↝ are you sure you don't have any childhood grudge against sug-
shut the fuck up and just take the order, latte boy ↜
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| where min yoongi seems to prefer extra black americano, but the red-haired barista is de...
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With his heart in clutched in his palms, Seokjin dashes up the stairs to the fourth floor, as pointed out by the occupied nurse at the reception, only to come face to face with an empty hallway and a hunched Namjoon on a bench. Namjoon looks up at him as soon as he stops to catch to his breath, his hand latched on to the nearest pillar for support.
"Hyung—"
"Where's Yoongi?" His words sound harsh against the cold hallway air, his breath pillow out in puffs of white under the stark bright tube lights.
"The doctor who attended took him inside and said they needed to get some things done. He was bleeding a lot." Namjoon shuffles closer to him, and offers a hand, as if for Seokjin to switch out the pillar with it.
"What was Yoongi doing in your office?" It is then Seokjin notices Namjoon's red-rimmed eyes, a clear sign he had been crying moments before he had stumbled into the picture. "What the fuck happened?"
"He came to apologize."
"He came to what?"
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It feels utterly unreal and absolutely feasible at the same time that Kim Namjoon is sobbing on his shoulder while he pats his brown hair down. It hadn't actually ever happened before: maybe because the Fates weren't as cruel as now to have had taken away Namjoon's shoulder to cry on.
"I am so sor-sorry," the boy hiccups against Jin's pink woolen coat sleeve and the elder continues what he always does the best: consoling another lost soul. More often than not, Jin wonders if he would have been more financially secure if he had indeed listened to his grandma, studied psychology like his father and started his career as one instead of opting for a tattoo parlor. Well, twenty-two year olds always have the greatest sense of the world with the poorest compass, according to his grandfather. But this happens to be a thought for another time; right now, Namjoon needs his reassurances more than his future self.
"Joon-ah, he'll be fine." Jin tightens his hold around the brunette's shoulders and continues focusing on the harsh, sanitary odor in the hallway instead of letting himself think too much about the fact that his best friend happens to be inside the ominous room right across their cold, steel bench. "Don't beat yourself up for something you had no control over." He honestly wishes he could believe his own words, but only to no avail.
"No, it is my fault, hyung," he insists as he wipes his damp cheeks against the pink coat, regretting belatedly as he realizes he may or may not have wiped his snotty nose there, "I could've pulled him back but I didn't, I was... I was just so shocked when," hiccup, "when he slipped, fuck hyung, he is probably dead inside that damned roo-," sniffle, "room because I couldn't reach out and pull him bac-"
Jin shushes him with the inside of his palm. He looks into the younger's eyes and understands the pain that swims within the depths, for he too had undergone similar frustrations when his telephone had rung at two in the morning to tell him that Yoongi was to be sent away for apparent treatment. God, how he wishes he could turn back time and set everything right, just the way things should be, so Yoongi and Namjoon hadn't been separated and there wouldn't be any apprehensive trips to the hospital pods for him.
