has no one told you she’s not breathing?

20170612

~.~

Memories can’t always be trusted. Old ones mix and mash and distort.

Jimin has always known the playground was not right next to the graveyard.

But in his mind, when he tries to look back, one is never seen without the other. Both places always gloomy, gray, empty. He can feel the surface of her gravestone against his small kid-hands, as well as the damp ropes of the swing.

Today, the graveyard does not look like in his memories at all.

There are more gravestones now. It’s a beautiful place, really. Like a park, with bushes and cherry blossoms and tall, lush trees. The garves are orderly lined up and decorated with flowers. A stony path lies beneath his walking feet as his blurry memories lead the way to his younger sister’s grave.

There are footsteps behind him, steady and comforting, but eventually the sound swims through his ears and are drowned in the pounding of his anxious heart. He finds it hard to believe that he has been here before. The sun is glittering in the sky and it does not feel right.

He finds it, eventually. Of course he finds it.

It looks so wrong, even fifteen meters away. He doesn’t dare to walk any closer.

It’s so small. Too small. It used to tower above him. If only by a few centimeters. Like a stony, evil mountain. The path is lined with fluffy grass, looking more alive than he feels. Is he even breathing?

The words have faded a little. But he knows them by heart.

Park Ji Eun

2000 - 2006

The sun shines in the corner of his eye, and there’s a hand on his shoulder. He flinches. It’s warm, also like the sun. It feels strange to be here with company, with warmth.

Jimin gathers the courage to take a step forward, and another. The hand on his shoulder disappears.

You have to do this alone, he suddenly hears Min Yoongi’s voice in his head and then he remembers. Why he’s here. That Min Yoongi is right behind him.

And he doesn't want to be here. He doesn’t want to do this.

This isn’t overcoming your fears. This is the opposite. And what the does the school counselor even know?

His right knee buckles beneath him, and soon after, the other.

He’s not weak anymore. He’s got muscle, he’s got a sharp tongue, he’s got a life.

What is he doing here? Strong people should stand on both legs.

Instead of speaking like he knows Min Yoongi wants him to, instead of saying “thank you, I feel better now”, he cries. The salt stings down his cheeks. It bears what he really wants to say. Floods out of him like it’s in a rush because it’s been pent up in there for years, it’s been tucked away with the faded memories of a lonely child in an empty playground next to a dark, murky graveyard.

He gasps for air, and it tastes the same. Like moss and peace. And mourning. Like it did back then.

He feels six years younger.

Jimin cries and cries and the school counselor does nothing but cry with him, one meter away with his lower lip between his teeth and choked, attempted silent sobs.

Jimin did not need fixing. He wasn’t broken. The lie wasn’t broken until now. The lie that has lived for him while he hides. Now, here, he has nothing to take shelter behind. The sun scorches his arms and Jieun’s gravestone stares right back at him as he comes out of his shell. Min Yoongi has broken him by taking him here, and Jimin hates him.

----

Yoongi sips his watery coffee, eyes never leaving the student in front of him for more than a second.

Park Jimin’s dyed light brown hair is messy and unstyled. His face is bare, not even a whisper of khol lines his red-rimmed eyes, and his small body is swallowed in a dark blue, oversized hoodie. It’s late spring, almost summer. Meaning he’ll be sweating up a storm. He has his arms crossed on the table, eyes cast down.

He looks like a downright mess.

Yoongi wants to ask how his week has been since their last appointment. He wants to ask if he’s felt better, worse. Judging by his out of character appearance, Yoongi guesses the latter. But remembering how vulnerable the nature of their last hour together had been, Yoongi has decided to let Jimin talk first. Even if it means sitting out the entirety of their appointment in silence.

He had made a mistake taking Jimin to his dead sister’s grave. At the time, Yoongi saw it as their only option. After a month of counseling the stubborn, shy boy was finally opening up about things. Yoongi’s five years studying psychology was telling him that facing Jimin’s worst fear and visiting the source of his inner misery was going to help. He was mistaken.

Park Jimin is trying to look angry. He doesn’t, he looks really sad. Like a cracked porcelain doll. He obviously does not want to be here.

“Aren’t you gonna say sorry?” Jimin speaks up after two more minutes of silence.

Yoongi flinches. His voice is thin, frail, and high-pitched, even more so than usual. The boy doesn't move, but his mouth is slightly twisted in a despondent, annoyed pout.

