Chapter Text
Jimin sits on the small balcony with nothing but his underwear on and a thin blanket thrown over his shoulders, the view isn’t special in any way, he cannot see more than a few apartment buildings. He once asked Jeongguk if he could go sit on the roof, but the man said that the door is permanently locked. Jimin didn't really believe that, but he didn't push it.
The sun is setting behind his back, but from the big windows of other buildings, he can see the reflection of the sun. The orange and pink spills over the sky, coloring the clouds and bare branches of tall trees. He wishes he could see it directly- the sunset.
It’s unusual to witness sunset this bright in winter, Jimin wants to thank mother nature for letting him witness so many beautiful sunsets.
He glances down on his lap at a neatly folded piece of paper between his fingers, he breathes in shakily, listening to the evening rush of the city, the quiet, dull chirping of birds. The first snow has fallen, covering the country in thin layer of white.
Jimin places the folded note on the small plastic table, putting a glass ashtray over it to keep it from being blown away.
His lips are blue by the time he gets inside and he trembles from the cold, he stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, listening to the clock ticking away, he doesn’t have much time.
Almost two months have passed, almost sixty days, and Jimin wonders what prevents the man from throwing him out on the street in the middle of winter.
He has no obligation towards him, no obligation to keep him alive.
But in a way, Jeongguk’s presence had been comforting, it felt good not being alone. They both slept in Jeongguk’s bed, but they didn’t have sex in the last few weeks. The man stopped initiating it, and Jimin never felt the need to seek it out himself.
There wasn’t any uncomfortable tension between them, Jimin didn’t need much to go by, just drugs and he was alright with eating just every other day, feeling bad for eating the food Jeongguk bought. He didn't want to be a burden.
He found out that the man had another job, he was a tattoo artist in a small studio down the street.
‘Can you tattoo me?’
‘You want a tattoo? Where?’ Jeongguk asks, eyebrow lifted in surprise as he slurps his instant noodles.
Jimin looks at his own untouched cup as he plays with his fingers under the table.
‘My arm...I want a cover up.’
He sees the small halt in Jeongguk’s movement before the man continues to eat.
The skin is too damaged, too damaged to be tattooed, how can he tattoo a skin that’s being pierced on daily basis, but he doesn’t tell Jimin any of that.
-
It’s after hours, Jimin is sitting on the black leather chair as Jeongguk inspects his elbow, a mask is pulled over his mouth, gloved fingers pressing into a few fresh bruises, asking the boy if it hurts- maybe he will have to tattoo his arm in a few sessions.
‘Did you think about design?’
‘It’s up to you’
'Up to me? It’s your tattoo’
‘I want something pretty to look at, a night sky maybe...if you can do that' he says, sounding very unsure, he looks at Jeongguk as if expecting to be cussed out by making such a stupid request, it must be hard to tattoo without a clear design in mind, but the man nods.
'I can do that'
He barely feels it when Jeongguk tattoos over his old scars, it takes a few hours, the man seems way too focused on his work, maybe forgetting the fact that he is not getting paid for this. Jimin looks at the ceiling deciding not to look at the tattoo until it's finished.
‘Do you want to add color?’
‘You can do that?’
'Of course I can' he chuckles lightly, thinking that Jimin is underestimating him.
He draws planets and moons, Saturn rings and shooting starts, adding blue, purple and orange color to enhance the tattoo and bring it to life. It stretches from Jimin's biceps down to the beginning of his wrist.
It's way past midnight when Jeongguk finishes, and Jimin got used to the constant buzz of the tattoo gun, finding the room unbearably quiet when he switches it off.
‘It’s done’
Jimin’s eyes water when he takes a first look on his fresh tattoo, it’s beautiful, exactly like he imagined it to be and he suppresses the urge to run his fingers over the inked skin.
He loves it.
‘Thank you so much’
Jeongguk wraps up the skin of Jimin’s elbow, putting on an ointment and for the next two weeks of it’s healing Jimin resorts to snorting, and if Jeongguk notices any fresh marks on Jimin’s other elbow, he chooses not to comment on it.
The tattoo is one of the nicest gifts he ever received, he traces the shapes of it with his fingers and lot of times, Jeongguk finds him just staring at it, wondering how he isn’t tired of looking at the same image.
Jimin unconsciously rubs at the skin as he recalls the memory, the tattoo made him feel less ugly, lot of people have tattoos these days, some of his classmates from university too. He still follows all the people he ever knew on Instagram, he scrolls through it when he wants to feel even more miserable.
