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When Yoongi can’t sleep, he drives. His insomnia strikes and Yoongi ignites the engine and follows random streets until the sun peeks over the horizon. The city is always so calm in the early hours of the morning, roads devoid of pedestrians and vehicles alike. Yoongi is alone with his thoughts, and it’s just the way he likes it.
He never follows any particular route or pattern, taking random turns when he feels inclined to, sometimes just driving straight ahead for as long as physically possible. Often, he ends up in the next town over, stopping at one of the few establishments open at three o’clock in the morning for a terrible coffee he doesn’t need. There’s always excess coffee grind lying at the bottom of his takeaway cup; he grimaces in displeased surprise each and every time, dutifully swallowing the gritty substance nonetheless. He should expect it, but he still retains a small sense of optimism, in case maybe, just maybe, this time the barista has the sense to make his coffee properly.
Yoongi refuses to throw his empty cup out the window, though the roads he drives are all covered in litter. What’s one cup to a mountain of discarded bottles and wrappers? Still, he holds his moral ground and disposes of his rubbish in the back of his car. The old fabric of his rear seats covered with more litter than the highway, the light grey fabric stained by cups and bottles not quite empty.
There’s movement ahead on the highway. Most likely an animal of some description, taking advantage of the empty road in order to cross safely. Yoongi presses lightly on the brake pedal, enough to slow the car considerably, but enough to maintain a decent amount of speed. His car is older than he is, some basic model that’s seen better days. He’s not entirely sure that the body can survive a run in with whatever meandering creature lies ahead, and he really doesn’t have the money to pay for repairs.
He doesn’t have the money to pay for repairs, and he doesn’t really want to go to jail-- it’s not an animal that stumbles from the grass alongside the road, but a human. He looks young, judging by his clothes. Yoongi can’t see his face, but there’s no way anyone older than Yoongi wears jeans that tight.
The kid sticks his thumb out as Yoongi approaches, cocking his hip and waiting patiently. He’s unlike the other hitchhikers Yoongi has come across-- most of them keep walking as cars pass, hoping they’ll stop out of the goodness of their heart but never expecting them to. This kid just barrels out of grass taller than he is and basically demands that Yoongi pulls over.
Whatever, Yoongi supposes. There’s still a few hours before dawn and he has nothing better to do. The clock on his dashboard reads at 9:46 am, a mistake he’s never been bothered to fix. By his estimate, it should be just after two in the morning. He’s got another six hours before he needs to be at work, and dropping this strange kid off at his destination shouldn’t take that long.
He pulls up a few hundred meters away from the hitchhiker; he drives too fast to stop quickly and safely. Plus, it’s a little amusing to watch the kid half run, half waddle in the direction of Yoongi’s car.
“You’re a lifesaver,” the kid says, wrenching the door open a little too forcefully, before flopping into the passenger seat, “Honestly, thank you.”
“No problem,” Yoongi replies. He barely spares a glance in the kid’s direction. He flicks his indicators, purely habit by this point-- there’s no one else on the road to warn, no other car to accidentally run into whilst merging without indication, “Where are you headed?”
“Probably the same place you are,” he says. It’s so early but he doesn’t yawn and fidget like Yoongi does, seems far too awake and alert for the time of day, “I’ll direct you once we get into town.”
There’s nothing noteworthy along the stretch of road. An array of fields, some empty and some filled with the kind of grass that Yoongi’s mysterious passenger is still picking from his clothes. The mess would bother him if his car wasn't already filled with dirt and trash. What's a few leaves to months worth of old coffee cups?
“Whatcha doin’ all the way out here?” The passenger mumbles, extracting yet another blade of grass from his hair, “I've never seen cars around here before.”
“And I've never seen people.” Yoongi’s response is dry. His mouth quirks slightly and his eyebrow raises in question, but there's not enough light along the highway to catch the movement.
There's thinly veiled curiosity in both their statements. Yoongi makes no effort to answer, as his reasons are as strange as they are mundane. He can't sleep, therefore he drives for hours just to drink awful coffee. Yoongi has no answers for the questions that are sure to follow, so he stays silent.
