withering leaves ❁ yoonmin

XXII

.

What would Yoongi expect when he got to Jimin's room? A surprise party waiting for him with confetti and a cake to congratulate him? A perfectly fine Jimin holding an April Fools! banner above his head, his cheeks full and rosy once more, his smile genuine and not forced?

That'll be the day.

Because as much as Yoongi wanted to believe it wasn't true and that he was dreaming, he knew it wasn't. As much as the whole thing seemed like some surreal nightmare, Yoongi knew it was real life.

Because there was Jimin, a tube down his throat to breathe for him. Multiple wires running in and out and all around him into various machines that were keeping him alive.

For how pale and fragile Jimin looked, Yoongi was surprised he wasn't dead yet. He had lost so much weight in such a short period of time; just yesterday he seemed perfectly fine (albeit a little tired and thin). The doctors told him it was because of the Soulmate Shock. Jimin's body had given up.

Of course, Yoongi wanted to laugh. To scoff in their faces and wait for Jimin to wake up. Because in the nearly three years that Yoongi had known Jimin, he had never given up. Yoongi would stay holed up in his studio, perfecting all of his compositions while Jimin would stay in one of the practice rooms, improving his technique.

Jimin was naturally gifted in dance. Contemporary, ballet, and hip-hop... but sometimes, his contemporary training got in the way of the popping he was trying to learn in dance class. Sometimes, the movements came out too graceful and smooth for the style. Sometimes it was almost perfect. But almost perfect isn't good enough for Park Jimin.

There were times that Yoongi would give in before Jimin did. When his mind was too muddled to think properly and his eyes were blurred from staring at the computer screen too long. He would pass by the empty practice rooms on the way out, always stopping at the one where Bangtan would practice. Sometimes the lights were already out and the building was silent. But most of the time, that very room was filled with fluorescent light. American hip-hop music would be blasting through the speakers, filling the building with sound all night. And in those three silent seconds between the end of one song and the beginning of the next song, only Jimin's heavy breath and silent criticism filled the room.

Jimin never gave up, not on dancing, not on singing; why would he give up on living?

"You really know how to make all of us worry, don't you?" Yoongi said before he could stop himself. he immediately winced. It wasn't Jimin's fault that Yoongi was too stupid to see the light.

The signs were pretty obvious. Yoongi, a self-proclaimed genius, should have been able to figure it out. But the one time it really mattered, Yoongi wasn't able to understand. Why did Yoongi's best attributes-his only attributes-fail him when he needed them the most?

"You're my soulmate."

Wow, Yoongi-yah, great way to state the obvious. I couldn't tell! Could you? I don't think anyone else could've-

"I'm in love with you."

The single revelation cut through his own thoughts and he surprised himself. Yoongi was a very straightforward person, but never with his own feelings. He tended to keep his feeling hidden until they exploded and revealed themselves, much like now.

The statement didn't do much. Jimin was dying. It wasn't like some stupid love confession would raise him from the dead.

Yoongi found himself seated by Jimin's side, in a terribly uncomfortable plastic chair that all hospitals seemed to own in bulk. He laced the fingers of his hand with one of Jimin's the bandages around Yoongi's wrist a strange contrast to Jimin's IV line and hospital wristband. Jimin looked so fragile. What happened to the Jimin from their debut date, full of life and happiness and charisma? All that was left here was a sack of bones with a hollow face reminiscent of Jimin.