Jimin is at home, listening to a playlist the Jungkook made for him.  There’s something oddly familiar about the songs that Jungkook has chosen, even though it’s his first time listening to most of them.  The familiarity is rather comforting when he thinks about it.  He’s absent-mindedly clicking through articles on a celebrity news website.

Time slips past him, and his preoccupation with listening to vaguely familiar songs and faceless celebrities keeps him from realizing how late it is.  He doesn’t realize that anything might be wrong until someone knocks on the door. 

Jimin pauses his music, and there’s another, softer knock.  He has a sinking feeling in his stomach as he gets up.  His head is kind of dizzy as if he stood up to fast, maybe he did.  When Jimin opens the door, the weight of a person falls on him, causing him to stumble back.  Jimin manages to catch whomever it is that has fallen into his arms.

Jimin finally manages to get him to a seat, and recognition only comes when the person groans.  “Hoseok?” Jimin exclaims as he takes Hoseok’s face in his hands.  Hoseok winces, but it’s painfully obvious that his skin bruised and broken.

“Can you…?” Hoseok starts in a low voice that dangerously close to a long groan.

“Oh! Let me go get bandages and ice and rubbing alcohol…” Jimin quickly pulls his hand away to scurry off to the bathroom.  He collects everything that he thinks he might need, racing back to the living room and dumping his supplies on the couch next to where Hoseok sits.

He pauses, visibly torn between getting treating Hoseok immediately and getting ice first to press against swelling skin while he tends to other wounds.  Jimin chooses to get a cold compress from the freezer, running the entire time with an undue sense of urgency.

Jimin returns to the living room with the compress, handing it off to Hoseok, who immediately places it on his ribs with a satisfied hiss.

Jimin sits next to Hoseok and picks over the mess of his supplies to find cotton balls and isopropyl alcohol.  He unscrews the cap too quickly, resulting in the piece of plastic bouncing across the carpeted floor.  Jimin pours the alcohol onto to the cotton and turns to Hoseok.  “What needs the most patching up?”

“My face is the only thing that’s bleeding, Jimin.” Hoseok’s voice is flat in its annoyance.  It doesn’t cut Jimin at all; the emotion isn’t aimed at him.  It’s the sort of statement that comes after a day when one has just had enough.

Jimin clicks his tongue, “It’s going to sting.” He murmurs as he brushes the cotton ball against the torn skin on Hoseok’s cheek.  He hears Hoseok’s intake of breath, and he knows that he’s hit his mark.

“What happened?” Jimin asks as he reaches for a bandage to stick on Hoseok’s skin.

“Seunghyun.” Hoseok whispers the name softly, averting his gaze from Jimin.  It strikes him as odd that Hoseok feels enough shame that he needs to look away.

“Who is Seunghyun?” Jimin gently places the bandage to cover the optimum amount of cut.

“Their choreographer.” Hoseok’s voice has somehow gotten even lower.  Jimin simply stares instead of probing further.  He has chosen to wait for Hoseok to divulge more information at his own pace.

Jimin begins to put everything that he dumped on the floor onto their coffee table.  Hoseok only starts again once Jimin has moved everything onto the table.  “He was my senior at this dance academy that I attended.  I dropped out, but that’s not the point.  He was like the best.  He’s a member of Big Bang, and I’d bet an arm and a leg that he choreographed that routine.”

It takes Jimin a moment to put the pieces together. “He beat you up because of a trophy?”  It doesn’t make a lot of sense to Jimin; after all, Big Bang won the competition, which is a bigger deal.

“It’s really more his pride than anything.” Hoseok mumbles as he moves the compress to his face with a frown.  “They beat us up.”  He states hollowly.

Jimin gathers up his supplies since Hoseok only needed a Band-Aid for his cheek.  He rummages through the cabinet under their sink to pulls out a box of pain-relieving patches.  “Pull up your shirt.” He commands Hoseok.

It takes a few groans and moans for Hoseok to pull it up to just beneath his armpits.  Jimin stands rooted in his place, shocked at the purplish red splotches that cover Hoseok’s stomach and wrap around to his back.  He fumbles to open the box, managing to tear the adhesive off of the back of the patch in one go.  He tries to place it on Hoseok’s torso on the most pain-relief maximizing way.

He’s ready to stick on another when the sound of a key scraping against the metal of the deadbolt catches his attention.  He turns around to stare at the door just in time for Jungkook to open the door with bandages of his own plastered on his face.

Jimin is frozen once again; he hadn’t even thought about Jungkook or Namjoon.  Somehow in the panic of trying to fix Hoseok, he managed to forget that Hoseok left with both Namjoon and Jungkook by his side earlier.

Before he knows it, the box in his hands has fallen to the floor while he tackles Jungkook into a bear hug.  It takes him a moment to realize how stiff Jungkook is in his stance.  He clears his throat pulling away from his friend with his hand over his mouth.

Jungkook claps his hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “It’s okay.”  The forgiving phrase is strained.  “Is Namjoon here?” He asks after scanning the room.

“No, but don’t worry.  He just scampered off in a different direction.” Hoseok promises, quelling Jungkook’s worries and Jimin’s newfound panic.