“My name's Jimin,” a feeling settles in Yoongi’s chest, something like deja vu but not quite--- he already knows his passenger's name, like they've met before and all Yoongi needs is a reminder. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” Yoongi’s leg shakes, his vision blurs. Fatigue finally sets in, and he’s ready to sleep. He blinks, willing his eyes to stay open as the exhaustion hits.
“Yoongi’s a nice name,” Jimin muses, folding his arms behind his head and reclining in his seat, “I like it.”
“How did you know my name?” The road ahead twists. It’s not supposed to. Yoongi drives on a straight highway through empty fields, nothing should change, nothing can change, this isn’t supposed to happen---
“You look like a Yoongi.” Jimin’s voice is an echo. The world tilts and all Yoongi sees is asphalt and lights. White lines glow and move; painted markers that seem to follow behind the vehicle, engaged in a game of tag that Yoongi can’t remember starting.
The highway morphs into a tunnel, like the road has been pulled from its foundations in order to curl around them. There is no longer darkness but blinding light; Yoongi lifts a hand from the wheel to shield his eyes from the glare. He’s not in control of the car, hasn’t been for a while now. His foot slams on the breaks but it does nothing to stop the momentum, stop the lights, stop whatever it is that’s going on---
“Just here is fine,” Everything shatters. The light fractures and falls away, and Yoongi finds himself outside his old apartment building. He’s awake and almost certain that his strange experience wasn’t a dream. How could it be? If Yoongi slept, even for a moment, his car would have veered off the road and into one of the seemingly endless fields. He’s somehow maneuvered his way through the city and stopped along the sidewalk.
He doesn’t remember a thing.
“I used to live here.” His voice is hoarse, throat dry. The sun begins to rise. There should still be a few hours before dawn, but the clock on his dash reads 13:48. He has thirty minutes before his shift starts.
“Is that so?” Jimin hums. Again, he pulls at the door handle with more force than entirely necessary. “What a coincidence.”
He smiles like it’s not.
“See ya around, kid.” Yoongi replies as Jimin steps from the car and onto the pavement. He doesn’t know why he says it. He has no intention of seeing Jimin again, and no expectation of any future meetings.
“Of course you will.” Jimin is gone with a slam of the door.
Yoongi has no idea what happened.
------
“You look like death.” Namjoon is blunt, but it’s just how he shows his concern. Or something. He hands Yoongi a cup of coffee, something sweet and sugary with an extra shot. Yoongi likes his coffee black, but the extra rush of all that sugar is definitely appreciated.
Namjoon makes roads, Yoongi stops the traffic as he does so. It’s not the best job in the world, but there’s always work to be done. Constant hours mean a constant paycheck and Yoongi can’t complain too much about it. Besides, it’s not like he’s done anything to better himself, find qualifications for a decent job.
He comes home smelling like tar and paint, boots encrusted with dried concrete. His skin burns redraw in the sun but this is life. At least for Yoongi.
Monotonous, repetitious. Spin sign to Stop. Spin sign to Go. Eat greasy food because he’s forgotten to pack his own. Stare at nothing for nine hours a day, moving on muscle memory alone.
Yoongi doesn’t think because there’s nothing to think about. There’s nothing interesting in his head, nor in his life. It’s a monotonous, a repetitive cycle of the barest form of existence.
Sometimes he craves a little adventure, now and again.
The emptiness in Yoongi’s head begins to form a picture, a whisper of a thought. Brought on so suddenly, it shocks him; his radio buzzes with disgruntled complaints. A car has almost driven through fresh asphalt, Yoongi’s minor distraction meaning he’s left his sign indicating Go for a moment too long.
He blinks, and the image in his head becomes clearer. Slowly, like the thought is loading in his head, Jimin’s smiling face appears. The shadows cast along sidewalks look like him, patterns in the asphalt suddenly appearing human. He swears that Jimin drives every car that passes him by.
Yoongi switches his sign to stop.
The thoughts of Jimin linger.
------
He drives at night but walks during the day. Yoongi can’t stand traffic, doesn’t enjoy sharing the road with others. His current work site is within walking distance to his apartment, something he’s immensely thankful for. He hates public transport, hates people, hates crowds and commotion and the feeling of uniformity that comes with the morning commute.
