He woke up to an itching wrist. He woke up to his skin feeling like it caught fire. Last night Seokjin had given him another sweater to change into, the sleeve certainly much longer than his. The fabric irritated his skin, perhaps, because he found himself constantly scratching his arm the entire night. It was the unbearable itch that woke him up, grunting and turning his body around.

He woke up to an itching wrist. He woke up to his skin feeling like it caught fire. He scratched his wrist furiously, having his eyes still tightly shut. At the tip of his fingers he could feel something wet, something that pricked his skin like needles. The scratch got even more furious as consciousness started to pull him back.

He woke up to an itching wrist. He woke up to his skin feeling like it caught fire. Yoongi jolted up from the bed, opening his eyes wide and brought his hand out. The thing that greeted him was the red against his left wrist, the chiseled scar that Jimin hadn’t let heal. It wasn’t only painted with red now. There was yellow and green, slithering its way through the red, being faint underneath the taut skin. The most horrible was the smell, wretched and decayed. That was until he saw with his own eyes, the skin of his hand pulsing and moving until a tiny worm-like creature poked its way through the open flesh. It didn’t hurt but the feeling was too genuine, the skin parting and the maggot wriggling out, dropping onto his lap. Dozens of others followed afterwards and Yoongi just watched in horror as his skin split and tons of little wriggling maggots, too many to counts, work its way under his flesh, little bumps moving under his skin.

.

“Yoongi?”

Someone was shaking his body.

“Yoongi stop it.”

He woke up to an itching wrist. He woke up to his skin feeling like it caught fire. He woke up to find maggots crawling out from his skin.

“Yoongi wake up.”

He grunted. Someone was dragging him back to reality. Reality. He didn’t even know what that was anymore.

“Stop scratching yourself.”

He knew by heart that a voice as soft as that could only belong to Seokjin. As concioussness started to seep back in, he could feel a hand encircling his own wrist. Light didn’t seep through his eyes like it did in his apartment. Sunlight would always reach him through the closed curtain and it would be the only thing that woke him up. There wasn’t such thing now and he just realized how foreign the cushion felt under his back.

“Hey, stop it all right,” Seokjin said before hushing him, patting his back again like the elder did last night. Why did Seokjin always treat him like a baby?

He growled, retracting his arm and pulling it out of Seokjin’s grip with eyes still closed. He blinked rapidly, trying to recall what had happened last night. He wasn’t inside of his apartment. He was in someone else’s and there was Seokjin in the midst of that.

“Hyung?”

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a warm smile, the elder kneeling on the bed beside him.

“You’re scratching yourself in your sleep and I got concerned,” Seokjin said, ghosting his fingers against Yoongi’s wrist again. He retracted it away from Seokjin’s grip out of habit, avoiding the touch and the elder had somehow looked disappointed.

Yoongi got up slowly, groaning. He managed to fall asleep. With a nightmare, of course, but it was still better than finding himself behind the steering wheel like always. Maggots. That was new. He stole a glance towards his left wrist. The red angry scar was hidden underneath the long sleeve. Did Seokjin realize it? He certainly didn’t need petty questions or concerned look that annoyed him.

“What time is it?” he said, messing with his own hair.

“Almost nine. You sleep peacefully like a baby,” Seokjin said, giggling a bit. He was still kneeling by the bed side, right next to Yoongi.

“A baby who’s going to kick your if you say that again,” he groaned.

That sounded pretty much like himself. The usual Min Yoongi had returned. He slowly got up from the bed, massaging his own head and walked towards the door. Last night. He was standing in front of Seokjin’s door last night out of impulse.

Seokjin followed him from behind and went straight towards the kitchen. An apartment in Yongsan was certainly far from his in Gangnam in many terms, but there was something more about Seokjin’s that spoke of home and warmth. His was nothing but a roof over his head and nothing close to the term. The closest he would get to comfort was probably his own couch. No, just his couch wasn’t enough. He needed Jimin next to him, his breath against his neck. That was home.

“Breakfast?” Seokjin asked.

Yoongi just hummed before sitting on the dining table, fingers fiddling with the hem of the long sweater before he find himself scratching the skin again, rubbing the itching spot with the rough fabric of the sweater. He was allergic to it, since it would be the only logical explanation to why it was itching that badly right now, and if it was indeed the explanation then his action wasn’t certainly helping. It would only make it worse and he would end up with a rash soon after.

“You’re not going to school?” he said, glancing at the clock. It was 9 o’clock already. He didn’t really remember what day it was but 9 was certainly the time where they had that class with the notorious boring Professor Lee, he remembered.

