tw: more depression + anxiety; if you're triggered at all with these things tbh pls just don't read this fic that's what it's based on

Two days later, he got a follow request on his Instagram from a @park_jimin. A few hours after he received the follow request, he received a friend request on Facebook from Park Jimin, two mutual friends and with a cute selfie of him hugging a teddy bear as his profile picture. After declining both, he realized that a park_jimin had followed his Soundcloud. This meant that he had heard his songs, heard him rap! Panicked, he blocked the account.

The next day, he showed up at his apartment. Yoongi immediately tried to close the door, but failed as a much stronger Park Jimin pushed the door open and walked in, taking his shoes off and making himself comfortable on the couch.

“What the ? How did you get my address? And hey, you can’t just come barging into other people’s houses!”

“Jung Hoseok just happens to be my dance partner, and a good friend of mine. I also happen to have met Kim Namjoon through him as well.” Jimin couldn’t help but grin. “I discovered they knew you through Facebook, two mutual friends. So I just asked them and they told me they knew you pretty well, and it just happened that Namjoon hyung was your roommate!”

“ing Namjoon and Hoseok…” Yoongi muttered.

He and Namjoon had met because they had had mutual friends who had wanted to make a hip hop crew. They hadn’t exactly liked each other at first, but as time passed, they had grown on each other. In the end, the two had ended up moving in together – an attempt to survive the expensive city costs as individuals who had enough issues with their parents that they couldn’t live with them.

Namjoon’s obsession with philosophy sometimes hurt Yoongi’s head more than he would like, and Yoongi’s constant “jokes” about death bothered Namjoon, but they both lived with it. Perhaps this was the biggest fault of their relationship, yet it could also be the one thing that made their friendship so special. There were few people that Yoongi could stand, and Namjoon just happened to be one of them.

Hoseok, on the other hand… Hoseok was a dancer; a very talented one who danced on the streets for money. On one fateful day when Namjoon and he had been out for some coffee, they had seen him surrounded by a crowd, in a random dance battle. There was something about him that had caused both Namjoon and himself to stop, coffee in hand, to watch. Yoongi had wanted to leave after the dance battle had finished (Hoseok coming out of it as the winner), but Namjoon had gone up to him and introduced himself.

Namjoon and Hoseok had hit it off right away, weirdly. Yoongi hadn’t liked Hoseok when he’d seen him at first – his happiness had seemed superficial, his loud laughter hiding his true colours. He’d come to realize that that was just Hoseok’s nature, and that it was genuine in a way that Yoongi's existence could never be.

Yoongi didn’t tend to like people when he first met them. Most people, he continued to dislike throughout the time he knew them. So it scared him when he stared into Jimin’s eyes and saw beautiful. Perhaps pushing Jimin away was not only to protect Jimin, but also to protect himself from the possibility of falling in love, of hurting, of feeling something other than dread for himself.

“Do you want… water… or coffee? Sorry, it’s only Namjoon and I, and the only thing we really drink is soju, maekju, and coffee, and I think it’s too early for beer.” He ran a hand through his hair a little self consciously.

“Hyung… could you… um… put some pants on first?” Jimin looked everywhere but at him, a furious flush on his cheeks.

“Oh , didn’t realize,” Yoongi muttered, stumbling towards his room and almost falling over in the process. He could hear a shy giggle and wanted to hit himself in the head for being such an idiot. He put on some sweatpants and threw on a hoodie over his wifebeater. At his embarrassment, he hadn’t even realized that Jimin had called him hyung; he must have learned his age from Namjoon or Hoseok.

Walking back into the living room, he saw that Jimin was no longer settled on the couch but observing the picture frames on the bookshelf. Albeit, there were not many, as Namjoon and he weren’t really the type to do that kind of thing. One picture of Namjoon and his younger sister; one picture of Hoseok, Yoongi and Namjoon – Hoseok and Namjoon both grinning widely on either side of Yoongi as he in the middle scowled; two pictures of Namjoon with his soulmate, Seokjin; and finally, a picture that a friend of Hoseok’s had taken of Yoongi on stage, one hand holding the mic to his mouth and one hand blurry from movement.