The night does not end up going at all how Jimin imagined it.  They all stay up to wait for Namjoon.  They even manage to fit in a game of Go Fish after they finish covering every last inch of Hoseok’s skin with pain-relief patches.  They don’t talk about how Hoseok decided not to tell Hyorin about being beaten to a pulp.

When Namjoon does finally come home, he leaves before Jimin can even get in a hug.  He bypasses them to get something from his room.  It leaves everyone on the couch very confused.  Jimin frowns, waiting by the door to see if Namjoon is going to come back.

After a few minutes, the door opens again, and Jimin throws his arms around Namjoon before he’s all the way in the house.  Jimin doesn’t miss the distinct ‘ow’ that Namjoon mumbles, not that he’s trying very hard to hide it.

The evening ends in Jimin’s three roommates making sure that he is okay.  Jimin could laugh at the absurdity of it, but he still needs to be convinced that he shouldn’t take everyone to the hospital.

Jimin heads to work under the impression that the worst thing of the week has come and gone.  In fact, it’s even more than that.  He’s almost entirely sure that today is going to be great.  That, of course, heavily relies on the assumption that kissing Yoongi has changed their relationship.  They do need to discuss some things, a lot of things.  Aside from that, his friends are on the mend, not that he’s over them being attacked.

Nevertheless, Jimin has a bounce in his step when he walks into Yoongi’s building.  He even offers a smile to the horrid desk attendant that always tries to knock him down a peg.  His ascension to the Yoongi’s floor is fairly pleasant; he manages to make some small talk with the little old lady in the elevator.  He’s giddy with himself for making progress.

Jimin takes a deep breath before opening the door to Yoongi’s apartment.  His game plan is to talk with Yoongi first then carry on with work.  The quality of said work might be influenced by how their conversation goes, but Jimin has faith that Yoongi isn’t someone that just kisses other people.

He opens the door and takes immediate notice of the fact that all of the lights are off.  Yoongi doesn’t turn off all of the lights.  Jimin steps forward, peering around the apartment before calling out, “Yoongi?”

When there’s no response, Jimin closes the door behind him, “Min Yoongi?” He asks a little louder in case it was a matter of volume behind the lack of response from his client.

“Hello?”  By the time that he shouts out again, he knows that something is different.  Yoongi should have a least moaned or responded. It occurs to Jimin that Yoongi might not be home.  It’s a thought that numbs his entire skeleton with confusion because that’s so unlike Yoongi.

It’s a thought that he doesn’t really process because it makes absolutely zero sense to him.  Yoongi is practically a shut-in, his very own hermit.  Jimin walks towards Yoongi’s bedroom.   He finds another thing amiss.

The door to mystery room number two is ajar.  Jimin pauses an arms-distance away from the door.  On one hand, it’s ground for termination of contract if he peeks into the room.  However, he’s genuinely worried that Yoongi might be dead or knocked unconscious; that scenario somehow makes more sense to Jimin than Yoongi leaving the house.

It takes him a moment to choose whether or not to trespass into the room.  He presses his hand against the door with fingers splayed widely against the polished wood.  The door is much heavier than he thought that it would be.  The hinges creek eerily as the door swings open to reveal a dark room.  It’s Jimin’s chance to back out because even through the darkness, he can tell that Yoongi is not in there.  From that moment forward, it would be him satiating his curiosity.

Jimin sighs as he steps into the room, feeling the wall adjacent to the doorframe for a light switch. When he finds the plastic switch, he flicks upward.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, in fact, the room that’s in front of him makes much more sense than anything that Jimin might’ve dreamed up.  The very first thing that Jimin sees is the very nice leather chair set up in front of a massive studio mixer.  His eyes then shift to the recording booth behind the studio mixer.  It’s a recording studio; that explains why the door was heavy.  Jimin marvels at the fact that Yoongi has brought his work home with him, literally.

Jimin looks around the room, and his eyes land on a bookshelf that has notebook after notebook pressed up against each other.  He goes straight for the notebooks, ignoring the framed records and album covers.  He doesn’t even spare a glance at his vinyl collection.

There is white tape with black writing along the spines of each notebook, dating back years.  Some of the notebooks start and end within the same week.  Jimin can’t help but smile.  Since he started cleaning his house, Yoongi has gone through a notebook every week.

Although he knows that he shouldn’t, he takes one of the notebooks out, flipping it open to a random page.  He’s somewhere in the middle of a song with lyrics that are sugary sweet.  It’s obvious that the right words took some ironing out because there are smears of graphite from Yoongi rubbing too hard with an eraser.  The musical notes are written in ink, and Yoongi has made no attempt to change them.

Jimin tries to hum the melody, remembering lessons from his past when he wanted to learn how to play the piano.  Jimin likes the way tune goes, assuming that he still knows how to read music.

Jimin takes the notebook over to the chair and turns the page to a new song.  He doesn’t know how long he stays there, swaying in the chair while he takes a look into Yoongi’s mind.  If Jimin wasn’t in love with Yoongi before, then finding this room is the thing that sealed the deal.  He’s almost at the end of the notebook when he hears something drop.