Sometimes, Yoongi wonders if there’s anything in life that he does like.
These are streets he’s walked countless times, but there’s an alleyway he’s never seemed to notice before. It looks like every other alley in the district, nestled between a bookstore and a cafe. It’s not particularly special, but Yoongi feels drawn to it nonetheless.
It would be an adventure to explore it, even if he only discovers piles of trash and rats, the lingering scent of stale coffee from the grinds that surely line the dumpsters within it.
He takes a cautious step, curious and a little frightened. He’s anticipating something bigger than just garbage and vermin, yet he does not know why.
His second step is as cautious as his first, but his feet sink into something less than solid. Recoiling in shock, Yoongi looks to the ground to see what mess he’s put his foot into-- it’s an orange liquid of some description; thick like paint and shifting slightly through hues of ochres and reds. It’s unusual, otherworldly.
Yoongi has the strangest urge to touch it.
The tip of his finger drags through the substance. He expects it to feel like slime, for it to adhere itself to his skin. But there is no residue, no sensation on his skin. He pushes this thing whatever it is, across the sole of his work boot, and it feels like he’s drawing patterns into thin air.
It crawls up his shin, towards his thigh. It coats his hands in orange and red but Yoongi feels nothing.
The colour swallows him whole.
There is no longer an alley, only shades of red that mix and swirl with the orange, creating new colours, new patterns. In that moment, Yoongi ceases to exist. He is one with the writhing mass of sentient colour and for once, he is content.
It reaches towards him, the darkest shades forming a hand-like shape that reaches for his own. He is safe, he will be guided---
“We meet again,” the colours seem to retract in on themselves, sucked away from Yoongi so suddenly, until the only red remaining is the shocking colour of Jimin’s hair. Funny. He doesn’t recall his hair being quite so bright. “I mean, you said we would, but I didn’t really believe you.”
“What was--” Yoongi tries to speak, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Another chance meeting with Jimin, another strange event that he just can’t explain.
“Do you think it's too early for us to be holding hands,” Jimin raises their linked fingers, bringing them into Yoongi’s line of sight. He’s still confused, disorientated. It must show on his face, “or is this okay?”
“What just happened?” Yoongi questions. He makes no attempt to withdraw his hand from Jimin’s, earning him a beautiful, bright, sunshine smile. Holding hands with Jimin feels safe. Yoongi hates strangers but he's somehow fond of Jimin. Just another one of those things he can't explain.
“You were just standing there, staring at your hand,” Jimin explains, tugging Yoongi from the alleyway, swinging their joined hands as they walk, “When I called your name you grabbed mine and started running.”
He glances briefly at their linked fingers, “and now you won't let go.”
“I've had a lot on my mind, recently.” It's not a reason, and Yoongi doesn't know why he says it. He's not exactly lying, yet not quite telling the truth. The only thing on his mind is Jimin, and he's not about to admit it out loud.
Jimin hums like he understands.
“Do you know why my hair is this colour?” He asks, completely out of the blue. He tugs at the bright red strands with his free hand.
“No?” It's a question. Jimin speaks like Yoongi is supposed to know the answer.
“It’s called vermillion,” he replies, like that answers everything, “but not one shade can be called vermillion, because it describes a wide range of oranges and reds.”
“Fascinating.” Yoongi deadpans. He was expecting an answer like because I like the colour! or even because it suits me!
He wasn't expecting a mini-lecture on colour theory. It's a hair colour. It can't possibly be that deep.
“Did you know, vermillion was originally made from the mineral called cinnabar?” Jimin continues happily, either unaware or uncaring of Yoongi’s disinterest.
“Nope.”
“Cinnabar is the ore that encapsulates mercury.” Jimin informs him. The streets they walk are uncharacteristically empty. Jimin’s hair is based on an encapsulating mineral, as everything about Jimin is encapsulated by the surreal. He's so strange. Yoongi is fascinated.
“Isn’t that poisonous?” Yoongi’s knowledge is more common than not, but he's heard of mercury poisoning and makes the connection.
“Yeah. Deadly. That's why I like it. It’s such a pretty colour, but it comes at such a high cost.” Jimin’s abstract reasoning makes absolutely no sense to Yoongi.
