Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The most

Beautiful part is,

I wasn't even looking

When I found you.

- Faraway

Jimin stops short, blank eyes staring ahead, gradually refocusing.

He turns his head slowly, blinking at the pane of glass that greets him. A glass door. A glass front door to a shop.

It’s raining.

A glass front door, and on both sides of it little potted plants with pretty purple flowers.

Through the door, there’s soft, warm yellow light. 

At least-

It looks warm. It looks like it could be warm.

Jimin wouldn’t know, he’s still standing outside, staring. Drenched in-

Why did he stop walking?

Oh.

It’s raining.

It’s raining, and Jimin’s standing in front of the glass front door of a shop that looks like it leads to somewhere warm.

He should keep walking, he should go on his way, but-

Jimin turns the rest of his body so it’s aligned with his head. 

It looks like it could be warm.

The flowers are pretty.

And it smells like-

Jimin should keep walking.

Why did he stop walking?

Oh.

Right.

Because he’d smelled-

“Hyung, do you wanna try this one? I think we have all the ingredients, we could-”

No.

Jimin banishes the memory from his mind, or at least he tries to, because it’s suddenly so much harder, when he smells-

Pastries. Through the glass front door, even though it’s closed, Jimin smells pastries.

It looks like it could be warm.

What if it is warm?

Jimin should find out.

No, Jimin should keep walking.

But it smells-

“Wahhh, they turned out amazing! Here, hyung, you can have the first bite-”

No. No, no, no-

Jimin should find out.

He takes one step forward, then another, until seemingly between one blink and the next he’s standing right in front of the glass front door. The longest stems of the purple flowers brush against his pant legs. 

Jimin’s hand reaches out, rests on the door handle. He grasps it, tightly.

It’s raining.

He opens the door.

A little bell jingles when he steps inside, dripping rainwater all over the polished hardwood floor, but Jimin doesn’t notice any of that.

He’s too busy drinking in the achingly familiar scent of pastries.

And it’s-

“Ah, shoot, they’re coming home soon, quick, eat it all, I call the last bite-”

There’s pastries everywhere, kept warm in glowing slideable glass cases. Berry puff pastries, sausage bread, egg tarts, macarons, strawberry chocolate cupcakes, custard cream puffs, everything , permeating the air with that familiar scent. All the pastries look delicious, and some of them are shaped into cartoon animals, bunnies and chicks and koalas and even what looks to be an alpaca. 

These particular pastries are each slightly different from the other, just a little bit imperfect while somehow being absolutely perfect at the same time, and Jimin knows for sure then that everything here is handmade. 

There are more potted plants here and there like the purple ones outside, a little bonsai on the cashier desk towards the back of the bakery, self-serve trays and tongs set up right beside the door Jimin just walked in through.

And it’s-

Oh.

It’s warm.

“Sorry, but we’re closed- oh.”

Jimin blinks, eyes refocusing again, turning towards the origin of the newfound voice. 

It’s a man standing just around the corner of the cashier desk with an apron and hands dusted with flour, taller than Jimin, though seemingly only a little older than him. As Jimin blinks at him, the man’s expression morphs from one of professional politeness to surprise, then concern.

“Oh, you’re absolutely drenched , did you forget to bring an umbrella?” The man frets, hurrying over. 

Belatedly, Jimin notices there aren’t any customers here, in this-

Oh.

This is a bakery, isn’t it?

It’s warm.

And it smells-

“Aish, you’re shivering, we need to dry your clothes.”

Oh.

There’s a man in front of him, and he looks concerned. He’s wearing an apron and has flour all over him. And he’s-

He’s pretty.

“Are you okay? Sir?”

Jimin blinks at the stranger. At the pretty stranger. Realizes he should say something. “Yeah,” he rasps, voice scratchy and rough from underuse.

The man’s face softens. “Well, you can stop standing at the doorway, it’s the coldest over here. Come over to the back, it’s a lot warmer. Taehyung-ah always keeps some yuja-cheong by the kettle, I’ll make you some yuja tea, it should help warm you up.”

And then the pretty stranger is walking back towards the register desk, and Jimin notices a slightly ajar door right behind it. The man stops a couple paces away when he realizes Jimin hasn’t moved, turning back around to face him. “Come on, I don’t bite,” he jokes, beckoning Jimin, and Jimin obediently takes one step forward, then another.

It is warmer in the back. It’s about as big as the rest of the bakery, which isn’t very big but also not too small. The room is split in half, it seems, one half with a long counter and giant mixer and cooking utensils and a big sink and a stove and three ovens and several cupboards, clearly where everything is baked. The other half of the room has a medium sized coffee table bearing a kettle, some mugs, snacks (including, Jimin notes with a hint of detached confusion, a copious amount of banana milk), and a bowl of fruit. There are more potted plants, a mini bookshelf that’s full, some cushions, a reading lamp and a circular pastel yellow rug. There are even several pairs of slippers in a shoe rack by the door Jimin just walked through. Like there’s a whole entire mini home, right here.

It is warmer in the back.

“Sorry, I don’t have any spare clothes here, but you could take my jacket?” The man grabs a jacket from a coat hanger beside the entrance to the room, offering it to Jimin. It’s the same color as the rug and has a soft, fluffy inside.

The pretty stranger… just offered him a jacket. His jacket. What happened before that? 

Oh.

Right.

Jimin had walked in to this man’s bakery (or at least, Jimin assumes he owns the place, he’s the only one here and it’s late and he gives off a confident aura one wouldn’t expect from a night shift employee), dripping wet and practically mute to the point of awkwardness, and the pretty stranger, the pretty kind stranger, had brought him here so he could warm up and he said he’d make him yuja tea…

The man pushes his jacket further out towards Jimin, and- his hand brushes against Jimin’s arm.

Oh.

Jimin finally snaps back to himself, all the way, eyes focusing completely, for real now. His belated thoughts catch up to his observations, and he’s immediately overcome with embarrassment and shame.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Jimin apologizes fervently to the kind, pretty stranger, taking a small step back. Gods , he really is pretty, though. Warm, brown eyes, fluffy black hair, a nice nose. “I don’t know what got into me, I shouldn’t have just barged in after hours, I-”

“Hey,” the stranger cuts off Jimin’s rambling with just that single word. His eyes- those warm brown eyes are looking at him with… a gentleness that’s startling for someone who’s only just now met Jimin. Even more so when Jimin’s been so rude . “It’s okay, I wouldn’t expect anyone to just stand outside in the rain, and I’m glad I can help you, it’s really no bother.”

Jimin blinks, a little bit at a loss for words.

This man is kind, and pretty. 

So kind.

The stranger gives Jimin a small smile, seemingly not at all put out about how little he’s speaking, nor what he’s just done in the past three minutes. Instead, he says, “I’m Hoseok. Jung Hoseok, and I’m 28 years old. I’m the owner of this bakery. What’s your name?”

His smile…

It’s shaped like a heart.

For once, Jimin manages to respond within a socially-acceptable time frame. “I-I… Jimin. My name is Park Jimin.”

Distantly, he wonders when the last time he’d introduced himself was. It must have been a long time ago, because those words taste like dust.

“Jimin-ssi. Are you younger than me?” The pretty stranger - Hoseok - smiles even wider when Jimin nods. “Okay. You can call me hyung, then.”

His smile is shaped like a heart, but it reminds Jimin of the sun. 

This man is kind, and pretty, and he has a heart-shaped smile, and warm eyes, and he looks like he-

“Here,” Hoseok extends his arm with the yellow jacket again. Jimin takes it gingerly. Swallows and manages to organize some more words. “I don’t want to get it wet.”

Hoseok pauses for a short moment, regarding Jimin. Then, he says, “You’re very considerate, Jimin-ssi, but it’s okay, I don’t mind. Wear it - I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Then the elder is turning away, walking over to the coffee table and picking up the kettle, bringing it over to the other side of the room and setting it down on the stove, grabbing a jug of water to fill it.

Jimin forces himself to look away, instead observing the jacket in his hands. He brushes his fingertips of one hand, stiff and pink from the cold, across the inside lining. It’s really soft.

Jimin hesitates for a moment, replaying Hoseok’s words through his head and trying to find any trace of sarcasm, or a test. Nothing.

He brings the jacket around himself and slides his arms through the sleeves, wincing a little as his own damp clothes soak into the fluffy lining. The jacket’s more than a little too big for him, but it’s warm, and soft.

Hoseok turns around again, walking back towards the wooden coffee table while he leaves the water-filled kettle to boil. His smile’s still there, and somehow it grows even wider at the sight of Jimin wearing his jacket. The younger shuffles his feet, a little embarrassed at being the sole receiver of that heart-shaped smile.

“Make yourself at home,” Hoseok encourages, gesturing towards the cushions surrounding the coffee table. “You can have some snacks, if you want to. Choose a pair of slippers, too, you can leave your shoes in their place.” 

Hoseok bends down to retrieve a little bag of yuja-cheong, then heads back across the room to the kettle.

Jimin replays Hoseok’s words again. Sarcasm, a test? Nothing.

He takes off his shoes, picking a pair of black slippers that seem to be the smallest and would likely fit him the best. Thankfully, his socks aren’t that wet. Then Jimin takes a step forward, then another, then another, then another, then another. He sits down on one of the cushions, crossing his legs underneath him.

He can still smell pastries.

“Hyung, you dummy! ‘Dry ingredients’ doesn’t include sugar, we need that to cream the butter later!”

Round cheeks, bunching up with his smile and turning his eyes into crescent moons. His hair… always just a little messy, with a couple strands astray. Right. That’s what he’d looked like. 

His skin… soft to the touch, just a little too pale. 

But warm… always warm.

His smile, too. Always warm.

His voice, and the scent of his shampoo was also-

Oh.

Oh no, what did it smell like again?

“Jimin-ssi?”

Hoseok.

“The yuja tea is ready.”

He’s holding a steaming mug, offering to Jimin, bending down a little to accommodate the fact that the youth is sitting and he’s standing. 

Jimin blinks, then reaches up and accepts the cup, which immediately helps warm his fingers. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

”I need to start preparing for tomorrow, but I’ll come back to join you, okay? Drink your tea.”

Jimin nods, watching as Hoseok heads back to the kitchen half of the room.

There’s a window on both ends of the room, both looking out at a different street. One where Hoseok is, one where Jimin is.

Jimin looks out the window on his side, even as he raises the mug in his hands to his lips, taking a sip. It tastes exactly as it smells; sweet and citrusy. 

It’s still raining, outside.

It must be past midnight already. Jimin wouldn’t know, he never keeps track of the time, except for setting an alarm to wake up and go to work.

It must be past midnight already. It’s dark out, all the other shops on the street long ago closed. 

Jimin can’t see much of the outside, but he imagines someone walking past could see everything inside, with the room lit up, warm and golden. 

If someone looked through the window, they’d see everything, from the rug to the cushions to the bookshelf to the kitchen to Hoseok, fitting together perfectly, everything soft, glowing gold, happy. And then they’d see Jimin, still half-drenched, expression near emotionless, cheeks sallow and dark circles under his eyes. 

He doesn’t belong here , someone would think if they looked through the window. Sticks out like a sore thumb.

Jimin doesn’t belong here.

Why is he even here, then?

Oh.

Right.

Because he’d wanted to find out if it was warm here.

Because it had looked like it could’ve been warm.

Pastries.

Yeah. That, too.

“Jimin-ssi?”

Jimin looks towards Hoseok. His expression is pinched a little in concern again. “Are you alright? You look sad.”

Sad.

Jimin feels beyond sad, though. To the point that he hardly lets it show through his expression. Can’t find the strength to. Instead, his sadness can usually be seen through how unkempt he is, what a mess he looks like.

“I’m alright,” Jimin answers, this time completely on autopilot. He’s answered this question too many times. “Thanks for your concern though.”

Hoseok smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time, like he knows Jimin is lying. Understandable, really. Jimin looks anything but “alright.” 

Then the elder is sitting down on the cushion beside Jimin, stretching with a satisfied sigh.

He looks back over to Jimin, who blinks back. “Was the tea good?”

“Oh.”

Apparently he’d finished all the yujacha on autopilot, as well. He’s holding an empty mug in his hands now, searching for a warmth that’s only a memory now. Jimin only remembers the first sip, but it had been a good first sip, so he responds, “Yeah. It was really good. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s smile reaches his eyes again. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Suddenly, a fresh waft of the smell of pastries reaches Jimin’s nose, and he looks past Hoseok to find all three ovens up and running, full of rising dough. 

It must have taken Hoseok a long time to make all of that. Jimin can see a lot more flour dusting his apron now. 

Gods, how long has Jimin been here, then? Intruding where he doesn’t belong, accepting such kindness and hospitality with nothing to give in return?

Guilt spikes through him, sudden and sharp.

“I should go,” Jimin says abruptly. Hoseok tilts his head, but he doesn’t question why. Instead, he just says, “It’s still raining, though, you’re gonna get wet again.”

Hoseok is kind. So kind.

And he looks like he-

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s alright, I… I don’t want to intrude, I’m sorry for staying so long-”

“Jimin-ssi,” Once again, Hoseok stops Jimin’s rambling with just one word. “I don’t mind, truly.”

Jimin shakes his head, though.

You don’t belong.

“I’ve already bothered you enough,” he stands up. Hoseok frowns, but doesn’t try to stop him, instead standing up with him. Jimin starts shouldering off Hoseok’s fluffy pastel yellow jacket, but Hoseok puts a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, stopping him. “Keep it, it’s the least I can do to keep you warm and a little dryer.”

Jimin stares at Hoseok, drinking in the feeling of his hand on his shoulder. It must be an instinctual touch for him, because it’s certainly not one appropriate for someone he’s met only so long ago, or maybe that’s just how Hoseok interacts with people, stranger or not.

Hoseok is kind, and he gives gentle, casual touches, and his eyes are warm, and he looks like he-

Jimin finally gives a soft smile, the first palpable expression of any kind he’s made in Hoseok’s presence. His cheeks ache from how long it’s been since he’s smiled. “Hoseok-ssi. You’re very kind. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s smile grows.

Shaped like a heart.

“No need to thank me. And that’s hyung to you.” The elder’s hand shifts from Jimin’s shoulder to the edge of his jacket, pulling it back up until the collar is pressed snugly to Jimin’s neck. His fingers brush against the side of Jimin’s throat as he does so, the first skin-on-skin contact he’s made with Jimin, and the first skin-on-skin contact Jimin’s had in months, maybe years.

It’s warm.

Hoseok’s fingers, his touch , is warm.

Hoseok’s smile is warm, his eyes are warm, so-

Hoseok looks like he could be warm.

No.

No, he can’t be.

He won’t be.

Jimin forces himself to take a step back from Hoseok, forces himself to walk one step, then another, until between one blink and the next, it seems, he’s by the shoe rack, taking off his borrowed slippers and putting his now-almost-dried shoes back on.

“Jimin-ssi?”

Jimin turns around, facing the stranger again. “Yeah?” Voice a little raspy from underuse.

“Will you come back?”

What an odd question, Jimin distantly notes. He shrugs. “Maybe.”

The stranger nods, though he doesn’t look entirely satisfied with Jimin’s answer.

Oh. 

He’s pretty.

Jimin blinks at the man for a few seconds, slightly unfocused eyes gliding over his features one last time. Then, he finally musters up the strength to say, “I’m gonna go now.”

A strange look passes over the stranger’s face. The pretty stranger’s face. His smile slips.

There had been something special about that smile, right?

Oh.

Right.

It had been shaped like a heart.

“Okay. Get home safe.”

Jimin blinks for a moment, then gives a stiff nod. Steps back into the public part of the bakery.

The cashier desk, right in front of him. Jimin walks past it. Pastries, kept warm in slideable glass cases. Shaped like cartoon animals, perfectly imperfect…

Oh.

They must be handmade.

It smells like pastries.

“Hyung, did I do it well? I think it looks really pretty-”

No.

Jimin banishes the memory, or at least he tries to. It’s harder now, when it smells like this and-

Oh.

It’s warm.

One step forward, then another, until seemingly, within one blink and the next, Jimin’s at the glass front door again.

The stranger hasn’t followed him. For some reason, Jimin can’t bring himself to look back. He realizes too late that he probably should have said goodbye, thanked him again, or at least waved.

Jimin reaches out, grasps the door handle, tightly.

He opens the door.

A little bell jingles.

He steps outside.

It’s cold out here.

There are two potted plants on either side of the glass front door, and as Jimin takes another step forward, the longest stems of the purple flowers brush against his pant legs.

The door closes behind him.

Jimin takes one step forward, then another, until seemingly between one blink and the next, he’s on the sidewalk, turning sideways so he can walk along it.

Oh.

It’s raining.

~~~

Chapter Text

The pastel yellow jacket is fluffy and soft on the inside, slightly coarse fabric on the outside. A medium-length collar. A zipper that sometimes gets stuck right at the halfway point. A small stain on the sleeve that looks like berry juice, faded to light pink by now, presumably due to several washes. 

It looks well-loved.

And it still carries the faint scent of pastries.

Not just pastries, though- there’s also something inherent to the pretty, kind stranger; a smell Jimin can’t quite pinpoint to another object, but is just- light and sweet and there .

Every time Jimin comes back to his tiny apartment after work, the first thing he does is pick up the pastel yellow jacket. The first thing he does is pick up the pastel yellow jacket and sit on his bed. The first thing he does is pick up the pastel yellow jacket and bring it to his nose and inhale. The first thing he does is pick up the pastel yellow jacket and run his fingers over the fabric, the zipper, dip them into the pockets.

The first thing he does is pick up the pastel yellow jacket, clutch it tightly, and cry.

Holding it makes Jimin feel lost and grounded at the same time, somehow. 

It makes Jimin feel just how badly he’s floundering around in his own life so much sharper- with hardly enough money to properly live, emotionlessly cleaning the floors of a monochrome office building with no ambition to do anything else, so unaware of everything that he often can’t recall if he’s eaten far too much or nothing at all that day, doing nothing in his hardly-existent free time except wander the streets alone or sit on his bed and stare at the wall.

But when Jimin holds the pastel yellow jacket-

He’s always immediately encompassed with the brief memories of that pretty stranger, his eyes and his hand on Jimin’s shoulder and his heart-shaped smile and-

It anchors Jimin, remembering those things, helps his thoughts and reactions catch up to his observations a little better. He thinks it might have something to do with the jacket being a tangible object, but also-

He has something specific to do now, even if it makes him cry, even if it makes him remember that night at the bakery that hurts , for a reason Jimin can’t quite figure out yet.

Even if it smells like pastries.

“You already started making some without me? Aw, hyung, you should’ve woken me up! What step are you on, show me-”

No. No, please-

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, unable to take the jacket away from his nose and stop inhaling that scent. More tears slip out.

It’s so hard to stop the memories.

It hurts to remember him.

It hurts .

“I love this book. It reminds me of us.”

It hurts to remember him, but Jimin’s still holding that jacket to his nose, is still breathing in-

Round cheeks, crescent moon smile.

Cute little fairy dust sneezes.

It hurts to remember him.

Fluffy hair, a few strands astray.

A laugh that lit up the room in the most outrageously wonderful way.

And the smell of his shampoo-

Oh.

Right.

I’ve already forgotten what it smelled like, right?

It hurts -

It-

It hurts more, to-

To forget him.

~~~

Why does it hurt, to remember that night at the bakery?

Jimin doesn’t even remember how long it’s been since that night, he never keeps track of the time unless it’s to set an alarm to wake up for work.

But he can still remember every moment clearly, something he’s not used to because nothing ever sticks out, nothing special ever happens.

“You can call me hyung, then.”

Why does it hurt? Jimin desperately wonders even as he keeps clutching the jacket and crying. 

Maybe if he finds out why, he’ll be able to stop it from hurting.

“Are you okay? You look sad.”

The bakery…

Oh.

It’s warm.

The kind stranger…

Oh. 

He’s pretty.

A small sob escapes Jimin because it smells like him , light and sweet and there.

Because it hurts to remember him.

To-

To remember them both.

Because-

Oh.

Right.

That’s why.

That’s why it hurts.

His skin… soft to the touch, just a little too pale. 

But warm… always warm.

His smile, too. Always warm.

He was warm.

The bakery-

It was warm too.

And-

The pretty stranger reaching up to tug the collar of the jacket back around Jimin, fingers brushing against the side of his throat.

Skin-on-skin.

The pretty stranger-

No.

Hoseok.

Hoseok’s touch had been warm.

Maybe-

Hoseok looks like he could be warm.

He-

No!

Jimin’s eyes fly open, and before he can even properly think about it, he’s flinging the pastel yellow jacket as far away from himself as he can.

The scent of it disappears, his eyes unfocus slightly, his fingers clutch at his sheets instead, but-

The memories, the pain, still stays.

No.

No, he can’t be.

The pretty, kind stranger can’t be warm.

Even if it hurts the same to- to remember them,

They’re not the same.

They can’t be the same.

Never again.

Jimin won’t have someone warm ever again.

~~~

The pastel yellow jacket is fluffy and soft on the inside, slightly coarse fabric on the outside. A medium-length collar. A zipper that sometimes gets stuck right at the halfway point. A small stain on the sleeve that looks like berry juice, faded to light pink by now, presumably due to several washes. 

And-

Now there’s a patch of dust and grime on it, too.

And-

It’s lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

And-

It doesn’t look well-loved.

That’s…

That’s not right, isn’t it?

Oh.

Right.

It’s not supposed to be here, and it’s not supposed to be untouched, and it’s not supposed to be dirty.

Jimin blinks at the jacket, on the floor across his bedroom.

He takes one step forward, then another, until seemingly between one blink and the next he’s right in front of it, bending down to retrieve it.

He holds it out in front of himself, staring at the jacket for one moment, then another.

Reaches out and brushes against the patch of grime from the floor.

It fades a little, coming off and sticking to Jimin’s fingertips instead.

Oh.

Jimin brushes his hand across the fabric again, then again, a little firmer this time, until there’s no more dust, no more grime.

There.

It looks well-loved.

Why had it been like that anyways?

Oh.

Right.

Hoseok looks like he could be-

No.

Jimin brings the jacket over to his bed, sits down on it. 

Presses his nose to the fabric and inhales.

It hurts to remember them.

Jimin cries.

But he can’t stop clutching on to this strange token of fleeting warmth and pastries and buried memories.

It hurts.

~~~

No.

No.

“No . ”

It’s been so long since Jimin has actually spoken, his own voice startles even himself.

“ No. ”

Jimin tries again, but-

Still.

Nothing.

“No, please .”

The pastel yellow jacket.

It looks the same, feels the same, it’s clean and it looks well loved but-

It smells-

Nothing.

It smells like nothing.

“No!”

The smell has been fading, fading, these past few days, Jimin has distantly noted that, but-

Today, right now, it smells like absolutely nothing.

No pastries, no pretty, kind stranger, no warmth.

It had hurt to remember him, hadn’t it?

To remember Hoseok.

But, just like him-

It hurts more to forget him.

I can’t forget him.

I can’t forget them .

“P-please.”

Jimin tries again. Presses his nose deep into the fabric, breathes in.

Nothing.

Jimin cries.

It hurts .

Nothing.

He can’t forget-

Nothing.

Has to remember-

Nothing.

Please-

Nothing.

“Jimin-ssi?”

Nothing.

“Will you come back?”

Nothing-

Oh.

Oh.

~~~

Chapter Text

There is no urgency, the despair and tears have drained all of that out of Jimin.

But-

There is still a focus, a destination, something Jimin never has, and somehow that’s enough to get his heart pumping, breath quickening.

He’s still clutching onto the jacket, and he’s still crying.

But he’s not sitting on his bed anymore, he’s taking one step forward, then another, until seemingly between one blink and the next he’s outside his tiny apartment, walking into the cold.

The sidewalk is- is reflecting the street lamps, scattered blobs of cold yellow, and suddenly Jimin feels cool drops on his face, his hands. 

Oh.

It’s raining.

Jimin takes another step forward, then another, then pauses.

Jimin starts shouldering off Hoseok’s fluffy pastel yellow jacket, but Hoseok puts a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, stopping him. “Keep it, it’s the least I can do to keep you warm and a little dryer.”

Oh.

Jimin looks down at the jacket in his hands, watches raindrops scatter over his hands, then the sleeves of his shirt and the fabric of the jacket, soaking in and turning the materials darker.

After a few more moments of slightly detached staring, Jimin slowly brings the jacket around himself, slipping his arms into the sleeves, then reaching behind and putting on the hood.

It's the second time he's worn the jacket.

Jimin is warmer, and he is drier.

He keeps walking.

His destination also grounds Jimin a bit like the jacket had, making him perpetually more aware of everything, even slightly. 

A slight problem-

Jimin doesn’t remember his way to the bakery.

All he remembers is the moment he smelled pastries, stopping short on the sidewalk and turning to find the glass front door that ended up leading to somewhere warm. 

He never remembers where he walks to whenever he does take a walk, and he’s never really cared about that before now; he’s always managed to find his way back one way or another anyways.

Jimin still keeps walking though, driven by the need to remember them, because-

It hurts to forget the kind, pretty stranger.

And somehow losing the smell of pastries on the jacket was like losing him all over again.

“Jimin-ssi?”

“Will you come back?”

One step forward, then another.

I have to.

It hurts.

Jimin keeps walking.

It’s dark out, everything lit only by the streetlamps.

It must be past midnight.

Jimin wouldn’t know, he never keeps track of the time.

One step forward, then another.

There’s no way he’ll actually find it again, Jimin muses distantly. This is just a desperate last ditch attempt.

And what if he does find it again? What can he even do then?

It’s after hours now anyways. He’s already intruded on the kind pretty stranger once, he shouldn’t do it again.

The tears start again at that thought - that Jimin wouldn’t be able to go inside even if he made it there.

Maybe it would still hurt less, though, to be able to look through that glass front door again, knowing the light inside is, indeed, warm.

Yeah. Yeah, that would help.

He’d be able to smell pastries from outside, too.

Maybe that will be enough.

One step forward, then another.

It still hurts.

He can’t forget them.

One step forward, then another.

Jimin is spiraling, he knows it.

The despair catching up with him, dulling his determination to reach his destination.

One step forward, then another.

Oh. 

It’s raining.

He won’t ever find it, will he?

Jimin won’t have someone warm ever again.

It was warm, in there. For a moment, that had been enough. And…

Jimin will never be there again.

One step forward…

Jimin’s drifting, he knows it.

One step…

Drifting… no longer here on the sidewalk, instead swallowed by the pain, and the… the memories…

“Hyung, we should open a bakery together.”

Forward…

“When we can finally leave, we should open one.”

Then another…

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Raindrops. Jacket, almost soaked through.

Hurts.

Blood.

No.

Blood, cold-

No!

Spiraling, drifting. Harder to stop the memories, when it hurts like this.

When it… when it smells like nothing but rain.

Blood, cold, 

“Run, hyung.”

“Please.”

“For me.”

Jimin stops short.

Blank eyes staring ahead, gradually refocusing.

Oh.

He’s crying.

And it’s raining.

Why did he stop walking?

Oh.

Right.

Because he’d smelled pastries.

Pastries…

Oh.

Jimin snaps his head around, and there-

A glass front door.

He’s…

He’s back.

The flowers are blue this time, and they’re trimmed back, but the door is still the same, and there’s still light through it, and it’s soft and yellow and it looks warm but Jimin knows it is warm and-

It’s enough.

Jimin sobs, falling to his knees, relief coursing through him. 

He’s back.

The jacket is fully soaked through now, and he’s shivering, but it doesn’t matter.

Jimin cries, but for once he doesn’t lose track of time - it’s around five minutes later that he manages to pick himself up again. 

He can’t go inside, can’t inconvenience the kind stranger like that again, but-

There’s a window, a few feet away from the door, along the wall of the bakery.

Jimin takes one step forward, then another, then another, then another, and then he’s in front of the window, staring inside. 

Through the window… oh. Jimin recognizes this place.

He recognizes the window now, too.

It’s the one that had been on Jimin’s side of the back. 

The one that looked straight into the mini home, with the rug and the cushions and the bookshelf, the shoe rack and the coffee table with the kettle and snacks including banana milk, and past that half it had looked into the kitchen with the giant mixer and counter and water jug and stove and-

And Hoseok.

And-

And everything is still here.

It-

Hoseok.

He’s there, unmistakable, unforgettable, back to Jimin and the window, skillfully kneading a pile of dough, arms and apron covered in flour.

Strangely, Jimin stops crying.

Strangely, his lips stretch up at the corners, just a little bit, smiling, just a little bit.

His cheeks hurt, it’s been so long.

Hoseok.

Jimin keeps staring, heart rate and breath slowing and tears replaced by rain. As Jimin watches, Hoseok grabs a scraper, separating the dough into three pieces, then starts rolling the pieces out. 

And then-

Oh.

There’s someone else in the back, with Hoseok.

It’s only when he stands up from the cushions around the coffee table that Jimin notices him.

He walks over to Hoseok, and when he’s right next to him Jimin can see that he’s just a little taller than the baker. 

He says something to Hoseok, and Hoseok nods, moving aside a little. The other man sets something he was holding on the counter, and Jimin sees that it was a carton of banana milk, straw inserted.

The man rolls up his sleeves, dusts some flour on his hands, and starts rolling out the third and last piece of dough.

He seems almost as skilled as Hoseok, efficiently finishing his task within less than a minute. Hoseok turns towards him, saying something, and he nods and moves away, towards the sink, washes the flour off his hands. Walks back over to his banana milk, picks it up and takes a sip, then leans against the counter, watching Hoseok start braiding the three pieces of dough. 

Jimin can get a closer look at his face, now. Soft features, fluffy black hair with his ends dyed a light, pleasant sea green, big doe eyes, looks almost babyish. He seems far younger than Hoseok, likely even younger than Jimin. Muscular, though, with piercings and the hint of a sleeve tattoo showing from where the sleeves of his sweater are still pushed up to his elbows.

Oh.

He’s cute.

Jimin feels drawn to the scene of the two of them, unable to look away. 

So he just stays there, even with the fear of being caught peeking through the window, even with the unrelenting rain and cold. 

Eventually, Hoseok finishes preparing everything for the next day at the bakery, and the other man occasionally steps in to help. He finishes his milk quickly, and goes back to the coffee table once for more.

(Jimin was, thankfully, still quite aware at the time and ducked as soon as the man started walking towards the direction of the window for his second milk carton. When Jimin raised his head again, the man had been back at the counter, watching Hoseok using a spoon to spread berry gelee across some more dough.)

Hoseok washes his hands for the last time, drying them before abruptly turning to the other man and wrapping him up in a big hug.

Jimin blinks, heart aching, as both men break out into grins and peals of obvious laughter, the younger-looking one hugging Hoseok back and lifting him off the ground, spinning him around playfully.

By the time they break apart, both seem out of breath, and there’s that heart shaped smile again, and the other man's smile makes him look like a bunny, and-

Oh.

Jimin’s crying again.

They look so happy, and Hoseok’s dragging the youth by the hand, over to the other half of the back, until they both collapse, still giggling, onto the same cushion. 

Jimin’s too busy staring and crying to duck again.

It doesn’t matter, though, they’re too preoccupied to think to look out the window.

They obviously don’t fit on the cushion, so after a couple more seconds Hoseok wraps his arms back around the youth’s waist, heaving him up onto his lap.

Hoseok hooks his chin over the younger’s shoulder, and they calm down then, smiling softly, cuddling contentedly.

They look like brothers, comfortable and loving and caring and warm and happy .

Jimin’s still crying.

It hurts, watching them.

Is that…

Is that what we could’ve been?

Jimin doesn’t drift, he doesn’t spiral, he’s still there , still aware, but now he wishes he isn’t.

They look like they feel warm.

They look like brothers.

Cuddling, smiling, satisfied after several successful hours of preparing the next day’s pastries.

They look like brothers.

Is that what we could’ve been?

It hurts, too much, and finally Jimin tears his gaze away, stumbles back from the window.

Oh, but seeing that felt warm, too.

How could it feel so warm, how could it help him stop drifting, how could it be enough for it to stop hurting and yet still hurt so much?

Is that what we could’ve been?

Jimin’s in front of the front door again.

The flowers are blue, trimmed back.

There’s another window, on the other side of the bakery’s wall, looking into display cases of the prettiest, most delectable looking pastries. Jimin stares at them for a while, then back at the door, unable to look through the other window, and yet unable to leave and stop looking.

Then Jimin looks up, and sees-

Oh.

That’s what this - what Hoseok’s - bakery is called.

In soft handwriting script, glowing gold, lit above the front door-

Something Homemade .

“Hyung, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Oh.

What a coincidence. 

Hopeful eyes, soft smile.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Jimin takes one step back, then turns away.

They looked happy.

Is that what we could’ve been?

They looked like brothers.

Jimin takes one step forward, then another, then another, then another.

It’s still raining.

The jacket is soaked through.

He’s still crying.

But-

It was enough.

It had smelled like pastries, he had seen Hoseok again, so it had been enough.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another, then another.

Jimin remembers every step back, every moment, every landmark as he finds his way home.

Oh.

No.

Right.

Jimin remembers every step back, every moment, every landmark as he finds his way back to his tiny apartment.

When he opens the door, types in his password, steps inside, he stops shivering.

It’s not warm here, though.

It never was.

