PAINT THE ROSES RED

seven: why is a raven like a writing desk?

Jimin's sitting in a room.

He's alone.

The room is white. All white. Kind of like those rooms you see in the movies that are supposed to represent heaven or something. (How very ironic.)

There's a TV in front of him.

It's on, but there's nothing to watch; it's all static.

The loud, non-stop, buzzing noise is getting annoying. And so is the loneliness, quite frankly.

Jimin figures it's this friggin' afterlife messing with his head, again.

PFFFFT...BZZZZT...

All of a sudden, Jimin starts hearing things.

Snippets, tiny sounds...a woman's voice.

And all of a sudden, the TV flashes to a network. It's the news. The headline reads:

TWO DEAD IN TRAGIC CAR ACCIDENT.

Jimin feels a rush of horror and misery.

Obviously, the past is over, and now it's time for the present.

"In local news," the woman begins, her voice sounding like every cliche newscaster, "Two men lost their lives in a tragic car accident early this morning. From what little information we've received, the two young men were driving home from a club at about 3:30 this morning when there was a head on collision with another driver, who is now in hospital but in a stable condition. There was no word if the boys or the other driver was intoxicated. We'll update you on this tragic story as soon as we find out more."

With that, the TV snaps off. They may have never released the names of the two 'tragic car accident' victims, but Jimin knows that the newscaster was talking about him and Yoongi.

The lighting in the room is dim.

Jimin squints to see where he has arrived.

He is sitting on a carpeted ground in a very familiar room, in front of a writing desk. There are various paintings on the light green walls. Some are of gardens, others of seascapes, and all the furniture in the room is cherry oak. It is the Kim's home office (which for so many years was "off limits" to young and reckless Jimin and Taehyung), and it is quite lovely.

What a pity there's such a sense of tragedy in the air.

Jimin looks around for someone, anyone.

Immediately, he catches sight of his best friend sitting at the writing desk, his normally gorgeous brown eyes clouded and puffy red. He is writing something viciously, until suddenly, he stops.

He just sits there for a moment, the single desk light illuminating his features and the room around him. Then, he bursts into tears.

They start rolling down his face in a sort of tragically beautiful way, and Jimin's jaw drops open a little bit.

Taehyung crumbles forward, and he folds his arms across the desk and hides his head in them and sobs.

It goes on like this for what seems like hours but is really only minutes at the most, with Taehyung's crumpled form shaking with cries and Jimin sitting there, mouth ajar, dumbfounded, no idea how to react.

Finally, someone else walks into the room.

It's Mrs. Kim, Taehyung's mom and Jimin's "might-as-well-be" mom.

She is carrying a steaming mug of some sort of beverage, and she is dressed in a light blue, fluffy bathrobe, slippers on her feet. Her hair is a bit messy and she looks very, very tired.

"Taehyung, I brought you some coff—" she starts, her voice soft and sweet but exhausted. Suddenly, her sentence is cut off and her face crumbles with pity and sympathy as she sees her son sobbing, "Oh, Taehyung!" she cries, running forward
and embracing him, putting the coffee mug off to the side of the desk. "Tae, oh sweetie, it's okay...shhh..."

The mother and son sit there for moments, Taehyung sobbing and sobbing, head still in his arms, and Mrs. Kim holding him close, tears slipping down her own cheeks.

Finally, finally, Taehyung's cries quiet and he just leans into his mother and his mother rocks him gently back and forth. No words are passed between the two.

Jimin just sits there, knees to chest, dark eyes wide, not believing that he is the one that is causing this.

Taehyung finally speaks; his voice is cracked and filled with sobs. "I-I-I just can't believe I-I-I'm sitting here planning his friggin' funeral, Mom..."

Jimin gets a jolt of shock as he hears those words. He knows he's dead, but still...

Mrs. Kim lets out a small whine at her child's words. The loss of Jimin broke her heart almost or even just as much as it had broken her son's. She had cared for Jimin like he was her own child. She had helped him through so many tragic, difficult times as well as celebrated with him in the beautiful, happy ones.

