The whirring of Yoongi's laptop blended with the plopping of raindrops against his roof. Outside, the clouds were blocking the sun, casting soft shadows across his room that was lit only with the light of his laptop. Hoseok was on the screen, staring at him with bug eyes and a hanging jaw like the news of Jimin's situation was something brand new to him, even though Yoongi had just gotten through his fourth time telling the story in the last half hour alone out of the almost three hour Skype call.

"So, let me get this straight," Hoseok's voice filters through his headphones. Yoongi sighs internally.

"He stops talking to you for three weeks."

"Yeah," Yoongi replies.

"And then when he does text back he's mysterious as all hell."

"Right."

"And now your back in Daegu, and you find out he's actually missing a limb."

Yoongi flinched. "Jesus, Hoseok! Do you have to be so morbid about it?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just-" he says in a rush, and sets his slushy down beside him - a giant cup decorated with bright green and blue splatters that looks almost hilariously out of place for the conversation they're having - and puts his hands together in front of his face, "I'm trying to make sense of it all, make sure I have all the facts."

"Yeah, well you have all the facts. You don't need to spell it back to me," Yoongi grumbles, absentmindedly grabbing a pencil and tapping it against the wood of his desk. "He lost his leg. I don't know how, but it's gone, and now he's in a wheelchair. That's it."

Hoseok nods for a second, and then knits his eyebrows. "Wait, you don't know how? You haven't asked?"

Yoongi slows his tapping to a halt and shakes his head. "I don't know...if I'm ready to know." A pause. "I also don't think he's ready to tell me."

"How do you figure?" Hoseok asks, taking a sip.

"Because he would have by now," he answers, voice small and somewhat defeated.

It's been three days since Yoongi's been back in Daegu. Three days since he found himself in front of Jimin, dumbstruck after Taehyung pulled his chair out from under the table in a 'big reveal' sort of fashion that might have been comical in another context. Still, despite his initial shock he let them all come grocery shopping with him like Jimin asked, but it was awkward and strange due to him trying to act like he wasn’t having an internal meltdown to end all meltdowns and also trying to actively not stare at Jimin’s leg. Or rather, lack thereof.

Jimin and Jungkook didn't seem to notice, Jungkook being too busy running the older up and down the isles while Jimin laughed perhaps a little too loudly ("of course it's okay, nobody's gonna kick a handicapped person out of a store," Jungkook had said) and if they did, they didn't say anything about it. Taehyung on the other hand, kept eyeing him out of his peripherals, watching him from a distance just in case he slipped up.

"That’s rough," Hoseok said. “I wish I could be there to help.”

“I wish you could be here to,” Yoongi agrees. “So what do I do?”

Hoseok purses his lips, and considerably folds his hands over each other on his desk in a way that reminds Yoongi of a businessman. “I don’t really think there’s anything you can do except what you’ve already been doing.”

Yoongi immediately shakes his head. “No, that won’t work.”

“Why not?”

Yoongi shrugs. "I don't know, it's just, things are different now," he tried to explain. "It’s different from what I’m used to. I don’t know how to act around him anymore.”

"Just be yourself," Hoseok unhelpfully suggests.

"I can't," he almost yells exasperatedly.

"Why not?" Hoseok says, equally exasperated.

"Because it's different now!"

"How? He's still the same person right?"

Yoongi lightly bangs his head on the desk. "Yes? But also no?"

Hoseok raises his eyebrows at him.

"It's like, it's like the atmosphere around him shifted or something," he amends, using his hands as if they might help, "and who I was before all of this happened might not, I don't know, be the best for him? I guess?"

Hoseok stares at him blankly.

"I didn't make any sense to you just now, did I?"

"Not one word."

Yoongi groans.

"I just-" He drops his head into his hands, and digs his nonexistent nails into his scalp out of frustration. Why did trying to get his point across have to be so damn difficult? It shouldn't be this hard. It was just talking. A simple exchange of thoughts and ideas, but for Yoongi it was always like climbing a never ending mountain.

He couldn’t be himself around Jimin anymore, because himself couldn’t pick up on most social cues to save his life. It was himself that Jimin was initially afraid of. It was himself that Jimin didn’t want to tell his secrets to because he thought Yoongi would hurt him, scoff at him, cast him aside like a dirty dishcloth.

Hoseok’s waiting patiently on the other side of the screen as he sighs deeply and slumps his whole body forward, completely resigned.

