The sole similarity was that of the adrenaline rush a concert gave. No matter how his limbs ached, the amount of sleep he'd gotten the night before, how alive the crowd was, his beaten body found the energy to move, and move, and move until he fell into an exhausted heap once the platform lowered and the encore faded out. Like a strike of lightning, Taehyung crossed the threshold of their dorm and was analyzing the puzzle set up at the door, tenacity coloring his blood.
"These are weights. We have to find stuff that's the correct amount of weight, place them on these sensors, and then the door will open."
Seokjin, left in his dust, stabilized his balance, still in the midsts of recovering from their transportation. "Taehyung, wait," he reached out, gesturing for him to return to his side, "we should check for anything harmful, first. Especially before we start digging into everything-"
Taehyung left the entrance but did not listen to the wordless command, instead turning to the hallway. "I'll take the kitchen and bedroom. You take the bathroom and living room. I'll take the first four weights, you take the second, and we'll figure out what the last one means together."
Aghast, the eldest moved after him, taking awkwardly large steps to avoid hypothetical hazards on the floor. "Taehyung, wait, there could be something that could hurt you -"
"If all of our old stuff is here then it's probably those things. Or Kookie's. His have to be here, too." One moment his hand was reaching for the bedroom knob, the next, his wrist was clutched in Jin's grip, who strictly led him back into the dingy living room, taking what little control he could gather.
Taehyung could see Seokjin's attempts to convey the seriousness of their situation through his gaze, not an everyday look of his. It grounded him through sheer demeanor.
"Please, slow down," tinged with desperation, Seokjin sucked in a long breath. "This isn't our dorm. It looks like it is, but it isn't. We have no idea what's really in here."
An uncomfortably long silence passed, Taehyung deliberating between smoothing those lines between Jin's brows, and continuing his mission mercilessly. Eventually, the Angel inside of him finished the debate with a solid point the devil could not contest - he couldn't finish alone, and wouldn't want to, anyway.
"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his burning neck. "I got ahead of myself. It's just - Kookie. Because he's the prize, I don't want to stop for anything."
Appreciating the easy communication, Jin patted his shoulder, allowing his hand to rest there comfortably. "It's okay. I'm excited, too. I want to finish this as quickly as possible, but I'm not finishing without you, so please, keep yourself alive."
It's an odd feeling, standing in a place you swore you would never be in again. Sort of like deja vu, sort of like a vivid dream, but a certain type of whiplash that sends unwanted shivers.
Before all their glitz, and glamor, and billion won residences, Bangtan began from the dirt beneath the industry's feet. It was a zero hero story that certainly was viewed as impressive, awe-inspiring before a lightning storm changed their course of glory. Only from the outside was it ever a fairytale. Looking back, he could appreciate the remarkable outcome for all their strife, but struggle wasn't anything easily forgotten.
Young and impressionable Taehyung certainly was not expecting to share a single apartment with six other boys when he arrived at a fascinating new world that was Seoul. A wake-up call tougher than the shrillest alarm.
The very sight of the dorm was a killer of passion within itself. He studied the stained walls, ragged furniture, cheap lighting, suddenly feeling seventeen again, blissfully unaware of what pain awaited him. So eager he had been, diving headfirst into deluded opportunities. He wondered how he even survived.
Seokjin wore an amused smirk, glancing around, without trust but with perspicacity, seeing through the layers of nostalgia. "They're trying to mess with our minds. Don't get comfortable. We're not here to be comfortable."
He counted on himself not to. This was only ever home because of who was inside, and at the moment, he only had Jin, and not the Jin that he lived with, then. Like their bodies, they outgrew the space, the clutter, the bitterness, long ago. Akin to wandering, dreaming, teenagers, they were foreigners on uncharted land.
"It's so small," Taehyung exemplified, running his hand over rough couch fabric. "I can't believe we all used to fit in here at the same time."
"Barely. It was nice our schedules were all over the place, though. We did get some time alone."
At times, even their current luxurious apartment felt too small, during tragic episodes of needing to feel completely alone. It especially felt limited when emotions reached the ceilings and the outside world consisted solely of cameras and invasive fans. He found a single chip of righteousness; remembering how big his life felt, then. Seoul had been never-ending, as well. Now it ended at every street corner. Now there was no passage of escape.
"What do you think is in here that's meant to hurt us?" He brought it up casually, not wishing to disturb the shared steady beating of their hearts.
Jin visibly swallowed. "I wish I knew. If your socks are still here, probably that."
A grin spread across Taehyung's lips; everything around them may have been a false reincarnation, but Seokjin's joking tendencies were real, and he allowed his sanity to hold onto that. The drumming of adrenaline under his skin grew louder, impatient, and he quickly swallowed the tart taste on his tongue; all of his past, remained in the past, and there were pressing matters on hand.
"Okay. It's up to find out. Come look at this thing." He walked to the door, expecting Jin to follow. Placed just below the knob, a table extended outwards. On top laid eighth t-shaped podiums, all of which set at different heights. A ninth, with something already on display, was at the farthest left end, a chapstick set atop. The platform was lowered completely to the table. Taehyung recognized it as a brand Jimin wore often, even to the present day.
"This seems easy enough. Do we just have to find stuff that weighs the correct amount? I'm guessing the higher the stick is, the more it weighs."
