Beyond Repair (Min Yoongi)

18. Fragile

Jimin watched Yoongi in the hospital just as he had done every waking moment at home since Yoongi had first fallen ill. Through the tears in his eyes, he watched him. He watched Yoongi's chest rise and fall with each slow, shallow breath. He watched the way Yoongi's eyes flitted back and forth beneath his eyelids. He watched Yoongi's lips tremble. He watched how Yoongi's fingers twitched as if searching for something to hold onto.

Yoongi was as pale as the sheets he lay on and the hospital gown only served to make his emaciated frame look that much thinner. His skin was still pocked with scars and scabs and littered with mostly-faded bruises. There were electrodes all over him, attached to countless wires hooking him up to all manner of medical machinery. He had an IV needle in the crook of his left elbow and a plastic mask over his nose and mouth, releasing puffs of oxygen every few seconds to help him breathe.

But despite how fragile and vulnerable he looked, his expression was more peaceful than Jimin had seen in a long time.

Jimin sighed, shaking his head at himself. How sad was it that one of his best friends was practically dying, and yet, the only thing he could think about was that now, Yoongi might finally get some adequate rest?

It was silent in the room, save for the occasional clicks, beeps, and chimes from various machines to let everyone know that Yoongi was, indeed, still alive. Jimin knew that the silence would probably cease to exist once the others arrived, but for now, he basked in it. He could use a little peace and quiet right now. 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 opened 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 breeze in.

Unfortunately, one couldn't open a window in the middle of a city as large as Seoul without letting in a cacophony of sounds, sirens echoing between skyscrapers, car engines revving, horns blaring, planes roaring overhead, nocturnal birds trilling their eerie harmonies, insects screeching in the night—all put together and paired with his pre-existing stress, Jimin was soon faced with sensory overload. He tried to ignore the noise, focusing on the feeling of the wind on his skin, but ultimately, he decided the fresh air wasn't worth the oncoming migraine.

After closing the window, he sank back into the chair at Yoongi's bedside and cradled his head in his hands.

The door opened. Jimin barely noticed the people entering the room.

The others pulled up chairs to sit around Yoongi's bed. There weren't enough chairs for all of them, so Taehyung perched in Hoseok's lap and Jungkook draped himself across Namjoon's. Someone said something that Jimin didn't here. He didn't care.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wound around him from behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin was able to identify the person as Seokjin, who started rubbing his chest in a soothing action that brought more comfort than Jimin would like 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 off, but to pull him closer. "If there's no improvement by tomorrow, they're putting him in a medically-induced coma."

"I know. One of the doctors 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.

"Don't lie," Seokjin said, his voice so soft it could hardly be considered scolding. "Come on, hon. Tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours."