Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was one of their usual sleepovers.

They were sitting in a nest of blankets on the floor of Taehyung’s studio apartment (located only two floors above Jimin’s), dressed in loose shirts and sweatpants and pajamas, pillows around the area or in their laps. They told stories, ate snacks, and joked and laughed.

They were currently laughing about a joke Jungkook recounted, the youngest waving his hands and mimicking a trademarked expression as he shimmied side to side. Jimin was probably laughing the loudest.

“Okay, but what happened after you danced for her?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook snorted a quiet laugh. “She believed me. I didn’t know she thought I was really that bad.”

It was a major improvement on Jungkook’s part. When Jimin first met him, Jungkook would cry when you asked him to sing or dance. It had been really tough to get him into the university’s dance club. (That was definitely not where they had met – the story went that Jungkook’s cousin forced him to join the anime club with a promise of buying him merch. Jungkook was happy to casually discuss but shut down when asked to give his theories on a topic. Jimin decided to adopt him. Taehyung, Jimin’s best friend, decided to share custody.)

This was months ago, at the start of Jungkook’s freshman year. As time went on he opened up, gained confidence. Jimin noticed the flutter in his stomach changed when he looked at Jungkook. The boy was no longer pitiful, tugging at Jimin’s heartstrings with his lamblike awkwardness, but beautiful, strong on his feet and in his willpower. He put muscle on his lanky body due to dancing and his own personal hobby of working out. In both a physical and spiritual sense, Jungkook grew more than twice his original size. Jimin was no longer endeared, but dazzled by him.

“No one thinks you’re that bad, Kookie,” Jimin gave Jungkook a supportive nudge, eyes scrunched up into crescents. “She just doesn’t know you yet.”

Jungkook laughed and said. “I know, that’s why I picked her to be my target. And you guys owe me ten thousand won, because I told you I wouldn’t make her laugh!”

The bet was that Taehyung and Jimin’s golden child could make anyone laugh, because Jungkook was naturally gifted by the gods – by Thaleia, the Greek muse of comedy herself – with the skill. Jungkook bet that Taehyung and Jimin just babied him. And well, that was partially true. They did like to show Jungkook off. The fact that Jeon Jungkook, one of the most talented people on Earth, had chosen Taehyung and Jimin to be his best friends was very kind to their egos. But it was only partially true because Taehyung babied Jungkook. Jimin was simply in awe of him.

Anyway, they (or maybe just Jimin) had been like, ‘I bet you could make ANYONE laugh, Kookie.’ to which Jungkook had sighed and said ‘fine’, unofficially implying he bet against it, because he was so humble, bless him. Taehyung and Jimin might have lost, but in their hearts, or maybe just Jimin’s, they knew that this girl was just born without a sense of humour, because Jungkook was the funniest person on Earth.  Jungkook was probably the funniest person in the whole galaxy. Jungkook was a star.

“She didn’t even giggle?” Taehyung pressed, more engrossed in the bet than before, but sounded curious more than anything.

Jungkook’s voice dropped in volume. “Well… she smiled. But that’s not the same!”

“She probably has a quiet laugh!” Taehyung protested.

“You can’t prove that!” Jungkook laughed.

“Ah, I won’t listen to this.”

Taehyung stood up, lightly squeezing Jimin’s wrist before he left. Jimin let Taehyung carry it as far as his arm could reach before their hands slipped apart and Jimin’s wrist dropped back down beside him.

Jungkook put two grapes in his cheeks and smiled at Jimin. Jimin gave Jungkook a light shove on the arm, then smiled and looked down at his hands. He laced his fingers together in his lap, and his fingers tingled lightly where they had touched Jungkook’s pajama shirt. Cosmically, Jimin felt like he was breaking his own heart.

Taehyung plopped down beside them with a sheet mask on and dropped two other packets in Jungkook and Jimin’s laps. Jungkook made fun of Taehyung, as they always laughed at each other, but this time was unique in its own way. Taehyung was in black pajama bottoms and a black bathrobe, and he swooshed side to side, imitating No-Face of Spirited Away. Jimin covered his mouth as he dissolved into giggles. Jungkook laughed out loud. Jimin looked at the brilliant smile lighting up Jungkook’s handsome features. His heart soared; it rocket-launched itself into outer space and exploded in orbit. Jimin crumbled to stardust.

This was a usual sleepover.

Taehyung urged them to go to the bathroom to put on their masks so they could be fools together. As Jimin stood up, his stomach turned. He suddenly felt sick. He placed a hand on his abdomen and wobbled. Taehyung immediately grabbed Jimin’s butt to support him, and Jimin would laugh if he did not feel so strange. Jungkook held Jimin’s wrists to keep him steady, and the tingles turned into electric shocks, waves of energy rolling through him and disrupting the contents of his stomach even more. He knew he ate too many instant dumplings.

“Let me go to the bathroom first?” Jimin asked Jungkook.

Jungkook nodded, a little frantically. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin said. “Just… a little sick. I’ll be back soon.”

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, tripping over his ankles. He was not sure if he was dizzy or weak. He felt a little breathless, as though something in his ribcage was expanding and pushing on his lungs.

He fell into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He hung his head over the toilet just in time to vomit up a mess of petals.

This was not usual. This was new.

Oh no.

This was bad.

-❀-

Strawberry goop slopped off his spoon and back down into the carton as Jimin played with his yogurt. He rested his cheek in his palm, stared at Taehyung’s notebook in front of him. Taehyung was really good at studying. He always wrote out a bunch of notes by hand to help him memorize things and such. Jimin had bought him a set of, like, a thousand gel pens for his birthday last year, and Taehyung seemed determined to deplete the ink in each and every one, because he never stopped using them. His notebooks were art exhibits of linework in every colour on the visible spectrum. Taehyung bit a pastel pink pen between his baby pink lips – colours of which Jimin’s eyes were actually trained to distinguish between now, due to the extensive pen collection. His round glasses sat on his nose, eyes focused on his work. Jimin did not focus on anything and blobbed his yogurt.

Taehyung scribbled something in his notebook. He then looked up at Jimin, as he did periodically, sun behind him pouring in through the café window and outlining his brown hair with a golden halo. Jimin pouted at his yogurt blob.

As opposed to looking back down and carrying on, as he had been doing, Taehyung’s lips parted. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook had been so happy at their sleepover the previous night, laughing at useless jokes, playing a Spirited Away house-roleplay game with Taehyung while Jimin rested on the sofa and marveled at the wondrous sight that was him, Jeon Jungkook. By this point, Jimin had flushed the evidence of his floral episode, convinced himself he was already asleep in Jungkook’s arms and was dreaming it all.

And then Jungkook had sat down on a pillow, closed his eyes, grabbed another pillow in his arms and squeezed it tight. Taehyung asked him why he was so soft and giddy that night – and what? He was giddy? Huh, Jimin had not even noticed. He just always kind of saw Jungkook with sparkles floating around his head, so he supposed the mood had gone unnoticed to him.

Jungkook had sighed, lowered the pillow into his lap. He took a deep breath and sighed again. He shyly looked down at his feet as he said, “You know that guy Yugyeom I met at the dance competition a few months ago? He… he asked me out. I said yes. I think I really like him.”

This was not a dream. This was a nightmare.

Taehyung had thrown his arms out and tackled Jungkook in a supportive hug. Jimin had felt something crack in his chest – no, within his ribs, in the hollow area just around his heart, the neighbourhood of his lungs. He felt it splinter. His stomach turned, he felt breathless once more, and he felt something tickle his bones, the bottom of his windpipe. He felt something bloom.

Jimin was awake.

An aftertaste of bitter greenery lingered on his tongue since then, and his breath smelled like chrysanthemums, which actually do NOT smell (or taste) as good raw as they do in tea, at all.

Jimin simply said, “I’m just a little sick.”

Taehyung’s lips curved into an ‘o’ shape. “Really? Do you want some herbal tea?”

Jimin gagged at the thought of more herbal flavours. “No. Thanks.”

“You sound like you’re gonna…” Taehyung stopped himself. “I won’t say it. You might do it if I say it.”

Jimin smiled weakly. He was not going to barf up flowers at the mention of barfing. He was good. But he definitely would rather not talk about it, so he did not reassure Taehyung otherwise. “Thanks.”

“Was it the instant dumplings?” Taehyung asked. Experimentally, he placed a hand over his stomach, and his expression showed he was deep in thought. “Nothing happened to me.”

“Lucky you,” Jimin grumbled.

Taehyung frowned. Jimin literally saw him droop.

Jimin never wanted to see his best friend sad. Taehyung was sunshine and rainbows and everything good in this world. Jimin loved him with his whole heart… or, sadly, whatever was left of his heart, after Jungkook ripped it out by its roots and tore it apart, piece by piece, petal by petal.

Well, whatever was left, it was enough to care about Taehyung’s happiness. Jimin reached across the table and placed his small hand over Taehyung’s big one. Taehyung inhaled, sounding almost startled. Jimin swiped his thumb across Taehyung’s hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just being grumpy because I feel sick.”

“You don’t have to study with me,” Taehyung said. “Ah… I should have noticed you didn’t bring your books. You’re not even eating that yogurt.”

Taehyung just looked sadder and sadder. Jimin quickly reassured, “No, Tae, it’s fine. I’m here because I want to be with you.” He forced a smile.

Taehyung’s eyes glowed as though the sun shined in them as opposed to behind his head. Jimin saw his own reflection in dark pupils that bled out to jasper. “You do?”

“Of course,” Jimin said. Taehyung was his best friend. Being with him felt like a party that never ended, but the party was a slumber party, and the slumber party was just them at home eating lettuce wraps with Korean beef while swaddled in a bed of Egyptian cotton (none of which, of course, they could afford). Also, there was music playing, and Jimin’s heart danced to it as Taehyung’s singing voice swayed him to sleep. But that part was a little sappy to think about, so yeah, just the slumber party.

Taehyung straightened up and smiled. “Well…” he said, “I guess you could quiz me if you don’t have any work to do?”

Jimin had work to do, but he did not want to do it. He spun the notebook around to face him so he could collect some quick trivia questions.

They carried on like this through breakfast. Taehyung was super smart, a real Class A Nerd so to speak, and thus he got nearly every question right (so long as he had actually studied that section). They finished up when Taehyung finished his hot chocolate – which Jimin stole sips of with the hope of fighting off the taste of flowers – his croissant, and Jimin’s well-stirred yogurt.

“Well,” Jimin said, eager to get home on his day free of classes and sleep, because he was just so exhausted and breathless that the dancer actually hated to move now, “that’s that. Just as long as you study chapter 4, you’re ready to beat the school system.”

“The final boss,” Taehyung said.

Jimin choked on a laugh. He closed the notebook and slid it over. He glanced over something in the notebook before it was shut, but his brain only registered the image he had seen once the book was closed – a pastel pink yogurt cup doodled on the bottom of the page, embellished by a strawberry on the line-drawn label.

So that was what Taehyung had been focusing on. Huh. Jimin gave a cynical little laugh – intellectuals don’t even have to try. He slid his backpack onto his shoulders and gave his virtuoso-in-training best friend a congratulatory pat on the arm. Taehyung turned baby pink as if flushed all over. Jimin’s lips upturned fondly – how modest of him.

They left together, Taehyung bumping their arms against one another’s as they moved in close proximity, shadows merging into one sun-kissed soul.

-❀-

Jimin had met Jungkook on the tenth day of the school year, when the anime club congregated for the second time that year. Jungkook had lumbered in with his head down, nearly tripping over his own converse despite staring directly at them. Jimin liked to make sure his juniors were taken care of (as well as his seniors, but taking care of juniors made him feel extra special, not only like a guardian angel, but a big brother guardian angel, like he had a divine birthright to his altruism). He approached Jungkook and introduced himself, put a hand on the boy’s bony back. Jungkook sniffled a little, gave Jimin a partial smile. He settled down and listened to most of the discussion, but began speaking after a little while. He did not say much beyond what and who he liked.

Then they decided to delve into some theories, some compelling meta, and invited Jungkook to share his thoughts. Jungkook had frozen in place, and after a minute of quiet stares and gentle prods wearing him down, he shook his head and sniffled again, more forcefully, and hid his face. Jimin saw a pout peek through the curtain of Jungkook’s bangs.

Jimin patted Jungkook and brought him to the back of the classroom. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t worry about talking!” He beamed, eyes thinning into crescents. “If you want to talk, then talk. If not, there’s no problem just telling them that you have nothing to say.”

Jungkook’s lip trembled. He wiped his eye with the back of his hand and shrugged. Jimin just gave him a supportive pat.

He later learned that Jungkook had been sad because he had so much to say; he was brimful of thoughts and opinions and ideas, so full of excitement he was bursting at the seams because of it all! But because he had not had the confidence to vocalize those feelings, they just came out as frustrated tears. Since then, Jimin had learned what Jungkook really had to say. He and Taehyung almost got into a kick-fight over some very personal character analyses in regards to One Piece.

It had been a little different with dance. Jungkook cried when asked to dance or sing because they were not just passions, but skills, and he got too nervous when put on the spot. Jimin watched Jungkook grow from a reluctant participant in Just Dance 2 parties to commanding a whole stage with a contemporary-hip-hop fusion routine, with his sweet singing like brown sugar candy. Jimin thought the whole process had been a lot like watching a flower bloom.

And then Jungkook blossomed after all of Jimin’s watering, and… oh. He was dewy and velveteen and absolutely stunning.

Jimin felt his stomach lurch. A nosegay’s worth of petals poured over his lips and onto his blanket. He coughed the remaining petal out. Out of curiosity, Jimin researched the flower online, on the laptop he had previously set on his nightstand when he hoped to daydream himself to sleep. In retrospect, perhaps Jungkook was not the best character to build his dream scenarios around, given how that already turned out. He discovered that cornflowers sounded a lot more appetizing than they really were. He was continuously discovering that pretty things were better left admired and untouched.

Sometime later, Jimin woke up again. He fished his phone out from under his pillow, dusted a spatter of lavender petals off the pillowcase from when he woke up just long enough to vomit whilst half-asleep. He checked his messages and saw two from Taehyung asking about his health, one from Jung Hoseok (from dance club) asking him about the routine (with too many smiley faces), and one… his breath caught in his throat – one from Jungkook.

He delicately opened it. Jungkookie♥: Jiminie hyung ): get well soon. want to binge-watch a show to help u feel better?

What a sweet, selfless angel. Jimin never stood a chance.

His stomach lurched, and his lungs heaved out a round of cherry blossoms. He was so lost in his longing that it almost felt like waiting, like there was something to gain from all this hope in the end.

Jimin wiped a petal off his lip. It fluttered down from the back of his hand and into his lap. His fingers quickly typed out a reply: im okay. just want to rest♥.

As much as he yearned to, he figured it would be best to not see Jungkook at the moment. He needed to get this thing under control. How embarrassing would it be for Jungkook to find out the truth of Jimin’s feelings through a face-ful of regurgitated flowers? He would be so weirded-out… it would ruin their relationship. No chance.

He let his phone fall beside him and continued researching his condition, particularly how to cope with it, because Jungkook was giving him, uncharacteristically, one hell of a time. Taehyung checked in on him again. Jimin ignored the messages until his phone stopped lighting up.

-❀-

So Jimin was an absolute mess in class. The TA, Kim Seokjin, even offered to let Jimin go take a walk, maybe get some vitamin water or something. Jimin insisted he just wanted to be in class. Music was fun and Jimin wanted to immerse himself in it. The raw emotion was great for creating art.

Speaking of creating art – Jungkook was a great artist. It was only a hobby of Jungkook’s, but still. Jimin loved how he could make anything beautiful, from realism, to anime, to simple linework. He made Jimin love art, so long as Jimin could relate the art back to Jungkook. It was his talent, his artwork, specifically, that took Jimin’s breath away.

Thinking of Jungkook made his stomach turn. Jimin snapped his teeth shut and forced the petals back down into his lungs. He would get through the day without exposing himself. He would get through the day and go home at the end of it, and cry and puke and everything would be terrible, but the fact remained that he would get through the day.

It proved to be difficult.

Taehyung skipped toward Jimin like a puppy, hair flopping on his head. He skidded to a stop by the fountain where they liked to meet after class when they could.

“Hey!” he greeted. “You didn’t text me many details last night. How are you feeling??”

Taehyung’s happiness threatened to give Jimin a headache. Clearly Taehyung was too pure for someone like Jimin, who was puking his heart out of the very chest it wasted away within. Jimin focused on the water in the fountain, refreshing and clear. He tried to let the imagery cleanse his mind. He smiled, although he feared it was transparent.

“I’m okay,” Jimin said. Taehyung tilted his head. Jimin assured, “Really! I’m fine.” He scrunched his eyes into crescents. “Wanna take the long way home so we can try to see Tofu Kitty?”

Taehyung lit up. Tofu Kitty, aka TK, was the kitty that hung out near the tofu restaurant they liked to go to. She was probably owned – or at least fed – by someone who lived nearby. She was very friendly to the passersby. Taehyung liked to scratch behind her fluffy orange and white ears. It was honestly so cute Jimin thought it might make him feel a bit better.

