Beyond Repair (Min Yoongi) [UPDATED]

13. One Moment At A Time

Jimin watched Yoongi in the hospital just as attentively as he had done every waking moment at home since Yoongi first fell ill. He watched through the tears in his eyes the way Yoongi's chest rose and fell with each slow, shallow breath. He watched Yoongi's eyes flit back and forth behind his eyelids, watched how his fingers twitched as if searching for something to hold onto.

Yoongi was still deathly pale, his slight frame swimming in a hospital gown that only served to make him look that much smaller, that much more vulnerable. His face was still dotted with burst blood vessels. Wires attached to the electrodes stuck all over him snaked out of the neck of the gown, hooking him up to all manner of medical machinery, and he had an IV needle in the crook of his arm. There was a plastic mask over his nose and mouth, releasing puffs of oxygen every few seconds to help him breathe.

But despite how fragile he looked, his expression was more peaceful than Jimin had seen in days.

Jimin sighed, shaking his head at himself. How sad was it that one of the loves of his life had come to the brink of death, and the only thing Jimin could think about was that now, his boyfriend might finally get some adequate rest?

It was silent in the room, save for the occasional clicks, beeps, and dings from various machines to let the room know that Yoongi was, indeed, still alive. Jimin knew the silence would probably disappear once the others arrived, but for the time being, he basked in it. He could use a little peace and quiet; he needed to clear his head. He took several deep, shaky breaths, willing himself not to cry.

Deciding that some fresh air would do him good, Jimin stood up and made his way over to the window on the opposite side of Yoongi's bed. He lifted the blinds and cranked the window open. It only opened a few inches (they were on the fourth floor, after all), but it was enough to let a cold breeze in.

Unfortunately, one couldn't open a window in the middle of Seoul without letting in an orchestra of city sounds. Sirens echoing between buildings, car engines revving, horns blaring, planes roaring overhead, nocturnal birds waking up to trill their eerie harmonies, insects screeching in the twilight—all put together, paired with sleep deprivation and pre-existing stress, Jimin was soon faced with sensory overload. He tried to ignore the noise, to focus on the feeling of the wind on his face, but ultimately, he decided the fresh air wasn't worth the oncoming migraine.

After closing the window, he sank back into he chair at Yoongi's bedside and covered his face with his hands.

The door opened. Jimin barely paid attention to the five sets of footsteps entering the room.

His boyfriends pulled up chairs to sit around Yoongi's bed. There weren't enough chairs for all of them, so Taehyung perched on Namjoon's lap and Jungkook draped himself across Hoseok's. Someone said something that Jimin didn't hear, and he didn't care.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wound around his shoulders from behind. It didn't take him long to identify Seokjin, who started rubbing Jimin's chest in a soothing gesture that brought more comfort than he would have liked to admit.

"Talk to me, baby," Seokjin whispered, resting his chin on Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin took a shuddering breath, reaching up to grasp Seokjin's wrists—not to push him away but to pull his arms tighter around himself. "If, uh, if there's no improvement by tomorrow, they're putting him in a medically-induced coma," Jimin started, but Seokjin cut him off.

"I know. One of his nurses caught us in the hall and explained everything before we came in. I meant, talk to me about you. How are you holding up?"

"Me? I'm fine." And he was fine. He had to be.