"Yeah," Taehyung nodded, straightening from his bent position. "But we have a lot of stuff in here." He gestured vaguely to the piles of coats, shoes, random askew objects one of them was bound to step on. "There aren't any insurrections to differentiate between what's important or not, so we need to guess and check everything. At least until we find a pattern."
"I like when you're determined. You get all smart, it's cute." Taehyung rolled his eyes at the teasing, gently shoving at a broad shoulder.
"Okay, okay, come on, Hyung. We got to focus.
You want to separate or go through everything together?"
"Together," Seokjin answered a beat too fast, realizing it with widened eyes and quick additions. "That way one of us won't miss anything. And it's probably safer."
The younger grinned lazily. "You could just say you want to stay with me."
Turning away, the older's posture was rigid and the tips of his ears burning red. "It's called strategy! I'm thinking strategically."
Choosing to grant him mercy, Taehyung walked towards the hallway. "Let's go to the bedroom, first. That's where I at least remember most of our stuff being."
Opening the bedroom door, he was torn between impression and disapproval as the universe managed to capture the stench perfectly. Exactly how one would expect a room stacked with seven young, constantly physically active, men to smell. He remembered Yoongi having given up on budgeting out expenses for air fresheners.
Three bunks aligned in a row, with a singular equally sized bed horizontal. They fought wars for that space, as though it was any larger than the rest. Not even a nightstand could fit within the space, leaving them to keep their belongings in personal bags stored beneath the bunks. Taehyung reached up and pet a stuffed animal hanging from Hoseok's place of rest, soft to the touch.
Worming around the ladders, squeezing through tight walkways, he stood at his and Jungkook's bunk, staring at his second-level bed. Memories of after practice talks, whispering into the darkness, trying to make sense of the stress and the expectations and the world so intent on oppressing prosperity. His insides began to slowly twist.
"He was so young when we lived here," he reached an arm over the protective bars, perched on the edge of the lower bed. He felt the pillow where Jungkook used to lay his head, the indent still in place. "He was the only one who could fit in these beds comfortably."
"He was pretty much a baby," Jin's voice sounded strained, "he barely reached my shoulders."
"Then he could throw us over his shoulders without breaking a sweat." He didn't hesitate in dropping to his knees and reaching under where he knew Jungkook's bag rested, pulling the weight with both hands. As a group, they'd always joke that it was bigger than he was, leaving the Maknae to defend him with fervor, claiming he'd grow taller than all of them, soon enough. How true that statement almost held up to be. As it wasn't difficult to touch the bag and caress his sheets, it surprised him when his hand fumbled to pull at the zipper.
It took the breath out of him. It took the peace. Opening the duffel bag was a reminder that fifteen-year-old Jungkook had died, too. Invasive, he wanted to ask for permission. Tragic, a fifteen-year-old with no idea he'd only live half his age longer. Whatever was waiting to pounce, aimed for his throat.
His previous urgency stepped aside and allowed paced recollection to take its place. He couldn't overexert himself with emotion. Seokjin's fingers threaded through his hair, a delicate push to endure. "It's okay, Tae. It's not actually his things. We have all of them, at home. Take your time."
"Let's pretend that they are. It's better if I think they are." The zipper filled the saddened quiet in the room. "If they are, then, they still have parts of him on it. Maybe we'll be lucky, and find a hair."
He did not receive a response. Blindly, he reached into the nearly overflowing sac, freeing a cloth item from its claustrophobic prison. Conceding that he hadn't already cried himself dry, he would have burst into tears at what he unfolded.
"This was his favorite shirt. He used to wear it all the time."
The wrinkled black tee held no prestige besides the '97 written in bold white letters, and the fact that it was his, and Taehyung pictured it stretched across his body.
"I'm going to look through my old things."
Jin wasn't facing him when he turned back; quietly admitting that he couldn't look at the shirt and imagine Jungkook standing proudly in it. Allowing him his peace, Taehyung gently smoothed the folds out over his knee, cleaning the unearthed artifact with the concern of a veteran archeologist, preserving its greatness. He tried to think back to when he last remembered it being worn, but his memory failed him. Again, fifteen-year-old Jungkook slipped away.
He placed it open on his mattress. Reaching in once more, he felt a solid, rectangular, object. "Ah, look, Hyung! Our family photo. We were such babies, even you. I'm older than you were in this. And you're like, twice the age Kookie was in this. This is somewhere in our dorm or our company. I can't remember, though."
Unbothered by the lack of response, he continued to eagerly dig through the maknae's belongings, picking out socks, cologne, hair product, clothing, placing them out in an organized array, as though building him up from what he left behind. Stacking up blocks until they could call out his name. Only did he stop when Jin shook him out of mania.
"We should start weighing things, now. Starting with his stuff."
Taehyung regathered his senses, agreeing. A single item was left inside the duffle. Something like love bloomed in his heart once he recognized what it was.
"Hey, he still has this," he held the small white teddy bear, with a pale pink nose, up. "This is still in his room."
Full lips pursued. A hand reached out to touch but pulled back halfway. "Yeah, you're right. It's on his bed." Without sparing a warning, tears flooded into Jin's full eyes. He hastily covered the trailing liquid with his hands. "Fuck, Taehyung, this is so hard. I didn't expect it to be this hard."