Taehyung linked their arms and they set off together. Taehyung talked casually about his day, about stuff on his mind, and tried to engage Jimin. Jimin, under normal circumstances, liked to engage. Today though, he just wanted to look ahead, and at the clouds without tilting his head back because he got dizzy too easily. Taehyung kept Jimin steady. Taehyung’s voice carried on like a drumbeat and Jimin moved to it.  

Tofu Kitty was out by the restaurant. Taehyung kissed at her, and she stood up, meowing and walking back and forth in place, beckoning the attention her way. Taehyung shuffled over, wanting to run but not wanting to startle her, and knelt in front of her. TK rubbed her face against Taehyung’s hand and Taehyung scratched behind her ears.

Jimin smiled at the sight. He was so tired, though. He attempted to lean against a lamppost, but misjudged its placement and missed, falling sideways on onto the ground.

TK was startled at the sound and jumped back. Taehyung gasped. He ran to Jimin’s side as TK ran to a rock to perch on and observe from a safe distance away.

Jimin winced as he attempted to straighten himself out. The long way was a bad idea. He grumbled to himself as he picked tiny pebbles out of the indentations they made in his palm.

Taehyung placed his hands on Jimin’s shoulders and helped him sit upright. The fear in his eyes glittered like sparklers. “Jimin, are you okay?”

He was embarrassed more than anything. And he felt kind of light. He gave Taehyung a natural, but feeble smile. “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. I guess I just… I haven’t eaten in a little while.” It had almost been two full days without food, now that he thought about it. It was not that he could not eat – the plant of the Hanahaki disease did not actually grow in the stomach. He just… did not feel like it. He felt sick.

“You haven’t?” Taehyung asked, concerned. He pulled Jimin up, helped him stand. Jimin wobbled but got back on his feet. “Come on, let’s get some tofu.”

Jimin giggled. “Mm, no thanks,” he said. “I… I don’t feel like eating.”

“You have to eat, Jimin,” Taehyung said. “Come on, I’ll make you something at home.”

“Ah…” Jimin said, “Actually, I just want to go to my place and sleep.”

“I’m going with you to your place, dummy,” Taehyung said, and Jimin gave him a light slap on the arm. “And I’m making you something to eat. And you’re going to eat it, okay?”

Jimin grumbled, playfully argumentative, “Or what?”

“Oh, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else.”

Jimin laughed. He leaned on Taehyung’s arm for support, dropping more weight on him than Jimin had intended, judging by how Taehyung stumbled. But he caught his balance, and he pressed on, carrying all the weight Jimin put on him. Jimin was grateful. Taehyung was loyal and persevering, and Jimin would be lost without him.

They boarded a bus to travel most of the distance, then continued on to their apartment complex. Taehyung took Jimin all the way home and to bed. Jimin was grateful he had taken the time to vacuum up the petals he had spouted – looking at them had just made him feel worse. Jimin had read online that it was important to feel sickened by the petals, to not get used to them and dwell on your condition, because that way you could focus on recovery. Jimin just hated to have his home smell like a sad Bath and Body store.

Jimin plopped into bed while Taehyung made him some food. Jimin listened to music – his happy playlist – and smiled as the smell of ramyeon wafted around the room. Taehyung was not the best cook, but he tried. He and Jimin both made cup noodles fine and had survived on them thus far, so that was the important thing, really. Being a chef was subjective. Jimin could believe that if he wanted to.

“Tae,” Jimin insisted, just to be polite, and to attempt to keep Taehyung at an arm’s length, “this is really not necessary. I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“You literally just face-planted into the dirt standing around doing nothing,” Taehyung deadpanned. “You’ll be fine because I am going to make you fine. And you’re going to like every second of it, so be quiet and happily anticipate your soup.”

Jimin scrunched his eyes and giggled under his breath. The song changed to something that reminded him of Jungkook’s awkward smile. Jimin let the thought pass. It was far-fetched anyway, no matter how potentially relevant.

Taehyung skipped into the room and handed Jimin his cup noodles. Jimin thanked him and accepted the cup. Jimin smiled as he noticed Taehyung had slipped a bit of green onion in there. That must have been the other home-cooked smell Jimin had detected. Taehyung was a five-star chef by Jimin’s standards, and cute too, that did not hurt.

Jimin sat up in bed and ate a bite. He smiled. He could not help but find this funny – ‘soup’ and ‘cup noodles’ were not exactly synonymous, in neither definition nor class. “So when are you opening your own restaurant?”

Taehyung giggled and looked down at his lap. He raised his head and wiggled his eyebrows. “How can I open a restaurant when I’m your personal chef?”

Jimin laughed and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “Seriously, you shouldn’t waste this kind of talent on me. Your restaurant would be better than Seungri’s.”

Taehyung gasped. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Really!” Jimin insisted. Taehyung’s expression softened. Jimin continued, “Seriously,” and gave Taehyung a tiny shove. He set his ramen down on the nightstand while he digested his one bite. “I believe in you.”

Taehyung gave Jimin one of those looks that made Jimin feel like he was wrapped up in a blanket on the inside – his soul was warm.

Jimin wiggled his eyebrows. “Why are you staring at me, Chef Taehyung?”

They fell into this naturally, this flirty game they played. Sometimes they acted out dramas. Other times they did this. They had done that absolutely necessary thing where two platonic best buddy bros watch gay porn together, and since their Oscar-worthy selections had been literally hilarious, they made a game out of it.

Like all best friends, Jimin contentedly let himself believe. It was just comfortable. It was just funny.

Taehyung gave Jimin a sultry gaze back. “I’d like to put you on my menu, is all.”

“Oo,” Jimin played along. “What are you making, Chef Taehyung?”

“I was thinking a nice fruit sandwich, with extra…” Taehyung dropped his voice to a sensual whisper, “peach.”

Jimin almost choked. He covered his mouth to recover from that one, then said, “Are you going to serve me on the table, Chef Taehyung?”

To Jimin’s triumphant joy, Taehyung turned pink at that one. He struggled to collect himself, then said, “Oh, for sure. I need to get a piece of that dessert.”

“Oh my god.” Jimin broke. That was just awful. Taehyung won this round. He hid his beet-red face, hot all over.

It was just them.

Taehyung laughed and averted his gaze. He got comfy on the bed. “Speaking of fine pieces of ass,” he said, and Jimin got even shyer, because awh, Taehyung thought he was a fine piece of ass, that was sweet. “Jungkookie’s got a new boyfriend, huh?”

Jimin’s blood ran cold.

Taehyung continued, “Our little polliwog has finally matured into a fully grown frog, ready to hop on his own lily pads in the pond of life…”

Jimin’s nose scrunched. “A what?”

Taehyung looked at him with an expression akin to surprise. “A polliwog. A baby frog. Like a poliwhirl. You never wondered?”

Of course. Taehyung was unique – so intelligent and free-spirited, unique in those marvelous ways. But Jimin was not marvelous, and he just rubbed his hands over his face, malcontented. “This is the worst analogy for sex I have ever heard.”

Almost wistfully, Taehyung sighed. “I am happy for him though. You think it’s going to change anything between us?”

Jimin felt sick again. He forced it down. “Of course not.”

Taehyung selected a new song on his iPod. He ate a helping of Jimin’s ramen and crossed his legs, settling into hang-out mode. He set the ramen back on the nightstand and spoke, “Mm, you’re right, I was just checking. Hey, do you think he’ll let me be the godfather of his future kid? Or at least the best man at his wedding. Actually, we should both be the best men. Do you think he’ll let us both be the godfathers too?”

Taehyung’s zeal was so cute, but Jimin could not handle it. Literally. He felt so sick he could hardly breathe.

“I think he should let us share it. If Yugyeom is at all decent a man for our dearest Jungkookie, he will understand the necessity for us both to be the godfathers. We raised that boy. We deserve this.”

The song playing was not one of Jimin’s careful selections. It was a love song that reminded Jimin of Jungkook’s sparkly eyes, his beautiful smile, his heart that would never sing for Jimin.

His heart that sang for Yugyeom.

“Hey, should we text Jungkook for a double date? I want to properly meet this Yugyeom kid…”

Jimin lurched forward, releasing the flowers he could no longer temper. Purple petunias poured over his lips and onto the blanket, surrounding him in a dry, inky-coloured pool of resentment.

He coughed once his lungs were clear once more, inhaled and exhaled slowly to catch his breath. He hesitantly turned to gauge Taehyung’s reaction. Taehyung stared with his jaw dropped.

Jimin closed his mouth. He choked out, “I… I’m sick.”

As if startled to attention, Taehyung’s eyes flicked up to meet Jimin’s. Jimin thought he felt something obscure pang against his heart… but it remained undetermined, and it passed.

-❀-

The next day, Jimin lounged on his couch, wrapped up in a blanket and bathrobe as he watched a home renovation show as background noise to accompany his reading (which he accomplished best during commercials). A small tub of ice cream sat on the coffee table in front of him. Taehyung had gotten it for him the previous night, as Jimin could really only drag himself to and from class.

Taehyung had been really good about accepting Jimin’s condition. Of course, Jimin had avoided giving Taehyung all the details. He revealed that he had fallen in love with Jungkook, but he had not wanted to tell anyone for fear it would ruin their friendship dynamics. He then talked about how he ended up getting sick with the Hanahaki disease because his love was unreciprocated, and that it would be cured as soon as he got over Jungkook, he just needed some time.

Of course, pretty much no one got over their loves once the Hanahaki set in, and he had not dug up any research on anyone who had. It could only be treated by a surgical procedure from this point. But Jimin did not want to stress the poor boy out with the useless details.

Jimin ate his ice cream while a couple got a new sofa on TV. Jungkook would love to jump on that sofa. Jimin would miss imagining them painting their future home in overalls together, would miss decorating the aforementioned imagined home on the Sims. He sighed. Jungkook was just so easy to hope for a forever with. Jimin vomited green carnation petals.

He heard a knock on the door followed by a voice saying, “It’s me!” and then Taehyung entered the apartment with the key he was not technically allowed to have, but obviously had to have. Taehyung was his emergency contact. It was necessary.

Taehyung tossed his backpack aside, notebooks and pens spilling out where it slid to a stop. He bounded over and plopped on the couch. “Hey!” he greeted. He adjusted Jimin’s robe on his shoulders. Jimin sat up and fell over to rest his weight on Taehyung’s body. He wanted to be babied right now. “You hanging in there?”

Jimin sighed. Taehyung noticed the pool of green carnations. Jimin sighed again. Taehyung put his beanie on Jimin’s head. Jimin sniffled.

Taehyung then threw an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him close. “Hey, don’t worry, just… LINDA, are you serious? THAT couch?”

Jimin turned his attention from Taehyung’s creased brows to the television screen. He tilted his head. Now that Taehyung mentioned it, that was a bad couch. It just did not complement the walls. Jungkook could keep it.

Jimin put his book across both of their laps. While they watched the show, Taehyung quizzed Jimin on what he was learning, just easy stuff right from the textbook. Taehyung pointed to a section of text with his index finger. When Jimin looked down, Taehyung flicked Jimin’s nose. Jimin laughed and punched Taehyung in the arm with a strength he had not found in days. Taehyung laughed along with him.

“So,” Taehyung asked, spooning ice cream into his mouth. At Jimin’s pouting, he gave a spoonful to Jimin as well. “How long do you think this thing is going to last? I mean, how long does it usually last? Did you research that?”

“It’s… difficult to find information on that,” Jimin said, and that was not a lie, not yet. “It varies for everyone.”

“Hm,” Taehyung nodded. He poked at the ice cream. “Well, at least it’s just flowers, right?”

Jimin glared. His stomach turned at the mention of ‘flowers’ and he heaved another round of green carnations onto the floor at Taehyung’s feet. He gasped to catch his breath.

Taehyung blinked at the petal-pile. “Oh,” he said. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to oversimplify… I’m so sorry.”

Jimin grumbled and snatched his ice cream back. Taehyung tentatively rubbed Jimin’s side.

-❀-

By Wednesday Jimin did not even feel like going out into the world. He knew he had to, and he knew he could, as it took much longer for the Hanahaki to incapacitate its victim, but he just did not feel like it. He just wanted to curl up in bed and be alone, since alone was all he could be without the love of his life.

His backpack hung lazily off his shoulder, and Jimin barely had the strength to readjust it as he walked. If it just slipped off his shoulder and fell to the ground, Jimin feared he might not even pick it up. Even worse, he feared he might just give up and join it down there. He had to get home, and could not do so while lying on the ground, so he readjusted his bag and pressed on.

Jimin rounded a corner and bumped into a body running his way. He stumbled back, caught himself, and stopped in his tracks.

Jungkook smiled widely. “Jimin hyung!” he cheered. “Oh good, I was running to catch you before you got out of class.”

Jimin bit his jaws together. He could not risk opening the floodgates. “Hey,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

Unfaltering, Jungkook lightly slapped his arm. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin shrugged. “Not good.”

At that, Jungkook deflated. “Still?” he frowned, eyebrows creased with concern. “Hey, do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you.”

“No,” Jimin mumbled. Despite everything, Jimin smiled. It took everything in him but Jungkook was everything to him, so he managed. “I’ll get over it.”

“Does your jaw hurt?” Jungkook asked. He reached over to delicately touch Jimin’s skin, fingertips lingering over peach fuzz and tickling. Jimin held his breath. “Do you have lockjaw?”

Jimin got dizzy. Jungkook took his breath away and he needed oxygen. He exhaled, moved his jaw away from Jungkook’s touch. “No.” He kept smiling through his clenched teeth. “Just sick.”

Jungkook, eyebrows still furrowed, nodded. “Take care, Jiminie,” he said, and gave Jimin a hug. Jimin’s breathing stuttered. He fell into the embrace, an illicit indulgence, just for the moment. “Just text me if you need to talk, okay?”

“Okay,” Jimin nodded. He would not text.

Jungkook pulled away. He gave Jimin a forced smile and turned around to head back in the direction from whence he came.

Jimin’s backpack felt heavy on his clavicle. He felt the brush of corduroy on his cotton-clad shoulder as it slipped.

Jimin caught it. He readjusted it on his shoulder. He just wanted to get home.

At home, in the time he spent alone, he threw up two hearty rounds of cornflower. He literally had the blues.

He heard a knock at his door. In silk pajamas, top half unbuttoned, as dramatically as he deserved to present himself, Jimin draped himself over his bed. He made a groaning noise not quite loud enough to beckon Taehyung inside. Taehyung entered by his own permission.

“Hey,” he greeted and smiled. Jimin smiled back. Jimin almost felt like this had become a comfortable routine – Taehyung smiling, Jimin smiling back even though he was dying, but only because this was Taehyung.

Taehyung dropped his backpack on the floor and pulled out his notebook – one of his notebooks, anyway. He carried it proudly in two hands over to Jimin’s bed. He opened it and flipped to the page he sought out. Jimin saw doodles and underlines and inscriptions like an iridescent flash of opal against light.

Taehyung said, adjusting his glasses, “So, I’ve been reading up on the Hanahaki disease. Sorry it took so long, I had a killer paper to work on until last night. Or this morning. Whatever, I got the stuff.”

So Taehyung finally got ahead of him. Jimin knew it would happen someday. He apathetically puffed a breath of air under his bangs and rubbed his eye. He spread himself out like a starfish. He felt strangely laid bare like this, in comparison to how he held so much of himself in during the last few days. But this was Taehyung.

Taehyung nodded as if to affirm his own words, or to affirm by his own judgment that Jimin’s response counted as acknowledgement. He paced. “It’s not common for people to naturally get over their loves once the Hanahaki sets in. However, I checked out a medical journal from the library that studied the natural survivors of the disease.” Jimin was like, 90 percent of the way there, he knew Taehyung was talking about some kind of treatment, he just had to bring Jimin home. “There actually are cases where people just… moved on. It’s not just a possibility. It’s documented.”

Understanding what Taehyung meant now, Jimin perked up. He sat upright.

Jimin had done the bare minimum in terms of personal research. He had only read that Hanahaki could potentially be cured naturally through moving on. There were certain therapies he read about. But in terms of people actually recovering on their own? Jimin had not found anything beyond hope. These survivors were not the majority and not well-known. In addition to that lack of research, Jimin was… reluctant to study the disease in-depth. He was dying. He was not hankering to torture himself with the finer details of it all.

 But while it hurt to learn about it, now that Taehyung brought it up, Jimin could not help but be curious, even just for Taehyung’s sake.

“Really? How many? How?”

Taehyung continued, “There are two people that got over their loves naturally so far. But it didn’t happen with therapy, so it’s not really talked about as an official treatment, it just… turned out like that. Both were women, both times found out their loves were a secret conservative and misogynist.”

“Oh, gross.”

“Right? It’s like finding out you actually dodged the bullet you thought you were hit with. The bad news is, Jungkook is an amazing person with a heart of gold.”

Jimin sighed. He thought there had to be, naturally, something wrong with Jungkook, right? He was human. But Jimin’s brain rejected the very notion. This was hopeless. Jungkook was perfect and Jimin was going to die. He spewed another upchuck of cornflowers.

“Yeah, I know,” Taehyung kissed his teeth, “it’s a bummer. I mean, you’re already IN the anime club, so there’s not much more this kid can do to turn you off…”

Jimin deflated. It was not possible, his brain reminded him. It was not possible to heal from Jungkook. He looked down. “Forget it, Tae.”

“No, hey, Jimin,” Taehyung quickly encouraged. He sat down on the bed. “We can do this. If you just focus on all the things that are not great about Jungkook, maybe you can—”

“No.”

Taehyung stopped short. He blinked. He swallowed. “J-Jimin… I really think—”

“Shut up,” Jimin growled through his teeth.

Taehyung shut up.

Jimin felt something lurch lower in his ribcage than usual. He threw up violets. He wiped the corner of his mouth clean of saliva, dragged his hand along the length of his bottom lip.

Jimin did not want to study the in-depth details of the disease. He did not want to learn anything beyond the leaflet version offered by the Hanahaki Research Center online. He did not want to know. And now he realized he did not want to know because he did not want to entertain the thought of ever getting over Jungkook.

He felt a flower germinate in his gut. It was new.

Jimin hung his head, long bangs curtaining his forehead. He would soon be due for a haircut. He was probably due for a lot of treatments that would rid him of another part of the pain Jungkook caused – the dirt from his pores, the musk from his laundry, his neglected and tangling hair. Jimin was losing himself a hundred pieces at a time.

A small movement caught Jimin’s attention. Taehyung was slowly repositioning his fingers where they gripped his notebook, and with his tender speed and caution, he looked to be almost caressing it.

Jimin shook his head and wrapped his arms around Taehyung. Taehyung froze for a moment, then dropped his notebook on the floor and turned to throw his arms around Jimin, embracing him fully.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered into Taehyung’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I just… I don’t want to think about him that way. He’s my best friend.”

“I know,” Taehyung whispered his reply. “You don’t want to lose him.”

Jimin took a breath. He nodded.

Taehyung continued, resolute but gentle, “That’s the disease, you know.”

Jimin did not respond.

“That’s what it does to you.”

Jimin balled Taehyung’s sweater in his fists. He breathed evenly.

Taehyung asked, “Are you crying?”

Jimin shook his head.

With the most trepidation in his tone thus far, Taehyung asked, “Have you even let yourself cry yet?”

Jimin thought about it. “No,” he said. “I guess not.”

Taehyung rubbed his back. Jimin did not cry.

When Taehyung’s back and chin presumably started cramping as much as Jimin’s were, Taehyung pulled away. He kept his arm around Jimin’s lower back. Jimin kept his arm pressed against Taehyung’s side.

Taehyung said, “Jimin…” then stopped, swallowed. “You’re sick, you know?”

Jimin bit his lip. He knew he was sick. That was impossible to ignore. But Jimin knew what Taehyung really meant by saying that. He just did not want to know. Because Jungkook deserved better than for Jimin to understand what he had to do, he did not want to know.

Jimin asked, “Want to put on a show?”

Taehyung asked, “Don’t you have assignments due?”

Jimin blinked. “Is that a ‘no’ to the show?”

Taehyung blinked back. “Depends on the show.”

“Depends on whether or not it’s Naruto, you mean…”

Taehyung looked offended. “Are you implying there is a problem with that?”

Jimin sighed. He almost did not register the smile tugging at his lips. It felt like a lifetime ago that his smiles were genuine.

And for the first time when he thought of Taehyung, he pondered how easy it would have been. He pondered how he could have gone either way. For the life of him, though, he just could not work out what his brain was trying to tell him.

Taehyung slept over that night. He curled up and cradled Jimin against him. Taehyung was so funny like that – he was a teddy bear that hugged you instead of the other way around. Despite waking up in the night to de-clutter his lungs, Jimin slept easy.

-❀-

In class, Jimin poked his pencil against his notebook. He had sluggishly written out the notes for today, forgoing typing because he just did not have the energy to use on repeatedly lifting his fingers. He even skipped dance class yesterday, needing to take a break to regenerate enough strength to dance (if you could even call it dancing – lately Jimin thought he must just look like a weeping willow under a glum drizzle of rain).

His cell phone sat on his desk, quiet, screen black since he last used it in class a little while before.

Seokjin called his name. Jimin took a breath and sighed it out – unintentionally. That was just how he breathed now. He dropped his pencil on his desk and stood. He made his way down to the TA’s desk to pick up his quiz.

“Good work, Jimin,” Seokjin smiled. Jimin gave him a smile back.

As he turned to leave, Seokjin stopped him. “Ehm…” he started, but his voice caught in his throat, as though he was not sure where the thought was meant to go. Jimin turned back around and saw Seokjin had extended a hand as if to grab him. Seokjin repositioned his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I’ve tried to be subtle, but you look terrible, Jimin.”

Jimin laughed hollowly. It was a reaction that comes about when the most objectively handsome guy you have ever seen says you look terrible, but nothing can hurt you anymore. “I’ll be okay.” And if he would not be okay, then that would be okay with Jimin too.

Seokjin pouted, pink lips round and pensive. Seokjin then took a deep breath and sighed it out, exactly as Jimin did. Perhaps this disease carried an aura of futility, had a radius of which it could affect people. “Okay,” Seokjin smiled, looking resigned as though he had ventured as far into Jimin’s business as was professionally acceptable. He straightened out his stack of papers by tapping the pile on his desk. He called the next person. Jimin took that as his cue to head back to his seat.

His pencil rested on his paper, coloured grey, glinting in the sunlight it caught through the window. Jimin functioned in grey. The Hanahaki disease stole the colour from his soul to use as dye for her garden.

When Jimin trudged in the front door of his apartment, he saw a head of soft brown hair resting on the back of his couch. The body it belonged to stood and turned to face him.

“Jimin,” Taehyung said, and looked a little nervous. He patted down his baggy dress shirt, and if his goal was to smooth out the creases, the action was to no avail.

Jimin gently tossed his backpack to land beside the coat rack where Taehyung’s jacket hung. A pen – midnight black – sat in the pocket, and his jacket was smudged in places in shades of grey, blue, and red. Jimin did not have on a jacket of his own. He was bundled in enough comfort sweaters to fend off the early autumn chill.

“Taehyung,” he responded. His cheeks felt strange breaking routine like this. They wanted to smile.

Taehyung played with the cotton mittens his sleeves created over his hands. “I… I called the Hanahaki clinic. I told them about you.”

Jimin easily responded, “I know.”

Taehyung chanced a look up from his hands.

Jimin’s lips pulled upward into a not-smile. The expression was expressionless. “I got a call from the clinic during class to confirm the appointment.”

Taehyung nodded, looked down again. “They said they would have to contact you as soon as possible.”

Jimin nodded. “Well… it was very soon.”

Taehyung swallowed.

Jimin said, “Thank you.”

Taehyung looked up, quicker this time, more surprised by Jimin’s words than before.

Jimin just nodded and then looked down as Taehyung had. “Thank you. I couldn’t do that on my own. I waited too long.”

Silence settled over their conversation for a moment. When Jimin looked up again, Taehyung was staring with wide eyes.

Jimin jutted his chin out to gesture to the couch. “Mind if I sit?”

Taehyung nodded quickly, ushered him to the couch as though it was not Jimin’s own piece of furniture. He supposed they could share the couch, but that still made it half Jimin’s.

Jimin plopped down. Taehyung gingerly sat down next to him.

Jimin clasped his hands in his lap. He took a deep breath in, sighed. “When did you call?”

Taehyung swallowed with a dry click once more. “This morning.”

Jimin just nodded. “They work quickly.”

“Yeah, well… it’s urgent. It’s better to schedule a surgery before your condition becomes critical, and with the patient queue, it could take a few weeks.”

Jimin’s stomach turned at the thought of surgery, at the thought of a well-meaning mutilator cutting him open and ripping Jungkook out of him. He could not bear the idea. He threw up chrysanthemums, a mixture of red and yellow.

He coughed, sniffled, swallowed. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I understand.”

“There will be a waiver,” Taehyung said.

“I know how it works,” Jimin cut him off with a flippant wave of his hand. “I sign it to let the doctors know you will consent to surgery for me, in the event I am no longer able.”

Taehyung said, “The… the only way you can get the surgery otherwise is in a life or death emergency, so…”

“I know,” Jimin said. “The only way I can get the emergency surgery is if I’m on the brink of death, and sometimes that’s too late.” He hated how devoid of emotion his voice was. He sounded like television static in his own ears. Grey noise.

Quietly, as though he would rather not hear his own words, Taehyung said, “It doesn’t have to be me. You can get anyone you want to consent.”

Jimin shook his head. He held Taehyung’s hand, laced their fingers together. Taehyung squeezed Jimin’s hand, enveloping it entirely. “No,” Jimin said. “It has to be you.”

Taehyung dropped his head to gently rest his forehead against Jimin’s temple. He nuzzled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin said. “Because I’m not doing this for me.”

Taehyung pulled back. His earring – three strands of fine silver chains – dangled softly, like wind chimes. Jimin’s gaze was drawn to it. He could only see Taehyung’s pretty, pouted lips in his peripheral vision. There was usually something shinier than Taehyung himself that stole Jimin’s attention. How could that be so? Jimin thought as he pondered his best friend. He really must have been sick to be so distracted.

Jimin continued, just staring at those silver ropes like lifelines, “I love him.”

Taehyung’s lips trembled in Jimin’s peripheral vision.

Jimin’s eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t want to stop.”

Taehyung pulled Jimin closer. Jimin finally burst into tears, pouring out against Taehyung’s shirt. He cried until his lungs were heaving. The chrysanthemums withered on the floor beneath their feet.

-❀-

Living with the Hanahaki disease is a dual-minded experience. Jimin did not know how else to put it. On one hand, he did not want the surgery. On the other hand, he was very aware of death and what it would mean to be dead, and if he did not get the surgery, it would result in him becoming very, thoroughly dead. Jimin would not allow himself to become thoroughly dead, as that would upset Taehyung. A haughty, self-indulgent part of Jimin that smelled of sakura liked to believe that Jungkook would shed a single perfect tear over him too, which of course was not allowed to happen, as Jimin would never want to make Jungkook upset either.

So, surgery was his only option, despite how he loathed the very idea. He relied entirely on Taehyung to get him through this.

They walked into the hospital and followed the trail of painted footprints to the Hanahaki clinic inside of it. The place was huge, white and imposing, lined with chairs that might have been the colour of mint in 1972, but faded in time. Jimin would call it a mini-hospital, if not for the fact that it was so grand it might as well have been another hospital all on its own. The colossal, sterile, white walls were lined in gold-framed images of rivers and birds. Jimin appreciated the attention to décor in the clinic – unlike that of the rest of the hospital, there was no floral imagery in sight. But it was all formal, and flowers were pretty. Jimin did not like it here.

They approached the counter lined with… Jimin counted… eight receptionists. He figured the number of staff would help speed things along. It was amazing how Jimin could not conceptualize how lethal his condition was – he knew that the clinic was adequately staffed to treat patients in a timely fashion, sensitive to the ticking time-bomb nature of their condition, and yet Jimin only knew this for a fact, with no sentimentality or empathy attached to it, even though he was someone afflicted with the very illness everyone here was hastening to treat. It was amazing how the world carried on around him.

It was also amazing how all these people cared about keeping him alive but did not care at all about the person that would kill Jimin if they failed. There was something so amazingly impersonal about hospitals. It was only ‘medically personal’ as Jimin called it. Jimin’s doctor would be with him during one of the most intimate moments of both their lives, in which they literally held Jimin’s heart in their hands, but that was just all in a day’s work for them. Caring was their job. Jimin hated it. If they really cared about him then they would care about Jungkook too, but after they removed the Hanahaki plant, they just threw it away. They did not care about Jungkook, about his smiles and sense of humour and the way his hair swished when he flicked it out of his sparkling eyes. They saw Jungkook as a problem that needed to be healed. No, Jimin pouted – he would rather die than have anyone think of Jungkook as anything but beautiful.

Taehyung held Jimin’s wrist and pulled him along.

They were set up in a private room. Jimin sat on a long chair with a white piece of sheet paper lain across it. Taehyung sat in a black chair resembling the ones in the waiting room.

A white coat-clad doctor walked in, his hair light brown and styled nicely on his head, albeit his bangs did swoop around his temples. He looked plain. Jimin sighed. How was this such a casual affair for these doctor folk? Jimin was, in essence, getting his heart torn out of his body.

As a simple show of defiance, Jimin threw up some begonias, littering the floor with orange petals. The colour clashed dreadfully with the off-white tile. Jimin frowned and glared. He was so not in the mood for his Jungkook to be belittled, regardless as to why he was there, so honestly, have a bouquet of vomit-flowers, you MD-loving fuck.

“Hello, Jimin,” the doctor smiled. “My name is Doctor Kim.”

Doctor Kim laid out a piece of paper on the desk in the room. He did not seem even minutely affected by Jimin’s palpable rage. “Can I get you to come down here and sign this?”

Jimin stayed where he was. He crossed his arms.

Taehyung sighed. He stood up and walked over to Jimin. He tugged on Jimin’s arms and seduced him with those adorable puppy eyes. “Please, Jimin?”

Jimin angrily sighed. He slid off the examination chair and trudged to the desk. Taehyung rubbed his arm the whole way.

Doctor Kim handed Jimin a pen. Jimin did not take it. Taehyung took the pen and put it in Jimin’s hand. It was such a boring colour, too – just black ink. Not midnight sky or shining onyx. Just black.

Jimin froze with the tip of the pen to the paper. He just glared at the waiver. It was wronging him.

“Jimin,” Taehyung coaxed. He felt the boy’s breath tickle his neck, the low timbre of his voice vibrate and shake a feeling in the pit of his stomach. “For me?”

Jimin sighed again. At least Taehyung cared about Jungkook.

He signed the waiver. Taehyung signed his own section when Jimin was done.

“Great,” Doctor Kim said. “I know that was difficult for you, Jimin, and I commend you for your bravery.” Jimin resisted pulling a face. “Will you get back up on the examination table now please? I would like to check your vitals.”

Make up your mind, Jimin wanted to say. He rolled his eyes when his back was turned to the doctor. He got back up on the exam chair.

“Okay,” Doctor Kim said, and got to it.

He proceeded with the examination. He examined Jimin’s lungs with a stethoscope first, listening intently to Jimin’s crowded lungs. Jimin felt petals whirl like tornados inside him as he deeply inhaled and exhaled, coughs punctuating the end of each respiratory cycle.

Doctor Kim slipped on a pair of gloves next. Abruptly, he reached for Jimin’s chest. Jimin flinched away, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting Jungkook. He felt his eyebrows crease, and he must have been glaring at Doctor Kim, but his eyes felt watery.

Doctor Kim’s expression softened. He put his hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. The purpose of the palpation exam is to determine how large your plant has grown. Pressing on your lungs will cause you a certain amount of pain depending on how large your plant has grown, and thus we can use it as a determining factor on how urgent your condition is at the current time.”

Jimin blinked, clearing the wet film that had glossed his vision over. He looked at Taehyung. Taehyung looked so worried, so hopeful. He gave Jimin a small nod. Jimin returned his attention to Doctor Kim and lowered his arms. “Okay.”

Doctor Kim proceeded. He pressed on Jimin’s upper torso in different areas and stirred coughs out of Jimin’s windpipe as pushed and prodded. He instructed Jimin to lie down on his stomach, examined his back, told Jimin to roll over, and then examined his stomach. That part tickled a little bit, and although he could not resist the smile, he bit back a laugh. Doctor Kim pressed on a spot under Jimin’s heart and Jimin felt it as a stab through his lungs. He winced.

Doctor Kim mercifully concluded his examination. He told Jimin to sit upright. Jimin did.

“Your condition is still in its early stages,” Doctor Kim confirmed. “It was really beneficial that you sought help so early on. Hopefully we can get you your surgery in the next two weeks, although it might take three.”

Taehyung thanked the doctor. Jimin did not.

In the waiting room, Jimin lurched forward and vomited up a bunch of petunias, but he had not actually meant to do that, he was sorry. The other patients should not have had to see that.

Taehyung handled the scheduling of Jimin’s surgery appointment. Jimin kicked sadly at the petunias by his feet. A receptionist wearing gloves swooped in and swept the flowers into a little dustpan, and Jimin apologized to him. He just smiled and shook his head, assuring Jimin that this was no place to feel apologetic about what he was going through.

“He…” Jimin spoke before he could get a handle on himself. He had to defend Jungkook. It was irrepressible. He just wanted someone here to care. “He’s actually really beautiful, you know. He’s worth the sickness.”

The receptionist blinked. Jimin thought he actually looked surprised. Would he not have expected Jimin to feel that way about the love of his life? Had he not heard it all before?

Then the receptionist collected himself and softly said, “I know he is.”

It clicked then, that Jimin mentioned Jungkook’s gender. Jimin looked down.

The receptionist said, “Come here really quick?”

Jimin looked up. He followed the receptionist to a four-tier brochure organizer located along the wall of the clinic. He selected one with a yellow border and bubble letter font.

“It’s for a support group,” the receptionist explained, “for LGBT adults suffering from Hanahaki.”

Jimin scanned over it. That was a nice gesture on the receptionist’s part. And Jimin actually liked this concept – a place where he could talk about his disease without fear of treatment. Where he could talk about Jungkook and people would understand who Jungkook is to him, where people would not view Jungkook as a tumor. There was the added benefit of no personal judgment about his sexuality. It was nice.

The receptionist said, “He might be worth the sickness, but he’s not worth dying for.”

Jimin looked up.

“Check it out if you want.” The receptionist nodded and turned to head away.

