>> vmin // uh light angst/"lived-in" fluff????? it's not angst, but not really fluff either hm // 1794w // trigger: migraines , very brief cussing , uh i think dissociation??? i'm not an expert so idk though // a.n: howdy it's me. this is for liz kinda? like they're so super sweet to me and always leave such nice comments and i wanted to dedicate something to them (the chapter image i doodled is for them as well!! they make me think of pretty flowers and sweet stuff and stars in hair and happy thoughts haha), and i just feel like this is good?? it's ~~~sorta~~~ a vent, but more like i started writing without a plan when i had this insane migraine (i have Chronic Migraines so i literally always have a headache or migraine lmAO) yesterday and was like zoning out (dissociating maybe??????) and basically everything jimin experiences in the fic, but it's personal and light so i thought maybe they'd like it : ))  (also i forgot their pronouns even though i think they told me smh im a bad friend with memory problems)

title from kill our way to heaven by michl (with some sorta big tweaks)

jimin blinks at the bright light of his laptop resting on his stomach, lights in the room switched off and curtains drawn over his windows. he doesn't really focus on what he's doing; clicking around on things that even mildly interest him through the fog in his head. his mind is racing, yet it's not. his mind is running, yet moving like it's walking in syrup. he doesn't even know what he's thinking about, but he's thinking about something. something so interesting and loud that it keeps him from actually knowing what's going on in the real world; his body is just moving on auto pilot. like a robot programmed to do these things.

his head hurts; a thick pressure in his head that expands against the walls like his head is going to explode. a painful and heavy pressure like massive hands gripping his head and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. it travels down the back of his neck like a dull ache that turns into a sharp bite of pain when he twists his neck around, crawling around his temples and nose like a hammer tapping against him with each few taps harder than before.

the pain creates a fog in his mind, slowing his thoughts down, painting them all grey and black. except they're still running for miles and red, his body aching from the exhaustion from the endless thoughts.

the music playing through his headphones is too loud, too sharp. like the thick fog in his head is him and knives are stabbing at it. some songs are louder than others, feeling like he's in a club and he's standing by a set of speakers, the music thumping in his skull and pounding against the backs of his eyes.

he's been laying in this position for hours, back aching and knees locked up. he doesn't remember the last time he ate, stomach cramping sharply. maybe three days ago? he doesn't know how he'd slip three days without eating past taehyung's watchful eyes, but he forgets to eat all the time (maybe, sometimes, he pretends he forgot when he really just wanted to see himself get thinner, see the number on the scale drop a few numbers). maybe he got taehyung to leave him alone by saying “i'll eat later. i promise”.

he doesn't remember the last time he slept either. maybe it was three days ago too. he forgets to sleep too (and maybe, sometimes, he pretends he forgot when really he didn't feel like he deserved it, the screaming voices that are his anxiety keeping him from resting). maybe he got taehyung to leave him alone by saying “i took a nap already. i promise”.

maybe he told himself he was fine, that it was okay, that time slipping through his fingers like sand was okay. he is. it was. he is fine. he really does just forget. he does do it on purpose sometimes, but he really does mostly just forget. he doesn't mean it. like he doesn't mean to forget to breathe; he doesn't hold his breath to see how long he can last without air. he really does just forget to breathe sometimes.

ah. jimin remembers. it really has been three days since he last ate (something real, anyway), but it's only be two days since he last slept. he really did tell himself he was fine and that it was okay. he is. it was. it's just that no one was there to say it for him. taehyung loves him, he knows, but they live with five other people and taehyung is energetic, always excited, so he hops from each member. sometimes jimin like to picture taehyung as one of those yellow bouncy balls with the smiley face on it; that's what taehyung is. (most of the time, anyway.)

so taehyung isn't there all the time. taehyung is the only one that pokes and prods, gets into his space (but never stepping over boundaries), questions him with a serious look. everyone else gives him space. so taehyung is the only one that tells him he's fine, that it's okay. but taehyung isn't there all the time, so jimin has to say it himself.

if he doesn't hear it from somebody, he'll forget. just like he does with everything else. he'll forget he's fine. he'll forget that he's not fine. he'll forget it's okay. he'll forget it's not okay. he'll forget, or he just won't realize it. he'll feel fine, but not know he is, or just forget. he'll be crying, but not know he's not fine, or just forget.

the thick fog gets thicker as the painful pressure escalates slowly like someone hiking a mountain, his mind hazy and eyesight getting foggy. bright lights blur into shadows. nothing has a sharp line anymore. jimin doesn't even know if he's really awake anymore. everything looks fake. everything feels fake.