Sizzling noises filled the air, followed soon after with the smell of something burning, being pleasant enough to remind him that his stomach was indeed growling. Seokjin was frying him some bacon, if his nose wasn’t deceiving him. The moment he emerged with his own rendition of English breakfast and a cup of coffee for Yoongi, he found out that his nose was indeed right.

“Nah, I wake up too late anyway. And beside I already got Professor Lee’s lecture note from Hunchul and he always repeated the same thing every year anyway,” the Kim said before taking a seat next to him.

This particular friend was a terrible liar, Yoongi knew. He knew that he was indeed the reason why his friend wasn’t attending college today. Seokjin was concerned about him he was willing to give up his perfect record of attendance. He was a model student and the rumored future valedictorian for a reason.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said, looking at Seokjin and witnessing the elder’s smile being wiped out of his face. He was indeed a terrible liar.

Yoongi grabbed the fork and started to dig on the food. Turned out he was hungry and he couldn’t really remember the last time he ate yesterday. If it weren’t for his friends he would always end up eating ramyun. Namjoon had joked that he would develop stomach cancer soon. The only sound that filled the room was the fork against the plate and the clock that somehow ticked too loudly to his liking. It went on comfortably like that before Seokjin decided to ruin the morning with a question.

“What happened yesterday?” Seokjin asked softly from his side, voice catious.

His finger froze, gripping the fork tightly.

“Or you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to talk about it,” Seokjin said quickly, realizing his discomfort and probably the wrong that he just committed.

He didn’t want to talk it. Didn’t want to even remember what happened yesterday. He just wanted to forget everything and came back like nothing significant had ever taken place. Surely he could do that, when Jimin could so profoundly deny the existence of the scars he inflicted on his own arms. Or maybe he was being delusional and when he got back and saw the boy, the scars would simply cease to exist. Either way, if Jimin could deny such physical thing being apparent in ones eyes, then his constant nightmare and hallucinations were nothing to be compared of.

“It’s all right,” he muttered softly before sipping the coffee Seokjin had poured for him.

His nice host just nodded and continued sitting there next to him as he finished his breakfast. He sighed before sitting slump on the chair, hands rubbing the sweater against the itching wrist again.

“What do you want to do today?” Seokjin suddenly asked.

He didn’t know. His brain didn’t give him any idea whatsoever and when it failed to do so he thought that he would end up sitting in front of the television again, only this time it was Seokjin’s and not his. Either way it was the same for him.

“I don’t know.”

“You want to go out?” he asked.

Winter would be upon them soon after. He wasn’t really fond of the cold gushing wind, freezing him to death. To be honest Min Yoongi and outdoor activity were simply incompatible, the moment they were together apocalypse would soon be dawning the human race.

“Not really.”

“How about a movie? I could call Namjoon over. Hoseok’s out for the tour, unfortunately.”

Yoongi shook his head. Seokjin was indeed too nice and he felt like he didn’t deserve each ounce of kindness that he offered him.

“Do you need anything, Yoongi? Just tell me,” he said.

He needed to see Jimin. He needed his remedy. He needed to see the boy and found no scars on his hand. No. That was what he wanted. Was it something that he needed as well? Both were entirely different, he knew it, but didn’t the boy proof his worth already? His sole existence was Yoongi’s way of breathing and as simple as that he just needed oxygen to live.

The boy was probably back in the apartment right now. He couldn’t be going back to his own house, much alone the school. He would wait for Yoongi there, amongst the ruin and thrashing that he had cuased. He would be waiting and when Yoongi went home everything would be all right. But then came another scene, swarming his mind like a plague. Jimin was alone in Yoongi’s apartment like he had thought but instead with another knife in his grip. He was sitting on the couch, looking at the knife as its tip etched his skin, the red river gushing from underneath.

Yoongi got up from the kitchen table so suddenly.

“I need to go home.”

He wasn’t even seeing Seokjin, eyes gazing to the blank wall in front of him, minds floating away, picturing the worst scene possible that would await him.

“Are you sure?” the other said, standing up alongside Yoongi.

“I need to see Jimin,” Yoongi said, turning around and went back to Hyosang’s room to fetch his car key. He had left them on the table by the bed last night. Seokjin followed him from behind, looking concerned.

“But you just woke up, Yoongi. Could you just leave after lunch or maybe you could ask Jimin to come over here instead?” Seokjin said. His words didn’t make any sense to Yoongi at all. He scanned the bed side table, remembering how he had put the car key there only to find it missing from its place. Confused, Yoongi doubled checked it, trying to look behind the small table in case it had fallen towards the other side.

