i can't live if i lose you

i sent this fic to 7lightning for editing and later got the reply "die" and "i hate you". so, this is not a fic for the lighthearted. i clearly put too much effort into a fic that makes no damn sense!
there is a passing mention of suicide as a concept, but no attempts or serious contemplating. the drug usage is one scene. otherwise, there's a lot of dying! lots of time in hospitals. yoonseok and namjin are very very minor implied in the bg like twice.
enjoy? grab some tissues?

Work Text:

10,374

Jimin seats himself at the table three windows down from the café’s entrance, directly across from the Yasuharu Art Gallery. He picks at the meal he’s ordered from this place nearly a thousand times, the same crumbly egg salad sandwich. It’s a European style café nestled into a corner of Seoul, the bustling life thinning out into a quiet lull. Everything feels very domestic and homey, yet Jimin can’t shake the feeling in his bones that something is off.

It’s an ever present itch that formulates in every joint and socket, as if his body is tired of the same motions being repeated over a hundred times. Jimin, however, has never been one to relent. So, he sits and eats his breakfast like every other morning, eyes glancing over to the art gallery every few minutes.

He’s too absorbed in trying to beat his high score on a mobile app that he nearly misses the chime of the bell on the café’s door. There’s a tightness in his chest that he recognizes all too well. He feels a little breathless, excitement and energy buzzing throughout his body.

When Jimin glances up, he sees a tall figure standing by the register examining the menu board. His dark brown hair falls messily over his eyes, still a little wet from a shower. This time he’s clad in a long, beige trench coat over a white dress shirt and black pants. Jimin can’t help but smile when he catches sight of the brown sandals on his feet. His favorites , Jimin muses.

He stands swiftly, shoving some change into his pocket and leaving his finished plate on the table for a server to clean up. There’s a soft jazz song playing through the speakers, and Jimin approaches the man, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh.” His voice is like sweet honey and sunshine, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Sorry to bother you,” Jimin chuckles a little. “My name is Park Jimin. Mind if I buy you coffee?”

The other man’s face goes from confused (a quirk of his brow, the edges of his shoulders tensing) to a bright smile that takes over his entire facade. He laughs, low and deep vibrations that speed up Jimin’s heart, and tilts his head to one side. Jimin already knows how he’ll answer, the repetitive echo of his words bouncing around his skull.

“Yeah, sure, why not. My name is Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief when he wakes up to the smell of burnt toast. There’s few moments in life where charred buns bring a feeling of bliss to someone, and this is one of those moments.

A mellow light streams in from the curtains across the bedroom, painting the hardwood floors with streaks of gold. The sheets are rumpled and pooled at the foot of the bed, but it’s too warm to cause discomfort. Jimin pads across the floor, scratching tiredly at his stomach.

Taehyung is facing away from him when he enters the kitchen. Jimin can hear him quietly mumbling to himself about the consistency of eggs, fumbling around the area. He grabs at different objects in the kitchen in a futile attempt to save the eggs from running all over the pan. Jimin perches himself on a stool by the island and watches in silence.

“I give up,” Taehyung finally sighs, scrambling the eggs quickly to avoid further staring at his failure.

“You tried, honey.” Jimin smiles fondly.

Taehyung startles and whips his head around, “Please tell me you didn’t hear my monologue on why bread should be incinerated as a regular practice.”

“Missed that one.” Jimin winks. “Maybe next time?”

“If there is a reprise on the way, I’ll let you know first.” Taehyung pours the eggs onto a plate.

“I love you.”

“Very random, but I love you, too,” Taehyung muses.

“Sometimes you have to act on impulse, no?”

“I really think my influence on you is powerful. Wonderful, even.”

“I have to agree.”

Taehyung grabs the plate of scrambled eggs and burnt toast and makes his way over to Jimin. He sets the plate down and gives it a wry look, mouth moving from side to side. The kitchen is very spacious (compared to the last few times) and the fridge is littered with pictures of the two of them that Taehyung develops and puts up. Jimin glances around the area, taking in his surroundings with precaution.

“I tried to make you breakfast,” Taehyung finally decides, “and to be honest this is quite successful if I may say so myself.”

“I have to agree.” Jimin laughs. “Compared to the Hamburger Helper fiasco, this is much less disastrous.”

“What? What Hamburger Helper fiasco?” Taehyung looks confused.

Jimin’s jaw locks up and he quickly runs through his life as far back as he can remember it. He doesn’t know whether that was this time or—his mind is a mess of memories that bend and flex together at weird, disjointed sequences. He vaguely recalls that being a different time in a kitchen much smaller than this where the flowers outside bloomed brilliantly. Taehyung had blonde hair at the time, and not the soft brown messy locks he does right now.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The concern in Taehyung’s voice snaps Jimin out of his stupor, blinking a few times to readjust himself back to the present. He sees the worry in his boyfriend’s eyes and cracks a weak smile in return, reaching across the island to lace their fingers together. He rubs a thumb idly against Taehyung’s knuckles.

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. Just a little sleepy still,” Jimin reassures him.

Taehyung doesn’t seem quite convinced. He maneuvers as best as he can without breaking their connection, plopping down on Jimin’s lap with ease. Jimin feels soft lips caress his scalp as Taehyung peppers tiny kisses all over. He snakes an arm around Taehyung’s waist as the other presses his cheek into the crown of Jimin’s head.

“Sometimes you get this really...I don’t know, far look. Like you’re somewhere else entirely.” Jimin has heard this before in a different time and different place.

“I don’t know how to help you when you get like that because I feel like you’re dealing with something I can’t understand,” Taehyung mumbles. “But I love you. I’m here for you.”

“Sorry, Tae.” Jimin sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Jimin can you help me set this up,” Taehyung calls from the living room.

Their house is rather large this time, nestled into a humble neighborhood near Taehyung’s workplace. Jimin sets his hot cocoa down on the countertop and makes his way towards Taehyung. He’s perched atop a chair near the Christmas tree, balancing precariously on one foot as he tries to reach the top. Jimin already knows this is a recipe for disaster from the way the tree wobbles as the angel brushes against it, just barely missing the top.

“I don’t know how I can help, babe,” Jimin replies. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m shorter than you.”

“I know that much.” Taehyung grunts in frustration. “Do we have a higher stool or something?”

“Not really. That’s the highest one we have.” Jimin pouts.

Taehyung stretches on his tiptoes, the knitted sweater around his frame sliding up to show the sliver of skin of his belly. He makes a whining sound in the back of his throat as he struggles to reach the top of the rather large tree. Jimin only remembers how much Taehyung makes puppy eyes at him until he acquiesces to getting the largest tree. He wonders idly if the other is regretting that decision now.

“Maybe I need to get Namjoonie for help,” Taehyung sighs resentfully.

Jimin shrugs. “I don’t think between the two of us we can actually reach up that high.”

Taehyung hops down from the chair, the tree wobbling from where his arm hits it. He looks happy despite the obstacle standing in his way, Jimin notes. Taehyung’s hair is a dark lavender color this time, the strands sitting fluffy on his head from his morning shower. His eyes crinkle around the edges, crow’s feet accentuating his bright, boxy smiles; and he plays with the edges of his sweater, tugging at a loose strand distractedly. Jimin remembers how much he hates the matching sweaters until Taehyung gives them to him for the twelfth time, and ever since it brings a warm feeling to his chest to wear it during Christmas time.

Sometimes, Jimin almost feels like he’s been seeing the same person for years, almost lets the whispers of something foreign out of his mouth. Every time he slips up, he catches himself, pretends as though he is remembering something incorrectly. His memory seems to fail him quite often as the years go by—decades, even centuries—but Taehyung just laughs and pretends not to notice.

“Hey, I’m gonna go out to hyung’s house and see if he’ll help,” Taehyung calls from where he’s moved to the kitchen.

Jimin realizes he’s been standing in the living room thinking to himself, staring at the plush carpet wordlessly. He shakes his head, brushing the musings out. “I can go.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Taehyung peeks his head into the living room. “You seem kind of out of it.”

Jimin frowns. “I’m fine, Tae. Let me go. Stay home.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Taehyung frowns and turns on his heels,.“I’ll just take the car over really fast.”

He feels his heart sink before the words are fully processed in his mind. Jimin throws a worried glance to the nativity calendar near the tree and confirms the date. It’s been this day four times now, metal crashing on metal, his heart sinks, sparks flying, his hands clench. Bright white lights and pristine white walls, the smell of antiseptic, the cacophony of beeping and shouting and crying. No, the crying stops by now. He just stares wordlessly into the room and gets told the same thing a million times.

Taehyung walks out the door and doesn’t come back.

“ No ,” Jimin shouts, running quickly towards the door and slamming it closed with Taehyung’s hand on the knob. “You can’t.”

He doesn’t realize how shaky and cracked his voice sounds until Taehyung gives him a worried look. Trying to compose himself proves even harder when his legs are shaking and his breath gets caught squeezing out of his lungs. Jimin removes his hand from the door, the sting of slamming it shut concentrating his attention away from his own thoughts. He leans against the wall and opens his mouth. And shuts it. And opens it again. And shuts it again. And opens it again.

“ Please .” He hates how desperate his voice sounds and how he still can’t bring himself to control his tears. “Not this time, Tae. Please.”

The weight of his emotions—the antiseptic, the beeping, the metal, the sparks, the sirens, the apologies, the crying—his legs give out and he slides slowly to the floor, cradling his face in his hands. He tries to inhale as much as possible, and dammit, Park Jimin, you are not crying this time .

“Jimin,” Taehyung’s voice finally breaks the silence. “Jimin, what’s wrong?”

Jimin peeks through the cracks of his fingers and regrets it once he sees the look on Taehyung’s face. He’s miserable. The lines of his face are all pulled taut with worry, and his lips curl into a desperate frown. Jimin hardly ever sees him like this, worried out of his mind as though he’s about to run anywhere to make Jimin feel better.

Taehyung crouches to the ground in front of him, reaching out tentatively to wrap his fingers around Jimin’s wrist. He rubs the pads of his thumb along the skin, pushing the sleeve of Jimin’s sweater up. For a minute they just sit there, barely touching, Jimin breathing through his panic.

“Did I do something?” Taehyung asks tentatively.

Yes, you didn’t come back . “No,” Jimin replies. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Taehyung reassures him, even though it isn’t.

“I’m not crying,” Jimin hiccups.

“I know you aren’t. You’re a messy crier.” Taehyung moves closer to pull Jimin into his embrace.

Jimin lets himself get tugged forward, pressing firmly against Taehyung’s chest. He breathes in the scent of cinnamon and honey, Taehyung’s favorite shampoo, and relaxes in his embrace. Taehyung won’t press any more than necessary, Jimin knows that. Always accepting and understanding and unquestioning even though Taehyung deserves some answers. No matter how many times, Taehyung always whispers the same thing to him.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. Everything’s okay, Jimin. I love you,” he mumbles into Jimin’s hair.

“I know, Tae. I know.” Jimin inhales shakily. “I love you, too. So much.”

They grow up together in Jimin’s first life. He doesn’t know how else to describe these time hops other than different versions of his life. So, in his first life, Taehyung is his childhood friend.

He moves into the house next to Jimin’s own when they’re both seven years old. At first, Jimin hates him. Taehyung is all boxy smiles, carefree attitude, and rough accent; and Jimin can’t quite keep up with him coming from his mild life. Before either of their parents know it, they’re inseparable.

Jimin distinctly remembers the plethora of scraped knees and toothy smiles, Taehyung’s voice filling up the recesses of his heart. After a while he can’t recall a time where Taehyung wasn’t there. School goes from mundane to busy with the new friends Taehyung drags into their little circle. They hang out after classes, and hide under the bleachers when they don’t want someone to see them. Jimin always relishes in the fact that Taehyung has smiles reserved only for him, and not the other guys they hang out with.

After all these lifetimes, Jimin knows he’s been in love with Taehyung for forever.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Taehyung asks one day.

They’re sprawled on the kitchen floor because the tiles are cooler than the hardwood. The heat outside is scorching, permeating through the thin walls and warming up the entire apartment. They’re sixteen, relishing in the last few days of summer vacation before school starts up again with a blast of cold air and holidays. Taehyung is pressed flat on his stomach, eyes closed and sleepy.

“I dunno,” Jimin admits.

“You know, like, do you think people are destined to be with other people in all their lifetimes? Like if you die, even if you’re in different bodies, you’ll still find each other. You think that’s real?” Taehyung muses.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jimin turns his head to look at him.

Taehyung opens his eyes, blinking a few times to pull the sleep out of them. He looks at Jimin for a moment, nose scrunching up in thought. The cicadas buzz outside, the clapping of their wings intertwining with the rapid pulse of Jimin’s heartbeat. By now, in the heat of summer, Jimin knows he’s falling in love.

“Interesting,” Taehyung decides.

“Why do you ask?”

“If soulmates are real, then I think you’d be mine.”

112

“Park Jimin.”

Jimin glances up from his lap, eyes readjusting to the brightness of the waiting room. He feels exhausted, every joint cracking as he stirs to life again. There’s a dull thrumming in the back of his head that he can’t quite tell apart from the ringing of the phones in the building. It’s rain season, the splatter of drops thrumming against the windows above him, reminding him exactly why he’s sitting here. Slightly different time, same place, same white walls, same smell, same waiting, same thrumming, same heartbreak, same lab coats.

“Follow me, sir.” The doctor finishes scribbling something on his clipboard and caps his pen.

They trudge slowly down the hallway, Jimin lagging in step not out of sadness but tiredness. It’s like an itch under his epidermis that he can’t reach, fusing deeply within his bones, pulsating within his blood vessels. He can’t scratch it until he feels his entire being slowly break down, molecule-by-molecule, and he’s back again in a different place, different time, different rooms, different people, different lives, same Taehyung. Always the same Taehyung.

“Here we are.” The doctor pauses in front of a door.

Jimin barely shoots a glance at the faded black letters reading 706 ( Different room , Jimin muses), a hushed murmur all throughout the hall. A nurse skampers by with a cart of breakfast foods, Jimin’s eyes darting away from the door to the source of noise. This place always distracts him, makes him feel like there’s someone watching him at all times. There’s a heavy paranoia that looms over him in hospitals. A curling figure sprawling behind his back, never touching, but keeping its breath just a hair shy of his neck.

“You seem quite on edge, are you alright?” the doctor asks.

Jimin glances back at the old man. “I’m okay. Just. Give me the news.”

“I see.” The doctor doesn’t seem quite convinced, but continues anyway. “He’s asleep for now, but he should be waking up soon out of hunger. We have a nurse preparing a meal for him shortly.”

Jimin pauses as he’s nodding, eyes going wide. Wait, what? That’s not right . It’s not right. Even after all this time, he can’t believe there are moments spent in the hospital that aren’t miserable. He scrutinizes the doctor, plush lips pursing. “What?”

The doctor seems taken aback, blinking slowly at Jimin with a confusion that makes him angry. They don’t understand anything. Hospitals are never good. Neither are bathrooms or streets or studios or schools or patios or gas stations or pools or—

“He’s quite stable. The injuries were mostly superficial aside from the leg injury, and that was easily fixed during surgery. His post-op vitals are doing incredibly well. No doubts he’ll be leaving in less than a week. Mr. Park, is there something wrong?”

Stable. Incredibly well. Superficial. “No.” Jimin lets out an elated breath. “ No. Can I see him?”

“You are quite good at this,” Taehyung grunts out.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

They’re hiding away in a corner of the bar where less people are present. Jimin is curled over, concentration clear over his features as his fingers work their magic. Taehyung seems a little breathless and his face flushes a bright pink from the alcohol sitting snugly in his belly. Every time Jimin moves again, his breath catches in his throat. Taehyung is so focused, taking every slight movement and committing it to memory.

“And… done!” Jimin presents the finished paper rose to Taehyung.

“Holy shit dude.,” Taehyung gasps, taking the thing delicately in his hands. “Holy shit.”

“I told you, I’ve had a lot of practice. Origami is quite the hobby.” Jimin grins.

“Okay, shit, it was a box like three seconds ago.”

“This one in particular is made to fold into a box.”

“Oh my god .” Taehyung laughs, low and slightly cracking.

“You can keep it.” Jimin nudges Taehyung in the shoulder.

They’re seated at a bar that Jimin knows Taehyung frequents in many of his incarnations. He’s barely been alive in this time, if you consider that being alive is quite the debatable term for Jimin. Just a few days ago he was staring down at Taehyung’s bloodied hand, his head spinning, his atoms buzzing to life—now, he’s seated at the bar drinking shots. Most of the time the transition is easy. This time, he thinks things will be going faster.

“Gotta admit.” Taehyung swirls his drink around. “I’ve never been hit on in a bar with origami.”

“Is it working?” Jimin smiles sweetly at him.

Taehyung smiles wide at him, unabashedly. “Definitely.”

“In my favor, there are other things my fingers are good at.”

“Hmm. I’d like to find out what those things are.”

“I think if we decorate the place a bit, it’ll be less shabby,” Taehyung offers.

Their boiling summer feelings slowly ebb away into the welcoming arms of winter. Adolescence passes by like a movie, scrolling quickly through the motions of their teenhood into the budding stages of adulthood. They graduate and are accepted into the same college, their dream of staying together intact for yet another phase of life. As every year passes by, Jimin feelings the heavy weight on his heart grow, bursting at the edges of his ribs. Sometimes, it threatens to spill out in late-night confessions when Taehyung is curled up tiredly by his side.

It’s their first life together, the one Jimin can never forget despite how many more he’s lived.

“I mean, it’s not the worst,” Jimin agrees.

They’re standing at the entryway of their shared apartment off campus. It’s quite banged up, the paint of the walls chipping to reveal a tacky wallpaper underneath it. There’s scarce furniture save for a couch that the landowner says he doesn’t know where it came from. Somehow, it still feels like home when they both cross the threshold.

“We can’t keep the couch, Tae.” Jimin scrunches his nose up when Taehyung plops down into the seat.

“Aw, I kinda like it. Our possessed couch.”

“If it tries to kill us in the middle of the night, I’m abandoning you.” Jimin snorts.

“Rude.”

After they set up the necessities, tossing most of their bags into a corner of their respective bedrooms, they sit around the empty dining room floor with bowls of ramen. There’s a low humming of the air conditioner presumably coming to life. Jimin still feels sweat drip down his back, so he doubts the thing is functional.

“This is really college life, huh?” Taehyung muses happily.

“I don’t know why you’re happy. It’s so hot.”

“Sorry, I’ll leave.”

“Oh my god.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

“I really don’t think that air conditioner actually works.” Taehyung slurps his noodles.

“Agreed. Honestly the price on this place had to be too good to be true.”

“Still. Our place.” Taehyung grins widely at him.

Jimin feels that overflow happening, the heaviness in his chest making it hard to breathe. He coughs a few times, shoving some food into his mouth to keep himself preoccupied from the words sitting on his tongue. Sometimes he’s afraid Taehyung will be able to hear how hard his heart beats against his chest. It’s almost painful, being in love.

564

Jimin feels the soft press of kisses against his neck, stirring him slowly to life. It feels like liquid being poured out of a cup, slow and deliberate, no rushing or stuttering to life. The room is still pitch black, no sunlight illuminating the curtain over the windows. Jimin can barely make out the time on the digital clock of their DVR, just slightly past midnight.

He groans sleepily, blinking a few more times.

“Did I wake you?” Taehyung mumbles against his chin where he’s pressed a firm line of kisses.

“Kind of.” Jimin isn’t really upset.

“Sorry.” Taehyung continues to pepper kisses along Jimin’s jaw and over the curve of his cheek, his hand coming up to cup the other gently.

“Why are you awake?”

“Never fell asleep.” Taehyung shrugs a little.

“You need to rest.” Jimin moves, startling Taehyung out of his mapping, to readjust their position. He curls an arm over Taehyung’s torso, pulling him flush against his chest. Despite how many times Taehyung has insisted that he’s the big spoon, Jimin can’t help but readjust in his sleep to a more comfortable position.

“Guess what today is.”

“Sleep, Tae.”

“Our anniversary.”

Jimin cracks a tired eye open to stare at Taehyung. His boyfriend is smiling softly at him, blonde strands flipping about the pillow and up into the air. Taehyung’s smile is more reserved, the kind he saves for when he’s feeling particularly emotional. Jimin can’t help but notice every curve and bump of his face, the way the planes of his nose bridge out, the soft curve of his cheeks, the mole on his lip and the tip of his nose. He’s committed every single aspect to memory over all these years that if you handed Jimin some clay he’d become a sculptor, carving the face of love with his bare hands. He could tell you every inch of Taehyung’s body from the number of times he’s supposedly had to rediscover it. Even still, he’s amazed every time by how much Taehyung radiates the kind of warmth that makes even his worst days worth it.

Their friends tell Jimin many times over the different incarnations that Taehyung is his primary motivation, and Jimin only laughs because they don’t know the half of it.

“It is,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Jimin.” Taehyung leans over to press a kiss to the corner of Jimin’s lips.

Jimin draws him back, moving his hand to the small of Taehyung’s back to press him closer. He cups Taehyung’s cheek, capturing his lips in one swift motion. It’s languid, interlaced with fatigue and lacking the heat of desperation. Jimin lets himself breathe into every motion, Taehyung pressing himself closer so he’s partially sprawled across Jimin’s chest. He runs his tongue along Taehyung’s bottom lip, parting them slowly to explore.

They stay like that for a moment, making out slowly in the darkness of midnight hours. Sometimes, in these rare occurrences of peace and tranquility, Jimin thinks things might work out this time. He thinks that Taehyung will stay, safe and secure. He thinks the world will cease to detonate around him. He thinks he won’t have to relive the same flow of time again and again. He thinks Taehyung will remember him for once. He thinks Taehyung won’t look at him desperately when Jimin can’t contain himself anymore. He thinks it’s okay. They’re fine.

“I. Love. You,” Taehyung says between kisses. “Together. Forever and always. Through everything.”

“Through everything,” Jimin mumbles against Taehyung’s lips.

1,005

“Jimin.”

The sound of his name being called snaps Jimin out of his thoughts. He glances up to see Jeongguk standing tentatively near the table, almost too scared to approach it. It’s a rare sight to see the youngest of their group looking rattled.

“Hey, Jeonggukkie.” Jimin gives him a small wave.

“Are you doing okay?” Jeongguk seems to dread the answer.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Jeongguk.” Jimin cuts him off from another query. “If you wanna bother me with repetitive questions, at least sit down.”

Jeongguk obliges, sitting carefully across from Jimin and leaning back. They sit in silence for a few seconds, Jimin sipping from his glass of water that he opted over the shots of soju calling to him. He decides to stay sober for the night because really, he’s fine. He’ll be fine.

“Do you need to—”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin cuts him off. “Do you ever think about soulmates?”

“Soulmates?” Jimin laughs at the look of confusion across the younger’s face.

“Yeah, soulmates.”

“Not really. Why?”

“I think about them a lot,” Jimin muses.

Jeongguk doesn’t seem to understand where Jimin is going so he remains quiet, eyes darting back and forth between Jimin and anything else in the room. They’re seated in the hospital dining hall, in a back corner where Jimin has frequently sat awaiting horrible news. The white plastic table is another constant his life, never changing it’s faux pristine appearance no matter how many different timelines pass.

“When we were younger, Taehyung told me if soulmates were real, I’d be his.” Jimin sighs.

“Younger?” Jeongguk voices quietly. “I thought you only met a few years ago.”

“This time. But before, the first time, I grew up with him. We were inseparable. He said I’d be his soulmate. I’ve been stuck like this ever since, I think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If someone you loved died and you were given the chance to try again, would you?”

“Um,” Jeongguk pauses for a moment, unsure about whether or not he should respond.

“I’m not making any sense, am I?” Jimin laughs bitterly.

“No, but you frequently don’t make sense.” Jeongguk manages to crack a smile. “I would. Try again, that is.”

“What if you had to try a thousand times? What if you weren’t sure they’d ever survive and you were stuck reliving the same process a thousand times through a thousand lifetimes?”

“I don’t know if I could do that. It sounds miserable.”

“I would.” Jimin feels a fire burning in his lungs. “I would do it a million times in a million lifetimes if it’s for him. Even if he never survives—I would do it.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing. They fall into a comfortable silence between the two of them, the words Jeongguk doesn’t say still reaching Jimin. He’s always been good at reading the younger and his displays of sympathy despite his utter shyness.

They haven’t received the news yet, but Jimin is prepared either way to continue about his days or start over. These days it becomes harder and harder to wait for the verdict, his direct instinct at the slightest injury is to start over again.

He thinks Taehyung may never survive, but he doesn’t care.

Jimin can remember the day he confessed to Taehyung as if it was yesterday and not hundreds of lifetimes ago.

They’re lounging around their shared apartment doing schoolwork. Jimin sits on the beat up couch they could never get rid of, his fingers grazing over the words of his biology homework. Taehyung is sprawled across the floor humming a song he’s been obsessed with recently and mostly ignoring his own work. It’s a breezy friday afternoon, neither of them quite motivated enough to finish the schoolwork due after the weekend.

“Jimin,” Taehyung finally whines, rolling onto his back to peer up at the other boy.

“Yes, Tae.”

“I’m bored.”

“I’m studying.”

“You always pass your classes,” Taehyung pouts. “Pay attention to me.”

Jimin sighs and glances away from his papers, giving Taehyung a fond look. He’s never been able to resist him when he pouts and whines like that. Jimin’s soft spot for Taehyung is a mile wide.

“Jimin, what are we gonna do when we graduate?” Taehyung asks.

The question is mostly harmless, but a knot forms in the pit of Jimin’s stomach. He’s thought about it a million times, graduating and moving on with their lives. Jimin suspects they can’t live together forever, be surrounded by each other for hours. Taehyung will want to get his own place, fall in love, start a family, do all those things they’ve talked about since they were children.

Jimin just wants Taehyung.

“I don’t know. The goal is to be working in a clinic.” Jimin pats his textbook. “If you’d let me study, that is.”

“I know that. I mean, like, for us. Are we gonna still live together after school?”

“Um.” Jimin worries his lower lip. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Why not?” Taehyung frowns.

“We’ll have, like, our own lives and stuff. I dunno.” Jimin feels uncomfortable, like something isn’t right with the words tumbling out of his mouth. He doesn’t know why Taehyung seems to be serious about this conversation.

“Aw. We can still be together, though. You’ve been my best friend for years. I don’t think I could ever stop being with you.” Taehyung scoots closer so he’s lying directly in front of Jimin’s spot on the couch.

“Me too, Tae. Couldn’t live without you.”

Jimin tries to calm the burning feeling in his chest, focusing not so much on the words of his homework but just the blank spaces. The conversation seems to drop for a moment, Taehyung resting on the floor and breathing shallowly as if he’s going to nap. He almost has his emotions reeled in again when Taehyung speaks.

“Jimin.” Taehyung pauses for a second. “I’m sorry if I made you upset.”

“No, Tae,” Jimin sighs. “You didn’t make me upset, no. It’s just—you know.”

“What?”

“The future and stuff.”

Taehyung sits up, propping his chin up on the couch next to Jimin’s leg. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and he pokes at Jimin’s knee.

“The future isn’t that scary. It’ll all work out.”

“I know,” Jimin replies. “I’m just. Afraid. You know. What if we drift apart?”

“We wouldn’t,” Taehyung says firmly, as if he can see the future himself. “There’s no way.”

“Good,” Jimin replies quietly.

“Jimin? Jiminnie.”

Jimin glances over at Taehyung and his heart skips a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The light streaming in from the window nearby accents every curve of Taehyung’s face, his brown hair a chocolatey mess falling into his eyes. He looks sleepy, but focused on Jimin, his eyes crinkling at the edges when they stare at each other. A small smile plays at the edges of his mouth, his cheek pillowed against the couch cushion. Jimin thinks Taehyung is always beautiful, the sun radiating and absorbing into his skin; he’s always glowing, brilliant and passionate about everything and anything.

In one shuddery breath Jimin says, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Taehyung yawns a little.

“No. I, Taehyung.” Jimin swallows the lump in his throat, “I love you.”

Taehyung nods a little, blinking a bit of the sleep out of his eyes, “Mmm.”

“I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, nothing happens. There’s no dramatic fight, no storming out of the house, the world doesn’t collapse around him. In fact, Taehyung just sits up a bit and stretches, squinting at Jimin through the groggy haze surrounding himself. Jimin feels like he’s going to throw up.

“What?” Taehyung finally asks.

“I—Taehyung. I’m in love with you. I don’t.” Jimin pauses and shakes his head. “Tae, I’ve been in love with you for years . Since we were kids, I think.”

“Are you joking?” Taehyung doesn’t seem disgusted, but rather confused.

“No? I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel weird about it. I really wasn’t planning on telling you, uh, ever.”

Taehyung stands up, eyes trained on Jimin as he gets close and closer. Jimin feels himself recoil back into the couch, feeling small under Taehyung’s gaze. Sometimes the other got this strangely knowing look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something that Jimin will never understand. It makes him feel small at times like this.

“Wow,” Taehyung finally says.

“Wow?”

“Yeah, wow.”

Jimin doesn’t really know what to say so he just lets out a tired, broken laugh. It sounds horrible, and despite the relief in his chest from being able to finally get his confession out, there’s also a sinking feeling of despair budding.

“Yoongi is going to owe Jeonggukkie a lot of money,” Taehyung muses.

“What?” Jimin doesn’t understand.

“I overheard them making a bet on how long it would take until we started dating. Jeonggukkie bet it would be less than four years, but hyung insisted we’d be thirty by the time we realized.”

“Oh?” Jimin doesn't know why Taehyung is smiling like that at him.

“You know I love you, right?” Taehyung tilts his head.

“Yeah. You tell me all the time.”

“Exactly. I’ve been telling you that I love you for years now.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” Jimin replies.

“Oh my god, Jiminnie.” Taehyung sighs exasperatedly.

It happens very suddenly and Jimin has to stop himself from lunging off the couch. Taehyung leans forward, propping his hands on the back of the couch, and kisses Jimin. There’s little hesitation in the way he presses their lips together, the awkward angle and clack of Jimin’s teeth because he is unprepared. It’s not at all like all the times Jimin imagined kissing Taehyung, and it’s not like they’re both inexperienced. Somehow, it’s still the best kiss Jimin’s ever had.

“Oh,” Jimin gasps out when Taehyung pulls away for a breath. “Oh my god.”

“I love you, Jimin.” Taehyung presses another kiss to his lips. And another. And another.

“I’m so stupid.” Jimin laughs against Taehyung’s lips, “I didn’t think— Taehyung . When were you going to tell me you liked me?”

“I’ve always told you. I just thought you didn’t like me that way, so I let you think it was all platonic.” Taehyung presses kisses everywhere on Jimin’s face. The corner of his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, and even tops of his eyelids are graced with soft pecks.

“How did neither of us know?” Jimin sighs into the kisses.

“I think we kinda knew. At least, I did. I was just waiting for you to come around to it.”

“Taehyung, I would have spent my whole life quiet about this if I were a stronger man.”

“I know you’re weak for me, though.” Taehyung waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” Jimin pushes himself up to crash their lips together again.

“Would you really move out when we graduate?” Taehyung asks.

“I would have, if you wanted me to. Probably move somewhere close. To be near you.”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“I’d do anything to be with you.”

2,368

“So, there’s this guy I wanna introduce you to.”

“Hyung, no,” Jimin says firmly.

Jin sighs, leaning against the countertop and giving Jimin one of his signature “Hear Me Out For Once” frowns. He’s gotten lucky so far, bypassing many of Jin’s attempts at hooking him up with people, but sometimes the elder was too persistent in his attempts to find Jimin love. There’s been a handful of occasions that Jimin’s found himself set up on blind dates with strangers. Most of the time it’s awkward, considering he’s forgotten what it’s like to date other people.

“Are you paying attention?” Jin throws a rag near the sink at him.

Jimin catches it and replies, “Yeah, sorry. Hyung, not to sound ungrateful, but these blind dates never work out. It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“But I have a good feeling about this one, Jiminnie,” Jin whines. “He’s exactly your type and he’s super sweet. I don’t think anyone could dislike him.”

He goes to protest, but the pout on his friend’s face stops him in his tracks. Jin’s too kind to turn down, Jimin laments. Considering they’re standing in his kitchen with Jin preparing dinner for the two of them, Jimin feels like he can't say no.

“Okay, fine,” Jimin sighs out. “When’s the date?”

“Three days from now. He volunteers at an animal shelter on the weekends, so Monday is better.”

“Oh god, hyung, an animal shelter?” Jimin chuckles.

“I told you, he’s way too nice to turn down. Plus, he’s seen your picture and he thinks you’re attractive. I made sure it was the ones with the beanie. You look hot in those.”

“Hey, I always look hot.”

“Yeah, but you’re extra hot in the beanie.” Jin tosses some food into a big dish.

“Hyung, I love you.”

“Don’t say I’m not on your side.”

Despite his apprehension about the blind dates, Jimin still shows up early. Jin told him the other guy made reservations already and he just has to show up around eight. So, Jimin lounges around the front of the quaint restaurant in his best clothes: a pair of jeans that fit tight around his thighs and a striped, low cut shirt. He brings his light blue jacket just in case it gets chilly outside, but the weather is warmer this time of the year.

He isn’t sure what to expect this time around. Last time it was a guy who Jimin is certain was at least ten years older than him and only talked about his cat. It’s been about three months since that horrid date went down and Jimin called Jin in the middle of the night fuming. It was probably the only time he yelled at the elder out of genuine anger. (Moreso directed at his date than his hyung).

“Excuse me.”

Jimin is embarrassed to be caught zoning out and he immediately turns in the direction of the voice.

“Hi, are you Park Jimin? You seemed like you were waiting for someone.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin breathes out shakily.

“Oh, yeah, that’s me. Kim Taehyung.” He smiles, bright and hopeful as always. Jimin feels every nerve and tension leave his body as soon as he realizes Taehyung is his blind date.

“Nice to meet you.” Jimin smiles shyly at him. “Jin didn’t tell me too much about you, but I have a feeling we’ll get along.”

“Really? Weird, I did too.” Taehyung laughs. “Maybe it’s fate.”

“Definitely,” Jimin mumbles.

For once, his blind date goes perfectly. He knew it would, there’s never been a time where they’ve failed to be together. Jimin knows that’s the point, that fate is giving him all these chances to make it right with Taehyung. Lately, he’s starting to think that it’s fate’s cruel joke towards him; that someone higher than them is laughing at his miserable attempts and refusal to give up.

“This was nice,” Taehyung muses later when they’re curled up on Taehyung’s bed, sticky and hot.

“Agreed.” Jimin hides his smile in the crook of Taehyung’s neck.

“You’re like. Way too good at that. I swear it’s like you knew every single thing I like.”

“I’m good at improvising,” Jimin lies.

“I like that.” Taehyung turns to press a kiss to Jimin’s temple. “I like you. This is like the best blind date I’ve ever been on.”

“Same. I know he means well, but Jin always sets me up with the worst.”

“Except for me, right?” Taehyung smirks.

“Except for you. I really wasn’t expecting tonight to go this well.”

They lay together for a while, breathing patterns slowly mingling into one rhythm with the whirring of the fan. Taehyung’s apartment is small, with few furnishings that aren’t covered in photographs or bowls he’s neglected to wash. There’s stray hairs around the place from animals that Jimin assumes he brings home every now and then. Even though he’s never been to this place (in any lifetime), the familiarity of it all makes him feel nostalgic.

Jimin whines at the loss of contact when Taehyung shifts to sit up in bed.

“Did you wanna sleep here?” he asks.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jimin peers up at him through his lashes.

“Not really.” Taehyung bends over to press a kiss into Jimin’s shoulder. “But if you wanna go, you can.”

“I’ll stay.” Jimin tilts his head so Taehyung can kiss him. He lets Taehyung do all the work, slating his head to properly capture his lips. He moves slowly against Jimin’s lips, tongue running along his already swollen flesh. He thinks if they kiss any more, his lips will get stuck like that.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Jimin murmurs against his lips.

“Hmm?”

“It’s random and unrelated, but do you believe in soulmates?”

Taehyung doesn’t reply for a moment, lips trailing past Jimin’s lips to his chin and down his neck. He gently bites a mark into the soft skin, humming when Jimin’s fingers tangle in his hair.

“Yes. Definitely.” Taehyung sighs. “Are you okay with animals?”

“I love dogs,” Jimin giggles a little. “but any animal will do.”

“Good.”

There’s so much blood everywhere. It’s soaked through Jimin’s shirt, caked between his fingers and underneath his fingernails. He keeps applying pressure to the wound, his jacket completely useless against the large hole in Taehyung’s shoulder.

This is the first time Taehyung has died in Jimin’s presence. Normally, it’s a sickness or accident that happens while Jimin is least aware, but this time he sees it coming. Taehyung is standing right in front of him when he gets shot, the bullet piercing directly through his chest as the assailant makes his escape through the heavy throng of traffic and panic. It’s a standard shoot-up, nothing in particular about Taehyung causing the accident.

Jimin chokes on a sob, the tears welling up in his eyes again. He’s never had to see Taehyung die this clearly.

“Ji—” Taehyung chokes on the blood piling up in his mouth.

“Don’t, Taehyung. Don’t speak.” Jimin tilts Taehyung’s head, helping him cough out the blood, spitting it out onto the pavement.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve never had to see you die this clearly,” Jimin panics, a hysterical lilt to his voice. “Shit, Tae, you’re bleeding so much. I don’t know what else to do.”

“What are you talking about?” Taehyung manages weakly.

They’re in the middle of the sidewalk, the panicked and worried bystanders either keeping their distance or running away from the scene. Jimin’s already called an ambulance, but he knows they’re going to be too late. This lines up too well with a definitive end to Taehyung’s life. He’s going to have to restart again. He always has to restart.

“I keep trying to save you, Tae, but it’s not working. It never fucking works. That one time you got so sick you were vomiting blood, I couldn’t do shit. This is just like that I can’t stop your body from shutting itself down,” Jimin mumbles angrily.

He can remember the sickness three lifetimes ago, the cruise ship accident ten lifetimes ago, the car accident the first time. He remembers every vague, clipped snippet of Taehyung’s deaths. Some of them are similar, arousing certain memories in the back of Jimin’s mind. Lately, he finds himself more forgetful and difficult to deal with when his dreams disturb his focus on this particular timeline. He keeps slipping up, saying things that aren’t from this stream.

“Taehyung, are you still there? You still with me?” Jimin uses his free hand to lightly smack Taehyung’s face to keep him awake. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

“Love… you,” Taehyung chokes out. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dumbass. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Fuck, it’ll work out somehow. I can do this again. I’ll do it again and again and again until you stop dying on me, okay? It’s not your fault. I’ll make it work somehow, please.”

The paramedics show up in a flurry of lights and sirens and hurried footsteps. Jimin vaguely recalls being pulled from his position, not realizing how zoned out he is until they’re dragging him to the vehicle. One paramedic keeps a close eye on Taehyung while the other checks Jimin for injures and then stability.

“You did well putting pressure on the wound. He would’ve bled out if it weren’t for you. Are you okay?” The guy no younger than Jimin himself asks.

“I’m fine.” Jimin laughs bitterly. “He’s going to die.”

“Don’t say that, he’s still alive. We’re gonna get him to the hospital and have him immediately operated on to remove the bullet. He’s still got a fighting chance. Are you his brother? Friend?”

“No, boyfriend.” Jimin leans back into the cold white walls of the ambulance, rolling his head away from the sight of Taehyung. “He always dies, you know. It’s about time in this place, too.”

“I’m sorry for assuming,” the guy seems discomforted, “Sir, are you alright? You seem very out of it, which is natural in these situations.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, pressing his forehead into the cool wall to try and relax his nerves. He runs through what happened in this timeline—their first meeting in a candy shop, Jeongguk and Hoseok are their best friends, Taehyung falls easily in love, Jimin burns through his wallet to move closer to everyone—none of it makes any sense. The amount of times his life has ended up differently yet entirely the same feels like a cruel joke. At this point, he wonders if he’s able to stop it.

But he won’t. He’ll go to sleep and wake up to the bad news then go to sleep again and wake up in a different timeline. Just as confused and disoriented as he is at the start of every timeline.

178

“Let me guess,” Jimin slides easily into the chair across from the doctor’s desk, “an infected liver? Probably from some condition that was missed a while back, and it’s spreading from the liver to his lungs?”

The doctor seems uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and readjusts the papers on his desk, glancing at Jimin above his glasses. “Yes, a benign infection turned malignant. Did one of the nurses already brief you?”

“No.” Jimin smiles sadly. “Been there. Done that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Losses. Well, it’s more like a hundred and seventy… eight? Nine? I can’t keep track anymore,” Jimin muses. “I tried writing it down in a journal but it resets like everything else, and I can’t remember anymore.”

“Mr. Park, I must be honest, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would like to discuss Mr. Kim’s condition and what we can do for him.”

“I already know the details, doctor. I don’t mean to be rude, but like I said. Been there. Done this.”

“Yes, well it’s standard procedure to run through things again just in case.”

“I’m very tired.” Jimin sighs. It’s heavy, filled with over a hundred attempts at keeping his boyfriend alive only to end in failure. Most of the time, Jimin’s become numb to it. He doesn’t mind the amount of times he slips up and says the wrong thing from a different timeline. It hurts, but he endures having to see Taehyung fall in love all over again. He puts up with Taehyung having to rediscover everything Jimin has known for years and years now.

However, in this moment, Jimin is exhausted.

“I keep saying I’d do it over again, but…” Jimin plays with the leather of the chair. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I can keep doing this, you know? The dying and reliving and dying again and reliving again. I don’t think I’m capable of dying first. I haven’t tried yet, um, myself. But I don’t think I can.”

The doctor eyes Jimin carefully, picking up his pen to jot something down in his notes. Jimin doesn’t mind letting the man think he can somehow console him. It’s his job, after all.

“I hate this. I just want him to be alive. I just want to be happy and grow old and have a life together. I can’t even remember which version of him this is sometimes. Is he a teacher or an author or a dentist? Does he want five kids or three? Is he a brunette, blonde, lavender, brown? What does his voice sound like right now. Sometimes, I really just can’t remember. It all gets so jumbled in my head I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Jimin sighs again, yanking at a loose strand on the armrest and snapping it clean off. His hands are shaky, the thread trembling in the air between his fingertips. The oncoming panic attack makes him tense up, the tears welling up quickly in his eyes, but he holds them back with much effort. Instead, he stares past the doctor’s concerned look at the dilapidated wallpaper and scattered documentations hung up in pristine frames. He counts the different iterations of the letter “L” until his breathing evens out and he’s able to speak without his lip trembling.

“I’m sorry, doctor. I’m very tired. I think I should go for now.” Jimin stands slowly.

“Do you have a preference? I kinda like how my ass looks in the red ones,” Jimin muses.

They’re tucked into the back corner of a dressing room, Jimin turning slowly in the full body mirrors lining the wall. It’s a Tuesday afternoon and most people are busy at work rather than spending their time shopping. Everything is quiet and calm compared to the weekend rushes at shopping centers.

“Definitely the red ones. They’ll look great on the hotel floor.” Taehyung waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, don’t be crass.”

“Nobody here speaks Korean, it’s okay.”

It’s both of their first time abroad, exploring through new locations and jumbled messes of languages they can’t speak, together. Taehyung usually spends the holidays curled up at home, missing his students for the most part, while Jimin works on and off at the hospital. This year, they’ve saved enough and have been together long enough to take a hard earned vacation. So, they pack their bags and arrive in the chilly state of New York for a few days. (It takes Taehyung three tries to convince his parents that he doesn’t need to be home for Christmas and a long phone call that goes somewhat like: “No, mom, Jimin and I are practically married . We should be able to spend our Christmas together, just the two of us for once. Yes, I know. No we’re not getting married yet, mom. Sorry. No, I’m sorry. I would never get engaged and not tell you, you’d be the first to know. I don’t know why Jimin keeps waiting, I’m sure he has good reason, mom.”)

“Would it be cheesy to propose in New York?” Jimin muses, sliding back into the dressing room to change back into his clothes.

“Absolutely. I would be so disappointed at the lack of creativity and puppies. You promised me at least three puppies will be present when you propose.”

“I also said I’d sing you a rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart .”

“Which goes hand-in-hand with my promised rendition of Careless Whisper on the sax if I’m the one who proposes.” Taehyung says matter of factly.

“First of all, do you even remember how to play the sax? It’s been years. Second, that song is about cheating, Taehyung.”

“Of course I do. Kind of. The point of it is the sultry saxophone not the adultery.”

“Adultery and guilt.”

“Okay, you caught me,” Taehyung sighs. “I stole your underwear. I’m actually wearing them right now.”

“You are not .” Jimin gasps, sticking his head out of the dressing room and pouting. “Tae, I hate sharing underwear, you know this. I get it enough from Yoongi.”

“Okay, I lied about that, too.”

Taehyung presses forward with a hand on Jimin’s chest, pushing him back into the dressing room. He uses his free hand to slide the curtain back in place behind him. Jimin isn’t wearing a shirt yet, his dark maroon one tossed over the small stool in the corner. Taehyung runs a lazy hand up his boyfriend’s side, pinching at the juncture of his hips.

“Tae, no.” Jimin whines. “We’re in public.”

“There’s like nobody here. I think we’re their first customer of the day because the cashier is definitely sleeping at the register.”

“This is a dressing room ,” Jimin complains weakly. He betrays his own words though with the way his legs spread when Taehyung slots his thigh between them.

“Shh,” Taehyung leans over and kisses Jimin, biting at his bottom lip harshly. “No noise. Still gotta be quiet.”

Jimin has a hard time suppressing all the sounds that threaten to pour past his lips. He’s a noisy partner, Taehyung knows this, yet he does everything that he knows makes Jimin cry out. Taehyung’s thigh rubs against Jimin’s erection, a hand coming up to lazily trail across his abdomen. Jimin grabs on to Taehyung’s shoulder and hides all his moans in the other’s mouth.

There’s a moment where he thinks they’ll be caught, when Taehyung slides down onto his knees and drags his teeth across the sensitive skin above the waistband of Jimin’s jeans. Jimin works his fingers into Taehyung’s hair, tugging at the strands desperately. If they had more time, Taehyung might drag it out, play with Jimin until he’s so worked up he starts crying out of frustration. Luckily, the little semblance of common sense left in them says they better hurry before the lady notices they’ve been in there for too long.

Taehyung slides Jimin’s jeans halfway down his thighs before getting impatient and tugging his boxers down with them, pressing hot, wet kisses against the skin slowly being revealed. He glides his fingers along Jimin’s cock, grasping at the base and giving him one slow pump.

That’s when the sales associate trails back into the dressing room, the sound of another customer trailing after her. Jimin chokes out a half-gasp, half-moan combination that reaches just slightly above a whisper. Taehyung immediately grabs the nearest object, Jimin’s discarded shirt, and shoves it against his mouth.

Jimin bites down on the fabric to muffle his labored breathing, the two of them still for a moment as another dressing room door opens and shuts. The associate walks away and the sound of someone else trying on clothes quietly filters from the other side of the hallway.

Some sane part of him who trusts and loves Taehyung with all his heart thinks his boyfriend will stop there and let Jimin button back up so they can sneak out, avoiding further close calls. Instead, the very real and impulsive shitface Jimin fell in love with grins up at him and takes his cock back into his hand.

The rest, Jimin has to admit, is the best blowjob he’s ever gotten in his life.

371

“Okay, c’mon guys, if we don’t get his leg out of this knot we’re gonna miss our flights.”

Namjoon grunts and tugs helplessly at the rope tangled in Taehyung’s leg, unable to figure out where the knots start and end. They’re all crowded around, each tugging at different angles to try and wiggle Taehyung’s foot out.

Just a few minutes earlier, during their last minute shopping and travel preparations for Seollal , a loud crashing noise came from outside. Taehyung’s unexpectedly high-pitched scream followed shortly after, which had Jimin’s blood running cold as he sprinted outside. Luckily, considering how little luck he has left, Taehyung only got caught in one of the strange objects lying around in Yoongi’s backyard.

“Why do you even have rope out here?” Hoseok shakes his head.

“Babe, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Good point.”

“It’s okay, guys. You can’t miss your flights, your families will be really mad at me. I’ll just lay here in the backyard for the next week and FaceTime with my sad parents.” Taehyung bemoans.

“Tae, we’re taking the same flight to your house.” Jimin rolls his eyes. “Our families are going to celebrate together like every single year.”

“Tell them they have lost their son to the Battle of Min Yoongi’s Backyard. Goodbye, cruel world.”

Taehyung does a dramatic rendition of his own death (which Jimin has to say is very inaccurate), and his leg twitches in the process, whacking Namjoon’s arm.

“Ow.” Namjoon frowns. “Stop moving, it’s only making it worse.”

“Jimin. My time is up. Kiss me one last time before I go,” Taehyung chokes out.

“Tae, relax. You’re not dying.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

After at least another ten minutes of struggling Hoseok finally manages to catch the loop and undo it just enough for Yoongi to yank Taehyung’s foot out while Jin recites that they only have five minutes left to leave or they’ll be late to the airport.

Taehyung’s ankle is red and bleeding from where the rope caught it, so Jimin helps him hobble his way to the couch and hands him a warm washcloth to clean himself up with. They hurry around Yoongi’s house, grabbing their luggage and cleaning up what little messes were left behind. Jin keeps a keen eye on the clock, making sure everyone is rushing.

It’s their small friendly tradition, to spend three days before the lunar new year celebrations together. They all pile into Yoongi’s house, the largest of the group, and catch up on any lost time. Jin makes them food every night and they take turns helping him out in the kitchen (except for Namjoon who is permanently banned after the Fire in the Freezer Incident, which they don’t talk about). It’s a cozy tradition which Jimin has found spans across most iterations of his life. This holiday is one of those constants in Jimin’s ever-changing life.

“Babe,” Taehyung whines once they’re in the backseat of a taxi. “My ankle hurts.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been poking around the backyard when you should have been packing.” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“Be soft with me, I’m injured.”

“Your own fault.” Jimin leans over and plants a kiss on his cheek anyway.

“Have you thought about what we talked about?” Taehyung says tentatively.

“Tae—”

“Jimin, please, it’s important to me.”

“I know, Tae, but I already told you how I feel.” Jimin frowns.

“But I don’t get it, you love kids,” Taehyung whines.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting his head fall back against the seat. They’ve had this conversation too many times, and every time Jimin can’t bring himself to tell Taehyung the truth. The first time they talked about this (in their first life), Jimin was ecstatic about raising a kid with Taehyung. They’ve always been the picture perfect couple, but everyone can see how much Taehyung just lights up around children. Jimin can see just how great of a dad Taehyung would be, how much love and care and effort he’d put into raising a child. Some of these lifetimes, he lives more than long enough to raise one.

But Jimin really can’t. At times, he isn’t even sure if he’ll ever stop having to watch Taehyung die in all these lifetimes. As far as he’s concerned, there’s no way out. It’ll always end the same.

The first time they were together, they never got to start their family. Taehyung was never able to adopt and call a child his own and watch them grow up. Jimin doesn’t think he can bear to do all those things with him only to have it snatched up out of his hands. So, he always tells Taehyung no. Insists that he doesn’t want children under any circumstances. He knows it breaks Taehyung’s heart.

“Taehyung, no. I don’t want kids.”

“Fine,” Taehyung replies curtly.

He turns away from Jimin, facing the window and gazing outside. Jimin can tell he’s angry by the way his shoulders tense up and he refuses to speak for the remainder of the ride. Taehyung doesn’t get angry with him often, but whenever it happens, it feels like the end of the world. It’s the equivalent to kicking a puppy after it’s already fallen down.

Still, he can’t. Jimin can’t bring himself to add on to his list of things to miss.

2,094

“No way,” Taehyung shakes his head, “I don’t believe in you for a second.”

Jimin laughs, the sound rumbling up from his stomach. He taps his set of gold playing cards against the hardwood table and then riffle shuffles them, a perfectly fanning arch.

They’re seated at a table surrounded by other street vendors and merchants. The distinct smell of okonomiyaki radiates from the table nearby while a small Japanese man yells across the way about his fifty-percent off deal. It’s hot and humid outside this time of year in Tokyo, the winds picking up at an unpredictable pace and then dying out in the next second. Jimin’s booth is the smallest one there, an open entry under his tent with a table and two chairs as the only decoration.

It’s not the most lavish setup compared to the intricate work put into the tapestry booth next to him, but it does the job Jimin is looking for. Taehyung meanders about the fair for a long time before he finally makes his way over to Jimin’s booth out of sheer curiosity.

“Okay, I lied.” Taehyung bites his lower lip. “This stuff is, like, kinda cool. Can you tell me anything about myself? If you’re fake, I want a refund.”

Jimin quirks his eyebrow. “That seems a little unfair. You’ll get a consultation either way.”

“Yeah, but, what if you tell me something completely ridiculous.”

“Touché.” Jimin fans the cards out on the table, a quick and easy display of them facedown. He hovers his hand over the deck before picking one up, the ace of spades.

The card itself is irrelevant, but it gives Jimin an excuse to channel some bogus spiritual energy. This is the first time he’s been able to so openly speak to Taehyung about his life without technically freaking him out.

“I know that your name is Kim Taehyung, you’re a college student right now. Studying… business? International relations, specifically.”

Taehyung whistles and nods slowly. “Okay, pretty cool. Not too difficult to find that out, though. Tell me more.”

Jimin almost laughs at how cutely Taehyung leans into the magic of it all. He’s acting indifferent but his foot keeps tapping underneath the table and his eyes are glued to the place where Jimin’s hand hovers over the deck. Taehyung’s always been a fan of the mysterious and possibly fictional.

“You’re not from here. Japan, that is. You’re an exchange student from Korea,” Jimin switches fluidly into Korean, “You have a very loving family, mom and dad, and a dog back at home in Daegu.”

“Whoa.” Taehyung’s eyes widen comically. “Okay, what the heck?”

“You really like this type of strange occult stuff, but you aren’t sure if you actually believe in it. Your favorite color is black, but you also like white and green. You don’t snore in your sleep, but you’re very clingy. Massive cuddler. If you could have five kids, that would be ideal, but you can settle for three if you’re too busy. Your blood type is AB, always. When you were younger, your dad convinced you to learn the saxophone, and you loved it. You absolutely hate bees and cotton balls, the texture drives you crazy. You tend to bottle your emotions up instead of displaying them to others. Sometimes, you get very quiet and hold everything inside. Even though you’re childish and silly, your concerns are very adult. You make a lot of people happy and you surround yourself with good friends. You have a lot of maturing to do, but you’ll get there. Also, you bite your nails and would give anything to be Kanye West for a day. But only one day because you don’t trust him anymore.”

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair, leaning back so far it tilts and he has to grasp for a hold on the table. He manages to knock half the cards off the table and onto the grass in his panic. Jimin looks down and frowns at his deck.

“Aw, look, you broke the connection.” Jimin teases. “I can’t tell you much more.”

“That was amazing ,” Taehyung almost screams. “Holy shit, dude. I mean, oh my gosh. That was so cool. How did you do that? How did you even know half those things?”

“Well, you see.” Jimin leans in close and Taehyung follows the motion. His lips are just a few centimeters away from Taehyung’s ear, his breath fanning against the lobe. “It’s magic .”

“Holy shit,” Taehyung gasps. “I think I’m in love. This is amazing.”

“With me or the magic tricks?”

“Both.” Taehyung hastily bends over to pick up the cards he knocked to the floor, “Can you read more people because there’s this guy I’m friends with—no, really, we’re more like acquaintances? Sort of friends? He’s so mysterious, though. I kinda think he might be a robot?”

“Min Yoongi?” Jimin props his chin up with his hand.

“How did you—Oh, wait, the reading. Yeah, the guy is… too cool. Nobody can be that cool all the time, right?”

“Definitely not a robot, just a little introverted. And difficult at expressing himself sometimes.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Taehyung haphazardly shoves all the cards together and hands them back to Jimin.

“Do you wanna get lunch? That okonomiyaki smells divine and I am quite frankly terrible with Japanese sometimes,” Jimin offers.

“That sounds awesome.” Taehyung grins. “I’ll pay.”

“Jimin, look how cute this is,” Taehyung coos.

Jimin makes his way across the furniture store to the small crib Taehyung is fawning over. They’re shopping for their new house, a moderately sized one that’s just halfway between both their jobs. Taehyung insisted on the compromise, even though Jimin thinks the house closer to Taehyung’s school is a better option.

The move is in a few days, most of their belongings already packed up in boxes. Although, they both sadly agree the ratty couch they’ve had since they started college really needs a replacement. (“I’m gonna miss this old champion. Many great blowjobs happened on him.” Taehyung fakes a sniffle). Plus, neither of them have slept in individual beds for the past few years.

“Aw, it’s cute.” Jimin smiles fondly, placing a hand on Taehyung’s hip.

“Kids are so cute, Jiminnie. Babies even more.” Taehyung huffs.

Jimin follows him as he peeks through the various furnishings for kids bedrooms, making superficial comments on the shapes and colors. They peruse every aisle with care and Jimin is content despite the fact he’s been hungry for the past hour. Taehyung tears up over the smallest things like the mobile that’s decorated with zoo animals and the little blankets. By the time they reach the end of the aisle, his eyes are rimmed red and he’s sniffling despite himself.

“We need a new couch,” Taehyung proclaims.

“I liked that first one we looked at,” Jimin offers. “It’s a good price, too.”

“Yeah, I agree. Furniture shopping is so exhausting. I don’t even know the difference between these table styles and decor.”

“To be fair, Hoseok did offer to help us decorate.”

“I know, but it’s our house. I wanna do it ourselves.” Taehyung pouts.

Jimin giggles in response and looks around to make sure nobody is looking when he presses a kiss to the corner of Taehyung’s lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll get someone to help us pick the stuff out and get it to the car.”

The sun is setting in the sky by the time they have all their furniture packed up and they’ve arranged with the movers on when and where to get it. Jimin’s eyes are droopy and his stomach growls along with the roar of the car engine. Taehyung makes a valiant effort to keep conversation going, cracking jokes that he knows will make Jimin laugh enough to stay awake until they’re back home.

“Babe.” Taehyung reaches over the console and laces his fingers with Jimin’s free hand. “Do you think, um—Well.”

Jimin glances at Taehyung through his periphery. He’s fumbling with the hem of his shirt, licking his lips in that nervous habit of his. Jimin is immediately worried. “Yes?”

“I don’t want to, uh, scare you or anything. But do you think… we’d be able to adopt someday? Like, start a family and all that. I’ve always wanted kids.” Taehyung flushes high in his cheekbones.

Jimin can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Tae, I’ve known that since we were twelve. You became a schoolteacher because you love kids so much.”

“I know, but it’s different when it’s an actual thing to consider!” Taehyung argues.

They pull up into the driveway, their house the only one not yet lit up for the night. The automatic lights flash on as soon as the car is parked and Jimin turns off the ignition. He turns in his seat, bringing his hand up to caress Taehyung's face.

“Tae, babe, love… There is literally nothing I want more in this world than to be with you forever.”

“And always?” Taehyung smiles bashfully, kissing the palm of Jimin’s hand.

“Always.”

20,958

Jimin feels weird and airy. There’s a strange lightness to his being, like he’s a cloud floating through space, and yet his head weighs a thousand pounds. It sits heavy on his shoulders, almost convincing him to lie down to relieve some of that weight.

He’s only been high a handful of times in the twenty thousand some odd timelines he’s been living. It isn’t his style to drown himself and his perception for the sake of making the constant trips back and forth easier. Sometimes, however, when he trips into a timeline where Taehyung is seemingly with someone else—well, a hit or two won’t kill him.

There’s a lot of smoke in the air, the lounge permeated with the sweet mixtures of fruits and flowers. Hoseok recommended this place off-hand a few times, so Jimin tracks it down after a disastrous scene at the park. (Taehyung’s attention all directed at someone else. His low whispers, hearty laugh, his boxy smile, his hands everywhere—Jimin thinks maybe it’s for the best. Maybe Taehyung will survive if they never get together).