"You should've seen him, Seokie," he softly breathes out. "You should've seen the way he looked at me. He looked so ing scared. Like literally terrified, and I-" He shuts his eyes tight. The image of Jimin's hands gripping the table, his knuckles white and taught, assaults the back of his eyelids. His eyes begin to burn almost instantaneously. "I don't know what to do."

Hoseok leans back in his desk chair, thoughtfully takes a drink. "You still love him, right?"

Yoongi almost laughs. "Of course I do. Nothing in this universe could make me stop loving him."

"Then what's the problem?"

Yoongi's head remembers words Jimin once said to him. 'What you think of me, and how you see me, it means more to me than anything.' Words that used to bring so much joy to Yoongi's heart were now the cause of his turmoil.

He looks back up at his laptop. "I don't want to treat him differently.”

There's a couple beats of silence where all Yoongi can hear is the pitter patter of rain against his window pane, soft but steady.

"Then don't treat him differently," Hoseok says simply.

Maybe it is that simple.

-

"What exactly are you looking for again?" Jungkook asked, quizzically looking at another box of hair dye before carelessly throwing it back on the counter top that Yoongi ended up fixing after the younger pointedly ignored his scolding.

"I'm looking for something that says, 'I'm super cute but you should also fear me,'" Taehyung replied, examining a color swatch.

"Why don't you just dye your hair purple again?" Jimin asked.

"Too anime character."

"And any one of these colors isn't?" Yoongi asked over Taehyung's shoulder, also looking at the swatches of hair colors placed carefully under their respective boxes.

Taehyung ignored him. Everyone was ignoring him today, apparently.

“I like this orange color,” he said to himself, picking up a box.

“I’m pretty sure orange is like, the most popular anime hair color out there,” Jimin piped up, rolling up next to Yoongi.

“Yes, but it’s also a natural hair color.”

“For white people, maybe,” Jungkook snorted.

“You know, I’m just trying to find a new look for the new school year, and I didn’t invite you guys to come with me so you could all make fun of me.”

“But what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t?” Jungkook asked batting his eyelashes in fake innocence.

Taehyung glowered at the almost fourteen year old. “Anyway, I think I like this orange color.” He roughly snatched some bleach and toner off the counter as well as he about faced on his heels towards the cash register.

Jungkook, still snickering to himself, follows closely behind, leaving just Yoongi and Jimin in the hair aisle by themselves.

Yoongi was still trying to figure out how to go about approaching conversation. He was fine around other people there, because it wasn’t just him contributing and he had other people to bounce off. But when it was just them, like right now, it was prickling. It crawled under his skin.

He took a sudden interest in the other hair dyes, examining the hair colors on the shelf so he wouldn’t have to look Jimin.

“I think you should dye your hair, too” came the other boy’s voice through his ears. Yoongi snapped his head in Jimin’s direction - silently kicking himself for looking straight ahead before remembering he had to look down now. Jimin’s eyes are slightly narrowed, and his lips are pursed out, examining him. “Maybe pink or silver. Or maybe even green. I think you could pull off green.”

Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times before answering. “Uh, yeah, maybe,” was all he said, and tried not to let his heart fall the same way Jimin’s face did.

Jimin didn’t try to start up a conversation again for a while. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the boxes, thinking maybe if he didn’t look at him he wouldn’t feel as guilty.

He did.

“Yoongi hyung?”

Jimin's voice was soft, but it still pierced straight through his chest. He tried to swallow his guilt and looked back at Jimin, who in return was looking up at him with the same look he was wearing when he first met him. It was kind of amazing, how despite everything that’s happened and everything that’s changed, the chubby little six year old that Yoongi met on the swing set still lived in him. Jimin could still break his heart and put it back together with just a simple gaze.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Are you ashamed of me now?”

God.

“Do you not want to be seen with a cripple? Is that it?”

Yoongi shook his head frantically. “No, no, that’s not- that’s not it at all.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? Because a few days ago you said it was fine.” Too many emotions lived in the cracks in his voice; anger, confusion but one emotion stuck out to Yoongi the most.

Heartbroken. He sounded heartbroken.

“It is, it’s fine, everything’s fine I promise.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

Yoongi hid his face in his hands and groaned. “I don’t want to be cliche and say ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but...” he trailed off, letting some awkward hand gesture finish his sentence for him.

Jimin tilted his head up at him. His eyes that were glistening just a few seconds ago began to dry, and slowly, he parted his lips as something in his head seemed to click.

“Are you... Are you not talking to me because you’re afraid of saying the wrong thing?” he asked slowly, carefully.