Jimin caught his arm. “Wait! I’m sorry, I know you have work. What’s your name?”

The receptionist said, “Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Park Jimin,” Jimin bowed, and Yoongi bowed back.

Yoongi then gave a small, froglike smile, waved, and headed back to his desk.

Taehyung came up behind Jimin, threaded his arm through Jimin’s and latched onto his elbow. His voice was surprisingly cold as he asked, “Who was that?”

Was this really Taehyung? It felt like Taehyung – lean but squishy, tall enough to shelter him – but this tone was unfamiliar. Jimin looked up to confirm he was in fact looking at the soft cheek of his best friend.

“That was Yoongi, a receptionist,” Jimin explained. “Are you feeling protective, Taehyungie? Should I not talk to strangers?”

A smirk tugged at Jimin’s lips. Taehyung just sighed and nudged him. Jimin leaned his head on Taehyung’s shoulder with a little laugh and the two walked out of the clinic together.

Jimin held up the brochure. “Yoongi gave me this. It’s an LGBT group for people with Hanahaki.”

Taehyung curiously took the brochure and looked through it. “Oh, that was nice of him.”

There was Taehyung – his voice was warm and pure again, sound therapy, honeyed tea coursing through him in the form of vibrations. Jimin peacefully smiled and breathed him in; acrylic paint and a sweet pastry that lingered on his shirt. It was hard to describe the smell of Taehyung’s skin, though. He just smelled like Taehyung.

Taehyung tilted his head to bump against Jimin’s. In that moment Jimin realized he was literally burying his face under the collar of Taehyung’s coat in public. He also realized, had more so a revelation, actually, that Taehyung did not mind it.

When they got to the entrance of the hospital, Taehyung took a moment to rummage around in his coat pocket for their bus money.

Jimin took the moment to press a kiss against Taehyung’s soft cheek.

Taehyung froze. His cotton candy pink lips parted. Jimin smiled at him contentedly.

In a falling motion, still careful, Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jimin. Jimin slipped his arms underneath Taehyung’s open coat and hugged him back.

They blended in. No one around them would know why they were hugging – there were all sorts of reasons to hug in a hospital – and it did not matter. Jimin just let himself fall into Taehyung’s embrace. He wished he could have at least made it home, but alas, he already was too tired to stand on his own.

Taehyung leaned down to push his nose into the base of Jimin’s neck. He breathed.

-❀-

A clinking sound echoed throughout the room. As Jimin was roused to consciousness, he noticed his cheek was warm. His eyes fluttered open. The room was alight with sunshine pouring over his face, soft and milky through the translucent white curtains. It must have been well into the morning.

Jimin rolled onto his back and stretched, and in doing so, realized he was alone in bed. He heard another clinking sound. He sat upright, eyes fluttering as he blinked away the morning haze. Taehyung stood in the kitchen making tea.

Taehyung turned around for a moment, then, as if something caught his attention, he properly spun around. “Jimin!” he broke into a huge smile.

Jimin smiled back. “Taehyungie.”

Taehyung’s smile fell a little into something shy. Jimin’s eyelids drooped, fonder.

Taehyung asked, “Do you need anything?”

Jimin shook his head. He was often too tired to drag himself to the bathroom unless it was an emergency, but he felt alright today. His long slumber gave him strength. He tumbled out of bed and landed on his wobbling feet. He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth. He treated himself to face wash and lotion. He padded back to bed and threw himself onto it, closing his eyes.

Taehyung asked, “Tea or coffee?”

Jimin alternated between the two. Coffee was a great distraction from the flowers, but the taste was quite rich. Jimin was not in an indulgent state of mind, and too much caffeine caused his anxiety to act up. “Tea, please. But nothing floral.”

“Of course,” Taehyung assured. Jimin smiled.

He heard footsteps approach the bed. The mattress dipped as Taehyung sat on it. Jimin waited until he felt a mug being pushed gently against his arm. Jimin sighed, sat up. He accepted the cup in both hands. “Thank you,” he said.

Taehyung responded, “You’re welcome.”

Jimin wondered if they should properly talk. He did not mind the companionable silence. He took a sip of tea to occupy his mouth. It had… a funny undertone. It was green tea for sure, but… off.

Taehyung’s own cup just rested in his lap. He stared intently at Jimin.

Jimin asked, “What?”

Taehyung smiled. “I… it’s okay.”

Jimin pushed his knee. “Just tell me.”

Taehyung looked at Jimin under his eyelashes. “You didn’t ask about the surgery. It’s scheduled for October 3^rd, in case you were wondering.”

Jimin had purposely not asked. He sighed. His lungs felt so stuffy and heavy.

Jimin said, “I don’t really want to think about it, honestly.”

“That’s okay,” Taehyung nodded. He looked back down at his tea. Jimin took a long gulp of his own.

He tasted the weirdness again. The larger volume of flavour he imbibed allowed Jimin to register the taste, and his brain hated it. His stomach turned. Jimin quickly grabbed the waste bin he kept beside his bed (although the petals rarely made it in there) and vomited – like, actual vomit.

“Oh my god!” Taehyung quickly placed his own cup of tea on the nightstand. “Jimin, are you okay?”

“It’s the tea,” Jimin said. “Ugh… it tastes like plants.”

“What?” Taehyung asked.

Jimin placed the garbage bin down and sat on the bed again. He noticed his tea spilled all over the comforter where he had dropped it. “Oh no…”

Taehyung quickly sipped his own tea to test it. “What’s wrong with it, Jimin?”

“Tae,” Jimin rubbed his arm. “It’s okay. Calm down.” He coughed to clear his throat. “I guess my brain just doesn’t like any plants anymore.”

“B-but Jimin,” Taehyung reasoned, “you need plants. You need them for strength.”

Jimin smiled. “I’ll still eat vegetables and herbs in food, Tae. I just don’t want to taste them anymore. I guess it’s just… overwhelming by now.”

Taehyung frowned. He reached over to pet Jimin’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jimin assured him. “But, um, can you help me? With the…” Jimin gestured to the tea-soaked blanket.

Taehyung looked to where Jimin had gestured. “Oh!” he exclaimed, as though he noticed the mess for the first time. He jumped off the bed and ran to the kitchen, ran back with a dishtowel. He began dabbing the liquid to absorb some of it.

“Thanks,” Jimin said. “Do you think you could take this to the cleaners’ for me?”

“Sure,” Taehyung smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t mean to trouble you,” Jimin frowned. “I have an extra blanket in the closet, so don’t rush with the laundry or anything. I’m fine.”

“Just rest, Jimin,” Taehyung said. “You can come to my place if you get too cold here without your duvet.”

That was obviously unnecessary, a courteous exaggeration, but… it was sweet. Taehyung was warm and sweet and beautiful to the core of him.

Slowly, Jimin smiled. “Thanks, Tae.”

Something else tugged on Jimin’s tongue – more words that wanted to be said. But Jimin could not make sense of them.

Instead, Jimin decided that he was pretty cold lately, due to the pestilence and such. Taehyung’s place sounded like a good idea, if only as a precaution. He added, “Let’s have a sleepover at your place.”

Taehyung’s eyes lit up as he smiled. Jimin was starting to wonder if it was ever the sun in the room that made his cheeks heat up.

Jimin scooted to the edge of the bed and jumped onto his feet. His head spun, he wobbled. He threw up a cluster of carnations. He sat back down.

“Jimin!” Taehyung yelped. Jimin was starting to see Taehyung as a guard dog. A very good boy, though – he was not complaining. Taehyung placed his hand on Jimin’s waist to steady him. Jimin giggled. They looked up at the same time and their eyes met.

Jimin placed his hand on Taehyung’s cheek. “Your eyes are shiny.”

Taehyung blinked. His expression was set into one of bewilderment. As the words processed, Taehyung breathed and looked down. “Be careful,” he said. “And put on a sweater.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Fine, bossy,” he said, “but only because you’re right. I’m freezing.”

Taehyung smiled complacently and brushed imaginary dust off of Jimin’s shirt. He helped Jimin stand up. Once Jimin was off the bed, Taehyung rolled the duvet up for transport.

“And get me some apple juice, please!” Jimin requested. He could not have tea now, and he did not want coffee, so in their place he wanted some juice.

Taehyung sighed and muttered something about being treated like a maid, and Jimin retorted, “That’s kinda sexy, right?” to which Taehyung had no response. Jimin giggled to himself and searched for the sweater he had on the previous night. It was not laundry yet, so he might as well just put that back on. But it was nowhere in sight, even though Jimin remembered leaving it around here… oh, he thought, maybe it fell onto the floor. Jimin carefully knelt down to check under the bed.

There it was! He pulled it out from under the bed, along with a pair of sweatpants and that bracelet he had misplaced. And… oh? There was something else under there. Jimin pulled it out as well.

A notebook. Jimin looked over the cover – ‘Misc’ was written in Taehyung’s handwriting, inked onto the cardboard in the gel pen colour ‘midnight sky’. He must have left his notebook there one time. Jimin flipped through it, not to be nosy, but to see if he could figure out why it would be in his apartment. He did not think he and Taehyung had any secrets between them anyway.

Jimin reached a page labeled ‘Hanahaki’ and remembered the day Taehyung brought over his research. He must have lost it in Jimin’s duvet-cavern. Jimin glanced over the notes, smiling sadly. Taehyung had really done his research. It was more endearing than surprising. Taehyung was an intellectual, after all.

The realization dawned on Jimin that with this research brought knowledge. Taehyung knew as much as Jimin knew, probably more, all the depressing details. Jimin did not protect him from the whole truth after all. He only hoped this knowledge had not kept Taehyung up at night.

He flipped the page to see the extent of the taken notes. Jimin’s lips parted in awe when, on the next page, he found a sketch of himself.

The doodle of Jimin was drawn in an anime style, albeit sketchy and soft. It was a headshot, stopping just at the base of his neck, two lines drawn above a semicircle to indicate collarbones peeking over the neckline of a shirt. Strokes of midnight sky and ruby red gel pens hardened his edges overtop a wispy base of graphite. In the place of his mouth there was a flower. It looked to be a lily, but it was outlined in red, as were the bones in Jimin’s cheeks, the waterlines in his eyes. It looked like how Jimin felt –fractured, messy and undone; cataclysmic beauty, as love sometimes is.

“Jimin?” Taehyung called. “Did you find your sweater?”

Jimin quickly dropped the notebook on the bed while he threw his sweater on and beanie on. He picked it back up and carried the notebook to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Jimin said. “I found your notebook! The one with your research on Hanahaki.”

“Ah!” Taehyung brightened. “I was wondering where that went. Can you just leave it on my desk when we get to my place?”

“Sure.” Jimin smiled, eyes in happy crescents. Taehyung smiled back, pushed Jimin’s reusable water bottle full of apple juice into his hands and went to retrieve the duvet.

Jimin slipped on his loose, hipster-style jean jacket, covered in yellow and blue and red and pink buttons – the whole piece a gift from Taehyung – and waited for him at the door. Taehyung carried the rolled up duvet over his shoulder like a robust traveler. Jimin already had Taehyung’s jacket open and ready for him by the time they reunited. Jimin giggled at him. “Do you want any help with that?”

“Nah,” Taehyung said, and adjusted it on his shoulder. “I’m good.”

Jimin helped Taehyung slip his jacket on as they talked. “Are you just going to take it to the cleaners’ villager-style?”

Taehyung smiled and nudged him. “I have a duffle bag at home.”

“Oh, even better,” Jimin playfully rolled his eyes. He pulled the jacket taut once it was on. “Carry around a huge duffle bag. That’s not suspicious.”

“What? How is that suspicious?” Taehyung challenged. Jimin just snorted in response. He stepped out into the hallway with Jimin after the boy had collected the notebook and his juice. “I could be heading to the gym. I don’t look active?”

Jimin closed the door behind them. He smiled so wide his irises almost disappeared behind his eyelids. “No,” he said. He poked Taehyung’s tummy. “And you don’t feel active either.”

“Heeey,” Taehyung pouted, bottom lip jutting out. “Don’t bully me with your six-pack.”

Jimin laughed. He tucked the notebook under his arm to free a hand. Through his shirt, Jimin held Taehyung’s doughy hip in his palm. “I’m not bullying you,” Jimin said. Not at all. He loved Taehyung’s squishy body, and he did not have a bad thing to say about it. He looked up to meet Taehyung’s eyes. “It wasn’t an insult.”

Taehyung looked at Jimin with those glassy, teddy bear-button eyes, as though he was stitched together for the sole purpose of being loved by Jimin. Jimin wished Jungkook would look at him like that. He wished he could hold Jungkook in the palms of his hands.

(It went over Jimin’s head completely.)

He wrapped his fingers around Taehyung’s wrist and pulled him along. Taehyung’s breathing stuttered as though he had shivered. It was pretty cold now, getting nearer every day to the first day of autumn, and the apartment complex did not have a state of the art heating system, per se. Taehyung laced their fingers together. They chased spring in the palms of their joined hands.

Jimin loved Taehyung’s place. He remembered that upon walking in. It was organized like a studio and always smelled like wood and chemicals, but the good kind, like paint and table polish, with undertones of flavoured candy. His art was displayed in random, but intentionally so, places; sketchbooks and art books lay strewn about and open to his and others’ works, framed sketches sat around and hung on walls – Taehyung drew a picture of the trio, (himself, Jungkook, and Jimin,) a cute caricature, and Jimin thought his head was too big, but that was cute – and paintings, re-imagined history and post-impressionist pieces, both his own and ripped out of books. Spots of colour dyed the apartment – charcoal on the back of the couch, a glob of paint on a bath towel, a cherry blossom design climbing up the side of a mug that was repurposed as a vase, and the vase was home to two sticks of incense, sandalwood and orange and clove or something, but never burned. His bed was always unmade but clean and piled high with pillows. Taehyung’s mind seemed like a marvelous world to live in. He had a marvelous heart, a marvelous soul.

Jimin remembered that a large canvas used to cover the expanse of the wall near by the balcony window. It was a replica of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms. Taehyung must have taken it down.

Taehyung insisted that he would handle Jimin’s dry cleaning, that Jimin should just stay home and rest. With a smile, Jimin fought him, dropping his fists on Taehyung’s chest with the vim and vigor of a silken handkerchief descending upon him. Taehyung collected both of Jimin’s wrists in one hand and lifted them as delicately as he must have deemed necessary, as though Jimin was something to handle with care. He sighed deep in his chest. Jimin felt cast aside lately – by no fault of Taehyung’s, but still. Taehyung dropped his hands.

“I’ll handle it,” Taehyung insisted. “Go sit, watch a show or something.”

Jimin bangs had grown over his forehead and hung wispily over his eyelashes. He sighed aloud. “Fine,” he conceded. He dropped down onto the couch. He coughed. He felt weightless and fluttery. The only substance he felt was in his heart – specifically, growing into his heart, like a stake of thorns.

“I have some errands to do,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

But Jimin missed him before he even left. He already knew it. He pouted and rested his head on a pillow.

Taehyung closed the door behind him. Jimin did not put a show on the television. Instead he walked to Taehyung’s closet in search of an extra blanket, and found a small one with a Pixar animation pattern printed on it. He wrapped it around his shoulders.

Jimin was not sure what he was looking for. He felt alone. Even worse so, he was alone with his thoughts. He needed somebody else to be there.

He could settle for somebody else’s thoughts. He found a notebook on Taehyung’s desk – labeled ‘Misc’ – and flipped it open again.

A smile tugged at the corner of Jimin’s pout, pressing it thin. Taehyung had so much on his mind. Jimin flipped through the colourful archive, gingerly, treating each page as if it were chiffon. Illustrated amongst the words were pen-drawn doodles – Jimin’s (mocha and caramel brown) backpack on page 6, no doubt all of Taehyung’s real and imaginary pets, TK included, stick figures, silhouettes. Jimin flipped another page. At the end of inelegant spiel about the correlated nature of lust and fruit – perhaps something out of a Women’s Studies course – Jimin found a heart with the initials KTH+PJM scrawled inside.

Jimin blinked. The pink lettering shimmered in his eyes.

He picked up the book, hand finally curling around it like something substantial. He flipped through the pages and found more, so many more hearts, in different designs and colours, the favourite being a sickly sweet bubblegum pink. He found it on pages written about puppy love and love at first sight, on anatomy, on botany and flower symbolism, on endorphins and dopamine and chocolate, etcetera and etcetera. Jimin could taste sugar on the back of his tongue. The notebook closed with a pop.

He carried the notebook to the couch and slid it under his pillow, then lied down on top of it. He cuddled with the blanket and waited for Taehyung to get home.

Taehyung came home with arms full of groceries and a lollipop in between his lips. He dropped everything in the kitchen and announced, “Honey, I’m home!”

Jimin giggled. “There’s no one here.”

“Shucks,” Taehyung said, “the one who got away.”

Jimin hid under the blanket. Taehyung jumped over the couch and plopped right next to where Jimin’s feet curled up. He gave Jimin’s ass a slap.

“Hey!” Jimin shot up, glaring at Taehyung through narrowed eyes, although his smile most likely dulcified and therefore neutralized the venom.

Taehyung fake-gasped. “You came back!”

Jimin humphed. He dropped his head to rest on Taehyung’s shoulder, hair curtaining his collarbone. Jimin felt like he was drapery lately. A wispy handkerchief in Taehyung’s pocket. He sniffled.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asked. He cautiously placed a hand on Jimin’s stomach.

Jimin coughed. Taehyung moved his hand lower, although more hesitantly than before, inexplicably, because Jimin’s plant did not grow that low, so there was no need to be hypersensitive to his pain. Oh well. Jimin relaxed under it. Taehyung relaxed too.

“Nothing really,” Jimin said. “Just… everything. You know. I feel like I’m wilting. I really feel like I’m wilting, Taehyung. It’s not just a figure of speech. I really am wilting and withering away.”

Taehyung turned his nose into Jimin’s hair, stopped, then rested his cheek on Jimin’s hair instead. Jimin was not sure if he would rather have Taehyung’s lips than his cheek. Jimin did not know if he even wanted to be touched.

“I don’t…” Taehyung stumbled over his words. He whispered. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin said. He smiled even though Taehyung could not see it. He just smiled.

They settled into silence. Jimin could feel Taehyung’s brain working, searching, like Google through a thousand results turning up medical journals and blog posts and help forums. Jimin appreciated it. He brushed his hand over Taehyung’s thigh. He heard a quick whistle of air through teeth, the sudden inhalation of breath. A pink lollipop fell from Taehyung’s mouth and into his lap. Jimin giggled and lifted the candy by the stick to reposition it between Taehyung teeth. Taehyung accepted it. His lips touched Jimin’s finger and Jimin felt something swoop in his stomach.

Jimin continued tracing lines over Taehyung’s leg. He swore he could feel the electricity run through Taehyung before each surge touched is heart with a palpable thump. It was as though Jimin generated the current.

When the silence passed, Taehyung told Jimin that his face was too mushy, waterlogged by tears and sorrow, and needed a boost, so they might as well just make it an event out of it. He stuck a purifying face mask to Jimin’s cheeks, focusing on him with laser-pointed concentration through the holes in his own ghostly face cleanser. Jimin started to smile, and Taehyung scolded him, squishing Jimin’s cheeks to suppress his smile.

“Hey, you know,” Taehyung said, both sitting on the floor together, a collection of Taehyung’s sketch books open in a circle (and to Jimin’s disappointment, no sketches of him), “art isn’t even a thing. I could just take a pen and break the pen in half and drain it onto the paper and it would still be art. This one is drawn with charcoal. I could have literally thrown my notebook into the fire and that itself would be art.”

Jimin bit a pen – mint green – between his teeth. “So why are some artists considered ‘good’ and others are not?”

“It’s about—Jimin,” Taehyung took the pen out of Jimin’s mouth. His shirt had a paint spot of yellow. “It’s about the message. The meaning. You give your own art meaning, and if other people think its cool, you get famous.”

Jimin snorted a laugh. “Sounds kind of… contingent,” he commented. “You don’t know what any of what you’re doing is even for. And if anything is art, nothing you make really matters.”

“Ouch,” Taehyung said with a small laugh. “Okay, so why do you dance?”

He got Jimin there. Whatever. Jimin had just been playing devil’s advocate anyway. He could play some more. He took a new pen – sweet pea – between his teeth. “For boys.”

Jimin could almost see Taehyung’s heart drop. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Jimin winked and then burst into laughter, holding his ankles and rocking backwards. He flipped his hair out of his eyes. Taehyung sniffled and smiled at his feet.

“You do what you love for yourself,” Taehyung said, “because you love it.”

Jimin sat up and pulled Taehyung by his wrist so they both ended up in a standing position. He sent Taehyung off to bed. Jimin had to go to the bathroom first.

In the bathroom mirror Jimin brushed his hair out of his eyes. He took a good look at his face. Dewy, hydrated. He squished his own cheeks together.

In the back of his mind he saw his skin ashen, his lips and eyes ruby red. He tiled his head.

If you give meaning to your own art, what did Taehyung see when he looked at Jimin?

Jimin’s stomach turned. That was odd. Taehyung usually did not trigger an episode.

Jimin hunched over the toilet and threw up flowers. He blearily blinked his eyes open.

White rose petals floated in the water. Oh. Jimin thought he might feel something when this happened – might be scared or in pain, but amazingly, he felt nothing at all. Perhaps this was the purity that came with forgiveness. Perhaps this was death.

Jimin flushed the toilet and then toddled to bed, stepping over empty fruit bowls and food wrappers and a lollipop stick that would be cleared up in the morning. Jimin placed a hand on Taehyung’s cheek.

Taehyung whispered, “Yeah?”

Softly, Jimin’s words billowed out of his mouth like clouds, maybe more like stirred dust. “I don’t understand art. I never have.”

Taehyung asked, “Do you not like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jimin clarified. “But I’m not sure. I thought I did, but I don’t. Not like how I used to.”

Taehyung asked, “How did you used to?”

Jimin said, “Like… like how I like Jungkook. I liked his art because he made it.”

“Ah,” Taehyung nodded. “Like watching a movie for an actor.”

Jimin giggled, “Yes, exactly like you with Park Bogum.”

“Aish,” Taehyung shoved him, “that’s not what it’s like.”

Jimin smiled for a moment, in the silence that followed. Then he continued, “But with you… I like it because you like it, because you love it. You made me like it. You… you found something in me, and made me see it. And I thought, ‘Wow… I like that.’ Because of you. Not just the stuff you make. I like it because if you like it… then my heart thinks it’s nice. But I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what you make, either. I don’t understand what it means. But I think I want to.”

Another moment of silence passed. Jimin thought that perhaps no more words were needed. He certainly had nothing to add. He could not explain what he felt any farther than what was said.

All he was able to feel in his heart were white roses.

Finally, Taehyung’s voice cut the silence, jagged, like a shard of broken glass. “You have no idea… how hard this is.”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“You…” Taehyung exhaled. “Exactly. You have no idea.”

Jimin frowned. Should he apologize? “What’s hard?”

Taehyung mumbled, “Me.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nevermind.” Taehyung threw an arm across Jimin’s body, his own cuddly bear like always, but this time, kept a space between them by bunching the comforter between their bodies. “Go to sleep. You must be tired.”

Jimin agreed. He was always tired. He liked the smell of Taehyung at home – pencils, painted skin, day old linen. It was comforting. He breathed in, sighed, and settled against his best friend. His lungs labored against a swollen rose bush. He fell asleep.

-❀-

Jimin thought this was a bit of an unconventional place for a therapy meeting. He also thought it was quite smart. They were out in the open, and surprisingly that afforded Jimin a lot more security, but unsurprisingly, anyone would feel safer in a coffee shop rather than, let’s say, a community center basement, or whatever secluded den of shame therapy groups usually got together in.

The small group was seated at the back of the café, a few chairs and couches around a table. The group leader had reserved it. People would leave them alone back here.

Jimin had not come wearing a mask, and he felt self-conscious about that when he arrived and saw two other people in masks – a girl with long hair curtaining all but her eyes, and another… person, perhaps a boy, Jimin could not tell, with short hair and eyes downcast, although they waved. Jimin waved back with a smile. The girl waved a sweater-paw and brushed a tousle of hair behind her ear, which promptly and silkily fell forward once more.

There was another person there, though, without a mask on. He smiled and introduced himself as Seungcheol. The other two introduced themselves as K and Ryan, which maybe meant that Seungcheol was not his real name, and Jimin liked that it did not matter.

“Hello,” he said, “My name is… uhm, Seokjin.” Seokjin? That was who he thought of after Jungkook and Taehyung? Whatever, now he had to roll with it. “Nice to meet you.”

The person in the mask raised their head, and Jimin finally saw the dark brown eyes under their dyed purple hair, the tawny shade of their skin. Jimin smiled at them. They coughed and nodded, “Nice to meet you too… Seokjin.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. Ryan shook their head and said, “Sorry, it’s just, I know a Seokjin, that’s all. We make music together sometimes.”

“Oh,” Jimin said. “Cool.”

Ryan nodded. They hugged themselves in their sweater, the article of clothing that made it impossible to tell whether they were wearing a skirt or a long shirt underneath it. Jimin decided he did not care enough to pursue the issue. Person, boy, girl, whatever. All that mattered was that they were kindred spirits.

They all introduced themselves, told their stories, some said names and some did not. Jimin said Jungkook’s name. Jimin was afraid he might have waxed poetic. No one seemed to mind, especially not K, whose eyes had squished into happy, glassy crescents.

Ryan said, “I remember feeling like that. That’s dangerous, you know. You shouldn’t get so caught up in your own feelings. It leaves a scar.”

Jimin unconsciously touched his chest. “You… don’t feel like this anymore?”

Ryan shook their head. “I got the surgery.”

Jimin hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

To Jimin’s surprise, Ryan laughed. “You feel like that now, I know. But you won’t be sorry when you get it. It just… hurts differently. Not being alive, not even being out of love, just… it’s like a wound that closed and scarred over but never stopped hurting. You still feel it. And that’s actually what hurts the most; knowing what put it there. Knowing how much you used to love them. How much you don’t anymore. Dwelling on your love cuts the wound deeper and deeper.”

Jimin swallowed dryly.

Ryan finished, “So make it easy on yourself. Stop over-hyping him. He’s just a guy that will never happen. There are plenty just like him. That’s life. So accept that he’s just like everyone else, even though you don’t believe it yet. Try. Lie.”

Their voice was soft despite the harshness of their words. For the first time in his life, on the topic of Jungkook, Jimin fell silent.

At the end of the meeting, Jimin picked up his coffee cup, almost empty, and bowed to the other members of the group. He bowed deeply to Ryan. Ryan bowed back. Then Jimin stepped aside and took a moment to breathe.

Everyone’s stories rattled around in his skull – the feelings, the reminders, the smell of cherry blossoms, Ryan’s advice…

Jimin barely made it to the bathroom in time. He threw up a plethora of white rose petals. He caught his breath in heaving gasps when it was finally over.

A hand touched Jimin’s back. Startled, Jimin whipped around to see the source of the touch.

A boy with red hair threw his hands up and backed off. “Sorry, little dude, you left the door open.”

Jimin breathed heavily. “Hoseok?”

Hoseok smiled and waved. Jimin lifted an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking up a friend,” Hoseok said. “Na… what does he go by, again?”

Yoongi stepped into view, hands in his pockets. “Ryan.”

“Ryan, right,” Hoseok pointed a finger and clarified.

Jimin stood up. “Oh, hey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi waved. Hoseok asked, “You guys know each other?” Then immediately after smiled, nodded, and said, “The clinic?”

Jimin and Yoongi both nodded.

Hoseok said, “Ah, great.” Then, “Well, we should get going. I’ll see you when you finally get back to dance club, Jimin.”

“Wait,” Jimin stumbled out of the stall, caught Hoseok’s arm. “You can’t… please don’t tell anyone why…”

“Bro,” Hoseok said, “you’re in a safe space. I didn’t see or hear a thing.”

Jimin gave Hoseok an appreciative half-smile. Hoseok gave one back. Yoongi gave his signature frog-smile and left with Hoseok.

Yoongi quickly ducked back in, as though he forgot something. He let the door fall shut behind him. “It gets better,” he said abruptly. “It…” he looked to the door. “It gets better for you, even if it still hurts. It’s worse this way. Just… get better. He’ll forgive you. It’s not just you moving on, it’s everyone you love and everyone who loves you. And you all can. You all will. There’s a life beyond this.”

He just kept looking at the door. Jimin felt like he was invited into information that was not directly offered, something left out of its box, out in the open for Jimin to see, even if had no explicit permission to see it.

“There’s something that no one in that group will tell you,” Yoongi said, voice lowered to convey something of a covert edge. “It’s that you have to tell the person you love that they caused this.”

As if stolen from him, Jimin spoke the name, “Jungkook?”

Yoongi nodded. “Jungkook. You have to come clean. He can live his whole life never knowing, but you can’t. It’s not living if you’re living with a secret. So ruin your relationship. Put it out there in the open and tear your friendship to shreds. Then mend it. I promise it’s better than this.” He stopped himself, swallowed. “Better than it would be if you don’t.”

Stunned, Jimin nodded.

Yoongi smiled, sadly, nodded again, and left.

Jimin stood in the bathroom for a few long seconds, recuperating. Then he went to the sink to wash his face. He dusted a white rose petal off his jacket and onto the floor.

“Jimin?” Taehyung asked as he entered. Jimin swiftly stepped on the rose petal to hide it beneath his shoe. Taehyung stepped into the washroom and beamed at Jimin when he came into view. “Hey, I saw your group disappeared. Ready to go?”

Jimin nodded. He quickly stepped forward and linked his arm with Taehyung’s to avoid Taehyung looking to the floor. The two headed out.

Once they were on the sidewalk, Taehyung spoke. “Oh,” he said. He held out the brown paper bag that had been slapping against Taehyung’s thigh as they moved. “I got you a cookie!”

Jimin hugged Taehyung’s arm. “Thanks, Tae.”

Taehyung held the chocolate chip cookie to Jimin’s mouth. Jimin was not really hungry – he was sufficiently filled up on coffee for now – but Taehyung insisted, ramming it in minuscule movements against the barricaded doors of Jimin’s lips. Jimin gave up and accepted a tiny bite.

“So,” Taehyung asked, “are you allowed to talk about how the meeting went?”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Jimin responded, “but I’ll tell you anyway, because it’s you.”

Taehyung smiled. “Really, an honour.”

Jimin said, “They were nice. They were a lot like me. I talked the most though. This person named Ryan gave me advice. They already got the surgery. I think I’m gonna be okay. Ryan was really real about it, you know? They said it still hurts, and like, yeah, I can believe that. Before I thought that the surgery seemed too… miraculous. I can’t imagine not feeling like this. But Ryan said it’s still going to hurt, which makes it all more believable. This is really happening to me.”

All Taehyung commented on was, “Their name is Ryan?”

Jimin blinked. “Yeah?”

Taehyung said, “I think they have a recovery blog. I found it when I was researching. They seem cool. They have a lot to say about the moon.”

Jimin puffed, ruffling his bangs. “There are a lot of Ryans in the world, Taehyung.”

“But there are probably not a lot who had the Hanahaki disease.”

“I beg to differ. Ryan is a very popular name, even in Korea because of KKT.”

“Ah,” Taehyung shoved another piece of cookie in Jimin’s mouth. Jimin laughed with his mouth full. “Be quiet, non-believer. If you like what they had to say, it’s worth checking out.”

“Sure.”

“Anything else worth mentioning?”

Jimin thought about Yoongi. He decided he did not want to think about that yet. That was post-surgical territory. “Nah. We’re just a bunch of gay losers in a circle. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Four days had passed since Jimin got his dry-cleaning sorted out, and they were back in Jimin’s apartment to hang out. They switched back and forth, hanging out at each other’s apartments, as per usual. It felt like a lifetime ago that Jungkook hung out with them, but Jungkook, lost in a puppy-love limbo, must have not felt the time pass at all. Jimin threw himself into bed and wrapped himself up in covers.

Taehyung smiled at him and dropped his butt on the bed. “Eat,” he demanded. “Your blood sugar is dangerously low.”

“Not true!” Jimin singsonged. “I eat lots of fruit and fruit has natural sugars.”

“Hey, who’s the scientist here?”

“Me.”

Taehyung glared. Jimin cheekily grinned.

Taehyung said, “Eat the cookie or you get no vegetables for dinner.”

Jimin laughed. He wrapped himself up into a blanket-ball and hurled himself away from Taehyung and the cookie. “What are you now, my doctor? You do enough as my maid and personal chef.”

“I am also your sexy nurse,” Taehyung corrected. “You are sick and weary, and you need a cookie. Now let hyung give you some sugar.”

God – Jimin scoffed. He unwrapped himself. He got on his hands and knees and crawled towards Taehyung. “Are you gonna make me feel better, nurse Taehyung?”

Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows. “I know just the medicine you need. It’s in my big needle.”

Jimin literally almost felt himself die inside. He scrunched his eyes as he stifled a laugh, pained. He choked out, “Will you let me touch your stethoscope?”

“All night, baby,” Taehyung said, breaking down onto laugher, “you can… touch m-my stethoscope… all…”

Taehyung could not handle it anymore, and collapsed in his fit of laughter. Jimin did as well. Taehyung fell against Jimin, nuzzling his forehead against Jimin’s temple.

“I win,” Jimin commented.

“Nevermind!” Taehyung laughed. He shoved the whole cookie in Jimin’s mouth, which was open from laughing. “Eat the cookie!”

Jimin struggled to get his mouth around the whole half of a cookie he had left over. He chewed it as best he could, and swallowed, but it was kind of dry and very chocolatey, and Jimin started to cough. Taehyung pat Jimin’s back. He hacked up a rose petal and shut his lips to hide it.

Taehyung realized something was very wrong now. He stopped patting Jimin’s back and placed his hand under Jimin’s mouth. “Okay, just spit it out Jimin, spit it out.”

Jimin refused, shaking his head.

Taehyung hastily retrieved a bottle of yogurt drink from the fridge and brought it over to Jimin. Jimin gratefully drank it. Once the cookie was down, and only the petal remained lodged in the back of his throat, Jimin gave one final, hearty cough, and it tumbled, involuntarily, out of his lips and onto his lap, slightly obscured by spit and cookie.

“Oh, okay, ew,” Taehyung commented. He picked it up in two fingers. It was too late to stop him. When he registered what kind of flower the petal came from, Taehyung blinked from the realization, laid the petal flat in his palm. “J…Jimin?”

Jimin hung his head.

“Jimin…” Taehyung whispered. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry, okay?”

“Jimin…” Taehyung repeated his name like a broken record. “It’s a rose.”

It was only a white rose. Jimin knew Taehyung was scared because roses indicate entering the final stages of life, the beginning of death, but this was only a white rose. It was only one of three stages. They were not even at pink yet, nevermind red. This was nothing serious.

“A white rose,” Jimin reminded him. “It’s okay, Tae. I swear, it’s okay.”

Taehyung just stared at the rose petal. Delicately, Jimin plucked it from Taehyung’s palm in two fingers, and threw it in the waste bin beside the bed.

He then wrapped both of his little hands around Taehyung’s big one. He did not say anything. There was nothing to say.

Taehyung silently placed his other hand on top of Jimin’s.

-❀-

At school, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook sat in the university’s cafeteria together. Jungkook was finally hanging around at school again instead of dipping out to rendezvous with his new beau, so they all got to chill during their lunch break. It was great to have Jungkook around again. He was as pretty as ever.

Jungkook flopped on his arm and showed Taehyung another photo. Taehyung sighed. Jungkook straightened up and showed Jimin the millionth picture of him and Yugyeom.

Jungkook beamed, “He’s so dreamy, right?”

Jimin smiled and nodded, just looking past Jungkook’s phone, at the fingers that could make Jimin hit those high notes he needed for Seokjin’s music class.

A balled up piece of paper, thrown by Taehyung, hit Jungkook in the neck. Jungkook laughed and lowered his phone. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just really happy.”

Jimin’s heart hurt. “I know you are, Kookie. But,” he pinched Jungkook’s cheeks, “I miss you, so I want to see your face!”

Jungkook bashfully smiled. “I know, I know. I’m really sorry for not hanging out much. Let’s get together this week, okay?”

It was kind of harsh to let Jungkook take the fall for this. The kid truly believed he was the problem. It was easy to do, since he hung out with Yugyeom so much, when in reality Jimin was avoiding him, and so in turn, Taehyung tried to spend less time with Jungkook to spend more time with Jimin, who, between the two of them, actually needed Taehyung’s attention, so as a result, they did not hang out together. But Jimin could not confess what was really keeping them apart, so yeah. Blame Jungkook and Yugyeom. They deserved it.

Jimin said they should do that, but as always, did not mean it. He could barely handle this.

Jungkook gave Jimin a hug to say goodbye. Jimin wrapped his arms around Jungkook, but did not hug back. He could not let himself fall into it. The pressure on his chest would make him physically and emotionally wince. He let his lips brush over Jungkook’s cheek as they pulled away.

Jimin cupped Jungkook’s face in his hand. He caressed his thumb across the cheekbone. Jungkook smiled like a squirrel with stuffed cheeks. Jimin could not help but smile back. “See you later, Kookie. I love you.”

It felt like a permanent farewell. Jimin would never see Jungkook again. Not this Jimin.

“I love you too,” Jungkook laughed.

The words felt like a ghost had breathed down Jimin’s neck. It sent chills down his spine.

At home, Jimin ran to the bathroom and threw up rose petals. They were still white, still haunting and foreboding. But still white.

Jimin sniffled and wiped his tears and washed his face. As Jimin scrubbed the tears away, the muggy salt from his pores, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. Startled, Jimin straightened up. His whole face was pink and glossy, water dripping down his neck in rivulets. Taehyung stood behind him and squeezed Jimin into a back-hug. Jimin fell into it.

Taehyung pulled a towel down from the rack and handed it to Jimin. Jimin gently dried his face and neck. Taehyung made Jimin want to take care of himself. Taehyung was the reason Jimin ate well, went outside, did his homework, patted his face dry instead of pummeling it. Taehyung cared more about Jimin than Jimin himself did.

Jimin dropped the towel on the counter. Taehyung walked Jimin into the main room.

“I just have an assignment to do,” Jimin said. He got out his laptop and set it on Taehyung’s coffee table.

Taehyung nodded. “I’ll just be over there doing my own work.”

They were used to this, but it was always nice that Taehyung let Jimin know where he would be if he was needed, and Jimin got into the habit of announcing himself as well. Jimin smiled and sent Taehyung off.

As Jimin was working on his paper, he got a message. It was a selfie of Jungkook with the caption ‘Here’s my face! I miss you too!’ in which Jungkook posed for the camera with a dopey expression and a thumbs-up. Jimin could not help but giggle at it. The flood of affection that crashed through him bubbled out of his lungs and over his lips.

Jungkook, his Jungkook, missed him too. Yugyeom meant nothing. It was Jimin who Jungkook wanted to see. He had never really left if Jimin remained in his heart.

Jimin barely heard the footsteps approach. He felt he couch dip under the weight of someone else. “Jimin,” Taehyung asked, “what’s so funny? What’d Jungkookie do?”

Jimin forgot he was still giggling. He felt a little intoxicated. “He’s so funny. Look!”

Taehyung gently wrapped his hand around Jimin’s slipped Jimin’s phone out of it. He looked at the picture. “Jimin…” Taehyung said, softly, “he’s cute, but is it that funny?”

“Sure it is!” Jimin insisted.

Taehyung took a deep breath, let it out. “Jimin,” he said, slowly, big-brotherly. “I know Jungkook. I know the kid is hilarious. But this… this just isn’t that funny.”

Jimin took another look at the picture. “Yes it is,” he insisted, “he…”

His smile faded. Stop over-hyping him.

“It’s just me.” His smile fell. “I’m sick.”

Taehyung locked Jimin’s phone and placed it on the table. Jimin’s bottom lip trembled. Taehyung had Jimin in his arms before the tears even had a chance to fall. Sadness had nothing on Taehyung.

“Why can’t he just love me?” Jimin whispered. “Why can’t he just love me…”

Taehyung swallowed with a click of his throat. “Maybe…” his voice was husky, unsteady. “Maybe, there’s someone else for you.”

Jimin shook his head. The tears fell from his eyes, his words fell from his lips in warm whispers. “I don’t want anyone else…” his body jerked as he cried. He grabbed a fistful of Taehyung’s sweater. “Jungkook…”

Taehyung said nothing. He just held Jimin tight.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” Jimin bawled. “What did I do wrong? What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” Taehyung shook his head. “Nothing, Jimin. It just didn’t happen with you guys.”

“Taehyung, please!” Jimin wept. “You’re the smartest person ever and anyone would be lucky to date you, and I’m running out of time! Please, tell me what I need to do! Please… ple-ase…”

Jimin dropped his head to rest in Taehyung’s lap. He curled up into a ball. Taehyung gently pet Jimin’s side and arm.

Jimin cried himself out. His lungs grew tired, and eventually the cries dwindled in capacity to snivels, and those slowly faded out into soft, steady breaths. Taehyung petted him through all of it.

Jimin sighed. “Please tell the doctors not to operate,” he said. “Go in on the day of my surgery and tell them I’m cancelling and to just leave me alone to die.”

“Jimin… don’t talk like that, please.”

“What’s the point?” Jimin asked. His heart felt strangely hollow. “What’s the point if I’m never going to have the love of my life?”

“I know it seems that way now,” Taehyung encouraged.

Jimin felt like something was left unsaid there. Something left misunderstood. Jimin sat up, and he could actually feel how puffy and red his face must have looked. He sniffled, and Taehyung fetched him a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Jimin thanked him and blew his nose.

Jimin balled the used tissue in his hands. “I just don’t see the point. I’m never going to be with my true love. I’d rather be dead than alone.”

“I know it feels that way now.”

“No you don’t.”

“Okay, not… in the same way you do.”

“To be honest, Taehyung, I never really know what you’re talking about.”

Despite everything, Taehyung laughed at that. It made Jimin smile, as a reflex.

“Do you want to take a nap?” Taehyung offered.

Jimin shrugged. “I don’t know. I might dream. I don’t want that right now.”

“Do you want to watch TV?”

“Not really.”

“Read a book?”

Jimin shook his head.

“Go online?”

Nah.

“I… don’t really know what else to offer…”

Jimin rested his head on the couch. The sun was setting beyond the curtain, covering his skin in a transparent sheet of gold. His eyes and nose had probably turned red from sobbing. He held himself together by the stitches of his sweater. He must have been quite the sight to behold, he thought with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Let’s just sit here a while.”

Taehyung leaned back on a pillow that was propped up on the arm of the couch. He blocked most of the light coming in, only allowing a slight wisp to float in past his head and linger over Jimin’s face. He sat, he stared. Jimin looked down at the couch, at nothing. He zoned out.

When his brain remembered it was awake in a sudden rush of clarity, he came to once more. He blinked and raised his head, realizing he had gotten a bit dizzy. Perhaps his cheeks were highlighted red now too.

Head tilted, Taehyung stared. Jimin laughed despite himself. “What?”

Taehyung said, “Just trying to remember this.”

“Remember what?”

Taehyung lifted his fingers to create a square with his thumbs and forefingers. “You, like this.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jimin’s lips. Jimin did not think he was actually a sight to behold. “What for?”

“Inspiration.”

“Am I often your muse?”

Taehyung tilted his head side to side; yes and no.

“You’ve drawn me before.”

Taehyung lowered his hands. His eyes were wide and deer-like. Culpable.

Jimin continued, “I saw the one you had in your notebook. I had a flower in my mouth.”

“Ah,” Taehyung said. Breathed. “That one… that was only a doodle.”

Jimin blinked. Hm. “So there are others?”

“What?”

“Others that are not just doodles?”

Taehyung swallowed. Hm.

“I draw people,” Taehyung said quickly. “You know. You’ve seen them.”

“I’ve only seen one other of me,” Jimin said. “A caricature. I looked like a peach.”

“One of my finest works,” Taehyung responded.

Jimin’s smile grew so his teeth just peaked through his lips. Taehyung’s smile fell as though his heart dropped.

“You do draw me,” Jimin said. He was touched. Taehyung noticed him, noticed Jimin’s things like his backpack and his yogurt, and cared about him. Jimin liked being a muse. He appreciated art enough to know it was a special thing to be a part of, especially Taehyung’s art, as Taehyung meant the world to him. “Can I see them?”

Taehyung’s eyes nervously darted around the room. “Uh… I’ll… look for them later.”

Taehyung shyly looked down, overgrown bangs curtaining his face.

Jimin’s smile held. “Draw me now.”

Taehyung raised his head. “Hm?”

He caught Taehyung’s eyes, and Taehyung seemed mesmerized, like Jimin had any sort of charisma or pull to him. Jimin said, “I’m your muse, right? You said you wanted to remember me like this. So make something to remember me by. Draw me.”

Taehyung swallowed. He nodded. He got up off the couch, tripping over his own floppy ankles while he stumbled to his desk for a sketchbook. He stumbled back over to the couch and fell to sit down again. He rested his back on the cushion propped up against the arm of the couch.

Jimin saw Taehyung’s hand was shaking. Jimin threw his hair back, draped his arm sensually and dramatically over his head. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Taehyung.”

At that Taehyung laughed, the tension shaken off his body as he did so. Jimin smiled proudly and lowered his arm to resume his original position. His arm was too tired for him to be sexy.

Taehyung gave him a few instructions – sweep your bangs to the side, lift your chin, cup your hands together. He then straightened up, put a pencil to the paper. He moved it in deft, messy (or maybe professionally effortless) strokes across the paper. Jimin dropped his head to rest on the couch and closed his eyes.

He did not know how much time had passed before Taehyung was shaking him awake. Jimin’s eyes fluttered open and he readjusted to his surroundings. He stretched. He discovered that Taehyung made tea, two steaming mugs of liquid on the table. They smelled sweet, like fruit, or candy, perhaps.

“Oh,” Jimin said. He took a mug. “Thank you.”

Taehyung picked up his sketchbook. He handed it nervously to Jimin.

Jimin carefully accepted it. He saw that Taehyung had drawn Jimin with his head resting against the couch, eyes closed, plush lips pouted. He had a bubble coming out of those lips that indicated he was sleeping. Jimin giggled at that. He also liked how Taehyung made his lazy clothes look even looser, softer, muted in grey. He drew over the pencil in black, light blue, peach, and pink pen.

“My hair is pink,” Jimin commented on the drawing. His hair colour was currently brown.

Taehyung shrugged. “It’s how I see you.”

Cute, Jimin supposed. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

Taehyung’s lips twitched at the corner, into something of a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he is.”

Jimin blushed. And Jimin’s heart began to pound. He flipped through the sketchbook, ignoring Taehyung’s inquires as to what he was doing, rapidly scanning each page for a sign before moving onto the next. Nothing seemed to be what he wanted to see.

Then something caught his eye. Taehyung had drawn a figure from the lips down. He drew a torso, collarbones prominent. At his chest he drew a heart in crimson and flowers pouring out of it, over the bony, line-work hand that was penciled in beneath the gore. It resembled the sketch Taehyung had drawn of Jimin before, but this one was eerily darker, messier, discomforting. He did not care to romanticize this one.

“Wow,” Jimin commented. “Is it me?”

“Sort of,” Taehyung replied. “It’s me.”

Jimin closed the book. He did not find what he was looking for, whatever that had been.

“That one is beautiful too, Taehyung.”

Taehyung gave Jimin a half-smile, shrugged. “Thank you.”

Jimin felt like he missed an opportunity.

The two made dinner, did some homework, and hung out before deciding to go to bed for the night. It was funny – every night literally was a slumber party now, not just in Jimin’s sappy metaphor for their friendship.

Jimin crawled under the blanket next to Taehyung as nighttime descended over Seoul. This time, he put his arm around Taehyung, cuddled him close.

Taehyung let out a breathy laugh. “You want to try being the big spoon tonight?”

“Mhm,” Jimin replied. “It’s time I return the favour.”

“You’re still the little spoon though.”

“Shush.”

“Even though you’re hugging me.”

“Be quiet. Go to sleep.”

“I like that.”

“Time for quiet.”

Taehyung held Jimin’s tiny hand. Jimin blushed. Taehyung really wanted to tease him tonight.

“Really, I love it.”

“Are you done embarrassing me?”

“Never. But I don’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Sure.”

Taehyung rolled over. Earnestly, he said, “It wasn’t an insult.”

Jimin smiled. He fell asleep smiling.

When Jimin woke up, there was a phantom of a smile on his lips, happiness instantly returning when he saw his boy sleeping across from him. Taehyung was puffy, his skin glossy from the collection of oil overnight, hair fluffy, the corner of his lips wet. He had his arms and legs wrapped around Jimin’s body. Jimin giggled. So much for being the big spoon for once, then.

Jimin wriggled his way out of Taehyung’s grasp, replacing his body with a pillow like he had learned to. Jimin used the bathroom, brushed his teeth. His plant was temperate lately, allowing him to go hours on end without throwing up. The white roses were warnings as opposed to weapons. He washed his face clean of dirt and oil and excess moisture. He then headed to the kitchen to make tea.

On his way, he passed Taehyung’s desk. He could not help but feel compelled to go closer and spare a glance at it. There was something so captivating about it. Jimin had always supported Taehyung’s passion, but lately… there was something. There was just something.

Jimin’s foot stepped on something near the desk. He bent down to retrieve it. He smiled at the purple pen – mauve, to be pretentious – and set it on the desk with the thousand others, all located around and about. Cherry red, charcoal black, yellow gold, orange sunset, sweat pea blues and pinks and periwinkles, mint green, heather grey, more pinks in baby and cotton candy and bubblegum…

Jimin lifted one of the many open sketchbooks. On the desk lay images of unidentifiable faces, of landscapes and the moon, all of different colours and materials and inspirations. Jimin looked at the image he held in his hand of a realistic human heart drawn in pink pencil crayon, traced in bubblegum pink pen to give the illusion it was still-beating and wet.

Jimin sighed. He wished he knew Taehyung’s heart. He wished he knew his own. There was a barrier between them made of thorn bushes that Jimin could not cut himself free of.

When did his love for Jungkook become such an ugly thing? He could hardly remember when it changed. The love that used to feel like a cloud under his heart now wrapped around his lungs and suffocated him. It was mangled and mutilated. It was all he could think about, all-encompassing and ruinous. It was so unfair. Sickness should never be allowed to touch beautiful things like life and love.

Jimin dropped the notebook onto the desk. A small plume of charcoal dust burst into the air and descended back down. A pen clattered onto the floor.

Jimin heard a deep inhale behind him. He turned around. Taehyung stirred, stretching, presumably waking up. Jimin waited for him to open his eyes. Taehyung did, eyelashes fluttering a few times, before he held his eyes open, and smiled. “Hey, Jimin.” He sat upright.

Subconsciously, Jimin’s head tilted to the side, fond. Taehyung still hugged the pillow that Jimin had slipped into his arms. His loose, cotton pajamas swaddled his form. He looked soft.

“Hey, baby,” Jimin responded.

Taehyung blinked, eyes opening wide. “What did you say?”

Jimin giggled. “What do you mean? I said hello to you.”

Taehyung blinked again, eyes drooping half-shut once more. “Ah, right. I thought I heard something else.”

Jimin’s smile held. Taehyung just shook his head as though Jimin has responded, and said, “Nevermind.” He got up to go to the bathroom. Jimin decided he would make drinks.

