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Home.
A place where one can feel safe, secure, and most of all they can be themselves without the fear of judgement, laughter and harassment for it. Everyone’s home is different, to one person their home may be a building in which familiar decorations, sounds and such like items that make them feel that welcomed comfort. That welcomed state of being that they would be able to relax within.
However, Jimin’s home was different.
His home was not four walls, not decorations that hung upon walls, decorated shelves or came in the form of a house or the dorm that lived in with his friends come family. No.
Jimin’s home was something entirely different; his home came within the form of a short, black-haired, grumpy (but really just a kind and soft) looking male. His welcoming arms, his soothing scent and calming, kind words – all of these things were Jimin’s home; no kind of building could ever replace that man. And his name?
Min Yoongi.
It was Winter in Seoul, a cold and harsh November evening when Jimin received a text message from Yoongi. Jimin wasn’t able to read it straight away, as he was within the bath; hoping that the warmth from the water, mixed with the soothing scent of one of Yoongi’s Galaxy bath bombs; would ease the feeling of anxiety, insecurity and pain that was creeping its way through his bones, his soul, his heart and his mind. He hoped that, the bath bombs that reminded him of his hyung, would sooth him just until Yoongi would get back from the studio. Having spent an hour within the tub already, the water now losing its colours and warmth, the pink-haired male finally moved himself from it; taking hold of a soft, black towel from the rack as he stepped out of the tub. Wrapping the garment around his hips, and taking a smaller one to dry his pink locks, he walked out of the bathroom and picked up his phone. Sitting upon the sofa, he swiped his screen to see a notification from Yoongi, the simple picture of the other causing him to smile a soft, subtle smile that would have gone amiss to anyone else. With a simple tap he opened the message; where upon his smile faltered and his eyes seemed to quiver slightly.
[Min Yoongi ❤️ 19:30]
I’m sorry Jiminie, but I wont be able to make it back to the dorm till at least around 3am.
I have to get this track finished.
See you soon.
The message was simple, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the elder to send him, in fact it would have seemed less normal to have received a message saying he would be back at the dorm before midnight. But to Jimin, his whole world stopped. He had to keep himself calm, as he had a tendency to overthink and over-analyse minor details, making them seem a lot bigger than they actually were. Taking in a deep breath, the idol shakes his head and taps out a reply to the elder male, making sure that it sounded fine.
That he sounded fine.
[Me 20:43]
Ah, it’s fine hyung. Don’t worry about it, your work is important after all.
Fighting hyung! I know you’ll finish the track, and it will be amazing!
See you soon.
Placing his phone down onto the side with the screen facing down as to disguise the light of incoming notifications, the idol ran his thin and delicate fingers through his damp pink locks, breathing out a breath he hadn’t realised that he was in fact holding. He was alone within the dorm that he shared along with the other six members of Bangtan Sonyeondan, the others having either dinners with friends, dates or schedules to be getting on with; he was alone with nothing else but his thoughts to occupy him. And what a bad idea that was. Not paying his mind any attention, the idol went about getting changed from being in just a fluffy black towel, to placing on an oversized black hoodie with black skinny jeans gripping his legs so tightly; pulling the oversized hood over his pink locks to almost conceal their bright, pastel colour from the darkness of his current attire. He moved so that he was led upon the sofa, staring at the wall before him, before he then attempted to place the television on to distract him from his mind. And it appeared that the strategy worked, for he had become engrossed within watching the episode of Hwarang that had aired that week, he originally watched to the show to support Taehyung but had gotten into it along the way. He watched as two episodes aired back to back, but sure enough, the programme soon came to an end and the television lost his interest. He simply stared at the screen, not taking in the pictures or people that were upon it, he could no longer hear them. All he could hear was his mind; screaming, shouting and calling to him, begging him to listen and to give into what it was saying.
“Jimin, you know Yoongi-hyung is just saying he wont be back until late, because he doesn’t want to be near you.”
“Yoongi-hyung hates you. Hates how you always annoy him by talking to him, constantly clinging onto him like he’s a stuffed toy – he hates you.”
“Everyone in the band hates you, because you’re chubby, you’re a pathetic, a useless dancer and singer.”
“It would be far better for you to leave, why do you even stay? No-one likes you, they all hate you.”