Yoongi closed his eyes and nodded.

He’s not quite sure how he expected Jimin to do next, but he certainly wasn’t expected him to coo at him followed by a drawn out “hyuuuuung” that made his face as red as the boxes of hair dye next to him.

“Stop,” Yoongi whined. “I was seriously worried, okay. What if I said something that offended you and you didn’t forgive me? I’d be absolutely devastated.”

“Yoongi hyung,” Jimin gently chastised him, and reached for his hand, “you could never say anything to me that was unforgivable. Especially if you didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi nods at the words he’s saying, but his focus is more on their now conjoined hands. He didn’t feel a jolt or anything shoot through his body when they touched. It was more like coming home to a nice cup of hot tea, warm and comforting.

Experimentally, he ran his thumb over the back of Jimin’s hand, mesmerized by all of the contrasts: Jimin’s tanned skin against his pale skin, the smallness of his hand in his large one, the softness of his to his rough, calloused one. They were opposites in almost every aspect, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.

A squeeze had him peaking down shyly at the younger boy through his eyelashes. “You promise?” he asked.

Jimin squeezed again. “Of course.”

Yoongi smiled, and Jimin smiled back at him his favorite smile. The one that reached his eyes.

It would’ve been nice, it would’ve been really nice, to be able to stay like that, encompassed in their own little bubble but the moment was shattered by a loud voice that belonged to one Kim Taehyung.

“Jimin! Yoongi hyung! I’m done!”

Jimin jumped, snatched his hands out of Yoongi’s so fast he could've ripped skin off, and quickly looked away as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. He might have been more disappointed by the loss of contact if it weren’t for the blush that had now taken over Jimin’s face and all the way down to where his skin disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

Jimin awkwardly cleared his throat, and began to turn his chair around. “I was being serious, though. I do think you should dye your hair.”

Yoongi took one final look at all the boxes, and cocked his head.

-

Jimin asked, or rather insisted, that he help with the dye job. The thing, though, was that it had to be done at Jimin's house, which wouldn't be a problem, usually, except he hasn't been at Jimin's house in two years and he was smacked in the face with that fact the second he arrived in front of it with the bag of hair supplies around his wrist. The gate that Yoongi remembers scraping his shin on when he was ten was gone, and now the front of his house looked oddly bare, minus the ramp that had replaced the two front porch steps and extended to the sidewalk. 

He'll admit - a little shamefully - that he didn't quite understand Jimin's need to have it done at his house. But now, now he gets it.

For some reason, he felt guilty walking on the ramp to get to the door. It was like it wasn't his to use, and he was selfishly soiling it with the dirt on the soles of his converse. But that's silly, his head says. His head had never been in cahoots with the rest of him, though. 

Tentatively, he wraps on the door with his knuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically cold in the late August afternoon. He counts up to twelve when someone finally opens the door.

"Yoongi! I haven't seen you in so long! Look how much you've grown!" Mrs. Park exclaims when she sees him. Yoongi looks up, and is prepared to smile and greet her just like he used to, but stops.

Everything about her is the same. Her face is still round like Jimin's. Her lips are just as plump as they've always been, and her dark hair falls effortlessly over her shoulders just like it did in all of his memories. But now on her left cheek lies a puffy, pink scar that starts just shy of the corner of her eye, pulling it down slightly, and extends down to her mid cheek. Yoongi forgets everything he was about to say.

"Um, hi, it's nice to see you again," he says instead.

Mrs. Park - bless her - misses his blunder, and takes him into her arms, embracing him tightly. 

"I'm so glad you're back," she whispers in his ear as she squeezed him, with a hint of something in her tone that he couldn't quite place, but before he could pinpoint what it was, she's letting him go, and calling out Jimin's name.

"Coming," Yoongi hears from somewhere in the house, followed by soft thumps of something against the carpet, and then Jimin's at the door next to his mom, standing eye level with Yoongi. 

It takes Yoongi a few moments to realize that Jimin's on crutches. 

"Hey, hyung," Jimin said with an easy smile, like the circumstances were an everyday thing (Yoongi supposed that, for Jimin at least, it is an every day thing) and invites him in. 

The walls were the same cream color. The pictures on them were still in the same spot, plus a couple that were added in his two year absence. Nothing too much had changed, except for the furniture that used to decorate the floor was now pushed up against the walls as much as possible, and a stair lift the same color as Jimin's own wheelchair had been installed on the staircase. Everything and everyone looks the same, but also so different. His brain struggling to process it, his memories clashing with what his eyes are showing him. 