~~~

Chapter Text

For the first time ever, Jimin wakes with a mostly clear head, almost fully aware.

Not drifting, not spiraling.

And he remembers .

The jacket losing its smell, his desperate attempt to reach the bakery, the memories he’d buried the deepest resurfacing as he’d stumbled along the streets, finding the bakery again, looking through the window and seeing Hoseok and the other man, every single step back.

Jimin sits up, the bed creaking pathetically at the movement. 

There, hung up at its usual place on the far left bedpost, Hoseok’s pastel yellow jacket.

Another spike of guilt accompanies Jimin’s realization-

He should probably return the jacket, right?

Yeah. He really should.

It’s not his anyway.

But-

At the thought of returning the article of clothing, Jimin suddenly feels the strange urge to cry.

He’s already grown attached to it, hasn’t he?

Even though-

Even though it smells like nothing.

At least it’s dry again, having been hung up all night, so no more rain smell, but Jimin doesn’t know if the smell of rain or no smell at all is better.

Watching through the window last night had been enough, but Jimin doesn’t know for how long it will stay that way.

There are only two options , he muses, even as he gets out of bed, switching off his phone alarm so it won’t ring pointlessly later (apparently he’d woken up five minutes before it).

Option one, keep desperately trying to grasp and relive his memories from the bakery, and try not to forget Hoseok. Maybe that will help him remember him too.

Option two,

Go back.

Hoseok never will be warm.

Don’t get your hopes up.

He won’t be like him .

You don’t deserve to have someone like him again.

Jimin knows, he knows he knows he knows.

But-

The bakery itself had been warm.

It can’t hurt, to just…

Oh, right. The jacket. He has to return that too.

Jimin changes into his work clothes mindlessly, as always, but this time his mind is elsewhere, not just floating aimlessly.

Maybe he can just go back, while the bakery is open this time, find a way to return the jacket, and leave.

The pastries had looked good, too. Jimin never remembers the process of buying and eating food that well, but he sure as hell knows he never indulges himself.

Maybe he can go back, have a little taste of warmth and pastries, every once in a while.

Just enough for it to not hurt as much…

You deserve to hurt.

Jimin freezes as the thought rings through his head, the familiar, sharp voice in his mind.

Not to feel warmth.

You deserve to suffer.

His eyes unfocus. He lets the thoughts, his own words, stab him,

Because he knows they’re true.

You deserve to forget Hoseok, forget

every

single

warm

memory

about

your

brother.

Oh.

It’s…

It’s 6:30.

Jimin has to go to work.

Oh.

He’s already changed.

A flash of pastel yellow.

A jacket.

A pastel yellow jacket with a fluffy inside that looks soft.

There had been something special about that jacket, hadn’t there?

Oh.

Right.

It had belonged to a pretty stranger with a heart shaped smile, and he had been kind.

Jimin blinks, tearing his gaze away from the jacket even as his fingers, strangely, itch to reach out and grab it.

He has to go to work.

~~~

“You’re early, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin nods a little belatedly, but his co-worker is used to this and doesn’t act any more put-out than normal.

A moment, a blink, and then,

“Woke up before my alarm,” Jimin manages, voice raspy from underuse.

His co-worker hums, rolling Jimin his little janitor cart before reaching into the closet for her own.

“We’re doing our usual shifts, right?”

Jimin grasps the handle of the cart, blinking down on it.

Oh.

“Thanks.”

Then-

Oh.

“Yeah, I think so. I didn’t… get any shift changes.”

She hums again, finishes re-tying her hair. “Alright, see you later.”

The left wheel of her cart squeaks excessively as it’s dragged across the tiles. 

Oh.

“Bye.”

And then Jimin’s back, back in the place he’s been in countless times before, starting a long and arduous task that he far from enjoys but can’t find the ambition to stop.

He grasps the handle of the cart, wheeling it away, eyes unfocusing completely.

He spirals, down, down, down. 

Into a headspace that’s as pointless as it is comforting, in a way, to just…

Leave, have no thoughts, for such a long period of time.

There’s a pretty big spill here, probably coffee.

A mop for that.

Bathroom next, have to change toilet paper.

This stall’s already full. Nothing to change.

Pretty dirty. Needs wiping down.

Hallway C next, clean the elevator on the way.

Like this, until, eventually, the repetitiveness lulls Jimin into a state where even his observations, finally, fall away. And he can drift, completely mindless.

…

…

…

Pastries.

Oh-

Jimin freezes completely in the middle of mopping something on the floor, eyes wide.

The scent of pastries.

And-

“…just got a new flavor, it’s from a bakery a few streets down. They have amazing sandwiches but they have so many other things, I can take you there next lunch break.”

“What’s the bakery called?”

“ Something Homemade . It’s a really cute place-”

The employees’ voices are cut off when Jimin’s mop falls over with an overly loud clatter. 

Jimin doesn’t hear the ensuing voices for some time, he’s still so disoriented, incredibly dizzy from being jerked out of that headspace so abruptly.

He’s become suddenly aware before, but never when he was completely down, and now-

Pastries.

Something Homemade.

Heart shaped, bunny-like, looks warm-

Look like brothers-

“Wouldn’t that be nice, hyung?”

“-se me? Sir? Can you hear us?”

Jimin blinks, eyes refocusing a little.

Oh.

He’s crying.

Oh.

This is embarrassing.

He’s on his hands and knees, and there are two employees squatting in front of him, expressions concerned.

Pastries, pastries, pastries .

One of them is holding a little paper bag with cute little cartoon animals printed across it, along with the soft handwriting font spelling the name of Hoseok’s bakery. Inside, there’s a delicious looking savory sandwich, and emanating from it is that scent-

Jimin scrambles to his feet, grabbing his mop up from the floor while bowing repetitively, apologizing fervently all along, “Sorry, I’m sorry, please continue, I didn’t mean to- just. I- Sorry, I’ll go now, goodbye, have a good day-”

He shoves his mop into his janitor cart, wheeling it along as he practically runs away from the still-dumbfounded employees, cheeks burning, tears falling.

So hard to stop the memories, even when it doesn’t smell like pastries anymore.

Jimin is running, shoving his cart back into a closet on his way, slamming into a bathroom, an empty stall, locking the door, sliding down it, sobbing, hyperventilating.

Still dizzy, he’d been so deep down, and then he’d been yanked up, hurts more, somehow hurts more now-

Hard to-

To stop the memories-

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

No!

Stop, please-

Hurts to remember.

“Hyung, we should open a bakery together. When we can finally leave, we should open one.”

Soft smile, hopeful eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Jimin can’t stop the tirade anymore, is slipping, spiraling.

Falls.

“That would, wouldn’t it?” Jimin muses.

“Right? We could make all the pastries we’d want, anytime we’d want. And it’d just be us, no one would ever interrupt us.”

Jimin smiles softly, drinking in his brother’s features. His smile turns sad, though, the more he thinks about it.

How would we even do that?

He doesn’t say that out loud though, unwilling to crush his sweet dongsaeng’s hope. 

“Mhm,” he replies instead, generic but there.

“And you know what would be the best thing about our bakery, hyung?”

“What?”

“It would be our home.”

Jimin blinks, confused. “We wouldn’t… live there though?”

His brother huffs, but he doesn’t look exasperated. He never looks anything short of patient, content, or joyful. “No hyung, you don’t get it. The bakery would be our home, even if we don’t live there.”

That’s a concept Jimin doesn’t quite understand yet, but he trusts his brother, knows him well enough to know that right now he’s onto something Jimin just isn’t sage enough to grasp yet.

Likely sensing Jimin’s confusion, his brother gives another patient smile, elaborating some more. “Home is where you belong, where you place your love.”

Jimin blinks again. “Oh.”

He sounds right. 

Yeah. That sounds about right.

Where is their home, then?

Jimin’s brother keeps going. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a place or an object or a person, any of those things can still be your home.”

Oh.

That’s it.

Their home isn’t here, it’s…

It’s with each other.

And still, he keeps going, now with a dreamy look to his expression, looking out the window like he’s looking into the future.

“You know, I think the most beautiful part of our bakery would be the fact that everything there would be homemade.”

Jimin smiles, nodding. He gets it now.

“Because,” Jimin finishes, “Anything made with love is something homemade, right?”

Soft smile.

Hopeful eyes.

“Right.”

They both turn back towards the window, the oven ticking behind them. Relishing the space and time when it’s just them, when they haven’t come home yet.

Then,

“You know, you’re right.”

Jimin’s brother turns to look at him again, inquisitive.

“That would be nice.”

~~~

When Jimin comes to, he feels… empty.

Not emotionless, just… devoid of energy, of fight. His absence filled instead with hollow sadness, sadness that aches, hurts.

He hasn’t fully remembered one of those memories like that in… god, it’s been years.

Drained, sad, he…

He doesn’t want to do this anymore.

Jimin keeps drifting back up, keeps resurfacing, keeps becoming more and more aware of the cold bathroom stall, the hard floor beneath him, the tears still streaming down his cheeks, the pain the pain the pain .

It hurts and he doesn’t want it to hurt anymore.

Jimin keeps drifting back up, keeps resurfacing, and he wishes he could just-

Stop feeling.

“Jimin-ssi? Are you alright? You look sad.”

Oh.

No.

Right.

He wishes he could just stop feeling sad.

Yeah, that’s it.

Stop feeling sad.

Jimin rises to his feet, unsteadily but still. He manages it. 

He unlocks the bathroom stall, takes one step forward, then another, then another, then another.

It had been warm, there.

It’ll be warm again.

When he steps inside, it won’t hurt as much, not anymore.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

He has a destination again.

~~~

Chapter Text

It takes Jimin around seven minutes to reach the bakery.

He knows the way from the bakery to his apartment, so it was pretty easy to figure out the way from the workplace to the bakery. It really is only so many streets away.

And now…

Now he’s standing in front of the glass front door again, except this time the bakery is open.

Jimin can see a good amount of people inside through the door, walking around the bakery with half-filled trays and a pair of tongs, looking into the slideable glass cases and pointing out the cutest pastries to their companions.

Jimin usually doesn’t like crowds, but somehow, even before he steps inside the bakery, he already knows that he won’t mind this one.

The potted flowers on each side of the door have changed again, this time holding much bigger blossoms, in a light, watery sunshine-like color.

These are also trimmed back, and as Jimin takes one step forward, then another, then another, then another, even the longest stems don't reach his pant legs.

Speaking of which, he's still in his work clothes, but he honestly couldn't care less right now, because-

Jimin’s hand is resting on the door handle, and he's grasping it tightly, and then, finally, he opens the door. 

It smells like pastries, it’s so, so warm, and Hoseok-

Isn’t there.

Instead, as Jimin’s eyes rove over the public area of the bakery, drinking in how different yet similar it is while it’s open and filled with people, his gaze catches on a familiar man that isn’t Hoseok - the man that Jimin had seen through the window last time, with a babyish face and tattoos and piercings and a bunny-like smile, standing behind the cashier desk, talking to a customer.

As Jimin stands just within the now-closed doorway, staring, the man points to somewhere near the back of the bakery, the customer nods and follows his direction, and then the man turns away, polite, pleasant smile still gracing his lips, gaze just happening to meet Jimin’s. 

The man blinks, taking in Jimin’s disheveled, emotionless appearance, before-

Smiling.

Oh.

He’s cute.

After glancing around for a moment, likely checking if anyone’s ready to check out (nobody is), the man makes his way around the desk and walks towards Jimin.

He seems to get taller and taller as he approaches, and Jimin notices then that the guy is positively ripped - biceps, goddamn, he definitely works out - and the overall physique along with the piercings and tattoos should be intimidating, but somehow his aura and facial features project a completely different image; bright, welcoming, kind.

“Hello,” the man chirps. His voice is, surprisingly, normally-pitched. (Jimin probably expected something deeper because of his physique, yet something higher at the same time because of his expression, so somehow hearing his voice for the first time is mildly disorienting.) “What brings you here today?”

That's a good question, Jimin realizes. What is he doing here?

Maybe it'll be enough, to just be here.

Maybe it'll hurt a little less.

“Just…” Jimin eventually settles on. “Wanted to be here. It's - uhm -”

Pastries.

Warmth.

Heart-shaped.

Kind.

Pastel yellow.

Suddenly, stupidly, overcome with emotion, Jimin is vaguely horrified to have to blink away tears. “It's nice, here,” he finishes lamely. 

The man regards Jimin for one moment, then another. Jimin’s cheeks burn, embarrassment hot in his chest. Seriously, what was that? Almost bawling out all his emotions attached to this place in front of a practical stranger? Then ending up with ‘it’s, uhm, nice here’ ?

Just as the silence starts to stretch long enough for Jimin to start shifting uncomfortably, the man blinks, and his smile comes back again, though this one isn't a polite ‘hi how can I help you’ customer smile, it's a gentle, soft, kind smile.

“My name's Jungkook. What's yours?”

Taken aback, Jimin just stares, blinks, bewildered. And somehow, somehow , instead of morphing into something disgusted, awkward, or put out, Jungkook’s expression softens. 

“I’m 24 years old, are you my hyung?” Jimin nods mutely, still stunned at the youth’s acceptance.

“Can I call you hyung then?” He asks sweetly. Jimin nods again, blinking as Jungkook grins, nose scrunching up with it.

He’s cute, he really is.

And something about him reminds Jimin of him.

His brother.

“D’you wanna buy something?” Jungkook gestures towards the rest of the bakery. 

Jimin’s gaze follows Jungkook’s hand, then keeps going, looking through the glass cases at the pastries. The ones that really catch his eye are once again the breads that are shaped into cartoon animals.

Following Jimin’s gaze, Jungkook gives another smile when he sees the animal shaped pastries as well. “One of those?”

Jimin nods.

“Most of them are filled with custard, are you okay with that? We’ve got a couple chocolate ones but I think they’re all sold out…”

“’S okay,” Jimin finally manages.

Jungkook, once again, doesn’t look put out that he’s suddenly talking again. “Alright, follow me, we can pick out one you like.”

If Jimin wasn’t so focused on how bewildering the entire situation is, and still reeling about being back inside the bakery , he’d wonder why Jungkook is helping Jimin of all people pick out a pastry when he’s just another customer.

As it is, he just follows Jungkook without question, stopping beside him in front of the glass case, within which sits several trays filled with aforementioned animal-shaped pastries, kept warm with softly glowing gold lights.

“They’re really cute, right?” Jungkook starts again. “Hobi-hyung - our main baker - made all of them himself.”

Hoseok.

Jimin stares at the pastries, blinks at them for a moment, processing Jungkook’s words.

Then-

He smiles. Just a little thing, but it’s there.

“I love them.”

When Jimin turns back to Jungkook, he finds the youth already looking at him. Jungkook stares, a little wide eyed, at Jimin’s soft smile, and he opens his mouth to say something but-

“Jungkook-ah? Jungkookieee, Hobi-hyung needs you in the back, where are yo- oh, there you are!”

Weaving through the softly chattering customers is another man, also taller than Jimin, and also probably younger than him. He’s strikingly handsome, even more so with the box-shaped grin that stretches across his face at the sight of Jungkook.

What confuses Jimin as much as Jungkook’s kindness, however, is how that smile seems to stretch wider when his eyes flit to the side and meet Jimin’s.

“Tae-hyung,” Jungkook greets, something indescribably fond in his gaze as the man approaches, stopping in front of them. “I was just helping Jimin-hyung here pick out a custard creature,” the youth supplies.

(Jimin has enough brain capacity at that point to, at least, appreciate how adorable that name is.)

Taehyung hums in acknowledgement, reaching out to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook tilts his head into the contact, closing his eyes contentedly for a moment before pulling away. “You said Hobi-hyung needed me?”

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hectic back there and he needs a few extra hands.”

Jungkook huffs, but he doesn’t look annoyed. “Exactly why I told him to hire more bakers.”

Taehyung’s face softens, clearly endeared. “You know hyung only trusts his bakery with his closest friends, be glad he met Yeonjunie and Soobinie and the others all those years ago, otherwise you and Jinnie-hyung would be stuck in there helping Hobi-hyung all day long.”

The youth pouts. “Fine, I’ll go.” Jimin shifts, feeling quite out of place. Jungkook suddenly perks up, as if struck with a realization. “Oh! Sorry, Jimin-hyung, I haven’t introduced you properly, that was rude of me.”

“This is Kim Taehyung, my boyfriend. He also works here, but he mostly handles customer stuff.”

“I suck at baking,” the man supplies, nodding sagely. Jungkook giggles, continuing. “Taetae, this is Jimin-hyung. He’s- wait, hyung, are you also Tae’s hyung? He’s ‘95…”

Jimin manages to respond within a respectable time frame again, though he’s probably still a couple beats late. “I’m ‘95 too.”

Taehyung grins. “That’s great! I’m fine with dropping formalities now, if you want?”

Jimin tilts his head, startled at the sheer glow that Taehyung gives off. He seems a bit like an over-excited puppy, and somehow that’s endearing instead of annoying. 

Why does he remind Jimin of his brother, too?

Right.

His brother.

He’d been happy as well, but was always too scared to let it show in such a hyper fashion, like Taehyung - he’d been a bit more like Jungkook, but at the same time, he hadn’t. Because he’d forced himself to rein in his emotions out of fear, while Jimin thinks Jungkook seems to just be the soft, content kind.

Soft smile.

It could have been a wide, free smile, though. If it weren’t because of them…

“Jimin-ssi?”

Smooth baritone. That’s Taehyung’s voice. Jimin likes the thought of learning to recognize it.

Jimin drags himself out of his memories. Drinks in his surroundings. Jungkook’s not there anymore, probably already helping Hobi- Hoseok in the back. It’s only Taehyung in front of him, now.

Taehyung regards Jimin, gaze lingering on his eyes, which are refocusing again. It hadn’t been that kind of unfocusing, though. Somehow, it was different. Just a normal, sentimental kind of reliving, not anything that was too vivid or life-like or all-encompassing or painful.

Or maybe Jimin’s just going nuts. Is there really a difference? He floated for a moment there again, that’s all. And it must have been awkward and weird, and Taehyung must-

“Are you alright? You look sad.”

Deja vu. Goddamn.

“I’m fine,” Jimin musters a smile, and he doesn’t know if it’s fake or not. “You- uh, you were saying?”

Taehyung tilts his head a little, scanning Jimin’s features a moment longer, before snapping right back into it. “Can we drop the formalities? We’re the same age anyways.”

Jimin nods. 

“Yay! Okay, let’s pick out some pastries, then, Jimin-ah. Which one do you think is the cutest? Hard to choose, I know.”

Jimin turns back towards the assortment of custard creatures through the glass. All of them look adorable, Taehyung’s right, Jimin doesn’t know which one he wants.

Eventually, though, he makes his decision. “I like the chipmunk one the best.”

“Okie, let’s get you a tray. Unless you wanted more than one?” Taehyung inquires. Jimin shakes his head. He’s broke enough as it is. “Alright, c’mon then.”

Taehyung leads Jimin back towards the entrance of the bakery, grabs a tray and a pair of tongs, then heads back to the pastries.

“One chipmunk custard creature, coming right up!” Taehyung chirps with unnecessary but once again endearing enthusiasm. Jimin feels a small smile tugging on his lips again. 

And Taehyung really doesn’t have to, but he opens the glass sliding case himself and uses the tongs to delicately pluck out one of the pastries and places it on the tray, closing the case again. 

Jimin does wonder, then, why they’re helping him, of all people, so much.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, when Taehyung hands him the tray. The man just smiles, wordlessly leading him over to the cashier desk.

By some sheer stroke of luck, nobody is ready to check out yet, still, despite how full the bakery is, and Jimin’s grateful for that. It means he hasn’t been a bother to anyone other than Taehyung and Jungkook.

Taehyung doesn’t bother going behind the desk, just swipes a bag from on top of it and carefully packages Jimin’s one pastry, handing it to him. “2000 won,” he says, likely on autopilot, and Jimin digs around in his pockets for a moment, before taking out the necessary bills. Good thing he keeps backup money even in his work clothes.

“Thank you,” Jimin says again, with a little head bow. 

He has to leave now, Jimin realizes.

He doesn't want to, though…

“Jimin-ah, you wanna stay for a little while and eat your custard creature? We have a coffee table in the back with some cushions…”

They’re so kind. Why are they so kind? It’s starting to become confusing. For all they know, he’s just a customer, and a depressed-looking, mildly slow, weird one at that.

Oh, but they’re so kind and Jimin wants to stay here because it smells nice and it’s warm and if he goes to the back, he’ll be able to see Hoseok again and-

Leave.

“Taehyungie-hyung, I’m back! Is Jimin-hyung still - oh, did you choose the chipmunk one? Good choice, it’s so cute, right?”

You don’t belong here.

You don’t deserve to be here.

You don’t deserve to feel warm, to buy much less eat these pastries, to see Hoseok again, to-

“Jimin-ah? D’you wanna stay?”

Leave!

Jimin stumbles back. One step, one more. “I-”

He bumps into something. There’s a grunt, a ‘hey, watch it’ that falls on progressively deafening ears. Someone .

A customer, Jimin bothered them, bothered all of them-

Leave, now !

“I- I’m sorry, I’m gonna- I have to g-go…”

You’ll never have someone warm again, it should hurt, hurt, hurt -

Jimin lets out a pained, frantic gasp, unsure if he’s crying or not. Backs away, Taehyung and Jungkook’s faces swimming out of view - his vision is blurring, something wet is sliding down his cheeks-

Oh.

He’s crying.

One step back, turn around, one step forward, then another, until between one blink and the next-

A little bell, glass pane, watery yellow flowers, sidewalk.

It’s cold.

Something smells-

Oh.

“Did you choose the chipmunk one? Good choice, it’s so cute, right?”

Yeah. It’s cute. And it also reminds Jimin of-

Of that kind, kind stranger.

Is that why he chose that one?

It looks good. And cute. And reminds Jimin of-

Oh.

When did he get back to his apartment?

On his bed. Plain white sheets. Creaky bed, and a flash of-

Pastel yellow.

A jacket.

It-

Smells like nothing, but-

The thing in Jimin’s hand, it smells like pastries.

It also feels warm.

Jimin sucks in a sharp, shaky breath as his eyes refocus again, snapping back suddenly.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at his hands, which are resting on his lap, dotted with tears. Clutching a little paper bag with cute little cartoon animals printed across it, along with the soft handwriting font spelling the name of the kind, pretty stranger’s bakery. 

Something Homemade.

“Hyung, wouldn’t it-”

No.

Inside the bag, bread shaped into a cartoon chipmunk’s smiling face, black icing for the eyes and nose and mouth and white icing for the highlights, it looks almost too cute to eat.

You don’t deserve to eat it.

Not a single taste of warmth or-

Jimin shouldn’t waste food, though.

He bought this with his own money and he’s too broke not to eat this.

Jimin shouldn’t waste food, especially if it came from-

“Home is where you belong, where you place your love.”

Yeah. Jimin should eat it, just to- to not waste anything.

With shaking, tear-spattered hands, Jimin peels back the wrapper, adjusts it so that the custard pastry pokes out, enough that he can take a bite from the top without getting his hands directly on the delicacy.

He takes a shaky breath and bites into it.

Soft, pillowy bread, warm, sweet, creamy custard, nothing too overwhelming and yet everything perfect and-

“Everything there would be homemade.”

It tastes good, incredibly so. Familiar, too, though that’s to be expected - custard in bread is such a common pastry.

It tastes so good, though. 

Jimin chews, swallows. Ignores his tears and forces himself to take another bite. No wasting, right?

“Hobi-hyung - our main baker- made all of them himself.”

That must be why it tastes so good, then. Handmade, nothing artificial.

A suppressed sob, another bite. God, he’s so pathetic.

And it hurts so much, to remember-

“Anything made with love is something homemade.”

This…

Jimin thinks this was made with love, too.

No, Jimin’s sure this was made with love.

This is something homemade.

Jimin chews, swallows, cries, then lets out a choked laugh.

God, he’s such a mess.

But-

He takes another bite, chews, swallows.

At least he’s doing something. 

Has a little goal, to finish this pastry.

Right.

Sobs. Smiles.

Such a mess.

“Hyung, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Swallows.

Oh.

That was the last bite.

Jimin closes his eyes, falls back on his bed.

The paper bag falls from his limp hand onto the sheets, teetering on the edge of the bed.

“You were right,” he rasps to no one.

It still smells like pastries. The scent is fading, but still. Right now, it still smells like pastries.

Unlike the jacket.

Right.

He still has to return the jacket.

“Hyung, wouldn’t-“

“You were right,” Jimin repeats. Opens his eyes. Stares up at his watermarked ceiling.

He smiles. Broken, sad.

It smells-

“That would have been nice.”

The paper pastry bag teeters, falls, landing soundlessly on the floor.

Jimin shuts his eyes again, suddenly so, so tired.

