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Jimin stood hesitantly in front of the door, eyes darting between its scratched surface and the trash littering the hallway behind him. He coughed, inhaling some of the dust that kicked up when he shuffled his feet.
Raising an uncertain fist, he tapped his knuckles against the door, the rough wood chafing his skin.
He waited a moment.
Nothing.
Chewing on his bottom lip fretfully, he reached up again to knock harder. He really, really didn’t want to linger out in the open in a building like this. He was pretty sure he’d heard glass breaking in the apartment next door.
Still nothing.
He sighed, second-guessing even coming in the first place. He hadn’t been invited, after all, he was just…
He was just worried.
What if…what if something had happened? What if…
Steeling his nerve, Jimin inhaled deeply. As a last resort, he reached for the door knob, surprised when it turned without resistance, the door creaking open.
Jimin looked down at his phone, rechecking the address Seokjin had texted him for the hundredth time. This…this was the right apartment. He swallowed nervously, pushing the door open wider.
It was stuffy inside the cramped room, like air hadn’t been circulated for a while. It was dark, too, save for the scraps of light that filtered through the curtainless blinds. Jimin stepped over the threshold, carefully removing his shoes and setting them next to an old pair of sneakers. His eyes trailed uncertainly through the darkness as he closed the door behind him.
He used his phone to guide his steps, avoiding debris scattered across the yellowed linoleum, almost slipping a few times as his socks skated against the dusty floor. He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the kitchen, heart rate picking up speed as he continued further, into the living room.
Cushions had been taken or thrown from the couch, spread across the room. The television screen was cracked, and the DVD player looked like it had been smashed against the wall. He pressed a hand to his chest, suddenly finding it harder to breathe. There was only one other room in the apartment, behind another closed door.
Was this…was this how he lived? What could have happened? It felt like he hadn’t been home in a long time. It felt empty. It felt angry.
Jimin swallowed as he stood in front of the remaining door, palms sweaty and fingers trembling. What if something was wrong? He chewed on his lip, reaching for the handle. Then that just meant that he needed to do something. For once, he needed to be the strong one.
Again, the handle turned without any resistance. Jimin stared inside.
Like the other room, this one was lit only by the light that managed to spill through the window blinds. The floor was covered with shoes, clothes, and papers, barely any visible walking space. There were lamps, but they weren’t turned on, situated on either side of the full bed, along with a night stand.
Jimin’s eyes were drawn to the lump in the middle, sheets pulled over its head. He felt his heart skip a beat before he recognized the soft rise and fall of breathing.
Disregarding the clothes and other unidentifiable objects he had to step on, Jimin hurried towards the bed, stopping when his thighs bumped against the mattress. Hesitantly, he reached out and leaned over the mattress towards the lump, resting his hand where he thought a shoulder would be.
In a blur of motion, he was thrown onto his back, a large hand pressing painfully against the base of his neck as he wheezed in terror. Instinctively, both of Jimin’s hands came up to wrap around the wrist pinning him down, trying to pull it away, but it didn’t budge. He stared desperately up at Namjoon’s unseeing eyes.
Namjoon looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or eaten either, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks gaunt compared to their usual fill. Jimin was close enough to see, even in the dim light, that his pupils were blown wide, blinking rapidly as he stared down menacingly at Jimin.
Jimin did the best that he could to calm down, considering the hand that pressed ever harder. He loosened his grip around Namjoon’s wrist and let his arms fall back down to his sides. Hyung, he mouthed, eyes watering uncontrollably from the lack of air. It didn’t seem to work.
Namjoon didn’t let go, didn’t snap out of his trance. Jimin was afraid.
Bringing his legs up, he kicked out, catching Namjoon in his lower stomach, sending him tumbling off the bed. Jimin gasped, hands flying up towards his chest as he inhaled greedily. He coughed, feeling a little dizzy as he crawled to the edge of the bed to look for Namjoon, who was rubbing at his forehead as he sat on the floor.
“Jimin?” Namjoon said tiredly, finally actually looking at him. “Jimin…what…” he mumbled, shaking his head.
Even exhausted and out of it, Namjoon was so much bigger than him.
Jimin scrambled down to the floor next to him, nervous but already typing. Hyung are you sick. What was that???