Springing to his feet, he gathered his Hyung in his arms, managing a majority of his width. "It's okay, Hyung. Jungkookies just around the corner. It's . . It's going to be okay."
His subconscious wondered if that was wishful thinking, for he was clutching the bear until its eyes bulged.
Jin gathered himself together. The only evidence of his sudden breakdown was tear stains on his cheek. He always seemed to be able to reset his emotions in a minute. "I'm going to scold him so bad, for doing this to us."
Taehyung knew he was bluffing, lightening the mood. He gathered up all of Jungkook's items, placing them neatly inside. "I'll make sure to support you."
The contraption was simple. Simultaneously, a final exam. Searching for items became a search for the fountain of youth when victory determined the trajectory of your life.
"We don't even know which one to try," Seokjin sounded uneasy, unable to bite back exchanges of problematic theories. "What if one of them is a trap?"
Deliberately ignoring the question, Taehyung licked his lips. "I'd assume it's the next one over." He delicately placed down a bottle of hairspray, which used to reduce thick bangs to plastic. In acknowledgment, the platform lowered a centimeter, then bounced up. "Yeah, see?" He examined the example. "Wonder why Jiminie's chapstick is here."
Their efforts were redundant for long, frustrating, minutes. Nearly every item of Jungkook's was tried, to no avail. "If we keep going like this, we're gonna be here for ours." Jin lamented, worry growing in the furrow of his brows. "We have so much stuff here."
Taehyung shook his overgrown bangs, refusing to allow irritation to run his mind wild. "No, there has to be a reason behind all eight of these things. Why would we be placed in our dorm, and the items not have any significance? Once we figure it out, it'll be easy from there."
Seokjin nodded, enlightened with reason. "Should I check the room for things we didn't see?"
Taehyung grabbed the forever-lasting bear, running low on reserves. "Yeah, maybe -"
Surprised by the sudden movement, the two men stumbled backward. A second after Jungkook's bear sat, the platform lowered with a congratulatory thump.
"Oh my god," the awed man behind him breathed after a moment of disbelief.
"We got one!" Taehyung's face exploded into a grin, and he fondly petted underneath the toy's chin. "Jungkookie's little bear."
Suddenly bursting with confidence, Jin whirled on his heels, eyes bouncing rapidly in search of a dignified area of focus. "Okay, that's great! Um, what's - what's next?"
Taehyung glanced downwards. "I wouldn't think it's all of his things. That would be too easy. There's no mystery to it."
"Well, this wasn't just Jungkook's dorm. It was all of ours."
Even between the kitchen, and living area, where their hundreds of options to choose from. Kitchenware, key chains, scattered notes, and ink, all of which were theirs, and free to reclaim. The lack of attention aimed at Jungkook allowed Seokjin to understand their piece in the game of chess.
"So, we should try all of our stuff?"
"That's all I can think of. All of this is our stuff, anyway."
Staying true to their previous agreement of unification, the two remained within the front half of the dorm, tackling the spots deemed as honorary 'drop and go' places for when they were late to a schedule or too exhausted to correctly dispose of. It was not rare to find someone's shoes atop Jungkook's homework, which was resting upon someone else's monthly examination. One of these areas was the coat rack near the door, where only half of the space was demonstrating its designated use.
The pile was not pretty. Taehyung wondered why they never considered investing in storage containers, proper organization. Certainly, it would have made their shared space feel an arm's length wider. But he could not be disdainful, knowing the one presented here that had fallen behind in their luxurious lifestyle made a world of difference. In a disturbed, minuscule way, the mess felt more like home than home did. Relying on that feeling, he acted as though he knew the layers to the junk, as though he was grabbing a jacket to head out to an early morning practice. Judging by how many were already in the fateful stages of wear and tear, he knew that majority of the elements were long tossed and insignificant. While on the surface, that made it easier, he couldn't exactly be certain. He was able to gather that the weight needed to be symbolic, but by sheer chance had he glanced at Jungkook's bed often enough to know he kept the bear.
With the others, he may have been a professional at this a year prior. But all had shifted, and now, he dug for nothing, in particular, hoping he was able to strike gold.
He gasped. Half hidden by the bulk of dark-colored padding, a bright red sleeve poked through. He maneuvered the hood off its hook, holding the NorthFace jacket in his hands, wrinkled, dusty, but newer and bolder in hue than what was hanging in the deepest points of his closet.
"Oh, wow," he murmured, fascinated by the level of the detail the universe knew personally.
"What is it?" Seokjin asked from the kitchen, where he had been disrupting the quiet harvesting with his clatter.
"This is the jacket my mom bought me when I first moved here." He held it up, noticing how it likely would've fit tight, now. "It's somewhere in my closet, still."
Jin gestured to the door. "Try it, maybe."
Taehyung eyed the size of the platforms, compared to the covering, not close in diameter, unconvinced. "It's a little too big."
He only shrugged, turning back. "Yeah, but, couldn't hurt." Moments after bending down and reaching under the rusted oven came to an incredulous cry. "Why are there socks everywhere?"
