Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Silence is full of the unspoken, of deeds undone, of confessions to secret love, and of wonders not expressed. Our truth is hidden in our silence, yours and I.

- Ahmad Shamlou

To live is to dream. 

Whether it be the sweet dreams a mother wishes upon her child when she tucks them into bed, dreams of open wildflower fields, the bright sun smiling in the sky, the laughter of friends so dear that even after a long day spent in their company, you can’t help but revisit them in the colorful realm of fantasy. 

Or the dreams that you wake up for every morning. The ones you keep safe in a little treasure chest inside your heart and carry with you everywhere you go, watch them grow with every step you take. Dreams of stardom, success, and wealth. Dreams of love, family, or change. Dreams worth all your tears, sweat, and blood. Dreams of grandiose aims or small feats. Dreams that hold meaning in the face of an absurd, meaningless existence. 

To live is to dream. 

Jimin never dreams. 

His mother never tucked him into bed at night. She never wished him sweet dreams. When Jimin sleeps, he never dreams. He simply closes his eyes and falls. He falls and falls, plummeting into an endless sea of black. 

Namjoon says that it’s impossible not to dream. That it’s a by-product of physical existence. Everyone dreams, he says. Jimin must merely fail to remember them. 

Jimin only smiles. I’m sure you’re right, hyung, he offers ever so politely. I just don’t remember. 

But what is the point of dreaming, if he never remembers?

Jimin never dreams. 

He wakes up at the same time every single morning. On the same bed, in the same room, the same building, and the same city. He eats the same breakfast, wears the same gray suit, and rides the same bus to work. 

It’s the same thing, every day, every week, every month, every year. Always the same.

He thinks of change sometimes, yet never dares to dream it. 

He doesn’t know what he wakes up for every morning, if there is anything to wake up for in the first place. He just does, because he’s supposed to. He wakes up because he’s supposed to, he goes to work because he’s supposed to, he meets up with his friends every other weekend because he’s supposed to. Because that’s what everyone else does, isn’t it?

There’s an empty hole in his chest where dreams are meant to bloom. It’s hollow and light, and in lightness, it is unbearable.

He carries it everywhere, just like he carries his identity card, napkin, lighter, and pen. He takes it everywhere he goes, in hopes of losing it in the crowded streets and subway stations. Yet he never does. It’s always there, this open, gaping hole, watching over him day and night, like his own little prison guard. 

No, Jimin never dreams. 

He doesn’t know how. 

To live is to dream. 

Jimin never dreams. 

Sometimes he wonders if he ever lives. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sungjae doesn’t bother looking up from his computer when he asks Jimin to marry him. 

“Should we get married?” He asks casually, his eyes glued to the screen. 

Jimin steps into the office and lets the door click shut behind him. His eyes flicker from Sungjae’s blank face to the file in his own hand. 

“What?” he gulps. 

“Oh, you can just leave those on my desk, thank you,” Sungjae instructs when he finally glances up at him. 

Jimin obliges, approaching the man’s oval-shaped, mahogany desk with numb, shaky legs, hesitant like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse. 

“Did you just say we should…” Jimin hesitates, suddenly unsure if he’d heard him correctly. He might have imagined it. He does that a lot these days. Imagining things. Things that aren’t. Things that once were. 

“Get married? Yeah, I did.” Sungjae cuts in impatiently, and Jimin doesn’t miss the way the muscle in his jaw tenses and shifts. 

He doesn’t like it when Jimin makes him repeat his words. It’s a waste of his time, as he once said. In the cold, fast-paced world of business, time is Sungjae’s most precious commodity. He can’t waste it on just anyone. Least of all Jimin. 

Jimin draws in a deep breath, runs a hand down the front of his suit to steel himself, and asks, “Is this a proposal?”  

His voice is flat, matter-of-fact, matching Sungjae’s. He puts up the invisible walls of his reserve and doesn't let any emotion seep into his words. That is, if there are any. 

“Umm,yeah. Yeah, why not?” Sungjae shrugs. “We’ve been together for almost two years now and it works between us. Might as well tie the knot and make it official.”

Might as well. 

That’s what he gets after two years with Sungjae. 

A dry, indifferent Might as well.

If Jimin were the same person he used to be six or seven years ago, perhaps he would have said, shouted, no. He would’ve thrown his resignation letter on the man’s desk, and ran out of his office in tears. 

But he isn’t. He isn’t the Jimin from six years or seven ago. Hasn’t been in a long time. The fire has fizzled out, nothing but a pile of ashes left in its wake. He isn’t the Jimin from six years ago. He’s the Jimin from now, the Jimin of today, and he’s...he’s tired. 

“I need a few days to think about it.”

“Take your time.” Sungjae nods. “And you can go home a little early today if you want. I don’t think there’s anything else I need from you.”

“Okay,” Jimin offers shortly. He plasters what he hopes comes across as a thankful smile on his lips before turning on his heels and walking toward the door. 

“Oh, and Jimin?”

He falters in his tracks, yet doesn’t turn around.

“I know this was a bit sudden, but of course I’ll get you a ring and everything to make it official.” Sungjae pauses for a second as if to rethink his words, and then adds, “If you say yes.”

Jimin makes an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat and keeps on walking. 

If. 

It should burn, that if. The glaring reminder that his worth is conditional, that it hangs between the weak syllables of a mere if. It should sting. It should hurt. 

It doesn’t. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jimin doesn’t go home that night after work. At least not right away.

He lets his body take charge, his mind on cruise control as his restless legs lead him wherever they desire. 

The Hangang bridge. 

That’s where he ends up, his first time alone on this bridge after 8 years, 6 months, and 15 days. 

The ruthless claws of memories wrap around his heart, they prod and jab until he bleeds, they press and squeeze until he can’t breathe. 

He closes his eyes and grasps onto the white rail guards for support, his knees too weak to bear his weight on their own. 

A bicycle zooms past him. He hears a couple laugh to his right, their faces adorned by the brightest of smiles as they try to take a selfie. The cars race by in a rush, nothing but blur from the corner of his eyes. The city lights waltz upon the serene surface of the Han river with the utmost grace. 

The city shines, and laughs, and lives on. 

Jimin crumbles, and chokes, and dies a little inside. 

He loosens his tie with trembling fingers and leans against the rail guards, his gaze set afloat on the water below. 

He thinks about nothing and thinks about everything. His body nailed to the present, as his mind drifts to the past. 

To 8 years, 6 months, and 15 days ago when Jimin had first met him. 

Jimin was only 19 years old. A teenager with clothes that didn’t quite fit, a haircut that didn’t suit his face, and glasses that were a bit too round and a bit too big. 

He walked the Hangang bridge all alone and with steps unsure, the night quivering around him, the darkness blowing like a wind. 

He leaned against the white rail guards, the cold surface whispering tales untold against his warm skin. Tales of passersby who had once stood in his place, of their love and loss, of their smiles and tears, of their loneliness that sang just a little louder at night. Tale of lives that faded into nothing amidst the bright lights of the city. 

He glanced at the river below, ever so calm and gentle, and wondered how deep it was. He wondered what would happen if he were to fall in. He wondered if he’d drown. He had never learned how to swim. 

Teenage angst, his aunt had called it once, this darkness inside him that never left. Teenage angst. Something he’d outgrow, like a threadbare, worn-out sweater he could just throw away one day, something he could shut the door on and bid farewell. 

Jimin was only 19 years old, but somehow he knew, that whatever it was, that feeling he hid away like a dusty photograph rammed deep into a wooden chest, was more than just Teenage angst. On some days it was fine. Something he could dismiss and sweep under the rug, something he could chuck up to teenage drama as his aunt insisted. But there were other days when it all felt a bit bigger. Stronger. Scarier. 

Jimin sighed, let his gaze float on the surface of the river.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Jimin turned around, came face to face with a boy who appeared around his age, a smile on his lips and a camera in his hand. 

“Yes?” Jimin asked, his voice alien to his own ears. 

“Hi,” the boy said politely. A bit too loud, compared to Jimin. 

There was something about him, about the mischief in his eyes, the confidence in his voice, and the easy way with which he smiled. There was something about him, even at first glance, something so bright and effortless that made Jimin cower and take a step back, as though if they were to stand just close enough, he’d taint him with his own shadows. 