“Death.” He says. Yoongi feels prompted to reply, like he needs to finish Jimin’s sentences for him.
“Madness.” Jimin corrects him, “long exposure to mercury can drive a person insane.”
“I never knew that.” Yoongi mumbles awkwardly. There's so much about the world that he doesn't know, so much outside his personal bubble of experience.
“And now you do.” Jimin finishes with a proud grin, “you’ve learnt something today.”
“Brains and beauty.” Yoongi says with a small smile of his own, “Aren't you the whole package?”
“You think I'm pretty?” Jimin stops, pulls Yoongi close. They stand chest to chest, an unbearable amount of distance between them.
Normally, this is the part where Yoongi pushes people away, grumbles about personal space and moves on. With Jimin, he wants to pull him closer, feel his heartbeat and prove that he's human.
“No.” Yoongi breathes. He's awful with people but he can read the mood. It's not the time for loud voices or complex sentences.
“Liar.” Jimin’s reply comes as soft as Yoongi’s. Somehow, he knows that Jimin wants to kiss him. It’s hard to ignore how close Jimin’s lips are to Yoongi’s own. It’s hard to ignore just how much Yoongi wants to kiss him, too.
“C’mon, let’s get you home.” Jimin pulls away suddenly, like the tension was all the confirmation he needed regarding Yoongi’s attraction. It’s such a switch in mood that it leaves Yoongi’s mind reeling; it’s a sensation he’s starting to associate with Jimin, and it’s far less uncomfortable this time around.
Jimin shouldn't know where Yoongi lives but somehow does. Yoongi should feel surprised by this, but somehow doesn’t.
He’s left on the doorstep, alone and wanting. As Jimin blows him a kiss in farewell, Yoongi notices just how cold his hand feels, now that it’s empty.
------
The clock reads 01:13. Yoongi has been in bed for hours, but as per usual, sleep just doesn’t come. He’s prepared, however. Not bothering with pyjamas and attempting to rest in his street clothes. Yoongi is nothing if not lazy, there’s no point in special clothing for sleep if it’s just going to elude him, anyway.
He gathers his keys from the hook by his front door, takes the elevator to the basement of his apartment building. Floor B2, where his car is parked. Another night, another habitual drive to the next town for terrible coffee.
Sometimes he feels bad about his late night drives. The sound of the engine echoes in the basement and the roller doors squeak something awful as he activates their opening mechanism. Someone on the floors above could be a light sleeper, woken every night to the sounds of a rumbling motor and grinding metal.
He turns on the headlights and blasts the radio at full volume-- background noise, something to contrast against the echoing emptiness of his own head.
The streets aren’t as empty as they usually are at one in the morning. A lone figure sits on the sidewalk near Yoongi’s building, dressed in black with vermillion red hair.
“Why are you here?” Yoongi rolls down his window, calling out to Jimin over the sound of the radio, “It’s late.”
“Figured you might like some company.” If the sound of Yoongi leaving hasn’t woken anyone up, Jimin’s yelling surely has.
“Fine,” Yoongi relents. It’s not like he could deny Jimin of anything, anyway, “But I’m not doing anything interesting.”
“I think everything you do is interesting.” Jimin replies earnestly. His entrance into Yoongi’s car is as ungraceful as the first time around. He lounges casually in his seat, not even bothering to use the seatbelt.
Yoongi refuses to drive until he puts it on. Jimin seems blissfully unaware of Yoongi’s hesitance. They’re at a silent impasse that isn’t too silent at all, not with the way Jimin hums along to the song playing on the radio, eyes closed and smile wide.
“Aren’t we gonna drive?” He asks after a moment, opening one eye lazily to look at Yoongi, “Unless we’re in your car for some other reason.”
“Cars are for driving.” Yoongi says. He fiddles with his seatbelt, attempting to draw Jimin’s attention to it. Maybe he’s just forgotten, it is late after all.
“If you want me to wear a seatbelt, you can put it on for me.” Jimin still has one eye closed. He smiles sleepily at Yoongi.