And now...he was gone forever.

She buries her face into Taehyung's hair after his words and nods. "I know, Tae, I know. And it's so phenomenal of you to do it, too."

There's a heavy, uneasy silence that falls upon everyone in the room, even Jimin, like a dark storm cloud.

Mrs. Kim once again buries her face in her son's shoulder. Taehyung just continues to sit there, jaw clenched and slightly shaking, eyes wet, arms crossed, staring across the room at a painting, refusing to look at his mother. Finally, he whispers, his voice stuttering and filled with almost-tears,

"I keep h-h-having these memories, Mom..."

He takes a shaky, deep inhale; Mrs. Kim looks up, her eyes now glued to her son.

"I-I keep remembering, you know, stuff. I remember when we, like, were five and six and ran around the neighborhood in Batman and Robin outfits, and I remember when we were eleven and the neighborhood pranksters, and I remember when we first started high school and..." Taehyung clenches his eyes shut again, reaching up a hand and digging his palms into them. He shakes his head. "T-t-they just won't stop and i-it just makes it s-so hard..." he blubbers.

Mrs. Kim is crying, now, too. Gently, the woman nuzzles her face into her son's hair and whispers,

"I know, Taehyung, I know..."

Taehyung lets out a small cry.

"No, you don't know. You don't know. You don't know what it's like to be sitting here, planning your best freaking friend's funeral. A-a-and, the worst is, like, I keep remember the last words I said to him. The last time I effing saw him...And, Mom, I can't freaking forgive myself..."

Now, Jimin is crying.

Jimin is crying and looks down in complete shame and shakes his head because, No, Taehyung, it's not your fault, it's his. It's Jimin's. Jimin was the one who was the complete, denying disaster. Jimin was the one who yelled at and kicked you out. You were just being the amazing person you are and trying to help him.

Taehyung, you shouldn't need to forgive yourself for that.

Mrs. Kim, upon hearing these words, pulls away from her son. She seems angry, now, because she's shaking oh-so-slightly, her jaw tight and her eyes staring unblinkingly into her son's.

"Taehyung," she says, her voice stern, "Taehyung, don't you dare. If you start going through all the 'what-if's', and all of the 'should have's' you will drive yourself crazy. Because, as hard as it is to accept, the truth is that you can't change anything. You can't go back. You can't change what you did for what you think you should have done. The only thing you can do is try your hardest and your best to make the right choices now. Focus on the present, Taehyung. Not the past. Focus on the present and take it one step at a time. Let the memories come; let the regrets come; they're natural; they're part of the healing process. Just don't dwell on them. The truth is, Taehyung, you have made some mistakes, and Jimin made mistakes, and Jimin might have changed and you might have changed but that was what you were both meant to do. And now all you can do is live life right now."

There's dead silence, again. This time, though, it's not thick or awkward or whatever it was before. Now, it's just filled with shock. Shock and awe.

Jimin stares at Mrs. Kim, and he blinks once. Honestly, the woman never fails to amaze him. From the first moment he can remember meeting her when he was six and a half to a couple days before he died, he remembers that she never failed to be sweet, humble, understanding, and honest.

Taehyung stares at his mother, just as struck as Jimin. Then, he flies forward and flings his arms around his parent and starts crying, and his mother throws her arms around him and starts whispering comforting words to her child.

For minutes, they sit there, both crying and being comforted together, Jimin watching on in the shadows of the room, nothing but a spirit. Tears roll out of his dark eyes and down his pale cheeks.

Taehyung pulls away, wiping his eyes. He laughs a little bit, and Mrs. Kim laughs a little, as well.

They sigh, and there's silence.

It's not uneasy, though. It's quiet, peaceful. Things that needed to be said have been said, and it feels like the thickness in the air has been lifted.

For everyone except Jimin, that is. Jimin still feels like ten thousand kinds of horrible.

Taehyung sighs shakily, and he turns back to the writing desk and what he was scribbling on earlier. He leafs through a few pieces of paper, and he turns to his mom.