~~~

Chapter Text

“You’re early, Jimin-ssi.”

A pause. Then-

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Jimin’s co-worker gives a non-committal hum. “Alright, see you later. Don’t ditch your shift again, our boss wasn’t happy about that.”

A blink. The floor tiles are bleak, but at least they’re clean.

Their boss. Right.

At least he hadn’t gotten fired, but the scolding had felt like it’d taken forever.

“…see you.”

Janitor cart.

Hallways first…

He’s already slipping.

He’s…

This needs cleaning.

Slipping…

This too. Which cleanser does he need to use again?

Jimin reaches for the blue bottle, then freezes.

Something’s off.

Jimin stares down at his own hand, grasping the bottle.

He’s…

Pretty much aware.

Usually by now he would’ve spiraled.

Jimin stares, then stares a moment more, then goes back to cleaning the stain.

He’ll go down soon enough.

Once he does, it won’t hurt anymore.

The blue bottle’s almost out.

He’ll need to go to the closet later, get a refill.

Throw this one in the recycling.

Alright, this stain’s finished.

Keep going.

Why…

Why hasn’t he slipped yet?

Jimin grits his teeth, trying to brace himself again the memories. It’s a weird mix of everything, now. Memories of his brother, Jungkook, the bakery, Taehyung, Hoseok.

“Jimin-ssi? Will you come back?”

Why can’t he slip?

He just wants to get away from all this.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another. His cart squeaks obnoxiously.

“Hyung, I can’t sleep. Will you read me this book?”

Jimin just wants to get all of it to stop.

The bakery had been warm.

Both times.

The pastry…

So warm.

Please, Jimin thinks. No.

Something Homemade.

The memory of it, the taste of that pastry, anchors Jimin mind, and he’d never realized how much he needed to be able to… drift, slip under, until now.

He’s still here, and he hates it.

“Least I can do to keep you warm and a little dryer.”

The jacket.

Hallway C didn’t need much cleaning today.

Bathrooms now.

He has to return the jacket.

No. You don’t deserve to go back.

The pastry. Crafted into a chipmunk’s adorable face, filled with custard. Soft, pillowy bread… made with love.

He can’t fade, not with that memory.

It hurts and he wants it to stop.

And the only way to do that-

Don’t go back!

He has to, though.

The jacket…

Don’t.

Maybe if he just… leaves it on the doorstep with a note?

As a package of some sort.

Yeah, that could work.

And he could look through the window again.

Don’t-

Jimin huffs, mind already made up.

The voice is silenced, at least for now.

He has to finish his shift.

Gosh, this bathroom is disgusting.

Jimin has to finish his shift, but once he gets home he’ll prepare the jacket.

Yeah. That’s what he’ll do.

~~~

It’ll hurt less then , is all Jimin has to reassure himself the entire day.

Just wait.

You’ll go back.

~~~

Jimin has never made it home this fast.

He’s actually a little short of breath from how he’d power walked the whole way.

He doesn’t waste any time, going straight to his measly excuse for a bedroom and taking the jacket from the bedpost.

Folding it neatly, he gets some brown packaging paper he’d gotten back at the workplace (their supply closet is loaded with the most obscure things, it’s kind of concerning), Jimin wraps the jacket carefully.

He finds a random piece of scratch paper, rips a piece off, then grabs a pen, sits on the edge of his bed and uses the package on his lap as a table.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of effort to find the right words.

Hoseok-ssi,

You might not remember me. It’s Park Jimin, from that one rainy night a couple weeks ago.

You were very kind, and I’m still grateful. Thank you.

The attached package is your jacket. You let me borrow it to protect me against the rain. Again, thank you.

I wanted to return it. It’s yours, after all.

Jimin pauses, twirling the pen between his fingers. 

His brother taught him how to pen spin. A stab of pain through his chest. Jimin stops, holding the pen aloft again.

Continues.

Hoseok-ssi, you might not remember but you asked me, that night, if I’d come back.

I did. I only bought one pastry, but it was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.

I love your bakery. I’m thanking you again, because the place you have made was and is warm and welcoming and-

Oh.

He’s crying.

-everything I needed.

Thank you,

Jimin

~~~

The skies are overcast, and Jimin wonders a little distantly if it’ll rain soon.

It takes around twenty minutes to walk to the bakery. Jimin walks a little faster, hoping he’ll outrun the rain.

Usually, he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even notice, probably, but this time he has a note and a package that can’t afford to get soaked.

He makes it to the glass front door in 15.

It isn’t raining yet.

The bakery is still open.

The flowers…

They’re a light orange. Like poppies, but less saturated.

And again, they’re trimmed back.

Jimin steps up to the door. There’s an overhang here, if he leaves it behind the potted plant it won’t get wet or get in anyone’s way.

Gingerly, he sets the brown paper packaged jacket down. It makes a little crinkling sound as it goes.

He places the note on top and straightens up again.

The bakery is almost empty, it can’t be more than ten minutes before closing by now. Jimin watches the last few customers through the glass front door, still painfully aware.

It smells like pastries, it looks warm inside, and it’ll rain soon.

Somehow it’s so much like the first time he’d been here, yet so different at the same time - or at least he feels different.

Jimin blinks, turns away.

He should go.

Leave.

Yeah. He should.

One step away, then another.

Why is it so hard to leave?

It hurts to smell the pastries, it hurts to be away from the bakery, and Jimin doesn’t know which one’s better.

You deserve to hurt either way.

But… it had been warm there.

One step away.

Then another.

It had been war-

You don’t deserve warmth!

But-

Not after you killed him.

It-

It’s cold, suddenly.

So, so cold.

Blood, cold-

“Run, hyung.”

“Please. For me.”

It’s freezing.

It-

A… little bell.

As… a door opens?

The door is-

Behind Jimin.

Oh.

He’s crying.

And-

It’s raining.

“Excuse me?”

That’s a voice. Unfamiliar.

Behind Jimin.

He should-

Oh.

Jimin turns around.

Standing there, in the doorway to- to the bakery… a man, handsome with round glasses and silver-ish hair that falls over his eyes, a thick, tall build, holding a potted plant in each arm. 

The flowers are light blue and seem to have been trimmed a while ago, the stems having grown rather long.

The man’s brows crease in concern. “Are you alright?”

You look sad.

It’s not spoken aloud this time, but it’s certainly implied. Jimin swipes hurriedly at his tears.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

The man surveys Jimin for a moment, concern never ceasing. Eventually, though, he lets Jimin’s obvious lie slide. Bends down and sets the potted plants on the concrete in front of the glass front door.

Jimin doesn’t realize he should probably leave until the man speaks again. “I’m switching out the flowers. We do this daily because there’s not much direct sunlight with this overhang.”

It startles Jimin, a little, that those words are directed at him.

He should go.

…

Right?

“Hoseok-hyung - the owner of this bakery - likes to keep some flowers outside, so I let him borrow them from me. I own a flower shop a couple blocks down.”

The man’s still talking to him. Something about his voice, low and rumbly, is soothing.

Somehow his words make it hurt a little less.

“There.” The man straightens again, the light orange flowers held in his arms now. 

Again, he surveys Jimin. 

Jimin wonders what he thinks of him - he definitely looks an absolute mess right now. Tear-stained cheeks, disheveled and unkempt as ever, emotionless, slightly unfocused gaze, nearly nonverbal.

The man-

He smiles.

A soft thing. 

Oh.

Dimples.

“My name’s Kim Namjoon. What’s yours?” 

Kind. They’re all so kind.

Why him?

Miraculously, the words don’t taste like dust anymore. “Jimin. My name is Park Jimin.”

“Jimin.” Namjoon smiles a little wider, dimples deepening. “It’s nice to meet you. Would you like to come inside?”

He shouldn’t, right?

…

It’s warm inside, though.

And dry.

(As if to affirm Jimin’s observation, it suddenly starts raining a little harder.)

“Okay.”

Namjoon pushes the glass front door open with his shoulder. “After you, then. Oh, and would you mind picking up that package while you’re at it? My hands are full,” he points out apologetically.

Jimin nods mutely, suddenly regretting his decision.

It’s one thing leaving a note for someone and another giving it to them and potentially watching others read it.

He takes one step forward, then another, then another, then bends down and retrieves the package and note he’d just left, discreetly covering the contents of said note with his hand. He steps past Namjoon with a murmur of thanks, and then-

He’s back.

It’s just as warm as ever.

And it smells like pastries.

“Do you want to buy something? We’re near closing so we’re almost out of a lot of things, but they’re still pretty fresh.”

Jimin shakes his head, a beat too late, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind. He walks inside after Jimin, letting the door close behind him. “Alright. Follow me.”

Across the bakery they go, Jimin trailing a little nervously behind Namjoon, still clutching onto the package.

Pastries, pastries, pastries.

“Hyung, didn’t they come out so pretty?”

Warm, warm, warm.

They reach the cashier desk, then go around it, and then-

Jimin’s stepping into the back room, right after Namjoon.

“You can leave the package on the coffee table.”

The back hasn’t changed much. It’s still warmer here. There’s still the bookshelf, coffee table and snacks and kettle, rug, shoe rack, then the kitchen half with the mixer and the counters and stovetop, everything-

Except Hoseok isn’t here, and instead there are two other men Jimin’s never seen before.

One is on the cushion closest to the bookshelf and under the reading lamp, curled up like a cat. 

The other is in the kitchen area, hands dusted with flour and kneading some dough.

Both turn in unison to look at Namjoon, then Jimin.

Jimin shrinks back, suddenly feeling a little too exposed.

“Namjoon-ah,” the one on the cushion greets, a little sleepily. “Who’s this?”

Jimin shrinks back a little more. This man, however sleepy, still seems a little intimidating, especially as he gives Jimin this piercing gaze.

“Jimin-ssi,” Namjoon replies, setting down the two potted plants on the floor so he can change his shoes to slippers. He picks up the orange flowers again and brings them over to the coffee table. “He helped me get the package so I wouldn’t have to take two trips back and forth. Also, he doesn’t have an umbrella.”

“Oh, it’s raining already? Forecast said it’d take a couple more hours. I don’t think Hobi brought an umbrella.” The man in the kitchen frets, checking out the window despite it being quite fruitless as it’s too dark to see much by now.

“Don’t worry, Jin-hyung, he’s only throwing out the trash. He’ll be back soon.” Namjoon turns toward Jimin, smiling kindly. “These are my boyfriends. We all help out here as much as we can, although none of us are actually employed here.”

“The grouchy one on the cushion is Min Yoongi. He acts like a grandpa and is definitely older than you. Call him hyung. The mother bird fretter is Kim Seokjin. He’s older than all of us, so call him hyung too. I’m ‘94, if I’m older than you call me hyung.”

It’s all a little much, a little fast, so Jimin just nods, wide-eyed.

“Here, I can take that.”

Namjoon walks back over to Jimin, reaching out for the package and note.

Jimin blinks for a beat, then hands the items over. (Note face down.)

Warm, warm, warm.

Smile, eyes, laugh, scent-

Oh.

Right.

Jimin’s already forgotten it.

Had it been sweet? Like a citrus fruit? Flowery?

He doesn’t want to forget him.

It hurts to forget him more than it does to remember him.

“This is my favorite pastry. It kinda reminds me of you, hyung.”

“All hard and unforgiving on the outside, but really you’re just soft and sweet on the inside.”

“Also it’s fun to make.”

“-min-ssi? Can you hear me?”

Oh, gosh.

He’s crying again.

This is embarrassing.

Jimin stumbles back.

“S-sorry, I-”

Three pairs of concerned eyes, so embarrassing, humiliating-

The voice chooses to come back, at that moment.

You’ve returned the jacket already. You’re done here.

Leave.

A sob tears itself out of Jimin’s throat.

Why does the thought of leaving hurt?

Still, though, he takes one step back, then another.

Now!

“I- I need to leave, s-sorry!”

Jimin backs away, out of sight, whips around, runs.

It had all been too much, all at once.

Never go back.

They owe you nothing.

Why does that thought hurt?

Nothing ties you to that place now.

Why won’t that voice just shut. Up?

You don’t deserve that place or those people.

Jimin starts slipping again, eyes unfocusing. He’s running somewhere, maybe back home, maybe nowhere at all, actually.

They’re too kind for you.

Leave, leave, leave-

Never go back, murderer.

Ever.

Oh.

It’s raining.

~~~

Chapter Text

The alarm rings.

It rings again.

Then again.

And again.

Jimin doesn’t get up.

Again.

And again.

It’s 6 am.

He has to go to work.

Again.

Jimin doesn’t get up.

Nothing ties you to that place anymore.

And again.

He should get up.

Murderer.

Jimin doesn’t get up.

Nothing, smells like nothing, no one, nothing-

The alarm rings.

Once, twice,

Shuts off.

Murderer.

It would… have been nice.

But you killed him.

What if he just doesn’t get up?

Nothing.

Blood, blood, blood.

It hurts.

Jimin doesn’t get up.

What if he just never gets up?

Cold, cold, cold.

Jimin stares, up at his ceiling.

He hadn’t even bothered to put the covers over himself last night.

He wants to cry but for some reason the tears just… won’t come out.

It hurts .

Think of something happy.

Something warm.

His favorite color was purple, his smile made his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, his favorite pastry was-

No.

You deserve to hurt.

Cold, cold, cold.

Jimin tries to move, to dig his fingernails into his forearms and feel some kind of physical pain to override this- this-

“Hyung, run!”

A dry sob. Why him, why this, why now?

Jimin can’t move.

Such a mess.

Murderer.

You knew what they were like.

You could have stopped them.

You could have ran away together.

You could have warned him.

You could have run faster.

You could have died instead.

Jimin doesn’t move.

He wants to cry, wants to move, but he can’t.

He wants it to stop .

Something warm, like- like Something Homemade, like Hoseo-

Blood.

You knew what they were like.

“Get out of my sight.”

“I said, get out of my sight !”

Rage, hatred, burning in their eyes.

What did- what did they do?

“Get out of here!”

Door, slamming open.

Pouring rain.

“Or I’ll fucking whip your ass!”

“A-appa, I-” Jimin’s brother’s eyes are wide, shining with tears.

“Leave it,” Jimin grits out, grabbing his hand, tugging him out the door.

“And don’t you dare come back until you wash that shit off of you!”

Slam.

Rain, rain, rain.

Sob.

“Hey, hey.” Reaches out, wipes away tears. “It’s okay, we still have each other.”

“I- I thought they’d-”

“Well clearly they don’t,” Jimin cuts him off shortly, regretting his tone when the youth flinches. “Look.” He softens his tone. “Appa and Eomma may not like the fact that- that we like boys, but their opinion doesn’t matter - it doesn’t change anything. We can still love who we want, and we still have each other. That’s all- that’s all that we need. Okay?”

Jimin’s brother nods shakily, tears still streaming down his face but no longer sobbing.

“Okay,” he breathes.

Jimin smiles, sad, broken. Pulls him into a hug.

Just them.

No one else.

That’s all they need.

That’s all they have.

It’s raining.

Why did I let him convince me to tell them about that?

I already knew what they would be like.

What they would think.

And look what it did.

Look what that confession broke.

The last straw.

I already knew what… they would be like.

I already… knew…

That… they didn’t love us.

Not anymore.

~~~

The next stretch of time is rather strange for Jimin.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, that’s strange thing number one.

Number two, he keeps drifting, spiraling, then snapping back, then drifting a little, then snapping back, then going all the way down, back up again.

Number three, he keeps reliving random memories, good and bad, some blurry, some with more detail than he remembers even observing.

It still hurts, the entire way through though.

~~~

“That would be nice.”

Something Homemade.

A glass front door. On either side, potted plants, purple flowers-

A little bell rings as he opens the door.

Wants to move, can’t move, wants to cry, can’t-

“Hyung, isn’t it so pretty?”

He loved the color purple.

Bunny smile. Boxy smile.

“Are you okay? You look-”

Sad.

Sad, sad, sad-

“Will you come back?”

Rain-

Hoseok looks like he could be warm.

Warm, warm, warm.

Heart shaped-

Blood.

The jacket’s zipper got stuck halfway-

The cuff would wrinkle just so-

Hanging on the bed post.

Tears off a piece of paper, grabs a pen, the paper had some official looking writing on it, probably a bill of some sort-

Rain.

Smells like nothing but-

That sidewalk, right outside, had three cracks.

Something Home-

Writes, ‘thank you’.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Oh.

It’s-

Rain, rain, rain.

Cold.

So cold.

Hurts.

“Can I call you hyung?”

“These are my boyfriends. Min Yoongi’s the one on the cushion, he-”

Dimples.

“Get out of my sight!”

Warmer in the back.

Smash. Glass breaks, flies, blood-

Blood.

Shaped like a heart.

Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok.

Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok…

Thank you.

Yeah.

He just won’t get up.

“Are you really going to end it like this, hyung?”

Jimin’s eyes snap open, but he’s-

Not in his room.

Everything sorta feels real, though.

“After everything?”

That’s-

Jimin sits up so quickly he hears something crack, but ignores it in favor of whipping his head around, but-

His brother’s not there.

“I’m not really here. You can’t see me.”

“Is this… in my head then?”

His voice echoes. Off of bleak, white walls. Nothing but white. Smells like nothing. But it sounds-

“It’s in your heart,” his voice corrects.

“…”

A laugh. Oh, he’s missed that laugh. “C’mon, that wasn’t that cheesy! You can handle some cheese, hyung, for me?”

“I missed you.”

“I know. Me too.”

A scuffling sound, distant. Like it came from outside the room.

Jimin’s brother snaps right back on track. “So. You haven’t actually given up, have you?”

He doesn’t need to specify.

Jimin sighs. Falls back on his back.

“Is there really a point?”

“Of course-”

“No, there isn’t!”

“Hyung-”

“We told each other! Promised! You were all I needed, all I had! And… I…”

A sob. Tears, finally, spill out.

“Oh, hyung. Jimin-hyung.”

“You’re not even here.” His voice cracks at the end.

A pause. More scuffling, louder, less muffled, sounds more like-

Jimin’s brother changes the subject. “You’ve been lying there for around thirty hours now.”

Sounds more like-

Like knocking?

“Okay.”

“Hyung-” He breaks off with a slightly exasperated breath. “That’s not ‘okay’ , that’s concerning! Very much so!”

“You’re not even here,” Jimin repeats, closing his eyes again.

Because that’s the thought that hurts the most right now.

Yeah. Definitely knocking.

Knock, knock, knock…

“Jimin-hyung, please just listen to me.” His voice is fading, fading. He’s not really here, and yet Jimin still wants him to stay. He opens his eyes again.

“I know it’s hard, I know it hurts, but you have to wake up,” he urges. “It’ll get better, I swear.”

The reassurance, however much Jimin knows he can’t trust, still soothes. 

Another tear.

Knock, knock, knockknock, knockknockknockknock-

Oh wow. Very aggressive knocking.

“Please, hyung, wake up.”

It hurts.

“I know.” The voice responds even though Jimin’s said nothing aloud. “I know, but please, just- hyung, please .”

And then-

“For me.”

Jimin’s eyes snap open, and he’s-

Oh.

This is his room.

It’s dark out - no light filtering through the blinds.

He feels something wet on his cheek, blinking and feeling another tear drip out.

Why is he crying?

Everything is kind of disorienting, like waking up from a particularly realistic dream.

Something happened, and Jimin should probably remember it, but he doesn’t.

What happened again?

It had involved… hurt, that’s for sure, flashes of- the bakery? The note he’d written? And- white walls, white-

Knockknockknockknockknockknockknock-

What the hell.

Jimin shoots bolt upright, and is immediately hit with-

Thirst, hunger, headache, stomachache, muscle aches, nausea-

Jeezus, he hasn’t felt this bad in years.

What even happened? The last lucid thing Jimin remembers is smashing into his room, collapsing on his bed, maybe he started drifting again? What about before that? Rain, running, bell, door, tears-

Oh. 

Nothing ties you there anymore-

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK-

Holy moly, what the actual hell.

Literally no one has ever knocked on Jimin’s door before, except for his landlord, once. 

And for sure, no one has ever knocked on Jimin’s door like their life and their dog and their future generations and everything holy under the goddamn sky depended on it.

Jimin gets up, stumbles.

Why’s it so hard to stand?

How long has it been since he stood, actually? His head starts spinning, then accelerates. 

Keeps spinning, speeding up.

Jimin swears under his breath, voice so incredibly raspy, like his throat is made of sandpaper.

Gods, he’s thirsty.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK-

Jimin lets out another curse, this one entirely incredulous, stumbles forward and crashing against the wall, using that to support him on the way out of his room.

With mind-bending, soul-crushing effort, Jimin reaches his front door. 

Winces when the sound of the knocking, now up close, makes his head pound harder.

He opens the door.

Jimin takes a step back, still leaning almost his entire weight against the wall. 

Someone bursts in.

It’s-

“Jimin-ssi?!”

Hoseok.

Wait.

Hoseok?

How the-

“Jiminie!”

Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy.

Jimin’s knees buckle, but they never hit the ground.

Instead, there are gentle arms under his, holding him up, and then-

Pulling him close.

Hoseok.

Jimin breaks, sobs, presses himself weakly into-

Hoseok.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, Jiminie. Hyung’s here. Hyung’s here now.”

