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Jimin is too clumsy and careless for his own good. A boy with dreams too big, hands too slippery and knees a little too wobbly. It’s probably how he keeps ending up in Yoongi's room over and over again. Sitting in the stiff plastic chair, while Yoongi sighs in absolute exasperation at the boy’s complete stupidity, that translates to a broken ankle, scraped knees, and bruises blooming like ink.
Park Jimin is back again, this time, cradling his wrist gingerly to his chest. One would expect his face to be contorted in pain, judging by the ugly bruise blooming blue and black from his knuckle; but all there is, is a wide smile, bunched up cheeks and crinkled eyes. Happiness, pure and wonderful.
“Yoongi! Yoongi hyung!” Jimin says, excitedly waving the uninjured hand as Yoongi emerges from his room.
“You’re disturbing the other patients,” Yoongi sighs, gesturing at a middle aged lady who glares at them over her magazine.
Jimin merely bounds up to Yoongi, wincing as his wrist bumps against his chest.
Still sprawled on the uncomfortable plastic seat is another boy, hair raven black, slouched over as he taps at his phone, all while sipping at the shitty free coffee, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Jimin throws him a glare, furiously gesturing with his other hand.
"Jeongguk! Get up!" Jimin whines.
“What the fuck Jimin,” Jeongguk sighs, nose crinkling over the rim of the plastic cup. “I’m not your mum, go in there yourself.”
“Yoongi’s scary,” Jimin stage whispers, smiling when Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up in indignation.
“Get in there before I break your second wrist,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone. It only makes Jimin’s grin widen.
"See what I mean?" Jimin says.
-
Turns out Jimin fell out of a tree. Of course.
Between pale white knuckles and trembling hands, Yoongi holds Jimin’s fingers with gentle care and precision. It should be a talent, how neatly the bandages fold, because Jimin babbles away, loud and completely distracting
“Are you proud of me?” Jimin pipes up “It was really badass.”
Yoongi merely shakes his head, inspecting the unusual jut of Jimin’s fingers. “You know what’s not badass? Breaking your stupid head in because you’re an idiot.”
Jimin laughs, and it sounds too happy in between the pale, sterile walls. “But my heads in one piece isn’t it?”
“Not at this rate." Yoongi flicks Jimin in the forehead. "I better not be the one cleaning up your mess.”
Jimin looks down at the dark blue of his knuckles, before his gaze flits up to hold Yoongi’s again. “But you wouldn’t let me die would you?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi finally says, busying his hands by stripping off his gloves. “Of course not, It’s my job.”
Jimin stares, his gaze wavers as Yoongi turns around, eyelashes dipping to his cheeks, as Yoongi leans in to a press a stethoscope against his chest. Jimin opens his mouth, hesitates, before he closes it, and silence falls like gentle fog.
And when the sound of Jimin’s heartbeat fills his ears, increasing and stuttering against the metal of the stethoscope, Jimin smiles, small and sweet, wrist cradled to his chest in neat, perfect bandages.
-
It’s the slight flash of black hair against the door that makes Yoongi look up from the mass of paperwork. It’s Jeongguk, standing still, clutching the empty coffee cup tight around his fingers.
“Is he..?”
Yoongi doesn’t look up, doesn’t let him finish. “He’s stronger than you think,” he shrugs.
Jeongguk looks utterly relieved, and bows his head. “Thanks Yoongi.”
“No need.”
-
The next time Yoongi sees Jimin, it’s only about two weeks later. This time Jeongguk isn’t anywhere to be seen, and Jimin limps in, knee a bloody mess.
“Hi Yoongi!” Jimin says, pointing at his knee in what could only be seen as pride. “Look what I did!”
“Clumsy shit."
When all the blood is cleaned up, it turns out the wound was only a mere graze, dark red against the white of Jimin’s skin. Yoongi peels off his gloves, and discards them into a bin, before meeting Jimin with an unimpressed stare. “You could have cleaned that yourself you know,” Yoongi says while Jimin dangles his socked feet over the edge of the bed.
Jimin stares at the ground, and if Yoongi wasn’t staring he definitely wouldn’t have noticed the slight redness staining his cheeks. “Eh, but what if it was infected, or uh something?” Jimin mumbles.
“There are patients dying,” Yoongi deadpans.
Jimin’s eyes flick to meet Yoongi’s again. “But you like seeing me right?” Jimin whines, eyes widening. It’s supposed to look cute but Jimin is not cute. Really.
