Beyond Repair (Min Yoongi)

39. Responsibility

A styrofoam cup of coffee, prepared just the way he liked it, was nestled between Seokjin's hands. He didn't know why he was still holding it; it had long since gone cold and he hadn't taken more than one or two small sips. He guessed he just liked having something to hold onto, something that wasn't going to need anything from him. Cold coffee didn't need to be held. It didn't need to be comforted, either. It didn't need a role model and it wouldn't look to him for guidance. It wouldn't ask him terrifying, devastating questions he didn't know the answers to or make him think about soul-shattering possibilities. Cold coffee didn't rely on Seokjin to make it feel safe or sane, it just existed.

And, sure, he had neglected to fulfil the coffee's sole purpose—despite how wonderful the caffeine sounded right now, his stomach was churning and he didn't particularly fancy the idea of throwing up on the coffee table in front of him—but he didn't have to feel guilty about it. The coffee wasn't his responsibility. He didn't have to do anything for it.

For now, he could just...be.

Somewhere nearby, there was a television playing a random reality show that Seokjin wasn't paying any attention to. Although he welcomed the background noise—it helped to drown out the screaming in his head—he was too focused on the miniature aquarium embedded in the wall next to him to care about what the contestants' next challenges would be on Running Man.

The light at the top of the fish tank was bright blue, casting everything beneath it in an unnatural neon glow, but the fish didn't seem to mind. There were dozens of different species, peacefully swimming around in the too-blue water. In the back of his mind, Seokjin thought some of these fish shouldn't be in the same tank, at all, because there was no way they'd all live in the same part of the ocean in real life, but once again, the fish seemed unbothered. They just swam, coexisting despite nature's laws, living in their artificial reefs and plastic seaweed without a care in the world.

And Seokjin knew it was stupid to envy fish, of all creatures, but he couldn't help but harbour a tiny bit of resentment towards them for the blitheness of their lives. It was strange, he thought, to have pet fish in a hospital. The tiny creatures lived blissfully unaware of the tragedies that occurred on the other side of the double doors just beyond their eight-hundred-litre tank. Then again, that might be what was so hypnotic about them. They weren't worried about whether their loved ones would survive sickness, injury, or life-altering surgery. All they cared about was lazily chasing each other around the tank and diving to the bottom in search of any food pellets that may have sunk down to join the fluorescent green and yellow gravel last time they'd been fed.

"Hey," Jungkook suddenly said, interrupting Seokjin's thoughts. He could have been talking to anyone, so Seokjin ignored the boy until he gently nudged Seokjin's shoulder. "Jinnie."

After gathering all his mental strength to deal with whatever Jungkook needed him for, Seokjin managed to tear his gaze away from the fish tank. He didn't say a word—he didn't feel like he could—but he let Jungkook know he had his full attention by turning his head and looking him in the eyes.

"Were you listening?" Jungkook asked.

Seokjin put his cup down on the coffee table in front of him and shook his head. "No, sorry. What were you saying?"

"It's not me, Namjoon. He wants to talk to us."

"Oh." Seokjin looked around and saw that almost everyone had gathered in the neighbouring seats, facing Namjoon, who was standing towards the middle of the room. Taehyung was trying to wake Hoseok from another nap without scaring him. Jimin was curled into the foetal position on one of the armchairs, his legs tucked up into his oversized hoodie. He seemed to be using his neck brace as a sort of travel pillow, letting it entirely support his head, and he was tuning out the world around him with a pair of earbuds, his eyes closed. He looked almost peaceful, though Seokjin knew it wasn't true.