Hoseok, he-

He-

He’s so warm.

~~~

Chapter Text

“Jimin-ah, Jiminie.”

Movement, footsteps. Something soft, familiar - sheets, mattress.

“Jiminie, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

Hoseok.

Heart shaped.

His smile, voice, scent, touch-

Oh, Jimin’s missed him so much.

Pretty, kind, and now-

“Oh, Jimin-ah, please don’t cry, a-are you hurt anywhere? What even happened?”

Warm.

Jimin blinks his eyes open (with some effort), and finds himself staring up at Hoseok’s achingly familiar, concerned, kind expression, a little blurry through his newfound tears.

He blinks again, and makes out the ceiling above Hoseok, realizes he’s lying on his back on his bed again, but this time his head is in Hoseok’s lap.

Jimin should be suspicious, should be wondering what he’s doing here, maybe even afraid, but instead he just feels-

Trust. Comfort.

Warmth.

“Hey,” Hoseok greets softly. “Back with me?”

“H-hoseok-hyung,” Jimin manages dazedly. He doesn’t continue, though - he doesn’t have much more to say.

“Jiminie.” Hoseok hesitates for only a moment before reaching out to run his fingers through Jimin’s hair, just once.

Jimin whines as the touch soothes his headache, just a little.

Hoseok pauses at the vocalization, and Jimin immediately whines again, this time in protest.

He hasn’t been this vulnerable in front of anyone for years, and somehow it’s not the least bit scary.

“D-don’t stop, please? Hurts.” The headache is jumbling his words, his thoughts. Maybe not just that, though. He feels like he’s drifting again, but this time it feels a little different.

Warmer, softer.

Hoseok doesn’t continue, though. Instead his brows crease in concern, and he inquires, “Hurts? Where?”

Jimin pouts a little, not wanting to have to voice things when his mind is so sluggish.

“Head.” Then he pouts some more, adding, “Throat. ‘S dry. Tummy.” Full force pout. “Everything,” Jimin concludes. “B-but… your hand, when you touch me, s’nice. H-hurts less.”

“Oh.” Hoseok rests his hand back in Jimin’s hair, stroking once, twice. Jimin’s eyelids flutter shut. “Poor thing. What happened?”

That’s a good question, Jimin thinks, straining to remember.

He’d… gone to return the jacket. Met Namjoon, Yoongi, Seokjin. Then-

Nothing ties you to that place again.

You don’t deserve that place or those people.

Leave, murderer.

And then he’d ran, and it had been raining.

Back to his apartment, onto his bed, and then-

Memories, jumbled, drifting, untethered.

And then-

He just won’t get up.

Blank.

Nothing after that.

Jimin shrugs, opening his eyes again to look up at Hoseok. A little bit of dawn light filters through the blinds, just enough to illuminate his features. 

Pretty.

“You don’t remember anything?” Hoseok’s concern seems to deepen.

“J-just… got back, and I think I fell asleep? Then my alarm rang, and… uh…” How is Jimin supposed to describe how he spirals, drifts, in words? He’s never tried to understand the abnormal behavior himself.

“Felt sad. Hurt. Couldn’t get up. D-don’t remember anything after that. When I woke up you were knocking.”

Hoseok hums in understanding, continuing to stroke his hair. “How long?

Jimin gives a questioning blink.

“How long did you sleep?” Hoseok rephrases. 

“Oh.” It’s easier to remember this time. “Since… Wednesday night?”

There’s a shocked silence (shocked on Hoseok’s part, noncommittal and a little confused on Jimin’s), and then Hoseok bursts, “Wednesday night?!”

Jimin flinches at the sudden raise in volume, sharpness in tone. Hoseok softens immediately, reaching out with the hand that isn’t in his hair to rest on Jimin’s hand, squeezing apologetically. 

“Jimin-ah…” Hoseok eventually manages. “It’s Friday morning.”

Oh , Jimin thinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“Gods, Jimin. You-” Hoseok breaks off with a deep breath. “We need to get you some water, some food. Do you have anything in the fridge?”

Jimin shakes his head, then stops when his headache flares again. “It’s unplugged. To s-save electricity.”

Hoseok hums, and he doesn’t seem judgmental. “I’ll order some food. Water only will have to do for now.”

He starts to shift, gently removing himself from under Jimin’s head, but Jimin lets out another whine, hands coming up to clutch at Hoseok’s shirt. “D-don’t go!”

“Jiminie,” Hoseok coaxes softly, although he does stop moving. “We have to get you some water, it’s been days. And you’re in no condition to walk right now, so just let me get you some from the kitchen. It’ll only be forty seconds, I promise.”

Jimin pouts again, unrelenting, gripping tighter. Now that he has Hoseok’s touch, he can’t let it go.

Warmth.

Not even for a second. His warmth is the only thing keeping him together, keeping the worst of the pain at bay.

You don’t deserve this, don’t deserve it, don’t deserve it, don’t deserve it-

Jimin needs this, though. Needs Hoseok.

Don’t deserve-

Just for now, though.

Just for now, for now, for now-

“Hey, hey, Jiminie, please don’t cry.”

For now, for now-

Never have a forever.

Jimin sobs.

Don’t deserve, not after you killed-

“Jimin-ah, hey, hey, hyung’s here.” Suddenly there are hands cupping Jimin’s face, wrenching him back out of his spiraling thoughts.

Jimin sobs again, but it’s dry - he’s run out of tears. It makes his sandpaper throat seize for a moment, and he coughs.

“I need to get you water,” Hoseok repeats, staring into Jimin’s eyes as he cups his face gently. “I’ll be back in no time, and you’ll still be able to hear me. Please, let go?”

Clutches tighter, even as he coughs again.

Not after you killed your brother.

But I need, can’t-

“Jiminie, for me?”

Oh.

Jimin lets out his loudest dry sob yet, but he lets go of Hoseok’s shirtfront. Hoseok takes the chance immediately, slipping out from under Jimin even as he babbles praises and reassurances a mile a minute.

The youth curls in on himself on the bed and squeezes his eyes shut, wracked with more sobs, so loud he can barely hear Hoseok throwing open all the cabinets a room over to find a glass and then filling it to the brim. Then another coughing fit takes over, and it’s so so cold-

Warmth-

Jimin gasps, eyes flying open again and focusing on Hoseok’s face, something frantic and panicked in his gaze, yet something secure, soothing, too.

One of his hands is back to cupping Jimin’s face, the other holding a glass of water. 

“Jimin-ah, try to sit up for me, okay?” Hoseok’s voice is remarkably steady, but there’s still a tinge of distress in it. Jimin tries to obey, elbows almost buckling under his weight, until Hoseok reaches out and supports him with his free arm.

Jimin’s still coughing, but he’s no longer sobbing thanks to Hoseok’s return, his touch, his warmth. 

“Good job,” Hoseok praises softly. “Take a sip for me, alright?” He holds the glass up to Jimin’s lips, and when his coughs finally calm down for long enough to do so, Jimin obeys and starts gulping down the liquid like he’s been parched for days (which, well, technically he has).

Once Jimin’s thirst is sated, Hoseok sets the glass aside and climbs onto the bed with Jimin, helping him lie back down to his previous position, head in his lap. “I’ll order you some food,” Hoseok murmurs, pulling out his phone.

Within a minute Hoseok is putting the device down again, turning his attention back to Jimin, carding his fingers through his hair and not saying anything. Just a solid, grounding, comforting presence.

Jimin takes a couple more minutes to… come back completely, but he does eventually manage it.

“Hyung?”

“Jiminie?”

Jimin gnaws at his bottom lip as shame blooms. “I’m sorry.”

Hoseok frowns. “Sorry? Why?”

“I-” Isn’t it obvious? “I bothered you? It’s, like, 5:30, you have your bakery to-”

“Jimin-ah.” Hoseok cuts the youth off firmly but not unkindly. “There’s no need to apologize. I wanted to- and still do want to- help. I’m just glad I got here in time.”

Jimin furrows his eyebrows and opens his mouth to retaliate but Hoseok continues before he can. “Actually, ah, I should be the one apologizing.” Hoseok suddenly looks bashful, averting Jimin’s gaze, rubbing the back of his own head.

“I really shouldn’t have shown up at your doorstep when you hadn’t willingly given me your address, but I just-” He breaks off, trying to find his words.

Oh. Right. That should be the most pressing issue for Jimin right now, now that the threat of imminent death is gone. How is Hoseok here? They’ve literally met in person once, and Hoseok’s right - Jimin has never given him his address before.

Jimin would ask him if Hoseok stalked him online, but there’s not much of a digital footprint to go off of if he hardly has the mental capacity to remember if he’s eaten in the past two days, much less go on social media.

“Your note,” Hoseok eventually admits without Jimin having to ask. “With my jacket that you returned. I’m pretty sure you ripped off a piece of some kind of bill for it, it had your address printed on the back with some official-looking finance details.”

Curiosity gets the better of Jimin, and he drops his own apologies for now. “How’d you… know to come here then?”

“Gut feeling,” Hoseok explains. “Just… knew something was really wrong, and it had something to do with you, so I went to the address on the back of the bill and met one of your neighbors on the way in who told me you usually leave at 6 for work every day but they hadn’t seen you in a while, and, well, here I am.”

He looks apologetic, ashamed, and for a moment Jimin wonders if he should be angry at Hoseok for saving him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For half-stalking and half-breaking in. It was an invasion of privacy. But… I’m also glad I got here in time. From what I’ve seen, you live alone - if any of your friends or family hadn’t thought to check up on you, who knows what could’ve happened…” Hoseok’s voice becomes a little shaky, and Jimin notices then, a little wide-eyed, that he genuinely seems affected by the situation, genuinely seems scared about the ‘what if’ s, genuinely seems to… care .

Jimin thinks then that if Hoseok really does care…

What would that be like?

“Jimin-ah?”

Hoseok’s face is blurry through more tears (Jimin’s going to cry out the entire glass he just downed at this rate), but he can still barely make up how his brows furrow in concern again, how his gaze is warm, warm, warm, kind, kind, kind, as he reaches out to thumb a tear away. “Jimin-ah, what’s wrong? Does anything hurt too bad? Should I get you another glass of water?”

What would that be like?

Warmth, touch, despite Jimin being so absolutely undeserving of it. Given so freely.

He’d met Hoseok weeks ago, just once, on a rainy night, and had 5 minutes of conversation and an hour of companionship.

He’d drifted through some of it, he’d acted like a mess, as usual.

He hadn’t even let himself think about the possibility of going back.

“Jiminie.”

And now Hoseok is here, solid and warm, touching Jimin, brushing away his tears, quietly, genuinely, concerned.

Nothing ties you to that place now.

Except…

What about Hoseok?

Jimin stares up into Hoseok’s eyes, the same warm brown ones from what feels like so long ago. 

You don’t deserve this.

Oh, but he wants it.

He craves it, so bad.

What would that be like?

“Jiminie,” Hoseok repeats softly, coaxing.

What would it be like, to let himself take some of that warmth, however greedy it would be?

What would it be like, to keep coming back to Hoseok’s smile, to learn about his laugh?

What would it be like, if he let Hoseok make it hurt just a little less?

“Hoseok-hyung,” Jimin finally whispers, thick with emotion.

It…

Hoseok seems to understand. Jimin doesn’t need anything right now, other than his presence, his voice, his warmth, his touch. “I’m right here.”

It…

It would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Jimin’s eyes slip shut again, exhaustion suddenly trying to drag him back under. Sleep rushes in, but it’s… soft, warm, safe.

He feels Hoseok start stroking his hair again, and the corners of his lips stretch up in a small smile.

Not broken, not sad, just wistful, content.

Yeah.

It would be nice.

~~~

“Hyung, wouldn’t that be nice?”

~~~

Chapter Text

“Jiminie, wake up.”

Jimin gives an incoherent mumble, shifting. 

There’s a soft, fond laugh, such a warm sound, and Jimin blinks open his eyes to a sleepy squint.

The blinds are still closed, so only so much light has filtered through, but it should be around 7 am by now, judging from what little is now illuminating the room.

A familiar face, smiling down on Jimin.

“H’seok-hy’n,” Jimin slurs, and there’s that laugh again, bright and fond, and that… that heart shaped smile…

The youth stares at the beautiful sight above him for just a moment, before he smiles back.

Soft, sleepy, but the widest one he’s made in years.

Something falters in Hoseok’s gaze, but the sight doesn’t seem to be anything bad. Jimin’s smile holds.

Another beat, and then Hoseok’s smile softens and he speaks again. “C’mon, food’s here.”

As if on cue, Jimin’s stomach growls.

He has enough of a mind to blush, averting his eyes and breaking eye contact with Hoseok, and he feels his cheeks warm even more at the sound of Hoseok’s laugh.

He laughs so much, and his laugh is so bright and warm and seems to fill up his whole body, and Jimin loves it.

“You’ll have to move your head if you want me to go get the food,” Hoseok says, and Jimin mumbles an apology and acquiesces, sitting up as quickly as his ongoing headache will allow.

Hoseok gets up, then, stretches for a moment, and then heads out the bedroom door with a promise to be back soon. Something in Jimin wants him to whine and make grabby-hands and ask for Hoseok not to leave, but he’s awake enough now to hold back.

Instead, he distracts himself by looking around his room.

Bare, as always. On his nightstand, there’s only a few writing utensils, his alarm clock, and a messy stack of papers, bills and notices, mostly. Actually, bills and notices, only.

When Hoseok comes back with two takeout boxes, he asks Jimin if he wants to go to the kitchen to eat, but Jimin shakes his head, unwilling to leave the softness of his bed.

“Chicken or pork?” Hoseok opens the takeout boxes and places them carefully on the sheets, gesturing to them.

Jimin blinks at his options, surprised to even have an option. Also this food is very clearly from a much fancier place than he’s used to.

“You pick first,” Jimin eventually murmurs. 

Hoseok tilts his head, even as he sits down and takes a pair of chopsticks out of their wrapper. “You sure? No favorites?”

Jimin shakes his head, unwrapping his chopsticks too. “You choose,” he reiterates. Hoseok shrugs and picks up the pork bento.

The youth waits for his hyung to dig in first, and once Hoseok has taken his first bite, Jimin takes his own.

Holy shit.

“Good?” Hoseok grins, then grins some more when Jimin nods fervently, taking another, visibly larger, bite. “It’s from Jinnie-hyung’s restaurant. I’m still so grateful he added a to-go option.”

The name sounds familiar, for some reason.

Perhaps Jimin’s curiosity shows on his face, because Hoseok elaborates. “Kim Seokjin-hyung. He’s a close friend of mine.” He pauses. “Although, I suppose you’ve already met him?”

Jimin freezes, a bite of chicken halfway to his mouth.

“H-how?” The youth finally manages to rasp out after a few beats of silence.

Hoseok takes another bite, chews, swallows. “I told some of my friends about you the first time you came to Something Homemade .”

Jimin nods slowly, not sure how he should feel about that. Although, he supposes, Hoseok has every right to tell his friends about the weirdo that burst in soaking wet after hours, drank a cup of tea, and then left.

“Only 5 friends, though. They’re the ones I’m really close with. I think… I think you’ve actually already met all of them?”

Jimin blinks, tilting his head questioningly. Food forgotten.

“Kim Seokjin,” Hoseok lists out. “Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook.”

Well.

Okay.

“I… have met them,” Jimin admits quietly.

Hoseok smiles. “I know. They all recognized you pretty quick, told me about your encounters afterwards.”

“Recognized… me?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok picks up another bite of food with his chopsticks. Speaks before he eats. “I told them you were younger than all of them except Taetae and Kookie. Long-ish hair, brown eyes, very pretty, kinda short-”

Jimin splutters a little at ‘ very pretty’ .

Hoseok mistakes the reaction as one to ‘kinda short’ . He smirks. “Jimin-ah, you’re literally the shortest out of all of us, you know that?”

Recovering quickly, Jimin plays along. “Yah, no need to rub it in,” he mumbles. 

Hoseok laughs again and it warms Jimin’s heart, enough that he picks up his chopsticks again and resumes eating.

It only takes a few bites for Jimin to process everything and realize something. “Hoseok-hyung.”

“Mm?” His reply is muffled by a mouthful of food. It’s endearing.

“What else did you say about me?”

“What… else?”

Jimin nods, setting down his chopsticks again. “There’s no way they recognized me from just ‘brown eyes, long-ish hair, and short’ .”

“I also called you pretty,” Hoseok reminds, but his smile is a little forced now.

“Hyung.”

The smile returns, soft now. “Ah, you got me. Alright. I just… said I didn’t know how to explain it, but you seemed…”

Hoseok pauses, attempting to find his words, although Jimin thinks he already knows what Hoseok’s trying to say.

“Sad,” Hoseok finishes quietly. 

Jimin feels a sinking in his stomach. Pathetic , he hears instead.

“I’m not… helpless or anything.”

“I know,” Hoseok says quickly, setting down his utensils too. “That wasn’t what I meant. Although you do know it’s okay to ask for help, right?”

Jimin doesn’t answer.

Hoseok softens even more, if that was possible, and Jimin feels his guard being put up, just a little, and he averts his gaze, but then-

Hoseok reaches out, rests his hand over Jimin’s where it lies limp on the bed.

“Jimin-ah.” Instinctively, Jimin makes eye contact. 

Warm, brown eyes. Safe.

“I told my friends that you seemed sad, that you seemed like you didn’t want to ask for help, but that I felt like I really wanted to give it to you anyways.”

Oh , Jimin thinks.

“Oh,” Jimin says. 

Warmth.

“That you seemed like you were hurting, and have been hurting for a long time, and that I wanted to help you stop hurting.”

Hoseok falls silent, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Jimin suddenly feels the strange urge to smile. 

It takes Jimin a few more beats to gather up his words, but Hoseok lets him take his time.

“Only one person’s… cared about me that much,” he finally admits softly.

You don’t deserve anyone that cares about you.

“Well, we care,” Hoseok squeezes Jimin’s hand. “All six of us. I hope it helps to know that.”

It does-

You. Don’t. Deserve. Them.

“Hoseok-hyung.”

“Jiminie.”

“The food is good.”

Unfocused eyes. 

Concerned, confused eyes.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Chopsticks, picked up again.

“Jiminie?”

Get away from him.

You don’t deserve another chance.

You deserve to hurt-

“ Jimin-ah. ”

Warmth.

“Jiminie, look at me. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Jimin looks up, because Hoseok told him to.

Oh.

He's pretty.

“Jimin.”

Oh.

He's crying.

It feels like… he's been crying a lot.

Why…

What is there to cry for?

“Hyung, run-”

“Jimin!”

Warmth.

Touch.

“Jimin, come back to me.”

Hoseok.

Jimin blinks away his tears, eyes focusing again.

So, so pretty.

“We really do care. I really do care. And if you don't believe me, then I'll try my best to show you.”

His hands, cupping Jimin's face, gently yet firmly.

“Hyung,” he whispers.

Do I really deserve this?

…

“Will you let me?”

Hoseok doesn't elaborate because he doesn't have to.

Will you let me help you?

Will you let me make it hurt a little less?

Will you let me show you that I care?

Jimin's head is clear, clearer than it has been for years, it seems.

Anchored by Hoseok's hands cupping his face, he's fully aware of his own thoughts.

You killed him.

Do you really deserve this?

But what would he- what would my brother say?

…

“Hyung, wouldn't that be nice?”

“Hyung,” Jimin repeats, clearly this time. His eyes are watery but the tears don't overflow for once.

“I'll let you.”

A frozen moment.

Then Hoseok smiles, and it thaws.

“Then I'll start with feeding you up, hmm? Finish your food, Jiminie.”

Obediently, Jimin picks up his chopsticks again.

The food really is good, Jimin thinks. Must be quite expensive.

As if sensing his thoughts, Hoseok picks up his own chopsticks and digs in again as he says, “Hyung’s treat.”

Do you really deserve this?

…

“Thank you, Hobi-hyung.”

Hoseok's expression is astonished for only a moment, and then it's back to pure joy, grin heart-shaped, eyes shining. “Keep calling me that, Jiminie.”

Jimin takes another bite with a small smile of his own, relishes the taste and swallowing. “Okay, Hobi-hyung.”

Hoseok is so, so warm.

And-

Oh, this really is nice.

~~~

Chapter Text

“I promise, he’ll be fine, calm down, Taehyungie.”

There’s the inaudible crackle of a voice on the other line, and Hoseok smiles despite Taehyung not being to see him. 

“Alright, alright, jeezus, you can’t just take my word for things, can you? I’ll have to ask him if he’s okay with it first, though.”

Hoseok takes the phone away from his ear, turning to Jimin, who blinks back, startled to suddenly be the object of his attention.

“Jimin-ah, would you be okay with talking to Taehyung yourself for a while? Just to tell him you’re okay. The others have been fretting, too.”

“Uh…” Jimin swallows. “Are they all on the line?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok confirms softly.

All of Hoseok’s friends at once? There are five of them, and Jimin’s kinda sorta met all of them, and all the encounters ended in embarrassing tears, and this will surely be awkward-

“It’s okay if it’s too much, they’ll understand.”

Kind, kind, kind.

Jimin blinks up into Hoseok’s eyes, and finds nothing but understanding and warmth and kindness there.

If Hoseok is like this, so should his friends, right?

“I’m fine with it,” Jimin says, and Hoseok beams.

His hyung hands him the phone, and Jimin raises it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Jimin!” Taehyung’s voice explodes through the receiver, seemingly delighted to hear him, although his worry is palpable. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, suppressing a smile. “Hi, Taehyung.”

There’s a sigh of relief, then an awed gasp, a delighted ‘he remembers me!’ that gets muted, as if the phone’s been taken away from Taehyung. 

“Sorry to bother you,” a deep, familiar voice says. Even hearing it through the phone, Jimin recognizes that voice. 

“Namjoon-ssi?”

“Ah, call me hyung. Taehyungie’s just being a little overprotective, he wouldn’t believe Hobah until he heard you himself. I know you’d probably rather be resting…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jimin reassures Namjoon quickly. “I don’t mind.”

Namjoon’s response, as well as Taehyung in the background clamoring to get the phone back with complaints along the lines of ‘gimme, I’m not done talking to him yet’ , is muted as the phone is passed to another person once again. “You probably should mind,” a stern voice iterates sharply. “From what Hobi’s told us, you very well could’ve died.”

Jimin winces a little, even though he knows it’s true.

Then there’s a muffled, ‘Yoongi-ah, calm down’ , and then there’s a new voice, “I apologize for his harshness, Jimin-ah, Yoongi just happens to be as overprotective as Taehyung, even if he denies it.”

Seokjin, Jimin thinks.

“Although he’s right,” Seokjin adds, and his tone is firm, too, but just like with Yoongi, there’s no real heat behind his words. “Your health was at risk, Jimin-ah, please don’t take this lightly.”

“I know,” Jimin murmurs. “I’m sorry for worrying everyone.”

A phrase he never thought he’d be able to say. No one’s worried about him for years, after all.

He means it though. Guilt curls in his chest, cold and heavy.

“Don’t apologize,” Seokjin says, tone softened again. “We care about you, we’re meant to worry.”

Do I really deserve them?

...

“…thank you.”

“No need to thank us either, Jimin-ah. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Does anything still hurt?”

“J-just… my throat’s still a little sore, but… other than that, only a small headache, I think.” Jimin’s various minor body pains and much of his headache had faded after the few hours of - not just sleep, rest - that he’d gotten before waking up to Hoseok talking on the phone, hand still in Jimin’s hair. 

“Mm, we’ll let you get some rest now then, I’ll send over some more food, you’ll need your strength to recover.”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to-”

“I want to. Let hyung help, hmm?”

“Will you let me?”

Kind, kind, kind.

“Okay,” Jimin murmurs.

“Alright, get some rest, okay? Hyung will hang up now-”

Seokjin’s voice is muted again, and one last voice reaches the receiver, its ‘wait!’ getting louder when the phone is brought up to its source.

“Jimin-hyung?”

Not entirely unsurprised, Jimin doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Jungkook-ah?”

“Are you feeling better?”

Jimin blinks. Had Jungkook not heard everything? Or maybe he wants to hear it from Jimin himself, like Taehyung had. The thought is touching, and he does let a soft smile slip out this time as he replies. “Yeah, I am-”

“No, I, uh,” a slightly self-frustrated huff, like Jungkook’s struggling to find the right words. “I meant… are you feeling… happier?”

“Are you alright? You look sad.”

Jimin is taken by surprise this time.

Something about this makes Jimin feel like Jungkook is rather perceptive.

He should be brushing this off, should be replying with his usual, ‘I’m fine’ , but-

“Will you let me?”

“I…” Jimin clears his throat. “I am. Not all the way, but… a lot more than I’ve been for a long time.”

Thanks to all of you.

Do I really deserve you?

…

I don’t know.

“…Jimin-hyung.”

“Jungkook-ah.”

“Thank you.” 

“What for?”

“Trusting us,” Jungkook replies simply.

Yeah. Perceptive.

To know that letting them do this much is already so, so much for Jimin.

He still doesn’t really know why he’s so comfortable with them. Hoseok especially.

How they managed to convince him, even subconsciously, that he can take this much.

Even if he’s still not sure if he deserves everything, the warmth, the touches, the kindness, smiles and dropping formalities, more than one shared memory, a place that he’s returned to, he’s still taking it all, and that’s already so much more than he’s let himself have for years.

“…I should be thanking you.”

“Jimin-hyung.” There’s not much more to say. Not when his voice is filled with so much warmth, sincerity, not when Jimin can hear the smile in his voice.

It’s strange. Jimin’s only met Jungkook once, and yet being able to hear a smile in a voice says a lot about how much you see that smile and hear that voice.

Jimin wonders if he could do the same with Hoseok.

‘Jungkookie, we should let him rest now.’

“Oh! Right! Sorry, hyung, I know you’re still recovering-”

“It’s alright, Kookie,” Jimin reassures quickly. His own face stretches into a not-so-small smile, and he wonders foolishly, for a brief moment, whether Jungkook can hear it in his voice too. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye, Jiminie-hyung!”

‘Wait, I wanna say bye too-’

Taehyung’s voice is covered up with a loud, mischievous cackle from Jungkook, wonderfully youthful, and then the call cuts off abruptly.

Jimin hands the phone back to Hoseok, and finds that he’s smiling brightly too. 

“Everything go okay?”

Jimin smiles softly. He’s been smiling a lot lately. “Yeah.”

“That’s good,” Hoseok says, and Jimin knows he means it. “You should probably rest now. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Alright. Do you want me to stay?”

Jimin hadn’t even thought of the possibility that Hoseok might leave, already so used to his company, his comforting presence, how Jimin’s tiny apartment doesn’t feel so empty anymore. He guesses he should be grateful, though - Hoseok being so mindful of his privacy.

Yes, I want you to stay.

Do you really deserve that, though?

Jimin’s smile dims a little. Hoseok must be tired of him, must be itching to get back to his bakery, as it’s already past noon and he’s just been baby sitting Jimin…

“It’s alright. I know you have your bakery to attend to, you should probably get back.”

Even as he says the words, Jimin dreads the moment when he’ll have to see Hoseok go.

“The others can handle things for me for a day, what’s important to me now is you.”

He’s just saying that - he doesn’t mean it.

He can’t mean it.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Something in Hoseok’s eyes dim, too, but his soft smile doesn’t cease. “Alright, if you insist.” Then he taps on his phone for a few seconds, before handing it to Jimin. “Could you give me your number? Text me when you’re fully recovered? And I’d like to be able to talk to you whenever, too, I’ve missed you these past few weeks.”

Jimin stares at the device being offered to him, eyes wide with shock. Number? Missed you?

Everything Hoseok has just said is unfathomable to Jimin. And yet-

Do you really deserve-

“Okay.” Jimin takes the device back with slightly trembling fingers. Types in his number, somehow still remembering it despite this being the first time he's given it since giving it to the company when they required a cell phone number to get hired. It was actually because of that very requirement that Jimin ended up getting a phone in the first place. The cracked, second hand thing is hardly ever used and looks as ugly as a used phone can get, but it does the job.

Said phone is probably somewhere in the kitchen right now, left there from however many days before.

“Thanks,” Hoseok says when Jimin hands his phone back to him. “Text me, alright?”

Jimin nods, now in a state of incredulous awe. Hoseok has his number. He's missed him since that one time they'd met. And he's asking him to text him when he's recovered, like he cares .

Hoseok takes a step away and Jimin automatically stands, wanting to see him off. The movement causes a wave of dizziness and exhaustion to hit him, though, and he sways on the spot, brows furrowed with discomfort. 

His hyung immediately makes a concerned noise in the back of his throat, reaching out to support him with both arms and lower him back down to the bed in a sitting position. “You okay? Is your headache flaring up again?”

Jimin shakes his head. “‘M okay. Just a little dizzy.”

Hoseok frowns, gently coaxing Jimin to lie down. “You need to get some more rest,” he frets, and something in Jimin warms.

Like he cares.

He tucks him in, just as gently, and, suddenly cocooned in softness, Jimin’s eyes flutter shut. 

“Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”

Do you really dese-

“Yes, please,” Jimin whispers.

And so he feels Hoseok sit back down on the edge of the bed, hand carding through Jimin’s hair again.

Warmth, touch, kindness.

“Rest, Jiminie.”

And it’s so, so easy to obey.

~~~

As expected, Hoseok isn’t there when Jimin wakes up.

But despite the tinge of disappointment in his chest at the thought, Jimin’s hasn’t felt happier in years.

Because when he gets out of bed he feels well-rested for once, and nothing really hurts anymore.

There are leftovers on the counter, and his phone.

And there, one new message-

hey, it’s hobi-hyung! Feel better soon jiminie <3

And now it’s Friday afternoon, which just happens to be one of his days off, he’s eating the most delicious leftovers in existence, thanking the gods for Seokjin’s cooking, he has Hoseok’s number saved in his phone, and it’s so hard to think that just a few days ago, he was running crying from the bakery, thinking nothing tied him there anymore.

Except when Jimin had been untethered from the place, Hoseok came to look for him.

Like he cares.

Jimin cleans then composts the takeout boxes, checks his phone one last time just to stare at the little emoticon heart, then walks over to the kitchen window.

It’s been a while since Jimin’s opened the blinds on any window in his apartment, really, and the things get stuck a good five times on the way up.

But when he’s done, he looks out, seven floors up, at the city alive and bustling and basking in-

Oh.

The sun is out.

~~~

Chapter Text

Jimin [7:34 PM]

hi

uh

i’m ok now

Jimin huffs at himself. Could he get any more awkward?

Hobi-hyung [7:34 PM]

yayyy!

saturdays = more sleep 😍

Jimin [7:35 PM]

yeah :D

thank Seokjin-hyung for me

the food was rly good

Hobi-hyung [7:35 PM]

he’ll be happy to hear that

dw I’ll pass on the message 🫡

Just as promised, earlier that day Jimin had received a delivery of a copious amount of food from Seokjin’s restaurant.

Once again, bless the gods for Seokjin’s cooking.

He hasn’t eaten this good in years.

Hobi-hyung [7:35 PM]

you wanna come over to the bakery 🍰

it’s a lil less hectic rn

Jimin smiles just at the thought. He stares at the message, thinking it’s almost too good to be true.

Do you really deserve-

Jimin [7:36 PM]

sure

:]

Hobi-hyung [7:36 PM]

hehe okie I’ll be waiting for you ☺️☺️

~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin reaches Something Homemade again.

Nothing much seems to have changed since that rainy night three days ago, and somehow the idea is comforting.

The flowers are a bright orange this time.

Pastries.

Jimin breathes in deeply, embracing the scent this time.

“This pastry’s my favorite; it reminds me of you.”

Jimin stands in the doorway, just breathing in and out, for several moments, drinking in the atmosphere and the soft chatter of the spare few customers left at this comparably late hour.

“All hard and caramelized on the outside, but really just sweet and soft on the inside.”

“Hyung, look! Those flowers are so pretty!”

I miss you , Jimin thinks. I’m scared of forgetting you.

And then he keeps walking, just browsing around, looking without the intention to buy.

Jimin finds himself looking for one pastry in particular, though he's sure such an obscure type of dessert wouldn't be here, and he's right. After a few walkthroughs of the bakery, not a single one is in sight.

A melancholy fills Jimin, the hurt blooming in his chest again, because beginning to forget bits and pieces of his brother is already bad enough, but not having anything tying Jimin back to him, not even his favorite pastry, is a horrible feeling.

He wishes, not for the first time, that he'd thought to grab something before he ran away that horrible night - his bracelet, his favorite jacket, hell, maybe even a piece of broken glass. Then, at least, Jimin would have some physical token of life when he was still alive.

Jimin only realizes he's been standing in place, staring blankly at a bunch of croissants, for the past however many minutes, when there's a familiar voice from behind him. “Jimin-hyung?”

He turns around. “Hi, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook smiles. “I missed you.”

There’s that phrase again, the one that makes Jimin get a strange ache in his chest.

“Me too,” he hears himself say.

“Hobi-hyung said you were coming.”

Jimin nods.

“Do you wanna come over?” Jungkook gestures toward the back. Jimin nods again.

No more words are exchanged; none are needed. Jimin follows Jungkook across the bakery, behind the desk, into the back.

Hoseok is there, in the kitchen half of the room, brushing butter over pie crusts, and no one else. 

“You can switch to slippers if it’ll be more comfortable,” Jungkook offers, and Jimin complies.

He picks out the black, comparably smaller pair from the very first time he’d stepped into the bakery. Replaces their spot on the shoe rack with his own battered shoes.

“Good to see you again,” comes a voice right behind Jimin, and he startles a little, turning around quickly.

Hoseok stands there, flour-covered apron and hands, heart-shaped smile, warm, brown eyes and all.

He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. Good, uh, good to see you too.” He’s close. Really close.

And pretty. Really pretty.

“You can sit down, if you want, or you can come watch me prepare for tomorrow,” Hoseok offers. Distantly, Jimin registers Jungkook walking back out to the public part of the bakery, likely to tend to the last of the customers. With Hoseok this close, though, Jimin’s having trouble focusing on anything else.

“Can I… watch you?” Jimin eventually manages, awkwardly gesturing towards the half-finished pie crusts. Hoseok nods, beams. Jimin blinks at the sheer warmth and joy he gives off, always a little taken aback from the intensity of it.

Jimin follows Hoseok over to the kitchen half of the room, noting that this is actually the first time he’s been here. 

Somehow there’s a different quality to the place, now that he’s actually standing in it rather than looking at it from afar. Like he broke a fourth wall of some sort, and suddenly the kitchen is so real it’s startling.

The giant mixer gives a distorted reflection as Jimin walks past. The counters shine, reflecting the lights above. When Jimin lightly brushes against the top of one with the back of his hand, it’s cold, unlike the rest of the place.

The ovens are on, and they radiate more heat, emanating the distinct smell of-

“Hyung, they’re almost done! Look, it looks just like the recipe said it should!”

“I’m really only buttering some pie crusts, nothing special,” Hoseok narrates, and Jimin’s head clears. 

Jimin blinks at his surroundings, now experiencing a wave of cognitive dissonance between the past and the present; baking with his brother, watching Hoseok bake.

He’d be amazed at how large the kitchen is compared to their old one.

He’d throw open the pantries with an exaggerated flourish every time, he’d laugh at his distorted reflection in the mixer, he’d marvel over all the settings on all the appliances.

“I’m planning on piping the cupcakes once they come out of the oven, then getting Jungkookie to help me make some croissants.”

He’d stare into the oven, watching the cupcakes’ progress, despite Jimin telling him it won’t change anything, and they may as well clean up while they wait.

He’d volunteer to help Hoseok-

Jimin startles a little as his imagination turns to the hyung in front of him, still elaborating on his plans for tonight.

He’d…

He’d volunteer to help Hoseok butter the last of the pies, so he can start on the croissants.

He’d ask Hoseok how to work all the appliances, would giggle because-

Because Hoseok would turn on the mixer even though there’s nothing in it, and Jimin’s brother would giggle as he watched the huge thing turn round and round inside the metal bowl. And-

Jimin would chastise him softly and pull him back a little as he leaned a little too far in, would bring the both of them back over to the pies and help his brother finish prepping them.

Jungkook walks in at that moment, and Jimin’s head clears again as the fantastical bubble of his imagination pops. 

“…close early? There’s only like 10 minutes left anyways, and only one customer left.”

“Sure, just make sure you don’t rush them or anything.”

“Of course, hyung.”

The maknae gives a little wave to Jimin as he passes, and then he’s gone again.

Leaving Jimin with Hoseok, staring as he gets back to work.

Then Jimin thinks of his brother volunteering to help and-

“Hoseok-hyung?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I… can I help? Butter the crust, I mean.” Hoseok turns toward Jimin, and Jimin panics before his hyung can even say anything, already flustered and surprised with himself at the near-accidental outburst. “Uh- you don’t have to let me of course, I was just- ‘cuz I used to bake, and I thought maybe you’d like to get started on the croissants so you could get home quicker…”

Jimin trails off as he watches Hoseok’s expression morph from surprised to nothing short of delighted .

“Of course! That’s really thoughtful of you, Jiminie.” Hoseok’s smile is back, radiant. He steps to the side a little, waiting for Jimin to wash his hands and roll up his sleeves in a daze before handing the silicon brush to Jimin, who takes it a little tentatively.

He didn’t expect that to work.

The handle of the brush is warm from Hoseok’s hand. It makes Jimin ache for his touch because he’s for sure it’s warm now; he’s felt it.

He starts on the simple task, battered with not-so-simple feelings as Hoseok moves away to the opposite counter, getting out a bunch of ingredients.

It’s the first time Jimin’s done anything remotely related to baking for the past…

Seven years?

Yeah. Seven years.

Jimin keeps the layer of butter as even as possible, careful to not put too much, nor too little. 

This is the kind of step his brother would clamor to get a chance to claim.

“It’s fun,” he’d explain. “The brush is so satisfying!”

And Jimin would roll his eyes, and obligingly prepare the filling, letting his brother have his fun. 

Jimin hears Hoseok start humming to himself as he works, measuring out the ingredients he needs. His presence is warm, comforting, as always. And Jimin aches again, because Jimin used to hum like that too, and his brother would grin and sway to the beat, even if there hardly was one.

Do I really deserve this? Being here, baking again, being with him? , Jimin thinks, moving on to the next pie crust.

And then-

Do I wish it was my brother here instead?

Jimin dips the brush in more butter, finds that his hands are shaking.

No , he decides. I wish it was both of them.

A strange feeling overtakes Jimin, then- like, for a second, his brother…

Beside him, warm, brushing butter on the crusts, still giggling about how fun the task is.

Jimin startles, whips around to stare at the spot behind him, and finds-

Nothing.

He’s not here.

But still, Jimin feels him, turning around, grinning at him, eyes like crescent moons-

You’re not even here, Jimin thinks, and gets of confusing wave a deja vu, like he’s said that before.

He’s really not there, though, and it’s stupid because it feels like he’s there, and Jimin can’t ignore it even as he turns back to his task, almost finished.

Jimin doesn’t even realize he’s crying until there are warm arms wrapping around him from behind and a warm voice in his ear, “Hey, hey, Jiminie, what’s wrong?”

Cheeks burning, Jimin pulls back a few steps, Hoseok going with him in an awkward penguin waddle, to avoid getting any tears on the pies and contaminating them. He swipes furiously at the drops, but they don’t stop. “N-nothing,” he stutters out. “I just- miss someone.”

Hoseok reaches up, wipes away a few tears for Jimin, far softer than Jimin’s doing so himself.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” His hyung says, free arm squeezing him once. Understanding, calm. 

And Jimin’s never been given that opportunity, never had someone offer to listen, and would it feel better? Would it hurt more, or less, to talk about it, Jimin doesn’t know, but if- if there’s even a small chance it would hurt less-

Do you really deserve this?

Jimin shakes his head, swipes even rougher at his tears, trying to force them back.

“Okay. Okay, that’s okay, you don’t have to. But hyung’s here, always, okay?”

Always.

But this isn’t forever.

Jimin can’t bring himself to nod, instead cries harder even as he tries not to.

Hoseok just hugs him, with both hands now, warm, warm, warm.

For now, for now, for now-

Never have a forever.

Hoseok makes a soft noise, concerned and sympathetic, before he spins Jimin around and hugs him in a way that Jimin can burrow his face into his shoulder and hide, though from what, he’s not too sure.

He smells good, like his pastel yellow jacket had smelled. Pastries, something inherently Hoseok, light and sweet.

It’s stupid, but that scent just makes Jimin cry harder.

Sad, sad, sad.

Jimin’s so tired of feeling sad.

~~~

Jimin never does get to see how the croissants turn out, or what Hoseok pipes on the cupcakes, or if Jungkook actually does close the bakery early. 

He does, however, leave with the smell of pastries and Hoseok still in his nose, and his words still in his mind,

“Come back soon, alright?”

“Otherwise I’ll miss you too much.”

~~~

Chapter Text

I miss you.

Jimin stares at the unsent message, wondering what would happen if he sent it.

He deletes the message, adds more.

So much.

It’s only been a week, just seven days, but it still feels like forever.

Even with Hoseok’s frequent ‘good morning’ or ‘have you eaten yet’ texts, even the occasional selfie, every day is still so cold, so empty.

Jimin hasn’t even been able to drift properly for a while now, and work is boring, with the occasional landmine; the scent of bagels from a lounge room microwave, a flash of pastel yellow on a passing screen, the perfect shade.

And everyday, Jimin just feels sadder and sadder.

So much.

Hoseok had asked him to come back.

So, so kind.

But…

Do I really deserve this?

I don’t know.

Jimin sighs, deletes the unsent message, flops back on his bed, stares at the ceiling. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but with the blinds in his bedroom perpetually shut tight, a long day of cleaning behind him, and a semi-soft bed, it’s not too hard to.

~~~

“Hyung?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Whispers in the dark, rustling sheets. Creaking floorboards, sock-clad footsteps.

“They’re fighting again.”

“I know.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course.”

Rustling sheets, creaking mattress.

Breathing, screaming rooms over. A crash.

Eyes shut tight.

Breathing.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you smile as much anymore?”

“…I smile at you.”

“Yeah, but… not at anything else.” A sniffle. Is he crying? “You used to laugh so much. You haven’t laughed in so long, I miss how it sounds.”

Perceptive, observative, as always. “I have to… be a good hyung. I have to protect you.”

“From what? And what does that have to do with smiling?”

How can he explain it? 

That he doesn’t get to be free, or youthful, or happy, not anymore.

Not if he wants his brother to keep smiling.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Go to sleep, alright? We have school tomorrow.”

“Okay, hyung.”

Breathing. Crash, screaming.

His brother sleeps, but that night, he doesn’t.

~~~

Jimin wakes up with tears still running down his cheeks, and he sits up abruptly, like he can shake off the sadness of his nightmare and the pain of it being a memory with the sudden movement. 

It doesn’t work, of course. The emotions and the memories cling to him, like dark, cloying fog, like chains.

He looks at the alarm clock. 3:58 am.

Buries his face in his hands.

It hurts , and Jimin doesn’t want to remember but he doesn’t want to forget and he’s crying and this sucks and it’s even hard to breathe and he’s-

He’s…

He’s so tired of being sad.

And then the next moment, Jimin’s fumbling in the dark, scrabbling against the surface of his nightstand, finally finding his phone.

He finds Hoseok’s number, and for the first time, taps the call option.

The device buzzes once, twice, 

and then at 4 am sharp,

Hoseok picks up.

“Jiminie?”

Jimin breaks.

“Jiminie? Jimin-ah, what’s wrong?”

“Hyung,” Jimin manages through his tears. “Hyung.”

“I’m right here, Jimin-ah, tell hyung what’s wrong.” There’s a hint of panic in his voice, but otherwise it’s still warm, and soft, and there and warm-

“N-nightmare,” Jimin forces out, already feeling guilty for worrying Hoseok and bothering him at such an early hour. Jimin knows sleep is precious for the bakery owner, who most days gets home quite late and has to wake up at 5 to start up.

“Oh, Jiminie,” Hoseok coos sympathetically, and the fear fades from his voice, replaced by gentle concern. “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to come over? Or I can just stay on the line and talk about what I’m doing, you don’t have to say anything, you can just listen.”

Jimin mulls over his options for several moments, still sniffling, but the intensity of his sadness and memories have faded as soon as Hoseok had picked up, leaving only an ache in his chest. All three options actually sound perfect, but the second one would totally mess up Hoseok’s schedule and is out of the question. And as much as the last option sounds appealing, the first one…

He’s never ‘talked about it’ with anyone, and it’s not for the first time that Jimin wonders if maybe… just maybe, it could hurt less if he did.

And he doesn’t have to explain everything, right?

Do you really deserve it?

Just…

Just this once, just this little bit. 

Not everything.

Not everything, right?

I can have just this little bit.

Maybe it’ll hurt less.

Maybe I can have it hurt just a little less.

“T-the first one, please?”

There’s the soft sound of something being put down. Jimin doesn’t know whether the thought of Hoseok giving him his full attention makes him feel nervous or cared for.

Probably a strange mixture of both.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Hoseok says. Not pressuring, not coaxing, just there.

Listening.

Jimin takes the chance, takes Hoseok’s kindness, and actually spends a minute to gather his words, his thoughts.

“I had a nightmare, but it was actually a memory,” Jimin eventually starts, unsteady. 

Uncharted.

“I… my brother. I was supposed to be a good hyung for him, but he still ended up getting hurt. Over and over again.”

Jimin knows he’s being obscure, but it’s hard to go anymore in depth.

It hurts too much.

“He was so… cute and bright and innocent, and he smiled all the time. It’s my fault he’s… not like that anymore.”

It’s my fault he’s not alive anymore , Jimin thinks, but doesn’t say.

Hoseok stays silent, but Jimin can hear his breathing on the other line, and it’s starting to put him more at ease.

“I still have nightmares about him… about my old life sometimes. Not as often as I used to, but often enough.”

Jimin shuts his eyes. “Of my parents fighting, with each other, with me…”

“I was scared, all the time,” he admits softly. “And confused, because I didn’t remember when everything went wrong. I just remember… I don’t know. It’s weird, it’s like I’ve had three lives.” Jimin laughs humorlessly. “One where my parents didn’t fight and my brother smiled all the time, one where my parents fought and took it out on me and my brother, and this one.”

Where I’m sad all the time and I’m only living so my brother wouldn’t have died in vain.

… he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Hoseok finally speaks. “Are you happy, in this life?”

The answer is obvious. “No.”

“Do you want to be happy?”

Do I deserve to?

Jimin doesn’t answer.

“I think you deserve to be happy,” Hoseok says softly, voice crackling a little through the speaker. “I’m sorry about your brother, about your parents, but if they’re not here anymore, if you’ve left them behind in your previous lives… you can have a fresh start.”

Jimin swallows. “I don’t want to forget him.”

“And you won’t,” Hoseok reassures, steadfast. How is he so perfect, Jimin thinks dazedly, to take all this in his stride, to understand so well without judging or even a proper explanation. To know what to say. “You’ll never forget him, especially if you don’t want to.”

“It hurts, hyung,” Jimin whispers, clutching onto the phone like a lifeline. “Every day.”

“I know,” Hoseok replies. “But it doesn’t have to.”

I know. But I don’t know if I deserve that.

“…”

Somehow, Hoseok seems to understand, even though Jimin hasn’t said anything. “Jimin-ah. You deserve to be happy.”

Do I really?

After I killed him?

“Think of it this way,” Hoseok continues. “Would your brother like seeing you like this?”

Sad? Jimin hears, even though Hoseok didn’t say it.

“…no.”

“Exactly. So try, if only for your brother.”

“For me, hyung?”

Oh.

He’s crying again.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“All you have to do is try. Me and the others will be here too, for you.”

For you.

“…thank you, hyung.”

“This isn’t anything to thank me for.” And something about the way he says it, or maybe just because it’s Hoseok, makes Jimin just know that he’s not saying that just to say it. He actually means it.

Actually thinks Jimin deserves this.

“It’s still early,” Hoseok says after a long silence. “You should go get some rest before work.”

I don’t want you to leave , Jimin thinks but doesn’t say. 

Again, it’s like Hoseok can read his mind. “I can stay, if you want. Just… put your phone by your pillow or something. I won’t talk, but you’ll still be able to hear me. Do you want to do that? I know I hate being alone after a nightmare.”

Jimin almost starts crying again from the thoughtfulness. “Please.”

“Alright then.” There’s the soft thunk of a phone being put on a counter, then the clink of utensils against bowls. “Sweet dreams, Jimin-ah. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And Jimin…

Jimin can hear his smile in his voice.

~~~

Even though there are only 2 hours to do so, Jimin dreams.

And for the first time in seven years, it’s a happy dream.

Warm and tinted gold, just enough that even dream-Jimin knows that this is just a dream. But it’s still happy. Still warm. So Jimin lives in it as much as he can.

“I didn’t know this creek was so close to our house,” Jimin’s brother says, wondrous. “It’s so pretty.”

“And quiet,” Jimin agrees. “The weather’s so nice too.”

Sun shining, birds chirping, grass green, creek tinkling. Picture perfect. A bubble of warmth, of paradise, of home.

Like any dream, the rest of the afternoon is blurry. Just a mix of happiness and his brother’s company.

“Let’s head back,” Jimin says as the sun starts to set. 

Except they don’t get back to their small flat, the landscape morphs and turns into a brushstroke of sunset red and gold and green, and then suddenly they’re inside-

Something Homemade.

Hoseok is there, and Jimin’s brother isn’t, but Hoseok is there , and somehow that’s enough.

“Hey,” dream-Hoseok greets, hands and apron dusted with flour. Jimin doesn’t even need prompting, just takes off his shoes, replaces them with those black slippers that are more his size.

“Welcome home.”

~~~

When Jimin wakes up, his alarm is ringing, shrill and loud, and his phone is beside his head, lying on the pillow.

And for the first time in seven years, Jimin doesn’t wake up alone.

Hoseok is still there, and the giant mixer can be heard in the background. Jimin shuts off his alarm with less preamble than usual, rubbing his eyes. There’s a soft murmur in the background, familiar voices. Hoseok, Jungkook, Namjoon.

Jimin has enough time to sit up before Hoseok’s voice comes through the speaker, much louder and in closer proximity this time. “Jiminie?”

“Hobi-hyung.”

“Thought I heard your alarm.” There’s a pair of voices chorusing a synchronized ‘Jimin-ah?’ and ‘Jimin-hyung?’ but Hoseok ignores them in favor of asking, “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a while,” Jimin responds. “You being there helped a lot.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” and there it is again, the sound of his smile. “You can call me anytime, you know? To help you sleep, if you want.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t doing it to hear his pretty voice, hyung,” Jungkook exposes, causing Hoseok to splutter. “Hey, Jimin-hyung!”

Jimin can’t help but let his already-existent smile curl wider. “Hi, Jungkookie.”

He hears a delighted gasp at the affectionate nickname, and smiles even wider.

“Guys, he has to get ready for work,” reminds Namjoon’s voice. Hoseok and Jungkook both chorus a disappointed ‘aww’ (Jimin smiles even more at how Hoseok can switch from mature and supportive to adorable and pouty within seconds) and Namjoon chuckles. “It’s not like it’s the last time you’ll hear from him. You’ll call or drop by when you have time, right, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin stands up from his bed, the mattress creaking a little. “Of course.”

Otherwise I’ll miss you too much.

“That’s good. We’re looking forward to it, good luck at work!”

Just before they hang up, there’s a quick ‘wait!’ from Hoseok. Jimin pauses too from where he was just about to open his small closet. 

“Did you have a good dream?” Hoseok asks, and it’s like a little secret, between just the two of them, why that question is relevant. 

“Yeah, I did. I don’t really remember much of it, but… I just know that it was happy.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Hoseok replies softly.

So, so warm. So, so kind.

“You do too.”

“Have a good day at work, Jiminie.”

“You too, Hobi-hyung.”

The call ends, leaving Jimin grinning dumbly at a lit up screen.

~~~

Chapter Text

Jimin usually never does anything on his lunch breaks.

Back when he still drifted all the time, especially while working, he’d just… keep cleaning through his breaks, mindless.

Nowadays, though, work is so boring when he doesn’t get to drift, and the chance to get away from the building, even for just 40 minutes, is like heaven.

So Jimin takes the chance. And he goes to the one place he would rather be at.

It takes only so many minutes to walk to the bakery. The walk is quite pleasant, a comfortable temperature, a light breeze, watery sunshine.

The flowers are the palest yellow, this time. Almost white.

Pretty, as always. Trimmed back.

A little bell jingles, and then Jimin’s inside again.

He hardly makes it five steps inside before there’s a familiar voice.

“Jimin-ah, hi!”

Namjoon.

“Hi hyung,” Jimin greets, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

Namjoon is all dimples as he practically skips over. “Lunch break?”

Jimin nods.

“I’m so happy you decided to stop by, the others will be ecstatic too.”

“Is… is Hoseok-hyung here right now?” Jimin asks tentatively. 

Namjoon hums in affirmation. “He’s busy right now, though. It’s the most hectic at this time of day, second only to breakfast time,” he elaborates. “Jungkookie, Yeonjun-ah, and Beomgyu-ah are all helping, and I’m in charge of the customers right now.”

“Oh.” Jimin tries his best to hide his disappointment. He should just buy something quickly and go. 

“But Taehyungie should be clocking in soon, he can take over my role. If you’d like, you can spend some time with me?”

Apparently Namjoon is about as perceptive as Hoseok, because company is what Jimin needs the most now, and is the most afraid to ask for. “If I won’t be bothering you?”

“Never,” Namjoon says, already untying his uniform. “Just give me a sec, I’ll go tell Hoseok-ah. You can pick out something for lunch in the meantime, if you want to.”

And so Namjoon is heading back towards the doorway behind the desk, and Jimin is left alone amidst the rest of the customers, and he’s struck once again with how warm this place is.

Comfortable. Lovely. 

At ease for once, Jimin takes his time, eventually picking out a simple but delectable-looking, perfectly toasted, not-shy-on-the-filling sandwich. Buttery cheese and bacon, reads the label.

He uses tongs and places the clear plastic-wrapped sandwich on his tray, and brings it over to the checkout counter, where a small line has already begun to form in Namjoon’s temporary absence.

Within seconds, however, someone’s walking out from the doorway, towards the checkout desk. It’s not Namjoon; it’s Taehyung.

Jimin can see the exact moment Taehyung sees, then recognizes him, his handsome face splitting into that boxy grin, eyes lighting up. “Jiminie!” He calls, and Jimin gives a small wave, a little embarrassed at the few eyes that have been drawn to him.

Taehyung dutifully helps the three customers ahead of Jimin in line, and by the time he’s scanning and bagging Jimin’s sandwich, Namjoon is walking back out, now uniform free.

“Ready to go?” The dimpled man asks.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, and gives another wave to Taehyung as he follows Namjoon across the bakery, out the door, back out into the streets.

“Hoseok-ah and Jungkookie say hi,” Namjoon supplies as they walk down the street, Jimin letting Namjoon lead. 

Pleasantly surprised, Jimin probably fails to hide how happy he is at that. “Tell them I said hi too.”

A bit of silence passes between them, peaceful. Jimin unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite.

“Good?” Namjoon prompts with a knowing smile at Jimin’s blissed-out expression. He chuckles at the younger’s enthusiastic nodding.

Jimin swallows before speaking. “ So good, oh my god. Hoseok-hyung made this? Or Jungkook-ah?”

“Seokjin-hyung,” Namjoon corrects. “He drops by every few days after hours to help make some things.” His expression is positively besotted, and Jimin remembers with a slightly flustered blush one of the first times he’d visited the bakery,

Namjoon turns toward Jimin, smiling kindly. “These are my boyfriends. We all help out here as much as we can, although none of us are actually employed here.”

“You and Seokjin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung are dating, right?” Jimin recalls.

“Yeah, we are.” Namjoon looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s sweet that you remembered.”

Jimin shrugs, a little bashful. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Actually,” Namjoon adds. “Me and Yoongi-hyung are engaged. I’ve been married to Seokjin-hyung for two years now.” He flashes two pretty rings on his finger to Jimin, grinning just as prettily. Jimin’s jaw drops.

“Oh my god.”

“We proposed to Yoongi-hyung a month ago.”

“ Oh my god .”

“Yeah.” Namjoon says simply, beaming. 

“Congratulations, hyung. I’m so late but congratulations. ” Jimin gushes; it’s been a while since he was genuinely this happy for someone else.

“Thank you,” Namjoon murmurs, and the following silence is just as comfortable as the last, but a lot brighter, a lot happier.

“We’re here,” Namjoon says a few minutes later, and Jimin blinks in surprise. He didn’t know they had a destination.

“My flower shop,” the dimpled man explains, as if sensing his surprise. “It’s closed now, today’s my day off, along with weekends. But obviously I can still go in, I’m the owner.”

And with that, he opens the door, and Jimin and Namjoon are walking in.

The lights turn on, and the whole shop is thrown into view.

Oh.

It's so pretty.

Walls painted light green, lights not too harsh, shelves and shelves of potted plants of all kinds, all colors, the prettiest ones hanging from the ceiling, plenty of windows letting sunlight in, so the overhead lights almost aren’t necessary.

It's not as big as Something Homemade, which is saying something because the bakery isn't all that big in the first place, but the size of the place just adds to the cozy factor.

It smells of freshness and soil, the mixed fragrance of various flowers. 

“Wow,” Jimin murmurs. He didn't know a place like this was so close to his workplace. It and Hoseok's bakery seem like paradises of some sort, comforting bubbles in the midst of the rest of the city with its harsh colors and busy atmosphere, honking cars and fluorescent lights.

“C’mon, there's a table near the back, I usually eat my lunch there.” Namjoon beckons Jimin to follow him, and Jimin obeys, weaving between the shelves of plants.

The table is right next to one of the biggest windows in the shop, and sunshine drenches the whole surface, warming the chipped wood. Namjoon sits. So does Jimin.

“Are you not going to get anything to eat?” Jimin inquires. 

Namjoon shakes his head. “Whenever I spend a day helping out at the bakery, I’m never hungry. All the mess-ups go to the employees, there’s a tray on the coffee table in the back and we can just take one whenever. Usually it’s empty by the end of the day.”

Jimin hums, taking another bite of his sandwich. Likely sensing how awkward it is after a while, with Jimin busy eating and not speaking, Namjoon just sitting there silently, Namjoon stands, explaining that he can take care of some of the nearby plants.

Jimin sits and watches, admiring Namjoon in his element, caring for his plants. He even coos softly at them, calling them pretty and asking them if they’re getting enough sun. It’s cute, and Jimin finds himself smiling.

He turns to look out the window, staring at the street outside. Busy, as always. He has about fifteen minutes left for his lunch break. 

“Jimin-ah?”

Jimin turns around. Namjoon’s in front of him, peeling off his gardening gloves and placing them on the table. 

“Can I talk to you about something?”

The younger swallows before speaking. “Uh… sure?”

Namjoon sits, and Jimin’s struck with how serious he suddenly looks. “I’ve been noticing some… behavioral patterns,” he starts, then immediately winces at his wording. “Sorry, you know what, I’ll just get to the point. Do you know what dissociation is, Jimin-ah?”

Uh. 

Well, that wasn’t what Jimin was expecting. He shakes his head, hesitantly. Takes the last bite of his sandwich and chews while he folds up the wrapper neatly.

“It’s a mental process, usually linked to trauma,” Namjoon explains. “There are five stages of it; depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity confusion, and identity alteration.”

Jimin’s starting to think the bookshelf and reading lamp in the back of Hoseok’s bakery is primarily for the man sitting in front of him right now.

“Symptoms include the feeling of something not being real, viewing your life from the outside, ‘drifting’ mindlessly for periods of time, memory loss, delayed reflexes, distorted or decolored vision, the list goes on.”

“Do these sound familiar to you?”

Jimin’s not stupid. He knows what this is about, he’s just not sure if he wants to talk about it.

“Jiminie?”

“…yeah, yes they do.”

Namjoon takes a breath. “Jiminie, I’m pretty sure you’ve been dissociating. Judging from what the others have said, from what I’ve observed… it’s been a bit better recently, but it’s still there, perpetual.”

“…”

“Jimin-ah,” Jimin’s hyung coaxes softly. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but it’s important. Your health is important.”

“Can you tell me what symptoms you’ve experienced?”

Jimin looks down. He really doesn’t want to talk about this. Drifting - dissociation, as Namjoon’s calling it - is like a safe haven for him, and Namjoon’s right, he hasn’t been able to dissociate for a while now, so it’s like he might lose it, this blissful place without pain or memories, and-

If he talks about it, finds out what it really is, will it disappear completely? 

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

Namjoon’s eyes are kind, too.

So, so kind.

“I want to help, though. If you’ll let me.” 

“Will you let me?”

Fuck, why do they have to be so kind?

Jimin closes his eyes, takes a breath. Not too deep. “I-I… ‘drift’ a lot. Just… my mind takes a while to catch up with my eyes, so I respond a little later to everything. Sometimes things don’t feel real. When I go down all the way, I don’t feel or see or remember anything, but I can still keep doing tasks. It used to be like that everyday when I went to work, like I’d just start working, and then the next thing I know, I’m putting away my things and heading back to my apartment.”

Another breath. Like tearing off a band-aid, he should say everything now. “It doesn’t hurt when I drift, that’s the only time it doesn’t hurt.”

Except…

“Except for when I’m at Something Homemade ,” Jimin admits. For some reason I can… remember stuff without it hurting much, sometimes not at all.”

Namjoon hums in acknowledgement, doesn't question or pry what Jimin means by ‘hurts’. For that, Jimin is endlessly grateful. “Jiminie,” Namjoon says after a short but significant silence.

“Yes, hyung?”

“This isn't good for you, you know that right?”

I do.

Jimin doesn't answer, scared that if the conversation continues he really no longer will be able to dissociate.

“You've been hurt before, and you’re still hurting,” Namjoon states, because at this point it really isn't a question anymore. 

After a moment, Jimin nods warily. 

“You're scared of not being able to dissociate anymore because you don't feel anything while you do, and you think it's better that way.”

Somehow those words, the way Namjoon says them, steadfast, empathetic but not pitiful, like he knows Jimin inside out more than Jimin knows himself, finally gets him to break.

“Namjoon-hyung, it hurts . I can't do anything about it except floa- dissociate or visit Hobi-hyung and that's pathetic and I can't just be with Hobi-hyung all day because it hurts all day because he's busy and-”

“Woah, woah, hey. It's okay, slow down.” 

Jimin's crying.

He sniffles, swiping at his eyes.

Namjoon speaks softly after Jimin's calmed down. “Your mind dissociates because it hurts, because it thinks it's going to get hurt again. And it has a reason to do that, I know you've been hurt before, and this really isn't easy on you. But you don't deserve this, and you need to train your mind and let it learn that the world isn’t all like what you’ve experienced in the past.”

The sincerity, the intensity in Namjoon's eyes has Jimin hooked, and he keeps listening even though he's scared.

“You need to let it learn that the world is beautiful sometimes too. There really are so many beautiful things in this world. You just have to find them.”

The sun beams across the table, making Jimin see the gold reflecting off his own eyelashes.

“Next time you feel yourself start to dissociate, think of something beautiful. It should help ground you. Do something you love, see someone you love, go somewhere you love. Any of them will help.” 

The rings on Namjoon’s finger are the exact same, thin and intricate and silver.

“Jiminie.”

Jimin makes eye contact.

“Are you hurting right now?”

The sun shines through the window, warming the chipped table.

“Yes.”

“Are you dissociating?”

It smells of peonies and cape jasmines.

“No.”

“Does it hurt a little bit less, at least? Right now?”

It’s pretty warm here too.

“Yeah, it does.”

Namjoon smiles. “That’s a good start.”

Silence, again. Somehow just as comfortable.

Then-

“Oh, my break’s almost over,” Jimin says, glancing at the clock on the wall. He stands.

“Ah, sorry to keep you so long,” Namjoon apologizes. “Here, I can throw that away for you.” He reaches for the folded-up sandwich wrapper, and Jimin hands it to him with a murmur of thanks.

Namjoon sees him across the shop and out the door, saying he needs to stay and finish up a few extra tasks before heading back to the bakery. Jimin leaves, already missing the company and warmth despite the uncomfortable topic.

“Wait, Jimin-ah!”

Jimin turns back around, tilting his head questioningly. Namjoon stands in the doorway to the flower shop, a patch of dirt already staining his shirt. A few meters of sun warmed sidewalk separating them.

He smiles lightly. “Try to think of one soon, alright? Something grounding, something lovely, something beautiful. If not for yourself, then for me, for all the others. We want to see you happy.”

The sun keeps shining, the cars keep moving, the pedestrians keep walking, the clock keeps ticking. But Namjoon and Jimin stand, unmoving, staring at each other.

We want to see you happy.

So… do they all actually care? Despite not knowing Jimin for that long at all, despite Jimin being… Jimin , do they all actually care?

“…I’ll try, hyung.”

And then Jimin turns away, not giving Namjoon a chance to respond. 

He walks fast down the sidewalk, trying to make it back in time. He’s probably already late anyway, but he wouldn’t know.

He never keeps track of the time.

Either way, his boss should let it slide; Jimin’s got a clean record up until now, and being a few minutes late back from lunch break really won’t do much.

The sun keeps shining.

Something grounding , Namjoon had said. Something lovely.

Something beautiful.

Jimin walks fast, faster, sees the building in sight, slows down.

When he reenters the building, he finds the closet where he left his janitor cart, takes it out, gets right back to cleaning.

No one seems to have noticed he was gone.

~~~

It’s only when Jimin is back in his apartment, lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, that he stops to realize-

Whenever he tries to think of something beautiful, he finds that his mind can only conjure images of a warm place smelling of pastries, a pastel yellow jacket, and a man with a heart-shaped smile.

~~~

Chapter Text

A list.

On paper, short but significant and growing longer every day.

A list of beautiful things.

Just to make everything tangible, just to confirm every time Jimin wakes up that, yes, this is not a dream. None of this has been a dream.

1. Jimin has 5 new numbers in his phone now.

And he spends a stupid amount of time scrolling through their names and recent messages, grinning dumbly at the screen, just because he can.

2. Lunch breaks at the bakery.

A norm, somehow, somehow, somehow.

3. Phone calls with Hoseok.

Late-night, after nightmares, during scary thunderstorms, during lonely nights, or just because.

4. Visits to Namjoon’s flower shop.

5. Visits to Seokjin’s restaurant.

6. Visits to Yoongi’s studio.

The small things too:

7. A succulent sitting on his windowsill.

Gifted by Namjoon, petite and round and spiky and frankly adorable, watered daily. And on that note,

8. Open blinds during the day.

For no apparent reason but to let some natural light in. It’s nice, Jimin has come to notice, now that he can actually notice it.

9. A Polaroid of Yeontan, Taehyung’s dog.

Precious. Ten out of ten. A cherished souvenir. Would get it framed with gold if sufficient funds were available.

10. A file of Yoongi’s most recent unfinished song.

Singing of feeling ungrounded, of wondering about a true self. Heartfelt, sentimental. Titled ‘People’. The first song Jimin’s listened to in years.

And the last one so far,

11. A list.

On paper, short but significant and growing longer every day.

A list of beautiful things.

A tangible relic of progress, of something Jimin’s brother - and, Jimin sometimes lets himself think, Hoseok - proud. Happy. 

It’s enough.

For them , Jimin thinks whenever he looks at the list.

For them.

~~~

Jimin’s phone rings. 

Entire self lighting up, Jimin rolls over on his bed and swipes the buzzing device off his nightstand. Only Hoseok has called him so far, and Jimin is almost embarrassingly excited for the chance to talk to him again.

Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok-

He checks the caller ID. It’s not Hoseok.

It’s Jungkook.

A little confused and surprised but still happy nonetheless, Jimin accepts the call and puts the device to his ear.

He’s immediately met with muffled sobbing.

Jimin freezes, in panic, in confusion, unsure.

Then-

“J-Jimin-hyung?”

“Jungkook-ah,” Jimin breathes. “Jungkookie, a-are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Hyung,” Jungkook's voice warbles through the phone. “Hyung, c-can you come over? Please?”

“Yeah, y-yeah, where are you, Guk?” Jimin's already gotten off his bed and is halfway across his room, heart rate rising by the second.

But somehow, some part of him finds this familiar. He's done this before, he knows what to do now.

“B-bakery.” There's a loud sniffle.

“Jungkookie, are you hurt?” Keys, a random jacket. The blinds are closed.

“No.”

“Okay.” Shoes, out the door. “Okay, Gukkie, I’m coming, give me 10 minutes, I-”

“N-no! Ple-please don’t go, don’t-”

Jimin hushes Jungkook quickly, rushing to reassure. “Don’t worry, Guk, I won’t hang up, I’ll be right here, you’ll be able to hear me.”

“Won’t leave?”

Something in Jimin breaks then, at the heartbroken, vulnerable tone of Jungkook’s voice. His own tears spill over even as he starts running down the empty sidewalk.

“Hyung won’t leave, Jungkook-ah. Hyung will stay right here, I’ll be there soon.”

~~~

When Jimin’s brother’s voice sounds from his phone, Jimin immediately knows something is wrong.

“Hyung. H-hyung.”

Sad, sad, sad. Hitching breaths. 

Jimin’s stomach drops, immediately shooting up from his seat on the break room chair, ignoring all the other servers’ startled looks from around him. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

He’s out the door already, running home, ignoring the fact that he’ll probably lose his job as a waiter over just up and leaving halfway through.

None of that matters now though, when his brother’s muffled sobbing comes in waves through the phone clutched in his hands.

“T-they hit me. They hit me.”

Jimin swears, seeing red for a second. He doesn’t have to ask who. There are only two other people in the house right now.

And with the way they’ve been acting the past half a year, it had only been a matter of time.

“Where are you now, hmm?” Jimin tries to keep his voice as steady as possible.

“B-bathroom.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yeah, b-but I can still hear them.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Jimin reassures.

“Jiminie-hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

And it was at that moment that Jimin hardly ever smiled again, even at his brother.

Because he was running as fast as he could, had done everything he could even prior to this moment. Because he'd known that things were getting worse, had seen it with his own eyes, the bouts of unexplained anger, the yelling, the isolation, the attempt to make them skip meals, the kicking them out of the house into freezing rain and blocked moonlight, and yet when they'd finally snapped and crossed the final line…

Jimin hadn't been there to take the blow. 

He'd done everything he could, and yet his brother had still been hurt.

Is still crying.

Is still scared.

And Jimin’s supposed to be a good hyung.

Supposed to be able to fix this.

But he can’t.

“I’m s-scared, Jimin-hyung.” His brother reiterates tearfully, desperately, brokenly.

“…I know.”

And then the tears spill over, and he thinks but doesn’t say,

Me too.

~~~

The lights are off, and for once Jimin doesn't stop to drink in the smell of pastries or what color the flowers are.

He bursts in, Jungkook having apparently left the door unlocked on his way inside. Immediately, Jimin notices the half-ajar door to the back and the light spilling from it. 

Jungkook should be in there. 

Jimin speeds across the room, pushes open the door the rest of the way, steps into the back.

There Jungkook is, sitting in a curled up ball on the pastel yellow rug, face buried into the space between his knees. Phone beside his sock-clad feet.

Something in Jimin’s heart wrenches at how small Jungkook looks, at the way his shoulders are still clearly shaking from sobs, the same ones playing a little bit delayed from Jimin’s phone.

Jimin only bothers to throw off his shoes before he’s stepping onto the rug, not bothering to grab his usual slippers. And then finally he’s falling to his knees in front of Jungkook, reaching out without hesitation to place his hands on the maknae’s folded arms. 

Jungkook looks up, and Jimin’s heart does another thing . His eyes and face are puffy, tears still running down his cheeks, nose red, bottom lip wobbling. The maknae’s eyes shine in relief at the sight of Jimin, and he unfolds his arms to wrap them around Jimin, pulling him close with a warbled ‘hyung’ and shoving his face into Jimin’s collarbone.

“Kookie. Guk, hey, it’s alright, I’m here.”

Jungkook’s panicked breaths are audible now, uneven and shuddery. 

Jimin reaches out, gently grabs one of Jungkook’s hands, and brings it to his own chest. “Try to take deep breaths and follow my rhythm. There’s no rush, okay? That’s it.” Jimin starts to take exaggerated, rhythmic breaths, chest rising and falling.

I’ve done this before , some part of Jimin thinks, but he doesn’t really register it.

Jungkook breathes, and Jimin can feel it start to even out, to deepen.

Eventually, it might be minutes or an hour, but eventually, Jungkook’s tears have stopped and his breathing is back to normal. He pulls himself away, swiping at his eyes.

“Hey,” Jimin murmurs, sitting back a little to assess his dongsaeng properly. “Back with me?”

Jungkook nods. 

“Will you tell hyung what happened, hmm?”

Jungkook looks down, fiddling with his hands. He’s kneeling now, no longer curled up, his feet crossed under him like a little makeshift cushion.

Jimin lets him take his time, gather his words. He knows he has to wait, be patient, be there .

I’ve done this before.

Another minute passes before Jungkook speaks, tremulous and still a little hoarse from crying. “Had a nightmare.”

Jimin hums sympathetically, letting the maknae know he’s listening. 

“It was about… about my old family. They… used to hurt me. They used to scare me so much. S-still do.”

I’ve done this before.

Jimin reaches out, takes Jungkook’s hand, squeezes. There’s another lapse of silence, and Jimin decides to prompt him a little this time. “Where’s Taehyung-ah?” The boyfriends are usually inseparable, and Taehyung should have been there when Jungkook had woken up from the nightmare.

It’s honestly kind of strange that Jungkook would have to come seek out Jimin instead of relying on Taehyung. Either way, the notion of Tae should be comforting for Kookie. 

Except apparently mentioning him was the wrong thing to do though, because Jungkook immediately bursts into tears again.

Panic spikes in Jimin, and he rushes to pull his dongsaeng into another hug, babbling out reassurances a mile a minute, but the damage is done. Jungkook buries a heart-wrenching wail into Jimin’s shoulder before he starts sobbing and hyperventilating again.

This time Jungkook seems to be overflowing with too many feelings , and it all just spills out of him, tear-soaked and stuttered.

“H-he was the one who w-woke me up but I was still blurry from the n-nightmare and when he told me it was o-okay I… I p- pushed him and t-told him to f-fuck off and it’s not okay w-what does he know his parents l-loved him and then I needed t-to be alone so I ran out of the house b-but then I realized I couldn’t be alone but I-I couldn’t go back ‘cuz he hates me now and-” Jungkook breaks after that, sobbing too hard to get out any more words.

Jimin hugs Jungkook tight, rubbing circles on his back. “He doesn’t hate you,” Jimin says, just loud enough to be heard over Jungkook’s crying, but with more sincerity than ever. “He loves you, he understands, you weren’t in a good headspace at that time and he knows that you don’t mean the stuff you said.”

He’s seen the way Taehyung acts around Jungkook, the way he talks to him, touches him, looks at him, smiles at him. All of it just screams, love love love.

Jimin keeps murmuring reassurances, keeps rubbing Jungkook’s back, keeps holding him tight, and eventually Jungkook calms down again.

There’s silence, then, and Jungkook doesn’t pull away, so Jimin doesn’t either.

Another lapse of silence.

Then,

“Jiminie-hyung?”

“Jungkookie?”

“You have nightmares too, right?”

Jimin’s not particularly surprised; Jungkook had been there for the tail-end of that conversation with Hoseok after Jimin had called him for the first time after a nightmare, and he’s a bright child.

“I do, yeah.”

“…what are they about?”

Jimin stares past Jungkook’s shoulder at the bookshelf in front of him, eyes unfocusing just a little.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Jungkook says softly, playing with his hands again, but this time his arms are wrapped around Jimin and his hands are interlocked behind Jimin’s back.

I’ve done this before.

“…someone you remind me of.”

Silence and breathing.

“Who?”

Jimin closes his eyes. “My younger brother.”

“Oh.”

And they’re both so vulnerable there, kneeling together on the rug, the only ones in the bakery, clutching tight to each other.

Something about the moment makes Jimin feel like he has nothing left to hide.

“Our parents were abusive too. They started falling apart, a few small fights, then big ones, then my appa lost his job and things just… broke. My parents hated each other but could never acknowledge it, so they took it out on me and my brother.

“I think… I think it hurt so much simply because I remembered what it was like when everything was perfect. So every time I stood there as they yelled at me, saw me and my brother’s bruises in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think about all the happy things we used to do in that house, that room, that rug, that table.”

Jimin opens his eyes again. “My brother’s dead now.”

There’s an intake of breath from Jungkook. 

Jimin stops there.

Silence, breathing.

Jungkook speaks next.

“My parents hated me from the start. Everything I did made them hate me more. I don’t even know why they were like that in the first place. They were… fine with each other, just not me.

“I ran away when I was twelve, and Hobi-hyung found me one night. I was almost dead by then. He brought me to the hospital, took me in, and this… this place, Something Homemade , became my home, a safe haven. I mostly slept here, actually. Either here or Hobi-hyung’s place. Until I met T-Taehyungie-hyung, then I just kinda… gradually ended up living at his apartment.”

Silence, breathing.

“You said… you said I remind you of your brother?”

“Mhm.”

“What was he like?”

“Happy. Cute. Bright. Warm. Every time I looked at him, I just wanted nothing more than to protect him.”

I didn’t succeed, evidently.

Jungkook pulls away then, and their eyes meet, both pairs red from crying. “Hyung,” Jungkook says decisively. “You said Taehyungie-hyung loves me, right?”

Jimin nearly splutters at the abrupt change of subject. Nevertheless, he responds with the same surety as before, “Yeah, of course he does.”

The maknae nods once, as if in self-affirmation. “Well. I say Hobi-hyung loves you.”

Jimin does splutter then, because what the hell.

“What? It’s so obvious!” Jungkook is pouting, but there’s a flicker of mirth in his eyes, lighting up the mood.

“Okay, back up there, let’s go back to Taehyung,” Jimin says quickly, cheeks burning, thoughts and emotions suddenly a mess. 

Hoseok? Loves him? Like, platonically, right? But in context with Jungkook and Taehyung… no, that’s not possible, why is Jimin even entertaining that notion? He hasn’t before now, it’s not possible , but Jungkook says it’s obvious , so what is Jimin missing-

Jimin takes a mental inhale.

Alright. Shelve that discussion for later, when you can safely scream into your pillow.

“Right. Taehyung.” Jungkook nods sagely, before his facade breaks and his face crumples a little. “He’ll be so angry.”

“But he loves you,” Jimin reminds, placating. “It was just a mistake made with a bad headspace, you guys can work this out, no problem. You should probably fix everything as soon as possible, though, he must be getting worried.”

Jungkook looks into Jimin’s eyes again, looking a bit (read: a lot) like a lost puppy asking for reassurance. 

Those round eyes will be Jimin’s death sentence one day.

Finally, Jungkook seems to find what he was looking for in Jimin’s eyes, because he nods to himself again. “Okay. Okay, I’ll call him-”

Jungkook is interrupted by his own phone’s ringtone, and Jimin’s dongsaeng pulls the device from his pocket, glancing at the caller ID for only a second before accepting the call.

“H-hi-”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

Taehyung’s voice is so loud Jimin can hear him perfectly. Both of them wince.

“Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was, I sent you like, 150 texts and you didn’t reply to a single one and it’s been two goddamn hours-”

Taehyung breaks off with a sob, and something shifts in Jungkook’s face. “Hyung. Taehyungie-hyung, I’m so sorry , I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have… have said all those horrible things to you, and I’m sorry for worrying you, I love you, I love you .” 

“Baby. Baby, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you it was okay, it wasn’t-”

“N-no, you were just trying to comfort me, please don’t apologize, I should have responded to your texts sooner, I was just- it was my fault-”

“And mine’s,” Jimin finally interjects. “I should’ve told Jungkook to contact you as soon as he told me what happened, I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah.”

“Jiminie?” Taehyung gasps. “You’re here?”

The next fifteen minutes goes from explanations and tears to smiles to laughs, and by that time Taehyung’s already walked all the way to the bakery. Apparently he’d left the apartment only after Jungkook had picked up and confirmed where he was, just in case Jungkook decided to return and found their home empty.

After another spell of tears for Taehyung and Jungkook’s reunion (during which Taehyung actually thanks Jimin for ‘taking care of him’ and ‘not letting my bunny cry his sorry heart out alone’ , to which Jimin, flustered, deflects all the gratitude as much as he can) it only takes five minutes for Hoseok to arrive at the bakery, ready for an early start. Seeing three of his dongsaengs already there, it prompts another long explanation with three separate accounts corroborating each other, and by the time Jimin actually does leave the bakery, he only has an hour to run back to his apartment, change into his work uniform, and run to his workplace.

It’s an exhausting day with an emotional start, and one Jimin has to go through with hardly any sleep, but somehow he feels like some part of him, somewhere, has been healed.

It hurts a little less now.

~~~

Chapter Text

It’s Hoseok’s birthday in seven days.

Seokjin is the first to make a group chat, including everyone but Hoseok.

Somehow, Jimin is included. 

The group chat is titled, Hobah’s birthday schemers >:) and it’s full to the brim with notifications in the weeks leading up to the big day.

The entire planning process is also rather chaotic.

Case in point:

Jin 💕🍳

GUYS.

I HAVE URGENT CAKE QUESTIONS.

Taetae 🐯

???

thought we already said we'd do Italian crème?

Jin 💕🍳

no like

how many tiers

2? 3? 4?

Kookie 🐰 

omg hyung 

I am NOT helping you make any cake past one tier

Jin 💕🍳

why not

Kookie 🐰

why do you even have to ask me that

we all know what happened last time

Taetae 🐯

oh yeahhhhh lmao

namjoon-hyung 💀

Kookie 🐰

T^T

i spent so long on ittttt

the piping took like 18 tries

Namjoon 🌱

hey in my defense you guys did put it at like the edge of the table

not my fault my elbows are weird sometimes 

Kookie 🐰

IT WAS IN THE VERY MIDDLE OF THE BIGGEST COUNTER

YOUR ELBOW DOESN’T EVEN REACH THAT FAR

Jimin

uh hi

why is jungkookie shouting

Kookie 🐰

HOW TF DO YOU ALWAYS MANAGE TO BREAK EVERYTHING OR KNOCK EVERYTHING OVER OR SET EVERYTHING ON FIRE HYUNG

oh hi jiminieeeeeee <3333333

Jimin

hi :)

so what’s happening

Taetae 🐯

kookie’s still angry about that time he spent 5 hours working on a cake for yoongi’s bday and then namjoon knocked it over

Namjoon 🌱

IT WAS ONE TIME OK

Kookie 🐰

YEAH AND I’M NEVER LETTING IT HAPPEN AGAIN

SO NO JIN HYUNG

OBVIOUSLY I WON’T BE MAKING 3 TIER CAKES AGAIN

Namjoon 🌱

JIN HYUNG DON’T LISTEN TO HIM

IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN ONG

Kookie 🐰

OH YEAH IT WILL

GODDAMN GOD OF DESTRUCTION

JIN HYUNG

JUST MAKE A 1 TIER 

Jin 💕🍳

WHY AM I GETTING DRAGGED INTO THIS

Taetae 🐯

To be fair you were kinda the one who started it hyung

Jimin  

is it always this chaotic T^T

Jin 💕🍳

I DID NOT START THIS JUNGKOOK DID

Kookie 🐰

NAMJOON WAS THE ONE WHO KNOCKED THE GODDAMN MASTERPIECE OVER IN THE FIRST PLACE

Namjoon 🌱

HEY YOU DON’T GET TO DROP HONORIFICS

AND I ALREADY TOLD YOU IT WAS AN ACCIDENT

AND I’M SORRY

WHY ARE YOU BRINGING IT UP AGAIN

Kookie 🐰

BECAUSE

JIN HYUNG NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND WHY

I’M NOT MAKING ANOTHER CAKE ABOVE 1 TIER EVER AGAIN

SO HE CAN STOP ASKING THIS QUESTION EVERY TIME SOMEONE’S BDAY COMES AROUND

Jin 💕🍳

I TOLD YOU TO KEEP ME OUT OF THIS

Yoongi  

STFU HEATHENS.

IT’S 3AM.

Taetae 🐯

oh hey yoongi hyung

who taught your grandpa ass how to make text bold

Yoongi

kim taehyung.

Jimin

uh I’ll leave now

~~~

A one tier Italian crème cake for Hoseok’s birthday.

The surprise party is supposed to be at his home, so everyone pitches in and buys a bunch of pastel-yellow themed decorations, and Jungkook and Taehyung even make a 3D digital layout of where everything will be.

Jimin hasn’t been to any of their homes yet, so when he firsts goes to drop off his decorations on the special day while Hoseok is at work, he’s nervous to say the least.

Hoseok’s apartment building is nice, several times nicer than Jimin’s. It’s only a five minute walk away from the bakery, which is convenient. Clean walls and windows, hanging plants and drying clothes from the balconies.

Kookie 🐰

floor 7

first door in front of the elevator

Jimin stares down at his phone, checking the address a few more times just to make sure, then shoulders his old shopping bag of streamers and confetti and a wrapped present before finally stepping inside the building.

The AC works, and the lobby smells clean, looks a bit bare, but modern and stylish.

He rides the elevator up to the seventh floor, steps past the smoothly gliding doors and there, right in front of him, Hoseok’s home.

Jimin doesn’t give himself any time to chicken out, and knocks on the door quickly.

There’s audible clamoring on the other side of the door, familiar voices. Jimin relaxes without even noticing.

A few footsteps, more voices, and then the door is being opened, Taehyung standing in the doorway. “Jiminie! You’re here!”

“Hi, Tae,” Jimin gives a small smile. It’s 8 in the morning and the boy is already vibrating with energy.

“C’mon, inside, we gotta start prepping, we’ve got a strict schedule and Yoongi-hyung and Namjoon-hyung aren’t here yet…”

The house is clean and tidy but lived in and comfy, not shy on splashes of pastel colors, posters and figurines and photographs and hung-up paintings in the rooms Jimin can see from here. 

As Jimin steps inside and takes off his shoes, he hears Jungkook and Seokjin talking in the living room. “Jungkookie and Jin-hyung are here already?”

Taehyung nods, leading him towards the living room. “I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung refused to get out of bed, and because Namjoon-hyung is a softie he stayed behind with him, and because Seokjin-hyung isn’t a pushover he just came here without them.”

Jimin hums. It’s not surprising. Everyone knows Yoongi worships sleep like it’s blessed his entire bloodline.

“What should I do first?” Jimin inquires, setting down his bag of decorations on Hoseok’s couch at Taehyung’s prompting. 

“Jiminie-hyung!” Jungkook sets down the fairy lights he and Seokjin are untangling together, bounds across the room, and throws his arms around Jimin.

Jimin goes stock-still, heart pounding, because he really hasn’t gotten used to tactile comfort in the slightest; he usually meets the others at the bakery, where everyone is either busy tending to customers or covered in flour and other various baking ingredients, so there’s been nothing much past the occasional pat on the shoulder.

(Other than that one night a week ago with Jungkook, of course, but that was completely different.)

Now, Jungkook nuzzles into the side of Jimin’s neck with a happy hum, oblivious to his hyung’s inner state of shock, and doesn’t let go until Seokjin comes up from behind them and gently pries the maknae off. 

“Let him breathe,” their eldest hyung huffs with no real heat, then turns to smile at Jimin. “Good to see you, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin smiles back. “You too.” His shock is already melting into warmth, and he feels welcomed, like he fits, like they want him here.

“Jiminie, come help me set the streamers up,” Taehyung calls. “Jungkookie, finish up the fairy lights. Jinnie-hyung, can you call Yoongi-hyung and Namjoon-hyung and tell them to hurry up?”

Everyone obeys immediately, even Seokjin even though Taehyung’s being a little bossy for his dongsaeng. It’s no wonder everyone is complying so easily though; Tae’s got that ‘I’m cute and I know what I’m doing so let me do it’ aura about him, equal parts authority and aegyo, and that makes him impossible to say no to.

Thirty minutes later and the party is a fourth of the way set up, and Namjoon and Yoongi are knocking on the door. With the pair’s added help, they manage to set up everything within another hour.

A bunch of confetti poppers (the quietest ones they could find, because Hoseok hates loud, sudden sounds) are laying on the little table right beside the entrance to the house, set up so everyone can grab one and get in position as soon as they hear Hoseok coming. (Then proceed to set the flurries of shiny, multi-colored, pain-in-the-butt-to-clean-up pieces of plastic right into Hoseok’s face.)

Then, Taehyung explains with exaggerated hand motions and a streamer stuck in his hair (which Jungkook removes lovingly) they are to move aside with jazz hands, still screaming happy birthday, giving Hoseok a view of the path to the living room decorated with balloons and streamers and fairy lights and the like, guide him to the living room (which is even more lavishly decorated), then turn off all the lights with a flourish.

The cake with lit candles will then be visible, set in the middle of the table at the center of the living room, next to six wrapped presents. 

“Happy Birthday” will then be sung, birthday hugs and kisses and party hats will be handed out, and then it’s just cake and presents and anything they want for the rest of the day (and likely night).

Taehyung had managed to convince Hoseok to take the second half of his usual day at the bakery off for his birthday, citing that he deserved to relax and that it wouldn’t hurt to close the bakery early. Obviously, he’d been tactful enough to convince Hoseok at least two days before the big day so he’d have time to cut down on the amount of pastries he planned to make.

“Is he coming?”

“Maybe ten more minutes,” Yoongi says, lounging on the couch as he checks his watch. “You said he’d clock off at noon, right?” He addresses Tae. 

Taehyung nods. “It’s 11:55 right now.”

“What presents did you all get him?” Namjoon asks curiously, prodding at the packagings. 

“A cooking set, obviously,” Jin gestures towards his own rather bulky present. “He’s been using the same pot to melt sugar for the past three years, it’s gonna shatter into a million pieces the next time he puts it in the sink.”

“I don’t think pots work like that, hyung.”

“Shush.”

Yoongi goes next, waving his hand dismissively. “I just got him a bunch of his favorite snacks.”

“He’ll love that, hyung,” Jimin says sincerely. Everyone here loves their food, after all.