“I thought you were a robber,” Namjoon said weakly, combing a hand through his greasy hair. “I thought…” he shook his head. “Are you okay?”
Are you sick? Jimin persisted, ignoring the question. Hyung you haven’t been at school all week.
“No,” Namjoon said quietly, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m just tired. You should go back.”
Jimin frowned, hurt. I’m not going back until you tell me what’s wrong, Jimin typed, holding his phone out for Namjoon to read, but Namjoon just closed his eyes. Jimin sighed, frustrated. Hesitating, he rested his hand on Namjoon’s arm, jostling him.
Namjoon’s eyebrow twitched as he shook Jimin off. “Go away, Jimin.”
No, Jimin typed, making his phone read it out loud.
“I said go away!” Namjoon growled, throwing his arm out, pushing Jimin onto his side from where he’d been sitting on his knees.
Jimin gasped, his eyes watering again, but he forced it back. Namjoon needed him, whatever this was, and he needed…
Hyung, Jimin typed, having his phone read it again, the robotic voice breaking the tense silence.
“I’m tired, Jimin, just let me rest,” Namjoon said, rolling onto his side, his back to Jimin.
Jimin frowned, feeling suffocated as Namjoon continued to ignore him. He climbed to his feet, stumbling to the door connected to Namjoon’s bedroom. The bathroom wasn’t much cleaner than the rest of the apartment, and Jimin could have sworn he saw some bugs scatter when he flipped on the light.
On a hunch, Jimin threw open the doors to the medicine cabinet, eyes catching on an orange pill bottle next to a toothbrush. He knew that Namjoon took medicine. He knew that. His hyung talked about it when he was down, how he hated the pills. How they made him feel bad. How they made him feel dependent and weak. Jimin knew exactly what those kinds of pills could do to someone, having watched his mother go through several terrifying phases of her own. They could be the best thing in the world. Or the absolute worst.
His hyung said that he got really…really depressed sometimes, so…
He picked it up, glancing at the label. Ci…Citalopram. It had been filled two weeks earlier, but…He poured the pills into his palm, counting them out. None had been taken, the bottle was full. Jimin really wanted to cry. Why would he do that? Why would he just…stop taking them?
Pouring the pills carefully back into the bottle, Jimin stepped uncertainly from the bathroom, eyes dropping to Namjoon, who was still just…lying there.
He stumbled back onto his knees again, both hands pulling at Namjoon’s arm until Namjoon cracked an eye open. Jimin held up the bottle pointedly.
Namjoon’s eyes widened for a moment before he sighed, closing them again. “Go away,” he repeated.
Jimin forcibly pushed Namjoon onto his back, climbing over him to straddle his waist. He held the bottle in front of Namjoon’s startled face, setting his mouth in a stern line.
“Get off,” Namjoon said, turning his head to the side.
Jimin shook his head furiously.
“Jimin,” Namjoon said, sighing. “I can’t deal with you right now.”
Jimin bit down on his lip to fight back the choked whimper that wanted to escape his throat. Take, he mouthed, twisting off the lid and shaking one pill into his palm. He set the bottle on top of the mattress, closing his fist around the freed pill. Take it, hyung.
“Annoying,” Namjoon said, mouth twisting into a sneer. “I don’t want to take it, so go the fuck away!” he said, reaching up to grab hold of Jimin’s shoulder and push him off, sending him sprawling again.
Jimin had taken much, much worse falls when dancing. Ignoring his aching shoulder, he climbed back on top of his hyung again, this time pressing Namjoon’s wrists into the floor. Hyung. Please, he mouthed, tightening his grip.
Namjoon sighed again, turning his head to the side. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Namjoon said quietly. “I’m just…really tired.”
Jimin hunched over, bringing his face within inches of Namjoon’s, forcing him to look at Jimin. Hyung, he begged. Please.
“You don’t understand,” Namjoon mumbled, puffs of air hitting Jimin’s cheeks. “You won’t ever understand.”
Jimin swallowed, overwhelmed by a rising tide of desperation. He felt the little pill between the flesh of his hand and Namjoon’s wrist. Climbing off of Namjoon, he stumbled towards the door, knocking into the doorframe as he stepped into the kitchen.