“Hey!” Jimin called. “Tea or hot chocolate?”

“Sugar,” Taehyung called back.

Jimin supposed that Taehyung just needed it to be sweet. He decided he could go for cocoa. He selected two mugs and carefully checked for paint residue in the bottoms, because Taehyung sometimes mixed up the paint and tea mugs by putting the odd one in the wrong side of the cupboard. He sat the two clean cups on the counter and filled the specialty drink machine.

He put two spoons on the counter, went to get the milk. He prepared the drink in the machine and waited until it cascaded down in silken ribbons into mugs. He smiled proudly at the creation – it was no Parisian masterpiece, but the drink-maker was good quality, purchased from Taehyung’s artist friend whose dad owned a coffee shop and was getting his equipment upgraded. Jimin pitched in some money to buy it. Jimin pondered how nearly everything they owned was both of theirs.

Taehyung appeared behind him and pulled his cup towards the edge of the counter. Jimin twirled around Taehyung’s body to get past him and returned with the hazelnut flavouring. They always liked their drinks really sweet. As Jimin moved to tend to his own cup, Taehyung stole the flavouring out of Jimin’s hand. Before Jimin could protest, Taehyung poured it into Jimin’s drink without a word, and handed it back. Jimin, with pink cheeks, thanked him for the gentlemanly action, and Taehyung sat himself on the counter.

Jimin stood next to him. He took a sip and licked chocolate off his upper lip. He coughed and tasted flowers, despite his greatest efforts to combat the flavour. It was futile. He gave up. He just resolved to enjoy his drink as a luxury as opposed to a detergent.

Taehyung swallowed after taking a large gulp and cleared his throat with an audible exhale. He smacked his lips at Jimin. “Good morning.”

Jimin smiled. He moved to stand in between Taehyung’s legs. “Morning.”

Taehyung swallowed again although no chocolate was left in his mouth.

Jimin took another sip of his own drink and then set it on the counter. He wrapped his arms around Taehyung’s waist.

Taehyung looked down, and Jimin looked up. Taehyung’s eyes were puffy and dark brown, his hair could be described the same, and his lips were a muted shade of natural, nude pink, along with his cheeks and nose. He was almost calico.

Taehyung was just really, really cute. Jimin was dying to know what that meant for him. Literally.

Jimin asked, “So, last night you said you draw pictures of me.”

Taehyung choked, but again, on nothing in his mouth. “Hm?”

“You know what you said,” Jimin smiled. “How come I’ve never seen them?”

Taehyung shrugged. Jimin pinched his waist. Taehyung flinched away, and with a sheepish smile, said, “Ah, isn’t it weird to show people that sort of thing?”

“Of course not!” Jimin said. “Are you shy about it?”

“Yes,” Taehyung mumbled.

“You shouldn’t be!” Jimin said. “I would love to see them.”

“No,” Taehyung shook his head. He brushed his thumb up and down the side of his mug. “I… I don’t think so.”

“Why would you say that?” Jimin asked. He pouted. “I love being your model.”

Taehyung gave a sort of breathless laugh. “You love the attention.”

“Of course!” Jimin said, eyes squishing into happy crescents as he smiled. What else was there to love?

Taehyung nodded, almost sadly, and looked back down.

Jimin asked, playfully, “Why are you so reluctant? Are they nude portraits of me?”

Taehyung gasped. “No! God, of course not.” The pink shade of his cheeks darkened. Cute.

Jimin gently pulled on his waist and asked again if he could please see them. Taehyung sighed and slipped off the counter. His body brushed against Jimin’s. Jimin felt something electrify him and it caused his heart to pound.

Taehyung sidestepped around Jimin like a crab. Jimin followed him out of the kitchen.

Notebooks spilled out from all areas of Taehyung’s living space like always – his backpack, his shelves, his tables. But Taehyung walked over to his nightstand where books sat stacked neatly in the open storage compartment. He took out a book that looked like an encyclopedia. When Taehyung opened it, Jimin discovered that was just a design, and it was in fact another sketchbook on the inside. Huh. He had never looked at that book twice before.

His Adam’s apple bobbed once in his throat and then Taehyung handed it over. Jimin eagerly snatched it and skipped over to the couch to sit. He wanted to enjoy this. He began flipping through pages. Taehyung uneasily sat down next to him.

These drawings were amazing. They featured various human subjects, but the most common subject was Jimin. Jimin, at every angle and in every light, every part of his face, down his neck and to his collarbones, like character study. Taehyung had two pages where he drew Jimin’s hands, shaded in peach and ballet slipper pink (or something like those, because the shading was done in markers, which Jimin did not see as often). Jimin giggled at that.

There was something incredibly haunting and intimate about looking into the eyes of the Jimin on paper. They were smudged by graphite, perfectly rounded at the inner corner and sharp at the edge, the shading must have been done against another sheet of paper to keep the area under the lash line clean. The sparkle in his iris shone perpetually.

“Wow,” Jimin commented. These were so realistic. Taehyung knew him well.

“You don’t have to keep looking…”

Jimin flipped another page, rapt.

“I could just burn them at any time. Just set them on fire and reduce them to ashes. Just say the word. And you never have to talk to me again either. We can go our separate ways, but I’ll always look back on us fondly and think, ‘Wow, Jimin was really great, and I was really creepy, and I ruined everything.’ And reminiscently, I’ll smile.”

The Jimin in the sketchbook was wearing a sweater three times too big for him. Taehyung drew the folds in the sweater perfectly where it bunched at his small hands, looking even smaller under the mass of fabric. It was so expertly replicated that Jimin thought he could feel the soft threads of the material if he reached out and touched it. Jimin just let Taehyung prattle on in the background.

“It was a study in size. You wore that sweater and, like… it was just good study material.”

Jimin noticed the pens in this book were only used for outlining. Taehyung coloured these all in carefully. Those pens were never meant to be used for colouring – they were fine-tipped, inky and bold. Jimin had no idea why Taehyung carried them around like necessities.

Jimin turned the page again. It elicited a quiet gasp.

The Jimin on this page was shirtless, stopping at the waist where Taehyung had drawn the band of a pair of boxers under a pair of sweatpants with the drawstrings undone. The dips of his body, the curves of his muscular figure, were drawn so expertly, and somehow so delicately that Jimin thought he was looking at a dream version of himself, too lovely and smudgy and soft around the edges to be him. Nevertheless, the drawing mimicked his form perfectly, in essence rather than technicalities. His face was drawn the same, realistic but sentimentally softer, eyes wide and permanently dark in black ink, staring at him from the page under his own eyelashes. His lips were full, parted, Cupid’s bow perfected by a fine-pointed pencil. His hair was parted down the middle and hanging slightly to the side as the Drawn Jimin tilted his head. The muscles in his neck and the bones at the top of his chest were defined. It was as though he was forever caught in a breath of air.

Taehyung said nothing at that.

Real Jimin sort of felt like he was caught in a breath too.

Taehyung knew him. Taehyung was intimately acquainted with the finer details of Jimin’s body. Not only that, but he romanticized them. Jimin was… stunned by the sheer amount of care sketched onto these pages.

He remembered the times Taehyung would catch his eyes, smile and look down. All the times Jimin barely registered that he had caught Taehyung staring. He remembered waking up in the morning and surprising Taehyung by finally looking back. He remembered how Taehyung drew his yogurt in the coffee shop.

Jimin commented, “You notice me…”

And he looked up for a moment. Taehyung met his gaze. He hung his head a little, drooping, like a guilty puppy. His eyes glimmered like gloss.

If Jimin ever thought that this level of attention to detail was just an artist thing, he could not think that anymore. Not with those eyes staring at him as if anticipating punishment.

Jimin looked back down to the book. He took the corner of the page in two fingers to flip it over. Taehyung suddenly gasped, as if remembering something, and his hand shot out to grab the book and hold the page down.

Startled, Jimin froze. Taehyung’s look was even guiltier, and urgent. Jimin let go of the book. Taehyung slowly pulled it towards him and closed the book, saving the page with his thumb.

He said, “I… I’m sorry.” He bit his lips together. He shook his head. “I didn’t… ah, it’s still so hard to say.”

Jimin reached out to grab Taehyung’s sleeve with the hope of steadying him, as Taehyung was swaying and avoiding eye contact and generally growing restless. And once Jimin’s hand was on Taehyung, he knew what he wanted. He wanted a hold on him.

Taehyung turned to face Jimin again. He swallowed past a lump in his throat.

Taehyung’s face was the most beautiful thing Jimin had ever seen. He knew that was a lame way of putting it. He had rose petals smothering the part of his brain in charge of poetry and all that lovey-dovey stuff. This was the best Jimin could do under his circumstances – Taehyung was beautiful.

“What?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung’s lip trembled. He faltered. “I… I… mm…”

Jimin’s hand moved to wrap around skin. He could almost feel the pulse pounding against the vein in Taehyung’s wrist.

“You…” Taehyung said. He sighed. “You.”

Jimin whispered, “Me?”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said. “I’m sorry, I love you, I didn’t want to ruin…”

Jimin pulled Taehyung close by his wrist, just enough so their lips could meet. Jimin kissed him.

Taehyung’s breath caught in his nose. He stayed frozen for a moment. Softly, Jimin broke the kiss.

Taehyung suddenly threw the sketchbook to the floor. He grabbed the back of Jimin’s head in one hand and cradled his face in the other, and pushed their lips together again, harder, wholehearted. It sent a startled jolt of energy through Jimin, and he fervently kissed back. He threw his arms around Taehyung’s waist as soon as the feeling return to them.

Jimin kissed him back until he felt woozy. He crawled onto Taehyung’s lap and straddled him.

They kissed for a moment longer, as long as it could last. Then they pulled apart. Jimin rested his forehead on Taehyung’s, eyes closed. After catching his breath – and Taehyung’s – Jimin fell to the couch to sit beside him.

Taehyung looked stunned. “Jimin… how? Did it work? Are you cured?”

Sadly, Jimin giggled. “No, I’m sorry. I’m still in love with Jungkook.”

Taehyung’s whole body fell. Jimin caught his face in the palm of his hand.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“I love you,” Jimin said. “I just don’t know it yet. I just can’t.”

Taehyung frowned. His eyes watered. Jimin brushed his thumb over Taehyung’s cheekbone with the selfish hope of placating him.

“Please don’t cry,” he said softly. “I never want to make you sad. Ever.”

“You’re my light,” Taehyung said. Jimin’s heart soared. “But I’ve been sad because of you for a long time.”

Jimin nodded. He accepted he was at fault. He dropped his head to rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jimin and hugged his body tight.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said. He had nothing else he could say.

After hesitating for a moment, Taehyung kissed Jimin’s hair. Taehyung seemed to relax after that, as though he dropped some tension he was carrying. “We’ll be okay.”

Jimin smiled, cheek squished against Taehyung’s chest.

On the floor, spilling out of Taehyung’s backpack, there was a book, one of many, inside which a heart was drawn in bubblegum pink bearing the initials KTH+PJM.

On the floor, lying face-down by the couch, there was a book, inside which a sketch drawn in black pencil crayon depicting the shadows of two lovers joined in a kiss.

The bubblegum heart bled.

-❀-

The blog colour was baby blue and the title read ‘Recover.’ simple and commanding. The blog consisted of motivational posts, diaries from this Ryan person – Jimin decided he would just use ‘he/him’ pronouns for Ryan – as well as music, and photos of things that Jimin supposed healed him. He was especially fond of the moon. He liked animals and nature and philosophers as well. He appreciated life. Although imposing and threatening, Jimin thought maybe the tone of the blog was misconstrued in his head. Maybe Ryan did just want to help. Jimin put his hand over the gnarled Jungkook in his chest that clung onto him like a frightened child.

Jimin scrolled through it. He winced at the advice. It was authoritative and definite. In every line present was the subtext ‘Get Better’. Ryan just wanted to help. He just would not leave Jimin with Jungkook alone to die. (Jimin imagined this would sound like guidance rather than dictatorship if Jimin’s mind was not twisted by the vines that wrapped around his heart.)

Jimin heard a bag zip up from somewhere beyond him. A backpack or a duffle, a suitcase perhaps. Jimin had left it up to Taehyung’s judgment.

Jimin continued scrolling through the blog. Ryan documented many of his feelings. He spoke about getting in touch with your spiritual self, about finding peace on that level of existence, about the need to love something spiritual in addition to physical beings. ‘If you only love what you can hold in your hands,’ he said, ‘you will always run the risk of losing what you have to live for. You need something grander than a human to fall into the arms of when you need support. You need to look to your own version of the moon and breathe her in, and keep moving forward.’

Taehyung dropped in to sit on the chair next to Jimin at the desk. Jimin acknowledged him in his own head. Taehyung did not mind. “What are you reading?”

Jimin tilted his head to welcome Taehyung into his space, to view the contents of the blog he was reading through.

Ryan said, ‘You must learn to love in concepts. You must love, for example, the concept of dogs, cats, crabs – not just your own pets. You must learn to love things you will never know completely or tangibly, such as nature, astrology, art. You must never give your whole heart to something – someone – that can forsake you. Your heart will be stronger when you love something greater than life.’

He came upon a picture of a pastel, powder blue and grey moon, shining in the digital pages of this person’s diary. It felt personal. Beloved. Jimin reached out to run his fingers over the screen, delicately, painstakingly so, as though attempting to pet a moth without hurting her scale wings. He lingered.

Jimin lurched forward and vomited pink rose petals all over the screen. The descended down onto the keyboard in a puddle akin to bubblegum ink. He should know by now not to touch. Not to attempt it.

‘Fall in love. Do not ever let yourself believe that there is nothing beyond loss. Never believe there is only one love for you. You have the whole universe at your fingertips. Fall in love forever with the eternal and untouchable. I know your person hurt you, but you have more love left to give than you know.’

Maybe Jimin would go back to therapy someday.

Taehyung dropped his head to rest on Jimin’s shoulder. “It’s almost time.”

It was almost time to die. Or recover. Whichever. The screen in front of him faded into a filmy blur as Jimin dropped his cheek into the palm of his hand. 

-❀-

Footsteps could be heard like pins dropping in the quiet hallway. There were people around – patients, doctors, nurses, but no one was very talkative. Jimin heard a telephone beep in the distance. The whoosh of a gurney. Clicking heels. His own soles hit the floor in time with Taehyung’s – tap, tap, tap, tap. He rolled his small suitcase behind him.

The two approached the receptionist’s desk in the Hanahaki wing. “Hello,” Taehyung said. “Park Jimin is scheduled for surgery in twelve hours. He was asked to stay the night.”

“Of course,” the lady at the desk began typing on her computer to prepare Jimin for his stay.

Jimin and Taehyung were escorted to the room in which Jimin would be staying. He was provided with a hospital gown, but was informed he could wear pajama pants for the night. Jimin smiled at the nurse. He coughed and swallowed down a pink rose petal.

The room was very… simple. It was white, sparsely decorated in pale pink and gold artwork. Perhaps he would describe it as dull. Lifeless. Perhaps it was beneficial for the room to be unexciting, but Jimin was not a medical professional, he had no idea. He sighed.

Taehyung placed a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin tensed. He tried to relax, he really did. Taehyung could usually encourage him to relax. But now his senses were overwhelmed by the presence of HOSPITAL all around him, in essence, and Taehyung’s touch was not enough to bring him out of his body and make the world fade away. Everything was too real. He could feel his own lungs.

Taehyung rubbed his shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, Jiminie.”

Jimin sniffled. Okay. He could believe Taehyung. He was not made Jimin’s consenter for nothing.

Jimin got changed in the en suite bathroom, and when he was done, quickly climbed into bed. He did not feel like putting on a peep show today – this outfit was flattering, but he had not worked out in weeks, not to mention he had not done a thing with his hair or makeup.

Taehyung sat in a chair next to him. Jimin awkwardly sat on the bed with his hands in his lap. He could not get comfortable with Taehyung lingering there like that.

“Come into bed,” Jimin gave a soft laugh. “You’re not visiting your old, sick grandpa.”

Taehyung scoffed. Slowly, overcautiously, he crawled his way into bed beside Jimin. Jimin grabbed Taehyung by his middle and pulled him down right next to him, into the curve of his body, giggling all the while. Taehyung laughed breathlessly as he plopped down.

Taehyung rolled over to face Jimin. Jimin smiled and brushed Taehyung’s hair behind his ear.

“You’re lovely,” Jimin commented. “How could I not have fallen for you?”

“You can’t help who you love,” Taehyung said. “Or who loves you.”

Jimin trailed his fingertips along Taehyung’s temple, down the bone of his jaw. He cupped Taehyung’s cheek in his palm.

Taehyung’s breath hitched. Jimin did that to him. Jimin wanted to love and be loved so bad it hurt his heart. It hurt his lungs.

Taehyung stayed until the nurses informed him visiting hours were over. Jimin assured them that Taehyung was family, but they insisted that Jimin get his rest.

“They’re right,” Taehyung stopped Jimin from arguing. Jimin sighed and closed his mouth. Taehyung’s lips pulled into a lopsided smile. He kissed Jimin on the forehead before heading out. “Sleep tight, Jiminie.”

How could he sleep at all without his teddy bear? Jimin had not slept on his lonesome for a while now.

Jimin ate a snack and got his fluids in before bed, as he would not be able to eat or drink properly again for a while before and after his surgery.

