Jimin's Pet • PJM

Thirteen

Jimin woke from sleep, his forehead damp with sweat, his body tangled in the thin cotton sheet as it twisted around his legs. He kicked until he could free himself and sat up his hand pressing against his chest, his heart thundered against his palm. He knew he'd been dreaming, but the more seconds that passed the farther the dream pulled away. Something yellow, a metal charm, was it curved somehow? Damn it, he thought miserably, he couldn't hold onto the memory and then it was gone.

He turned looking behind him as Tae still slept, his limbs wrapped around a pillow, his breathing relaxed. Jimin felt a softness for him but at the same exact time there was also the emotion of mistrust. He couldn't put a definitive name to why he felt that way, he just knew with his gut things weren't what they seemed.

Everyone seemed to dance around him like choreography, and he knew they were all trained skillfully in that art. The problem was he always seemed slightly out of step. How could he, one of the strongest dancers, fail to keep up? Was he supposed to believe that?

As his heart calmed, relegating itself back to a slower pace, Jimin stood. He felt like he'd done nothing but lay in bed for weeks. He wasn't used to being so inert. His normal days had been full of dance practices and studio time. He'd worked out, spent time with friends, had parties and hung out. His calendar was never ending with social engagements, interviews, meetings and plans for the future.

No one felt like doing any of that anymore, himself included. In the very least what was the point of doing any BTS business? The group was missing its center, the very life and soul of BTS torn out of it. Could they go on as six? Certainly lots of groups lost a member for any number of reasons and continued. The question was, did they want to?

Namjoon didn't. Jimin thought their usually invariable leader felt personally responsible for Jungkook's death, saying he should have known the kid was in no mindset to drive. Jimin could understand that Joon had been closer to the maknae than anyone, they all understood that the fissure was greater in his life. The problem was not even Sujin could talk him off the ledge most of the time, so everyone just said nothing.

Jin was a ghost, never showed up anywhere, didn't answer his phone. It seemed only Tae could draw him out, which triggered Jimin, he just couldn't nail down why. There was something resentful that built up in him every time Tae said he was swinging by Jin's house or mentioned he'd spent the afternoon there. It wasn't that he didn't want Jin to be comforted, of course he did, so why was he irritated?

Yoongi and Hobi weren't much better, but at least they'd leaned on each other. Yoongi wasn't writing, he couldn't remember a time he hadn't seen his hyung with a notebook or humming a beat stuck in his head. Hobi seemed a shell of himself, his eyes vacant in a way that he'd not seen since Jjille's death.

Jimin guessed he and Tae had an advantage like the two of them, togetherness and cohesiveness that Jin and Namjoon lacked. Before he would have suggested they spend time together, find closeness again. The problem was if they all gathered it would be blatantly obvious that someone was missing.

Jimin stood and stretched, his back and joints popping with the effort, he didn't think he could go back to sleep. The time on his phone when he brushed a finger across the screen said three in the morning. He paced toward the closet and found himself in the bathroom. Why did every room feel familiar but unrecognizable all at once? All the bottles lined up along the sink were not positioned correctly, Tae's feeling out of place.

He shook his head reaching into the shower to turn it on, he had to get control of himself. This suspicion of Tae had gone too far, his boyfriend had been nothing but loving and supportive the entire time since he'd woken up. If he was a bit jumpy that could be understandable, they'd all gone through so much a reasonable explanation.