all jimin knows is pain, grey, black, red, slow, fast, pain, pain.

colours become too bright. light becomes too bright. light reflecting off his skin becomes too bright.

he shuts his laptop and puts it off to the side on the floor, dropping his headphones beside it and staring at the bottom of taehyung's bed. dusty grey blue glows around the edges of the dark curtains, crawling along the roof from where the bar holding up the curtains comes off the wall.

it makes everything feel even less real. the light rain tapping against the window fades in and out, sounding muffled like he's under water when his thoughts feel too fast and he feels like a jumble of squiggly lines squirming around faster, faster, faster until he's about to explode; sounding loud like upbeat music playing too loud directly into his ears when everything slows down and he feels like he's floating in fog, body tingling and light, but being pushed down by pressure that presses against his lungs and makes it difficult to breathe.

speaking of difficulty of breathing, his lungs feel too small. they feel too small for his body, his ribs even smaller and caging his lungs with squeezing pressure. the inside of his chest feels fake and suffocating when he inhales, like a plastic bag wrapped around his lungs. the inside of his chest feels misplaced like his stomach and chest are in the wrong spots and a mix of hot and cold, like his lungs popped and someone covered the holes with scotch tape and wrapped it ty wrapping paper.

all jimin knows is pain, pain, pain, grey, black, red, slow, fast, pain, pain.

nothing else feels real. like he doesn't really exist. like this body isn't really his and he's being forced to stay in this place against his will.

he doesn't even hear the door open. he sees it, but it might as well have not happened at all to jimin. because he just doesn't notice. he sees someone enter the room, shut the door, and walk over to him. he hears someone call 'jimin? jiminie?' twice. but he doesn't notice. it doesn't happen in jimin's head. his thoughts are going slow again; like fat flies buzzing around a plate of old food.

he feels the bed fall away to someone's weight. he hears 'jiminie?' in his ear. he notices it this time, but the pressure is so heavy and so painful, his neck so stiff, that he's scared to move his head. he hums instead. the inside of his chest rattles like old wind chimes tinkling in the wind, barely hanging on to their threads.

“you okay?”

he realizes it's taehyung.

taehyung is the only one who knows him well enough to ask him questions that make him shatter like glass to express all his emotions.

except jimin doesn't shatter like glass to express all his emotions, because he doesn't feel any emotions to express.

“sorta,” jimin says, his voice quiet, so quiet, to balance out the loud pain. he's telling the truth; he's sorta okay. he is okay, but only kind of. he'd be completely okay if it wasn't for this ing migraine and the running thoughts distracting him from living.

taehyung lays down beside jimin, reaching out to rub circles into jimin's forehead. jimin's eyes flutter shut and he feels his shoulders fall, the tension melting away. taehyung's fingers are cold, almost ice cold against jimin's too hot skin.

“what's wrong?” taehyung asks, voice quieter than earlier because jimin's voice was quiet which means he has a headache, or his depression is sinking its fangs and claws into his skin.

“just,” jimin trails off, focusing on taehyung's cool fingertips rubbing circles into his forehead to distract him from everything going on in his head. “i just have.. an insane migraine. it hurts a lot. i can't move. i can't breathe. it's like i'm not thinking at all, but thinking too much. i don't.. i don't know. i don't feel real. i'm just tired, i guess.”

he sees taehyung frown in the corner of his eyes, feels him scoot closer and gently tangle their legs together, feels him slip his free hand between his neck and his pillows to gently massage the muscles there.

jimin sighs again, body stretching out and loosening up. he feels like a rusty machine that's been harshly grinding its gears for years finally getting oiled. or a coiled up cord getting stretched out straight.

“want me to run a bath or get you some sleepaids or something?” taehyung questions softly, watching jimin's face to see if his expression tightens and twists again.

jimin sighs out a 'no', turning into taehyung's chest and lightly gripping at his shirt. “m'can't sleep.”

it's true. he can't sleep. he tried to earlier, when the pressure first started forming and it felt like rusty gears in his neck when he turned it, but he just couldn't get to sleep. he doesn't think sleep aids would help. they don't usually when he has a migraine this bad. being in a bath would probably make everything even less real, warm water lightly pressing against his skin and making his body float off the bottom of the tub would just make this all feel like a dream. jimin would close his eyes, lean his head back into the water because if it's a dream, he can't die, and not notice he's drowning.

taehyung moves his hand from jimin's forehead to wrap his arm around jimin's waist, other hand at his neck moving up a little to rub firm circles into the back of his head and run his fingers through his hair.

“okay,” is all taehyung says in response. (he'll just keep massaging jimin's head until, maybe, he goes to sleep. just like he always does.)