“Come on, Yoongi. It’s been ages since we watch a movie together at my place,” Seokjin said from behind, voice trembling. There was something off about it.

There was no sign of his car key. He checked on his pants and found his pockets empty. He walked out of the room, ignoring Seokjin’s word. He went to the elder’s room this time though he didn’t even set his foot in it last time. Seokjin followed from behind as he ransacked Seokjin’s drawer and found nothing, only stack of papers and the older’s belongings.

“Yoongi, stop. Let’s just-,”

“Where’s my car key?” he said, turning around abruptly, facing Seokjin behind him.

The elder’s face was pale and he was indeed a terrible liar. He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something before the word died on his lips. He looked down as if expressing his guilt.

“You took it, didn’t you?”

It only made Yoongi mad. Seokjin just took his car key. Of course. There was no way he would misplace it. The only person who would take it is Seokjin and his friend had made it so clear to him. He thought about pulling every drawer in Seokjin’s room out and thrashed it like he did with his own apartment though it doubt it would even give his car key back.

“Give it back,” he said, voice demanding. Why did Seokjin have to do it? He thought that he would give the young man a chance, yet this was what he had done to him. It felt like betrayal. No, it felt like he was back in the apartment again, replaying the scene in which he screamed towards Jimin with chest ready to burst and head splitting.

“Where will you go if I did?” Seokjin said, gaining his confidence and talked back towards Yoongi.

“I’m going home. I need to see Jimin,” he said. There was nothing wrong with that. Why would Seokjin had to do something so ridiculous like this, keeping him in his apartment as if letting him out would mean certain harm.

Seokjin didn’t move. He just stood there in front of the door looking at Yoongi with expression he couldn’t really comprehend.

“Goddamnit Seokjin, give me back my keys!” he said, yelling.

He had dropped all of the formalities but even without it his tone was clue enough that he was furious.

“No,” Seokjin whispered.

“What?”

“I said no, Yoongi,” he said, looking back at him with newfound confidence. Yet there was something more with the way he looked at Yoongi. That concern was always there, always addressed to him. But then came sadness as well and frustration and overall he looked as if he was about to cry.

“I can’t take it anymore, okay Yoongi? You’re killing me,” Seokjin sighed, burying his face in his own palm and messing his own hair. Funny. Shouldn’t it be something that Yoongi should be doing? He was the one being furious, the one being frustrated, not the elder.

“I’m worried sick about you for weeks. I’ve known you for years and you’re not acting like yourself. You didn’t even talk to us about what’s wrong and whenever I try to reach out to you, you just cast me aside.”

He did. He always, harshly did.

“But last night-,” Seokjin took a deep breath before he continued. He sure sounded as if he was going to cry and it appeared ridiculous to Yoongi. Even if one of them would be crying, Yoongi thought that it would be him, since he was the one with the problem, no the other way around. “-you came to my door last night and I thought that maybe-, maybe I can finally do something good for you. Maybe I can finally help you.”

“Because there’s nothing wrong with me, okay hyung? I’m sick and tired of hearing what you said!” he screamed back. It sounded like a lie. Well, it was a lie, but at least he was better at lying than Seokjin.

“Don’t you think I’m sick of asking as well? I try to believe you, Yoongi. I try my best. Namjoon and I did. I thought you’re finally better for good when you went to the university yesterday but turns out I’m wrong.”

“Then will you be satisfied if there’s indeed something wrong with me?” he asked, face forming a condescending smile.

Seokjin looked at him with eyes filled with disbelief.

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Then there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. I’m perfectly okay. Just give me back my goddamn key so I could stop regretting ever coming to your door in the first place,” he said, raising his tone again.

He was hurting Seokjin, he knew it, just like he hurt Jimin with his words. The elder didn’t falter, though, still standing in front of him with expression as hard as he was.

“I can’t Yoongi, because you’re-,” he whispered.

Yoongi never felt like punching something as bad as he was right now. He could even take his fist right now and slammed it against Seokjin’s pretty face. His fist itched and so did his wrist. He ended up grabbing his left wrist tight, digging his nails upon it in a bruising grip.

“What do you want me to do, then? Lock me up in your place? Interrogate me until my answer satisfies you? I thought you’re my friend, hyung.”

“I am your friend!”

“You’re not doing a really good job at being one, then,” he said, mocking.

Seokjin’s eyes lit up right then, anger finally found its way through a curse he never let leave his lips. He’d never even heard Seokjin cursed before.

“Damnit, Yoongi. If I’m really your friend I would have dragged you out of your apartment weeks ago. If I’m really your friend I would have stayed with you, brought you to a psychiatrist, even. So yes, I’m a terrible friend. I’ve failed you because if I’ve ever been a good friend all of these shouldn’t have happened to you!”

And funnily enough the only thing that he heard, the only thing that had somehow caught his attention terribly was the word psychiatrist. Brought him to a psychiatrist, he said?

“Psychiatrist? Oh, so you think I’m crazy now, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Truthfully, he thought and felt like one. He was losing his mind and no one was capable of helping him. Not Namjoon, not Seokjin, not even Hoseok. The only person that could is Jimin and that was the reason why he needed to see him so badly now. He would go home and everything would be fine. He would see Jimin and he wouldn’t wait to crash their lips together again, shove him down towards the couch before either of them could even say a word. And Jimin would run his nails on his left wrist, etching his skin and sculpting red rivers upon his skin.

He was done having arguments with Seokjin. He bolted towards the door this time, walking passed the elder and headed towards the door. If he hadn’t had his car key then he would take the bus or taxi, even. He wouldn’t let Seokjin or his yells stop him.

“Yoongi please just listen to me!”

He grabbed his coat by the door and fiddled with his shoes. He didn’t care. He just needed to see Jimin. He already had one night without the boy. He needed him now. All his worries would be gone. All his nightmares would. When he went back there wouldn’t even be any knives or scars. It would only be him and Jimin.

“Listen to what, Seokjin? Telling me that I’m crazy? Or that I’m depressed? Telling me that you could fix me? Don’t make me laugh.”

He gritted his teeth as his fingers trembled with the laces. Frustrated, he got up and opened the door, his shoes still undone. Seokjin slammed it shut right afterwards, blocking the exit.

“Move,” he threatened the taller male.

Seokjin didn’t budge, looking at him with eyes pleading.

“You’re not okay, Yoongi. You need help. Don’t think I don’t see-,”

“And what? You’re going to be the one that helps me? You think you’re going to be my savior that magically takes all of these away?” he said, letting out a laugh.

He wasn’t one to meddle with physical force. He did have to get through the other person, though, but in this circumstance, he realized that his words were indeed sharper than knives. And he knew, he knew so badly, that little part of conscience left in him screaming, that he was going to hurt Seokjin. He was going to hurt the friend who cared about him the most horribly.

“You can’t, hyung. You can’t and you never will.”

.

Seokjin broke. The elder froze in front of him as he said the word, face gone stiff. It didn’t take much of his words. He had actually got everything at the tip of his tongues but Seokjin’s eyes died in front of him right as the word left his lips, the elder stepping back and letting out a breath that oddly felt like his last, looking at his eyes with expression of defeat before it turned into pain. Yoongi thought that it was enough to make Seokjin finally gave up. He thought that his words were a knife and it was enough to cut him a bit here and there, just to make him finally yield.

Apparently he had done more because Seokjin had fished out his car key from his back pocket and lifted his face back again towards Yoongi, fingers handing him the keys with tears running down his face. He wasn’t just cutting Seokjin here and there with his words. He had literally stabbed a knife through the elder chest and twisted it hard to stop his heart from beating.

At that moment something hit him. ‘You should’ve known’, that little voice in his head said. Or maybe he did know and he used that fact purposely altogether with his horrible words so he could wound the man bad enough to make his escape. Maybe all this time he did realize the calm voice and the extra attention, the look that Yoongi had horribly thought of as annoying. Most of all he should have realized the soft finger brushing against his back last night, the warmth that kept his promise and didn’t leave his side until morning. He should have realized what it all meant.

His words weren’t retractable. He couldn’t just pull out the knife he’d buried in Seokjin’s chest and undo what he had done. He tightened his fist and snatched the car key, turning around and never looked back.

.

His wrist kept on itching. He kept on scratching at them, at first through the fabric of the sweater before he finally lost his patience and pulled it up, this time burying his nails upon the skin. The ride back from Yongsan to Gangnam felt so long. The road seemed to stretch and the red light seemed to taunt. The only thing that stopped him from being crazy was the itch and he furiously scratched. He scratched and scratched, ignoring the pain and the prickly sensation that invaded his nerves.

He just needed to go home and changed, getting out of this damn sweater. Seokjin’s sweater.

He almost missed the red light and he stomped on the break hard, his BMW came to a screeching halt. It was ironic of him, running away from the man with his own sweater still clad around his torso, the faint foreign smell reminding him about a person’s heart he just broke.