“You’re so gross,” Yoongi replies with a wrinkle of his nose. His turns to his desk, and lips quirk in amusement. “Hey, do you want a lollipop, Park Jiminnie?” Yoongi says while reaching into a tin, littered with stickers and crayon scribbles, fishing out a bright yellow lollipop.
Jimin's eyes widen, and when he makes grabby hands, Yoongi can't help but smile.
-
The next time Jimin stumbles in, Yoongi is half relieved, half worried as hell.
Jimin’s shoulder is busted, the bone out of place, jutting out in all abnormality. Jimin’s lips are twisted in pain, but he still manages to brighten at the sight of Yoongi, like some stubborn puppy, tail wagging, eyes bright with excitement.
“Hey,” Jimin says, smile faltering. “Long time no see.”
Yoongi cradles Jimin’s shoulder in his hands, he twitches under his gloved fingers, skin hot to touch. “You stupid little shit,” Yoongi sighs. “You know I’m going to have to reposition it, and it's going to hurt like hell."
Jimin nods, gnawing at his lip. “At least I did do this awesome tackle Yoongi! You should have seen it!”
Yoongi snorts. “I’ll give you a lollipop later,” Yoongi says as his hands press against Jimin’s shoulders. “Okay, you ready?”
Jimin nods.
“One Tw-” The bone falls back into place as Jimin lurches forward, pain shooting down his shoulder, quick and ferocious.
“FUUUUUUUU” Jimin says through gritted teeth. "-dge."
Yoongi shakes his head. “We only have lollipops,” he says, aiming a bright orange lollipop at Jimin’s head.
Jimin’s in too much pain to laugh, but he tries and manages a tiny grimace. It's just enough though, and Yoongi returns it easily.
-
Yoongi is good at his job, his fingers never shake and he can heal to near perfection, right down to the very last stitch.
And, when the weather gets colder, and the wind bites harsher, Jimin stumbles in, leaning against Jeongguk. His skin is pale and soft to touch. Like one gentle press and he will bleed and break. It’s just one graze this time, a little red, a little grey. Not very concerning.
Yoongi patches it up with easy and swift movements. Jimin winces like it hurts.
“I fell over again,” Jimin croaks, fingers dangling off the side of the bed.
“You’re a clumsy shit you know that right?” Yoongi replies, flicking through the pages regarding Jimin’s physical functioning. There’s nothing about the simple graze, instead text after text of clear cold facts, right down to the beat of his heart. His fingers stutter, and Jimin's face falls at the slight tremble of the paper. Yoongi pretends not to notice.
“I got pushed, ” Jimin's laugh is a bit forced. “Taehyung’s got this habit of jumping on people, and shit you should've seen what it did to Hoseok’s lip.”
“You brave thing,” Yoongi says, sarcastic but not biting. “Want a lollipop?” He reaches into the lolly tin and takes out another lollipop, this time dark blue. And passes it to Jimin.
Jimin takes it and smiles gratefully. All while Yoongi writes prescription after prescription for pill after pill.
-
Jimin is careless sometimes, too reckless, runs too hard, a passion that burns out too fast. Like he was even purposely trying to get himself killed, taking risks and biting off more than he can chew.This translates to broken fingers that Yoongi cradles in his hand as he mends them; this translates to Yoongi stitching up the side of his head with firm hands and a careful precision, this translates to a myriad of bruises, black and blue and yellow, blooming across his back in a messy constellation of bruised stars.
“If you’re not careful, you’re actually going to die you know,” The words are soft when Yoongi says them, Jimin is slumped across the bed, face pale, licking at the lollipop.
Jimin grins. “But you wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Of course not,” Yoongi says easily, the stitches are perfect and Yoongi’s hands never shook. “That’s my job.”
-
The prescriptions stack up, and Yoongi knows the curve of Jimin’s knee with a startlingly familiarity now, knows the curve of his wrist and the brush of happiness across his cheeks, and the gentle exhaustion he tries to hide. Jimin will bleed and bruise, and sit on the bed and eat the lollipop, while Yoongi gives him colourful containers filled with tiny pills.
He’s not stupid. He doesn’t miss the flitting gazes, and the expectant smiles, nor the excited jerk of his shoulders. He doesn’t miss the way Jimin holds onto his hands that little bit tighter, or when Jimin looks at him like he's the goddamn world. Except that he isn't.