Peering down upon the weights, he noticed that the third one from the left, after Jimin's chapstick and Jungkook's bear, was a bit larger than the rest. Loosely folding, assuring the sides wouldn't fall over and activate the wrong sensor, he placed the jacket over the designated podium, blatantly ignoring the awkward fit and hoped the universe would, too.
Taehyung was struck with an epiphany. The jacket, appearing to magically do so, lowered with another congratulatory thump. "No way," he spoke loud enough for Seokjin to overhear, eager to share his hypothesis. "Hyung, maybe the pattern is that its things we still have, that mean something. Kook still had that bear. I had this. Jiminie still uses that chapstick brand."
Exiting the kitchen, Seokjin thoughtfully nodded, looking pleased to be gifted a sense of direction. "That makes sense. And lowers our options down a lot. I don't think I kept much of any of my old stuff, though, and I already looked through my bag."
"It doesn't have to be in your bag," he pointed to his jacket for reference. "Just look around. Not like the place is huge."
He continued to dig through the coat rack for a few more minutes, the four or five remaining members in mind (for they were unable to conclude whether the chapstick was Jimin's item or merely an example.) The eighth starting empty spot also had to be deciphered. Only Seokjin could immediately know his part upon first sight.
Taehyung's mind was working at a rapid pace, far quicker than the near dormant stage it had been set at before their harmonious dreaming, but a leisurely smile grew across his face. The progress had come at no cost besides a bit of their time, and patience. Soon he would have something whole, and not bits and pieces of torn memories. Zero thoughts of anything besides earning Jungkook's life, and going home as seven; true, the situation itself was a bit overwhelming but better than what his brain wrapped around prior.
"Tae, Tae, look what I found."
Seokjin held out a cheap, bright pink, dog tag that screamed BFF across its front, in an equally blinding electric blue. It was the perfect amount of ugly to remember instantly. Taehyung took it from his pinched fingers, struck with nostalgia.
"I remember that. I gave Jimin that. I think I got it from some arcade." He had lavishly offered it to him, as though proposing, and guessed that after the giggles and jokes, it had been simply tossed or lost before the night ended.
"Yeah. It's probably his item."
"There's no way he still has that." He looked at him through his lashes. "Does he?"
"He has it on a necklace. Haven't you seen it?"
He hadn't. But the thought made his heart do a cartwheel and him grin like an idiot. There were simple things Jimin always did to remind him of his love, and after a decade together, the size of his heart still managed to catch him off guard. He suddenly missed him. Wondered where he was if he was okay. Nevertheless, he knew he needed to see that accessory, and get one of his own.
Jin, watching his skin flush with a flat expression, spoke monotonously, falsely impatient. "You two are insufferable. Please, hurry."
Jimin's tender attention scored another point, leaving five pedestals standing. Before returning to the bedroom and scooping through their bags, they decided to search the immediate area from top to bottom, first. A few minutes after the fact, Taehyung's attention was alerted with a tap on the counter.
"Look what I found. Inside the fridge." Namjoon's high school I.D dangled in all its glory, each twirl flashing the face of a tan, dimpled, boy, a stranger to the confident leader they knew.
"Why would he keep that?"
"He has a lot of things from school," Jin appeared to perceive minor details frequently. "Watch, I bet it works."
And it did. After sharing teasing giggles at his photo, Taehyung inspected the living room, and Seokjin braved the storage closet, where the stacked inside items threatened to tumble over at any moment. Besides the furniture, television, and gaming console, there wasn't much clutter. Simultaneously, they all decided to keep the area as open and clean as possible, to allow a bit of room to breathe.
In between the cushions unearthed nothing but coins, stale food, the remote, and crumpled up bits of paper with rejected lyrics. Under the couch, dark forms of lost objects were visible, but he decided for the concern of his health, to not touch.
He grimaced when he stood, the sound of liquid sloshing under his feet throwing his mind into a disturbing spiral of possibilities. Piping issues? Overflowed toilet?
He looked down to his feet. He was not standing in a puddle. Instead, the entire carpet glistened, turned a muddy deep grey. The tiled floor reflected under the beaming kitchen lights, a spotlight on the unmistakable layer of liquid spanning the entire area.
From the front door to the couch Taehyung stood near, water gathered an inch high. Before his very eyes, it rose another inch, chill seeping through the material of his shoes. It was cold; the type of cold that could drive one insane. When he tore his eyes away, he swore that the apartment had become dimmer, the colors grayer.
Their eyes immediately connected. Seokjin let out a smoky breath, white fog dancing by his lips. His white-clad form contrasted against the depressing atmosphere. Angelic, without his handsomeness in question. How vulnerable were the purest?
"It's cold. It got colder in here, suddenly."
Taehyung went to the thermostat. The dorm temperature had dropped a few degrees. Pressing the upward arrow did not alter the flashing number. "Just like before. It never worked."
The water kissed his unprepared ankle. He seethed as the lips bared and teeth sunk into his skin, drawing blue, hypothermic, blood. Seokjin's eyes were growing in horror. He touched Taehyung's exposed wrist, his fingers not as warm as they should be. He thought quickly. "Put on a coat."
Seokjin grabbed the largest one in immediate sight. When it came to Taehyung, he hesitantly lifted the immortalized outerwear off its flattened throne. The system did not reset so Seokjin tossed it his way. As he guessed, he had grown out of it, but, did not ask for another. He thought of his mother, pulling up the zipper, that reflected the frigidity of the air. From his peripheral, he saw the number drop another digit.
