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Taehyung wakes up at 1:31 a.m., and for a second, he doesn’t know what’s wrong. He’s curled loosely around a pillow with Jeongguk somewhere behind him, and his head feels swimmy and weird, but everything seems—oh. Fuck. There’s a flicker of discomfort through his abdomen which ramps up and up before it dissipates, leaving Taehyung’s stomach turning, sour and greasy at once. Fuck, no, it’s—it must be something he ate, or just a weird random stomachache, or a migraine or anxiety or—or—
Fuck. Taehyung is going to puke. Not quite yet, but soon, and Taehyung almost starts crying because he’s dreading it, and he knows it’s inevitable. Taehyung’s next 24-or-so hours will be spent on the bathroom floor in a haze, the least glamorous and most awful way to lose two or three pounds that Taehyung can think of.
And he’ll be alone through it all, because Jeongguk absolutely cannot be exposed.
Taehyung turns his head as he pushes himself up. Jeongguk is passed out beside him, mouth open and drooling onto the pillow, and that’s how Taehyung is going to keep it. Jeongguk will have a panic attack if he thinks he’s been exposed, which—fuck, if Taehyung doesn’t get to a bathroom soon, he’s going to puke all over his pajamas, and then Jeongguk will be at huge risk of coming down with this bug. Taehyung does not want this, because he loves Jeongguk and he’s not going to get the kid sick. The last time Jeongguk had the stomach flu, he had confessed to Taehyung that feeling sick like that always made him go so panicky and frantic that he would contemplate suicide to make it stop. The therapist has since informed them that this probably classifies as emetophobia, and it 100 percent a real thing. Taehyung is not going to trigger it out of his own selfish desire for comfort.
Fuck. It’s painful to climb out of bed, but Taehyung forces himself up. His stomach turns as he grabs a blanket and snags his phone off the nightstand and trudges up the stairs, kind of dizzy and feeling gross and generally terrible. He makes it to the living room, slides against the wall until he’s in the spare bathroom, and then he collapses to the floor and makes himself as comfortable as he can, which is really not very comfortable.
Taehyung tries playing around on his phone to distract himself, but the games make his head spin worse. YouTube videos are grating on his eyes, and listening to music even feels like too much. Taehyung gives up and rests his head on the tile floor, dropping his phone and resigning himself to a long, miserable night.
It takes until after 2:00 a.m. for Taehyung to finally puke, and he heaves into the toilet and wishes Jeongguk were there to comfort him even though he’s also praying that Jeongguk hasn’t already been infected, that he won’t have to suffer this and panic attacks at the same time, because that’s what will happen if Jeongguk gets sick. Still, it would be nice to have Jeongguk there to stroke his back or something. Taehyung has forgotten how much it sucks to throw up when it’s not because you’re drunk. Which, you know, also sucks, but also you’re drunk, so it sucks a lot less.
The first round of puking brings a hint of relief, just like puking always does. Within minutes, though, Taehyung is sweaty and even dizzier and feeling actually worse, and then he’s sure it’s not just food poisoning or some weird allergic reaction or a migraine or anxiety. Taehyung is just sick, and it’s disgusting and Taehyung is crying, but he stays quiet and suffers alone. Jeongguk can’t know. Protect Jeongguk. Keep him safe.
At 2:19, a KKT message lights up Taehyung’s phone.
jiminie: hey tae or kookie, either of you awake?
jiminie: sorry it’s okay nvm
Taehyung types back right away even though looking at his phone is still making him feel sicker.
tata: yee fuck
tata: jiminie im so sick ㅠㅠ
jiminie: huh? what r u ok?
jiminie: you get joon hyungs cold or smthn?
tata: bleh I wish
tata: stomach flu. so I can’t even tell kookie
jiminie: oh nooooo bb I’m so sorry
jiminie: hold on, are u in ur bathroom?
tata: upstairs
tata: don’t want germs in kook’s n my bathroom
tata: kook will have a panic attack
jiminie: shit hold on a sec
Taehyung closes his eyes and waits for the next message to come through, but instead he hears the sound of a door opening down the hall and then the tap of bare feet on the wood floor. The bathroom door creaks open and Jimin is there, all fluffy in Yoongi’s sweatpants and Hoseok’s too-big shirt, his hair a mess. He’s looking down at Taehyung with concern and sympathy, his bottom lip between his teeth the way he always bites it when he’s feeling shy and cute and worried about his housemates. Taehyung’s heart clenches in relief even as nausea washes over him again.
Taehyung forces it back and blinks at Jimin in the glow of the hallway nightlight. “You don’t have to check on me,” Taehyung gasps, another wave of pain shocking its way through his stomach.
Jimin smiles. “Taehyungie, babe, I don’t mind even a little. You look really sick.” He crouches down and brushes a hand through Taehyung’s sweaty hair, and Taehyung keens at the contact.
“I’ll go get you some ice chips. The hot water bottle too. You want some of the stomach meds Seokjin keeps around here somewhere?”
“No,” Taehyung moans. “Last time I got the stomach flu and took something, I just puked it all back up. It was extra gross. And pink.”
Jimin nods, grimacing in sympathy. “Okay. Be right back.”
Taehyung waits. Not like there’s anything else he can do. The nausea builds and builds, and right as Jimin is reentering the bathroom, Taehyung is hauling himself up to puke again. Jimin coos and sets down what he’s carrying to rub Taehyung’s back.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jimin murmurs, his fingers working magic against Taehyung’s neck, his shoulders. It’s been years since Taehyung was this kind of sick, years and years since anyone sat with him through it or stroked his back while he was puking. It’s still horrible, but Jimin’s hands make it somehow more manageable.