The nurses say it's puppy love, but Yoongi doesn't understand what Jimin sees in him. All he does it fix wounds and mend bones, completely methodical and straightforward. While Jimin is fragile, fleeting and free.
“Do indulge the poor kid a little?” One of the older nurses sighs, watching as Jimin sits in the waiting room, tapping away furiously at his DS.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Yoongi says with a shake of his head.
-
Things are okay for a while though. Not great. But okay. Because Yoongi can write prescriptions, and write fact after fact all while, joking and teasing like everything was eventually going to be okay. Like they were easy friends and Jimin is just a stupid, clumsy kid.
Maybe it might turn out okay. And sometimes, Yoongi thinks he could learn to love someone like Jimin. After all, he is inherent in his sweetness and tries so hard to impress. It would be easy to kiss him, and take him on dates and treat him to a nice dinner. Loving someone like Jimin, would be like breathing.
Wouldn't it?
Yoongi doesn't dwell on the thought for long though.
Because, the next time Jimin comes in, there is no blood, no bruises, no broken bones.
Just a heart that cannot beat hard enough.
And this time, there are no petty injuries to hide it. No pretty lollipops in front of snatched prescriptions. No snarky comments masking the pills Yoongi hands every week.
Just prescriptions curled tight in Yoongi's fingers. Just the gradual way Jimin's smile falls, the gentle way the brightness from his eyes pale. Just the stuttered exhale of each breath. Just the flawed intricacies sketched out into against Jimin's chest.
It’s one of the few things about Jimin that Yoongi can’t fix.
So Yoongi reads the information over and over again, traces the distinct text written about the stuttering beats of his heart, the stiff curve of his arteries, the increasing pressure of his blood, and how it is all not strong enough.
They are just facts though, unchanging and harsh. And isn’t a heart so much more than that?
-
Yoongi cannot tell if Jimin is awake or not. His eyelids are fluttering, and from the door, he looks so small and serene. He's curled under the covers, in all his fragility. It’s a strange sight, seeing a Jimin who isn't bright, masked by life and passion. This Jimin, fragile, fleeting Jimin, shatters that gentle illusion, tearing apart any ignorance Yoongi might have clung to. But Jimin is alive, and that is all he needs. The soft press of his chest, the slightest brush of red against his cheeks, against his lips say so. His heart is trying.
When Yoongi walks into the room, Jimin stirs, smile small and sleepy. Yoongi throws a lollipop at him, which bounces off his head and lands in his lap, pretty and pink. Jimin stares at it, and brightens, just slightly but it eases the tightness in Yoongi’s chest.
“Yo,” Yoongi says.
“Yoongi,” Jimin says, the word is breathy and so goddamn elated.
"Ew it’s Jimin," Yoongi wrinkles his nose, as Jimin unwraps the lollipop.
Jimin sniffs, “Aren’t you happy you get to see my beautiful face every day now?”
Yoongi inspects his nails. “You could be a vegetable for all I care. At least you’ll stop bothering me.”
“Well, I’m the one who gets lollipops every day so…?”
"No you loser," Yoongi says, tapping his pen against Jimin's head, "We actually need some for the kids.”
Jimin's fingers curl to his chest, lips jutting out in a pout. “Aren’t kids scared of you though?”
“What's your point?" Yoongi snorts. "Do you want me to keep feeding you lollipops until you get diabetes?”
Jimin’s cheeks bunch up when he smiles. It makes him look young, way too young. “That would be a shitty way to die."
“Wouldn’t it,” Yoongi says, Jimin’s smile hesitates and Yoongi has to look away.
-
Yoongi can tell you Jimin’s resting heart rate. (Too high, too high.) Can tell you the exact way Jimin face knows pain when he patches up a wound. He knows the curves of his shoulders way too intricately, and the jut of his bones. Yoongi knows Jimin’s vitals, and knows the stuttered steps when he walks out of bed. He knows the beautiful blue of his veins and the black of the bags under his eyes. It is a familiarity built up between bottles of pills, scribbled prescriptions and hands that do not ever shake.
And the spreadsheets, and fact sheets and the thrum of the heart rate monitor all say the same thing in cold hard facts: I’m sorry Jimin.
“Good morning, sleeping ugly,” Yoongi says, poking at Jimin’s cheek.
“Ugh,” Jimin groans, opening an eyelid. “Did you get me the custard?”
“All you can think about is food,” Yoongi sighs as Jimin’s tummy rumbles in protest, but sets down the packaged custard next to Jimin’s bed.