He whirls around in his seat to find Yoongi standing in the doorway. The air around Yoongi makes Jimin’s stomach drop.  The smile that wanted to form on his face quickly returns its neutral state.  There’s a moment of truly suffocating silence that’s just trying to warn Jimin of what’s coming.

“I can—“ Jimin starts as he quietly closes the notebook.

“Get out.”  Yoongi’s voice is cold and cutting.  Jimin is sure that if he could tell what Yoongi’s expression was that he would be scared.

“Look, Yoongi, the door was—“ Jimin tries to start again, but he’s interrupted once again.

Yoongi takes the steps necessary to snatch the notebook from Jimin’s hands.  He quietly shelves the notebook and keeps his back to Jimin.  He repeats himself with the same iciness in his voice, “Get. Out.”  His words are more succinct, packing more emotion, anger, into his voice than before.

“I thought that something might have—“ Jimin stands up, taking a step toward Yoongi to try and explain that he hadn’t meant to breach his privacy and that it came out of a place of worry and love.

Yoongi whips around, and he’s suddenly much taller and menacing than he’s ever been before.  “Get out.  You are fired.  Take your things and get out of my house.  If I ever see you again…” Yoongi doesn’t even finish his sentence.  His breathing is ragged, and it hurts Jimin to know that Yoongi is holding back even more anger than he is expressing.   It’s definitely not the anger that comes from solely snooping in private matter.  Jimin can tell that Yoongi’s anger and hatred toward him is based on more than what happened in the last few minutes.

Jimin doesn’t know how much of his shock is written on his face, but he can feel the sting of oncoming tears in his eyes.  It’s as though there is a rock on his chest.   “I’m sorry.”  Jimin’s voice cracks, and he has to run away to keep his tears from becoming a point of mockery.

Jimin reaches his bag and throws it over his shoulder.  His keys jingle as though to cruelly remind him that he has one too many keys on the ring.  Jimin sniffles as he struggles to get the key to Yoongi’s house off of his ring.  His haste is only worsening the way he feels because he wants to cry right now, but he has to bottle it, at least until he’s in the safety of the hallway.  When the key finally comes off, it falls to the ground, clattering against the tile.

Jimin dashes out of Yoongi’s apartment, accidentally slamming the door behind him.  He pushes the button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator car will sense his urgency and take him away.  He can’t cry yet.

The elevator doors finally open with a small ding, and Jimin enters the car and hits the button for the ground floor.  The first sob bubbles to the surface just as the door shut firmly.

Jimin leans against the wall, sliding to the floor as he covers his mouth.  His body shakes as tears sting his eyes and skin.  Jimin wipes his eyes after each tear is shed.  He chants to himself that he has to get it together by the time that he reaches the ground floor.

He sniffles as he slowly pushes himself off of the floor, rubbing his eyes once more to keep any more tears from falling.  His nose is full of snot, and his eyes are red and puffy.  It’s obvious that he’s been crying, and he might burst into tears again if the concierge comments on his demeanor.

He manages to safely pass through the lobby without a wayward comment from the deplorable attendant.  He ends up hailing a cab; he won’t be able to keep it together for long enough to ensure he won’t wail on the bus.  He gives the cabbie his address and proceeds to spend the majority of his ride home sniffling and wiping away stray tears.

He pays the driver and decides to take the stairs.  He wants to think through everything before showing up to the apartment in case anyone is still home.  His feet are suddenly made of lead as he takes each step. With each step to his apartment, he counts his heartbreaks.

One.

Their kiss didn’t mean anything to Yoongi.

Two.
He’s unemployed again.

Three.

He is in love with Yoongi.

Four.

Yoongi hates him.

He stops counting at four because it’s salt on an open wound.  Jimin tries not to think about anything for the rest of the way up to his apartment.  When he unlocks the front door, his keys don’t make the same jangle.  It stabs him in the heart all over again.

Jimin takes a step into his home, taking his shoes off.  Jungkook is on the couch, watching the news from the sound of it.

“Jimin?” He asks, “Why are you back so early?”

Jimin doesn’t respond, not in words.  He walks toward Jungkook and settles himself on the couch right next to his friend.  He shifts himself so that his head is resting in Jungkook’s lap.

Jungkook peers down, “Have you been crying?”

Jimin responds with a sniffle, “I need to go job hunting again.”  Although he says it in the quietest of whispers, he knows that Jungkook hears it.  Jungkook leans back with a small ‘oh’.  Jungkook begins to comb Jimin’s hair with his fingers; his nails gently scrape against Jimin’s scalp, soothing him with the tenderness of his actions.

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it when his tears return.  His sobs are much quieter this time.  His body quakes as he presses his face against Jungkook’s legs.  There’s much that he’ll need to explain later, but for now, Jungkook is being Jimin’s shoulder to cry on.

Jimin should have known that it wouldn’t go the way that he wanted.  The worst is never behind him.

a/n:
hi.  uhm sorry that i backtracked a little. oh well.
THE NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO SPECIAL. i mean what?
right some explanations.... candy to those who got the mugging right.
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