He received a small dose of medication to put him to sleep.

In the morning, Taehyung was already next to him, waiting. Jimin’s eyes squished into crescents as he smiled. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Taehyung raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Hey, sexy. Nice morning face.”

“You love it,” Jimin grumbled while stretching.

Taehyung giggled. “Maybe I do.”

Jimin sat upright. He ran his hand through his hair and fluffed it. “Don’t you have school?”

Taehyung shrugged. “It’s a big day for us. Besides, I have to give my consent. And I just want to be around… in case.”

Jimin blearily rubbed his sleep boogers out from his vision. His stomach turned. Maybe it was just Taehyung’s smile, but Jimin felt dizzy. His eyebrows furrowed.

“You okay?” Taehyung asked.

Jimin nodded. “Yeah, just,” he cleared his throat. “Bathroom.” He could not seem to take in enough air to get a full sentence out. “I just… need the bathroom.”

Taehyung nodded. He offered out his arms, and Jimin held onto him and pulled himself upright. He slipped on his hospital shoes. He saw stars in his vision as he stood up and collapsed into Taehyung’s hold.

“Jimin!” Taehyung yipped. “I’m getting the nurse.”

“No,” Jimin insisted, “no, no. Just help me to the bathroom, okay?”

“You look pale, Jimin,” Taehyung worried. “Your lips… your lips are not pink anymore. They’re almost purple.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin said. “I just have to pee. And I’m not afraid to do it on you.”

Reluctantly, Taehyung helped Jimin walk to the bathroom. “Kinky,” he commented, with all the natural humour that arose in conversations between them.

In the bathroom, Jimin dropped to his knees, struggling to catch his breath. He coughed, and coughed, and violently threw up rose petals into the toilet. He still could not totally catch his breath – he felt like he was being crushed from within. His lungs struggled against death. He used the toilet, washed his face and rinsed his mouth, and staggered back out. He fell into Taehyung’s arms.

“Carry me, fair prince,” Jimin said, because he felt like being royally pampered at the moment, and did not want to have to walk.

Taehyung did his best. He half-carried, half-dragged Jimin’s limp body back to bed, but he did his best, and they ended up at their destination, so, all was well.

Jimin’s body flopped down onto the mattress. He gave a short giggle, then coughed. He tried to hold his breath to calm his lungs. It just made him dizzier. He felt his heart rate slow. He was quieting.

“Jimin,” Taehyung lightly shook his body. “Jimin, just cough, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Jimin saw stars behind his eyes again. He swore he was going to fall back to sleep. He coughed, and his coughs increased in intensity until he spewed rose petals against his will, all down his chin and neck and pooling on his bed.

“No…” Jimin whined. “Nooo…”

Taehyung stared wide-eyed at the petals. They were red as blood, like the ones Jimin had thrown up in the toilet.

“Taehyung,” Jimin frantically grabbed Taehyung’s sleeve. He coughed again, coughed harder, and rose petals flew out of his lungs once more. He dropped backwards onto the bed.

“I’m getting help.” Taehyung attempted to stand.

Jimin held firmly onto Taehyung’s sleeve with the strength only adrenaline could offer him in his weakened state. “Taehyung please,” he begged. “Please, I still have two hours.”

“Two hours?!” Taehyung demanded. “Two hours for what?”

He still had two hours until surgery. He had two hours for Jungkook to love him back. There was still time. He had to wait. He had to hold out every possible second.

“For Jungkook.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s small hand in both of his own. His eyes were still wide and wild. “There is no point in waiting for Jungkook. You’re dying. I love you.” He kissed Jimin’s hand. “I love you. There’s no set amount of time you have left once you start growing red roses. You could die at any moment. I love you. I love you. Let go. It’s really time to let go.” He brought Jimin’s hand to his lips again and held it there. “Please.” He repeated, “I need you to live. I love you.”

But Jimin had to wait for Jungkook. Because there was a possibility, there was the slightest bit of hope left in the universe, that Jungkook might suddenly gasp and realize in a rush of clarity all he felt for Jimin and save him in this single instant. He hoped that if he just held on a little longer Jungkook would love him back. What if he got the surgery and missed his chance? He had to hold on.

And this is the nature of the disease. This is the nature of unrequited love. You hold on and you hold on and you hold onto hope that maybe if you keep holding on it will all be worth it in the end. You hold on because you do not want to let go only to realize you would have the love of your life if you just held on a second longer. You want to move on – you have been here for a lifetime, and you know it is time to let go. But what if you let go and you lose your shot? You hold on a second longer. Rinse and repeat.

Slowly, slowly, the pain gets worse. It bleeds you out, piece by piece, thorn after thorn puncturing your heart. It weakens you. And suddenly, just when you thought you could learn to live dying, you collapse.

This is what kills you.

“But Taehyung,” Jimin whispered. He wrapped his hand around Taehyung’s middle finger. “What if he loves me in an hour and fifty-eight minutes?”

Taehyung’s shoulders dropped as if weighed down. At that moment, a nurse entered.

“His heart rate is dropping,” she said. She noticed the roses. She called the doctor, stating this was officially an emergency. Jimin heard something about anesthesia.

“Taehyung,” Jimin cried. Tears turned his vision blurry. He was scared.

Taehyung cupped Jimin’s face. “It’s okay, Jimin.” He said. His voice was like a lullaby. “It’s okay.”

The next thing Jimin knew, he was awake in his hospital room, but something was different. The light coming in the window had moved along the wall.

His eyelashes fluttered against the glare of the sun as he adjusted his position. He turned his head slightly and saw red. He kicked at his mattress, gasped, struggled to move away.

The waves of red fell over a face as a woman in a white coat raised her head. The visceral reaction to the colour passed. Jimin settled down.

“Jimin,” the doctor with red hair said his name. She stepped to the side of the bed and blocked out the sun. “Hey, you’re awake. Do you remember moving here?”

Jimin blinked. “Uhm…” he thought he remembered being in a different room, but it was hazy. “A little? I thought it was a dream.”

“The anesthesia can have that side effect,” she said, “but just to let you know, you were cleared in the recovery room about two hours ago. You were moved here at 9:30 in the morning.”

“It’s almost noon?” Jimin asked. He cleared his throat – his mouth felt like cotton. The doctor offered him a cup of water that was sitting on the tray next to his bed – oh, he had not seen that. He drank a little. His stomach felt funny, so although he wanted to chug the water, he would not want to throw up. Hacking up flowers was bad enough, so he liked to reduce the need to actually vomit wherever possible.

…Oh. There were no more flowers. The realization hit him quickly, but lowered itself down on his chest slowly, compressing, pushing him down onto the mattress. He felt himself sink into it.

Jimin gave his water cup back to the doctor.

She smiled. “Yes, it is. You were out for around sixteen hours.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. He gasped. “I was asleep for sixteen hours?!”

The doctor’s smile was sympathetic. “Not totally. You were only under the effects of anesthesia for seven hours. I’m sure there are a few lapses in your memory, but we did talk before you went to sleep for the night. You were just super tired. You had a lot of sleep to catch up on, after all. I bet it was way nicer to sleep without waking up to cough, right?”

Jimin’s brain glugged like a wash machine on a spin cycle. His memories were sort of there, but drowned out. He remembered waking up in a different room, the recovery room perhaps. He woke up late at night, when no light came in through the window, to use the bathroom, but he did not quite remember if he did, just that he was in the general area. The fluorescent lights and pale decor looked the same everywhere he went. He did not remember where he felt asleep for the night, when, or if he even did. His eyelids felt heavy.

He realized he could breathe again. He could fall asleep right now without any hindrance. The thought made him sad.

The doctor asked Jimin if he remembered their talk about the side effects of anesthesia and what to expect in the coming days after surgery. Jimin did not remember. The doctor talked it through with him again.

“My name is Doctor Koh, in case you forgot.”

As she sat on the edge of Jimin’s hospital bed and spoke to him, Jimin could not help but take her in. This was the woman who saved his life. She was pretty. Her hair was pretty. Her hands were clean. She seemed nice. And Jimin could feel something had changed in his heart – he did not feel any resentment towards her. He was cured. He felt so, profoundly sad.

She asked Jimin if he understood. Jimin nodded. Taehyung probably knew better than he did what was going on with him. Taehyung was really good about that. Jimin closed his eyes to send her off.

“Before you conk out again, sleepyhead,” the doctor continued, “a visitor has been waiting to see you. I’m sending him in now.”

Jimin’s eyes fluttered open again. The doctor waved, and naturally, Jimin waved back. The doctor smiled fondly, tied her hair up, and walked out of the room.

Taehyung walked in a few seconds later, forcibly tentative. He looked to be tip-toeing. For Taehyung it just looked weird, like some cartoonish, pink panther mimicry of a graceful trot. Jimin gave short laugh. Taehyung wore a huge, dorky smile that grew as he approached Jimin’s bedside.

“Hey,” he whispered. Jimin knew he was sharing this room, but come on, Taehyung did not have to treat this place like the quiet zone in the library. If these people were all as doped up on sedatives as Jimin was, he wished Taehyung good fucking luck waking them up.

Jimin wished he was still asleep.

Taehyung reached out his hand. Jimin did not prompt him. He did not want to be treated like glass.

Taehyung eventually placed his hand on Jimin’s cheek. Jimin let out a long sigh.

Taehyung brushed his thumb over Jimin’s cheek and then let his hand fall. “Hey,” he said again. “How are you?”

Jimin breathed. It was still so weird he could do that again. It was like forgetting how beautiful it was to breathe with two nostrils at a time while you were sick, only to feel the complete rush of air through your nose come recovery. He tilted his head noncommittally. He looked at his hands.

Taehyung asked, “Do you feel better?”

He finally caved into himself. Jimin dropped his head into his hands and cried. He sobbed Jungkook’s name.

In the background, he heard a nurse say, “Just let it happen,” and judging by her hushed tone, Jimin guessed that was meant for Taehyung, sotto voce. “He needs to go through this.”

Jimin’s sobbing tired him out completely, and he fell asleep.

-❀-

With care, Jimin re-hung up Taehyung’s giant canvas, the one that bore his copy of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms. Taehyung handled one side, Jimin the other. When they were done, Jimin stepped back to admire it. The vivid blue illuminated the whole room. Jimin breathed in deeply, exhaled. The whole room seemed fresher.

It was truly beautiful. Taehyung was an amazing artist. Jimin had said it so many times it sounded redundant and tired in his head. He smiled at Taehyung and hoped Taehyung knew.

Taehyung looked back at him. “What?”

Jimin thought of a different way to say it. He wanted to express himself properly, now that he could. “I love your mind,” he said. “I love your heart. I love your soul.”

It was Taehyung’s love of art that had saved him from investing his whole heart in someone who was too pitiful to love him back. Jimin did not mind sharing space with it in Taehyung’s chest. Jimin welcomed it.

Taehyung’s eyes scrunched up into crescents and watered, glossy and pink. Jimin thought he might have been tearing up too just from the sight of it. Taehyung said, “I love yours too. Your dancing… it’s beautiful. I think you made me love dance.”

Jimin asked, “I did?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung smiled. “I’ll probably never understand it, but because you like it, I can see now… it’s beautiful.”

Jimin had to be tearing up now.

Taehyung concluded, “You’re beautiful.”

Jimin scoffed, his throat tight around the suppressed tears. “You only love me for my body.”

A sudden and jerky laugh escaped Taehyung’s lungs. He opened his arms. “Maybe. I do love your hugs.”

Jimin scoffed again, more genuinely this time. Jimin stretched his arms out, a small wave rolling through him like the placid sea, gave Taehyung a look, and did three spins right into Taehyung’s embrace. Taehyung caught him with an ‘oof’ sound and hugged him tight. Jimin hugged back, giggling almost breathlessly, although he had not exerted himself in his little demonstration at all.

“Amazing,” Taehyung complimented. The praise raced through Jimin like sugar or adrenaline, right down to his toes.

Jimin noticed he was standing on something. He wiggled out of Taehyung’s embrace just enough to bend down and pull the obstruction out from beneath his foot.

He held a gel pen, Ripe Strawberry, in his hand.

And Jimin finally realized what the long unasked question was that he had never considered in the forefront of his mind. He would not have been able to understand before, anyway. It had to be now.

“Taehyung,” Jimin started, “why do you use these so often?”

Taehyung replied, “Because they’re important to me.”

“Why?” Jimin asked. “They’re not a very practical medium.”

Taehyung’s lips tugged up higher at one corner. “Because they’re from you.”

Jimin felt butterflies under his heart. He was floating on a cloud.

Jimin dropped his head on Taehyung’s chest and listened to his heart. “Ah, like watching a movie for an actor.”

Taehyung laughed. “Fine. Like that.”

They had both been in love for a long time, but Taehyung had been aware he was in love for longer. Jimin had really needed to catch up.

He lifted his head to place a kiss on Taehyung’s lips. Taehyung kissed back, hands awkwardly searching for a place to hold Jimin’s body. Jimin guided Taehyung’s hands down to his hips.

“Hold me, idiot,” he said, “if you like my ‘hugs’ so much.”

Taehyung squeezed Jimin’s ass. Jimin, surprised, literally made an abrupt peep! sound, like a chick. Taehyung laughed, boxy and bright.

Jimin laughed as well. He grabbed Taehyung’s hands and laced their fingers together. Taehyung lost his sexy touch privileges – for now, until Jimin got needy again.

Oh! Speaking of Jimin’s body, that reminded him…

“Hey,” Jimin asked, “did you really never draw any naked pictures of me? Be honest.”

Taehyung gasped again, scandalized as before. “Jimin! Of course not. I just didn’t want you to see the drawing of us kissing, I wanted to tell you myself. I’m not like that.”

Taehyung was a good person. Although he appreciated that, Jimin gave a wistful sigh. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you want to?”

Taehyung froze. Jimin smiled at him.

Taehyung stuttered, “I—I mean… I could be like that, if you want…”

Jimin laughed. Taehyung gave a breathy wheeze possibly meant to be a laugh. Jimin fell into Taehyung’s arms. Taehyung caught him. Then Jimin found his footing, grabbed Taehyung’s sleeves, and pulled him to the couch.

-❀-

He stood out on the balcony of Yugyeom’s apartment to get some fresh air. Wind swept his hair in all directions. It was a cold night. It was a beautiful night.

He heard the sliding door swoosh shut. A body stepped next to him, exhaling with a shiver. Jungkook cuddled his arms to keep warm. “Hey,” Jungkook smiled. “Thanks for coming over to hang out with me and Yugyeom. I really missed you.”

Jimin sighed. He nodded. He never had told Jungkook what happened a month ago, just that he got better.

“I missed you too,” Jimin smiled.

Jungkook sidled up next to him. Jimin felt warmth rush through him. It felt more like swallowing a fresh baked cookie than exploding into stardust. Jimin did not know if he would like this new, sweet feeling if he did not miss the old, destructive one so much.

“The lights are pretty,” Jungkook commented.

They looked out onto Seoul together. Jimin basked in all the lights – the fluorescent and the stars, all for Jungkook. All illuminating Jungkook on his personal stage.

“It was your fault,” Jimin said.

Jungkook turned to him, smile falling.

Jimin nodded, looked forward. “I had the Hanahaki disease. I loved you. I loved you more than life.”

For a long time, Jungkook said nothing. Neither did Jimin. Finally, Jimin looked at Jungkook to break the monotony of the still moment.

Jungkook had water in his eyes, tear ducts red. Jimin immediately grabbed Jungkook and wrapped him up in a hug. Jungkook hugged back.

Jungkook whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And Jimin breathed – he breathed for the first time since the surgery, actually. He exhaled. He had needed to hear those words.

Jimin forgave him.

There is only healing in moving on. It hurts – oh, it hurts, more so than death. But it is necessary. It was time to let go.

I loved you.

Jimin let go.

EPILOUGE

The end of class stirred the students into an uproar of chairs moving and bags brushing over shoulders. A pitter-patter of footsteps carried Jimin along with the group.

“Jimin!”

Jimin stopped when he heard the voice, bumping gently into a fellow classmate. Jimin apologized and jogged to the TA’s desk, the source of the voice.

“Jimin!” Seokjin cheered with a smile. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“You can tell?” Jimin replied, giving him a smile, a genuine one, in return. “Thank you.”

Seokjin nodded, then shooed him away with a flip of his hand. Jimin laughed, hiked his backpack up onto his shoulder. He jogged out of class, hopefully to catch Jungkook before they were too far across campus from one another to bug each other.

On his way out, he bumped into someone heading in. Jimin placed a hand on the boy’s bumped shoulder.

“Sorry!” Jimin apologized.

The boy walking in gave Jimin a dimpled smile. There was something about his eyes, and the style of his purple hair, that felt familiar. He wore headphones that rested slightly askew on his collarbones.

“No worries,” the boy said, and there was something in his voice that resonated in Jimin’s mind like an echo. “You’re Seokjin’s student?”

“Yeah,” Jimin said. “Park Jimin.”

“Kim Namjoon,” the other boy said. “I’ll see you around.”

They bowed to each other, and then Namjoon entered the classroom. Jimin heard Seokjin yell something about a song. Jimin thought he felt something shift in the room when Namjoon entered, something between Seokjin and Namjoon. Something yellow-tinted. Intangible.

Jimin headed to dance club.