Soul Mates | Jinkook ✓

20.0

Finding Jin hadn't been that difficult once they knew where to look. No, what had made it so difficult was seeing a human being that broken.

It had been absolutely freezing, the temperature near zero with snow falling rapidly from the sky when they had entered the old factory, slipping and sliding the whole way on patches of ice barely visible in the dark. They whispered to the first person they came across, asking if they knew Jin, only to be pointed to the pathetic bundle in the corner.

He hadn't even responded when they had spoken to him. Told him who they were and who had sent them. Had only nodded his head slightly in agreement when asked if it was alright for them to help him. Luckily he had at least moved on his own, limbs stiff and with a defined limp to the left. There was ice forming in his shaggy, over grown blond hair, crystal sticking to his lashes and the clothing he wore.

His lips were blue. That was the one thing Jimin would always remember. That his fucking lips were blue and the bandage he wore around his wrist was filthy.

The most either of them got those first few days were a nod, and they would often wonder if there was anyone left inside or if they were speaking to an empty shell.

Jin hadn't bothered to change out of the ruined hoodie and ripped pants, stains even more prominent now. His entire body shook as they made their way back out to the road - yet somehow he led them down a path that helped them avoid every single patch of ice.

There had been tears as Jimin had stripped him out of the filthy clothing, both of their eyes shining but neither of them saying a word. The water had been blissfully warm as he was lowered into the bath, Jimin's gentle hands moving through his hair, taking care to get all of the dirt and oil. They scrubbed so softly at his skin until it was clean and the water was dark.

Clean and dry and warm, dressed in a set of Taehyung's pajama's, Jimin had attempted to treat he wound on his wrist, only to find that it was already horribly infected, leaking a terrible green pus that he was sure couldn't be healthy. Still he wiped it gently, whispered hurried apologies when Jin whimpered at the alcohol. Swiped ointment over it and re-wrapped it, securing it tightly.

It took weeks and a round of antibiotics to contain and cure the infection. It almost entered his blood stream, but they were able to stop it just in time. Just like before, none of the wounds left a scar, the thick black letters remaining as untouched and perfect as they always been. The skin surrounding them was a destroyed mess, a map of red, raised lines that would forever be a reminder of his past.

For the first six months he stayed with them. They had an extra room and they were both going to be absolutely damned if they sent him back to live on the streets. Taehyung had helped him to find a better job working in a bookstore. Jimin had gotten him to enroll in some community college courses. Together they had taken him to Namjoon, who despite proclaiming that it would be a conflict of interest, agreed to take Jin on as in his free time. Free of charge.

The three of them had surprised him with a down payment for his own place on his birthday. He'd cried and hugged all of them so tightly he was certain he'd broken ribs. It was tiny, nothing more than a little one bedroom - exactly like Jungkook's, an irony which wasn't entirely lost on him.

None of his things were as nice or pretty or perfect. All of his furniture had been discarded gifts from Jimin and Taehyung or Namjoon. It had taken him months to save up enough for a television. His brightly colored pillows and rugs were finds from second hand stores. But it was his. It was his and he worked his ass off every single day to keep it, never once missing a rent payment or falling behind.

Slowly he had started to come back into himself. Or the person that had been hiding beneath all of the trauma. Jimin had once said that it was like watching the sun come back out after a rainstorm. He shone so unspeakably bright that he illuminated everyone around him.

He was still alive despite everyone who had tried to bring him low enough to see the end. But that part of his life was separated from this one by a semi-colon, not a period. He could have ended his story, but he had chosen to keep going.