It's not hard to imagine. He breathes in.

Hard concrete against bare feet as he rocks back. He closes his eyes and spreads his arms wide before launching himself. And it's there. That sensation of falling - so terrifying and calming as the adrenaline kicks in. He soars.

Then there's just relief. No pain. No regret. He feels boulders roll off his shoulders as he breathes in once. Twice.

He is alive.

~~~

The alarm clock is the bane of his existence. He contemplates throwing it against the wall, but it's not worth the effort.

Sludging towards the bathroom, he almost misses the mess of blanket and limbs sprawled across the couch. It shuffles a bit as a brown puff emerges from the wreckage; it's a head.

"What time did you get back last night?" he doesn't really care, but 'good morning' has never been his thing.

There's a pause as Jimin struggles to remember his own name; he wipes the crust and sleep away from his eyes while plodding to their tiny kitchen. He takes a long drink of water before remembering to answer the question.

"1:30? I'm not sure - my phone turned off." Jimin peeks into the fridge and emerges with a half-bemused, half-exasperated laugh. "It baffles me that you still don't know what brand of milk we drink."

His roommate ignores him, preferring to shove a toothbrush into his mouth. Should he shave? He gives himself a quick look-over. Probably, but whatever. He'd do it tomorrow morning. Probably.

As he turns the tap off, the steady aroma of bacon and eggs begins to waft into the bathroom. He can hear the sizzling, as well as the corresponding whimper the leaks from a burnt Jimin.

"You know," he sighs, "putting on a shirt would help a lot with the whole cooking situation." He nabs a piece from the plate and shoves another into Jimin's expectant mouth.

"I don't like clothes."

"Then you should rethink your career choice. Fashion retail doesn't seem like your field."

Jimin opens his mouth, but his roommate slots another piece of meat in. He knows what he's going to say, and honestly, he doesn't need a dirty joke at 8 in the morning. Jimin shoots him a wink as he chews gleefully.

"Do you have any plans later?" they've foregone plates and are just eating off the frying pan now, "I have to go pick up the car from the shop, but Jun Jihyun's new movie's playing at the Cinemax. Obviously, we need to see it."

The younger raises an amused eyebrow. "For a guy that doesn't even like women, you're really obsessed with Jun Jihyun."

"Pssh. I may be gay, but I'm not blind."

Their morning passes with the two debating between movies and milk brands. It's routine, insignificant; but it's not bad.

After Jimin leaves for work, their tiny apartment is quiet again. It's a Saturday, so there's not much to do. Physical Education teachers don't exactly have take-home work and he has the week off from coaching Track and Field as well. Eventually, he settles on scrolling through internet articles and watching some random medical drama on KBS. Four episodes in, he's curled up on the couch with some Doritos and he wants to punch the male lead in the face. It's too early for amnesia, damn it!

He gets so ticked off at the whole "I'll wait for him forever" scenario that he ends up turning off the TV and going for a jog instead. Earbuds in and world blocked out, he feels invigorated now that he's away from desperate heroines and cheesy romances.

The wind is nice against his face. It's getting cooler now.

He remembers a time when he would spend summers chasing girls and wiping melted ice cream off his hands. Back then, he had wanted to grow up so fast, to be free of parents and expectations. He misses being naiive.

The Han River is sparkling, reflecting the sunlight, and he can't help but marvel at the fact that he's jogging at its banks. How long had it been since he'd moved up to the city? Four years? Five? He can't remember a time when he didn't breathe the Seoul smog.

It must've been four, since he's been rooming with Jimin for three.

He'd come to the capital with big dreams of becoming Korea's best sprinter, picturing gold medals and fancy cars. But he never weighed in the painstaking effort. His gamble was on his raw talent, untouched by professional training, and from the start, it was a bet he couldn't win. A country hick that ran for the sake of feeling the wind against his skin, he was a peasant in the presence of kings - kids that had been trained since birth until their legs peeled away to reveal highspeed wheels. Coupled with insatiable ambition, his competition was bloodthirsty; perhaps it was lucky that an injury cut his career short.

In the most cliche tragedy, the genuine underdog was involved in an accident and, though he survived, his dream had been slaughtered. He was heartbroken, but he didn't have the luxury to grieve. His family had given so much and ended up with so little. As much as he wished for time to process how his life was falling apart, there were mortgages and tuition to pay, so he took his mourning in lifetime installments.

He wonders how much he's changed. He still remembers the look of horror Jimin gave him when the other came up from Busan to see him; back then, he slept a handful of hours a day and skipped meals to work for even 1000won more. He must've looked like a zombie.