“I heard you rap and produce,” said Jimin, obviously having heard Yoongi return back into the living room.

Yoongi nodded, before remembering that Jimin was not looking in his direction. “Yeah, I do. Coffee? Water?”

“It’s fine, I’m not thirsty. It must be hard supporting yourself with that kind of job… do you have a side job or something?”

“I’m a bartender at one of the clubs I rap at. The pay isn’t too good, but I make a lot of connections there – and god knows how important connections are underground.” Yoongi took the place on the couch where Jimin had previously been sitting on, folding his open laptop closed. He had been working on some lyrics when Jimin had burst into his house.

Clubs were only active in the afternoon past midnight, which was a good thing for Yoongi. He used the extra time in the mornings to both sleep and write. His lyrics these days had taken a turn for the worse, however. When he had first started out rapping, he had written about dreams and aspirations, but now… now, he wrote about the terror he felt whenever he looked into the mirror; the self dread he felt for himself; the fear of standing on the stage itself.

It was terrible when you were a performer and your greatest fear was standing on the stage. Perhaps this was why Yoongi had begun to hate himself so much, and started putting off writing lyrics; resorting to that only when he felt his worst – as it was the only thing that could really calm himself down.

“Where’s Namjoon hyung?” asked Jimin.

“At Seokjin hyung’s; his soulmate. He’s practically lives there; I think the only reason he still pays half rent is because he knows I won’t be able to afford it by myself.”

“Perfect! My best friend, who I room with, totally wants his soulmate to move in with him but I live there with him, so he couldn’t really say anything. Now, I can move in here with you, hyung, and Namjoon hyung can live with his soulmate, my best friend’s soulmate can live with my best friend, and everything will work out!” Jimin grinned, finally turning away from the pictures to look at Yoongi.

Yoongi let out a scoff. “I thought I made it clear enough that I don’t want you in my life.”

Jimin didn’t even flinch. “Well you, hyung, your opinion on this subject does not matter to me. Besides, if you really didn't want me in your life, you wouldn't have told me your ing name. I’ll message Namjoon hyung about it later, and I’ll tell Taehyung about it when I go home. Do you think I should start packing?”

“Hey, you can’t just make decisions for me like that!” Yoongi growled, getting up from his position on the couch.

Jimin’s grin faded, his lips tightening into a firm line. “And you can’t just attempt to commit suicide like that!” Jimin said, pointing a finger at him. “You can’t-you can’t just disregard everyone who loves you like that. How do you think they’ll cope? You think they’ll come out of it unscarred,unaffected? You think they won’t cry themselves to sleep every night, thinking about you? Well g-guess what? You’re ing wrong, so you can go yourself if you think I’m going to let you try to kill yourself again.”

The boy’s eyes had filled up with tears, and his hand had fallen, before clenching. He wiped his eyes with his long sleeve, before retreating into the bathroom. How he knew where the bathroom was, Yoongi had no idea. At the moment, he could only think about how much his heart was hurting from seeing Jimin with teary eyes.

He swore under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair to attempt to calm himself down. He sat back down onto the couch, a million thoughts racing across his mind. It was a bit of a dilemma to hear what Jimin had said; he knew that his presence around Jimin would only cause immense misfortune upon the boy and taint his soul, but if what Jimin said was true, him not being there… could also be disastrous.

But no. There was no way what Jimin had said could be true. This was implying that Jimin did love him. Which wasn't true - how could he, when he'd only known him for a few days? How could he, when he was... well... Yoongi! There wasn’t anyone who loved him, really. His father wouldn’t speak to him, and his mother texted him once a month. Even Namjoon and Hoseok, they just stayed around him because they were obliged to. So who would miss him if he was gone? No one.

Amidst these thoughts, he realized his hands were shaking like they had never shaken before. Maybe he was dehydrated. He stumbled towards the kitchen, taking out a glass. Placing it on the counter, he poured some water into it, and then proceeded to take the glass of water back to the couch. He gulped it down like it would make him sane again. Then, Yoongi tried to put the glass onto the coffee table, but his fingers slipped, causing it to shatter on the ground.

