers. “Are people harassing you because you told everyone we were dating?”

                 The older boy sighs again. “… Yeah.”

                  Taehyung shouts, “Dude!”

                  “What? I’m not going to lie to him anymore. Yeah, people are trying to kill me because they’re ing homophobic. I’ve been pushed down stairs, I’ve had my stolen, and I still don’t ing know what they put in my water bottle but here I am, pumping fluid into my veins.” Yoongi glares at the wall. “And you know what? I don’t really give a . As long as you don’t get any of the pain, I’m okay. I can take it, as long as no one touches you. I’m okay. So don’t even think about throwing yourself out there just to get even.”

                  Silence envelops the room because Jimin can’t make coherent sentences with tears streaming down his face. He stands there, crying, while Taehyung wheels himself over and holds his hand. “It’s alright man,” he says softly. “Those jerks are only a small percentage of the student body. There are always gonna be people who support you, accept you no matter what.”

                  “… I’m… I’m sorry…” Jimin sobs, lowering his head. “I-I didn’t know what was happening—I—!”

                  “You didn’t know because we didn’t tell you.” Yoongi reaches over to rustle his hair.

                  “Yeah.” Taehyung nods. “We didn’t want you to get swept up with us. Don’t worry about it.”

                  He sniffles, wiping his eyes with a sleeve. “I just— I just don’t want the people I love to get hurt…”

                  Taehyung smiles and pats his . “We don’t want you to get hurt either, Park Jimin.”

                  “It’s mostly over now,” says Yoongi. “I memorized the bastard’s face and looked him up. He and his groupies should be out of school for awhile.”

                  “You could have taken a picture too, couldn’t you?” Taehyung asks. “You had your camera on you.”

                  “Oh yeah, my camera—” Yoongi turns blank. “… MY CAMERA! THEY MADE ME DROP IT AND THE LENS SMASHED! MY ING CAMERA! MY BABY!” He rips the IV out of his wrist and attempts to get out of bed. “THEY’RE GONNA ING PAY!”

                 “HYUNG!” Taehyung screeches, frantically pressing the ‘call for help’ button. “YOU’RE GONNA DIE!!!”

--

                 The rest of visiting hours consists of Jimin going through tissues while Taehyung cracks terrible puns to cheer him up. He proceeds to follow up with a long lecture about trust and unwavering loyalty and how friends should always depend on each other, but neither of them take him very seriously because he’s still dripping boogers.

                 “Tell me if anything goes on,” he says right before leaving. “And don’t move until I come back tomorrow!”

                 They don’t even twitch until they know for sure he’s gone. “I love him and all,” Taehyung groans, “but he can go off. Sometimes he never shuts up.”

                 Yoongi snorts. “You’re still his friend.”

                 “Yup. I’d still do anything for him.”

                 “And what about me?” he asks. “You took nearly half the hits from those bastards, and you didn’t have anything to do with it. I saw you defending my locker before they could vandalize it. I didn’t ask you, and the last time I checked, we weren’t that close. So why bother with me?”

                 Taehyung looks thoughtful for a moment. He readjusts his ice pack and then gives a firm answer. “It’s simple. Park Jimin is my best friend. And you, Yoongi, are precious to him. Anything important to him is important to me, too.”

                 He gives him a wide grin, and Yoongi can’t help but crack a smile as well. “… You’re exactly how he described you.”

                 “Hit me.”

                 “He said you were ‘beyond weird,” Yoongi replies carefully. “But also weirdly endearing and charming, so it’s easy to get over the blinding dye job.’ And that you have a thing with Britney Spears.”

                 Taehyung giggles and leans back in his chair. “Pretty on point.”

                 The older boy shakes his head. He shuffles around under his blanket and then looks up. “Did you call me ‘hyung’ earlier?”

                 “What?” Taehyung looks aghast. “What are you talking about?”

                 “I swear, you called me hyung. You never called me hyung before, it was just now that—”

                 “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT,” he screeches, covering his ears. “YOU’RE HALLUCINATING.”

                 “YOU CALLED ME HYUNG, JUST ADMIT IT!”

                 “NEVER!!!”