Jimin curls up closer into the sofa, taking another long drag. The smoke around him almost seems to wisp into a human shape, hovering in front of him like some ominous warning. He frequently feels like he’s losing his mind, that maybe this is all just some bad dream that he’ll finally wake up from. Maybe he’s the one in a coma and this is just the start of a tragic romance film. Except, he never stops waking up. A thousand times he’s woken up and found himself somewhere completely new.

“Hey,” Jimin mumbles to the smoke. “Maybe if I leave Tae alone, he’ll survive. I can end this hellish nightmare.”

There’s no response, obviously, he’s not thinking straight.

“I know it won’t work. I tried it before. He always somehow finds a way to meet me and be with me. This is some fucking shitty version of soulmates if you ask me.” Jimin laughs dryly. “Can’t you just let me go. I never die first, can’t I just die? Huh?”

He lets the smoke curl through his lungs before he breathes it out through his nose. It hangs in the air again, and now he’s almost certain he might be hallucinating.

“I don’t think I can die. Not naturally, at least. I think I have to kill myself,” Jimin mumbles. “I just want to be happy . Is that too much to ask for? I was happier in my first life, even if Taehyung died, I was so happy. Now, I can’t even remember how long I’ve been alive. I can’t remember some things about Taehyung from the first time because it’s all so jumbled up in my head. Can’t I just stop?”

Jimin stays curled up on the couch, lazily smoking and mumbling to himself until the store is near closing. A man in a suit walks up to him and asks if he’s doing okay, an undertone of concern for his wellbeing. Jimin supposes he seems like a total newcomer, reacting like a child to one smoke. It isn’t until Jimin is walking out the door that the smoke he exhaled finally dissipates, an almost strange wave of the hand as it departs.

Jimin hums under his breath, glancing at the clock and frowning at the time.

It’s been at least two hours since Taehyung said he’d be home, and he isn’t quite sure where the other man has run off to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Taehyung shows up with a new puppy and back massager with how easily his boyfriend gets sidetracked. Still, it’s unusual for him to not even make one call to let Jimin know he’s well.

Outside, the weather is muddled and rainy. The monsoon season sweeps in with torrential showers and cloudy skies. They’ve been living in their small house for years now, their routine adapted to the weather and maneuvering thereof. Most of their time is spent indoors or at work, unable to travel much. Jimin typically works on his own hours aside from the few days where he volunteers at the hospital’s group physical therapy sessions. Taehyung, on the other hand, works early in the mornings at the kindergarten and stays for the afterschool program.

Still, it’s late. Too late.

His cellphone rings on the nightstand next to where he’s perched with a book (a romance novel that Taehyung insists is the epitome of love and tragedy combined). They always recommend books back and forth, but Jimin finds Taehyung’s taste to be very vanilla in comparison to himself. Their bookshelf is ninety-percent lined full of romance novels by varying authors, sometimes in different languages.

Jimin glances at the caller id, the hospital's main number flashing across the screen. He briefly wonders why they’d call him on that line when they typically contact him about consultations through their business line.

“This is Park Jimin,” he answers, dog-earring one of his pages. “Can I help you?”

“Jimin.”

“Oh, hi, Sohye.” Jimin smiles at the receiver, “How are you doing? Long night at the hospital?”

“Yes, but—” She seems to pause and swallow, as if she’s hesitant to voice her concerns.

“Is something wrong? Is it one of my patients?” Jimin curls forward a bit. “I know Mitsuru has been struggling lately with her sessions.”

“No, Jimin—I really don’t know how to say this.”

“Sohye,” Jimin softly consoles her. “I’ve been working in the medical field for years now. I promise, I’ve had my fair share of miseries. It’s okay to tell me it straight up, I can take it. Did… did someone die?”

“It’s Taehyung, Jimin. It’s Taehyung.”

“What?”

The only thing Jimin doesn’t remember from his first life is how he made it from his bedroom to the hospital. It’s a terribly fragmented piece of his memory, similar to all the other shards that seem to press their jagged edges together in his long history. He drops his phone, Sohye’s concerned voice still filtering from the speaker. At some point he grabs a jacket out of his closet and only manages to put one correct shoe on while the other foot remains clad in bright yellow socks. The intern in the waiting room says he was crying from the minute he stepped in, but Jimin doesn’t remember any of it. He slips on his one sock in his scramble to the emergency room, accidentally knocking into a nurse who is immediately concerned with where he’s heading.

Most of the people recognize him and assume he’s here to pick up files or see a patient, but his haggard state doesn’t get him all the way to Taehyung’s room before he’s stopped by a doctor.

“Jimin. You can’t go in there, Jimin.”

“Let me go.” His voice sounds cracked and hoarse. “I work here, let me go .”

“Not right now, Jimin. You need to stay outside or in the waiting room.”

“But—”

Jimin doesn’t finish his sentence as a choked sob crawls its way up his trachea. He collapses there, in the hallway a few rooms down from where they’re keeping Taehyung. He cries for what feels like hours, a dull pounding overtaking most of his thinking and vision. Sohye joins him at some point and sits down to rub circles in his back and bring him snacks from the vending machine he frequents on his lunch breaks there. They remain untouched for the most part, lying at his feet while he curls in on himself, tremors wracking his frail frame.

Eventually, the crying stops. He’s left a curled up, trembling mess until a doctor approaches him cautiously, almost scared if he speaks too loud, it might break Jimin.

“Mr. Park,” the doctor mumbles. “I need to give you an update.”

Jimin simply nods his head, running a sleeve of his jacket haphazardly across his tear-stained face. The doctor crouches a bit to be at Jimin’s level which he’s grateful for because he doesn’t think he can manage to move at the moment.

“Mr. Kim Taehyung is in critical condition. We narrowly avoided having to do emergency operations last night, but we must proceed with surgery immediately or he’s going to die.” The doctor pauses, as if he’s waiting for Jimin to reply, but realizes he’s not getting much out of the other. “It’s monsoon season, Mr. Park. He lost control of his vehicle near a cliffside and rolled off the edge. The rain, it—it’s not uncommon for this to occur. His injuries aren’t very good though because of his already weak lungs, we have to operate to keep them from seizing up and closing on him. I need your approval.”

“Yeah,” Jimin mumbles weakly, curling up against the wall again, “yeah.”

462

“Okay, but if you ask him to the dance, you’re totally screwed.” Hoseok points out.

“I’m already screwed. I’m in love, hyung, madly in love.”

They’re sprawled on the floor of Hoseok’s bedroom, the broken fan clanking loudly above them. In almost every iteration of his life, Jimin gets along best with Hoseok. He seems to have a certain calmness about him that just soothes Jimin’s nerves. Especially at times like these, when he has to contemplate how to court Taehyung all over again. They gather together on the floor, shirts riding up to relieve some of the heat of the weather.

“Is it because he poured his chocolate milk down your shirt when you first met?” Hoseok quirks a brow.

“No. It’s the fact he wants to be a teacher and live with thirteen dogs.”

“I thought he said he wanted to be an author.”

“Wait.” Jimin wracks his brain to remember what is going on in this timeline. Part of him distinctly remembers Taehyung saying a teacher this time, but he takes Hoseok’s word. “You’re right. I’m just blinded by love.”

“God, gross.” Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you’re gonna ask him. At this point, you have to.”

“Only if you ask Yoongi,” Jimin retorts with a grin.

Hoseok seems taken aback, a hand pressed to his chest in shock. “Wait, who told you—”

“It’s literally so obvious, hyung. Your tongue is like already halfway down his throat when the guy tells someone to fuck off. You sadist.”

“I certainly wish my tongue was down his throat.”

“Okay, ew. I hate myself for creating that image. Cancel it. Forget it.”

“I wish I could,” Hoseok sighs.

Jimin groans and rolls over to punch his hyung in the leg, turning their calm evening into a playful wrestling match where Hoseok ends up sitting on Jimin’s back and tickling him into submission. After a glass of lemonade from Hoseok’s mom, they decide that they’ll both get their shit together and ask their respective love interests to the high school dance.

Taehyung is seated in his usual spot by the auditorium entrance, perched on one of the alcoves on the side of the building. He has a thick book open in his lap, his fingers following along with the words mumbled under his breath. Jimin slides up casually, taking a quick glance at the name before recognizing it.

“Oscar Wilde? Very controversial of you.” Jimin smiles sweetly.

Taehyung barely startles for being caught off-guard, instead he just keeps one hand on his page and blinks. It’s his signature blank stare, the one that causes people to worry for him, but Jimin has long since realized it’s just his neutral state.

“It’s just for my western literature class,” Taehyung muses. “I’m a little confused by all the semantics and idioms. I think they’d make more sense in English than Korean.”

“Most of them do. The biggest subverted subject is how homosexuality is present throughout.”

“I can at least catch on to that.” Taehyung grins. “How are you?”

“Good. I hung out with Hoseok all day yesterday, so I really need a break from the guy.”

“Are you guys close?”

“Yeah, I guess. We’ve been friends for a while now, plus we get along really well.”

“I see.” Taehyung pouts.

“Are you jealous?” Jimin grins.

“A little,” Taehyung admits. “You’re like the nicest guy in this school. Everyone wants to be your friend.”

“Are you kidding? You’re like literally everyone’s best friend around here. There isn’t a single person you haven’t made friendly with.”

“I guess. I don’t really have a ton of super close friends, though. Your group is always so tight knit.” Taehyung’s brow furrows and he shakes head. “Anyway, it’s no big deal. Did you need something?”

“Oh, actually, yeah.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow and Jimin swallows the tiny butterflies in his stomach. It’s astounding how after the hundreds of confessions he’s made, he still gets a little nervous each time, as if Taehyung could possibly say no this time. There’s still so much Jimin doesn’t understand about these time relapses.

“Do you wanna go to the dance with me?” Jimin asks in one rushed breath.

“Like, to hang?” Taehyung tilts his head at the implication.

“No. Like as my date. I’ll pay for dinner beforehand.”

“Your date? Huh.” Taehyung leans back against the wall, his head knocking lightly against the stone. “Okay, yeah.”

“Really? You sure?”

“Are you cool with kissing on the first date? Cause I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Absolutely. In fact, I’m cool with kissing right now.” Jimin leans against the alcove, propping his arms atop Taehyung’s thigh.

“That,” Taehyung leans over, “Sounds like a plan.”