Deathly serious, the older took his dignified position, demanding obedience. His foot began to numb, near completely submerged.
"We need to hurry up. This water is going to keep rising, and . . I don't think it's going to stop."
There was no guilt in their raid, considering the other four were alive, and not present. Belongings polluted the rising ocean, tossed overhead, and deemed worthless. They clawed with fervor, Seokjin sat upon his top bunk, high above their slow approaching predator. He begged Taehyung to follow, but, he claimed he needed to be closer to the ground to quickly reach the weights. Taehyung was situated on the open bed, clawing through Yoongi's duffel.
Nothing rang any bells inside his bed. The tip of his nose, ears, and cheeks lightly burned, sensitive areas without any sort of cover. Seokjin tossed him astray clothes of his, a beanie, mittens, another jacket. "Don't you need these, Hyung?"
"It's okay. It's okay, Hoseok probably has some." His assurance was betrayed by the shivers he was unable to contain. "Just stay warm, Taehyung."
He pulled on the black beanie, thankfully covering his ears and preserving his brain's warmth, the most necessary of organs. Stray fibers from his protected hands unexpectedly clung onto similar fabric.
"Look, look, this is one of Yoongi-Hyungs beanies! I swear he has this, still."
His Hyung, acting the role with tender concern, eyed the ground wearily. "Okay. Try it. Taehyung," he called before he could swing a leg over, "run."
He managed to bite down his throaty yelp upon contact with the water, and further noises, as the feeling of his muscles spasming occurred horrifyingly vivid. Barely was he able to speak loud enough to be heard, affirming his inference. Seokjin yelled for his return.
"All we need -" a sudden, aggressive rush of Siberian wind stole his breath. "All we need is you, Hobi-Hyung, and - and that last one."
Since Seokjin had the dancers bag up with him, Taehyung could do nothing but sift through the floating objects, in case any happened to be of importance. A few undersides were gradually freezing. Indescribably sharp, he cried out when he wiggled his toes, causing Jin to sputter out disapproval's and beg him not to try again.
Hoseok, Hoseok, what would Hoseok have held onto throughout eight years? Out of all of them, he was unsurpassable sentimental, holding onto memories in any way shape, or form. Meaning any of his possessions could still be in his custody. His hand's movements through the water became sluggish.
"I think I got it. It's this CD, remember, from when he danced underground?" Taehyung shrugged, unable to confirm, so Seokjin clambered down the ladder and took off to the front room alone. Taehyung stared at his mattress, soaking up the intruder, and wanted to crawl in, sleep like he was seventeen and so incredibly hopeful. "It worked!" He wanted to dream in youth forever.
A presence swiped through, stealing a layer of skin at a time until they depended on their bones for warmth. Jin asked him to check the bathroom, not impolitely, but short,
The metal doorknob was icy, burning his palm when he grasped it. The bathroom had always been cold; Taehyung remembered pulling socks to brave the chilled tile. Stepping in, winter overtook his senses, he stumbled through a blizzard, tugging his coat further. Except when he came to the sleeve of his too-thin too had gotten wet, and, the air nipped it at readily.
With the water level nearly to the low sink, the cabinets were unattainable, opening would only wet whatever was inside. He went to the shower, nothing of importance. He almost grabbed a hanging towel to wrap around his shoulders, but, overlooked its usefulness.
He opened the medicine cabinet, expecting to find a causal assortment of pain medication, dental floss, random expired skincare. Expectations were charred within moments, within the sight of an orange bottle and white cap.
He reread the label twice, three times, waiting for it to make sense. Kim Seokjin. 100mg. Refill half scratched out but certainly ending with 2013. Hw thought that maybe, this was a setup, to throw him off course, and when he'd show it to Jin demanding an answer, he'd be given a worried look and asked if he was feeling warm because it was vitamin tablets.
A thousand scenarios and none eased his exploding headache. Of course. Of course, unwritten history repeated, returned with an uncontrolled vengeance.
Seokjin's impending arrival announced itself with sloshing water. It would have been easier to become angry, turn and face him with a betrayed expression and accuse of hypocrisy, deceit. Instead, there was something akin to sadness running over and through his skin. Like knowing it's no one's fault, but unable to shake the feeling that it's your own.
"Tae, did you find anything?"
The urgency of his question, how his voice quivered with frost, rendered Taehyung conflicted. Confrontation at one's weakest points made a villain out of someone. He did not want to corner Seokjin, nor did he want to pretend he had never come across the prescription.
"Tae?" He turned slowly, to not pounce, to not dismiss. For a terrible moment, he existed, with the bottle in his hands, across from his Hyung, who he swore he knew.
There was only one another time Taehyung had ever witnessed blood drain from his face. A rainy, November night, and a gut feeling. He could see his mouth go dry, the apology immediately flash over his eyes, but his tongue without the lubricant to let it slide off.
Breaking icicles hanging from the roof of his mouth when he spoke, he asked for answers, because strength was hard to come by. Taehyung should have kept moving to keep his blood from freezing. Neither even twitched.
"Why didn't you tell me, Hyung?"
Seokjin had the sense to be shameful, answering evenly, honestly, with his eyes downcast.