He’s normally so headstrong. A real pain to most teachers. Yoongi started working at the school a year ago, his first counseling gig after finishing his education. He would overhear tired teachers complaining about difficult students all the time. Park Jimin’s name came up more often than not. He had been excited when Jimin’s mentor arranged for them to have regular meetups. He didn’t know anything about Jimin’s past back then, or how deep down his true self was hidden.

Slowly the boy had opened up.

Yoongi felt like the happiest man on earth whenever he got something out of him. Whether it was an old, haunting memory, or about his older brother Jihyun who’s working as a bartender in London, or the single tear that clings to his dark eyelashes when he doesn’t want to speak anymore. He always stops when he’s about to cry. Yoongi wants to push it all out of him. Build him up strong on the inside, to match his outer muscles.

He pushed too hard last week.

He should say sorry, indeed.

Yoongi places his cup down onto the placemat, pushes his glasses up his nose and clasps his hands in front of him on the table.

“I am sorry. Maybe it was too soon to take you there.”

Jimin’s eyelids flutter. There’s that tear again.

Yoongi mentally slaps himself.

He really messed up last week.

Jimin in a breath. He furrows his eyebrows, looking like he’s carefully choosing his words.

“I like your shirt,” he says. His voice cracks, two tears seeping from his eyes, catching the light from the office light, glittering like small diamonds.

Yoongi looks down at his thin, dark purple sweater. He’s a pale fellow, skinny and always cold. The only thing summery about his outfit are the holes in his black jeans. Otherwise he wears his black fringe down on his forehead, hides his small eyes behind his thick rimmed glasses, and covers his thin frame from head to toe (his sweater being rather low cut and displaying his sharp collarbones, mind you) like any other time of the year. Some of the female teachers compliment his clothing, but he is young compared to other staff at the school and is the only one who doesn’t wear a suit every day, so he has never taken the compliments to heart.

But when Jimin compliments him he feels warm all over.

“Thank you,” he says, careful not to show just how happy the no doubt meaningless regard had made him. Jimin just wants something to say other than what he’s feeling.

To Yoongi’s horror, the alarm rings. An hour has already passed. Jimin needs to head back to class. They both flinch. Jimin chokes on a sob.

Hesitantly they both stand. Yoongi walks Jimin to the door of his office, the student keeping his wet eyes cast down.

“Will you be okay?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin looks up. He visibly swallows, adam's apple bobbing up and down. Without warning, he throws his arms around the counselor, squeezing his small waist in a tight hold. Yoongi recoils at first, but relaxes soon enough and brings his arms to rest behind Jimin’s back.

The younger’s wet, tear stained face rests on Yoongi’s shoulder, swollen lips still in a pout against his skin. Then, Jimin does something weird. He opens his mouth, latching his teeth around the chain that hangs around Yoongi’s neck. A shiver runs down Yoongi’s spine, briefly feeling Jimin’s warm tongue against his skin. Jimin’s body is shaking with sobs against Yoongi’s again, and he tries to be comforting as the student counselor he is.

He ignores the tight feeling in his lower stomach, breathing in the musky scent of the student in his arms and whispering soft, comforting words into his ears.

Jimin is still a minor. Even if he’s only three years younger than Yoongi.

“You can come any time you know, you don’t have to wait until next week.”

Jimin opens his mouth again, releasing Yoongi’s necklace, and pulls away.

He bows in a rushed, shy manner, escaping out of the door before Yoongi can fully register his flushed cheeks and swollen eyes.

Yoongi takes three long breaths.

If only he knew what that boy was thinking. If only he could read his mind.

His job would be easier. And maybe, they would get along better. Maybe Jimin would trust him more if Yoongi already knew everything.

But that’s not how it works.

He’ll just have to be soft. Until he can start pushing Jimin again.

He really wants to push Jimin.

Oh God.

~~

a/n

“one update a week” she said

Happy four years with BTS!

This fic is based on a song by Evanescence called ‘Hello’, a beautiful piece with really powerful and touching lyrics (about the lead singer’s dead sister). I recommend listening to it, because 1. It’s amazing and 2. It’s amazing and i literally wrote this whole thing in one night instead of finishing my other chapters

Have a nice day/night/week/life

This is not edited sry