They all seems like they are doing well, especially Seo-he, she became a professional ballet dancer, something that Jimin aspired to be.
He fights the urge to cry every time a video of her performance shows up on his feed, Jimin is twenty-six, too old to pursue ballet anymore.
He wonders what it feels like, not fighting with yourself everyday, not breaking under the pressure of your own expectations, not hating yourself to the point of giving up.
He remembers his last year at university, he was practicing hard for a role that he wasn’t even going to get, it wasn't a role performed by male dancers, but he still thought that he could be good enough for them to choose him instead of Seo-he.
Jimin goes to the bedroom well- Jeongguk’s room, reaching under the bed for his bag, where he like a loser- still kept his pointe shoes. They are beige in color, worn out from the years of constant use, he slips his feet in, the shoes squeeze his toes exactly like he remembers, he fastens them with a ribbon around his ankles.
He feels unworthy of wearing them, and he definitely doesn’t feel pretty enough to dance, there are prominent dark circles under his eyes, his hair is cut unevenly, reaching his shoulders. His body is a lot weaker than it used to be, he can’t fake his previous confidence even if he tried to. He doesn't possess the natural glow that other ballet dancer have, a charisma that makes every person in the room look your way.
He doubts anyone would want to look at him.
Jimin stands up and walks back to the living room, he reaches for his phone that was left on the kitchen counter, searching through his downloaded files until he finds the track he is looking for.
The dying swan
His finger hovers over the screen before he finally presses play, he never actually perfected the choreography, Jimin couldn’t recall the dance even if he wanted to, but his body moves on its own, all thanks to his muscle memory. He has a hard time standing on his pointe shoes, his ankles became too weak to support his weight, and all the muscles from his calves disappeared over the years.
Music is the last thing on earth that can touch his heart and reach his soul.
He flies around the small room, gliding on his tippy toes- movement of his arms still fluid enough, perfected by the years of practice.
He continues to move around the tiny space of the living room, closing his eyes for a few brief seconds, and for once, the chaos in his mind comes to a halt, simmering down- everything else stills when he dances.
Jimin wraps his arms around his naked body as he turns in circles, accompanied by the familiar sound of violincello before he spreads his arms again, swimming through the air, trying to ignore the cramping in his calf.
And foolishly, he jumps onto the next step, attempting arabesque that he was able to pull off effortlessly before, the movement is rather quick and short lasting, he stands on his right toes, lifting his left leg up high into the air, spreading his arm, fingers angled upwards.
But moments like this never last too long for him, and soon enough, his knee buckles under his weight and he comes crashing down from his little dream, body hitting the hard wood floor with a loud thud.
First, dry sob forces it’s way out of his throat, he curls into himself, placing his forehead against the floor and he screams, letting all the pain and frustration out of his system, letting out everything that had been choking him for years.
Soon, he is crying uncontrollably, finding it impossible to stop once he started, and the music comes to a stop.
The swan had died.
The track starts to play from the beginning. It’s a loop.
And Jimin pulls himself back up on his feet, starting the choreography from the very beginning.
He fails and falls, starting all over again.
And again.
And again.
He can barely see through his tears anymore, with each attempt his moves become sloppier and more uncoordinated, he ends up placing his leg into a wrong position while doing a particularly sharp turn. His ankle twists and he comes crashing to the ground with a loud cry.
The thin skin that stretches over the bones of his knees is scratched bloody from the many falls he endured. His ankle throbs in pain and Jimin knows he is done for.
At least he tried, dancing with the memory of his past self.
It’s getting darker, the deep red of the setting sun shoots through the balcony and Jimin cries like a lost child, the balcony door remained open, pushing out all the warmness of the apartment, letting the deep chilling cold settle in.
All the warmth left long time ago, it’s time for him to leave too.
He pulls himself off the ground and limps to Jeongguk’s room from where he takes his worn out pouch, he takes out his equipment and his dose, which Jeongguk started to limit for him, but it didn’t take Jimin long to figure out where he keeps the rest.
It’s all stashed in the bathroom, behind one broken tile which is covered by the washing machine, with great difficulty, he pushes the machine to the side, lifting up the broken tile, he fills his small baggie to the brim, still just in his underwear and dance shoes on, he takes his time melting the white powder, filling up two syringes.
His hands tremble, but just a little bit.
He takes his blanket and goes to sit back on the balcony, he hisses when the cold plastic makes contact with his skin. Jimin knows there is no one to call him selfish for his decision, it makes it all a bit easier. Jeongguk is going to understand, someone like him cannot be helped, and he doesn't need the man to remember him, he is alright with being forgotten.