“Food and you,” Jimin says brightly, digging into his custard with absolute glee.
It’s sudden and unexpected, just like the bright red blush across his cheeks that Jimin ends up teasing him for days on end.
-
Jimin gets more and more tired, apparent in the darkening of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. Some days, he sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.
He always smiles when Yoongi comes. Yoongi wishes he wouldn’t try so hard.
One night, after Jimin’s friends have visited, and Jimin’s parents left beautiful flowers all while too scared to look Jimin in the eye, Yoongi lingers at his bed for his last shift, checking his vitals, fussing over the sheets. The past few weeks, it’s been comforting to be able to check, knowing that despite the odds, his heart is beating and his arteries are trying.
“It’s ironic isn’t it?” Jimin murmurs, so suddenly and so soft that Yoongi almost misses it.“I’m so clumsy, you’ll know that better than anyone. I could have died all those times, one slip and-” He blinks, and his eyelashes are wet but Jimin doesn’t let any tears fall.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and Jimin pauses. The only sound is the crackle of the lollipop wrapper between shaking fingers. “Yet I would rather have died out there, where it would mean something you know? But-” His laugh is uncharacteristically bitter. “-here I am, safe and sound and waiting to fucking die.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that. He can say all the usual words, carefully rehearsed and designed to be comforting. But they sound fake and harsh to his ears. “I’m sorry,” Is all he can say. “Life fucking sucks.”
It’s fucking insensitive, but it makes Jimin smile all the same. “Life does fucking suck,” Jimin agrees.
“It sucks balls,” Yoongi nods.
“And multiple dicks,” Jimin’s grin falters at the edges, but otherwise, it looks whole and alive.
-
Sometimes Yoongi wonders what meeting Jimin would be like if it wasn't like this, perhaps behind a steaming coffee cup in a tiny cafe. Yoongi could imagine that grin on a bright barista, or a college student slumped across the library table or even someone just like him, white scrubs, messy hair, dark circles and a smile that burns brighter than the blindingly white walls of the hospital.
They could have been friends, with soft teasing and sarcastic jokes. It would have been easy to fall in love like that, Yoongi thinks, how easy it would be to kiss a whole, healthy Jimin on the lips between conversation, just to cease the constant stream of words from the boy’s mouth.
But these are the circumstances, and Jimin’s too tired to hold a smile on the colder days, let alone make a joke.
-
“I’ll take your other shifts if you want Yoongi,” Seokjin says one day, it’s uncharacteristic for him to say it, as he can look death in the eye and not so much as shake. He is in charge of Jimin on the other days, while Yoongi is tending other patients.
Yoongi’s surprised for a second, “Why?” He asks.
Seokjin only smiles, “You don’t know what he’s like when you’re not there.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid. What? He doesn’t smile or some shit when you’re around?”
“He smiles alright. He just…” Seokjin pauses. “misses you.”
“Huh.”
Seokjin holds his gaze. “You can’t see how he looks at you, Yoongi.”
“It’s just a silly crush,” Yoongi says with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine with it.”
“Are you?” Seokjin says, unconvinced. “Because you also can’t see the way you look at him either.”
And for the first time in a while, Yoongi’s hand shakes when he runs them through his hair.
“It’s the least I can do,” Yoongi says the words before he can stop himself. Seokjin’s watchful gaze shifts into something akin to sympathy and something ice cold like fear.
-
The days get warmer and new flowers bloom; all while the older flowers wilt beside Jimin’s bedside table.
Jimin wakes up to Yoongi hovering over him, and his lips spread into a smile despite the ache in his bones and the coldness in his chest. The heart rate monitor, a constant, sounds loud against their ears.
“Get up sleepyhead,” Yoongi says, carelessly brushing fingers across Jimin’s forehead. “And go brush your teeth, you stink,” Yoongi adds with a wrinkle of his nose.
Jimin’s chest heaves with slight laughter. “Hi Yoongi,” his voice heavy with sleep and something else.
“Move,” Yoongi says, there’s no heat to it. “We’re going to see some fucking fish.”
There’s an aquarium in the middle of the hospital, spiraling down from the middle of the building. The glass is dirty where children have pressed their grubby fingers to stare at the multitude of fins and scales, beautiful against the clear water. Jimin adds to them, breath fogging up the glass.
“That one’s my favorite,” Yoongi says, pointing at a puffer fish, who instantly blows up at the tap of Yoongi’s fingers.
