Ink Whisper ~ [jikook] ✓

66

A/n:
the panic, yall
it's real

PS - I will not be touching on depression and angsty subjects too deeply, because I just don't want to. it's real and it's there and people deal with that kind of pain every day, but we will not be getting into it too deeply. I respect the people that struggle and are hurt, and by no means do I want to hurt any of you.

with that kept in mind,

⚠️ Trigger: self-harm

- ° ° • . __ . • ° ° -

The next couple of weeks went by in a mist of sorrow.

Jimin didn't feel attached to anything that happened around him. He missed appointments with his doctor, missed the calls from his dad and ignored the few friends that came over to check on him. It wasn't like they'd done something bad to him, no. It was just that he didn't care.

The loss of his child was gnawing at him, hurting him, stabbing him without a knife hundreds of times a day, reminding him that his body wasn't strong enough, that he wasn't strong enough to carry the baby and deliver it like he was supposed to. At least that's what the doctors had told him before they discharge Jimin from the hospital - that his organism was not made to carry a human for nine months and there was nothing he could do about it.

He hated himself some days. Looked in the mirror and wished he was someone else. Someone stronger and healthier. Someone who could make all his dreams come true. Right now he was anything but.

The only salvation came in the form of a soft voice. It soothed him when the pain got too unbearable, it helped him sleep when the nightmares crept too close, it whispered how much Jimin was loved and cherished, how everything would be okay one day. It reminded him every day that he was not alone with his sorrow, that he had people who cared and people who wanted him to get better.

He wanted to get better, too. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew that being like this was not healthy for him.

"Minnie," came the soft, soft voice again.

Jimin looked up. Noticing the worried brow, the pleading eyes and bitten-down lips. He leaned into the touch, seeking out the warmth which could help him calm down.

"How are you this calm?" he asked, his own voice so weak it was almost mute. His lips started to tremble, a known sign for them both that he was about to cry. "How can you keep living like nothing happened?"

The hands that wrapped around him became tighter, rougher even. The soothing voice lowered its tone, shook as it answered. "I'm not, my love. I'm not calm," it whispered.

"It hurts so much."

"I know, Minnie," the tattooed palm gently brushed through his blonde hair, soothed the unruly curls and cradled his face closer. "It hurts me, too."

Jimin's small fingers came to grab the shirt his face was buried in. He clung to the material, inhaling the soothing scent and crying in relief that he at least had someone to lean on.

"Please, don't leave me."

"Never."

It was days like that that he felt the calmest. The days when the owner of the voice did not leave his side, fed him and hugged him.

Slowly, they tried to heal. Each coped with the loss in their own way, but at the end of the day, they both came together and soothed each other. Jimin was grateful that the voice never left. That it grounded him, gave him purpose and stability. Understood him and the loss that was crushing him.