The same way his family and friends forgot about him.
He isn't angry, they didn't reach out to him the same way he didn't reach out to them.
Jimin spends the last few minutes admiring his tattoo, he is thankful for everything Jeongguk did for him, after a few lonely years, he once again felt the familiar warmth inside of his chest, a feeling that reminded him that he still has a heart.
He takes a deep breath before he pierces his skin one last time, right through the pretty stars that Jeongguk drew for him- ah, he made some parts darker on purpose which makes it harder for him to locate his vein, but Jimin has years of practice. The skin under the tattoo is so scarred and damaged it would take two lifetimes to heal.
He is a bit afraid, naturally, but just a tiny bit, he throws the empty one on the ground before injecting the second one, pushing the liquid inside of his body before dropping the syringe down.
He took triple of his daily morning and night dose combined.
Jimin hopes that it's going to be fast.
It takes a few minutes to settle in, the hot waves come and go through his body, he curls into a ball on the small chair. Nausea follows short after, but he has no food to throw up. His chest starts to hurt and his eyes water again as he looks at the reflection of the last rays of sun.
His chest constrict painfully, and it gets harder for him to breathe.
Jimin doesn't fight it, he hugs his knees as he chokes on his last breath, feeling himself slip away.
The cold breeze becomes nothing but a warm hug, and he floats away together with it.
‘Can you give me a hug? Please?’
After crying silently for a while, he finally gathers enough courage to ask, while Jeongguk’s back is turned to him, he is wide awake, pretending not to hear the boy’s cries, having no idea how to comfort him. Jimin tried his best to muffle his cries, so Jeongguk thought that he wanted to be left alone.
He turns around, facing Jimin who's eyes are shiny with tears, few messy, black hairs sticking to the wet skin of his cheeks, Jeongguk places his hand around the boy’s bony shoulders before he gently pulls him into a hug.
Jimin melts into his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he receives his first hug in almost four years.
‘Thank you’
Jeongguk’s heart drops every time he comes home and finds Jimin lying on the couch or on the bed, he always hurries to check if the boy is breathing, if his chest is still moving.
He knows he can't make the boy quit cold turkey, but he starts giving him smaller doses, and if Jimin notices, he doesn't say anything.
Fresh lettuce with cherry tomatoes, one chicken breast- boiled, cut into tiny pieces. The old lady has the order ready when he stops by.
It’s Jimin’s everyday dinner, it’s a strong habit built over the years. He didn't eat in the evening, no matter what Jeongguk bought home and it took a while for him to get Jimin to tell him what he wants to eat.
‘Are you sure you don't want anything else?'
'I am a ballet dancer...I can't gain weight'`
He still limits his food intake even though he doesn’t have to, as if he is preparing for a performance that never comes.
No matter how many times he tells himself that he should kick the boy out- he finds himself unable to do so.
The old neighbor gives him an ugly glare as he passes by, but Jeongguk pays him no mind, his hands are freezing and he unlocks the apartment door, finding his living room to be the same temperature as the outside world.
As if the winter had made itself at home.
There is music playing, a soft piano, accompanied by sharp strokes of violin.
It’s dusk, sun has just disappeared below the horizon.
“Jimin?” he calls out quietly, stepping further into the room, just then noticing a figure curled up on the balcony chair, door wide open, curtain fluttering from the cold wind that blows inside.
Jeongguk’s stomach drops, he places the take out on the living room table, dread filling every cell of his body, .
The music continues to play and Jimin doesn’t move, the boy likes sitting on the balcony, he is there every evening no matter how cold it is, but he always answered his call, or he at least turned his head to let him know that he heard him.
And somehow, Jeongguk just knows.
Everything felt a bit off since morning, they had breakfast together, which was a bit unusual, Jimin looked happier, relieved almost. It was nice seeing the boy smile as for the past few weeks he seemed to have gotten worse, he lost more weight and his hair started thinning out noticeably. He looked exhausted all the time, and since getting his tattoo, he didn't leave the apartment once.
‘Can you-' Jimin started one morning right as Jeongguk was about to leave for work, the man stood their patiently, waiting for him to finish.
‘buy me flowers? But just if you have time, and it doesn't have to be today!’
He knows the request is fucking ridiculous, and why should Jeongguk even spent money on him, but Jimin still asks, because he has nothing to lose.
‘Flowers? What kind?’ the man asks softly as he puts on his shoes, he can do that, it's not like the boy is asking him for a car.