“Hi,” Jimin echoed, hesitant. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I- well, I wanted to apologize,” the boy said sheepishly, scratching at his neck. 

Jimin arched an eyebrow in confusion. “For what?”

“I came here to take pictures for this project I have to do for my photography class, and I got a little carried away and took some of you without asking for your permission first,” the boy offered, apologetic. “I know that’s not cool and I will delete them if that’s what you want, but I thought I should at least let you know.”

“What’s the project exactly?” Jimin smirked. “Taking pictures of lonely strangers on the Hangang bridge?”

Jimin winced, realizing what he had said. He saw the way the boy’s smile flickered, and the way he plastered it back on mere seconds later. 

“Something like that.” He winked. “But only if they’re cute.”

Caught off-guard, an amused, breathless laugh fell from Jimin’s lips. He averted his gaze, hid the blush melting under his skin beneath his sweater-clad fingers. 

“And we’re not strangers strangers, you know?” the boy continued, his eyes never letting go of Jimin. “We go to the same university. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you walking around the campus a few times.”

Jimin watched him intently. The lively glint in his eyes, the effortless curve of his smile, the breeze dancing amidst the purple-dyed strands of his hair. He hadn’t seen him before, would’ve remembered if he had. Yet again, it wasn’t often that he paid attention to his surroundings or noticed anything besides the familiar faces of his handful of friends. 

We’re not strangers strangers, the boy had said. 

They stood a few steps away from one another, but Jimin could tell that in reality, they were oceans apart. 

“But then again, we kind of are.” Jimin shrugged, his tone a bit colder and sharper than he intended. 

The boy’s smile vanished in an instant, a somber cloud fogging his expression. He took a hesitant step back, and guilt flooded in Jimin’s veins. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I- I was just kidding. We are.”

Jimin shifted on his feet, shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants as he risked another glance at the boy, deluged with this incomprehensible yet overwhelming desire to see him smile again.

“You, uh, you can keep the pictures, I don’t really mind,” Jimin added, a bit softer, kinder. A tinge of a quiet apology lurking behind every word. “It’s okay.”

The boy’s smile returned and Jimin let out a subtle breath of relief. 

“Thank you! Do you think I could-” The boy cut himself off before he could finish his sentence and paused, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “No, no actually, never mind.” 

“What?” Jimin pushed, curious, a ghost of a smile sneaking up to his lips.

The purple-haired boy fumbled with the buttons on his camera, visibly nervous. Jimin found it oddly endearing. 

“I was just gonna ask if I could take a few more pictures of you.”

Jimin’s smile grew more prominent, more daring. He teased, “And what would this cute stranger get in return for posing for your pictures?”

The other let out a laugh, easy on the ear and soft like fine silk. Jimin thought that his happiness sounded addictive. Contagious almost. 

“How about we get something to eat after this? On me?” He said and Jimin’s eyes tracked the movement of his playful smile. “Have you tried the campus convenience store? People go crazy about how moderately edible the food is.”

"Ah yes, the convenience store, the best Fine Dining option in the area," Jimin tilted his head to the side and bit down on a laugh. “Are you sure you can afford it? We can settle for something less fancy, I don't mind.”

"No worries, I'm sure I can manage." The boy hummed, tapping on his chin theatrically. "I'd be a fool not to splurge on such a beautiful stranger."

Two elated beats of his heart against his chest, Jimin's breath stuttered and escaped his lips in shallow puffs.

"Beautiful?" Jimin challenged, the corner of his lips quirking up. "What happened to 'cute'?."

The boy returned his smile with a much brighter one of his own. "Have you seen yourself? It's definitely both."

Such a sweet talker.

"Yeah, okay," Jimin snorted and shook his head, his hair falling into hair face to hide the warm flush spreading across his cheek. "Well, I just can't say no to your generous offer." 

"Let's get going then." The boy grinned, all teeth. He pointed at the other end of the bridge and motioned for Jimin to follow as he started walking, a vibrant almost childish sort of excitement in his every step. 

Jimin froze to the spot for a second too long, caught in a moment of trance, in awe of how enthused someone could be about a few photos and dinner at a dingy convenience store with a stranger, how excited one could be about....about life. Is that what it looked like to be happy? To be free? This curiously endearing stranger made it look so effortless. Enthralling. 

“Wait,” Jimin called out from where he stood, raising his voice so it could carry over the rush of passing cars. “I don’t even know your name.”

The boy slowed down and turned around to face Jimin. 

“Taehyung,” he shot back, just as loud. A passerby shot a strange glance in his direction, but his response was a peal of boisterous laughter. “It’s Taehyung.”

Jimin whispered the name to himself. Taehyung. There was something comforting and familiar about the way it rolled off his lips, a sense of warmth bubbling in his chest. At that moment, just in that small moment, Jimin forgot about the river that lay below, the darkness that blew around, and the fact that he didn’t know how to swim. At that moment, Jimin had felt a little less lonely, a little less lost. 

8 years, 6 months, and 15 days ago, he had met Taehyung.

He murmurs the name underneath his breath today, and all he feels is a dull pang of pain, the aching pulse of a scar left unhealed. 

Taehyung. 

He says it again and again and again, whispers that hurry past his lips and become one with the night. He says it again and again until the pain is gone, until he feels...nothing, until he doesn’t feel at all. 

Then and only then does he grab his phone from his pocket to send a quick text to Sungjae. 

He doesn’t think about it. There’s no need. He just sends him a single word because, well, why not. 

He might as well. 

Yes. 

That’s all the text says. 

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. 

Sungjae will know either way. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sungjae buys him a ring, just like he had promised. 

It’s a white gold ring adorned with seven diamonds. 

It’s a bit too gaudy, Jimin thinks. And it’s a bit too big for his finger. Jimin simply accepts it with a smile and doesn’t say anything.  

He takes it off in the privacy of his own apartment and away from Sungjae’s sharp gaze. He doesn’t like the way it feels on hand, can breathe much better without it. 

Jimin had bought an engagement ring once, almost four years ago. 

It had been a platinum band, with no diamond or any other expensive stones. Just a simple band with five words engraved inside, in his own handwriting. 

It now sits under a pile of clothes in his third drawer, the one that he keeps locked all the time. 

Jimin slips it on sometimes, after one too many glasses of soju. It’s too big for him, slides away easily, eager to escape. It’s supposed to be big, it was never meant for his hand. It was meant for someone else’s, someone with bigger hands, slender fingers, and always perfectly manicured nails. 

It was meant for someone else, and yet it sits in the sad corner of Jimin’s locked drawer, gathering dust and losing its shine. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sungjae wants a destination wedding. 

His parents have business in Thailand, it would be easier for them if Jimin and Sungjae were to hold the ceremony there. Jimin is more than certain that it wouldn’t take that much effort for them to jump on their private jet and attend their wedding in Seoul instead, but he keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t utter a word of protest. 

He’s not exactly one to complain, after all. And his own parents won’t be attending the wedding. 

His father...well, Jimin isn’t really sure who his father is. 

No one in the family ever talks about him, they wouldn’t dare to, or simply choose not to. Jimin has seen the dark looks in their eyes, the solemn expression that clouds over their features at the mere mention of him. His father is a forever mystery he’s come to terms with, the forbidden fruit he’s learned to stay away from. 

When he was still a child, on those lonely career days when most kids showed up dressed like their fathers and went around bloating about their dads’ occupations to anyone they came across, on those days Jimin would wonder what it would be like to have a father.

One of his elementary school friends had once asked him if he ever missed his dad. A question not born from cruelty but rather simple, childish curiosity. 

Jimin had lied. Said yes, of course, he missed his dad. He had lied and said yes, and he had burned with the guilt of not missing him. It wasn’t until years later that Jimin finally learned what an insurmountable task it was, to miss someone who was never there. 

Sometimes, Jimin wishes that he at least knew his name. Most other times though, he doesn’t really care. What good would it do anyway? The bitter knowledge of a name no one’s even willing to voice out loud? 

His mother...his mother Jimin hasn’t talked to in years. 