"Did you want to hang out a little before we dye it or do you want to get straight to it?" Jimin asked. 

Yoongi shakes himself out of his stupor. "Um, dye it first, hang out after?" he asks back.

Jimin smiles. "Okay." 

Yoongi follows close behind him as they make their way over to the staircase. Jimin puts both crutches under one arm, and grips the stair lift with the other, carefully situating himself down into the seat. Yoongi stands awkwardly behind him, not quite sure what to do. Does he walk up the stairs while Jimin situates himself? Or would that be rude? He doesn't know, so he just stays put, twiddling the bag in his hands. Once Jimin's situated, he presses a button on the other side, and Yoongi watches as the stair lift transports Jimin, crutches in hand, up the steps. It's weird. He's seen his grandma use one of these, so it's something he always affiliated with old people, not his best friend who hadn't even turned sixteen yet. The picture looked just plain wrong.

He pushes his thoughts back and follows Jimin up the stairs, and walks by his side to the bathroom. The first thing he sees is the handles on either side of the toilet. His first thought after that is when is he going to stop being surprised by how the same yet not the same everything looks? His second thought is how in the hell could they afford all of this with the hospital bills that were no doubt through the roof?

Instead of asking, he takes the contents out of the bag: the bleach the toner, and the deep conditioner. He decided he didn't want to do anything too crazy, and figured going blond was his best bet. Taehyung said it would look good with his pale skin, and even though the orange he had gotten came out looking bright red, he trusts the younger with these kinds of things.

Yoongi sits on the ledge of the bathtub once everything has been applied. There's a clear shower cap on his head, setting the deep conditioner, and Jimin is leaning on the wall next to him, bleach spots dotting his shirt. Yoongi chuckled to himself, thinking about how ridiculous they both probably looked. 

"You know," Jimin spoke up, "I'm kind of surprised you actually did it."

"No you're not. You know I can't say no to you."

"Hm. Yeah, you're right."

Jimin stays mute for a few moments, and then says, "Maybe I should dye my hair, too."

"Why?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin shrugs. "I don't know, something new?" And then, slower, "Nobody...nobody except Taehyung and Jungkook has seen me all summer."

Yoongi turns his head slowly to Jimin. He's looking at himself in the mirror with his jaw clenched. He was wearing a mask of apathy, but his real feelings were hard to miss to anyone who truly knew him.

"So they don't-"

"No." Jimin cuts him off. "They don't know."

Yoongi nods slowly. "Are you nervous?"

"Sort of. Not particularly. I'm more nervous about getting around the school than anything." He turns to Yoongi and smiles, but it's empty. "I'll be okay, I think.

The way he sounded reminded him of a few days ago, when they were planning this, and Jimin let it slip that he was now in therapy. He said it was just for precaution (for what, Yoongi still doesn't know), and that he didn't really need it, that he was okay. But his voice was too high, and he moved his arms too much in an attempt to laugh it off, in the same way he was doing now. 

"We should probably rinse your hair now."

Yoongi sighed. Jimin was keeping things from him, still, but there wasn't much he could do about it without outright forcing the boy's hand. He put his head under the shower head, and the lukewarm water engulfed his head and his thoughts.

-

The high school, at least, was still exactly the same. Still relatively small, with only two floors and about 300 square feet, plus the extensions for the gym and the auditorium on either side. The brick on the outside was the same russet red, with stairs leading up the middle of the building to a flat cement platform that housed doors on either side. Those doors led to the gym and cafeteria, and after that platform were another set of stairs that lead to the double doors right in the middle front of the building, and lead to the lobby and main office on the inside. 

Taehyung and Yoongi were standing on the ground in the middle front, where the buses pulled up to drop kids off, keeping their eyes out for a short bus by the number 34. Even though Jimin said he wasn't nervous, Yoongi and Taehyung still wanted to be one of the first ones he saw when getting off the bus, just in case. 

"Shouldn't the short buses be one of the first ones here?" Taehyung asked, running his hands through his red hair. 

Yoongi shrugs. "I guess it depends."

With ten minutes to homeroom, Jimin's bus pulls up.  He's the last one to get off, and he gets off through the back emergency exit with the help of a ramp and the bus driver. 

Curious, Yoongi looks around. Like he expected, people are watching, with expressions he can't exactly decipher but also doesn't exactly trust. With a surge of protectiveness, he grabs Taehyung's wrist and walks over to Jimin, greeting him with a smile big enough to show his gums.

