jimin's caught up in the past, bangtan tries to cope, but it doesn't really work.

-

It’s only been three months since Yoongi’s passed. It feels like three years. Jimin still hasn’t removed the image from his memory. None of BTS have. Hoseok’s cried buckets of tears and in some ways Jimin is jealous. Hoseok can physically express his sadness; Jimin can’t. Jimin just feels like there’s a gaping hole in his chest that leaks and drips misery and grief and it won’t ever close up. He feels so empty inside, so hollow and fragile and breakable. Like one collision is enough to shatter him into tiny little pieces. At this point, he supposes it could.

The operation for the removal of his disease was cancelled a day later. Jimin had stopped coughing flowers. The only thing on his mind was Yoongi, and all he felt was an irrational anger at Jungkook. He knows it’s not the youngers fault, but he can’t help but feel angered by the fact Jungkook had to be so…. him. Jungkook just had to be himself, and it was enough for Jimin to fall head over heels for him.

It was hard to see him in the same way. What if Jimin didn’t fall in love with Jungkook first? Jimin remembers Yoongi’s smile, his laughter, his hands, and that sour-lemon personality. Jimin wanted to die when he had lain in bed hours after, stomach turning and heart wrenching and maybe I loved him too.

He remembers all the ways Yoongi acted around him, all the ways Jimin should have seen earlier, should have realized his feelings earlier, should have loved him back earlier.  Jimin’s feelings of Jungkook are completely wiped. Jimin’s sure that if Yoongi were here, with his beloved camera, and took a picture of the walls of Jimin’s heart, all he would capture was images of Yoongi. Smiling Yoongi, sleeping Yoongi, angry Yoongi, focused Yoongi, nothing but Yoongi. Was it possible to have Hanahaki disease if the person you loved wasn’t here anymore? Jimin can almost feel the wilting flowers inside him, snapping off thin weathered branches and falling into the pits of his stomach. Dead.

BTS hasn’t been appointed schedule for three whole months. Once they would have revelled in the vacation time. Now it’s nothing but work, work, work, even with their hiatus. Namjoon’s thrown everything he is, into his music, headphones always in, nimble fingers typing over slick keyboards and squeaky mouses. Namjoon fingers fumble to create symphonies that are a jumble of intense anger and sadness. His songs scream out his sorrows and frustrations at the world, the loud cacophony blasting through headsets until Namjoon passes out on worn leather couches that are now half empty.

Seokjin cooks Yoongi’s favourite food, and cries to himself at the dining table that’s one person too lonely, and he’s never hated Seokjin more for being able to cry so easily. Seokjin hands tremble as he holds onto a photograph of the two of them smiling, you were gone too soon, he would say, silent tears streaming down unblemished skin and Jimin would think that Seokjin was still so beautiful while crying. Seokjin, the one with the strongest maternal bond, suffers so. Jimin can hear him jolt awake at night, breath in accelerated puffs, a desperate cry of “Yoongi, come back!” dying on dry lips. Jimin tosses in his bed and pretends to be asleep.

Hoseok dances more fiercely in the three years he’s been friends with the older. Hoseok had always been good at dancing, great even. But now Hoseok is a burning flame of genius. There’s determination and grief and unknown grace to his movements. Hoseok goes through countless routines. There’s anger and passion and most prominently, there is suffering behind every single move, every single loop of a song. He always comes home stinking of sweat and with an empty stomach from not eating all day but no one says anything because they know dancing is how Hoseok copes. Some days, Jimin joins Hoseok, dancing with such a fury until they’re both breathless and their eyes are clenched shut, hoping to any form of a god out there that this wasn’t reality. None of his prayers were answered.

He hasn’t seen Jungkook and Taehyung apart from each other the whole time. They’re stuck together like two magnets, grieving together. They’re always locked in their rooms, and the one time they had crawled out of their enclosure, their hands we locked together tightly. He saw Taehyung kiss Jungkook’s tears away by the fridge. Once upon a time he would have had the heart to be envious. Now he doesn’t. Jimin doesn’t even know if he has a heart anymore.

Sometimes, Jimin plays spin the bottle alone, room piled high with bottle-necks full of soju on late nights that pass too slowly, hoping that alcohol can kiss the wounded parts of him away. As if alcohol can build a cast around his broken heart and mend it better. The next morning Jimin always wakes up with a burning headache and looks -faced and has rank breath, but no one is there to care. It’s not like Jimin cares either.

There’s barely any communication between them, and Jimin hates it. But he does understand the need for space. Waking up with one less member, one less part of your heart, your soul, your feelings, one part less of your life is something they weren’t exactly used to, or would ever get used to. No one had been able to get over it. Jimin doesn’t blame them, he’s far from moving on at any rate.