“A Polaroid!” Taehyung crows, picking up his wrapped gift and holding it up so everyone can see.

“Does he even know how to use one?” Namjoon quips, and Taehyung pouts. “Hey, I’m majoring in photography, I can teach him!”

“It's a wonderful present, hyung,” Jungkook placates before his boyfriend can get too agitated. 

“What did you get him, Kookie?” Seokjin says.

“Isn't it obvious?” Jungkook gestures to his very obviously shaped gift. “Wine.”

“That expensive brand he loves?” Namjoon guesses. Jungkook nods, then pouts. “Took forever to save up for that.” he whines faux-frustratedly. Taehyung pats his hand as a condolence.

“I got him a book,” Namjoon narrates, puffing his chest out proudly. “About the history of flour.”

There's a lapse of silence. Jimin can almost hear the cricket sound effects.

“Oh, c'mon, it's fascinating! Like there's no way he knows that the practice of making white flour by the process of roller milling was introduced in around 1870, or that-”

“It's a very… interesting present, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupts, poorly hiding his amusement. “I'm sure Hobah will appreciate it.”

“So… what did you get him, Jiminie?” Taehyung inquires, carefully picking up the box shaped present.

“Cookies,” he says simply. “Handmade.”

“Oh right, you bake too,” Jungkook recalls. “What kind of cookies?”

“Honey lemon, and I piped sunflowers on each one with a bit of frosting. I don't know, they - honey lemon cookies and sunflowers - just remind me of Hoseok-hyung.”

Yoongi nods sagely. “Disgustingly sweet and way too cheerful for the mornings.”

Jimin laughs. “No, bright like the dash of lemon, sweet and soft like the taste of honey. And the sunflowers, just… I just feel like those just seem like the flower that's most like him. At first I was only planning on making plain honey lemon cookies, but then I suddenly remembered a picture of cookies with these cute sunflowers piped onto them from my childhood, and I thought that was a pretty good idea.” 

“You've put a lot of thought into this,” Namjoon notes. “I'm sure he'll love this present too, it's really thoughtful.”

“Thank you,” Jimin murmurs bashfully. 

He's saved from being flustered further by the sound of the elevator dinging through the front door. 

Immediately, everything is thrown into motion. “Quick, everyone to the door,” Taehyung urges, and everyone obeys, scrambling up from the couch and heading out the living room. 

“Is it him?” Jimin asks fervently, excitement mounting. Jungkook checks through the peephole and nods.

They all shush each other, grab a party popper, and wait in lines of three at the door.

Muffled footsteps. The beep of a key card and the jingle of keychains that accompanies it, then-

The door opens.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

There Hoseok is, as pretty as ever, face morphing into shock as the collective bang of six party poppers go off, blasting confetti into his face.

Hoseok's expression quickly morphs from one of shock to that beautiful heart shaped smile Jimin loves so much. “Guys, you didn't have to-”

Hoseok doesn't get to finish that sentence, because then there are six pairs of hands grabbing him and yanking him inside. “Oh yes we did have to, Hobah,” Jin counters. “And we had to wake up early for this, so you better be grateful!” It's a good natured lecture, one that just makes everyone grin wider. 

As planned, they lead Hoseok towards the living room, watching with satisfaction as the birthday boy admires all the decorations with stars in his eyes.

Jimin runs a few steps ahead, then flicks off all the lights. 

The cake is thrown into view in all its single tiered, Italian crème, lit-candled glory, nothing else but it visible.

Hoseok lets out a delighted noise, letting himself be led over to the coffee table amidst a chorus of somehow-in-tune “Happy Birthday”.

He sits down in front of the presents and cake just as the song finishes, beaming.

Jimin can't remember the last time he smiled this hard.

“Aish, you really didn't have to,” Hoseok protests weakly once again, but everyone just shakes their heads, grins, and gestures toward the candles.

“Make three wishes, share two, Hobi-hyung,” Taehyung prompts.

“Alright,” Hoseok rubs his hands together. “I wish… for Taehyung-ah to graduate with good marks and a bright future.”

He's graduating this year, Jimin thinks, smiling softly at the sight of Taehyung’s touched expression. What a thoughtful wish.

“And the second wish…”

Bated breath.

Hoseok makes a show of tapping his index finger to his bottom lip and looking up at the ceiling. “Hmm… how about… Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows.

Hobi grins. “I hope you finally learn how to use emoticons this year, grandpa.”

~~~

After Hoseok cuts the cake, they all grab a bite and eat it as they watch him open his presents.

He opens Jungkook's first, likely because of the way it's shaped. “Waah, Kook-ah, thank youuu,” he crows. “Should we drink this now?”

Everyone shrugs a ‘why not’ and Hoseok opens the bottle of wine.

Hoseok opens Namjoon's next, brow furrowing as he reads the title of the book. 

“Uh.”

Namjoon beams, innocently looking for praise.

Hoseok clears his throat. “Thank you, Namjoon-ah. It looks like a very… interesting book.”

Namjoon, clueless, beams even more.

Seokjin’s gift. “New pots?”

“Good quality, unlike the one you use everyday,” Seokjin offers sagely. Hoseok thanks him too.

“Is this… a polaroid, Taehyungie? I’ve never used one before.” Hoseok holds the camera delicately, observing it from all sides.

“I’ll teach you,” Taehyung reassures. “It’s fun, I promise.”

And finally,

Hoseok gasps. “Did you make these yourself, Jiminie?”

Jimin nods shyly. 

Hoseok picks up one of the cookies, and Jimin inwardly preens at how the sunflowers he’d piped earlier that day are still perfectly symmetrical.

“Waah, Jiminie, you’re pretty good at cookie art,” Taehyung admires, stepping closer for a better look.

Hoseok takes a whiff. “Honey lemon?”

Jimin nods again. “They remind me of you. Honey lemon and sunflowers, I mean.”

“My mom used to make me honey lemon cookies on the weekends,” Hoseok confesses. “I haven’t had one in forever, but these smell just like I remember them. They used to be my absolute favorite. I think they still are.”

What a coincidence , Jimin thinks. He’d just so happened to have made Hobi’s favorite pastry. 

Hoseok takes a bite right then and there, and hums an appreciative sound, tilting his head back. “Oh my god, Jiminie,” he mumbles, mouth still full, “This is so good, thank you, definitely still my favorite, oh wow.”

Jimin simultaneously blushes and grins harder than he ever has.

~~~

The rest of the night travels by in one big, happy blur. Jimin doesn’t drink much of the wine, in fact he drinks the least out of everyone but Yoongi, but he’s still more than a little tipsy. 

The wine dissolves some of his inhibitions, and Jimin finds himself laughing more than he has in the last few months combined, leaning against whoever’s closest as he does each time. It’s warm, so warm, so happy, so so happy.

Jimin only remembers some snippets of the night, the brightest moments that he’s sure he’ll cherish forever.

Seokjin, chasing after a cackling Jungkook while waving one of the newly bought pots overhead threateningly. 

Taehyung, giving Jimin a backhug and not letting go for over ten minutes, giggling adorably the whole time.

Yoongi, hand feeding a very drunk Namjoon some takeout, kissing his left dimple after one bite, then the right one after another bite.

Hoseok, trying to take his first polaroid, except it’s an attempted selfie and a laughing Taehyung accidentally bumps into Jimin who accidentally bumps into Hobi, and then the shutter goes off and Hoseok laughs his heart out the whole time the picture is developing, and laughs some more when he sees the finished result, a blurry snapshot of his own kitchen, his grinning face a little off-center and Jimin’s surprised face half out of the frame.

Hoseok gifts the polaroid to Jimin as a memoir and a thank you for the cookies.

Everyone, urging Jimin to sleep over, and Jimin acquiescing far easier than he would have if he was sober.

Everyone, grabbing a bunch of Hoseok’s blankets and pillows from around the house and setting up their beds in the living room, either on the floor or couch, and there’s enough space for them not to be but they’re all within touching distance of each other and Jimin finds himself curled on his side smiling sleepily at Hoseok opposite him in the same position, and Hoseok reaches out and grasps one of Jimin’s hands and it’s warm so Jimin doesn’t pull away, and he’s still grinning and holding hands with Hoseok as he starts to fall asleep, and it’s so so warm and so so happy and-

Jimin loves Hoseok, so so much.

The thought comes to him just as he’s about to drift off, and his head clears immediately.

Jimin… loves Hoseok.

It’s not a good idea, he probably doesn’t deserve to love, much less be loved, not anymore, but.

But Jimin loves Hoseok.

Hoseok will never love him back, but.

But Jimin loves Hoseok.

And for now, in the dark on Hoseok’s living room floor, fingers intertwined, faces turned toward each other like sunflowers, it’s enough.

Jimin falls asleep smiling and dreams of sunflowers and a blurry polaroid and a man with a heart-shaped smile.

~~~

Chapter Text

One of the things Jimin remembers about his brother is how he used to greet their parents at the front door.

It was a very characteristic habit, hopeful and naive.

They used to greet their parents together after they came back from work, but then everything changed and they started being met with stinging words and snarled threats instead of treats and smiles.

Jimin stopped after one night when he was slapped across the face, hard, the moment the door opened, just because his Eomma had some pent-up energy to let out.

Jimin's brother kept going.

Every night, he'd wait.

Jimin never had the heart to tell him to stop. Though every night his brother came out of his endeavor bruised or crying or both, every night he set out on the endeavor with a smile and hope in his eyes.

Foolish hope, Jimin thought, that everything would suddenly, miraculously, be okay.

He never did tell him to stop, though.

He always reasoned to himself that it was because he needed to keep that spark of hope in his brother's eyes alive.

Though looking back now, perhaps he, too, had been secretly hoping.

~~~

Jimin wakes and sits up, stretches and yawns, gets out of bed. The first thing he does is open the blinds.

The sun is out.

Jimin smiles.

He gets ready for work, opening all the blinds as he goes, then leaves the apartment.

“You're early, Jimin-ssi.”

“So are you.”

A smile. “Yeah, my neighbor's dog woke me up.”

“Bark a lot?”

“Mm, but he's cute as hell so I forgive him.”

Smile returned. “See you later.”

“Bye, Jimin-ssi!”

Wave.

Wave returned.

He doesn't drift, hasn't for a while so it's no longer really a disappointment. 

He still doesn't really focus on his work, though, and instead thinks.

Of lunch at the bakery yesterday, Hoseok taking some time off just to spend it with Jimin, of orange flowers and pastries and warmth.

And then his phone buzzes and it's Hoseok asking if he wants to come over for lunch again even though Jimin's been doing that practically everyday now, and Jimin smiles and pockets his phone and for once, for once he doesn't ask himself if he deserves this.

~~~

I love you.

~~~

“Jiminie!”

Jimin waves. “Hey, Taetae.”

“Hoseok-hyung’s in the back.” Taehyung supplies before Jimin has to ask.

“Can I…?”

“Of course.” Taehyung moves aside so Jimin has a path to the door.

“Thank you,” Jimin murmurs as he passes Tae. Taehyung nods with a smile.

Through the door, into the back. Hoseok in the kitchen area.

He turns around, sees who it is, smiles. Apron and hands covered in flour.

“Hey,” he greets, waving Jimin over. “Welcome back.”

~~~

I love you.

~~~

Jimin sighs in relief as he flops down on his bed, legs finally getting a break.

He turns around and stares out his window, the last rays of sunshine reflecting off his eyelashes in specks of gold.

Today was good.

Today was worth living.

Sighing again, Jimin stands and heads to the shower. 

After cleaning himself up and getting ready for bed, he heads back to his room and lies down on his bed.

Stares up at his ceiling.

It's a pretty bland ceiling. He should get some glow in the dark sticky stars someday. Namjoon would probably hand him an in depth physical copy of a book on astronomy and urge him to stick the stars in the shapes of the constellations.

Today was worth living, Jimin thinks, closing his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow will be too.

~~~

Something's wrong.

Jimin has never known fear like this, cloying, choking, dark, and entirely intuitive.

He breathes through his mouth, ragged, fists clenched and sweating, pupils dilated. And yet, everything around him is perfectly normal.

Jimin can feel it , though. 

Something coming to a head.

Jimin is scared.

Something. I need to do something.

He opens his mouth to call for his brother, but then-

There's the sound of the front door opening.

The fear surges up inexplicably, and Jimin clutches at his throat and sinks to his knees. 

They're back.

They're back and it's wrong, more wrong than before, more wrong than unfair scoldings and shoves and slaps and starving and scowls. 

It's wrong because when they step inside, their footsteps are uneven and their voices are slurred.

It's wrong because Jimin's brother is right there, ready to greet their parents.

It's wrong because Jimin's brother doesn't notice anything is wrong.

“Hi, Eomma, Appa, how was your-”

A distinct, painfully familiar smack , a cry of pain, stumbling footsteps.

Jimin runs.

He still can't breathe and all he knows now is fear and wrong wrong wrong and it's dizzying and intense and sudden and he can hardly process what happens next.

Slurred cursing and insults.

Running.

Screaming.

Wine bottles, glazed eyes.

Running, too far, too late-

They've never been drunk before.

Fuck, they're drunk.

And then-

Swing, smash, glass breaking, flying, blood -

Running. 

Screaming.

Picking… picking up a limp body.

Running.

Jimin gasps, throwing his back against the bathroom door to slam it shut and keep it shut .

He hears slurred voices, coming closer through the door, and shifts his brother to one arm, using the other to fumble with the lock.

With his shaking, bloodstained fingers, it takes a good five tries to get the door to lock. When he does manage it, he slides to the floor, still panting, still- still crying…

Blood.

There's so much blood.

Jimin's going to be sick.

Glass shards.

In his temple, in his-

His wrist.

Fuck.

His wrist.

There’s a glass shard in his brother’s wrist.

There was a glass shard in his brother’s wrist.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

Jimin forces his eyes away from the gushing wound and instead meets his brother's eyes. They used to be warm, happy, shaped like crescent moons. 

Jimin wonders when exactly they stopped being that way, and how he never really managed to bring himself to try to save them.

“Hyung,” he says. Voice weak and pale, somehow. How can a sound have a shade? 

And there was a glass shard in Jimin's brother's wrist, and Jimin knows-

Knows because he'd been sad one day, and it had been the kind of sad that was somehow worse than anything he'd ever felt, the kind that made him choke up but not want to breathe, his heart stutter but not want to beat, and he'd been desperate and searched it up and he knows exactly where it is, what it is, how deep you need to go to sever it.

But then his brother had been there, arms warm, eyes warm, smile sad but warm, and he had dragged Jimin out of the haze and distracted him with trips out into the sunlight and pastries they shared between them.

“Hyung,” Jimin's brother repeats. “I'm going to die, aren't I?”

It's unfair , Jimin thinks. How could this have happened so quick, just one night, one bottle of wine, and glass shard?

Denial is the first stage of grief.

But, Jimin thinks as he stares into his brother's eyes and feels cold, perhaps he'd been in denial all these years already. Perhaps that was why he never did make the move. Never did run, being his brother with him.

They could have ran. Their parents wouldn't have cared, wanted them gone in the first place anyway. And then they could've spent all day in the sun and all night under the moon, and it may have been cold at first but it would've been okay because they would have exh other, and each other was home, and home was always warm, and somehow they would work hard enough and get lucky enough to build their bakery and it would be their home and everything there would be homemade and it would've been nice.

“I'm going to die, aren't I?”

And denial is the first stage of grief, but Jimin nods.

The blood spreads on the floor, and it's cold to the touch.

Jimin's brother smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. Something bangs on the door and the smile falls.

“Jimin-hyung, you have to go.”

Wrong, all wrong. 

“Not without you.” And somehow his voice still exists despite everything seeming lost. “It was- it was never supposed to be without you. I'm- I'm sorry.” What is he even saying now? It's too late and he knows it. His brother knows it.

“You know that night when I- I asked you why you didn't smile anymore?”

His face, entire body, his voice. Pale.

Artery, blood loss, shock, blunt force trauma.

“You never did tell me why… i-in the morning.”

Jimin gulps, finally reaches out to touch. Fingers through hair. Soft hair. Cold hair. “I wanted to keep you smiling.”

“And- and you had to… to- sacrifice your happiness for that?”

Jimin nods.

Jimin's brother's voice is small, pale, with just a spark of warmth left to soften the blow of their next words, “That only… made me sadder, did you know t-that?”

This is the last conversation they’re going to have, right? The last words they'll exchange, and it's on cold bathroom tiles pooled with cold blood and darkness and banging on doors, not sunlight and crescent moon eyes and flowers in full bloom.

“Hyung, you have to run.”

Jimin shakes his head because he can't , already knows he won't last a single second on his own. Not if he leaves his brother behind here when he should've been a good hyung, should've took the chances and ran away with him, should've done so many things, reached him faster, loved him harder, been-

“Run, please.” 

Banging. The door hinges creak, about to give out. 

“For me?”

He's still alive but there's no saving him. That last spark of hope and warmth in his voice, his eyes, him , finally dies.

Something in Jimin snaps.

Just like that, dreams of a happy life with freedom and-

Snap.

I'm sorry.

I know how much you wanted to be happy.

I know how scared you were.

I wish I could've told you I was scared too.

I wish I smiled when you told me to.

I wish we could've gone back, somehow, and just lived those days over and over again because those days were warm and whole.

I wish…

Nothing happens. 

Jimin has to let go, but nothing is happening and he can't change anything anymore and he has to leave and what if-

What if Jimin forgets him?

What if he forgets Jimin?

What if he leaves and he never comes back?

What if he leaves alone?

Jimin's brother's eyes close and Jimin senses something wrong.

Everything coming to a head.

He can't be there when it happens, when his last breath is drawn, so he runs.

Window smashing, cutting.

Crying.

Tears mixed with rain, indistinguishable.

Oh.

It's raining.

~~~

Jimin is in Hoseok's house and he doesn't remember getting there.

Just a blur of panic and sadness and cold and monochrome and then-

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jimin's not sure, but Hoseok is there and the living room couch rushes up to meet him and a shoulder soaks up his tears so- he does anyway.

Tells him everything.

How everything was whole and perfect until it wasn’t and their family got torn apart and Jimin knew his parents didn’t love them anymore but he still hoped, somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, and that got his brother killed. How he ran and ran and lived until he didn’t want to anymore and yet he still kept going because his brother had told him to.

There's silence, afterwards, like they're both grasping for words but can't find any.

Jimin finds them first. “Hyung.” Hoseok tilts his head, prompting.

“It was my fault, wasn't it?”

“Oh, Jiminie.” Hoseok reaches out and brushes his hair back. His touch is gentle. He's always gentle, and for some reason that makes Jimin want to cry. Like he hasn't cried enough already. “Of course it's not your fault.”

Jimin closes his eyes, lip wobbling. “We could've ran away.”

“But you were scared.” And this is sudden too, so sudden it's giving Jimin whiplash because Hoseok knows everything now and he doesn't know if he likes it or not. 

“Exactly. Still my fault.”

“Jiminie, you were a kid . You were all alone except for your brother and you were scared and you cannot be blamed for being scared of things changing and letting go of the remaining permanency in your life.”

Jimin sniffles and gives a watery smile. “When did you get so philosophical, hyung?”

Hoseok gives a dignified sniff. “I was always philosophical. I even read that book on the history of flour Namjoon gave me.” 

Jimin tries to laugh but nothing comes out. Even his smile feels clogged, somehow.

Hoseok notices. Of course he does. “Hey. I mean it, alright? It wasn't your fault.”

Things have been going too fast, too sudden lately. Not just lately. Since the beginning. It makes everything feel unstable.

“I killed him, hyung. I had so many fucking chances to save him and I didn't and it was my fault and I killed him .”

“Jimin-ah, it wasn't your fault.” Hoseok reiterates. Patiently, but for how long?

He's holding his hand now. Jimin might be dying. Just a little.

It's warm, too warm.

Jimin changes the subject even though he doesn't know what he's running away from. “Namjoon-hyung talked to me the other day.”

Hoseok frowns a little bit humors him. “About…?”

“Dissociation.”

Hoseok's mouth parts in an understanding ‘o’. He has a very pretty mouth.

“When I dissociate, it's the only time it doesn't hurt, because I can't even think about my brother.”

Hoseok looks sad. That feels wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It feels like there’s a rubber band in the air, hovering between them, and it’s been pulled more and more every time and now it’s about to snap.

Because Jimin really doesn’t deserve this, and yet he’s been given so much and it weighs him down and he can’t take it anymore .

“But…” Hoseok is pretty and kind and Jimin loves him and he's not sure he deserves to but he does. “But there's another time it doesn't hurt. When I- when I'm with you,” Jimin's confession comes out quiet, almost forbidden.

Hoseok smiles but it's not heart-shaped and Jimin really does almost cry at that. God, he's a wreck. 

“You're still so sad,” Hoseok whispers after another silence. “I wish I could help you.” 

No.

Wrong .

Jimin flinches, pulling his hand back from Hoseok's gentle grasp. 

Do you really deserve this?

No.

No, I don't, I killed him, this is wrong wrong wrong.

Hoseok's brow furrows and Jimin can't tell if it's in concern or hurt. “Jimin-ah?”

“I don't deserve it.” And Jimin's voice is a little far away and he, detachedly, thinks of an anonymous poet named Faraway and their poems on love.

The most

Beautiful part is,

I wasn't even looking

When I found you.

Jimin thinks, looking into Hoseok’s eyes, thinks he's so beautiful and so perfect.

Such a beautiful, grounding thing.

And that's precisely why Jimin can't have him.

“I don't deserve it,” he repeats. “You. Caring.”

Oh.

He's crying.

“You do, you deserve the world.”

“But it was my fault -”

“It wasn't!” Hoseok finally explodes, and there it is, things coming to a head, and some part of Jimin's subconsciousness smiles in relief. “It wasn't your fault, why can't you see that?!”

It’s cold, suddenly. So, so cold. Cold is familiar. Cold is all Jimin has ever known.

Jimin pushes back, because now that he's starting severing it he can't stop. Something in the back of his mind urges him on. Cut everything. Unground yourself .

“Why can't you see that I failed as a hyung and I should've been better -”

“That's so stupid-”

You're so stupid, Jimin hears.

“You tried your best and it wasn't your fault- ”

You tried your best and it wasn't enough- 

Something in Jimin snaps.

His eyes unfocus.

Everything's been happening so quickly.

I love you, some part of Jimin desperately thinks, and then-

He-

falls.

Eyes, fog.

Flowers, wilt.

“Hey, no, no, no, Jiminie, stay with me.”

He's so pretty and kind and his name is Hoseok.

Something in his eyes. 

Frantic.

Regret? Panic? Sadness?

Sadness is an ugly look on him.

For some reason he reminds Jimin of sunflowers.

“Jiminie, would your brother want this? Your brother would want you to be happy, please-”

Oh.

He's pretty but he's crying and somehow that makes Jimin sad.

Like something’s wrong.

Like, somehow, Jimin feels like Hoseok should be happy.

What did he… he just said something, didn’t he?

Oh.

“My brother’s dead.”

Hoseok is crying and Jimin thinks, wrong wrong wrong, this is wrong . 

Jimin pulls away.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Jiminie, please, I didn’t mean-”

And this is wrong, wrong, wrong, Jimin knows. He shouldn’t run, he should stay, but everything is a mess, scrambled and uneven, and all he has guiding him is hurt and habit.

There is the scent of pastries and it tries to drag Jimin back down to the ground so he covers his nose, and Hoseok’s eyes have something in him that make Jimin want to reach out and brush his hair away so he looks away, and he somehow feels Hoseok reaching out, so he stands and steps back, back, back.

Living room, the coffee table and the floor, the floor where they-

They… sunflowers. Something about sunflowers and Jimin and Hoseok and Polaroid dreams, together.

Jimin runs.

Through the kitchen. On the floor, there’s a piece of confetti. Leftover. Jimin runs faster.

No, no, no, wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Jimin is running and he can’t look back and he can’t breathe , like with every breath of air he takes his lungs can’t quite hold it all in.

No one comes after him.

He bursts down the stairs instead of the elevator because he wouldn’t be able to make out the buttons anyway and he needs to run , needs to get away from all this hurt battering him inside out until he feels like he’ll break, until he thinks maybe he’s actually been broken for so long that he’s gotten so used to the pieces that were left that he stopped trying to put them back together.

Jimin runs, and his legs and arms are pumping as fast as they can but he doesn’t know where he’s going and can’t even really feel himself, can’t feel the ground under his feet or the way his muscles must be burning, unused to exercise, can only feel the hurt hurt hurt and wrong wrong wrong as he runs runs runs and the streetlamps blur above and the sky stays dark.

This is the kind of hurt that only comes from the kind of sad that’s somehow worse than anything else, the kind that makes him choke up but not want to breathe, his heart stutter but not want to beat and Jimin-

Jimin wants to go home .

He doesn’t have one, though.

Maybe he never did.

Oh.

It’s raining.

~~~

Chapter Text

The Polaroid is blurry, familiar, of frozen happiness. 

Hoseok, grinning, off-center, Jimin, halfway in the frame, halfway out, surprised but with the shadow of a blooming laugh already palpable. 

Jimin’s head thunks down onto his desk where the Polaroid lies. 

It’s cold.

So cold.

This is where you belong , a part of his mind hisses.

This is where you feel trapped .

It’s unfair, Jimin thinks. Unfair of him to keep this relic of Hoseok and yet have nothing of his brother’s.

But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to rid himself of that.

The Polaroid is blurry, familiar, of frozen happiness.

And Jimin stares at Hoseok’s face, his heart-shaped grin, his bright eyes, warm even through the picture. Even though it’s frozen.

I love you , Jimin thinks, and he doesn’t even know if he’s crying anymore.

He has three stray hairs, exactly three. He’s wearing a pastel yellow jacket.

“Well. I say Hobi-hyung loves you.”

Jungkook. 

“What? It’s so obvious!”

Jimin sits up again. Stands. Makes to leave his room, but he can’t move. 

Stares. Thinks.

Hoseok is so beautiful.

I love you.

So, so beautiful.

I hope you loved me.

~~~

Everything is finally back to normal.

Wake up, get ready, go to work, get back, eat, sleep.

Try to forget.

Try to remember.

Wonders why he's still living.

Wonders if it was his fault.

Wonders how things went wrong so quickly.

Wonders where everyone is now.

Wonders if they're happier than him.

Without him.

~~~

Jimin feels… empty.

It's a different kind of empty than he's used to. This kind of empty is more. Sadder. Hollower. Darker.

He did something wrong.

He broke something, again.

Jimin rolls around, stares up at the ceiling. It's blank. Starless.

It was his fault, right?

Things don't just go so wrong without a cause. Jimin's the cause, it all makes sense now.

Hoseok deserved better.

~~~

He should run, right? Should try to save himself, should try to get away from the hurt.

That's what his brother would've wanted. What Hoseok would've wanted, because they were both so kind.

He should try to do something .

Anything, to try to fix things.

But everything is so broken Jimin doesn't know where to start.

I'm sorry.

They would've wanted Jimin to fix himself but he can't even bring himself to start .

I'm sorry.

~~~

Jimin is lost.

Floating, untethering. 

Walking… he thinks he's walking.

He can't really remember much anymore.

Doesn't know what time it is, though he never does.

Doesn't know how long it's been since… since he's last seen Hoseok.

Doesn't know where he is.

Jimin is lost.

And yet, somehow he keeps walking.

He should probably stop, right?

He's not going anywhere anyway.

~~~

Jimin is dizzy and the sun's been up, he knows that, watched the sky turn the most ethereal shade of lavender rose and gold, but now the clouds are back and Jimin blinks and suddenly he is in the middle of the street and there's honking and gasps and a car screeching to a stop.

Jimin just blinks, looks up at the sky, and realizes he’s probably late for work.

The moment of awareness is gone quicker than it came.

~~~

One step, then another. 

Stumble, trip, careening.

Blood. 

Just a little.

God, there's so much, Jimin's going to be sick-

Just a little.

~~~

Has he eaten yet? Has it been hours, or weeks?

Oh.

The sky shines silver.

~~~

A bird chirps, flutters.

The branch shivers and sheds a leaf.

~~~

Titles, a passing book store.

Tell Me Tomorrow

Sad birds still sing

They Never Go Back

~~~

So, so pretty.

So, so sad.

~~~

Empty.

~~~

I hope

~~~

You loved

~~~

Me.