He typed in the name of the pill on his phone, eyes combing page after page of information until he found what he was looking for. He opened cabinets until he located one with mugs. Using the base of a mug, he crushed the little pill into powder on the kitchen counter. He filled the mug with tap water and carefully scraped the dust into it, swirling it around.
His heart felt like it was going to explode.
This was wrong. So, so wrong. But he didn’t know what else to do. What was he supposed to do?
Stepping back into the room, Namjoon was still where Jimin left him, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. Jimin set the mug of water on Namjoon’s night stand before leaning down to gather Namjoon’s upper body into his arms, pulling him upright until he was sitting, his back leaning against the bedframe and mattress. Water, Jimin mouthed, pressing the mug to Namjoon’s mouth.
Namjoon inhaled sharply, running his tongue over his dried and cracked lips.
At least drink, Jimin mouthed, eyes wide and pleading. Just…just drink. Just drink it. Please, fuck, drink it.
Namjoon slowly took hold of the mug for himself, sipping at the water. Soon, he was swallowing the entire thing down, streams spilling over the sides of his mouth and dripping onto his shirt. “I guess I was thirsty,” he smiled darkly, looking down into the empty mug. He jerked his head up when Jimin moved again. “Where…where are you going?”
You care now? Jimin typed into his phone, before quickly deleting it. I’ll make you some food, hyung.
“I’m not hungry,” Namjoon muttered.
Jimin pretended not to hear it.
Namjoon didn’t have much food that was edible, but Jimin managed to locate some rice and kimchi, setting the former to cook in the rice cooker and dropping his head into his hands.
He didn’t know what he was doing. But he needed to do something.
When the rice was done, he scooped it into a little bowl, throwing whatever seasoning he could find on top of it, and then adding the kimchi. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the bedroom. Hyung, eat, he mouthed, pressing the bowl into Namjoon’s hands as he removed the mug.
“I told you I’m not hungry,” Namjoon said, eyes dull.
Jimin picked up the spoon from the side of the bowl and held it to Namjoon’s mouth. Namjoon’s hand jerked up, knocking it away. Jimin’s whole body jolted in surprise.
Sighing, Jimin retrieved the spoon and went to the kitchen, throwing it into the sink before grabbing another one and a dish towel. He sat in the same spot as before and picked up another mouthful of rice, holding it out to Namjoon. Please, he begged, with the shape of his lips and the widening of eyes. Please, for me.
Namjoon didn’t bite.
Sighing again, Jimin rested the spoon carefully inside the bowl before reaching out, capturing one of Namjoon’s cheeks and turning his head to face him directly. Namjoon’s skin was dry and rough under Jimin’s fingertips. It was clear that he hadn’t been taking care of himself for a while. Jimin felt the tears that had been building all along spill out. Hyung, he mouthed. Please try. Please.
Namjoon sighed, but his expression softened. “I’m not hungry,” he repeated. “But I’ll try.”
Sniffling, Jimin picked up the spoon again, holding it out to his hyung. Namjoon’s hand met his own to guide it unsteadily into his mouth. “This tastes horrible,” Namjoon huffed.
Jimin bit down on his bottom lip, his shoulders quaking with the effort to hold back all-out sobs. He just…he just wanted to help. He just…
He couldn’t do anything right, like always.
Fat tears dripped onto his hands as he pulled out his phone to type. Sorry hyung. I’m sorry im stupid im srry. Quickly, he erased it. I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time. Please bear with it for now?
He reached over to take Namjoon’s hand and bring it back into the rice for another scoop.
While Namjoon unwillingly ate the food Jimin forced into him, Jimin reached blindly over the mattress, feeling around until he felt the pill bottle grasped in his hand. He pulled it down quickly, sliding it into his pocket. Maybe Namjoon wasn’t taking them, but Jimin couldn’t risk him throwing them away, either.
He was horrible.
“I can’t eat any more of this,” Namjoon said, setting the half-eaten rice and kimchi to the side. “I’m so fucking tired,” he slurred.
Jimin pushed the bowl out of the way as he stood, leaning down to help Namjoon up. Bed, Jimin mouthed, pulling with all his strength and helping Namjoon crawl back under the covers.