***

Their manager drops by. He’s clearly not as affected, but he still casts’ sympathetic looks to the members and rubs their back soothingly. None of them shrug off the contact, as much as tired eyes speak their worth. They don’t even have the strength to snap back at futile comfort. Jimin just drops back into his messy bed. He hasn’t done his blankets ever since Yoongi. Once Seokjin would have nagged him, now Seokjin is the same. They’re all the same.

The day is a little less bitter. The cold winds that used to leaving freezing teeth marks along his skin are slowly thawing. Jimin sighs, and says something about ‘going out for a walk’ so Seokjin doesn’t panic when he doesn’t find Jimin in his room, after his tears have dried into cracking trails down his face. He puts on a face mask and a beanie, Yoongi’s beanie. Jimin tries not to break down when he slips the familiar item of clothing over his head.

When he’s sure tears aren’t pricking at his eyes, he quickly leaves their dorm that aches of pain and buried memories. The heavy backpack slung over his shoulders weighs him down, but he knows it’ll be needed. The trees are a muted kind of green. Jimin wonders when colour will return back into his life, if ever. He holds out an outstretched hand in front of his face, closing one eyelid. The hesitant sun shines soft dashes of sunlight thought the gaps in his hand, as if trying to cheer him up.

His hand falls back down to his sides and he heaves a sigh. Fans had been devastated over Yoongi’s news, and their fan cafe suffered. Members dropped to an all-time low, and Jimin doesn’t deny the dread that washes over him when he makes the effort to check. The media made it watcher-bait and Jimin felt disgusted. Did they really have to drag Yoongi in to get more views? Couldn’t they just leave him alone?

It was the first ever idol Hanahaki death, they said. What a tragedy, they said. Jimin didn’t need to know behind fake smiles and empty words stood selfish grins and mocking tones. BTS was just another pawn in the industry of media that filled journalists and reporters pockets full of money. Camera men had died down after the first month, but there were still constant blinding lights that steal away his vision momentarily. Jimin wonders if he would go blind.

Jimin enters a coffee shop that bleeds warmth and intimacy. He orders coffee, watching dark liquid swirl into shots of milk and he just let’s himself sink into the atmosphere. Money changes hands and then he’s situated at the corner of the café, coffee in one hand and multiple packets of sugar in the other. Jimin’s small fingers expertly tear open the paper bags full of artificial sweetener. The packet has small black writing, repeating ‘sugar’ all over it. Sighing, Jimin dumps in yet another bag into his coffee, crystals dissolving slowly beneath the frothy white surface. Suga. Yoongi had always loved coffee.

He spends the rest of the afternoon finishing that coffee in the dreamy café, and when he’s done and finished throwing the crumpled cup away, he feels a receding bitterness on his tongue so he buys another drink, café latte this time. The sweetness of drink is almost overwhelming at first, taste buds used to the sharp taste of coffee, but Jimin naturally eases back into it.

When he’s finished that, the clock reads 3pm. He should get going.

***

The train ride he takes that leads back to the countryside is loud but quiet at the same time. The constant rumbling of wheels on rails sets a rhythm behind him. It’s almost sunset when Jimin arrives at the beach, sandy grains sinking below his feet. The waves are washing ashore, chewing at damp sand as the gentle wind brushes its fingers through Jimin’s hair. He sits down on a stone ledge, shrugging off the backpack. He opens it and his fingers enclose a lidded device and thick strap. Yoongi’s camera.

Jimin had only fiddled around with the camera a few times before, and those were met with Yoongi screeching loudly and punching him in the arm multiple times until the skin became bruised. Yoongi never once looked apologetic. Jimin’s small fingers click through the camera records, and he smiles ruefully at all the random pictures Yoongi had taken. Memories that were forever. Jimin presses back to the main menu, and positions the lens in front of him. The eyes of the camera snap once, twice at the sky that breaks out in red and oranges and blazing warm light.

He walks around the beach, taking off his training sneakers and socks and holding them in one hand. Jimin walks to the shore that laps at his feet. He stares as cold water flows into the cracks of his toes and eebs back into the vast ocean. He wonders how it would be like if he just cast himself out to sea and let the water control him, let it pull him under and suffocate him until every last breath gets choked out of his lungs and he loses everything. Jimin stays like this for a few more minutes, letting the sound of the sea let him sink underneath his thoughts.

When the sky begins to dim with violet, and stars that set the world alight with their shine speckle the night blanket begin to show, Jimin heads back. He buys a bouquet of flowers, and hops on one of the last trains that run through Seoul. His phone vibrates in his pocket and Jimin almost jumps at it. Surprisingly it’s not Seokjin like he expected, but Hoseok.

“Jimin, where are you?” He asks. There’s not much of a worried tone in his voice, because Hoseok knows if Jimin can pick up his phone, he’s probably okay.