The idols mind tormented him constantly, always saying similar things to him, it never ended; it was just simply a case of him being able to manage it at times. Most of the time, Jimin had Yoongi there, to listen to him, to sooth him with his words and make the voices stop – that was the elders talent, and why the younger felt weak without him. But, the times where Yoongi had to focus on other things and so couldn’t be there with him, Jimin’s mind took over, tearing down any resolve that he once had until he was nothing but a broken version of himself.
Jimin lay there, tears silently streaming down his cheeks and along his jawline, his eyes just staring off blankly into the distance. It was not long before the dancer moved, getting up and walking on such weak and shaky legs, he made it into the room he shared with Taehyung and Jungkook, sitting down onto his bed.
Without another thought Jimin took out a small box from his dresser, one that no-one but he and Yoongi knew about, and took out the contents of the said box. He sat there silently, the darkness of the room starting to suffocate him, gripping his throat with such strength and venom that all the breath within him left and only chocked sobs left his lips. As more tears streamed down his cheeks, he took hold of the item he had removed from the box – a thin strip of metal, with a blade as sharp as a knife – and held it tightly within the palm of his small hand.
His mind, to him, began to laugh, began to yell out words such as “You’re pathetic!” “Give up!” “They all hate you!” “Stupid!” “Worthless!” “Pointless waste of life!” He placed the blade beside him, removed his hoodie, picked up the blade once more and pressed it against the canvas of his skin upon his wrist. Without a moment to spare, he drew a line, and watched as a deep red colour trailed after it, but for that brief moment when the blade touched his skin, he felt relief.
He felt free.
He pressed the blade against himself again, and again, drawing more lines and watching as more red trailed after it, beading in places but more prominent in others. Jimin kept going, until the majority of his arms and wrists were littered with lines, the deep red colour covering his arm, more of it in some places than against others. He felt free, relief flooding his entire being as he lay there, the stinging pain of the lines a faded feeling within the back of his mind. His eyes fell to a close for a moment, the tears long dried up and could only be known by the stained tracks along his face and the puffy-red colour of his eyes themselves.
When the idol finally re-opened his eyes, he was met by the worried and concerned eyes of his hyung, and as he looked to his arms, he finally noticed; he had been cleaned and bandaged up.
Guilt began to blossom within his chest and plague his over-working mind, as he now could not dare look at the elder; through fear of being scolded, judged and seeing the disappointment in his eyes – that was what the pink hair male feared the absolute most of all; seeing his beloved hyung disappointed within him. Jimin was knocked from his thoughts when he felt a hand lift his chin, as to meet the others eyes; the gaze he was met with only showed concern and worry, no sign of disappointment there at all.
“Jimin, you could have called me, I would have come back sooner, the track could have waited until you were alright.”
“I –“
All words died within the dancer’s throat, the guilt now taking him over, as hot tears spilled from his stinging eyes. After a few short moments of silence, Jimin moved and buried himself within the elders arms; his hands curling into the jumper of the other.
“I’m sorry Yoongi-hyung! I – I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t bother you! I’m always bothering you, and I knew the track was important, and I thought I could hold on and wait – “
The elder gently ran his hand up and down the youngers back, as a way to comfort and calm him so he would not end up hyperventilating, preventing panic setting in for him.
“It’s okay Jiminie, you don’t need to apologise, alright? Just take a few breaths for me okay? Now, how about we get you a top and into bed hm? Some sleep will do you the world of good.”
Yoongi spoke, his voice soft and gentle, his touches kind and caring, as he proceeded to find Jimin an old t-shirt of his that he could wear overnight. Finding one at the back of his draw, he handed it to Jimin; who proceeded to change into it without wincing which surprised the elder before he then went about helping him into his bed.
Yoongi was used to episodes like this, where Jimin’s mind would get too much for him to handle, where his arms, wrist, thighs or chest became nothing but a canvas for him to draw and vent his pain so deeply upon. He was always there to see Jimin out of it, to offer him comforting words, soft promises and loving touches. The elder lay beside the other on the bed, Jimin curling into his side as he finally began to drift off to sleep, which the elder was happy to see. The concern and worry softened upon Yoongi’s features, as he ran his hand softly through the others pink locks, making sure to be gentle as to not wake the now deeply sleeping boy.
He would always be there to stabilise and ground Jimin when things got too much for him, when things became out of his grasp and control. He would always be Jimin’s home, his true home and security.
Because Jimin was Yoongi’s home, even if it was unknown to the younger.
Home does not always have to be in the form of four walls, instead – it can in the form of a person, whom provides stability and security when it is needed the most.