Hands still shaking, he attempted to pick up the pieces – cutting himself in the process. Somewhere along these lines, his eyes started filling with tears, and his breathing began getting louder and irregular; he slumped down onto his knees.

“…” he whispered, clutching his cut finger to his chest as he tried to calm himself down. What was the tactic at controlling anxiety attacks again? Why couldn’t he remember? He really was pretty ing dumb, wasn’t he.

He choked out a sob, trying to take a deep breath but failing. He was incapable of even breathing properly, a basic human function. What a failure at life. A human, unable to breathe properly; a son, unable to make his parents happy; a rapper, unable to perform on stage. His vision was filled with more tears, until he was unable to see clearly.

“Yoongi hyung! I need you to listen to me, okay?” It was Jimin’s voice, right? Suddenly, he felt a hand start his hair, and another one leading Yoongi’s cut hand towards… a chest? Was that Jimin’s chest? He blinked away some of the tears, and he could see Jimin’s worried face a bit more clearly.

“You’ve got to breathe with me, okay? When I breathe in, you breathe in. When I breathe out, you breathe out. Got it?” Yoongi could only nod, sobbing harder.

“In,” said Jimin, and Yoongi could feel Jimin’s chest rising. Yoongi attempted to breathe in, but could only breathe in slightly before his sobs got in the way.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this!”

“Yes you can, hyung. You’ve got to believe in yourself, okay? In.” Yoongi took a shaky breath, managing to hold it for enough time before Jimin continued with, “Out. You’re doing good, hyung.”

“In,” Jimin breathed in, and Yoongi followed, “Out.”

This process went on for awhile, Yoongi failing some times, and Jimin encouraging him nevertheless, until Yoongi could finally feel his racing heart start to calm down, and eyes dry. His hands were still shaking slightly, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. When he could finally think properly, he realized that Jimin was standing on some glass shards; pieces of the glass that he had dropped earlier.

“Jimin… your feet.”

After his anxiety attacks, Yoongi was nowhere near as mouthy and confident as he usually was. Hell, he was never really that confident, but he usually gave a show. His anxiety attacks always reduced him to a quiet – almost mute – and very small person.

Jimin seemed to just realize what a predicament he was in, but he just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Yoongi got up with shaky knees and sat on the couch, before lightly pulling Jimin onto the seat beside him. “Give me one second.” He got out his phone and called Seokjin – arguably the only friend he had that could treat Jimin, as well as the only friend who had ever recognized Yoongi’s symptoms and spoken to him about it.

He had also respected Yoongi’s privacy, not telling even Namjoon, his soulmate, about it. It was the one thing that had gotten Yoongi to open up to him the quickest out of all the people he had ever opened up to. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. Having an anxiety attack in front of Jimin was almost the same thing as opening up to him; which arguably made him the person he had opened up to the fastest.

“Hello? Yoongi?”
“Seokjin hyung, are you busy?”
“No, why?”
“Could… could you bring your first aid kit? This kid I know is at my house and he stepped in some glass.” He hoped his voice didn’t show that he had just had an anxiety attack.

Jimin opened his mouth to protest, but was shushed by a single finger.

“Must be some special kid if you’re asking me to come and help. I’ll come, but… hey, you okay? You don’t sound so good.”

Yoongi couldn’t block the tired laugh that bubbled up from his stomach. “You must be a psychic, hyung… really, this is the why I call you instead of Namjoon or Hoseok.”

It was silent on the other end for a bit, until Seokjin’s voice filled the speaker again. “I’m on my way.”

Yoongi hung up, and a strange silence filled the air.

“I’m not a kid,” Jimin finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m 20, only two years younger than you!”

“Whatever you say, kid.” Yoongi gave a tired smile, before yawning. Anxiety attacks always drained him, even more than the many all-nighter he pulled did. It was just so emotionally tiring to go through.

Jimin, noticing this, sighed. Carefully leaning back into the couch, and placing his injured feet onto the coffee table, he urged Yoongi into a lying position, pulling his head into his lap. “Sleep a bit, okay hyung? I’ll wake you up in an hour or so.”

Yoongi was too tired to argue or fight back. Perhaps one time wouldn’t hurt… perhaps it would be okay… perhaps everything would just be okay.