Jimin laughs, “Why?”
“It kind of look likes you don’t you think?” Yoongi smirks, squishing Jimin’s cheek in between his fingers.
“Hyung!” Jimin whines. But he laughs and it really is beautiful.
They eat shitty cafeteria food, while Jimin scares the fish with each tap of his fingers, and although Yoongi can see the jut of his collarbones under the tender white of his skin, Jimin smiles so wide that Yoongi’s worried his face may split.
Afterwards, they sit on the edge of the bed, feet dangling and it's then Jimin asks. “What was that Yoongi? I mean I like fish and all but really...” Jimin is looking at him in all earnest hope.
Yoongi shrugs. "I like fish, got a problem with that?”
Jimin smiles, before his gaze drops, fingers fiddling with the corner of his hospital gown. “Thank you,” He says. But strangely the words sound pained, and it leaves a hollow gnawing against Yoongi's chest.
-
The harshness of the paper scrapes against his fingers, written in a language Yoongi has spent years remembering and perfecting. It’s useless now. You don’t need to look at the pages and pages of information. It would only take one look at Jimin’s face, at the paling lips and darkening circles to know. But even so, flowers are beautiful, even when they wilt.
It is Yoongi’s last shift, and Jimin seems as if he’s asleep. But he stirs when Yoongi checks his vitals, eyelids fluttering open. Everyone is somehow more vulnerable at night, and with Jimin, right now it is almost as if his his chest is wide open for Yoongi to see; the heart that beats too hard, and loves too much.
“Hyung?” Jimin murmurs. “This is selfish but-”
Yoongi can’t help but scoff at that. There is not an inch to Jimin that is selfish. “What is it?”
“Can you stay with me, just tonight. I’m… I’m kinda lonely.” Jimin admits into the darkness and the slight light of the corridor lights.
Yoongi exhales softly. A gentle breathy sound into the darkness. Jimin is staring at him, it doesn’t look pleading or anything like that, just soft and sad.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He takes off his coat and with careful, calculated movements, slips into Jimin’s bed. Jimin sighs, small and sweet, while Yoongi curls one hand over the center of Jimin’s chest, like his fingers could heal; like he could make his heart beat better, slower, stronger.
But the heart monitor stays the same, a little erratic, a little off tune.
There are some things, even after years of studying, school, and practice that Yoongi cannot fix.
“You’re making me break protocol you know,” Yoongi murmurs against Jimin’s skin.
“I break a lot of things,” Jimin says simply, honestly.
Yoongi doesn’t know what he means.
-
“Have you ever thought about after?” Yoongi is asked, after Jimin had fallen asleep in an afternoon doze.
“After?” Yoongi says, before realization dawns on him. “Of course, I’ve seen death. And I can cope.”
That is a bit of a lie. Because everything details that Jimin is not strong enough. In a world, where the richest and fittest survive, Jimin is neither.
But Yoongi never really saw Jimin as a dying boy. He sees the exhaustion on his face, the weakness in his steps and the fragility in his smiles. But how can you see death in such a beautiful smile?
One day, in between carefully manufactured gardens, Yoongi takes out a cigarette, breathes, exhales, and watches the smoky wisps curl between flowers.
“You smoke?” Jimin frowns.
“Very, very rarely,” Yoongi replies.
“Ironic isn’t it? Considering you’re a nurse,” Jimin adds.
“A little irony never hurt someone.”
Jimin watches the curls of smoke dissipate into the air. “Kind of like flirting with death isn’t it?”
Yoongi laughs at that. “I like that.”
Jimin turns to Yoongi again, stare burning hotter than the flare of the cigarette. “You know, death and I are probably lovers now, waiting to tie the knot,” He murmurs, strangely contemplative.
Yoongi snorts. "You want to marry death?"
Jimin turns to look at him, and his gaze doesn't ever waver. Yoongi's skin flushes scarlet under his stare, and he has to look away, smoke flirting against his lips. "No," Jimin says, finally. "It's an arranged marriage you see..." Jimin exhales shakily, watching the pretty expanse of blue sky. "And, my parents are assholes."
In the end, everyone falls in love with death though. But Yoongi doesn’t say that. Yoongi doesn't say anything at all, and presses the cigarette to his lips and tastes sin and ash.
Jimin watches the way the ashes crumble, and the bright flare of the fire. It's then he says, “So, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little more right?”