"Yoongi's parents want to do a joint funeral. You know, with both Yoongi and Jimin."

Jimin feels a sharp pain fly through his chest...his heart.

Mrs. Kim stares off into space a little bit, her expression unreadable. Finally, she turns to her son and tilts her head.

"Well, what do you think about that?" she asks softly.

Taehyung looks down and sniffles.

"I-I-I dunno. I mean, I think that, like, since the two were so close in life that it would only make sense to have them be that close in death, but...but..." he sighs, "But it'd be kind of a double whammy, you know? Like, to see both of them lying there...like that..." he trails off, now, shaking his head, closing his eyes. He can't go on.

Mrs. Kim pulls him into a hug again. She nods knowingly.

"Well, you have time. Just think about it," she softly says, and gently kisses her son's hair.

Taehyung nods.

There's silence again.

Taehyung and his mother pull away from each other, and both exhale shakily. "I-I wonder what Jimin would want..." Taehyung suddenly asks, looking off into space.

Mrs. Kim chuckles lightly despite herself. "Well, sweetie, unfortunately, you can't ask him..."

Jimin blinks at that. It's sort of funny to hear—after all, he's sitting right in front of them.

And, quite frankly, now that he thinks about, Jimin's not sure what he wants.

Jimin's not sure that he wants to think about what he wants his funeral to be like. It's already hard enough to watch his best friend talk about planning it. He would like to stay away from planning it himself.

Taehyung smiles weakly, sadly, and turns to the mug of coffee his mother had placed on his desk earlier. He grabs it, his hands shaky, and takes a sip.

Mrs. Kim frowns. "Aw, honey, it's not as warm. I'll go put it in the microwave for a bit, if you want."

Taehyung shakes his head. "Nah, it's caffeine and it works. It doesn't have to be hot." There's quiet, until, "Thank you, by the way."

"For the coffee?"

"For everything."

There's silence.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how are things going with everyone?" Taehyung's mother softly asks, rearranging herself on the ground to make herself more comfortable.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment.

Jimin watches and listens closely; he really wants to hear how people are taking all of this.

"Um, well, the accident was only, like, two days ago, so their withholding some information. Their families wanted their names to be withheld so that they could tell any other family members or close friends themselves. But they're withholding other stuff too. Like how Jimin was drunk and he and Yoongi weren't getting along and whatever. They actually don't think they're going to release any of that, really. It's kind of personal," Taehyung starts. Mrs. Kim nods, and he goes on, "And as for Hoseok, well, I haven't heard from him in quite a while. Last time I talked to him was the night we found out at the hospital, actually, and he just left without saying a word. I haven't gotten a phone call or a visit or, like, anything. It's hit everybody pretty hard."

Mrs. Kim is quiet, thoughtful. She takes a deep, deep breath in, and she stands up. "Well, honey, I think I'm going to go to bed. Don't stay up too late—you need sleep, too." She gives her son a soft kiss on the forehead, both smile, and then she leaves, her slippers lightly making noise on the carpeted ground.

Taehyung is left alone.

Jimin his lips and watches.

Taehyung stares after his mother for a moment, just quiet and blinking. Then, he takes a breath in, lets it out, and turns back to the writing desk. He begins looking through the papers in front of him, again, and suddenly, he starts speaking. He starts speaking into the dim room, talking to the shadows.

"So...I know this seems kind of weird..." he begins, "But, like, I just have this feeling..."

He closes his eyes.

"Jimin, are you in here?"

Jimin's breath stops.

His (non-existent?) heart is pounding.

This has been the first time in this entire "afterlife" experience that someone has noticed him.

Jimin figures it's because he and Taehyung are so close. He's not surprised at all that his best friend is the first person to...sense him. And, quite frankly, he is overjoyed to be noticed or thought of. He flies up and races over to the writing desk.

"Taehyung!" he cries, his voice cracking with a mix of happiness and desperation to be acknowledged, "Taehyung! I'm here! I'm right here!"

He whacks his hands down onto the desk, and, to his horror, causes no reaction from the desk itself or Taehyung.