"I didn't think it mattered that much."
He blinked a few times to free his lashes from ice, and also to activate the decelerated cogs in his mind. Incredulity seeped into his cracking and dried skin. "But these are what - these are - you had these types of pills?"
Lower, quiet, his response came. "I had trouble sleeping away from home. My mom suggested that I get prescribed some, to help with all the hours we had."
The story was eerily similar to his, yet common. Most of the two contrasted. Taehyung never dwelled on their differences. But their likeness, he became engrossed with.
"We're you . ." A million different ways he could have finished the sentence. Like me? Addicted? Struggling? There were two possible replies and neither would have brought the conversation to rest.
"No. No, I didn't."
He shifted his weight on his feet, crossed and loosened his arms, searching for a position that felt right. None did. Opposite in a way he never considered, in his wildest withdrawal dreams.
"I don't get it. Didn't you think it would've been good for me to know?"
Jin did not directly answer the question, yet worded his response in a way that Taehyung had no choice but to accept, couldn't find anything wrong in. "I know how easy it can be to rely on them. That's why I've been supporting you. Because I know how easy it is to turn to them when you're struggling."
"Do you still have them?"
Black, guilty eyes stared into him. Swift as he could through the mid-thigh level Arctic ocean, he brushed past him, into the hall, to the door, when he placed the half-filled bottle on top of the second to last platform. The lack of protest told him all he needed before the lowered weight was confirmed.
"Yes. Yes, you do."
The silence teetered on awkwardness, but Taehyung was not adding dramatics. He was thinking, heavily, brows furrowed and eyes fixated on the bottle. His vision began to spin when Seokjin spoke, unable to handle the quiet tension.
"Taehyung, are you upset-"
"No. I'm not upset at you for, I don't know, needing them. Or not telling me, I don't know if that would have helped. It's just . ."
He licked his severely chapped, close to bleeding, lips, and turned, analytical. "How often did you take them, Hyung?"
"Most nights, I think."
"For how long?"
The accused's eyes flickered to the upper left. "Each fill was three months' worth. I think I got them refilled once."
Taehyung's pride hadn't existed for a long, lonely, time. Yet the knowledge he had been chosen by the sky for a remarkable task, one he was clearing through with ease, sparked a bit of dignity. The adrenaline formed a body that could move, and move, and now, he felt his legs weaken, threatening to collapse, halfway through the show. Self-esteem had no preference of how it was perceived.
"So it's just me."
"What?"
"I'm the problem."
Features shattering into sympathy, Seokjin drew closer, an arm reaching out and then faltering halfway, discouraged by the rigidity of Taehyung's demeanor.
"Taehyung, no. You're not the problem. You were never the problem. You were struggling, and coping."
"So were you."
"Not like that. I think I would've had the same outcome if he had died while I was using them, too."
Jin wasn't bluffing because he couldn't know. But he didn't know. Taehyung read through the lines.
"You didn't have any trouble getting off them, did you."
"I had to slowly spread the dosages out, and a few sleepless nights."
"But you weren't like me. You didn't have any problems."
Seokjin's breath puffed up into his face as it quickened, conscience-stricken. "Taehyung, please. Don't do this to yourself."
Frustrating tears pricked at his eyes, freezing before they could fall, a disturbing metaphor for his hibernations away from winters of hurt.
"I almost forgot it, you know. How much I fucked myself up. This entire time, I was focused on doing this, and now I'm right back here again."
Right back in your bedroom.
"Hyung, don't be mad at Yoongi-Hyung-"
Seokjin had been in his room, pacing, with barely contained fury weeping from the sweat on his forehead. Taehyung did not catch the impatient memo and flinched at the sudden yell.
"How could I not be?! He shouldn't have even considered that idea!"
"This is more important, Hyung. We have to figure this out."
"But what about you? What about your health?"
His well-being was not in his own consideration. Jungkook's panic consumed him. The dissolving pills under his tongue tasted terrible, though he forced any indications of discomfort down.
"I already failed, this morning. It doesn't really matter anymore."
All the threads of the warm blanket Seokjin were snapped.
"Of course it matters! You think we want to be burdened with this forever? Getting you clean is all that matters. I don't understand how you don't see how much of a problem this is."
The soft skin of his hips toughened, wrinkling, under the sudden wet change of surroundings. At this point, it was becoming a challenge to step forward, his feet, the first victim, losing circulation.
He opted to alter his body horizontal, into a position between wading and swimming. It failed to be conceived, but Seokjin begged for a reply for three, four, minutes, with zero acknowledgment of his close-by presence.
"Taehyung! Kim Taehyung!" Attempts to be stern thwarted by fear, full-body shivers. "We can't do this, now. Answer me, please!"
If his fingers weren't stuck in place, he would have reached up to wave the pesky mosquito out of his ears, continuing the ill-fated search. Consequences refused to be perceived. The turn of spring refused to come.
Seokjin's hand landed heavily on his shoulder and twisted him backward. Frozen tears were on his cheeks, tinged blue.
"Taehyung, we're not leaving the conversation there."
"Who cares? I'm just burdening everyone with this."
He could have reached out and slapped him clean across the face and received the same reaction. "What? Who told you that?"