Jimin doesn’t move, eat, or sleep for approximately two weeks. He’s holed up in their—his—bedroom, curled up in the sheets. Every attempt his family makes at contacting him fall through, their calls ringing loudly throughout the room until his phone finally dies. He’s almost certain he smells terrible from neglecting to shower and his stomach rumbles angrily every day. The most he can manage to shove into his mouth is a few bites of toast and some cereal in the mornings.

Eventually, he stops crying and just grows numb, the dull aching in his body overtaking the sobs that wracked his frame for the first three nights. He can only vaguely recall how he got from the hospital to their home.

There were so many sorrys and “We tried our best” and excuses. Jimin for the most part sat by Taehyung’s bedside, holding onto his hand as if it was the most important job in the entire world. Some of his patients came to visit, attempting to console him through the grief, but Jimin spoke to no one. When Taehyung’s parents finally arrived, Jimin stuck to a corner of the room while they were present. It must’ve been obvious to them that he didn’t want to talk, because they avoided him like the plague except when they first arrived and Taehyung’s mother put a hand on his shoulder.

He remembers the stench of antiseptic being stronger than ever even though he’s been surrounded by it for the greater part of his life. The ugly, murky wallpaper that lines the waiting room seems duller than ever, and not even Sohye’s morning greetings can bring a cheer to his misery.

There’s some optimism at first, after his initial shock and panic. He eats and sleeps well enough to see through most of the early operations Taehyung has to endure. After a while, though, the operations stop and his boyfriend is left lying on the white bedsheets with an EKG beeping softly in the background. The doctors say he’s in a coma for now and they’re unable to discern whether or not he’s going to survive or wake up.

Eventually, it becomes a blur of beeping, syringes, flatlines, and hands tugging at him to leave the room. He nearly knocks the glass out of the window in his struggle and panic to get to Taehyung. It isn’t until the nurse threatens to sedate him that Jimin relaxes, panicked at the thought of being unable to see through whatever is happening to Taehyung.

They tell him his heart crashed, his lungs weren’t holding up, there was some sort of oversight, blood pressure kept dropping during the night, surgery was not an option anymore, no medicine exists to save him, there’s nothing that could’ve been done, they tried their best—”I’m sorry, Jimin. He’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

Eventually, he has to suck it up.

Taehyung’s family along with his own come knocking at his door nearly three weeks later. Jimin knows it’s them because his mother’s loud voice carries all the way into the bedroom. Although her words are muffled, Jimin can vaguely make out that she needs him to toughen up. That Taehyung would want him to live his life happily and not desperately.

Jimin contemplates not getting up, just letting them stay outside forever trying to convince a guy who has nothing left to keep on going. Something tells him to get up, though. So, he does. He trudges across the hallway, down to the front door. His feet feel like lead and he’s sure that he looks worse than he ever has in his entire life. The lack of nutrition makes his vision blurry and dizzy, so he holds on to the railings closely.

When he opens the door, his mother makes a startled sound that’s muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Jiminnie.”

They don’t crowd him, which he’s grateful for, but they take turns embracing him, patting his back. His mother turns away and Jimin’s sure she’s crying. He can only imagine how it must feel to lose someone who she considered a second son and then finding her son in such a destroyed state. When Jimin finally looks at Mrs. Kim, the proud rise of her shoulders and the pinch of her lips, he sees that she’s truly brave. There’s no malice in her eyes, no contempt for the world and all its bearings. She’s miserable, of course, but she’s enduring. For something that Jimin cannot understand, Taehyung’s mother presents herself as strongly as she can. Finally, Jimin cries again.

He cries harder when Mrs. Kim hugs him, her small frame shaking a little from the force of Jimin’s sobs. Everything comes pouring out in streams of hiccups and coughs as he stands in the doorway with his families and no Taehyung.

After that, he gets it together. The funeral is long and morbid. It’s an open casket, much to Jimin’s chagrin, but he acquiesces because it’s Mrs. Kim’s wish to be able to see her son one last time. Jimin owes her this much.

When it’s his turn to rise and present a flower for the casket, there’s an audible hush that sweeps over the room. Jimin can feel every eye on him, tracking his moves as if they’re all worried he’s going to collapses right there. When he sees Taehyung—amazing, beautiful, peaceful, funny, gorgeous, perfect Taehyung—the tears don’t fall. He places a red carnation across Taehyung’s breast, his fingers lingering for a moment to sweep a strand of hair to the side. The undertaker did an excellent job in presenting Taehyung just as he looked in the prime of his life, just a few fleeting moments of the same morning he died. Jimin can almost hear his laughter and excitement over their plans for the weekend.

He sits himself back down, and the funeral ends just as slowly and dreary as it started. Most of their friends stop by to check up on Jimin. They’re similarly disheveled, Hoseok looks as though he was crying during the entire procession. Namjoon offers a silent pat on the back while Jin ruffles Jimin’s hair affectionately. They all promise to contact him soon and see if they can be of any help. Jeongguk lingers a bit, the red rims of his eyes betraying his relaxing composure.

“This sucks,” Jeongguk finally says. “I miss him.”

Jimin nods slowly. “Yeah, me too. I’m really gonna miss him, Jeonggukkie.”

“He was like. My best friend, or something.” Jeongguk shakes his head. “He was all our friend. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Me neither.” Jimin slouches in the pew and lays his head back on the wood.

“Hyung.” Jeongguk bites his lower lip. “It’s okay to be sad, um, we’re all here for you. I’m here for you. I’m not very good with words, but I can tell you’re still upset. We need you, you know that right? You can’t do anything rash.”

“I know, Jeongguk,” Jimin promises. “I won’t do anything. I think I just need some time. Alone. Thank you, though. I’ll be okay. Eventually.”

39,999

“Taehyung, please,” Jimin mumbles. “It’s okay.”

Taehyung cries again. The tears well up in his eyes, but he holds back the sob, a scratchy cough coming out of his mouth instead. His hair is sticking up in every direction, Jimin thinks he looks disheveled, but still beautiful.

“Jimin, please, no. You can’t die on me. Jiminnie. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Jimin almost wants to laugh at the irony (maybe if his lungs weren’t partially collapsed at the moment). There’s something pitiful about the fact he feels at peace with his own death, at Taehyung crying down over him. It hurts, to see his boyfriend so devastated and broken, but part of Jimin is relieved. It feels like the weight of a thousand lifetimes are finally being lifted off his shoulders.

In all his lifetimes thus far he’s never gotten a chance to die before Taehyung. He’s contemplated it, tried to get himself run over or shot, but he always miraculously makes it out alive. He thinks this is finally where it all ends. Maybe they’ll meet in the afterlife, if Jimin even deserves to go there after all his tampering with time. He thinks there must be some place for people like him out there. He doesn’t know which Taehyung—if there even is one singular Taehyung anymore—he’ll meet, but he doesn’t care.

“Tae, no…” Jimin struggles to get the words out. “It’s okay, really. I’m happy. I’ve gotten to spend my entire life with you.”

“No, Jimin,” Taehyung argues. “We still have so much to live through together. Who is going to be there for me? Who’s going to tell me not to pet every dog I see? Who’s going to keep my white t-shirts from turning bright pink? Who will make evening tea? Who will stop me from cutting all my shirts apart? And watching romcoms at three in the morning? Who is going to love me, Jimin? It has to be you. It has to.”

Jimin’s heart pounds along with every sore spot in his body. He’s felt every single one of these emotions so many times over. The desperation, the pleading, the bargaining; he’s thought of so many ways he can tell Taehyung he needs him, so many things to try and change fate. He doesn’t know why now, but he’s content. He feels like he’s tried his best.

“Tae, I love you… so much. I k-know how you feel, but it’s okay. I’m really ready.” Jimin manages a weak, but true smile.

“No, you’re not. You can’t be, Jimin, you’re barely twenty-six,” Taehyung sobs out.

Jimin reaches a tired hand up to Taehyung’s face, his figure looming over the hospital bed. His boyfriend looks exhausted, the tired sag of his shoulders complementing the dark shadows under his eyes. His voice sounds hoarse, as if he’s been doing nothing but sitting at the bedside, refusing all food and drink. Jimin wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. He was the same the first time.

He runs his thumb along Taehyung’s eyes, wiping away the tears that don’t stop pouring out. Taehyung leans into the touch, bringing his hand up to press against Jimin’s own. He doesn’t realize how cold he is until warmth radiates off Taehyung’s touch and down his arm.

“I’ve lived,” Jimin struggles. “I’ve lived… a thousand lifetimes with you. Watched you die so many times.”

“What?” Taehyung sounds confused and desperate. “What are you talking about, Jiminnie?”

“I’ve loved you in every single one of those lifetimes. I would love you… for a thousand lifetimes more, Tae. I always ask you… if you believe in soulmates. You always say yes, but—” a cough wracks his frame, “But you were the one who asked me that the first time. We must be soulmates because… I can’t stop reliving everything with you… No matter how many times you die, I always come back—” the monitor starts to sound a bit erratic, “I always come back. I love you so much, Taehyung. Forever and always.”

“Jimin, you’re not making any sense, I don’t understand. Please.” Taehyung cries weakly, kissing the palm of Jimin’s hand.

“I keep… travelling dimensions. Or maybe it’s time. I keep repeating my life with you because you keep dying. You’ve died… so many times, Tae. I can’t even remember the number anymore. But this time—” there’s lots of rustling and shuffling outside, muffled voices, “This time, I can finally die. I can finally see you live.”

“No, Jimin, this doesn’t make any sense. Please, no, don’t die on me. You can do this.”

The doctor and nurses burst through the room, immediately crowding around Jimin and checking all his vitals. The EKG beeps loudly, the distance between each heartbeat getting longer and longer. Jimin can barely see through the haze that’s starting to cloud his vision. He vaguely feels Taehyung’s presence leaving, a jolt where their hands were connected. His hearing sounds like it’s underwater, the vague traces of voices coming at a garbled mess.

“I love you,” Jimin breathes out weakly, quietly. “I love you.”

And then, everything fades away. His senses seem to slowly fall apart around him, peacefully in succession, until he’s left with a dark nothingness. A blissful departure, like the exhale of smoke warping and morphing into the vague figure of a man. This must be rest.

40,000

Jimin wakes up.

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