She reminds Jimin of himself, perhaps a bit too much, the similarities between them almost unbearable. Jimin looks at her and sees himself. Jimin looks at her and hates what he sees. 

He has her number buried somewhere deep in his contact list, wonders if he should call her and inform her that he’s getting married, send her the save the date, invite her to the wedding. 

It takes him less than a full minute to cross out the thought, uproot it before it grows into something poisonous. 

He doesn’t want her there. 

One should spend their wedding day surrounded by those they love the most.

He doesn't love her. 

He should feel horrible about the admission but he doesn't. 

She's the one who didn't love him first. 

If Sungjae notices that her name isn’t on the guest list, he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he knows better. 

They’ll get married in Thailand, on the beautiful white sand beaches of Koh Samui Island, where it would be the most convenient for Sungjae’s parents to attend the wedding. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Every other Friday, Jimin grabs coffee with Namjoon. 

They often grab it to go, set out for a walk in a park near the coffee shop. They wander around for hours, talk about their weeks, their lives that barely ever diverge from the mundane, and catch up on what they have missed. 

As far as Friday traditions go, this one’s a bit too lonely. 

It used to be different. All seven of them used to gather at one of their apartments every Friday. Jin and Yoongi always cooked for them, Hoseok their designated assistant, laughing and bickering away in the kitchen. Jungkook would busy himself with making his signature cocktails, all the while listening to Namjoon talk about a new book or movie that had caught his interest. Taehyung used to bring his camera over, taking a few pictures of their friends and hundreds of Jimin. Jimin would hide his face in his hand, he would laugh and push him away. 

“Don’t you get tired of taking pictures of me?” Jimin would tease. “I think you should try photographing something else for a change.”

“I photograph the moments I wish could last forever.” Taehyung would bring him closer, whisper into his hair, just for the two of them to hear. “That’s every moment with you.”

They hadn’t lasted forever, those moments.

Nothing ever does. They come and go in a blink of an eye, and it’s only their loss that lingers. 

The seven of them had become six and Jimin had stopped smiling. 

Their weekly Friday night gatherings had turned into dull, quiet monthly get-togethers where they strained to laugh, smile, or even speak. Eventually, they stopped showing up one by one until there was nothing left. 

Now it’s just him and Namjoon, walking aimlessly around the park, their eyes glued to the pavement beneath their feet. 

Most days, Namjoon does most of the talking. He tells Jimin stories about his students, shares questionable experts from their essays to make him laugh, or complains about yet another one of Jungkook’s newfound hobbies that Namjoon up and down swears he’s going to drop the next week. Jimin doesn’t miss the tender smile on his lips and the enamored shine in his eyes whenever he talks about Jungkook, the way his voice softens just a little bit when he mentions him, the way Jungkook’s name melts on his tongue like a sacred prayer. 

It's a familiar look, one Jimin had once worn himself, one he knows all too well.  

Namjoon does most of the talking and yet today, they run out of things to talk about. 

Today, the silence is a bit too heavy. It presses down on their lungs with a bit too much force. 

Today, it’s a bit too difficult to ignore the stench of the rotten unspoken between them. 

They don’t walk for too long and end up sitting on a wooden bench in front of a small pond, partially secluded by the branches of a weeping tree. The gentle afternoon breeze carries the sound of dogs barking and children laughing to their ears. The moment appears a bit too serene for what it truly is. 

“He wants us to get married in Thailand,” Jimin murmurs, fiddling with the button on the sleeve of his dress shirt. “in Koh Samui Island.”

Namjoon hums. “That’s a bit too far from home.”

What does he know that to Jimin, this city has barely ever felt like home. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

Namjoon nods, draws in a deep breath, and shifts on the bench so he can look at him. 

“Jimin-ah,” he sounds out of breath, pleading. “Why are you marrying him?”

Jimin huffs out a frustrated exhale and squeezes his eyes shut. “Hyung, please.”

Namjoon inches a bit closer, tilting his head and leveling Jimin with his serious, no-nonsense stare.

“Do you even love him?”

Jimin scoffs and averts his gaze. “Does it matter?”

Something breaks in Namjoon’s expression, it falls and it shatters, its splinters breaking skin and adding to the collection of scars Jimin bears on his heart.

“Listen to yourself,” he pleads. “This isn’t you, Jimin. You have to stop hurting yourself. You deserve better than this.”

“This is exactly me. This has always been me,” Jimin spits out. The words drag against his throat. They hurt. They bleed. “I’m not hurting myself, hyung. I’m just so goddamn tired of wasting my life waiting for better things to come around. They never do. Not for me.”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, reaches out and places a hand on Jimin’s arm, gently as if he’s handling a damaged porcelain doll, one that may fall apart at the softest of touches. 

“Jimin-” 

Jimin retracts his arm with a bit more force than necessary and cuts him off. 

“It’s not about what I deserve, you know? It’s about what I get,” Jimin remarks indignantly. “And I don’t think I can get any better than this.”

“You don’t know that,” Namjoon pushes, his eyes wide and earnest. “You had it once, Jimin-ah. You were happy.”

Happy.

Jimin wants to laugh. He wants to laugh and laugh until he cries, and cry and cry until he can’t breathe. 

That’s a bit of a stretch, Jimin wants to say. 

But he doesn’t.

Namjoon had only seen the surface of it all. The quiet smiles, the arms that wrapped around him whenever he was cold, the shoulder he fell asleep on in the back of Seokjin’s car, the soft kisses pressed to his hair, the slender fingers interlocking with his. Namjoon had only seen the love, unaware of the little voice in Jimin’s head, always there, screaming at him that he was undeserving of it. 

Namjoon had only seen the bouquet of yellow lilies and white roses Jimin had brought to Taehyung’s first exhibit, the murmurs of congratulations and I’m so proud of you he had whispered into his ear, the tears that had sprung to Jimin’s eyes when he’d seen the pictures of himself sitting on the wall.

He hadn’t seen the way Jimin cowered in the bright light of Taehyung’s high ambitions and dreams, blinded by the intensity of it all. Jimin who lived life one day at a time, Jimin who had weeks and months where he woke up and each moment was something to get through, something to survive, Jimin who sat on the sidelines and watched as life passed him by. 

Namjoon had only seen the spontaneous adventures and elaborate dates Taehyung used to plan for them. The time when he’d carried a drowsy, whining Jimin out of his dorm at 4:00 AM so they could hike up the Achasan mountain in time to see the sunrise, the little picnics he’d plan for them in between their classes, the concert tickets he’d surprise Jimin with out of the blue.

He hadn’t seen those nights when Jimin could barely make it out of his bed, those nights when had to cancel their plans with a guilt-ridden heart, when he’d burst into tears when Taehyung showed up at his door, would collapse into his arms and cry until his tears dried out and his voice was lost. 

You were happy, Namjoon says, so incredibly clueless and yet Jimin can’t blame him. 

There are some days when Jimin looks back on those years and thinks that he, despite everything, had been healing. That for the first time, he’d wanted to get better, wanted to break that cycle of despair he had been trapped in his whole life, wanted to clutch at the hopeful glimmer of better tomorrows. And yet again he wonders, how could he ever call it healing when he had fallen apart the moment Taehyung had walked out of his life, when he'd plummeted back into the abyss the moment he'd been left alone. Jimin had been so foolish to think that Taehyung was helping him heal when in reality his presence had been nothing but a flimsy bandaid and his absence salt on the wounds no one could ever mend. 

“It’s all gone, hyung,” he murmurs after a moment too long. “It’s been years. This is what I have now. He’s gone, and Sungjae has stayed.”

He pauses again, swallows past the bitter memories, and he’s not sure if even he believes his next words. 

“This is what I want.”

Namjoon presses his lips together and only nods, his shoulder slumped as if in tragic recognition of a lost battle. 

Jimin wets his lips, starts again. “Now I know Thailand is a bit too far and I don’t expect you to-”

“Jimin-ah, no, of course, I’ll be there,” Namjoon interrupts. “We will all be there.”