Emotion, the sole reason they managed to speak in harsh whispers. "Hyung, you did! You said that to me just, I don't know, an hour ago?!"
Seokjin inadvertently revealed he hadn't forgotten when he answered immediately. "Taehyung, that's not how I meant it. Why would I ever say that to you?"
"But you did."
His other hand gripped his unoccupied shoulder, grip tight, fingers unable to keep from unconsciously clenching. "I said that this entire situation is burdening us. That this all is a problem."
"That's not how I felt it."
"Why - Do you think you're burdening us?"
Defeated, his shoulders rejected posture. A needle pricked his skin and all his blood flowed out.
"I can't even stay away from some little pills, Hyung. I don't know how I'm supposed to keep being V, in our group. You guys work so hard to help me and I can't do one thing, I can't even make it a month."
Drawing him closer, Seokjin's spine straightened, the water reaching and biting at his lower back. "You're dependent, Taehyung. That's what happens. It happens."
Seeking comfort, the warmth that came from his embrace, Taehyung moved in further. Something within him withered when he felt no exertion of body heat. The point of everything dulled.
"So you don't think it's a burden? Y - you don't think it's a problem?"
Jin attempted to caress his face but couldn't pull his hands away from his scapulas. "Of course it's a burden. It's something none of us like or want. But it's ours to take care of, and that's what we're doing, and will always do."
Call it death bed confession; as his organs constricted, sea level at his chest, the words he hid underneath his struggle freed.
"But what if I can't?"
It wasn't like he meant to cause Seokjin's horror, but there was no easier way to say it. His brain-to-mouth filter failed, chattering teeth chopping the individual phrases, yet they were clear like his honesty. Something in the cold coerced truth out of him.
"What if I can't fight it anymore? What happens then?"
Refusing to allow the white flag to unravel, Jin pinched his features as tight as he could manage. His thick lashes were frosted, and beautiful, and dying. "We fight it for you."
The water breached through his lips, from a gentle splash, and it tasted like rain.
"Then what if I'm not here to fight for?"
Winter covered his eyes. He thought that hypothermia would drive him mad before it manage to subdue, but it all happened too quickly for the mania to drive through his skull. He was tired, physically, and from the bottom of his heart.
There was a form of pride in admitting what you couldn't do.
"I think I've already lost, Hyung. I'm sorry."
Seokjin breathed in sharply through his nose. There was not a hint of acceptance, even as the younger's fluttering kicks began to weaken, dipping his chin into his killer. "No," he began firmly, "no, I'm not letting you give up, Taehyung. I don't care what you think. You're not giving up until I say you can."
"Hyung . ."
Through his sleepy blinks, he saw Jin turn his face, clenching his jaw, shaking his head, and glancing about. Each movement threw his body about, kicking up droplets of water, six hundred types of muscles reduced to working as one. "What's our last item? What else do we still have?"
"I don't know." His voice was quieter than a mouse. "Hyung, I'm sorry."
"Stop, Taehyung, you're not doing this! Not here, not ever! Jungkook's just around the corner, we can't let him down." The hand wrapped around his thick neck tightened, and words came at the price of sharp coughs. "I'm not letting you let him - let him - let him down."
"I miss him so much, Hyung."
Seokjin opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. His eyes flashed with an apology after realization struck him, and then he disappeared beneath the water, right before Taehyung's very eyes. His hand slipped from his, though Taehyung never realized it was there in the first place.
A light flickered on inside of him. Emergency red.
"Hyung?!" Water splashed from his quick, shocked, movements. "Hyung! Jin-Hyung, no, no! What are you doing?!"
His head did not pop back up. All trace of him disappeared, without any promise he could be found.
His eldest Hyung he adored without a second thought. From the moment they met, he knew that he would need him, forever, love him even longer. He was not oblivious to the tragic sacrifice in the making, yet, could not react. He continued to adore but thought.
He thought of the times he witnessed him pinch himself till he bled to uphold the act of contentment. He thought of the times he held back his tears and did whatever the others couldn't manage, couldn't bear. He thought of all the quiet between them that could have been filled with words, aching to be said, to be heard. He thought of a world where they never would.
With the deepest breath he could muster, Taehyung dove into the water, fully knowing that by the time he rose back up, there would be no surface to breakthrough.
Seokjin disappeared into the hall. Kicking and striking with all his might, Taehyung followed, knowing nothing about the beyond, the consequences, only that he was not afraid.
He pondered death. Thought of it like it was a book he read when he was eight, a dog he saw when he was thirteen. To him, it was the tenth thought, far behind reaching his Hyung, who had yet to emerge from the bedroom. His spine could not manage the turn, so he waited, slowly suffocating. Death moved back two spots.
Because he died when Jungkook had and did so quietly enough that no one pumped his chest and pinched his nose.
But he didn't want Seokjin to die. The imagery flashed through his mind; the members stumbling across their floating, bloated bodies, pinching his nose and pumping his chest, the blue coldness of skin unmistakable. They noticed, but at what cost? Was there satisfaction in your pain being acknowledged if it had to be so cruel, spiteful? Was he not like those who danced around Jungkook's name or spoke so obnoxiously if he were to be so oblivious to their pain?
He didn't want Seokjin to die. He didn't want someone so intent on living life, moving ahead, to be cornered and forced to his knees, executed stylishly. Finally, finally, the tips of his fingers appeared through the doorway, begging for assistance.