"Hey, Jiminie," he says. 

Jimin looks up from his lap, and smiles back. "Hi hyung, Hi Taehyung."

Taehyung skips over to Jimin's side, and places a hand on his shoulder. "So, Jimin, my buddy, my pal, my brother from another mother, my-"

"Tae."

"Okay, jeez. Anyway, you ready to conquer sophomore year?" 

"I guess?"

"Oh come on," Taehyung exasperates. "That's not the answer I was going for. I wanna hear you say we're gonna be kings, damn it."

Jimin blushed. "We're gonna be be kings!"

"That's what I like to hear!" Taehyung gestures to his wheelchair. "Look, you already have a throne."

If possible, Jimin blushed even more. Yoongi smiled to himself. This was one of the reasons he was so glad Jimin had Taehyung. He did what Yoongi couldn't.

Taehyung grabbed Jimin's handles and began pushing him to the ramp. Yoongi followed, taking a look to scan over the crowd again. Most people had gone back to minding their own business. Most. There were a group of boys on the other side of the platform that seemed to be watching their every move, and with a closer look, Yoongi recognized one of them as Jiho.

He remembers him. He remembers he was an , anyway. From across the walk, Jiho narrows his eyes at him, and smirks, sending a small shiver through Yoongi's body.

"You okay?" Taehyung inquired.

Yoongi takes one last look at Jiho, who's still staring at them, and turns to Taehyung.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

-

Two months have passed, and it's been pretty uneventful. 

They've all adjusted to their schedules now, and even though Yoongi's schedule is a little more packed than he would like for his senior year thanks to his two years in Seoul (seriously, why couldn't every school just have the same curriculum? It would make his life so much easier), it's been fine, mostly. There were a couple hiccups, like when Jimin lost his elevator pass and had to be carried up the stairs until the main office could process a new one, or how Jiho would throw hurtful words in Jimin's direction, like "cripple" or "gimp" whenever he saw him. Yoongi's blood would boil, but Jimin told him to let it be because it wasn't a big deal, so he let it be.

He's sat in the library about fifteen minutes after last period, researching for his senior project, and waiting for Jimin and Taehyung when he hears screaming outside in the hallway, and his head pops up. He'd forgone headphones today. He packs up his bag carefully, throws it over his shoulder and walks to the door. As soon as he opens it, something collides into his side, almost sending him to the ground but luckily was able to regain his composure, and blinks the dots out of his eyes and comes face to face with Taehyung.

His face is as red as his hair, and his breath is coming in short pants. He's trying to speak, but his erratic breathing is making it hard for him, and he's only able to get out short phrases with wild gestures before he starts hyperventilating again.

"You - he, I can't-" He hiccups, and his hands are in his hair.

"Taehyung, Tae, calm down," Yoongi tries to console him. "Here, hands on your head, breathe with me."

Yoongi grips Taehyung's shoulders to keep him still, and slowly fills his lungs with air. Taehyung follows, puffing up his chest in the process. Exhales when Yoongi exhales. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. The blood in Taehyung’s face gradually disappears with each breath, restoring his face back to it's usual golden tan. The muscles in his shoulders also relax under Yoongi's hands, and he squeezes them, encouraging him.

And then Yoongi realized something.

"Where's Jimin?" he asked.

Taehyung's face contorts a little. "I-I don't know," he squeaked.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Taehyung flinched, surprised by the steeliness of his voice, and looked down. "That’s what I was trying to tell you. I-we usually meet after last period before we get on the bus, but he wasn't there today. I even waited, I waited for twenty minutes but he never showed up, and now...now I don't-"

His voice was starting to rise again.

“Hey, hey,” Yoongi’s hands are on his face, squishing his cheeks a little, forcing Taehyung to look at him. “Let’s not assume the worst, yeah? He probably just got held up by a teacher or something. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Taehyung nodded with what little mobility he had with his face between Yoongi’s hands.

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi promised before slipping his hand around Taehyung’s wrist and leading him down the hallway.

He was admittedly calm on the outside, but on the inside, a fire has started. It sparked in the balls of his feet, and slowly grew into a raging inferno that burned up his insides with each step he took. Taehyung followed close behind him as he walked through the hallways shouting Jimin’s name.

He took deep breaths as he rounds the corner, and continues shouting Jimin’s name down the hallway, walking past the forest green colored lockers that he felt like were closing in on him. It was only when he was all the way down the hallway when he realized Taehyung was no longer behind him.

He spun around. Taehyung had stopped somewhere in the middle of the hallway, looking into a corner where a flight of stairs were located, standing deathly still.

“Taehyung?” he called to him, but the red head didn’t respond.

If Yoongi wasn’t feeling uneasy before, he definitely was now. He half jogged over to him, ignoring the twisting feeling in his gut.

“What are you-” he cut his words off. His blood ran cold, making his whole body numb as he followed Taehyung’s line of sight. Jimin’s chair was it’s side, sticking out haphazardly from behind the stairwell.

Jimin’s chair, but no Jimin.

He bolted up the stairs immediately, taking the steps two at a time. He shouted behind him at Taehyung to grab Jimin’s chair, and tugged at his blond locks once he reached the top, wincing in pain as he accidentally pulled out a couple strands.

“,” he verbalized. His voice was weak and scratchy. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to get bigger. Taehyung was right next to him again, the wheelchair folded up in his hands and his face now salty and wet. Yoongi’s hand was reflexively on his face, brushing his tears off.

“I’m so sorry, It’s all my fault-”

“Shut up. It’s not. None of this is your fault,” Yoongi assured him.

Taehyung looked like he didn’t believe him, but didn’t argue.

They began shouting Jimin’s name again, this time desperation dripping out of them as they half walked, half ran along the second floor. Taehyung took to banging on each door, but every single time he got no answer. Panic was overtaking Yoongi in bursts of electricity, upping itself in watts for every passing minute they didn’t find Jimin. He was also banging on lockers, doors, screaming Jimin’s name, everything he could think of so that where ever his best friend was, he might hear him.

But he didn’t. They had scoped out almost every corner of the first and second floor and still no sign of him. The hallways were bare. Every teacher and student has gone home already.

“Jimin!” he shouted again. The echos he was met with only served to mock him.

Yoongi rounded the last corner with Taehyung right behind him, and slumped against the wall before sliding down into a pathetic pile on the floor.

“Jimin,” he called out weakly.

“Yoongi hyung?” came a muffled voice somewhere down the hallway. Yoongi’s head perked up a little.

“Jimin?” he called again, daring to be hopeful.

“Hyung!” came the voice again, followed by the sound of fists banging on wood.

“Yoongi, Yoongi hyung, I’m in here! Help me!”

Taehyung and Yoongi shared a look, and Yoongi’s on his feet, and running as fast as his legs would let him down the hallway. He stops at the janitor’s closet and yanks the door open. Jimin falls out forward on the ground, and when he looks up, Yoongi gasps.

Theres a small cut on his bottom lip, and an inkblot shaped bruise blooming on his right temple. His face is completely drenched, and his hair is sticking up in all different directions. And his eyes, red and wet, were blown wide. He looked petrified.

Yoongi sunk to his knees, and Jimin immediately scrambled to him, making small, desperate little noises as he grabbed at him wildly with his hands until the caught hold of his shirt, bunching and wrinkling it as he tried to pull himself closer. Jimin pressed his face into his neck, throwing his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders in a vice like grip and clung to him with all of the upper body strength he had. Yoongi returned the gesture, his arms wrapping around Jimin’s torso and pulling him closer so they were pressed right against each other on the floor.

“Jiho and h-his fr-friends, th-they threw m-me in here. I c-couldn’t reach th-th-the doorknob-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Yoongi whispered in his ear, rubbing circles into his back. “You’re okay now, you’re safe. It’s okay, baby.”

Yoongi didn’t mean for the pet name to slip out. It just kind of did. Jimin didn’t say anything bad about it, and he didn’t push Yoongi away. If anything, he held on to Yoongi even tighter, if that was possible, so Yoongi let his slip up pass, and kept on rubbing circles into Jimin’s back as if he hadn’t said anything.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” came Taehyung from behind them. “I’m supposed to be the vice president of the Protect Jimin Squad and I failed. I’m so sorry.”

Jimin sniffed. “It’s okay, Taehyung. It’s not your fault.”

The red head knelt down. Jimin momentarily disentangled himself from Yoongi’s arms, and pulled Taehyung into a comforting hug, burying his face in his neck to try to muffle his sniffles, but the echoes could still be heard crystal clear through the empty hallway.

-

Mrs. Park ends up picking them up. Taehyung sits in the front seat, occasionally glancing back at them in the rear view mirror. Jimin stays quiet on the entire ride home. Not that Yoongi blames him, at all, but the silence is deafening. He doesn't think he's ever seen Jimin so quiet, so still. It's unnerving, and knowing why he's so quiet has him digging his nails into his palms to keep him from hitting something.