Jimin glances back at him, at the way the dying late-evening sunlight dances on his skin, the kindness in his smile, and the quiet understanding in his eyes. He looks over at him and sees the man he’s grown into over the years, from an unsure teenager with gangly limbs and racing thoughts to the settled, confident, and genuine person sitting in front of Jimin. He looks over at Namjoon and sees the friend he’s been to him every step of the way, and his chest constricts with something akin to pride and melancholy. 

He looks over at him and smiles. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sungjae sends him an email with a list of venues to choose from for their wedding. 

Jimin is impressed that he’s taken the time to compile this list. Normally, he wouldn’t bother with such tedious, insignificant tasks that he often advances to his secretary instead. Jimin would know. He is his secretary after all. 

He flicks through the list, his eyes scanning over dozens of names and pictures, beach resorts and spas that all look the same to him. 

He yawns, once, twice, and once more. Perhaps he’d be a bit more interested in the prospect of a beach wedding if it weren’t for the fact that he hates the beach. 

Sungjae doesn’t know that. 

Taehyung had known, a traitorous voice laments in his year.  

Yes, Taehyung had known, without Jimin ever having to tell him. 

A memory, old but still vivid in detail, rushes to the forefront of Jimin's mind. 

A rainy Thursday afternoon spent in front of the TV, both of them sprawled lazily on the couch, Jimin lying in between Taehyung’s legs with his head on Taehyung's chest that rose and fell with each breath he took. Their eyes followed a wedding reality show Hoseok had left on the screen, neither of them really interested in the content, but they kept watching nonetheless. 

The couple on the screen was getting married on the beach, an oceanfront wedding with white ribbons, yellow flowers, palm leaves, and seashells. 

The bride talked about how she’d always dreamt of a beach wedding and Jimin made an inarticulate noise of disdain at the back of his throat, glaring at the TV all the while.

Taehyung laughed, his body shaking underneath Jimin’s weight. “You really have something against beach weddings, don’t you?”

“I do not,” Jimin lied, glancing up at Taehyung through his lashes. “This wedding is just tacky, that’s all.”

“Right, tacky,” Taehyung said, a smile in his voice, and brushed Jimin’s hair away from his forehead. “And that has nothing to do with your profound hatred of the beach.”

Jimin shifted in Taehyung’s arms. Propping himself up on one elbow to look him in the eye, he arched a challenging eyebrow. “Who said I hate the beach?” 

“Last time we went to the beach with Jungkook, you sat on your chair and glared at the sea for two hours straight. Not to mention that you spent the entire ride back home complaining about sunburns and the sand in your hair,” Taehyung said, touching the tip of Jimin’s nose with his index finger. Jimin caught his finger before he could withdraw his hand, and simply held on to it. “So yes, baby, I think it’s pretty safe to say that a beach wedding is far from your ideal type of wedding.”

Jimin tilted his head to the side, his smile growing impossibly wider. “And what is my ideal type of wedding, Mr. know-it-all?”

Taehyung hummed theatrically, pretending to think it over. He didn’t need to. He knew Jimin better than anyone, sometimes even better than Jimin knew himself. 

“A small, intimate wedding with just a few friends and family and probably an unlimited supply of champagne,” Taehyung teased and Jimin snorted, shaking his head with amusement. “Preferably somewhere outdoors cause you’ll feel a bit too squeezed inside a room with more than 10 people. Maybe a small garden, or a backyard. You’ll serve homemade comfort food instead of splurging on expensive dining, and you’re the type of person who would leave personalized handwritten notes for each guest to make them feel loved and included even though the day is supposed to be all about you. Am I wrong?”

No, he wasn’t. 

Jimin choked up, a million emotions lodging into his throat all at once, and he poured every single one of them into a tender kiss he placed on the tip of Taehyung’s finger he had seized just a few moments ago, whispering a ‘bingo’ against his skin.  

“What is all this wedding talk?” he let out a wet laugh. “Are you proposing or something?”

“Oh, please, give me some credit,” Taehyung feigned a scandalized gasp. “When I propose, it’s gonna be legendary. Unforgettable. I promise you, there will be tears involved.” 

Jimin froze for a moment, heat crawling up his neck and prickling across his face. 

Taehyung had said when, not if. 

When. 

Later that night, Jimin would pace around his room, rewinding Taehyung’s words in his head, dread knotting in his stomach at the mere thought of the future. He’d drown under the rogue waves of doubt, doubt that he wasn’t good enough for Taehyung, that there was someone better out there for him he could spend his forever with, someone who wasn’t as fragile, someone who had their life in order. Someone who wasn’t so...broken. 

But in that moment and just that moment alone, he allowed himself to get lost in the warm depth of Taehyung's eyes, to bask in the red and orange hues of the reassurance in his words.

“Not if I propose to you first,” he teased boldly. 

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his bangs. “You wanna bet?”

“It’s on.” Jimin winked, leaning down to press a kiss against his smile. 

Jimin had won that bet. It was the game he had lost. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, the distant memory tugging painfully at his heartstrings. 

He mindlessly highlights a few resorts with the best reviews and sends the list back to Sungjae. 

What does it matter what he chooses?

Jimin hates beach weddings. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I was thinking,” Sungjae calls out from his en suite bathroom and Jimin hums from where’s slumped on the man’s bed, a bit too preoccupied with doom scrolling through his social media accounts to pay him his full attention. 

He waits for Sungjae to continue and huffs an exasperated sigh when he’s only met with silence. Sungjae has an irritating habit of starting sentences and leaving them hanging in the air, not finishing them unless he’s specifically asked to, unless he knows he has your undivided attention on him. 

It drives Jimin insane. 

“What were you thinking about?” he says, locking his phone and dropping it on the mattress with a muffled thud. 

 Sungjae walks out of the bathroom then, drying his hair with the towel hanging around his neck. 

“What if we took a cruise to Koh Samui?”

Jimin arches an eyebrow. He shifts his weight to sit up on the bed and rests his back against the leather headboard. “A cruise?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice. We have that shareholders meeting a week after our wedding ceremony so we won’t have time for a honeymoon,” Sungjae says, shrugging. “We could make up for it that way.”

Jimin hesitates, taking a few seconds to mull it over. “How long would the cruise last?”

“Around two weeks or so,” Sungjae replies, pauses as if in thought, and then adds, “We could invite our friends to join us as well.”

You just said this would be making up for our honeymoon, you don’t invite your friends to your honeymoon, is what Jimin itches to say. 

“Yeah, okay.” That is what he ends up saying instead. “I’ll let my friends know.”

He imagines that it’s for the best. Because on second thought, if he’s to spend two weeks trapped on a cruise, he’d much rather have his hyungs and Jungkook there with him, even though he has no way of knowing they’ll agree to it, considering the cost and the time commitment. 

Sungjae smiles, triumphant. 

Jimin returns his smile with a faint one of his own, trying his damn hardest to feign at least a morsel of interest. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Inside one of those dusty boxes Jimin keeps atop the highest shelf in his closet, there sits an old wooden abacus, forlorn and forgotten. 

Jimin stumbles upon it by accident when he’s packing for the cruise trip, turning his room inside out in a desperate search for his only pair of swim trunks that are suddenly nowhere to be found. 

Jimin’s hand trembles as he reaches for the frame and takes it out of the box, a cold numbing haze sweeps over him. He sinks to the carpeted floor of his closet, his fingertips brushing over the faded, worn-out beads. 

A choked, humorless laugh falls from Jimin’s lips and dies in the stale air of the small closet. 

He had forgotten all about this abacus, doesn’t even why he’s kept it. He’d made sure to rid of everything that reminded him of Taehyung after he left, everything except for the ring in his drawer, a sticky note, and apparently this vintage counting frame he had no real use for. 

It had been a gift from Taehyung, the abacus. Something symbolic to congratulate Jimin on declaring an accounting major. The very same major Taehyung himself had once helped him pick. 

One day he had walked into Jimin’s dorm to find him on the floor next to his bed, with his knees hugged to his chest and tears pooling in his eyes, suffocating underneath the weight of his plummeting grades and piling assignments. Jimin who would lock himself in his room for days on end and skip one lecture after the other, shielding himself against the fear that every time he stepped out of his dorm he'd be faced with all the things he was lacking, with the shine and glamor of his peers’ success, with everything he wasn’t and yet wanted to be. 