“I just walked around and drank coffee, then went to the beach.” Jimin responses, shrugging his shoulders even though he knows the elder won’t see it. There’s a sigh on the other end.

“Just get home soon okay? Seokjin gets more worried the later it gets, and it’s already pretty dark out.” The voice piece speaks, and it’s Jimin’s turn to sigh now.

“Okay. I’ll be back soon. Talk to you later.” Jimin hangs up before he hears Hoseok’s reply.

***

It’s 9pm when he arrives. His sneakers crunch loudly on loose rocks and gravel path. The place is desolated. It’s already night, and the moon casts an eerie glow over the place, but Jimin’s never been afraid of ghosts.

He shuffles around, eyes squinting to scan the names of people under dim lamp light. When he finds Yoongi, he kneels in front of him. Yoongi is now just another body in the ground, and another headstone in a river of others. Jimin gently places his bouquet of flowers near the carved rock. Striped carnations. Jimin lies on his back facing the tomb stone, not caring if the dirt beneath him emitted death and disgust. At least the sky above him was merciful.

He rummages through his bag and pulls out an envelope. Jimin opens it, a small smile on his lips, and ignores the way his hands tremble ever so slightly. He takes out the things he’s prepared.

“Do you remember this picture? Jimin asks, voice thick and tears threaten to overflow already. God, he was weak. It’s an old photo, where Jimin still has a bubbly youth in his eyes, and Yoongi didn’t have as bad black bags and wrinkles in his face. BTS were still happy and healthy.

“What about this?” Jimin takes out another photograph. This time, it’s a photograph of Yoongi holding him up bridal style, grinning, and himself clutching on for dear life.

Jimin shakily laughs, continues, “And that time in Rookie King? How you were the triple king? And you had to wear that embarrassing maid dress and refused to look anyone in the eyes, shouting ‘hiphop is dead’?” He nestles a palm beneath his hand, eyes tracing over the pattern of stars in the sky. He blows his bangs out of his eyes, hoping to dry the pooling moisture this tear ducts are producing for the first time.

“Oh, and what about that time when you just had skate, and blew those sticky notes off my face? They were really smelly Yoongi! Don’t forget that time where I said I liked you and you called me scary! That was so mean! Do you remember when I pulled too hard and ripped my shirt during the intro dance on our debut stage, and you laughed at me for hours on end?” Jimin laughs again, remembering all the fond memories they had together. His heart aches.

“Do you remember?” Jimin stifles his sobs with a hand. He hurts enough that he’s actually crying. He’s still lying down, so his tears make their ways down the side of his eyes. They’re small tear, little tears, because Jimin isn’t meant to break, Jimin is meant to be strong, or act strong at least. He doesn’t wipe them away. They’re too far and few to brush away so easily.

“I miss you so much.” He finally admits, and the sinking feeling in his chest elevates a little. “I miss you so god damn much.” Jimin cries. He threads his hands over fistfuls of grass in anguish, and wishes it was Yoongi’s hair instead. But it’s not over yet.

Jimin gives a shaky exhale, blinking the tears away from his vision. There’s one last thing in the envelope, his letter.

“I know we visited you only three days ago, but even a day without you still hurts. I kind of wanted the privacy anyways; I’m going to be reading this stuff out aloud anyhow.” He says to Yoongi.

His fingers pry open the paper that looks well-presented and neat. Jimin had spent hours writing and rewriting the letter, each time adding more and more, yesterday. His hand was so sore afterwards, and it was still sore now, but still. Jimin begins reading it.

“Dear Yoongi,

It’s Jimin here, writing you this letter! Has it been three months already since you left us? It has felt like so much more than that. BTS are doing well- well, not really. There’s distance drifting between us ever since you left. It’s so hard to repair the cracks between us. We haven’t had schedule for the whole time, and I’m glad for that. I don’t think I could possibly be happy, even for our fans, in this state. Yoongi, there’s so much I wanted to tell you, more than words could ever say, but words are all I have now. So I’ll try my best.

Namjoon’s a mess. We’re all a mess honestly. I think he’s picked up smoking, and Seokjin buys a lot more alcohol than he normally does. I started as well. It just helps us cope right? I think Taehyung and Jungkook are together, romantically. But I’m not jealous. I’m not sure if I ‘loved’ Jungkook. Maybe it was more of an idolization, Jungkook was better than me in so many ways that I became obsessed with his perfection. Maybe.

Sometimes I carry your camera around, and if you were here I know I would have a million bruises blossoming on my arm, so forgive me for that, and I just take pictures. I take pictures of simple stuff; try to act as professional as you do. No one has entered your room; no one has the heart to since that day. Your camera was in your room, but I took out that day. I’m sure your lyric papers are still thrown all over the ground. I wonder if one day we’ll be able to go in, and compose a song for you, based on your lyrics.