She drops Taehyung off at his house first. He gives a shaky goodbye to Jimin and Yoongi in the back seats. Yoongi waves. Jimin doesn't acknowledge it. Taehyung's face falls a little, but he still smiles and thanks the other's mom for the ride home before exiting the car.

"Yoongi, am I dropping you off at your house too?" Mrs. Park asks from the drivers seat.

A soft cough from Jimin resonates through the van. Yoongi looks over to him, shifting his eyes to Yoongi and then back down to his lap that's holding his twiddling thumbs. Yoongi, understandingly, nods.

"I'd actually like to come over, if that's okay," he says timidly.

The rest of the ride seems even quieter than before. It presses on them, like a thick layer of fog as equally as hard to see through as it is to breathe, and doesn't leave even after they've pulled up to the driveway. Yoongi stays off to the side when Mrs. Park helps Jimin into his chair, and Yoongi couldn't help but notice how dead he looked. His eyes were blank, devoid of any and all emotion. He let his mom take over almost completely, moving his body how she wanted it to go with no resistance. Like a rag doll.

He stays like this until they arrive in Jimin's room, from switching his chair for his crutches at the door through the stair lift ride up the stairs, and until they get in his room. Jimin makes his way over to his bay window, avoiding looking over to Yoongi in favor of looking out over his backyard, while the latter sits down on his bed, running his hands over the soft material. Honestly, Yoongi doesn't mind. He was never the type that needed constant attention. As long as he was around the person he cared about it didn't matter what they were doing. It was nice to talk, to touch, but he didn't need it. So he traced the patterns on Jimin's sheets instead, patiently waiting for when Jimin decides he’s ready to talk.

It's after about 5 minutes of both of them in each other's vicinity when Jimin speaks for the first time since getting in the van.

"I'm afraid of the rain, now."

Yoongi looks up. Jimin's looking out the window, what's left of his left leg laying on the seat while his other leg is planted firmly on the floor, and his crutches propped up next to him. "I'm afraid of small spaces now because they make me feel trapped. I can't listen to any of my favorite songs because they're all songs I used to dance to." He gulps. "And I haven't been able to go near my old studio since my accident."

Yoongi carefully processes everything Jimin’s saying. There's a question on the tip of his tongue. A question he's not sure he should ask, but it's gnawing at it him, and has been gnawing at him since the day he came back to Daegu. It's somewhere in his throat, bubbling up like champagne after you pop off the cork and he doesn't know if he can stop it. He doesn't want to, and he maybe he shouldn't because maybe Jimin's not ready but -

"How did it happen?"

Keeping his eyes trained on the grass outside, Jimin laughs humorlessly. "I've been waiting for you to ask," he says. His voice is somewhere far away, already reliving the memory. For a few moments, it's quiet. Jimin trails his hands down the soft cotton material of the baby blue curtain, their breaths intermingling as Yoongi sits patiently on his bed.

"That day, the day we facetimed before regionals, remember that?"

The memory forms in Yoongi's brain. "Yeah."

"Remember when I said it was raining?"

He remembers Jimin's wet hair. "Yeah."

His mouth opens and closes, and short bursts of pain flash in and out of his eyes as he tries to find the right words. "It wasn't raining hard when we left," he finally settles on. "But sometime about an hour or so into the drive, it started to downpour."

His voice is already starting to wobble. Yoongi strains to not listen to it and just focus on his words but he feels every wobble in his throat like it was his own. His instincts are screaming at him to go to him, wrap him up tight in his arms and hide him from the rest of the world so he can never get hurt again, but his brain is thinking maybe right now isn't the best time to touch him, so he clenches his jaw and fists the sheets, forcing himself to stay put.

"I don't know where we were, but I remember there were a lot of trees. There were trees all over. And we're driving, and it's pouring, and it was okay because we were the only ones on the road, but then -" Jimin stops and breaths deeply. His hands start to shake in his lap. "But then we go to turn a corner as another car is coming from the other way, and it's out of control."

Jimin his bottom lip into his mouth to keep it from wobbling. When he releases it, it's red and raw from being chewed on, and the skin is peeling. Yoongi feels sick, sick of himself for forcing him to relive this when the pain is obviously still too fresh.

"Jimin, you don't have to-"

"No!" Jimin cuts him off harshly, and Yoongi jumps, surprised. "I have to, I have to start talking about it. My therapist said I should start talking about it with people I trust. And you deserve to know," he added, soft determination in his eyes as they bored into Yoongi's own.