Everywhere he went he was confronted with the reality of how much he’d missed in those days and weeks when he couldn’t even bring himself to take a shower, of the life that ran past him when he didn’t even have enough energy to wave at it. Everywhere he went he heard chatter about yet someone else who had it all figured out. 

Have you heard, Jimin? The boy who sits next to you in the macroeconomic class has already secured a summer internship with a company. Did you know, Jimin? The girl in your history class has been passing all her courses with flying colors, she's made Dean's list again and she's taking more credits next semester to challenge herself. What are your plans for the next semester, Jimin? The guy down the hall is thinking about double majoring, something to give him an edge for his grad school application. What about you, Jimin? 

What about him? 

Everyone around him had something to work for, something to live for, and he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing or where he was going. That’s what he had told Taehyung, in broken breaths and through tears. 

Taehyung had sat down next to him, wrapped him up in his arms, and held him close to his chest until the sobs racking through his body had subdued to muffled whimpers.

“Jimin-ah, baby, it’s okay, this isn't a race. You still have so much time,” he had murmured into his ear, rubbed soothing patterns onto his back. “You’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out together.”

Taehyung had come back the next day with a stack of pamphlets and the hardcopy of a career assessment test he had gotten from the university’s career center. Jimin had been a bit tired but he’d followed through with it, at least for the sake of the joyous glint in Taehyung’s eyes and the hopeful promise in his smile. 

“It seems like you’re a numbers guy, Jimin,” Taehyung had said after hours they’d spent taking the career quiz and searching through the majors the university offered. “That’s a good start, isn’t it? Now you can take a better look at the math and business programs to see if any of them are a good fit.”

Jimin had nodded and smiled, curling his arms around Taehyung’s neck, his quiet ‘thank you for being here’ muffled against the boy’s shoulder. 

Taehyung had been right, after all. Jimin was a numbers guy, calculus and algebra among the subjects that he dreaded the least. It all came to him easily, almost naturally. 

Jimin was a numbers guy. He still is. 

He takes in a deep breath and his fingers move on their own accord, shuffling all the beads away from the crossbar, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips as he stares down at the abacus now set at zero. 

He’s a numbers guy and yet every day he feels like a zero. 

A zero, in every moment, in every equation, yielding nothing whether added, subtracted, or multiplied. 

He grabs the frame and walks to the kitchen, its wooden edge digging into his skin and leaving behind a mark. He tosses the old thing inside the trash can, closes his eyes against the loud thud that resounds through the empty apartment and lands against his skin like a slap. 

The abacus lies in the garbage and Jimin returns to his room with one memory less. 

One memory less, and he still feels like a zero. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Okay, no one informed me that I’d have to spend two weeks on the ocean with these many people.” That’s the first thing Yoongi says as he arrives at the wharf, side glancing at the swarm of passengers boarding the cruise ship with disdain. “Is it too late to back out?”

“It’s a cruise ship, hyung, not a lifeboat. Of course, it’s gonna be crowded. What did you expect?” Hoseok responds, squinting against the bright afternoon sun assaulting his vision. 

They’re all here, Namjoon, Jungkook, Hoseok, and now Yoongi, gathered outside the cruise ship at the port. All of them except for Seokjin who had called Jimin and apologized that he couldn’t cruise with them to Thailand, explaining that he had already used all of his vacation days at the beginning of the year and couldn’t request anymore unless he was planning on getting fired. He’d promised that he’d fly to Koh Samui the night before their wedding so he could at least make it to the ceremony. 

Sungjae and his friends Seojoon and Hyungsik already boarded the ship about twenty minutes ago. Sungjae had offered to stay outside with Jimin as he waited for his friends’ arrival but Jimin had refused if only to avoid the inevitable awkwardness underlining every single interaction between Sungjae and Jimin’s friends. 

“Jimin, couldn’t your fiancé just rent out this ship or something?” Yoongi complains. “You know, for the sake of privacy and shit.”

“He’s rich hyung, but he’s not that rich,” Jimin deadpans, grabbing the handle of his suitcase as they all make their way to the security line at the entrance of the ship, the suitcase’s wheels dragging loudly against the pavement. 

“Just the aquarium in his penthouse is bigger than my entire apartment,” Jungkook says once they’re all inside the ship and heading towards the atrium where the elevators are. “I’d argue he is that rich."

Jimin shakes his head with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, his steps coming to a halt behind a few other passengers awaiting their turn to use the elevators.  

“I’m the one who keeps his books, I’d know if-” 

Jimin starts but the rest of his words die on his tongue the moment he hears it, that warm familiar sound that rises above the humdrum of chatter and the gentle piano music that’s floating about the crowded atrium. 

His laugh. 

The one Jimin hasn’t heard in four years, and yet it tugs at his heartstrings all the same, tugging and tugging until they all come undone, hanging loose from the cracks in his heart. 

Jimin’s breath seizes in his chest and every droplet of blood freezes in his veins. He whisks around, his restless gaze flitting across the room, from one stranger to the next, chasing after the source of that familiar laughter, after those deep brown eyes and boxy smile. Chasing after him.

He looks around and around, his eyes roaming past every smiling face and every corner, and yet he’s nowhere to be found. 

“Jimin-ah?” Namjoon’s concerned voice pulls him out of the haze. “Are you okay?”

Jimin draws in a deep breath. It shatters in his chest and falls past his trembling lips in broken intervals. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I got distracted,” he chokes out, blinking a few times. “Let’s go.”

With one last desperate look at his surroundings, he turns around to step inside the elevator that is now empty and waiting for them. 

He must have imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time, doesn’t exactly come as a shock. 

He hears his voice sometimes, his laugh, as he walks down the busy streets of Seoul. He always stops, always turns around, but here’s never there, it’s never him. 

He hears it in the solitude of his apartment too, every now and then, after one too many drinks. 

It felt a bit too real this time, cutting a bit too deep. 

But he must have imagined it nonetheless. That’s what he tells himself, over and over again, all the way up to his and Sungjae’s cabin. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The cabin he’s to spend the next two weeks of his life in is, as Jimin comes to notice the second he steps inside, a bit too small. Especially for two people. Two people who aside from the nights they’ve spent entangled in Sungjae's spacious bed, are not that used to physical proximity, to cohabiting a small space for a prolonged period of time. 

Jimin’s gaze flickers around the room; a king bed that occupies most of the space, a small TV mounted on the wall, a closet barely big enough to hold both of their belongings, and a sliding glass door opening to an aft balcony that seems to be the only highlight.  

Dread sinks in Jimin’s stomach like blocks of cement. He’s not sure if they know how to exist around each other outside the daily corporate chaos or the luxurious glamour of Sungjae's penthouse, and he’s a bit reluctant to find out. 

He lets the door fall shut behind him and tosses a faint smile at Sungjae who's busy taking his dress shirts out of his suitcase and hanging them inside the closet. 

“Hey,” Sungjae says, glancing at him briefly. “did your friends get here okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we all boarded together,” Jimin responds, sitting on the edge of the bed. He folds his hands over his knees and after a moment of hesitation, he adds, “Do you wanna go explore the ship with me? After you’re done unpacking?”

Sungjae stills, the ghost of a frown creasing his forehead. 

“Actually, I was thinking about taking a nap,” he replies plainly. “I stayed up last night reviewing the final draft of our proxy statement so I'm a little tired.”

“Oh. yeah. Okay, that’s fine.” Jimin nods, shrugging it off. “I’ll just go with the guys or something.” 

“We can also go together after our photography session tomorrow.” 

Jimin shifts on the bed, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What photography session?”

Sungjae falters at the question, stares at Jimin blankly. “I told you about this.”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

“Okay well, Seojoon is close friends with this pretty well-known photographer and he’s agreed to take our engagement and wedding pictures,” Sungjae explains, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “What’s a better location for a pre-wedding photoshoot than a cruise ship?”

Jimin sighs and tucks a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. “So you hired a wedding photographer without even telling me.”