“That requires effort.” He relents, however. Jimin has always been stubborn, and if he’s decided not to use his seatbelt, then he won’t. How Yoongi knows of Jimin’s headstrong tendencies is a mystery; it’s not like he’s displayed the qualities before. Yoongi is either assuming things or going mad.
Putting Jimin’s seatbelt on for him requires far too much effort, Yoongi was right. They’re close, too close; Yoongi decides to brace himself on Jimin’s leg rather than the seat beside it. Jimin traces curious fingertips along Yoongi’s jawline.
“You’re distracting me.” He says, trying to insert the buckle into the latch, but it just won’t hold, “Stop it.”
“Has anyone told you,” Jimin starts, voice entirely too loud for the small car and the even smaller distance between them, “that you’re cute when you’re mad?”
“No,” Yoongi shakes his head. Jimin’s fingers slide from his jaw line to his neck, pressing against Yoongi’s throat. He can probably feel the vibrations along the tips of his fingers as Yoongi speaks, feel the way his throat shifts as he swallows-- Jimin can definitely feel his heartbeat; a racing pulse to match racing thoughts. “Though I have a feeling you’re about to.”
“Nope!” Jimin laughs. He outright giggles, retracting his wandering hands and allowing Yoongi to finally buckle his seatbelt for him.
“You’re a brat.” Yoongi mumbles, returning to his seat and re-starting his car.
Jimin doesn’t reply, just hums quietly to the songs on the radio as Yoongi drives along the endless highway.
------
“So,” Yoongi feels the need to fill the silence, somehow. It’s still dark out, their journey bringing them to the halfway point between cities. “What do you do in your free time?”
Jimin turns up randomly, turns Yoongi’s world upside down and leaves. He knows nothing about him. He probably has a job, especially since he’s renting an apartment. His clothes aren’t too expensive, so his work isn’t anything impressive. Or so Yoongi theorises.
“I think about you.” It’s not the answer Yoongi is expecting. He can tell that Jimin is serious, can imagine him lying on his bed, just waiting for their next meeting. They haven’t exchanged phone numbers, and come to think of it, Yoongi hasn’t even seen Jimin using one at all. Everything about their relationship is sporadic and unplanned. It’s a miracle they’ve met as many times as they have. “You spend your free time the same way, so you can’t judge.”
“I…” Denial is on the tip of his tongue, excuses and reasoning running through his head. How does Jimin know?
“Don’t lie to me, Yoongi.” Jimin sounds tired. The late hour must be affecting him.
“I don’t even know you.” Yoongi picks an excuse from his head and uses it. He’s not exactly denying Jimin’s accusations, either. There’s an unfinished half of his sentence, one that asks Jimin why. They don’t know each other, not really. So why can’t Yoongi stop thinking about this strange hitchhiker and his red, red hair?
“You know me.” He’s hurt. Yoongi can’t read people but he can read Jimin; he sits up in his chair and looks at Yoongi with a curious expression, “When you picked me up, we drove around for hours. I told you things I have never told anyone else. If anything, Yoongi, you’re the person who knows me best.”
“I don’t remember.” Yoongi’s memory of their first encounter is nothing but lights, lines and tunnels. Every moment was so vivid, but the only conversation he can remember is their first, awkward and introductory one.
“How could you forget something like that?” Jimin slumps back into his seat, defeated.
“I don’t know.”
With Yoongi’s answer comes silence. They’ve turned down the radio to talk, and the car is filled with what little noise Yoongi’s car makes as it drives along the asphalt.
“Why do strange things happen when you’re around?” Yoongi speaks quietly, but his voice is still loud enough for Jimin to hear. “The tunnel, the colours, why do things like that only happen when you’re around?”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Jimin says slowly, “that it’s you that’s strange?”
“Not at all.” Yoongi is boring and ordinary. He’s not strange, and nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to him, not until Jimin decided he needed a lift.
“Hey, Yoongi?” Somehow, without Yoongi noticing, Jimin’s unbuckled his seatbelt. Red fills his peripheral vision as Jimin rests his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, whispering into the side of his neck. “It’s time to wake up.”
Jimin kisses him on the cheek at the exact moment another car swerves into their lane. It’s oddly ironic that the first vehicle Yoongi ever sees on the highway is the one he gets into an accident with.