The thought of Seokjin reminded him of the young man’s expression, of how he just scarred him. Jimin didn’t even give him that look, that expression filled with pain. He had yelled at the boy and spoke horrible words and the boy didn’t falter. At least as much as Seokjin did because the young man looked so broken only now did it gnaw on the remains of what Yoongi could call feeling.

Yoongi gritted his teeth. He just needed to see Jimin again and all of these worries would be gone.

He parked his car hastily in the basement and raced towards the lobby. At that point he was running, desperate for Jimin’s existence. He was the pill that he needed to down. He was the cigarettes he needed to smoke. Even his fingers were trembling the moment he hit on the elevator button, waiting for the door in front of him to slide open.

“Yoongi-hyung! Wait up!” he heard a voice called out to him.

Glancing, he saw Taehyung’s figure entering the lobby before the boy jogged towards him with face grinning. He certainly didn’t need this now. This was exactly the last thing he would hope to encounter.

“No, no, don’t worry I’m not forgetting my keycard again. Just going to return the one Jungkook got from you the other day,” he said, fumbling with his pocket before taking out another card that Yoongi snatch away from him instantly. He wasn’t literally in the mood for conversation.

The elevator door opened with a ding and Yoongi quickly stepped inside, Taehyung followed him too eagerly and stood by his side.

“By the way about Jungkook the other day,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook. His stomach churned upon hearing the boy’s name. The look on his eyes, that terrible expression and apparent fear. There was a woman, he said. There was a woman behind him. Yet when he turned around he couldn’t find anything but-,

“Sorry for the disturbance. Don’t worry. He did kick my for not waking up so you don’t have to do it if you felt like it. Afterall you know me, hyung. I’m a deep sleeper,” Taehyung said again, sticking out his tongue and giggled.

Questions were still floating in his mind. Yet as he had found the knife missing from the holder, he was afraid to know the answer to it all. Just like he was afraid to know that there was blood on his car. Just like he was afraid to know the reason behind the whispers. He was afraid but there was one certain thing that he realized. He never wanted to know the reason. He oddly never did. He just forgot about them all, burying them deep within his mind if he could and ran to Jimin for distraction.

And Jimin as well had never asked. They both functioned perfectly well. Not telling and not asking. Not living and not dying.

“By the way is Jimin here?” Taehyung asked.

He ignored Taehyung’s words, eyes fixating on the number of floor they’d passed, feet tapping against the ground, waiting until it reached his. He needed to see Jimin. He needed it so badly he felt like he couldn’t breath.

“I keep on promising you for a playdate! I’m free after this so how about we all crash on your place, hyung? I brought a friend as well. Friends, actually, because they are two of them,” Taehyung ranted.

His wrist itched again. It kept on bugging him this entire day. He was certain that it would also disappear the moment he met Jimin.

“In fact. They’re here now. Would you like to say hi, hyung? I mean Taeguk is really really shy for a girl but she’s fun the moment you know her better. And Taekwon is-, hey, Taekwon, what did I say about being nice to stranger? Sorry about him, he’s kind of rude but he’s nice, I promise you.”

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. That was everything that he needed. Seokjin could never help him but Jimin could. Nobody in this world could but that boy.

“Come on, Taeguk, don’t be shy. Say hello to Yoongi-hyung and his friend Jiminie. They’re both nice people. Taekwon, don’t do that-, don’t press on the eleveator button!”

Hearing another word from Taehyung would give him a headache, no doubt about it. And with his wirst itching and his heart heavy, a splitting headache would be the last thing he need, for all that he needed was-.

“Come on Yoongi-hyung. I want you to meet them,” Taehyung said, grinning from his side, tugging at the hem of his sleeve.

Yoongi purposely ignored Taehyung, eyes looking at the door in front of him, waiting for it to slide open. Just a little bit more. A little bit more and he would see his beloved again. He would paint his skin with blooming rose and he would cry out in pain, body twitching from the pleasure running through his nerve.

“No Taeguk, Yoongi-hyung isn’t mad at you. He’s just like this sometimes but he’s really a nice person. As for you, Taekwon, if you kept on poking on Yoongi-hyung’s leg than he would be mad for real.”

His wrist would bleed and he would savor each moment of it. Pain and pleasure would wash over him like waves against reef and he would feel. He would be alive and breathing instead of a living corpse that he was. He just needed his paramore again. Just needed Jimin.

“No, Taekwon I’m warning you. Taeguk, don’t be sad, really, Yoongi-hyung would like to meet you, of course, aren’t you Yoongi-hyung?”

Just needed to be sane again. Just needed to forget. Just needed the pain on his wrist and the repetitive and , pounding towards him over and over-.

“Yoongi-hyung?”

Just needed he repetitive cut, slicing his skin over and over-.

“You’re okay, hyung? I really would like you to meet-,”

“Shut up, Taehyung!” he yelled.

It startled Taehyung, obviously, for the boy froze, looking at him with eyes wide. He never raised his voice at Taehyung, no matter how annoying or loud he was. He was being mean right now, just like he did to Seokjin. He always did this. He was simply an awful person who kept on hurting other people.

Taehyung blinked, disbelief painted his face before the same expression of idiocy and playful grin returned as if nothing had happened.

“Awh hyung. You’ve scared Taeguk now. Taeguk, don’t cry. Taekwon, don’t hit on Yoongi-hyung he didn’t mean it, of course.”

Was it him who was insane or was it the boy?

“Who are you talking to?”

Taehyung let out a grin. That boy was indeed something, acting like he didn’t just snap at him seconds ago.

“Taeguk and Taekwon, of course. I want you and Jimin to meet them, hyung. Then we all can have fun afterwards!” he said, smiling widely.

Yoongi cocked his eyebrow. What was Taehyung even saying? There were only the two of them inside of that elevator, no one else. Was the boy living at the apartment next to his really was as crazy as he thought him to be?

“I can’t see them, Taehyung,” he said the words carefully, annoyance and cautiosness mixed together in his tone.

Something was gnawing at his chest, the same sensation that always pricked at him whenever something bad was about to happen, whenever the fear was going to make its entrance.

“Oh, of course you can, hyung. Just give it a try!” he said, grinning so gleefully.

“I can’t, Taehyung. And you’re not making any sense.”

Something was off. This was like finding the knife. He was afraid yet he couldn’t stop searching for it. One way or another it would appear soon enough, blood smeared upon it and he couldn’t run away from the fact. This was the same. He realized something was horribly wrong and he was scared to figure out the reason why.

“Of course I do. Oh Taeguk, don’t be sad, Yoongi-hyung’s just new to all of this. Taekwon, don’t pick on your sister!” Taehyung said again. And when Yoongi finally paid attention to the boy, he was turning towards the air right beside him and bent down with finger raised, as if he was scolding a little invisible boy by his side.

“Who are you talking to? Really stop it, this is not funny,” he said, voice raising again. His heart beat louder as he did so.

“I told you, Taeguk and Taekwon. Oh, come on hyung. I’ve played along with you. Why can’t you play along with me?”

“What do you even mean, Taehyung? I can’t even see them?!” His voice had gone louder. His wrist was itching again and his palm was sweating. This wasn’t hearing whispers or seeing nightmares yet the sensation was the same.

“Well at least pretend to, hyung. Isn’t it the purpose of it all?”

“What?”

“I mean I can see Jimin, hyung. Why can’t you see Taeguk and Taekwon?” Taehyung said, mouth pouting and face looking a bit disappointed.

All this time he’d been having nightmares, being behind the steering wheel and hitting on someone right at the Yeoksam intersection with his car. He would always be the one behind the steering whell, hardly feeling any impact as the boy rolled towards the hood of his car. Yet this time he felt like the one standing in front of the headlight, the cold metal hood of the car slamming his bod hard he could feel the impact for real. His stomach suddenly felt nauseous and his head pulsing at the same time.

“What do you mean?” he said, voice soft. It felt like finding the knife. He didn’t want to, because learning the answer behind it would scare the life out of him. It would wreck him and upon finding the knife he wouldn’t be able to throw it away, the bloody blade sticking to his finger like glue.

Something was off. Something bad was going to happen and he knew it.

“Imaginary friend, hyung. Jimin’s your imaginary friend, right?”

And finally, after a long torturous ascend, the elevator door opened with a ding.

.

Namjoon apartment wasn’t even in Gangnam. In fact it was closer to Seokjin’s in Yongsan and by any chance, running towards it wasn’t really the best idea of all. In fact it was closer to stupid as the early winter air blew against his face. But Yoongi didn’t care. Of course he wouldn’t. He didn’t even register the fact that his skin was freezing or his legs were trembling the moment he stopped in front of Namjoon’s door, banging on it desperately like he did with Seokjin’s.

He would always be like this. Just hours prior he had broken Seokjin’s heart. Just hours prior he was clawing at the elder’s front door. Now he was doing the same thing to Namjoon, though he couldn’t answer whose heart would be left broken by the end of their conversation.