‘You can choose’
Jimin doesn't have a specific type or color in mind, he just wants to know what receiving flowers feels like.
Jeongguk came home with a bouquet full of yellow and purple flowers, wrapped around in a big green leaf. The look on Jimin’s face gave away that he didn’t think Jeongguk would actually bring him flowers.
From that moment on, it became obvious to him that Jimin is completing a list.
It’s full of small things, first, the tattoo, then flowers, hand-holding, and last time he asked for a particular type of candy- as if he is searching for a specific kind of feeling.
With fast beating heart, Jeongguk heads towards the balcony, stopping right at the door.
“Jimin?” he asks again, just to receive no answer.
The thin blanket definitely isn’t enough to keep him warm. Jeongguk takes off his jacket and drapes it arounds Jimin’s thin shoulders, he steps closer, accidently kicking something with the tip of his shoe. He glances down, noticing the two empty syringes under the chair and his breath hitches.
The floor swims beneath him, he holds onto the back of the chair and squats down, pressing his forehead against the cold plastic, his breath creating a cloud in the cold air.
“Jimin?” he whispers, knowing very well that he is not going to get an answer, at this point is just his own delusion that is keeping him sane.
“You must be cold-“ he cuts himself off and stands up again, heart beating fast inside of his chest as he struggles to face the reality, he stares at the top of Jimin’s hair before he finally steps around the chair.
The boy’s hands are wrapped around his knees, his head rests on top of them, eye closed, eyelashes laying over his cheeks, glistening with the remains of his tears, plush lips colored blue.
Jeongguk never saw him looking so peaceful.
He left with the sunset.
He turns away towards the gloomy view of the city when he feels the familiar sting in his eyes. He takes another shaky breath, throat closed tight.
“It’s okay”, he doesn’t know if he is talking to Jimin or to himself.
He carefully scoops Jimin into his arms, his body is cold as ice. So fragile it might break in his hold.
“It’s okay”
Jeongguk kicks the balcony door shut.
“We will make you warm again.”
He sits down on the couch, holding Jimin close to his chest,- just then noticing the boy’s footwear, his beige pointe shoes, silky ribbons tightly fastened around his ankles.
'Can you show me how you walk in those?'
'I don’t dance anymore'
Jimin didn't dance but he still called himself a dancer, he didn't dance but he still cherished his pair of shoes dearly, he had no performance to prepare for but he still monitored his diet.
'Why keep the shoes then'
‘To remember’
They sit naturally on Jimin’s feet, his legs are littered with fresh bruises- the music continues to play from the kitchen counter loudly, demanding attention, as if trying to wake the boy up.
He wishes that he could witness Jimin dance at least once.
Jeongguk touches the icy skin of the boys cheek, the lines on his face are smooth, free from any previous worries.
He covers Jimin with the same blanket, pulling his own jacket over his body to warm him up, adjusting him in his arms.
The boy’s head rests on his shoulder, but no warm breath touches Jeongguk’s neck, and no matter how long he sits there, Jimin’s body remains ice cold, but he can’t bring himself to move.
“Jimin”
He doesn’t know why he keeps saying the boy’s name, because he is not going to get an answer no matter how many times tries.
He pulls the blanket slightly to the side, inspecting Jimin’s tattoo, easily noticing the freshly pierced skin even through the dark ink. He intertwines their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin of Jimin's hand.
"I hope you are not in pain anymore, angel. You deserve to rest. I just want you to know that you were never a burden to me. It was my pleasure having you here."
'I am never going to get better. Thank you for having me, even if it’s just for a while'
Maybe he should have said something something, but he feared Jimin would retreat back into his shell if he felt like he was being monitored. Maybe he should have been selfish and make Jimin stay, he didn't want the boy to leave.
But he witnessed how sad Jimin was, it felt unfair to keep him here, to keep him alive against his will.
No matter how fucked up that sounds.
He hopes that Jimin gained a new pair of wings in heaven, that angels welcomed him with open arms, that he gets new, prettier pair of shoes and he can dance without ever getting tired.
Jeongguk doesn't know when he started to cry, his hot tears drop down on the icy skin of Jimin's cheek, he sits there until the phone dies and the music stops.
When sun starts to rise, he knows it's time to let go.
‘Can you hold my hand?’
Jimin asked on one cold day when they were sitting on the balcony, he was waiting for the sun to set while Jeongguk smoked.
‘Sure’
He didn’t ask any questions, and Jimin gave him a small smile when Jeongguk reached out and intertwined their fingers in a gentle hold.