~~~

~~~

Jimin stops short, blank eyes staring ahead, gradually refocusing.

He turns his head slowly, blinking at the pane of glass that greets him. A glass door. A glass front door to a shop.

It’s raining.

A glass front door, and on both sides of it little potted plants with pretty purple flowers.

Through the door, there’s soft, warm yellow light. 

At least-

It looks warm. It looks like it could be warm.

Jimin wouldn’t know, he’s still standing outside, staring. Drenched in-

Why did he stop walking?

Oh.

It’s raining.

It’s raining, and Jimin’s standing in front of the glass front door of a shop that looks like it leads to somewhere warm.

He should keep walking, he should go on his way, but-

Jimin turns the rest of his body so it’s aligned with his head. 

It looks like it could be warm.

The flowers are pretty.

And it smells like-

Jimin should keep walking.

Why did he stop walking?

Oh.

Right.

Because he’d smelled-

Because he’d smelled-

Because-

Snap.

I hope you loved me.

Oh.

Jimin takes a tentative step back, then sideways.

Sees a window.

Hoseok.

And Jungkook.

Exactly like before.

Steps closer. 

Breathes.

It’s raining.

Hoseok, tossing something into the mixer. Jungkook, adjusting its settings. 

Hoseok looks… fine. 

Not like he’s been crying, not like he feels broken and empty and-

Not like he feels anything like Jimin feels. 

Jungkook says something that sends himself cackling to the floor, has Hoseok smiling fondly, shoulders shaking.

Is that what we could’ve been?

And this time, Jimin doesn’t know if he’s wondering…

Is that what he and his brother could’ve been?

Or is that what he and Hoseok could’ve been?

He should leave.

He has to leave .

Hoseok reaches out, ruffles Jungkook’s hair. 

They both look so at home, there, with each other.

Jimin has. To. Leave.

He can’t move.

Where you feel trapped.

He should keep going, on his way, but it's warm inside and Hoseok is warm and Jungkook's laughter will be bright and familiar and Seokjin will drop in early to say hi and steal some snacks and-

Leave.

And none of them would even think about Jimin.

Fucking. Go.

Jimin finally unglues his feet from the sidewalk. Shakes the raindrops out of his eyes.

Is that what we could've been?

Oh.

No.

Right.

That's what we never will be.

~~~

~~~

Chapter Text

Jimin doesn’t go back.

There’s something pushing him, making him sure he cuts everything, untethers himself completely.

Maybe that something is hurt, or guilt, or self-pity, Jimin doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

All he knows is that it feels cold, and it hurts, and it’s so huge and unforgiving that he can’t even think about trying to get past it.

And so he doesn’t.

~~~

“Jimin-ssi, we’ve noticed a sudden influx of absences and tardies from you. You’ve had a spotless record until now, is everything alright?”

The sky outside the window is still silver.

“Jimin-ssi?”

A bird flits past.

“Jimin-ssi.”

Absences and tardies.

Oh.

“Everything’s fine.”

Silence. The air conditioning whirs. Stutters.

“…alright. Well, I’ll be sending some shift changes to you.”

Ah… he took too long to respond to that one, didn’t he?

Shift changes .

He hasn’t used his phone is so long, it’s likely dead already. He’ll need to dig out his charger somewhere.

“Jimin-ssi? Hello?”

“Ah, yes, sorry, what?”

Squint. “I said , you’re free to go.”

The sky…

“Oh, s-sorry…”

Jimin stands, takes one step forward, then another, then another, until between one blink and the next-

Oh.

The sky is all silver clouds, but there’s one sliver of piercing azure.

So, so pretty.

~~~

Floating.

~~~

Closer.

~~~

Falling...

~~~

Asleep.

~~~

“You need to go back, hyung.”

Jimin spins, once, twice, but he sees nobody.

And yet, he hears-

“Jimin-hyung.”

The room is bleak, plain white. But-

His brother-

“Hyung, you need to go back.”

Has he been here before? For some reason, it feels familiar.

“Hyung, can you hear me-”

“You’re not really here.”

It’s not a question.

“…no. I’m not.”

Jimin sits, cross-legged, suddenly tired.

“Have I been here before? I feel like…” Jimin trails off, looking around.

“You’ve been here before?”

Jimin nods.

“Well, maybe you have.”

“What-”

“Hyung, we don’t have much time. This isn’t just affecting you. You’re making everyone sad.”

Jimin blinks. Lies down. God, he’s exhausted. “What do you mean?”

“They miss you, hyung. You know that.”

“I don’t-”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Jimin’s brother’s voice is coming out quicker now, rushed. “And it never was. Any of it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” But Jimin already knows.

“Don’t play dumb, hyung. Go back to Hoseok. Go back to the bakery.”

Closes his eyes. “I can’t- I don’t know how to…”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Start with your phone.”

“Why are you even here? How am I talking to you?”

“Hyung, I can’t help you anymore. I can’t help you past this. Please, just listen.”

I can’t help you anymore either , Jimin thinks but doesn’t say.

“You did all you could,” the voice says quietly, despite Jimin having said nothing aloud.

“You’re waking up,” his brother observes after a second. “Remember, go to your phone.”

“But why-”

“Hyung,” the voice pleads, fading out. “Just listen. Please.” 

There’s desperation there, raw emotion. Something Jimin couldn’t think up of in a dream.

“…okay.”

“Thank you,” the voice murmurs with so much sincerity it makes Jimin’s chest ache. 

The voice fades more and more, and it might be Jimin’s imagination but the room seems to be dissolving. 

“Hyung, I love you.”

The room dissipates completely all at once, and then Jimin is falling.

~~~

Jimin wakes and his head is foggy but still clearer than it has been for so, so long.

He gets up and finds that his alarm hasn’t rung yet. As a matter of fact, there are around four hours left until it should ring. 

A little disoriented, Jimin stands, and for whatever reason, heads to the kitchen.

There’s hardly anything on the counters or the table except his phone. Jimin walks over. Picks it up. 

It’s dead.

He stares down at it for a second, then goes to find a charger.

~~~

Cut everything.

~~~

[Charging… 1%]

[1 email: Shift Changes Spreadshe…]

[109 unread messages]

[12 missed calls]

~~~

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 4:18 AM]

jiminie

jimin

i’m sorry

please come back

i’ll wait for you here

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 5:35 AM]

if you want to find me i’m at the bakery now

jiminie

i’m sorry i should’ve been aware of your headspace

you literally just told me you’re prone to dissociating

and i knew after a nightmare it’d be harder for you to accept positivity

and i did so many things wrong i’m just

i’m so sorry

please come back

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 12:04 PM]

i meant everything i said

i really do care

it was my fault

Hoseok-hyung [Friday 7:59 AM]

the others miss you too

Hoseok-hyung [Friday 12:02 PM]

[missed call]

[missed call]

Hoseok-hyung [Friday 10:22 PM]

[img.]

i made caneles for the first time

they remind me of you 

all hard and unforgiving and caramel iced on the outside at first but soft and sweet on the inside

Hoseok-hyung [Saturday 5:28 AM] 

i miss you

i miss your eyes and your presence and your kindness and your touch and your baking and

most of all i miss your smile

[…]

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 3:47 AM]

Jimin

i have to tell you something

I love you.

I think I’ve loved you since the moment you stepped into Something Homemade that rainy night.

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 3:48 AM]

I’m sorry I never told you.

I know you might never see this

I know you might never come back

I know you might never love me back

I just really needed to let you know

Jimin, I love you.

Hoseok-hyung [Thursday 3:49 AM]

Do you want to know what my third birthday wish was?

I wished that you loved me too.

Jimin’s mattress creaks.

The blinds are closed.

His charging cord is fraying.

Oh.

He’s crying.

Jimin stands.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

Shoes, out the door.

It’s still raining.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

Down the sidewalk, quickly getting drenched.

“This is my favorite pastry. It kinda reminds me of you, hyung.”

Jimin’s brother holds up the freshly made caneles, beaming proudly.

“All hard and unforgiving on the outside, but really you’re just soft and sweet on the inside. Also it’s fun to make.”

Cross the road. It’s nighttime, and there are hardly any cars.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you smile as much anymore?”

Rustling bedsheets in the dark. An audible pout.

“I miss your smile.”

It rains and rains and rains until Jimin is genuinely completely soaked, beginning to shiver a little.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

“Wahh, look! It’s developing! This is so fun, isn’t this so fun, hyung?”

His brother’s first Polaroid, two smiling faces with four crescent moons, frozen in happiness.

Jimin recognizes this place.

He’s almost there.

One step forward, then another, then another, then another.

“It would be our home, and everything there would be-”

It’s raining, and there’s a glass front door and untrimmed purple flowers and warm, warm, light and- and this is-

“Something Homemade.”

~~~

Chapter Text

Jimin takes one step forward, then another, then another, and then he’s standing right in front of the glass front door. The longest stems of the purple flowers brush against his pant legs. 

Jimin’s hand reaches out, rests on the door handle. He grasps it, tightly.

It’s raining.

He opens the door.

A little bell jingles when he steps inside, dripping rainwater all over the polished hardwood floor, but Jimin doesn’t notice any of that.

He’s too busy drinking in the achingly familiar scent of pastries.

And it’s-

It’s warm .

Jimin takes one slow step forward, drinking in the atmosphere. It feels like something is clicking into place, the closer he walks towards the back. Pastries, sliding glass cases…

There’s no one here and yet Jimin feels the least lonely he’s felt in too long.

When he reaches the back and opens the door, somehow he already knows what he’ll find there even before he reaches for the handle. 

Turns the handle.

Pushes the door open.

The pastel yellow rug, low coffee table with yuja tea bags and banana milk and the bookshelf and the cushions and-

And Hoseok.

Hoseok, sitting on the cushion closest to Jimin. Hoseok, turning around in surprise at the sound of the door opening. 

Hoseok, standing. Hoseok, smiling a heart-shaped smile. Hoseok, walking towards Jimin.

Hoseok, saying-

“Jimin-ah. You came back.”

Hoseok, pulling Jimin into a dazed hug. 

Warm, warm, warm.

“Welcome home.”

And when Jimin breaks then, Hoseok holds all of him.

~~~

There are no walls, no fear, no guilt, not anymore, not for now. There’s just sadness, relief, warmth.

Love.

“Hyung,” Jimin says, held together in Hoseok’s arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I left.”

“I forgive you,” Hoseok murmurs back. “And I’m sorry too. I’m so… I’m so happy you came back.” His voice breaks at the end, and Jimin hears what Hoseok doesn’t say, I was scared you weren’t going to.

I was scared too , Jimin thinks.

“Jimin-ah, please- please don’t ever leave like that again. I-I need you, I love you.”

No more fear, not anymore, not for now.

“I love you too.”

There are too many things to do, too many things to explain, but there’s a momentous desperation between them now, and Jimin, still soaking wet from the rain, leans forward, watching Hoseok do the same before they meet halfway and his eyes flutter closed.

The kiss is frantic, but only at first. Within seconds, it melts into something tender, softer, until they break apart. 

Jimin leans forward to press their foreheads together, a little clumsy from the days of exhaustion and dissociation and malnutrition, enough so that his and Hoseok’s heads knock together a little. 

“I won’t ever leave again,” Jimin promises.

“You’ll stay?” Pleading voice, pleading eyes.

“I’ll stay.”

Hoseok sags all of a sudden, holding on to Jimin and putting enough of his weight on him that Jimin has to reach up with his own arms and hold him up a little.

“I think we need to talk,” Jimin murmurs. Hoseok nods.

They waddle a little awkwardly over to the coffee table. The rain is letting up, but it’s still audible.

They sit, and Jimin explains how he always felt he was undeserving of everything he couldn’t give to his brother. How he was slowly breaking everyday until his brother died and he shattered, then never really knew how to put himself back together. How his biggest fear has been to forget his brother, because he has nothing of him to keep. Because he never went back.

He tells Hoseok about dreaming of his brother. Seeing the texts.

About pastries. Caneles.

Polaroids.

Flowers.

Smiles.

Home.

And at the end of it all, when Jimin is laid bare and peeled apart and inside out, Hoseok reaches out, holds his hand, kisses him once, and puts him back together.

~~~

Jimin sleeps over at Hoseok’s that day.

“Don’t you have your bakery-”

“They can survive without me for a day. You’re infinitely more important.”

And Jimin wonders what he did to deserve that.

“Jimin. Jimin, look at me.” 

He does.

Hoseok makes eye contact, and Jimin feels his gaze penetrate something he hasn’t let anyone else see. “Jimin, you’re sweet and polite and caring and kind, and you feel so deeply and see everyone for who they are, except yourself. You deserve the world. Your only flaw is that you can’t see that yet.”

His voice softens. “I want to help you see that. You said you’d let me, all those weeks before, right?”

“Yes,” Jimin breathes.

“Then let me. Just trust me.”

“For me.”

Inhales. Exhales. “Okay. I’ll- I’ll let you.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’ll love you so well, Jiminie.”

“I will too.” The words feel important. They feel like a promise.

And so Jimin sleeps over at Hoseok’s house that day.

“You look exhausted. How much have you been sleeping?” Hoseok leads him inside. Jimin is pleased to see his house hasn’t changed much at all.

Jimin shrugs. “Don’t remember.”

Hoseok’s brow furrows. “Eaten? Drank?”

Jimin shakes his head, wordlessly looking down.

“Let’s get some food and water into you, then you’re going to go rest ,” Hoseok orders, faux-sternly, and Jimin smiles. 

“Okay, okay, Eomma.”

~~~

“Hobi-hyung?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why did you open Something Homemade ?”

Hoseok closes his book. Sits up a little on the armchair beside his bed, which Jimin is lying in right now.

“Well, I grew up in… a good family. An amazing one, actually. But they didn’t shelter me. They told me that there were families out there, homes out there, that hurt everyone in them.

“I hated that thought, and when I met Yoongi-hyung…” Hoseok sighs. Sets his book aside. “His parents were like yours. He ran away when we were in high school.”

“Oh.”

Hoseok smiles. “He’s happy now, he has Namjoon, he has Seokjin-hyung, he has us. He had a difficult time accepting love like you, too, though.”

Jimin gnaws at his lip. Thinks about how he owes the others an explanation as well. “He’s really… okay now?”

Happy?

Loved?

Loving?

“You’ve seen him. Still a tsundere, but that’s really just his personality. He’s really just a soft, sweet guy.”

Hoseok must see something in Jimin’s expression because he reaches out and holds his hand. “He’s okay now, and you’ll be too.”

Jimin nods, tries to shift the subject a little, relieved when Hoseok lets him. “So… Something Homemade ?”

“I liked baking since the start, and I wanted to give people like you and Yoongi-hyung and Jungkook-ah a place to find even just a sliver of the home they never had. A place of warmth, of safety, and for me that was always the most prominent in pastries.”

Jungkook’s okay now, too.

He had Hoseok, now he has Taehyung.

“Jungkookie’s told you already, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he has.”

“He’s okay now too.” Hoseok takes a deep breath. "Jimin-ah. I don't know if I'll be enough, be good enough for you, but I'll do my very best to see you happy."

Jimin doesn’t know how he can think that with two others he healed so well and found so much happiness for.

Scared, Jimin should be scared. Instead the sheets are warm and the pillow is soft and Hoseok’s hand is warm and soft, and it doesn’t let go. It smells faintly of pastries here, too, and everything is just working together, piecing themselves seamlessly in a lilting atmosphere to lull Jimin to sleep.

“Jiminie?”

“Mm?”

“What was your brother’s name?”

Jimin smiles but doesn’t open his eyes. “Jihyun.”

“Jihyun,” Hoseok repeats. Fondly, like he’s not just met Jimin’s brother, but known him for years. 

“He would’ve loved you.”

Silence, breathing.

Jimin slips further under. 

“I’m sure I would’ve loved him too.”

Jimin falls, and even sleep is warm.

~~~

“Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin opens his eyes. Looks around. 

“...Jihyun?”

“Hi.”

No one there.

Has he-

He’s-

He’s been here before.

“Hyung, do you love him?”

“Jihyun, I’m so sorry, I should’ve tried harder, I had so many chances-”

“Hyung. Hoseok-hyung. Do you love him?”

Jimin has tears in his eyes and his next breath brings with it a faint whiff of flowers. Strange for such a bland room.

“I-”

“Jiminie-hyung.”

Jimin takes a deep breath. Wipes away his tears. Smells flowers.

“I do.”

A smile, in a voice. “You’ve found a home, then.”

“You were my first, though,” Jimin says sincerely. A promise. “You always will be.”

“I know,” Jihyun’s voice says, and suddenly the room is blurring and Jimin is falling but he isn’t really, and then there is grass beneath his bare feet and the scent of flowers is so real now he almost questions if he’s still dreaming.

And Jihyun is there.

His smile is clear. Crescent moon eyes, scrunched nose. 

“Hi, hyung.”

Jimin runs.

Jihyun takes the crushing hug with a laugh, gives one back. He’s solid, Jimin’s relieved to find. Tangible. There.

Warm.

“Jihyun.” Jimin whispers, tears free falling.

“I’m not really here,” he reminds, and Jimin shakes his head. 

“I know. But at least- at least you’re-”

He can’t say here , that’s not the right word, but as always Jihyun understands. “I missed you.”

“I missed you so much, Jihyun.”

“Please don’t say sorry again.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Jimin laughs. Rocks Jihyun a few times, pulls away. “I love you too.”

Jihyun lets his arms fall, takes a few steps back. Jimin tries following, but Jihyun shakes his head.

Jimin’s heart falls a little. “Are you leaving? Please don’t leave, I just- I just got you back.”

“You know I can never really come back,” Jihyun says sadly, turns around.

“Wait!” Jimin calls. Suddenly desperate. “You can’t leave, I- I have nothing of you, I can’t forget you, I can’t -”

“Hyung.” Jihyun turns around, but he doesn’t get closer. Jimin doesn’t, either, and he doesn’t really know why. “Do you trust me?”

“I-” Jimin swipes at his tears. “Yeah.”

“Go back. Go back to our old home, don’t worry about our parents, they’re already gone.”

“How do you know? You said-”

“That this was in your heart, yeah. Do you trust me?”

Jimin stares. Cries a little more. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Find the Polaroids.” And then Jihyun is turning away again, beginning to walk.

“Jihyun. Jihyun!”

“You’ve found love, you’ve learned to let that love in. Now you just need to give that love. Now you just need to keep that love.”

“Jihyun, are you- will you not come back?”

His lack of an immediate response is response enough. Jimin doesn’t move, feels like he can’t. 

“I’ll make sure you can remember me, don’t worry,” Jihyun says, and he isn’t turning back and he isn’t stopping, but Jimin smells flowers in full bloom and feels warm and not cold, healing and not broken, and somehow, somehow , the sight and thought of Jihyun leaving isn’t such a bad thought anymore.

“Promise?”

“Promise. Just remember what I’ve said.”

He’s getting farther and farther away, and so is his voice. Swallowed, by the-

By the sunflowers.

“I love you.”

And then he’s gone and Jimin is left crying alone in the field of sunflowers and he’s warm and healing and-

Smiling.

“I love you too,” he whispers, one more time, just to feel the delicate weight of the words on his tongue and not for anyone to hear it. 

And then he falls.

~~~

Chapter Text

“Hyung, where were you?”

Jimin doesn’t even have time to open his mouth to answer before Jungkook is throwing himself against him, hugging him tight.

“I missed you,” Jungkook murmurs into Jimin’s neck, voice thick with unshed tears. He has to bend down a little to reach there he’s grown so tall, but right now as Jimin hugs him back he seems so small. 

“I missed you too, Guk.” When Jimin replies he’s just as close to tears. He looks past Jungkook’s shoulder and meets Taehyung’s eyes. They have a protective, almost defiant look in them.

“He was worried sick, y’know. Kept waking up crying in the middle of the night.”

“T-thought you weren’t gonna come back,” Jungkook whispers brokenly, not letting Jimin go. 

Jimin gives Jungkook a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

Taehyung finally walks up to them then, and to Jimin’s surprise he reaches out to comfort both his boyfriend and Jimin, patting their heads. Jungkook melts a little at the touch, and Jimin just blinks and looks up at Tae, eyes wide. 

Taehyung smiles. “It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean to. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

Jimin nods, endlessly grateful when Taehyung doesn’t pull his hand away. “I missed you both.”

“Missed you,” Tae and Jungkook echo, and Jimin closes his eyes, trying to soak up as much of the touches as possible.

Hoseok stands from the couch behind Taehyung. “One more thing, Jimin-ah,” Hoseok reminds with a gentle smile.

“Oh. Oh yeah. By the way, me and Hobi-hyung are-”

The doorbell rings just then, and Jimin pulls away with a grin, following Hoseok as he goes to get the door. 

Namjoon is the first through the door, Seokjin and Yoongi right after. 

“Jiminie, you’re back!” Namjoon exclaims, beaming, while Seokjin pulls Jimin into a hug. 

“Don’t do that again, idiot.” Yoongi comes up to Jimin and smacks his arm. The blow is hardly harsh enough to hurt.

It’s stupid, it really is, but it’s that thought that makes hot tears suddenly well up in Jimin’s eyes. Yoongi notices immediately, brow furrowing in concern, apologies clearly on the tip of his tongue, but Jimin shakes his head before he can say anything, blinking rapidly.

“S-sorry, I’m just- this is all just kinda taking me by surprise, I-I’m sorry.” 

Seokjin’s arms are still loosely wrapped around Jimin’s shoulders. “Surprise? Why?” His eldest hyung inquires as he hears Taehyung and Jungkook enter the room from behind them.

“I, uh-” Jimin chokes up a little again and swallows impatiently. “I didn’t expect… you guys to care this much?” He doesn’t know why it comes out sounding like a question and winces internally.

“You- oh, Jiminie.” Yoongi reaches out, placing his hand comfortingly on the arm he just smacked. “Of course we care that you disappeared without a trace for a week, we care about you .”

The statement has been reaffirmed so many times, but coming from Yoongi, right now, like this, with everyone, Jimin thinks he might finally truly believe it.

“Oh,” he manages, voice a little more high-pitched than normal.

His emotions are becoming a little bit too much, tears beginning to overflow, and Jimin is endlessly grateful when Hoseok reaches out, pulls Jimin away gently, laces their fingers together. A single, grounding touch.

Jimin calms immediately, warmth washing over him.

Likely sensing he’s okay now, Hoseok changes the subject, lightening the mood. “So, Jiminie. Wanna tell them or should I?”

Jimin smiles, the last of his tears drying as he squeezes Hoseok’s hand a little tighter. “You can tell them.”

“Alright.” Hobi turns toward the rest of their friends. “Me and Jiminie are dating.”

Silence.

Then all hell breaks loose.

~~~

“When did you start? Loving me, I mean?” Hoseok asks.

Jimin looks at him. He’s still so unused to this. Warmth, happiness, all the time, everywhere. He feels so light, so in love, so at ease. The feeling only increases every time he looks into Hobi’s eyes.

“Since the beginning, I think.”

Hoseok grins. Heart-shaped. “What made you fall for me? My dashing looks? Irresistible charm?”

“You’re starting to sound like Jin-hyung.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Jimin’s grinning now too, but the expression turns thoughtful as he digs through his memories, feelings. “Everything, I guess. I don’t know, you just… made me feel warm. Too warm, at first. That’s why I left so fast the first time.”

Hoseok nods in understanding, expression softened. Then suddenly it perks up, like he just remembered something.

“Wait here, I need to get you something.”

Hoseok leaves his own bedroom, and when he comes back no more than a minute later, he’s holding a pastel yellow jacket.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Jimin. Jimin takes it, looking down on the article of clothing with confusion. “Uh-?”

“It’s yours now,” Hoseok elaborates. “Keep it.”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to-”

“Jiminie.” Hoseok interrupts softly. “You’ll give it much more love than I ever can.”

Jimin finally brings the jacket to his chest, feeling the soft and fluffy lining, pressing his nose into the fabric and inhaling. “Thank you,” he murmurs, almost reverently. Then a thought occurs and he pouts. “But if I wear this too often, it won’t smell like you anymore.”

Hoseok laughs. “You like how I smell?”

“I love how you smell.”

He pauses in thought for a moment. “How about this, we can both take turns wearing it, then it’ll smell like both of us.”

Jimin nods eagerly, satisfied. “So it’ll be ours.”

“Ours,” Hoseok agrees.

~~~

“Congratulations!” Jimin nearly squeals, rushing over to Seokjin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. 

“Yoongi-hyung’s finally married!” Taehyung cheers. “So much for ‘not a romantic’, huh, hyung?”

Yoongi glares, but the look packs no heat behind it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than sweatpants and a hoodie, hyung,” Jungkook comments. “The suit suits you.”

Seokjin cackles at the unintentional pun and Yoongi smacks him. 

Namjoon sighs, shaking his head. “Dealing with these two for life, aish…” 

“Oh, c’mon, you know you love them,” Hoseok grins. “Besides, you knew what you signed up for, so you have no one but yourself to blame.”

Jimin nudges the others discreetly, nodding his head towards the growing crowd of people behind them waiting to congratulate the newlywed trio.

“Ah, would you look at the time!” Hoseok exclaims boisterously, taking the chance to avoid Namjoon’s faux-anger. “It’ll be time to cut the cake soon, we better get going and find our seats! Toodaloo!”

Jimin is still laughing even after they’ve sat down.

~~~

“Would you… would you like to get married someday too?” Jimin asks tentatively.

Hoseok nods. “I’m not, ah, ready yet, but I would love to marry you.”

“Someday.”

“Someday.”

“Let’s have a few more dates first, shall we?”

Jimin grins. “Speaking of dates, I think this is my favorite one so far.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows. “All we did was eat food and watch a movie.”

“Exactly. My favorite one so far.”

“That’s what you say every time.”

Jimin hums, leaning closer and wordlessly asking for a kiss. Hoseok obliges easily. 

“Well, I’d never lie. Not to you.”

Another kiss. Shared smiles.

“I know.”

~~~

“Jiminie?”

“Hmm?”

“D’you… like your job right now?”

Jimin closes his book. Says quietly, “No, not really.”

“You could come work at Something Homemade , y’know.”

Jimin’s mouth drops open. How had that thought never occurred to him? That sounds like heaven. “I-I’d love to, but I’m not sure…”

Hoseok sits down on the couch, close enough to Jimin that their thighs brush. “Not sure what?”

“Whether or not I’m qualified for it…”

Hobi laughs, and the sound warms Jimin from inside out. He shifts closer without even realizing. “Of course you are, I’ve seen you bake. And besides, I can always teach you. Jungkookie didn’t know anything when he first started.”

Jimin smiles, feeling giddy. Hoseok cooes softly, reaching out to smooth down his hair. “Is that a yes?”

“It is.”

“Ah, thank god, it was torture seeing you so tired everyday, and they hardly ever pay you enough.”

Jimin giggles, fully leaning into Hoseok’s side with it, feeling his boyfriend’s arm wrap around his shoulders. “Hobi-hyung pays for half my stuff now anyway.”

Boyfriend. Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how happy thinking that makes him feel. How warm, how safe.

After they calm down, Hoseok doesn’t remove his arm. “Hey, what book are you reading?” He asks curiously.

Jimin flips it over wordlessly, showing off the cover.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Hoseok bursts into another fit of bright, bright, full-bodied laughter. “ The History of Flour? You’re actually reading it?”

“Well, it’s not like you have many other books. And I don’t have any of my own, so. Collectively, we own a total of 4 or so works of literature.”

Hoseok stops laughing. “Oh, the moment Namjoonie figures that out…”

Jimin grins. “Yeah, how do you feel about reading up on the psychology behind the shape of the whisk?”

~~~

“Go back to our old home,” Jihyun had said. “Find the Polaroids.”

Jimin’s been mulling that over for the better part of the past three months. Things have been so perfect, and everyday Jimin feels that he might just burst from all the love and happiness and he feels, and then that love and happiness would rise up into the sky and be able to fill up the whole thing.

But Jihyun. 

He can’t forget him.

He has to go back.

He can’t bring himself to, though.

And so he stalls.

Until he can’t anymore, because the decision is made for him.

“Jimin-ah?” Namjoon calls as soon as he enters the back room of the bakery. Jimin looks up from the cupcakes he was piping. “Joon-hyung?”

“I think I found your brother’s resting place.”

Jimin promptly drops the piping bag onto his cupcake, squishing the half-finished frosting.