He stayed silent after that, and nodded. Jimin starts up the story again.

"The other car is out of control from the rain, the road was a little flooded, and my mom swerved to get out of the way, but she floored it to swerve, and then she panicked and stomped on the gas, but because we were going too fast and stopped too abruptly, the car flipped."

Jimin's stare is blank, so immersed in his memories that he doesn't even seem to register the tears that are running down his face. Yoongi knows Jimin sees nothing in his room. Jimin is seeing the trees, the rain, the road in front of him, the other car, his parents. Jimin isn't in front of him anymore.

"And it keeps flipping and flipping until it hits a low branch that stops it, and leaves it suspended on it's side at an angle. The airbags are inflated in the front seats, but my parents are both out cold. I'm the only one still awake. My head hurt really bad. I remember blood running down the side of my face, and I look out the window, and I see my phone laying on the ground. The screen is cracked, but the car is shielding it from the rain so I figured it might still work, and I climbed out of the window, thinking maybe if there's service out here I can call for help. But then...as soon as I grab my phone and dial 119, I hear a snap."

Jimin blinks, and for the first time since he started the story it looks like he's actually seeing what's in front of him. His crutches leaning right next to him against the bay window, his blue painted walls, peeling where all of his old posters of dancers Yoongi never heard of used to be. And then he was seeing Yoongi, still rigidly perched on his bed, tears streaming down his cheeks too.

"And then the car is on top of me," Jimin says quietly, and then tries to cover his face before it crumples completely but Yoongi still sees it, still sees how his cries wrack his shoulders as he curls himself against the window, still hears his sobs as they rip through his throat.

Yoongi's only thinking about Jimin when he gets up on his feet. He's only thinking about comforting Jimin when he sits down across from him on the bay window. He's only thinking about keeping Jimin safe when he grabs him by the shoulders and the younger falls into his chest, soiling his shirt with his tears. He's thinking about a little boy of six years old, crying on a swing set because his little legs wouldn't let him go high enough. He's thinking about a fourteen year old boy on stage, moving to the music as if it lived in him. He's thinking about a sixteen year old boy, who had his hopes and dreams cruelly snatched away from him.

Jimin buries his face in Yoongi's chest, and clutches his shirt in his hands while Yoongi's arms wrap tightly around his back as he lays his cheek in his hair. It's soft, like him. Everything about Jimin was always so soft.

"When the doctors told me my leg was crushed and had to be amputated, I cried for days," Jimin's muffled, thick voice says into Yoongi’s shirt. "I lost you. And then I lost dance. I lost the two things that made me happy the most.” He hiccups. “And then I thought about how you always cheered me on and how you always supported me and I thought, 'What would he think of me?'"

Yoongi wondered if Jimin could hear his heart shattering into little pieces.

"Is that why you didn't tell me?" he asked carefully.

Jimin tries to gulp down the access mucus in his throat. "Sort of. I remember sitting in the hospital bed, looking at everyone else because I had no one else to look at. And everybody had this face, like they felt so sorry for me. Like they pitied me.” Jimin makes it sound like a dirty, disgusting word. “But I could handle it, mostly, because they were strangers and I'd be out of the hospital eventually but if it was you..." Jimin lifted his head and looked at Yoongi. His face was almost as puffy as it used to be. His cheeks wet and his eyes were red and bloodshot but Yoongi still thought he was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it if it was you.”

Yoongi blinks slowly, staring at Jimin stare at him. He’s looking at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Yoongi to do something. Yoongi knows what he wants to do, but it's not the right time, it’s not the right place, not when Jimin's too vulnerable like this and might regret it later. Instead, he takes him by the arm, wraps it around his shoulders and pulls them both to their feet. Jimin leans against him, letting Yoongi help him hop the short distance to his bed where Yoongi gently lays him down, and crawls up next to him as the younger uses his arms to push himself back against his pillows.

"You should sleep," Yoongi says once they're situated, brushing Jimin's hair out of his eyes.

Jimin nods lazily, and turns himself over, draping his arm across Yoongi's middle and nuzzling his face into his chest. "You mean so much to me," Jimin said into his rib cage. "More than you know."

Yoongi's heart starts thumping wildly in his chest, and he panics because there's no way Jimin can't hear it. He looks down at the younger, but he finds that Jimin is already fast asleep, clearly exhausted from the days events. Yoongi presses a soft kiss into his head, and stares at the ceiling, trying to not let his imagination run wild thinking about what Jimin might have meant.