At that, Yoongi turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. Without saying a word he passes the cigarette to Jimin and he sucks in heavily, instantly. Smoke overloads his mouth, and Jimin coughs, once, twice, three times, eyes watering, mouth dry.
“You know what? Death’s kisses taste like shit.” Jimin heaves while Yoongi laughs and laughs.
“I’m such a bad influence oh god,” Yoongi says between bouts of careless and useless laughter. “Tainting patient's lungs, my teachers would kill me.”
Jimin sniffs at that, resting his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, and if Yoongi tries hard enough he can pinpoint each inhale and exhale. “You’re so bad to me,” he says, eyelids fluttering closed. “So bad for me.”
Yoongi merely snorts at that, for he doesn’t know what to say. The words aren’t meant to hurt. But they do. They really do.
“But I’m so much worse for you,” Jimin says, more like an afterthought, the words feel like the burn of ash on his tongue. Unpleasant and harsh. Yoongi lets the words roll into the wind, dissipating like smoke, and tangles their fingers. They watch the sway of the flowers, the rolls of the clouds, all while smell of nicotine settles over them like thick fog.
"Yoongi?’" Jimin murmurs into Yoongi's skin, the words slow and sleepy. "I'm tired."
Yoongi brushes the strands of hair that flop in front of his forehead, and smiles, comforting and gentle. "Let's get you to bed then."
-
It shouldn’t make sense at all. How Jimin’s heart can barely beat all the blood around his body, yet can love so hard, so beautifully, so intricately. How some days, the pain against his chest is so stifling he can barely breathe yet when he sees Yoongi he smiles. Like Yoongi is the blood in his veins, and the warmth in his cheeks, and a heart that is strong enough to pump and love at the same time.
Love is sometimes the simple flutter of his chest, but so is oxygen, merely equated to each push of the heart.
Park Jimin cannot have both.
-
Jimin doesn’t cry, at least not in front of Yoongi. Sadness can be seen in the droop of his shoulders and the exhaustion written on his face, hidden behind his eyelashes. But Jimin cries today, one second he is smiling, bright and excited as he licks at his lollipop, the next his eyes are bright, not from that sickly false happiness, not from the mask of passion and life. They are tears, tears that drip down his chin, salty and soft, dotting the bed sheets dark.
Yoongi falters, and there it is again. The fierce tear in his chest, a ferocious twist in his throat. It’s fear and helplessness and betrayal.
“You wouldn’t let me die right?”
“Of course not, it’s my job.”
Lie. Lie. Lie. The erratic beat of Jimin’s heart says so. The intricate descriptions all written out next to Jimin’s bed says so. Min Yoongi is a liar.
Jimin is too sweet, and he forgives too easily. No, in fact he never really blamed in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, like everything was his fault. Not that it was, because his heart was trying so hard, so so hard. “I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi cradles Jimin’s face in his hands.
“Jimin, what are you talking about?”
Jimin doesn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Jimin babbles, tears are dripping down his cheek down in a mess now, staining Yoongi’s fingers.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Yoongi says angrily. “Nothing, so please-.”
Jimin looks at him through the damp curve of his eyelashes. “I’m so fucking selfish you know that right?” Jimin’s voice cracks as he drops his head again Yoongi’s shoulder, the wetness seeping into his hospital shirt.
Yoongi’s mouth opens in surprise. “Jimin I swear to god, selfish? Really? Maybe annoying and immature but-”
Jimin laughs, it’s forced and a little broken. “Then why are you here with me every fucking day, holding me and talking to me, and giving me god awful lollipops-”
“It it’s the lollipops, I’m sorry,” Yoongi smiles, but it doesn’t ever reach his eyes.
“No, no Yoongi,” Jimin says softly. “You know it’s not that. God, you know it’s not that.”
Yoongi doesn't want to know but he asks anyways “Then what?”
Jimin’s fingers tighten around Yoongi’s shoulders, and his chest arches with each heave, with each breathless cry. It is quiet, save the soft comforting walk of the nurses outside the closed door, save each tremble of Jimin’s lips and of course, the constant irregular beep of the heart monitor. “I was selfish enough to love you. And why should you ever love a dying boy?”
The heart monitor continues. Jimin’s heart beats too hard and loves too much.
And Yoongi? Yoongi can give and give, but will it be enough? If only kisses were the eager breath of oxygen, only if interlocked hands could mean life and strength and a love that didn’t need to stain an already weak heart.
