fragile ∾ pjm + myg

chapter two

Not anymore.

Jimin would kill for these moments. The one's where he hated and loved the most, where the cold metal would make contact with his skin, breaking the cells one by one, slowly, the blood flowing under it coming to the surface and making its appearance to stain Jimin's tanned skin, just like how Jimin felt like he stained the group by joining them. He hated it because it made him feel weak, it made him feel useless, because there were people out there who looked up to him, who leaned on him to make them happy, his members did this, but for the past months he couldn't even go as long as a week without putting a blade against his skin. There were people who needed him and he just couldn't even bring himself to think about all of the consequences if someone were to find out what he did to himself, because it just hurt.

It hurt too much for him to ignore, the hollow space where his heart should be, because even if Jimin could still feel the organ beating against his ribcage, it has long stopped meaning something to him. Jimin learned on one of the worst ways that having a functioning heart doesn't necessarily mean you're alive. So Jimin did whatever he had to to make himself feel like he could breath, feel his heart beating again in his chest, to feel his mind blank instead of being consumed by hateful thoughts, because in those moments, there wasn't anything he couldn't control, and he cherished them, no matter how much he would regret it later on. But in the end, it didn't really matter. It was a vicious cycle; once you get results, you can't stop it, even if you want to.

The thing was that Jimin wasn't really sure he wanted to.

It isn't that he wanted to die, no, not all the time at least – even when sometimes that thought would lurk around in his head, pressing in the back of his mind about just how easy it would be to get rid of all these thoughts consuming him bit by bit. But even then, it wasn't that Jimin wanted to die.

He just didn't want to keep living either.

The blood was already dried when Jimin finally found the strength to pull himself up – trying not to put too much weight on the wounded ankle, since he wasn't up to more weeks of bed rest – and clean the new wounds, wincing a little when the dried droplets of blood got stuck on the cuts. He didn't know how long he had been there, but by the distant light beginning to be formed in the sky outside the bathroom window, he knew it was well past 4am, which meant he could get two hours of sleep if he was lucky to actually sleep. The boy pulled his sweatpants up and lazily fixed his white shirt, looking for any stains that could get him in trouble; pleased when he found none, he made sure to check if the toilet papers he used where no where they could find it, grabbing his blade on the floor and putting it away again. He wouldn't be needing it anytime soon, he hoped, even if he knew it was a hopeless dream. He was expecting to just go back to his room silently, careful not to wake Hoseok up, even when the older boy was just too tired lately to be awakened by noises and lay in bed until Seokjin started to call them all, telling them to go eat breakfast.

What Jimin wasn't expecting tho, was to find one of the kitchen lights turned on and Yoongi sitting on one of their stools, slowly drinking a cup of what seemed to be the orange juice Seokjin had made for dinner on the day before. The elder had probably just got home from his studio, always coming back late these days, even with their comeback months apart. Jimin knew he wouldn't be able to just pass by without Yoongi realizing so he just walked slowly towards his room, praying that the elder would just let him go so he could just lay down on his bed and pretend he was asleep for a few more hours. But, of course, when was luck ever on his side?

"Jimin." he heard Yoongi's voice before he even got to the middle of the hallway, making him stop dead on his tracks, but still not turning back to face the elder, "Why are you awake?"