Taehyung sighs; he frowns.

"I guess not. It was kind of a stupid—"

Jimin can't bear to hear him finish that sentence.

"Taehyung!" he screams, tears suddenly exploding from his eyes, "Taehyung! PLEASE, TAEHYUNG! I'M HERE! I'M RIGHT HERE!"

He's shaking now; he doesn't want to be forgotten, let go of, dismissed as a "stupid idea".

He grabs Taehyung and gets a sudden rush of surprise as his hands don't go straight through the man like he thought they would. He's actually holding onto him.

Jimin bends down so that his face is level with the other boy's.

"Taehyung..." he cries, his voice quieting to a desperate level, "Taehyung, please...please, I'm here...realize it..."

Taehyung look straight ahead, suddenly. Dead in front of him, where Jimin stands, tears rolling down his cheeks. There's a look in his chocolate eyes-it's deep. He looks like he's trying to figure something out. Or that a million and one things are racing through his mind. Or both.

And then, he blinks.

Jimin sees, in his eyes, a quick flash of recognition. It's as if he knows someone's there. Knows without a doubt.

Jimin waits with bated breath to see what Taehyung will do.

Taehyung is silent and still. Then, he looks down a bit, and he smiles to himself.

He turns back to the desk and the papers without a word.

Jimin feels disappointment and devastation well in his chest. But before he has a chance to let the negative emotions fully hit him, Taehyung whispers out,

"I chose red roses, Jiminie. They'll be everywhere, 'cause I know you love them."

With that the scene fades, and Jimin smiles.

Now, there is grass below him, and he savors the softness. He sits down, curls onto his side and closes his eyes, and he just enjoys the peace and quiet. There are no memories, no happenings, nothing. Just Jimin.

For a moment, he almost finds himself dozing off.

But then, he hears a small noise.

A bird.

His eyes shoot open.

He sits up, and he looks around.

Suddenly, he realizes where he is. The local Community Park.

He smiles to himself.

This place gave him so much joy when he was alive. Whether it was when he was six years old, running up and down the play-set in the park, or whether it was when he was twenty, coming here for a walk alone or to spend some time with Yoongi, this place was always so beautiful and relaxing.

Plus, at nighttime, it had the best view of the stars up on the tallest hill in the south side of the park.

Jimin looks around him again, and his eyes light up as he realizes that's exactly where he is. He is seated perfectly on the near edge of the south side hill.

He turns around excitedly, anticipating the view he will get, and his breath is quickly taken away as soon as he does look.

In front of him is the wide expanse of the midnight sky, swirling with purples and blues and silvers, dotted with diamond-like stars, gleaming magnificently. He sighs happily. He turns around, pulls his knees to his chest, and rests his chin atop them, simply enjoying the scenery.

The silence is suddenly broken as he hears the noise that first stirred him up yet again.

A bird.

He raises an eyebrow, a bit confused and curious, and he turns to look about. Nothing catches his eye until—

"Oh," he breathes out, not really knowing why he even said anything.

There, in the oak tree to his right, atop a strong branch, sits a sleek raven.

The bird and Jimin stare at each other for some time. The raven's dark, gem-like eyes won't leave Jimin's.

Jimin suddenly opens again, because, he doesn't know why, but he has the strongest urge to say something.

And he knows exactly what to say.

"Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling. By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'"

Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". One of Jimin's favorite poems. (He had committed it to memory, he'd read it so much.)

This was the perfect moment to recite a verse, and the verse he chose just seemed to fit so perfectly that Jimin can't help but smile after the words tumble out of his lips.

The raven, in turn, stares at Jimin's smiling face. It tilts its head, as if it is contemplating on something. As if it is contemplating on why in the world a man, who was dead, and had lost everything, is smiling. Is happy. Is content.

Jimin tilts his own head, mimicking the bird. Because, quite frankly, he himself doesn't even know the answers to the raven's questions. He just knows all of it just is, and he knows he's okay with that.

And then in the blink of an eye, the bird flies off, deep into the dark, swirling, star-coated sky.

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore...