1857 ; ym

9.

Jimin's eyes hurt. The fluorescent lights in the hospital's hallway are too bright, and he is tired.

The doctors took care of his cheek, the wound on his head; he had to get stitches on his back. Namjoon and Jeongguk left a while ago. Now, it's almost seven in the morning, and Yoongi is still in surgery.

He feels heavy, way too real; it's a bit overwhelming, and all he can do is stare off into space. He is too aware of his heartbeat and the blood flowing through his veins and the sensitivity of his skin. It's too much and not enough at the same time. Jimin's mind is floating away.

With a sigh, Jimin gets up and slowly walks down the hallway, his hands buried in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He steps out into the cold, and the air filling his lungs makes him realize that he is here and alive.

There are tears in his eyes. Jimin keeps his head low.

㉑ ㉑ ㉑

His parent's apartment is extremely quiet when Jimin unlocks the door and slips into the hallway. Faintly, he can hear a clock ticking. Everything is tinted blue and grey; the sun hasn't risen yet.

Jimin tries his best to be quiet when he scurries down the hallway, but when he walks past the living room, a figure sitting on the couch catches his attention. It's his mother, he quickly realizes, and she has seen him, too.

Jimin stands there in the doorframe for a moment as they stare at each other.

"Mom," he says and slowly steps closer, "Why aren't you in bed? Did I... wake you up?"

His mother looks a bit surprised. She gives a gentle smile. "You didn't." Then, she pats the couch next to her. "Sit down with me?"

He hesitates, then he does as he is told. Now, with the dim light coming from outside, he can see the dark circles underneath her eyes.

"I didn't know if you were coming home today," she says, "I was worried. You weren't answering your phone."

Jimin winces and looks away. "Sorry."

"It's okay." His mother smiles for another few moments, then shock spreads on her face. "Jimin, what — your face, what happened?"

Immediately, Jimin's hand flies up to his cheek to cover it. His heart pounds heavily in his chest.

"Nothing," he is quick to say, "Just, uh — a few scratches. Don't worry about it."

But his mother continues to give him that same old worried look she always gives him, so discerning, so uncomfortable. In the end, she doesn't say anything else, just puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes softly.

Jimin looks at her, really looks at her. His throat tightens and burns terribly, and he can feel tears in his eyes. The gentleness doesn't leave his mother's face, but suddenly, she looks so, so tired, and it's enough to make the tears spill over.

Jimin grimaces at his own state. He leans forward until his head rests on his mother's lap, and she runs her fingers up and down his back while she holds him as he cries.

Jimin can't remember the last time they were this close. Maybe they never were. Maybe he'd pushed her and his father away for so long, too afraid of what the looks in their eyes could actually mean. That it could be anything besides disappointment.

His mother brushes his hair back and leans down.

"Happy birthday, big boy," she whispers with a smile, and Jimin sobs loudly. She kisses his head, and then she is quiet, but Jimin is sure he hears her sniffle from time to time.