His mind had simply gone blank the moment the elevator door slided open. Taehyung stepped out, face looking at him with profound confusion. He just stood there, body froze, even as the door closed again and Taehyung called out his name, asking him what was wrong. The next thing he knew was his fingers pressing the ground floor button relentlessly, feet tapping against the floor and wrist itching like mad. The next thing he knew he was out of his apartment building, running through the street of Gangnam like crazy. The next thing he knew he was standing in front of Namjoon’s door with body wreck and mind in a state of total chaos, chest heaving, gasping for air.

“What the hell with the banging can you-, oh, Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon opened the door after consecutive banging, face looking unamused before he realized that it was Yoongi. “Hyung, what are you doing here?”

Yoongi wanted to answer if he could. No, he came there to ask, actually. He needed an answer from someone. Just like last night he needed an anchor to tell him that he was sane. This time he ran to Namjoon for obvious reason. He wanted to ask yet his lungs were stopping him from doing so.

“Jesus hyung, you look awful. Did you run all the way here?”

It was exactly what he did though that fact was no longer important right now. Nothing didn’t seem to be beside Jimin.

“J-jimin-,” he said, speaking the name through his uneven breath.

“What? Slow down, hyung. What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath, one hand resting on the wall beside the door, trying to keep his balance. Another held on the sweater, clawing at his tight chest. He needed to ask, needed to know that he was still sane. Everybody could be crazy in this world. Jimin could, Taehyung could, even Jungkook could. He wouldn’t care as long as it wasn’t him. As long as he was still the same old Min Yoongi. As long as he could keep on breathing and knowing that Park Jimin was-,

“You s-saw him. J-jimin,” he said again.

Yet Namjoon still didn’t understand him, looking at him with brows furrowed. That was when Yoongi gritted his teeth, charging forward and holding Namjoon by his side tightly, his own eyes wide and voice raising.

“You’ve met Jimin, haven’t you?!” he screamed to Namjoon’s face, ignoring the pain on his chest.

His best friend would say ‘yes’. Would say ‘of course I do remember that one morning?’ Would probably even tease ‘yeah it’s the boy you’ve been ing right?’ He would, of course, because Yoongi remembered Namjoon being there, remembered Jimin said about opening the door for him, remembered him saying that they would forget about the blood on the car and every worry that Yoongi would gladly ram inside a drawer and never glance for a second time again.

But no, Namjoon didn’t say the word he thought he would hear. He didn’t even talk back, just stare at Yoongi from confusion to this expression that he really couldn’t tell.

“You came to my house that morning,” he said again.

Namjoon still didn’t answer, standing still. And only now did he finally make out the expression that Namjoon was giving him. It was pity. His best friend was looking at him with a pitiful look it didn’t annoy or disgust him. It scared him instead.

“Please, tell me Namjoon. You’ve seen Jimin, right? You talk to him. You were there!” he screamed, shaking Namjoon hard as if doing so could get the younger spilling out words he wanted desperately to hear.

He wasn’t imagining that up, was he? It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t him forgetting ever hitting a girl or a kiss gone terribly wrong. It was Jimin and Jimin had always been-.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

Everything in his world crumbled down. He was hit by the car again. If Taehyung’s word in the elevator was the initial impact, this was him falling unto the road again after his lifeless body rolled down  the hood of the car.

“Why did you say that?” he said, a smile oddly forming on his face. Namjoon was probably joking right now and he should laugh. That friend had always been terrible when it came to humor, hadn’t he? He whould at least cherish this petty attempt of a joke with a smile. “Why are you saying sorry?”

Namjoon should be smiling right now. Should suddenly say, ‘okay it’s a joke’. Should let out a laugh and Yoongi would be furious afterwards but be glad nonetheless. If this was a joke it was too cruel. Too cruel or his friend had probably gone better at telling one he couldn’t even differentiate which from which.

“Hey Namjoon, this is a joke, right? Who made you say this? Is it Jimin? Are you guys pulling a prank at me with Taehyung?”

Yes, of course Taehyung would be a part of it. Would lure him with his stupid talk of Taeguk and Taekwon, would hit him hard with the word ‘imaginary friend’. Because it wouldn’t be possible if Jimin was never there in the first place, since Namjoon and Taehyung had seen him, had talked to him even. How would one even talk to someone when they didn’t even exist in the first place?

“Hyung, I’m sorry but-,”

“But what? Oh, come one Namjoon. This is too cruel. Wait, I take that back. This is a great joke. This one is too great since I couldn’t even tell whether you’re joking or not. Since when are you so good at this, huh?” he said, the same smile still painting his face.