They'd been close before Jimin's graduation and subsequent coming-out. But over the years, they'd lost contact - whether because of his training or Jimin's ostracism from their conservative society, he didn't know. When they met, the elder had had a stable job as an office worker in the Southern port, but he gave it up so he could pull his pitiful underclassman back onto his feet. He should be thankful and he is, but each time Jimin smiles at him, he feels a pang of guilt. He knows friendship wasn't what drove Jimin.

Stopping at the bridge, he stills for a breather. Soon, he'll be able to see his breath fogging up the cold air in front of him. What would he be like then? Would he still be relying on Park Jimin, the friend that doesn't mind getting hurt? He feels hopeless and for once, it's not thanks to the dull ache in his spine.

There is no future for them. Over the years, he's learned to appreciate Jimin's smile and he knows that his affection is nothing close to platonic. But he's done so much to hurt the people that care about him; his being gay would be the final blow to his father's dignity. Yet, he still can't let go of him.

He's a bastard. A selfish, conniving, good-for-nothing bastard. God, he wants to throw himself into the river right now and - hands clutching the railing - he makes it halfway over it.

Jimin's face is all that's plastered in his mind now, how happily he's been entertaining the idea that he has a chance with him. Because Jimin doesn't know that he knows. Because Jimin doesn't know that he's known. All this time, all along, he's used his kindness - he's abused the only person that helped him stand when he could only fall. And he can't stand the fact that he can only cause heartbreak.

He's sitting on the metal railing with his feet just skimming the concrete ledge. It's maybe a 25m jump, so if he's lucky, the impact will break his neck and it'll be quick. If he's not, he'll drown slowly. But living up until now, suffocating under debt and pressure and fear; it'll be better than that. It'll be a relief.

He waits for a moment of hesitation, but it won't come. What's the point of continuing when he's already so tired? He can't even dream. He can't do this - this living thing. He's so scared of failing again, of causing more pain. He's scared to face who he is because, what if a failure is all he is? What if four years ago was the apex of his life and he'll never amount to anything more than a closeted, cowardly failure.

He's scared.

He's scared.

He's scared.

Just as his foot lifts into the air, his phone vibrates in his pocket and starts to play a familiar tune. He'd convinced Jimin to record it for him a few years back because he'd liked the song, but neither of them could remember the title. How funny - he remembers it now.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

He thinks he's imagining it until a pair of shaking arms pulls him back over the railing and into reality. Jimin's a mess, tears and sweat everywhere as he holds him tight, so tight he can't breathe. And Jungkook realizes that he's the one shaking.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! What the hell - why would you even think about it?! Look, I know things aren't great right now, but it's all going to work out, alright? The debt, your injury - I'll take responsibility and solve it all for you, so don't...don't..." he's never seen Jimin cry so hard before.

Everything begins to shift back into focus and Jungkook's breath hitches in his throat as the magnitude of his actions begins to dawn on him. He'd been so close, so ing close to leaving everything behind and all that delayed terror falls on him like an anvil.

"J-Jimin," he gasps out as tears form in the corners of his eyes, "oh my God, Jimin. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

In an instant, the horrified faces of his mother and father are conjured up in his mind and juxtaposed with Jimin's sobs, Jungkook finally bursts. He begins to cry the cries that he'd forced into a box for years and he can't stop now that he's started. Jimin just holds him in his arms, as his tears fall with Jungkook's, quietly now.

When Jungkook finally comes to, the sun is long gone, but he's still warm. Jimin gives him a weak smile.

"I don't know what you were thinking, but I hope you're lucid now," his voice is raspy, almost gone, "because if you really left me like that, I don't know what I'd do."

Jungkook doesn't say anything, but he manages to look at the other.

"I'm sorry - "

"No, shut up," Jimin's so mad and he grips Jungkook's arms tightly, "you keep saying you're sorry, but you shouldn't be. Everything's that's happened to you - you have to move on and saying sorry only holds you back."

He can only nod at this, but the tightening in his heart agrees. He has to move on. He's scared, but if he wants to live - he needs to live.

~~~

They walk back under the sparse glow of the street lights. It's something between awkward and tired between them, but it's never uncomfortable. Jungkook is the first to speak.

"How did you find me?" He wonders aloud.

"I...don't know," Jimin states down at his hands, "I was on my way home and I just...something told me to take the Banpo Bridge even though it's a longer walk." He lets out a short laugh. "Good call, huh?"

Jungkook mutters a noise of agreement before they quiet once more. The older looks nice in the faint moonlight and the slight smile that he give him is gentler than ever before.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

The wind is getting colder and the future's not so bright, but somehow, Jungkook thinks he'll be able to get through this. He reaches for Jimin's hand slowly, intertwining their fingers. Jimin's dmile grows wider.

"Yeah, I'll be okay."