Taehyung reached.
It violently occurred to him that even if he intertwined their fingers once more, right before becoming claimed by death, the water would not allow for eternity. He'd reach the afterlife with cramping fingers, tightening around comfort that had drifted away.
So he gripped his forearm tight, tight as he could, and promised that neither would go anywhere if not together.
The two of them kicked off the walls, propelling themselves through thin plates of ice. Something was in Seokjin's hand that Taehyung could not see. Time slowed to a complete stop under the surface, but somehow, he knew they were running out of it.
From the hall to the door, the distance could have been a mile. His lungs writhed. To not open his mouth and habitually breathe in, he squeezed Jin's wrist and allowed his teethe to penetrate his tongue. His blood was cold.
Jin placed the object down on the final empty place, and it would have been a perfect last sight.
The family photo, that may have been in their dorm, may have been somewhere in their company building, may still have been tucked away in one of Jungkook's drawers they never found the strength to open. It was nearly completely encased in ice, like a prehistoric creature taken off guard by unforgiving clouds, forever preserved in panic. The frame cracked under Jin's sustained grip.
The air bubble the weights had magically been preserved in was not pure oxygen, but it was enough to keep black from shuttering over his sight. Slowly, all too slowly, the platform level. Without a pause, the lock of the door clicked, and Jin twisted the knob.
Taehyung decided he had nothing left to lose, and snatched what he thought would be a nice find for archaeologists, happening upon a once in a lifetime find.
Except the two breached and the water did not follow. With grunts, they landed on carpeted floor, muscles seized in place and unable to react to catch themselves. Eyes still of use, Taehyung looked to the door; nothing else was allowed to exit, trapped parallel to the frame. The door closed.
Undoubtedly the softest and warmest blanket he had ever felt landed over his body, one on Seokjin, too. Instinctually, he knew the danger was gone, and he shut his exhausted eyes.
His skin dried first, regaining its natural warmth, maintaining the correct amount of moisture. Next, his clothes puffed around his body like clouds, instead of sticking uncomfortably, staining his dermis blue. Eyelashes, eyebrows, hair came last, fluffier than when he entered. Jin underwent the same process without a word, still flat on the ground, gulping oxygen as though it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. There was vulnerability emitting from his unmoving form, exposed and wide open. The trust-filled, liberating, kind, path of life Taehyung could never follow himself but admired greatly, from afar.
"I'm sorry." He propped himself on shaky elbows, moving before likely safe and necessary. "I didn't - I didn't mean to freak you out. It was getting to me. I shouldn't have let it get to me."
"It's okay, It's okay," his words were soft and barely louder than a whisper, yet silenced all hurried apologies. "You did good. You did perfectly. I'm sorry, too, Taehyung-ah."
Resting his parietal against the door, he kept his eyes upward, not wishing to witness worried reactions to his confession. Somehow, he looked and found nothing ahead. It was as though the chill of the water shook the tightrope of deliberation he balanced on and allowed him to free fall. He could only know which side he toppled over into from a flip of a coin.
This was always the hardest part; the experiences that were meant to open your eyes and force you to see the good, the beauty of the unknown, only reminded you of how easy it would be to not have to, anymore.
"I wish I could tell you that I think I can."
Jin was careful with his reply. "But you're trying."
"Yeah," he shifted, because he was alive, and that meant he must have been. "It's easy too. When I have you guys. But sometimes everything gets a little blurry, and I think that maybe it wouldn't matter. The world went on when Jungkook died. Why would it matter if it was me?"
He appreciated that he was not suddenly bombarded with rehearsed verses of his unlocked potential, told to voice what he would miss if he were to run off into the sun. Their eyes weren't connected. It felt as though all of him was still being seen.
"You know that we're all rooting for you. We're all supporting you."
"I know. And I don't want to let you guys down."
"You never have. We would go down with you, anyway."
Jin began to push himself up but fell back with a grunt, suddenly pressed with 62 kilograms of Taehyung.
A wheezy chuckle pushed out from the lung Taehyung's elbow was savagely stabbing into. He could adjust it later after he got his point clean across; I'm never going to let you fall.
Without looking at his face, Taehyung could tell Seokjin was contemplating, tearing himself apart over something that no one believed, especially not himself. He had to learn, one day, why humans latched onto anything to grieve. There was too much existing pain to create your own. Or maybe pain only existed because we let it. Either way, contemplation was a killer, and habits die hard.
"Hyung's not as strong as you think he is."
"Yes you are," he swiftly denied, finding his hand and squeezing it tight. "You're one of the strongest people I know."
Daring to believe, Seokjin managed a compressed breath. "Am I allowed to disagree?"
"Nope."
Despite being the first to cringe and writhe under the pressure of confessional emotion, he did not disagree, and both found it easy. To simply say it, without distress pushing it, without sympathy, without reassurance.
"I love you," the elder caressed his hair.
"I love you, too," the younger one closed his eyes.
"Can we get off the floor?"
Taehyung simply nuzzled into his warm chest. "But I like laying on you."
Seokjin surrendered underneath him, relaxed remaining tension, forgave himself with a sigh. He supposed another minute couldn't hurt.
"Okay. That's okay."
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