The reply doesn't come for a while, and when it does, it is soft and careful. “Would it be selfish for me to love you back?”
Jimin’s stiffens and then, his cries fill the room. The nurses outside politely do not hear it. He rocks in Yoongi’s embrace and Yoongi tries to kiss it all away, salty against his cheeks, his skin, his lips.
“No, no, no!” Jimin sobs. “That’s selfless Yoongi, nothing but selfless.”
Yoongi doesn’t understand it at the time. But Jimin’s right. Yoongi has enough heart for both of them.
But even that is still not enough.
-
The days get shorter and Jimin gets weaker. The universe writes it against the paleness of his skin, the erratic beat of the heart monitor, the pages and pages of words that detail everything in fact. The facts are not wrong, but Yoongi can pretend otherwise. Can pretend that Jimin is a reckless college student, that drank too much, drove too fast, partied too hard. That’s why he is tired.
But Yoongi is a nurse, and all the years of medical school, all the textbooks can tell him that denial is not healthy. Because everyone dies. Just not like this.
And with each kiss, each sweeping smile, each tremble of his fingers, Yoongi’s heart breaks into shards, small enough for Jimin to pick up. As if, each piece of Yoongi's heart could mend the parts where Jimin’s heart needed to be healed.
But no, of course not.
And after all these years of medical school, there are still a lot of things Yoongi cannot fix. He cannot fix Jimin’s heart. He cannot fix his own.
Quite useless isn’t he?
-
Sometimes Yoongi wonders what it would be like to not love Jimin. All the what ifs and maybes, the when and whys. The simple act of letting go. It’s useless in the end though. Because even if he wanted to, he can’t not love Jimin. No matter how hard he tries.
Jimin can talk about selfishness all he wants. But what Yoongi has given, what Jimin has offered, what the two created with weak hearts and firm hands, and shaky, bleeding fingers, was not born out of selfishness, rather inevitability.
“I don’t ever regret loving you,” it’s words breathed into Jimin’s skin, feather light, but yet slice into his skin like a jagged knife, leaving it red and wrecked.
“I do,” Jimin says, soft, selfless, and shaky.
Yoongi fingers are shaking when he presses a kiss to the nape of Jimin’s neck. He wishes for miracles and for the vicious cycle of time to pause and admire. And in the brief moments when their fingers interlock, just for a few seconds, time does hesitate, just for long enough that Yoongi can hold Jimin, close his eyes and pretend everything is okay.
“I’m tired Yoongi.” Jimin sighs, eyes closed.
Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, and presses soft kisses against pale skin, and wispy hair. “Then sleep,” Yoongi replies, like it’s that simple.
-
Jimin’s heart beats, stutters and loves. Over and over.
Beats. Stutters. Loves.
Over and over, again and again. It’s hard to draw distinctions between the three, and even the new heart monitor cannot pick up the difference.
But the heart never lies.
It Beats.
“But you wouldn’t let me die would you?
It Stutters.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s my job.”
It Loves.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
And then, just like the gentle easing of a breath. It stops.
“I do.”
Park Jimin died at 1:37am, on a quiet Tuesday night. And with it, he takes the edges of Yoongi’s heart with him, caught on the heartstrings of a dead heart.
-
“You’re making me break protocol you know.”
“I break a lot of things.”
-
Yoongi finds a folded note two days later, shoved behind Jimin’s pillow. It’s wrinkled and messy, as if opened and closed many times. A messy scrawl, familiar like wide smiles and clumsy feet.
Yoongi,
Grief lodges his throat, heavy and overwhelming. Yoongi exhales, sharp and quick, before he continues reading, sitting on the bed that Jimin lay on only a few days ago.
First of all, I’m sorry. But it’s too late for apologies isn’t it?
There’s a lot I want to say to you, and I could write down every single thing. But that would get boring. So i just wanted to say this:
Thank you, for allowing me to love you
The sentence after that is messier, a furious scrawl against the sheet.
And thank you for loving me.
I will always be grateful.
There is nothing after that, just the ghost of Jimin’s fingerprints and the indents of Yoongi’s thumbs. He reads it over and over, until finally he sets it down, smoothing the note against the bed.
“You’re an idiot you know that right?” Yoongi finally says, biting back a choked laugh. His vision turns blurry as he tastes tears on his lip, salty and sweet.
“And for the record,” Yoongi breathes, fingers trembling. “I don't ever regret loving you.”