Out of all the things I wanted to say, I want to say I’m sorry the most. If you told me, no, if I had noticed your feelings nothing would have been that way. I’m sorry for not doing anything, I’m sorry for being clueless to all your affection. If only I could turn back time to change it all.

Sometimes I wonder. What if you were still here? What if this stupid disease never existed? I would still have you here. I could learn to love you. Bangtan would still be bulletproof.

I should have known, that night when I was ‘sick.’ When you left to go toilet right after I mentioned Jungkook. I should have known. It’s my fault too.

Yoongi, I don’t know when we’re going to stop grieving. We might never make a comeback, it wouldn’t feel or sit right. I wish I could say we’re okay, but we’re not. Yoongi, I wish you were still here, because without you nothing seems to ever be okay again. Your traces are still around the house. That chair you moved over to the side of the room so you could sleep on it, that unfinished burger left in the fridge, your pen left on the coffee table you used to write all your lyrics with, none of that has moved. Well, except maybe that hamburger Seokjin regretfully threw away because it went rotten.

I wish I could turn back time. Back to those days where you were still mine and I could have been yours. Yoongi, I wish I could have told you I loved you, kissed all your tears away and stop those flowers from ever spawning. I would let go of Jungkook if it meant I still had you here.

Yoongi, there’s so much I want to say to you, so many times I wished that if I reached out hard enough, a fragment of you would still hold me, so many times I fell asleep with open arms, hoping you- someone would comfort me, but all I had was loneliness.

Yoongi, there’s still so many years ahead of me. So many years I’ll need to catch up with you, so many years of BTS, and life, and missing you and just getting by, that I’ll need to talk to you about later. So many experiences and feelings I could finally tell you. I miss you Yoongi. I miss you a lot. It’s like I’ve lost half of my life. I never realised how important you were to me before you went to rest forever.

I promise that in this life, I’ll love you more than you ever gave your heart to love me. I promise that I’ll make sure to repay everything you’ve done for me. I’ll do everything for you, and I’ll just ask for one thing.

Promise me you’ll wait for me on the other side okay?

From Park Jimin”

***

By the time Jimin’s done crying his last tears, and mulling over Yoongi’s grave it’s past midnight. Jimin places the letter of his heart and the photographs of his memories beneath the flowers. He gets on his hands and knees, dipping his head so low his hair touches the grass. He pays his respect to Yoongi, and gets up off the ground.

The train’s already stopped running this late, so Jimin just ends up walking home. The cold air nibbles at his jawline and Jimin shivers just a bit. He’s guided by nothing but lamp light and his feet, so it takes him until the early hour to crash back through the doors of the dorm. He’s instantly greeted by Seokjin who has a hard frown plastered weakly on his face.

“Where were you?” The older speaks sternly, but voice slurring. He’s been drinking, and now that Jimin has moved closer, he can definitely smell it on the male’s breath. Jimin just shrugs, and begins to head to his own room. He has no reason to explain himself.

“Jimin, I’m talking to you!” Seokjin yells at him, and normally Jimin would be alarmed at the male raising his voice, but right now Seokjin is drunk, and Jimin could care less. He just wants to sleep. He hears a crash, the breaking of glass, another bottle throw haphazardly across the room that eventually made contact with the ground and shattered. Jimin sighs, Namjoon isn’t here to control Seokjin, and no one can deal with a frustrated Seokjin either, so it’s only fuel to the fire. Jimin only responds by slamming the door loudly.

Jimin sighs, setting down the backpack onto the ground, camera thudding slightly. He s the bag and takes out the photo-taking item. He turns it on and it whirs to life, lens clicking and buttons flashing. He opens all the folders of pictures Yoongi recorded on the camera. He laughs when he see pictures of the members sleeping faces, Taehyungs dog, Seokjin’s alpaca, an face Namjoon pulled. They’re all random and jumbled up in a memory card bursting at the seams with reminisced data, but to Jimin they’re normalcy. They’re just their goofy usual dry-humoured selves with all the troubles in the world, but had the 6 other loving members to help them through it all. Jimin can look at these pictures for forever, look at their once-happiness forever. Jimin reckons he can flick endlessly through these frozen memories all night. So that’s what he does.

The sun peeks behind hesitant clouds that scatter through piercing rays, just as Jimin lightly drops the blinking camera on soft bed sheets and his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion and he falls into a slumber where mute pictures came back to life, and BTS was still BTS.

-

IM TRASH I KNOW 

PRETTY AMBIGUOUS ENDING
shud i make a sequel for them in 1 years time???????? idk
or maybe a hobi-centric one!!!!
 

I hope you guys enjoyed reading it!!! Is it better than the firs one??? (I personally don't think so, but PLS GIVE ME UR OPINIONS)

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