[CONTENTID1] One [/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]

It's been a long day at work, and you're eager to go home and relax after a day stuck at the studio. But Yoongi's finally coming home from the tour tomorrow and you want to prepare for his homecoming. So instead of relaxing in a hot bubble bath, you're at the supermarket, examining cabbages and trying to think of ways to subtly inject the unpleasant vegetable into Yoongi's meals without him noticing. Knowing the boys, unsupervised, they've probably been on a fast food diet for the last month, and you worry about the amount of fiber in Yoongi's meals. As you contemplate this problem, your phone rings.

You smile at the sight of Yoongi's name flashing across the screen and take the call, "Hey babe! I'm at the grocery store right now, preparing for tomorrow. What's up?"

But there is only heavy silence on the other end.

You frown and try again, "Baby? Is everything alright?"

"_, it's Jimin."

His voice is thick and choked up with something suspiciously like tears, "Jimin? Why are you on Yoongi's phone? What's wrong?"

He in a deep breath and you grimace at the wet sound, "Th-there's been an accident… A drunk driver ran a red light… And hit Yoongi-hyung's side of the van."

The cabbage head slips out of your hand and hits the ground with a loud splat but you pay it no attention. Your heart stops and your vision blurs dangerously, "Where are you?"

"At the hospital… _, please hurry."

"I'm on my way," you say and hang up the phone. Without a second thought, you turn and run, abandoning the cart full of food in your haste to rush out the store.

***

An hour later, you're pulling up into the parking lot of a hospital on the outskirts of the city. Normally, it would have taken you much longer to get there, but you broke numerous traffic laws to get here this quickly. You haphazardly park across two parking slots and jump out of the car before it fully stops moving. Jimin is waiting for you in the lobby, and jumps to his feet at the sight of you.

"Where are the others?" You say, surprised by the sight of him alone in the waiting room.

"They're all getting treatment."

"Oh no… Are they…?"

"They're fine," Jimin quickly says, "It's all superficial wounds—scratches and a few broken bones."

"What about you, Jimin?"

"I was sitting in the front seat. So I'm fine. I'm the only one who came out completely unscathed," he says with a humorless laugh.

You take in his red-rimmed eyes and the way his hands tremble when he speaks, and you want to call him out on his lie. But now is neither the time nor the place for that.

"And Yoongi…?"

Jimin presses his mouth into a hard line, "He's on the third floor. Here, I'll take you to see him."

You silently follow him down a winding maze of white corridors and elevators until you reach a door at the very end of the 3rd floor hall. Your heart thunders in your chest so hard that your ribcage constricts and it's hard to draw air. Summoning all the courage you can muster, you force yourself to look through the glass window into the room.

Yoongi lies on a hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen different IVs and alien gadgets. He looks pale and sickly, but you don't see any noticeable wounds from your vantage point. The steady flicker of his heartbeat on the screen brings you relief.

You sigh deeply and lean against the wall for support, "Thank god," you whisper to yourself. Then you turn to Jimin, who's more of a mess than you are.

"Jimin, what happened?"

"I'm really not sure. It all happened so quickly. We were on the outskirts of Seoul, just a few miles away from here. But as we were turning into the city, this crazy car runs a red light and slams into the side of our van, right where Yoongi-hyung was sitting… It's all my fault," he groans, raking his hands through his hair.

You glance at Yoongi's sleeping figure in alarm, but he doesn't stir, even with all this commotion right outside the door, "Shh, Jimin. Stop talking nonsense. How could any of this possible be your fault?"

"I was supposed to sit in Yoongi-hyung's spot," he blurts out, "But I was feeling carsick and hyung agreed to trade with me… It should be me in that hospital bed right now, not hyung!"

"Don't say, Jiminnie," you interrupt, desperate to keep his voice down, "How could you have predicted this? It's not your fault."

"It is!" He exclaims, tears filling his eyes, "It's all my fault! It should've been me!"

You rush over to grab his arm and shush him, "Shh, Jiminnie, keep your voice down," you hiss at him, "Yoongi's still resting."

He stares at you with huge eyes, "You don't understand what's happened, do you?" He says in a hushed whisper.

You frown at that, "What are you talking about?"

"I can't disturb Yoongi-hyung… he's not sleeping."

"Wh-what? What does that mean?"

"_-ah… Yoongi-hyung is in a coma… And we're not sure when he'll wake up."

His words are like a punch to the gut. You stumble back a step, as all the color seeps from your face and your back hits the wall. "Oh my god," you gasp, slumping against the wall for support as all strength leaves your body, "N-no. This can't be."

Jimin's watery eyes brim over. He takes one big stride forward and grabs you around the waist before you can crumple to the ground. The reality of the situation hits you and you can't stand. You dig your fingers into Jimin's shirt for dear life as sobs wrack his body and course through yours.

A salty taste overwhelms your mouth but you can't tell if they're your tears or his.

Coma.

Yoongi is in a coma. And he might never wake up.

***

You spend the next week at the hospital, not willing to leave his side each night until the staff members forcibly kick you out once visiting hours are over. Most companies would have fired you already for such an extended break, but luckily you work for Big Hit, and Bang-PD is more than understanding.

The other members come in and out to visit, breaking the monotony of your days, but they can never stay too long, and it's normally just you alone with Yoongi's comatose body. You read out loud to him and carry out conversations with him, pretending as though he can respond. But the majority of the time you just sit there and clutch his icy cold hand, praying for a sign. But the warmth from your hand never sinks below the surface of his skin, and you're not sure if he can feel your touch.

Yoongi's parents finally get time off during the weekend and take the first plane to Seoul on Saturday morning. You're reading the sports section of the newspaper out loud to him when they burst into the door.

"Oh my poor baby," Yoongi's mother gasps, holding a hand to . Tears well up in her eyes and she doesn't hesitate to rush over and grab Yoongi's hands with her own.

Yoongi's father seems a little more composed, but his face is distorted in an expression of distress. You don't forget your manners and rise to your feet to bow at them, "Mr. Min, Mrs. Min, hello."

Yoongi's mother seems to notice you for the first time and pulls away briefly from Yoongi in order to catch you in a tight hug, "Oh, _-ah, dear, you're still here?"

"Yes. I've been here since last week."

"Thank goodness that Yoongi has you. You're such a dear for watching over him for us."

"It's the least I can do, ma'am."

"How has he been?" Yoongi's father speaks up at that moment, staring at his son's unconscious body with a deep frown etched on his handsome face.

"Not much change," you admit, "But his external wounds have almost finished healing, so that's a good sign."

Yoongi's mother noisily blows her nose into a tissue, then launches herself at Yoongi again, "My poor baby," she wails, "I should've never let you go on this dangerous tour. I should've never let you leave Daegu in the first place!"

You wince at the loud volume of her voice, "Ma'am, maybe you should lower—"

"Mom?"

A croaky voice interrupts you at that moment and all three of you freeze. You slowly turn to stare at Yoongi with wide eyes and find his eyes half-lidded as he stares at his mother with a confused expression on his face.

A million emotions hit you at once and you're not sure if you want to laugh or cry. While you're still contemplating this problem, Yoongi's mom lets out a cry of exuberance and wraps her son in a hug so tight, you're worried about his ability to breathe. A second later and his father joins the reunion, laughing weakly as he ruffles his son's hair.

You watch the three of them for a minute, your heart filling with joy at the sight of the two exuberant parents with their grumpy-looking son squished between them. A laugh bubbles up in your throat and you manage to push your way between his parents for a spot near his bed.

"Yoongi, you're awake!" You exclaim with a watery grin, "How do you feel?"

He blinks at you in confusion, "Thirsty. Can I get some water?"

"Oh, yes. I'll call in a nurse," you say, pulling away briefly to press the call button.

"Ah, mom stop it," he complains when his mother tries to smother his face in wet kisses. "What's going on? Why are you guys here?"

"You've been in a coma," You explain, "For nearly a week now."

"Yes, and _ has been taking good care of you," Mr. Min says, proudly resting a hand on your shoulder.

You grin at him before leaning down to hold Yoongi's free hand, that is not in Mrs. Min's death grip, with both of your own, "They're exaggerating, but yes I've been here this whole time. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

He glances down at your linked hands with a raised eyebrow before carefully pulling his hand out of your grasp, "My head hurts a little, but I'm alright. Do you think I could get a painkiller, doctor?"

Everyone freezes at that. You feel your smile slipping off your face. "Doctor?" You numbly repeat back to him.

"Oh, sorry. Are you a nurse?" He blinks at you in innocence.

There is absolutely no recognition in those dark eyes of his. It feels like an icy blade has been into your heart and you stumble away from his bedside, horrified.

His parents look equally as troubled. "Yoongi-ah, this is _, don't you remember her?"

He his head to the side as he studies your face, "I have never met this woman before."

Yoongi's mother looks up at you and her expression is a mix of shock and sympathy. You close your eyes tightly, willing away the tears.

At that moment, his doctor and a nurse rush into the room, making the three of you step back for room. "Ah the patient's awake!" The real doctor exclaims as he quickly puts on his stethoscope to listen to Yoongi's heartbeat, "How's he doing?"

"I think there's something wrong with his memory, doctor," Mr. Min says, "He seems to remember us fine, but he doesn't remember his own girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Yoongi repeats in surprise. From across the room, his eyes meet yours, scrutinizing carefully. His hawk-like eyes take in every inch of your disheveled appearance, from your mousy exterior to your bedraggled clothing. Instinctively, his nose wrinkles in distaste.

You look away in utter shame and wish the ground could swallow you whole.

The doctor and the nurse exchange concerned glances, before the doctor turns back to his patient, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, ok? Just answer to the best of your ability."

"Alright."

"What's your name?"

"Min Yoongi."

"What's your date of birth?"

"March 9th, 1993."

"And what is today's date?"

He pauses for a second to think, "I can't remember the exact date…" he confesses.

"That's alright. You've been in a coma for over a week. Just try your best."

"September? I think?"

"Good. That's good. Keep going."

"If it's been a week… Then it should be September 7th, 2013."

It is dead silent in the room for a long second. Even the doctor seems taken aback, "Sorry? Can you repeat that?"

"September 7th, 2013. Now can I please have the water?"

The nurse hands over the cup in stunned silence. Yoongi's mother and father turn around to stare at you with wide eyes. You helplessly stare back, and none of you can find the words to say.

***

"And this is the apartment we share," you say, nervously leading him through the door a week after he is discharged from the hospital.

Yoongi glances around in the living room, then leans over to examine a figurine on the bookshelf, "It's very… cozy," he finally comments, but it doesn't sound like a compliment.

"Thanks," you say, anyways, "Um… Does any of this seem familiar at all?"

He stares at a framed photo of the two of you on the mantle, "Not at all… Were we at the beach when this was taken?" he asks.

"We were at Kota Kinabalu," you explain, taking the photo from him, "In Malaysia. You and the members went there for your summer package DVD and you had so much fun that you dragged me there a few months later… For our one year anniversary."

"I had fun… on a beach?" he repeats to you in disbelief as he stares at the photo of the two of you in shorts and tanks with matching flower leis around your necks. He has his arm around your waist and he's grinning so widely, you can see his gums.

"Yes, you did," you say, overly protective of the memory of the best day of your life.

"Hmm," he puts the photo back and turns to you, "How long have we been together, _-ssi?"

"A year and three months," you say at once, "Since we worked together on the School Luv Affair album."

"School Luv Affair?" He repeats in confusion, "We had another album after O!RUL8,2?"

"Yes… And another two albums… Yoongi, BTS is very successful now."

He sighs and rubs his suddenly aching temples, "This is too much to process right now."

"Would you like to lie down or something?" You ask in concern.

"No… I think I just need some time. _-ssi, I'm going to move back to the dorms, ok? At least until my memories come back," he says, trying to break the news as gently as he can.

It still feels like being slapped, "Ok," you numbly agree. Logically, you realize that this makes sense. You're practically strangers at this point. He would obviously need his space until the memories come back… if they come back.

Your heart twists with dread and you want to grab him by the shoulders and beg him to stay. You could do this with Yoongi. But the stranger who stares at you with a wary expression on his face is not the Yoongi you know.

So you take a step back and nod, "If you need more space, I can ask Bang-PDnim to reassign me at work. I can help Namjoon with his mixtape or I think Taehyung is trying to produce a new song."

"No, it's fine. I'm sure we can stay professional," he says, trying to smile at you, but it looks forced and nothing like the photo on the mantle.

"Ok," you simply say, at a loss for words.

"Ok," he repeats, "I guess… I'll see you around?"

You nod, wishing this exchange to end already so you can your wounds. He pauses for a second, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the thinly veiled pain on your face. He reaches over and squeezes your shoulder on his way out the door.

The gesture is mechanical and you're left feeling colder than before.

He hesitates in the doorway, looking desperate to escape, but held back by his own sense of duty, "Take care, _-ssi."

You nod once, "You too, Yoongi." Then you close the door behind him.

You stand there, slumped against the door for support for a full minute, trying to catch your breath and blink back the tears. Never, not even in your wildest dreams, have you ever imagined that a breakup with Yoongi would be so cold and formal. The despair and fury pent up in your chest, suffocating.

You march across the living room in three long strides and rip the Kota Kinabula photo off the mantle. You stare at it for a long time, your eyes glued to the way Yoongi's grin envelopes his entire face. Then your eyes travel down to his possessive arm around your waist.

That Yoongi was gone now. Everything you've worked for, everything you've felt for the last fifteen months. It was gone. Everything was gone.

In a fit of rage, you slam the photo frame into the hard brick floor. The glass shatters into a thousand pieces, and you don't flinch when the hard shards bounce back and tear into your skin. You relish the pain.

***

You're still in university when you meet him for the first time. You're a fourth year music major, and unlike your other classmates who are all interested in classic music or composing, you've always been drawn to a more modern genre. However, you're uncertain about your abilities to produce, but the mystery is finally solved when you land an internship at Big Hit Entertainment.

You're wary going in, having heard horror stories from classmates about how poorly they've been treated by entertainment companies. But to your surprise, Bang-PD himself greets you the day after you're hired and treats you to a cup of coffee. You notice, when he pulls out his wallet to pay, that there's a picture of him wedged in a tumultuous group hug with the members of BTS, tucked into a translucent sleeve. You realize, then and there, that this company is nothing like the big three entertainment companies that terrorized your classmates.

He describes the project you'll be working on (some sort of hiphop cypher?) with blatant pride, like a father, before ushering you down the corridor to the recording studio. With a wink and a paternal pat on the shoulder, he leaves you alone to meet the artist you will be working with for the next few months. Confused, you nevertheless walk through the door. At once, you catch sight of a pale redhead hunched over in the corner.

He looks up at your intrusion and your eyes meet.

It's like a cliché scene out of those cheesy romcoms from the 90s where the main protagonist sees the boy of her dreams for the first time and hearts blossom from her eyes or a cartoon cupid flies around and shoots arrows into her chest. Only you're an adult now, and you know flying babies don't exist. But you can still feel the shock of something sharp sliding into your ribcage.

"Excuse me? Are you the new intern?"

You quickly snap back into it, blushing from head to toe, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Min. Yes, I am."

He looks away, already disinterested, "Ok, take a seat here and show me what you've prepared."

You do as he says, cursing yourself for your embarrassing reaction the whole time. You've seen all of BTS's music videos, in order to familiarize yourself with the members and their music. But no amount of preparation could prepare you for Min Yoongi's cold intensity. Your handles tremble as you hand him the CD with a low bow.

He says nothing as he inserts the CD into the disc drive and hits play. The first chords of the song you've labored over these past weeks instantly blares from the speakers. Your whole body cringes away in unease. This song is as personal as a diary to you and you can't bear to watch his reactions. Instead you focus your gaze on your knees and pray for the song to end.

At last, the final notes trickle out of the speakers and the studio is silent. You peek up at him through your eyelashes, but Yoongi's expression reveals nothing.

"Did you make this yourself?" He finally asks.

"Yes," you say in a small voice.

"Let's play it again," he says, reaching over to hit the replay button.

It's even more unbearable the second time around. You count down the seconds in your head and swear to yourself that you'll trash the CD the second you escape this room.

When the song ends again, Yoongi turns to you with a frown, as though looking at you for the first time. You wilt under his piercing stare, and it takes a lot of self-control to hold eye contact.

"What's your name?"

"_," you tell him.

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