“I didn’t hire him,” Sungjae emphasizes, his voice tight with irritation. He closes his half-empty suitcase and zips it up, stuffing it in the closet with too much force. “Seojoon brought it up and I thought this was a better idea than settling for one of those tacky cruise line photographers. So, I told him he should invite his friend to join us on the trip. If anything, he’s doing us a favor.”

Jimin shakes his head, resignation seeping into his tone. “That’s not the point, Sungjae.”

“Then what is?” the other asks, his voice rising to a loud pitch. “Cause I'm having a difficult time seeing it.”

“I just wish you had told me earlier, that’s all,” Jimin murmurs and his gaze drifts down to the cabin’s carpeted floor. “I don’t wanna be excluded from my own wedding.”

A beat of silence and then Sungjae walks over to stand in front of him, placing his hands on Jimin’s shoulder and squeezing them.

“No one is excluding you from your wedding. This’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” Sungjae speaks calmly and distinctly. "I was busy and just forgot to tell you, that's all there’s to it, okay?"

He addresses Jimin in the same tone he uses when he's about to let go of his underperforming employees. Jimin has seen it happen multiple times, has heard him speak in the same voice, the same condensation behind his words, and the same patronizing look in his eyes as if he's scolding a petulant child. There was a time when Jimin used to hate it with everything he was, but now he's been on the receiving end of it so many times that it simply doesn't faze him anymore.

And he’s not overreacting. At least he doesn’t think he is, but for someone like Sungjae who's used to his complacency, any reaction comes off as an overreaction.

"Okay," he whispers underneath his breath, his shoulders deflating in defeat. It’s a waste of time, fighting lost battles. 

"Okay," Sungjae echoes approvingly. "Are we done now?"

"Yeah,” Jimin swallows and crushes under the weight of Sungjae’s gaze. “Yeah, we're done."

"Good," he says with a hint of a smile. "Now, how about you make sure you pick out something nice to wear for tomorrow?"

He seals the conversation close with a quick kiss pressed against Jimin's lips and walks away from him without another glance in his direction, heading directly towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Jimin remains where he's sat for several minutes, the urge to take a tour the ship suddenly non-existent. It's only when he hears the faucet turn on in the bathroom that he stirs, grabbing the cruise map left on the coffee table to identify the nearest bar on their deck. 

He doesn't stump his feet on the way, doesn't slam the door shut behind, doesn't put on a show to send across the message of how upset he is. He's not even sure if he's upset. He's gotten used to this, and once you get used to something you simply lose sight of it. 

Perhaps this is one thing he's good at, getting used to things, letting them fade into the background along with everything else in his life as he turns the other way.

He just walks away, his steps tentative and quiet, and he spends the rest of his afternoon sitting at a bar, surrounded by a stream of strangers and sipping a cocktail that's a bit too sweet for his taste.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jimin stands on their balcony later that night, leaning against the glass door and staring at the chipped paint on the railing as Sungjae sleeps soundly, unbothered by the cold, empty spot on the bed next to him.

The ship leaves a long trail of churned-up water in its wake, stretching forever like a road in the ocean, the tangible evidence of the journey it’s set on. 

He listens to the waves crashing against the bow of the ship, to the rendezvous of wind with the surface of the ocean, and all he can think about is the corpses of the fish rotting beneath the deceptive skin of water.

The full moon dazzles the night sky, competing with the bright lights of the ship, and yet, the chipped paint on the railing is all Jimin can look at. A single flaw amidst all-around perfection.

He hears the humdrum of laughter from another balcony nearby, a few people engaged in conversation, their joy floating on the sultry air. 

He thinks about the thousands of other passengers on this ship, wonders if they feel alone as they sail across the vast ocean, the kind of loneliness that Jimin feels all the time, whether on the sea or the shore, day or night, awake or asleep.

He wonders if on some days they too know what it's like to gaze at the world through glass eyes like a dusty wind-up doll no one wants to take home, to spend one minute after another trapped inside a translucent box, body stuffed with plastic and straw, wrapped in layers of pain. He wonders if on some days they feel just as empty as Jimin does every day.

He stares at the chipped paint on the railing and thinks about him. 

Taehyung.

The sound of his laughter echoes in his ear, and Jimin wonders if his laugh still sounds the same, if the mischievous glint in his eyes has dimmed with age. 

He wonders if he has someone he looks at the same way he once used to look at Jimin, someone to touch with the same care and delicacy he once touched Jimin. 

He wonders if he too hears Jimin's voice in the crowd sometimes, if he turns around to seek Jimin's face in a sea of strangers, and if he does, Jimin wonders if it's disappointment that floods his veins when he can’t find him anywhere. Or perhaps it is relief. 

He wonders if he has someone to love, the same way he had once loved Jimin. 

"Beyond the limits of love," Taehyung had whispered against Jimin's skin one day, the warmth of his breath burning him to his very core. "I love you, beyond the limits of love."

Beyond the limits of love, the five words that had echoed in the darkest alleys of Jimin's heart where no one but Taehyung had ever walked before. 

The five words inscribed inside the platinum ring that now sits in the corner of Jimin's drawer at home. 

He looks at the chipped paint on the railing and wonders if Taehyung has forgotten all about him, and if so then what it would take for Jimin to forget too.

He looks at the chipped paint and thinks about Sungjae deep asleep in the cabin. He wonders what he dreams about, if he dreams at all. He wonders if he ever dreams about Jimin. 

He reaches over to touch the spot on the railing, his finger brushing over its uneven surface, and he wonders what pleasure it would be to simply cease to wonder.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They are to meet the photographer on the top deck at noon. 

Jimin wakes up at 11:00 AM, the dull yet consistent headache pricking behind his eyes an evidence of the sleepless night before. With not enough time to both eat and get ready for the shoot, he skips breakfast and instead settles for a protein bar Sungjae offers him. He buries the dark bags lounging beneath his eyes with layer after layer of concealer, slicks his hair back, and opts in for his grey pants and white dress shirt as the choice for an outfit. After all, he would feel a bit ridiculous if he were to walk around the ship dressed in a three piece suit.

Yet, he doesn't miss the disapproving glance Sungjae shoots in his direction, tastes something bitter in his mouth when the other takes one of his own ties out of the closet and offers it to Jimin without uttering a word. Jimin's fingers close around the tie, his grip tight and unforgiving, and his nails dig into the skin of his own palm and leave crescent-shaped indents in their wake. Without protest, Jimin puts on the tie and closes his eyes against the way the fabric seems to suffocate him, a rope of death around his neck, blocking his airways.

Sungjae's eyes drift down to the tie and he simply nods at him before they leave the cabin. He doesn't bother with a compliment or even a mere smile. Jimin doesn't expect him to either. 

The view from the top deck is mesmerizing, the ocean blue stretching on for what seems like forever, the tranquil surface of the sea sparkled with the golden dust of sunlight. 

Sungjae takes Jimin’s hand in his own and inches closer to him as he guides them toward another man who stands on the deck with his back facing them. Jimin can tell that Sungjae is preparing to play the role of the loving fiancé like he often does when they’re in public, when the curtains fall aside and they find themselves in a front of an audience they ought to please.

In another life, Sungjae would make a phenomenal actor. 

Jimin interlocks their fingers together and plasters a smile on his lips. 

Then again, perhaps so would Jimin. 

They come to a stop a few steps away from the photographer who has yet to notice their presence. Sungjae shares a brief look with Jimin and clears his throat, and then he's opening his mouth to speak the one name Jimin had never thought would hear from his lips.  

“Kim Taehyung-ssi?”

The photographer turns around. 

Jimin’s breath dies in his throat and his heart collapses on itself, the poor, fragile thing Jimin has spent years piecing together with timeworn stitches. 

It’s him. 

It’s Taehyung who stands before him. In flesh and not merely a deceptive mirage born out of Jimin’s imagination. 

It’s Taehyung, here, on this cruise, only a few steps away from him. A few steps and four years of lost time away. 

He looks different and he looks the same. His hair is chestnut brown, a bit longer, a bit curlier where it falls against his forehead. He stands taller now, more comfortable in his own skin, the confidence in his posture almost palpable. His features look more prominent, his jawline more refined, and yet his eyes are ever the same, the rich brown Jimin had once loved nothing more than to get lost in, holding the same constellations Jimin had once discovered in their depths. 

