Yoongi isn’t going to pretend that he’s not a little bit worried.

“Ah, sorry,” Jimin calls out over his shoulder as they dodge the surprised street vendor.

Okay, scratch that, he’s extremely worried.

Contrary to popular belief, Yoongi does give a . At least, he does when it comes to potentially getting into trouble. Trouble, which from what he’s learnt these past few years, is all but synonymous to Park Jimin.

As if he hadn’t been confused enough when Jimin showed up with no warning at the studio, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the door before he could so much as utter a word, Yoongi hadn’t managed to get a single peep out of the younger man.

He’s still confused, bordering on slight panic, as Jimin pulls him along the crowded streets of Seoul. His grip is strong, unwavering, while he leads Yoongi through narrow spaces in the sea of people.

“Park Jimin, you better have a good-“

“Just a little bit more, hyung!”

Jimin looks at him over his shoulder, a bright grin on his lips that shuts Yoongi up. They take a turn into an alley, coming out on a small street with less people, before bolting down the road.

Yoongi has no idea why he hasn’t let go yet, stopped in his tracks and demanded an explanation from Jimin.  Part of him tells him that it’s because he doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary scenes, but another part quite frankly shouts at him that it’s because he doesn’t want to be alone.

If he’s alone, that means he’ll be alone with his thoughts.

He’d thought that spontaneous trip would help him rid of the negativity plaguing his mind. He’d been wrong.

Yoongi isn’t much for a crier, but he’d spent a surprising amount of time crying his eyes out outside that venue.

He came home tired, ignoring the questions and the worried looks sent his way from the other members. He’d tried to sleep. He’s been trying to sleep, but with no results. It’s ironic, in a sense, that Yoongi is the one person out of their group who isn’t allowed to sleep.

He figures that that’s why he hasn’t been more pissed off at Jimin, too tired to bother being angry or even annoyed. A smaller, quieter part whispers to him that he’s grateful for Jimin holding his hand, if he hadn’t, Yoongi is sure he would have crumbled to the floor from exhaustion, but he quashes the voice.

“Here we are,” Jimin declares, swiping out with his free hand.

Yoongi blinks, snapping out of his reverie. He takes in their surroundings, the cracked asphalt, the rusty chain-link fence, eyes widening.

It’s definitely seen better days, but there are no people in the vicinity much less occupying the court, which makes it perfect in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Jimin,” he whispers, turning to stare him. “How did you find this place?”

The younger man looks up from his duffel bag, how Yoongi had missed that one he had no idea, maybe the others were right in calling him grandpa, shrugging while smiling. He reaches down in the bag, picking up a basketball before standing up.

“Best of three?” He wonders, trying, and failing miserably, at twirling the ball on top of his finger.

Yoongi can’t help the snort that escapes him, bending down to pick up the ball. He can’t remember the last time he played that hadn’t been work related. The ball feels light in his hands though, reminding him of simpler times, as he dribbles across the court.

The hoop barely has any netting left, yet that doesn’t stop Yoongi from scoring. He watches the ball bounce on the cracked asphalt, a sudden pang of nostalgia hitting him.

Jimin picks up after him, trying, and failing quite badly, at scoring. The ball misses the hoop, hitting the chain-link fence. Jimin pouts, glaring at the ball as though it had been the cause. He sighs, swiveling around to face Yoongi who’s still staring at the spot where the basketball had previously been, at the cracked asphalt.

Cracked from being used too many times, until there’s nothing left to expect from its broken slab. Yoongi swallows back the burn building up in his throat.

“Ah hyung,” Jimin whines, frowning at him, “why do you have to be so good at everything?”

Good, Yoongi is far from good. He’s not even close. He’s failed so many times; he’s surprised no one has noticed. He can’t keep his promises. He can’t improve his faults. He can’t move on, despite his mind screaming at him to do so.

How is he good, when he can’t even be good to the people who deserve it?

Jimin turns to retrieve the ball, leaving Yoongi with his thoughts.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be with his thoughts. He doesn’t want to be alone.

Before he can stop himself, he grabs onto Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers.

Yoongi doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s pretty sure his hands are shaking. Jimin doesn’t give any indication that he’s noticed though, a look of genuine fondness crossing his face as he intertwines their fingers.

“I won’t.”

The touch is a nice anchor, dispelling the thoughts. Yet Yoongi knows that once Jimin lets go, they’ll come back. Once he’s alone, which he will be, they’ll be there. He can’t escape.

“You know,” Jimin muses, looking around the court. “A person once said, do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

He smiles at Yoongi. “I think you follow that quote the best, hyung.”

Yoongi averts his eyes, looking at the cracked ground beneath their feet. He takes a couple deep breaths. He’s screwed up, a lot. He can’t forgive himself for that.

But maybe, maybe he can still allow himself to try. Try and do what he can, with what he has. He might never remove the thoughts, though; at least he can have faced them without being afraid.

Because he has to try, otherwise there’s nothing left.

“I try,” he replies, lifting his head.

Jimin grins at that, dragging Yoongi with him towards the basketball. His grip is warm, but steadfast, a promise of sort.

“Good, then you can help me try to get better at this.”

Yoongi snorts, feeling as though part of a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “I’m afraid you too much for me to help.”

Jimin huffs, throwing insult after insult at Yoongi while they near the basketball. But he doesn’t let go, and neither does Yoongi.