His wirst itched again. It had been itching so badly the entire day as if screaming for his attention. He ran his finger against his skin, scratching at them. It just went worse and worse.

“Come on, you can break it now. It’s a great joke, I get it. So tell me that it’s a lie. You see Jimin, right? You talk to him, right?”

Why didn’t Namjoon say anything? Why did he just stand there and look at him with pity in his eyes?

“Tell me it’s a lie.”

Jimin was real. He was real and this was just a cruel joke. This was just a joke that Namjoon would break in any second.

“Tell me it’s a lie, Namjoon. Tell me that you’ve seen Jimin-,”

Why did he sound so desperate? Even his voice sounded foreign to his own ear, he didn’t recognize the trembling and quivering of his lips, or even the fingers that shook as it dig itself deeper and deper against his skin.

“-tell me that I’m not imagining him. Tell me that I didn’t make that scene up in my head. Tell me that I’m-,”

He kept on scratching. He furiously did, hands clawing at this own wrist. That was what Jimin did to him, right? Digging his nails against his wound. It would calm him. It would always remind him that he could still feel, pain at least. And how could he even imagine that? How could every moment that he spent with Jimin become a lie. How could he even imagine that warm breath against his neck or the moan that echoed through the wall? How could he even imagine the seering pain throughout his flesh as Jimin ran his finger against his back? That boy was real. That boy fixed him. He was everything that he had and everything that he needed.

“Please, Namjoon. Tell me that I’m sane.”

He was pleading. He was begging, even. Reassurance. That was the only thing that he asked yet his friend didn’t give him that. He only gave him that pitiful look and an apology for something he couldn’t even find the reason for.

That moment stretched on forever. Him standing in front of Namjoon and his friends not uttering another word. It felt like waiting for an answer. It felt like searching for the knife but not wanting to. It felt like waiting for the doctor, sentencing you to a stage four brain tumor, but instead of a brain tumor he was sentencing the label of a ‘madman’ upon your head.

“I didn’t come to your house that day, hyung,” Namjoon finally spoke, raising his voice after what felt like an eternity.

“No, you did come. Right after we had an argument. Right after you brought my car back. You came again the next morning. You met and Jimin and you told me to forget about everything and-.”

“And you snap at me in the university when I try to talk to you again because I never said those words!” Namjoon said.

He remembered it, remembered the younger male trying to bring up what he had told him to forget. That was the reason why he avoided Namjoon’s gaze afterwards, why he was so annoyed.

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi knew what he meant. He knew what Namjoon was going to say. He knew everything or probably, just like what he did with Seokjin, he had known all along. At least he should have.

“I never came to your house after that, hyung. I brought your car back and the next time we met was at the university.”

He knew that everything about this was going to break him.

“I never met Jimin.”

He wanted to scream. Wanted to ask Namjoon why he was lying. Wanted to tell him that he was being cruel. Maybe this was karma speaking to him after what he had done to Seokjin. He wanted to shake his friend again, screaming to his own face if it would make Namjoon finally uttering the truth. He would if he didn’t realize something weird happening to his wrist.

Somehow his itch stopped, right there and then. Everything stopped moving. Everything ceased to exist. Yoongi blinked and by some sort of impulse he finally looked down, raising his wrist in front of his eyes, the one that had been itching the entire day, the one that Seokjin had told him he’d been scratching in his sleep. He glanced down towards them and like a dream he felt like he just woke up.

“Hyung, what are those?” Namjoon cautiously asked, realizing his act.

Namjoon had never met Jimin. Taehyung said that Jimin was his imaginary friend. He saw the horrible scars on Jimin’s wrist. He found the bloody knives on the couch. Jimin had always caressed his left wrist or dug his nails on it. Jimin had always loved etching pain against his body whenever they on the couch.

He felt like he was waking up for a dream, like someone just pour a bucket of cold water on top of him. For once he could see everything. For once a tiny part of him understood. He took out his hand and he saw it written clearly there against his skin. Right there underneath the sleeve he could see the angry red scar and its little companions decorating the white canvass of his skin.

Namjoon had never met Jimin. Taehyung said that Jimin was his imaginary friend. He saw the horrible scars on Jimin’s wrist.

He wanted to ask Namjoon again, to tell the young man to stop telling him lies. He was searching for the truth yet it was there in front of him all along.

Jimin didn’t lie to him. The boy had never cut his own skin and there were no scars against his hand.

Because it was Yoongi who did.