Headlights shine into his eyes and the world turns white.
Yoongi braces for impact, hands flying from the wheel to shield his face.
It doesn’t come.
Yoongi bolts upright in bed, struggling to breathe through the panic, his hands raised in front of his face. He’s alone and it’s dawn. By the looks of it, he never even left the house.
-------
“That is not sunburn.” Yoongi deadpans, watching as Namjoon applies liberal amounts of aloe gel to his forearms. The skin falls away as he rubs; it’s absolutely disgusting and Yoongi feels nauseated just watching it. He’s never seen sunburn like it. They’re more like second-degree burns than anything else, wound caused by direct contact with flames or boiling water, not standing in the sun.
Yoongi burns easier than Namjoon, yet his skin is perfectly burn free. Not even a tan. It hasn’t been hot enough to contract the kind of red, peeling skin that Namjoon has.
The site manager sends him to the hospital almost immediately upon seeing the wounds.
He doesn’t come back, and no one seems to remember him when asked. It’s all very odd. Namjoon’s worked with the company for as long as Yoongi has, he’s hard to forget. But on the other hand, his replacement, some kid named Taehyung, apparently joined their team at the same time as Yoongi. He’s never seen him before in his life. It’s all so strange.
Namjoon’s burns and subsequent disappearance aren’t the only odd things that happen; sometimes time slows to the point of a crawl-- it’s like a scene from a movie--- everything stops, except for Yoongi.
Sometimes it’s the opposite, where Yoongi starts his shift and after blinking he finds himself seated in his car at three am, singing along to awful songs on the radio with Jimin as they drive to the next town for coffee.
It’s become somewhat of a tradition. Yoongi leaves his apartment building and Jimin sits on the sidewalk, waiting for him.
Jimin is everywhere.
He waits patiently for Yoongi to change his sign from stop to go, before driving through the roadworks and out of sight. He walks past the site on the opposite side of the road, waving cheerfully at Yoongi as he goes. He takes Taehyung’s place for a few shifts. No one seems to notice.
Jimin is everywhere. Yoongi can’t seem to breathe without him.
------
It’s been years since Yoongi last woke up spooning someone. His ex, someone he can barely remember. His arms tighten around someone’s waist, and Yoongi knows without question who it is.
“Why are you in my bed?” He asks, not caring if Jimin is awake or not. Begrudgingly, he admits to himself that he’s comfortable. It’s nice, just to hold someone like this.
“I was cold.” Jimin mumbles into the pillow. Evidently, Yoongi has woken him up.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Yoongi says. He could, potentially, kick Jimin out. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in what feels like forever, and Jimin’s presence is disrupting those last few, precious hours of rest time that he has. Either that, or it’s Jimin’s presence that’s causing his uninterrupted sleep. Either way, it’s the first night in a long time where Yoongi’s keys have remained on the hook beside the door, and he’d rather celebrate with a nap.
“Yes it does.” It doesn’t, but Yoongi lets it slide. Jimin pulls Yoongi’s arms around himself, wriggling back into the curve of Yoongi’s body.
It’s nice, domestic, comfortable. Yoongi presses lazy kisses into the skin of Jimin’s neck because it feels right to do so. He’s so tired he can barely think straight, thoughts filled with Jimin, sleep and nothing else.
“You can't stop thinking about me, can you?” Jimin asks, again. He has Yoongi in a vulnerable position, too lethargic and lazy to think of yet another excuse.
“No.” He doesn’t bother lying. “What are you?”
“What do you think I am?” Jimin laughs like his question is absurd. And maybe it is, but Jimin is soft, warm and in Yoongi’s arms. The conversation may be strange but the situation is right. This is it, this is how it’s supposed to be.
“You’re not human.” The odd things that happen when Jimin is around couldn’t be caused by a regular person, that much Yoongi knows for sure. Who, or what he is… Well, that’s just another question.
“If I’m not human, then neither are you.” Jimin wriggles in Yoongi’s hold, turning to face him. He presses their noses together, looping his arms around Yoongi’s neck.