The polite smile Jimin knows he only reserves for strangers slips from his lips the moment he locks eyes with Jimin, and his mouth parts in pure and utter shock. He stares at Jimin in disbelief, and then there’s an indecipherable look flashing through his eyes when his gaze drops to Jimin and Sungjae’s interwoven hands, to the matching engagement rings adorning their fingers. 

Jimin had thought about this moment, about what it would be like if their estranged paths were to cross and they were to meet again. 

He had wondered if it would be a moment of explosion, something raw and soul-shattering, something that would tear down the dam Jimin had spent the past four years building, brick by brick. 

It’s not. 

It’s quiet and anticlimactic. It’s lonely. A murmur that echoes across a barren desert. A breeze with no trees along its path to commence its whisper. 

Jimin's eyes meet Taehyung’s for the first time in four years and he only falls, a silent descent into an abyss made of loss, regret, and heartbreak. 

“I have to go,” he whispers with a voice that doesn’t sound like his, whether to Sungjae, Taehyung, or himself, he’s isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter. All that it does is that he has to get away, leave before he breaks apart more than he already has.

He needs to leave.  

“What?” Sungjae says. Jimin can hear the frown in his tone. That doesn’t matter, either. “What about-”

“I have to go,” Jimin cuts in, repeating with more urgency, like a hopeless prayer. “I-I feel sick. I have to go.” 

He takes a step back, his knees trembling, and yet his gaze remains sewn to Taehyung, despite how badly he wants to let go. Something akin to concern clouds over Taehyung’s features.

Jimin swallows hard.

Another step back.

Back and back, and it’s only when he bumps into a stranger that the spell he’s under finally breaks.

He mumbles an apology under his breath and turns around, ans rushes to get away from the deck as quickly as his numb, shaky legs can manage. 

He doesn’t how he makes it back to their cabin, locks the bathroom door behind himself, falls onto his knees against the tiled floor, and hunches over to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet. 

He doesn’t know how long it passes before he hears someone knocking against the door, Sungjae’s voice asking him if he’s okay. He replies weakly, says he’s fine, that he’s probably just gotten seasick. 

He blames it all on the sea-sickness and dry heaves until his throat burns and his vision turns blurry with tears, until the pain in stomach pulsates stronger than the one in his heart, until the only cold that haunts him is that of the bathroom tiles against his forehead and not all the memories that rise from their graves where he had once burried them. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the next two days, Jimin grapples with the decision of whether or not to inform his friends of Taehyung's presence on the cruise ship. They haven't seen him around yet, it's a big ship with hundreds if not thousands of passengers, and they don't seem to be as unlucky as Jimin as to run into Taehyung on the second day. He assumes that they would want to know, it's their right to know. Taehyung is — was — their friend too. He shared a special bond with each and every one of them. They all loved him dearly, it was impossible not to love Taehyung, not when Taehyung, himself, was made out of love. 

The dilemma is that Jimin simply doesn't know how to bring it up, how to slip his name into the conversation when they've all gotten used to not talking about him for the past four years, at least not when they're together, at least not in front of Jimin. It's not as if he can go up to them and say, hey guys remember Taehyung? Your best friend and my ex-boyfriend of almost five years? Oh yeah, it turns out he's on the cruise ship with us and Sungjae has asked him to be the photographer for our wedding. Isn't that such a fun coincidence?

Fortunately, he doesn't have to, all thanks to the night they decide to spend at the arcade per Jungkook's request.

It's almost midnight and they're all gathered at the video arcade on deck 7, Jungkook and Hoseok are hunched over the Air-hockey table, cheering and screaming every now and then when the game starts to pick up. Jimin had joined them later, after a rather awkward dinner with Sungjae at the Steakhouse where they'd mostly talked about work and Jimin had lost his appetite after Sungjae had asked Jimin to remind him to reschedule their photography session for another day this week.

He's here now, standing next to Namjoon and watching Yoongi shoot hoops at the basketball machine, all the while bragging about how he had once been a basketball god.

"I don't know hyung, your score doesn't exactly match your braggadocious claims," Namjoon teases, exchanging an amused glance with Jimin.

"Yeah, hyung, didn't you say you used to be a basketball legend in your school?" Jimin continues, smirking. "Were you homeschooled by any chance?"

Yoongi fixes them with a glare, opening his mouth to cuss them off, but he's cut off by Jungkook's voice rising from behind them.

"What the fuck?"

Jimin's brows draw together upon hearing the gravity in Jungkook's voice, turns around to see if the air hockey puck has hit him in the balls again. His frown deepens when he finds that the younger has stopped playing, his muscles tense and eyes cold as he stares at some point in the distance. Jimin follows the direction of his gaze and his breath hitches when spots Taehyung standing at the entrance of the arcade, he too frozen to the spot as he stares at Jungkook.

The basketball escapes from Yoongi's grasp, bouncing once, twice, and thrice, and some more before it loses momentum. Namjoon almost gasps beside Jimin, seizing hold of Jimin's forearm, whether to steady Jimin or himself, Jimin isn't sure.

"Jimin-ah," Namjoon rasps, warns, suddenly out of breath as if he's been running laps around the ship.

Jimin sighs, places a palm over Namjoon's iron grip on his arm. "I know."

"What the fuck?" Jungkook repeats, with more venom. "What is he doing here?" he turns to Hoseok whose mouth is hanging open in shock. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Taehyung takes a tentative step forward, his expression pained, his pleading gaze shifting around the arcade, taking in every single one of them and lingering on Jimin for a second too long before it goes back to Jungkook.

"Jungkook," he says, his voice breaking slightly, and Jimin breaks along with it when he realizes that this is the first time he's hearing him speak after all those years, his voice still deep and smooth. His stoamch clenches painfully, and all of sudden, he's beyond grateful for Namjoon's firm grasp on his arm.

A muscle shifts in Jungkook's jaw. He blinks a few times, rapidly so as he often does whenever he's filled with rage, and then he’s ripping his eyes away from Taehyung and turning around, simply pretending his once closest friend, the one person he had grown up with isn't standing a few feet away from him.

"Another round?" He addresses Hoseok who remains immobile, and no one misses the way his voice trembles with fury.

Jimin watches as Taehyung visibly cowers, his shoulders sink and his chin begins to quiver. Invisible vines wind around Jimin's heart and squeeze until he can't breathe, until he is stricken with the jarring realization that even after four years and despite everything that stands between them, he can't seem to bear the sight of Taehyung's distress. That although he's gotten quite used to his own pain, it is Taehyung's pain that lacerates his soul. 

"Kook-ah," Taehyung pleads again and the little nickname is enough to tip Jungkook over the edge.

He throws the Air-hockey striker he's been holding onto on the table with so much force that it bounces off the surface and falls on the floor with a loud thud, earning him curious glances from a few other passengers at the other end of the room. He dashes toward Taehyung with a few long strides and seizes his collar with both hands.

"Don't you fucking dare," Jungkook seethes, fingertips blanching white with how hard he's twisting the fabric of Taehyung's shirt. "You don't get to call me that. Not anymore."

Yoongi snaps out of the haze and steps forward, watching the two carefully, as if preparing to separate them if Jungkook snaps and all hell breaks loose. Jimin remains where he is, bereft of air and motionless, and he doesn't dare to move a muscle.

"Please, if you'd at least let me explain," Taehyung breathes out, desperate, his eyes falling shut.

Jungkook barks out a mirthless laugh, lets go of Taehyung abruptly, forcefully. Taehyung stumbles backward, his fingers clutch at one of the arcade machines to anchor himself.

"Explain? It's a little too late for that don't you think?" Jungkook sneers."You should've done your explaining four fucking years ago before you upped and left without saying a single goddamn word to any of us."

Taehyung rubs a hand over his face, eyes downcast, and doesn't respond.

"And what is there left to explain? That you never fucking cared about me? About any of us? You better save your breath. I think we already got that loud and clear," Jungkook continues, so cold and detached that Jimin almost shivers. "I mean, hell, how could I expect you to care about me when you didn't even give a shit about the one person you pretended to be so madly in love with."