“Why are you here?” Namjoon muttered, covering his eyes with his forearm.
Because you’re here, Jimin typed. Namjoon kept his eyes covered. Jimin deleted the message. Wiping at his own face, Jimin pulled the thick quilt that had been pushed to the end of the bed over Namjoon’s legs.
Jimin left the bedroom when Namjoon didn’t protest, squeezing his eyes shut until he saw spots as he closed the door behind him. He shuffled over to the cushionless couch, nearly slipping again, before picking up a cushion and setting it in place, sitting on top of it.
He hunched over, yanking at his hair with both of his hands. Sniffling as the tears built again, he pulled the pills from his pocket and stared down at them. What was he supposed to do?
Hyung, he typed, wiping his nose against his sleeve. I don’t know what to do.
What’s wrong? Yoongi replied.
Jimin stared down at the immediate answer, mouth unable to prevent a small smile. But he soon frowned, unsure of how to answer. He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to do this by himself.
Namjoon hyung stopped taking his medicine. He’s tired and…and angry. I did something bad, hyung.
Jimin, where are you?
At his apartment. He’s not in good shape. I don’t know what to do, Jimin repeated.
Are you in danger? GET OUT if you are I don’t fucking care what he’s doing.
No, Jimin typed, feeling suddenly very tired himself. I’m not…He’s sleeping right now.
Text me the address.
Jimin rested his head against the back of the couch, staring up at Namjoon’s water-stained ceiling tiles. His neck was tense, his shoulders ached, and he just wanted everything to be okay again.
He must have nodded off, because the next thing he knew, Yoongi was standing over him, face pinched with worry as he spoke. “Jimin? Shit, Jimin, wake up.” His hands were hovering in the air, as though he were afraid to bring them near. Jimin appreciated it.
Hyung, he mouthed tiredly.
“What the hell happened in here?” Yoongi muttered, eyeing the destruction that littered the small apartment.
Namjoon hyung stopped taking his medicine, Jimin typed, setting his phone aside once Yoongi had read the message and pulling out the pills to show him.
“Ci…what? What are these for?” Yoongi said, squinting at the label.
Depression, Jimin typed. I think he has the angry kind.
“Did…he didn’t hurt you, did he?” Yoongi asked, eyeing Jimin up and down.
Jimin shook his head. It was like this before I got here. He wouldn’t hurt me.
“You said you did something bad,” Yoongi said carefully. “What did you mean? What did you do, Jimin?”
Jimin swallowed, barely able to bring himself to type an answer. I made him take his medicine.
“Explain,” Yoongi said, crossing his arms.
He hasn’t taken it for weeks. I had to do something. I crushed up a pill and mixed it with water. Convinced him to drink it.
Yoongi sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Okay,” he breathed. “You tricked him into taking it?” he clarified.
Jimin nodded, head ducked in shame.
“You did the right thing.”
Jimin looked up sharply.
“He can hate you when he’s healthy,” Yoongi muttered. “Get him there first.”
But that’s not…it’s not right…
“You’d rather see this keep happening?” Yoongi said lowly, pointing to the cracked television.
But that’s not my choice to make, Jimin said, eyes shining with desperation and crusted with tears. Maybe a part of him had been hoping that Yoongi would scold him, would talk him out of it.
“It is your choice,” Yoongi said. “You can do nothing. Or you can do something.” He set the pills down on the scuffed coffee table.
But what if he does hate me?
“Then that’s his fucking problem,” Yoongi said, looking over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door. “If he hates the one person who’s willing to deal with his shit and put him back together, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
No, I…I’m not good enough to deal with this, I
“Jimin,” Yoongi said, eyes softening. “We should go. Whatever you decide to do, it can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”
Jimin chewed on his bottom lip, glancing at Namjoon’s bedroom. He shook his head. I can’t leave him alone. What if… he shuddered.
Yoongi sighed, picking up another couch cushion and setting it next to Jimin. “I guess we’re ordering pizza.”
Jimin stared. Before he knew what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s slim neck, burying his face in Yoongi’s shirt.
“Hey,” Yoongi said, stiff but not pushing him off. “We’ll figure something out.”