I think you’re an Incubus.” Yoongi says. It’s not quite true, but from his limited knowledge and unwillingness to research, and Incubus seems like the only fitting creature.
“You have those kinds of thoughts about me?” Jimin smiles, pushing his thigh against Yoongi’s crotch lightly. It’s all very unexpected. Jimin is such a tease. “I’m flattered.”
Jimin flips them over, pushing Yoongi’s back into the mattress and coming to sit on his stomach. Honestly, it’s not where Yoongi wants Jimin’s ass, but it’ll do, for now. He runs his hands along Jimin’s thighs. Somehow, they’re both half-naked already; Yoongi doesn’t remember it, but he doesn’t remember much these days. It doesn’t bother him as much as it used to.
“Stop thinking,” Jimin flicks Yoongi’s forehead playfully,” I’m on top of you and you’ve still got the brainpower to think?”
Jimin sighs, pouting, “I must be losing my touch.”
“What are you?” Yoongi repeats, cutting him off before he can go any further.
“I’m Jimin.” He replies.
Yoongi answers him with a kiss.
It feels like it’s been a long time coming, or like it’s happened before. Everything about Jimin is familiar in ways that he shouldn’t be. Somehow, Yoongi knows exactly where to touch to make Jimin moan into his mouth. He knows which part of his neck is the most sensitive, and that he likes it when Yoongi sucks marks into the skin.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Jimin says. Yoongi feels like he’s dreaming or watching as past events replay. He can’t control his hands, and through blurred vision and haze he can almost see strings attached to his fingernails.
Jimin pulls at his hair, pulls the shirt from his chest. It’s obvious, completely clear, that Yoongi isn’t the one in control. It’s Jimin who directs the pace, pulls Yoongi’s hands to rest on his bare thighs and encourages him to squeeze.
Yoongi follows his lead, responds eagerly to his requests. He grabs Jimin’s hips as they rock together, naked and eager. He doesn’t remember pausing to remove his clothes, he hates that he’s already forgotten parts of this--- every moment spent with Jimin is precious; vermillion hues contrasting a dull life. He can’t forget, he needs to remember---
His arms lie motionless on the bed, pinned down by forces that Yoongi cannot see nor comprehend. Above him, Jimin stretches himself open, moaning into Yoongi’s chest as his fingers work and twist inside of him.
As Jimin sinks down onto him, Yoongi sees red, lamplight diffused by Jimin’s hair, falling across his eyes and obscuring his vision.
Everything is so familiar, like being with Jimin--- touching him, kissing him, feeling the way he comes apart on Yoongi’s cock-- it’s like it’s happened so many times before. But it can’t have, it’s impossible. Yoongi is equal parts overwhelmed by the boy on top of him and confused; it’s the best sex he’s ever had.
When Jimin comes it’s unexpected. He digs his nails into Yoongi’s shoulders, quiet pants becoming a crescendo of louder moans, warmth against Yoongi’s stomach.
The haze shifts and the sun rises.
Jimin is gone.
-------
“I want to show you something.” Jimin takes Yoongi by the hand, pulling him towards the staircase of his apartment building. He’s never been onto the roof, never had any need to. The way Jimin tugs him along with urgency makes Yoongi feel as if it’s the most important moment of his life.
He could be dreaming, he could be awake. There’s no way to tell nowadays, not with the way Jimin invades both his conscious and subconscious mind.
Jimin pushes through the door excitedly, dragging Yoongi towards the edge of the building. It’s dawn and the sun is rising.
“I see a lot of sunrises,” Yoongi says, completely unimpressed. He’s been awake for countless dawns, the magic of the rising sun now lost on him. This one is a little more red than usual, but apart from that it’s just normal. He was expecting something more from Jimin, something fantastic. Everything about Jimin is strange and wonderful, so his surprises should be, too, “what’s so special about this one?”
“Keep watching.” Jimin says, pushing him ever closer to the edge, “C’mon, it’ll start soon.”
Yoongi squints at the horizon. Honestly, apart from the small patch of red to his left, it’s the same sunrise he sees every other morning. “I don’t see it.”
“Then close your eyes.” Jimin winds his arms around Yoongi’s waist, holding him from behind and kissing along the back of his neck. “I promise, it’s something amazing.”
Yoongi closes his eyes, and the world burns. Every shade of vermillion; every orange and red he could ever imagine, pushing and burning behind his eyelids. It’s uncomfortable and overwhelming to the point of pain, he cries out in agony.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Jimin whispers in his ear, running his hands along Yoongi’s chest in an attempt to calm him. Try as he might, Yoongi isn’t able to open his eyes, as if they’ve been fused shut. “It will all be over, soon.”
Hands make contact with Yoongi’s back; he can’t see anything, but knows he’s falling from the roof, that Jimin has pushed him.
He’s going to die.
Yoongi braces for impact.
------
It’s just a normal day. Time goes as it should, Jimin is nowhere to be found.
Namjoon is back at his usual position like he hasn’t been gone for months, and no one seems to remember anyone by the name of Taehyung working with them at all.
Nothing is strange, everything is as it should be. Yoongi has become so used to the surreal that normality is now eerie; it feels wrong, fake. He feels like he’s on a TV set, that nothing he sees is truly real.
Yoongi goes through his days like a robot, or a puppet. When he has no urge to move, his limbs will move anyway-- his body on autopilot, going through the motions.
Some days, if he stares hard enough, he can almost see the strings controlling him.
Life without Jimin is dull. Yoongi doesn’t miss the weird phenomena surrounding him, but he does miss Jimin. If strange things and being pushed off buildings in his sleep is what he has to put up with to see him, then so be it.
“Hey, uh, Yoongi?” Namjoon jogs towards him looking a little concerned, “Your ah-- oh fuck, your head.”
“What’s wrong with my head?” Yoongi runs his hands through his bangs distractedly. His fingertips come back red, soaked in blood.
There’s immediate pain. His eyes burn, his body aches, his bones feel like they’re shattering beneath his skin. Yoongi screams, everything is so overwhelming, he never realised that one human body could endure such agony.
He falls to the ground.
The last thing he sees is red.
-------
It appears he fell from---
How did he survive this long without---
How did---
Muttered voices and bright lights, Yoongi is so confused. His head hurts, his eyes hurt, he can’t move at all.
“C’mon, Yoongi,” through everything, he can still hear Jimin’s voice. He tries to smile but he just can’t move. Finally, Jimin is back with him, finally, he can see him again---
“Yoongi, it’s time to wake up.”
------
Yoongi runs through a field. The grass around him is taller than he is, it catches on his hair and his clothes. He’ll be covered in little seeds, later, nursing scratches from where the blades strike against exposed skin. None of that matters. He’s in a hurry, has somewhere very important to be.
As expected, lights appear as he steps from the grass and onto the side of the road. Yoongi doesn’t know why he’s here, just knows he should be. He raises his thumb expectantly at the car that passes him, pausing and waiting for the driver to stop.
He pulls the door open with too much force, excitedly throwing himself onto the seat. As expected, there’s all sorts of plant life stuck in his hair. The driver who picked him up is messy, and he probably won't mind a few blades of grass pulled from orange hair and thrown onto piles of coffee cups.
“Where are you headed?” The driver asks. It’s dark out, Yoongi can’t really see his face too well. But he’s familiar, the entire situation is familiar. Their conversation is scripted, so Yoongi follows along in his head.
“Same place as you, probably.” Yoongi replies. It feels like deja vu, but it’s fresh and new at the same time. Yoongi has had this conversation before, but he remembers being the one asking all the questions instead of answering.
“My name is Yoongi, in case you were wondering.” He tells the driver, picking more grass from his hair.
“I wasn’t.” The driver shoots him a strange look. Light catches on his face, and Yoongi knows who he is.
“Jimin’s a nice name.” Yoongi says. Jimin looks downright shocked at his statement, pulling his eyes from the road and nearly swerving into the other lane in panic. It’s fine. No one ever drives along these roads at night. Jimin’s probably never seen another car, let alone another human at this time of night.
“How did you know my name?” Jimin asks after a moment of considerable silence.
“You look like a Jimin.” He remembers this part, remembers his lines in the script seemingly written in his head.
Yoongi smiles to himself.
The headlights reflect on the road markers as they drive along the endless highway.
------