Jungkook's words land like poisonous arrows, each in its target, digging so deep into Jimin's heart that he loses his breath and almost doubles over in pain.

You didn't even give a shit about the one person you pretended to be so madly in love with. 

Jimin wants to laugh. He wants to weep. He wants to scream. And more than everything, he wants to run away. 

He knows the malice behind Jungkook's words wasn't meant for him, that the younger was only trying to hurt Taehyung because he too was hurting himself. But they burn nonetheless, adding another scar to the collection he bears in his soul.

"Jungkook!" Namjoon spits out, a firm warning in his voice.

Taehyung's eyes snap to Jimin, suddenly alert and filled to the brim with something that looks like concern, apology, and regret all together. Jimin grits his teeth, shrinks under his gaze, and oh how badly he wishes to disappear.

So he does exactly that. He draws in a quivering breath and frees his arm from Namjoon's hold, ignores the way his friends call his name and Jungkook trips over himself to apologize to him, and he slips out of the arcade as quietly as he had come in. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jimin rushes to the nearest deck he can find, all but runs to the railing to lean his weight against it. His chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale.

With most of the passengers either sleeping or gathered at the lido deck for the live music show, this deck is oddly quiet, the tranquil ocean Jimin's only company.

He draws in one deep breath after another, a futile attempt to calm the restless beat of his heart that pounds against his ribcage. His fingers press on the railings, the night breeze dancing with the unruly strands of his hair as he glances up at the sky.

The waning gibbous moon looks troubled and dark tonight, the twinkling stars nowhere to be found, clouds a procession of mourners waiting to shed tears upon the ocean. It looks a bit murky tonight, the sky. A bit sad, a bit down, and a lot like Jimin. He feels a bit comforted that at least he's not alone in his despair. That if he were to cry, then perhaps the sky would care enough to cry with him.

He doesn't know how long passes before he hears footsteps approaching him. A part of him, the most fragile part that hides behind curtains of denial, tells him that perhaps it's Jungkook who's come to apologize or maybe a stranger on this ship he knows next to nothing about.

But it's not.

It's not a stranger. He still recognizes the sound of his footsteps. Has it memorized. It would follow him in his dreams if he knew how to dream.

It's Taehyung. Taehyung, who Jimin had once known better than he knows himself.

He comes to stand next to Jimin, rests his palm against the railing as he too observes the night sky in silence, losing himself in the fleeting hours of privacy before the sun peaks above the horizon and the ship floods with a crowd of strangers.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. They don't say a single word, don't breathe too loud, don't move a muscle.

What is there to say, after all? Hi? Long time no see? What is the point of hellos, when they never bothered with goodbyes? How can they start a new sentence when they never finished what they had once written together? After everything, perhaps it is easier to exist in silence.

And yet, Taehyung has never been one for silence, and after a long beat, it's him who finally breaks it.

"The ocean looks so peaceful at night," he remarks quietly, his gaze distant as it floats on the soft ripples that spread upon the ocean's calm surface.

An unintelligible sound rises from Jimin's throat, something between a hollow laugh and a dry sob. He runs a hand through his hair, pulls on the strands, baffled by the absurdity of this all.

"The ocean looks so peaceful at night?" he echoes with a huff, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that the first thing you say to me after four years? The ocean looks peaceful?"

Taehyung turns to look at him, his eyebrows drawn together, his throat bobbing when he gulps. 

Jimin hates that he's here. He hates the way his heart constricts in his chest every time their eyes meet, the way his breath quivers and breaks every time he hears him speak. He hates the way the soft golden lights on the deck play against his smooth skin, painting a picture so mesmerizing Jimin can't bring himself to look away from. He hates that even after all this time, the mere sight of Taehyung is enough to take his breath away.

"I don't —" Taehyung starts with a shaky whisper and his voice breaks in tandem with whatever's left of Jimin's heart. He takes a deep breath, presses his lips together, and tries again. "I don't know what else to say."

"Then don't!" Jimin snaps before he can stop himself, voice sharp as the edge of a knife. "I don't want your small talk. I don't want you to pretend that everything is normal between us. I don't want to stand here and listen to you talk about the fucking ocean. So if you don't know what to say, then do us both a solid and don't say anything at all. "

A flash of hurt passes through Taehyung's eyes. He moves his hand, places it closer to Jimin's on the railing, close enough that their pinkies almost brush against each other.

"Jimin-ah."

Jimin jolts back. He withdraws his hand and cradles it to his chest as if he's been burned. And he has. Has been, for years. Every piece of him, bit by bit, has succumbed to the ruthless flames of Taehyung's loss and crumbled to ashes.

"Stop, " He murmurs, squeezes his eyes shut.

"I've missed you," Taehyung breathes out in a rush, his expression wounded, desperation dripping from his voice. "Oh Jimin-ah, how I've missed you."

Jimin shakes his head, stumbles a few steps back. He bites down on the corner of his lips and begs his tears not to fall. It's been years since he last cried. This is the closest he's come to it in so long. He's afraid that once he lets the tears come, he just wouldn't know how to stop.

"Stop, please, just stop," he pleads, his body trembling. "You have no right to tell me you've missed me. No right to say my name like that. No right look at me like that. Not anymore. So just-please, just stop."

Taehyung doesn't say a word, his gaze drifting down to the floor. The silence screams around them, breathing and alive.

"I'm supposed to get married in a few weeks," Jimin chokes out eventually, through a clipped, bitter chuckle. "God, Taehyung, why are you even here? Why now?"

"I didn't know it was going to be you. When Seojoon hyung asked-" Taehyung pauses and shakes his head, eyes distant as if he's recalling a distant memory. "I was just doing a favor for a friend. I didn't know it was you."

Jimin's grandmother used to say that life is a tug of war between you and the universe. A constant game of push and pull. Of win and lose. What a cruel little player the universe must be, Jimin thinks to himself as he stands in front of the one man he's desperately wished to forget, and wonders why it is that he always seems to be the one who's losing. 

"Then act like you don't," he says, his voice weak and fragile.

Taehyung gapes at him, blinking slowly in confusion. "What?"

"Act like you don't know me. Pretend that I'm just a client you have to take pictures of. Another stranger on this ship you'll forget about the minute we reach the shore," Jimin manages, wraps his arms around his midsection protectively. "It's only a few weeks and then we'll go separate ways and you'll never have to see me again."

Taehyung's eyes are wide as he stares at him, visibly taken aback. He scoffs, a sour, brittle sound that suspends in the open air between them, tastes like copper on Jimin's tongue when it settles at last.

"I'm supposed to be taking your wedding pictures," Taehyung says, incredulous, rattled. "Your wedding pictures, Jimin. And you want me to show up and act like I don't know you? That you're what...a stranger, you said? Do you even realize what you're asking of me?"

Stranger, he says with such venom as if that isn't exactly what they are. As if all there is left between them isn't just a fading ghost of what used to be, what Taehyung himself had left behind. 

"Four years, Taehyung." Jimin's chin trembles, an unavoidable whimper gets strangled out in his throat. "Four years. That's how long it took me to put my broken pieces back together. And even now, I'm barely hanging by a thread as it is. I can't — I won't — do this again. I won't have you barging back into my life whenever you please. Take the pictures, don't take the pictures, I don't care. But, please, if you've ever cared about me, then please, please just let me be. It's the least you can do."

Taehyung runs a hand over his face, his voice brittle and unsteady as it falls past his quivering lips. "Jimin..."

"Enough," Jimin holds up a hand, and takes another step back. "You made your choice when you left me, left all of us, without a single goddamn word. Now, I get to make mine. So whatever else you have to say, save it for someone who actually cares enough to listen. I'm not interested." 

Four years later and they stand here with a vast ocean not only around them, but also between them, the turbulent waters of what they have and haven't been for each other. It's been four years, and between the two of them, the one who's passed through the deadly waves of loss and made it to the coast has been Taehyung, not Jimin.

Jimin, he had left to drown.

So he turns around, turns his back to the tear that rolls down Taehyung's cheek when closes his eyes and nods, to the sharp pain that bursts in his own chest at the sight of it. He turns his back and leaves, as that's all there's left to do.

He turns around and leaves, because he's so fucking tired of staying and drowning.