“This sucks,” Taehyung says when he stops puking. “I hate it. Almost as much as Jeongguk does, but at least I don’t get all that anxiety over it.” He’s breathing hard and dripping sweat and shaking, but Jimin is putting a cold cloth over the back of Taehyung’s neck and helping him to lie down, and Taehyung lets himself be taken care of.
“I know,” Jimin says. “I know. But I’ve got you. Is it bad that I’m kind of glad you’re awake?”
Taehyung sighs as Jimin stretches up to flush the toilet again. Lets Jimin feed him an ice chip even though Taehyung is sure that whatever water he gets from it will just get thrown up again in a half hour or so. Takes the hot water bottle and presses it against his aching stomach, and it maybe helps a little. Maybe.
“Not bad, Jiminie,” Taehyung says. “I would’ve woken up for you even if I’d been asleep. You can always wake me for anything, babe.”
Jimin shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t want to bother you.”
“What’s wrong,” Taehyung asks, the syllables twisted into a gasp at the end because another cramp shoots through his abdomen, leaving him writhing in Jimin’s lap. Jimin strokes Taehyung’s hair and hums a note of concern, and Taehyung tries to breathe even though it hurts, it hurts. Finally, the pain calms down a little, and Taehyung lies limp and still kind of crying as Jimin bites his lip and thinks.
“It’s nothing, Taehyung,” Jimin says. “Don’t worry about it. You’re sick.”
“Yeah, so I’m not going anywhere,” Taehyung says. “Tell me, please. I love you and you’re my best friend and you can confess anything to me and I won’t love you any less. And we’ll still be best friends.”
Jimin takes a deep breath and lets it out. He scoots himself back against the wall, dragging Taehyung with him. Taehyung wishes his stomach weren’t roiling at the slight change in position, but it is. Fuck. Everything hurts. Everything sucks. Everything is the worst.
“Tae, how delirious are you?”
“Huh?”
“Just—” Jimin lets out a light, self-deprecating laugh. “Can I talk about some shit that I don’t want you to remember?”
Taehyung’s eyes are closed. His thoughts are blurred but not to the point of incoherence. “I might remember this part, Jiminie,” Taehyung says. “You want me to not know what’s going on, you’ll have to wait another couple hours. My first year of high school, I got really sick like this and my mom sat with me and for some reason I sang, like, half of the songs from Grease to her. In English. Very badly. I only vaguely remember doing it, but I remember that it seemed really important at the time.”
“Wow,” Jimin says. “So I should wait until you’re singing High School Musical or something, and then I can confide in you?”
Taehyung groans as nausea climbs up his throat again. “You can confide in me right now,” he gasps, shoving himself up as quick as he can. “As soon as I finish puking.”
It sucks, but at least there’s basically nothing left in his stomach to throw up anymore.
“You’re okay,” Jimin says again. “You’re okay. You’ll feel better soon.”
Taehyung moans, and Jimin gives him a cup of water to rinse his mouth out. Taehyung manages to flush and lie back down.
“Tell me,” Taehyung whispers when he’s sure he’s okay for the moment. His stomach hurts so fucking much, and he’s too hot and too cold at the same time, and he’s all sweaty and he wants a shower except climbing into one will definitely trigger more puking. But Jimin is apparently magic, because suddenly there’s an icy-cool cloth pressing against Taehyung’s forehead, and it’s like heaven, although Taehyung cannot for the life of him figure out how it exists.
“I got a bowl of ice water,” Jimin says.
“What?” Taehyung asks, only it comes out more like whaaahuh.
“The cloth. You asked how I got it to be so cold.”
“Oh,” Taehyung says. “Fuck, ‘kay, maybe I’m kinda delirious.”
“You’re really slurry, yeah,” Jimin says. “You okay? If it starts really hurting, you have to tell me so we can go to the hospital. In case of appendicitis.”
“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyelids fluttering. Fuck, fuck, fuck, everything is terrible.
“Okay,” Jimin parrots back. “Um. I guess I should say it out loud. Um. Okay. Here I go.”
Taehyung clutches his stomach and presses his head against Jimin’s legs and listens.
“Tae, um, you know how I like…can’t eat?” Jimin whispers, looking down at Taehyung’s head in his lap, hair sweaty and brow scrunched in pain. Jimin’s heart clenches at the sight of obvious misery, the way Taehyung is curled up around his stomach and shaking, feverish. “I’m—I’m always so conscious of the way I look—not just my weight, but. All of me. I mean, it’s more than that, but that’s part of it, and—and I don’t even care if I get the stomach flu from you, because it’s, like, a 24-hour easy way to lose a couple of pounds, and if I lose them, I’ll feel better, I think, except I won’t feel better and I’ll just want to lose more or just not be me, and nothing fits me right now and everyone’s noticed and you guys are always looking at me and looking at each other like you’re so worried and I’m a fucking wreck, Tae, god.” Jimin swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“‘Sokay, Minnie-baby,” Taehyung says. He’s never called Jimin that before, and it makes affection flash down the back of Jimin’s throat—not that affection is anything new for Jimin to feel when it comes to Kim Taehyung. Taehyung’s hand comes to rest on Jimin’s ankle. “Tell me more things,” he says.
Jimin chuckles, but it hurts his chest. He keeps carding his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, refreshes the cold cloth in the bucket of ice water, sips from the water bottle he brought in for himself. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t really talk about this.”
“What about with your therapist? Fuck I don’t feel good Minnie-baby I feel so sick I hate this,” Taehyung slurs out, eyelids fluttering as something like a sob bursts from his throat. He’s almost crying, but it’s like he’s actually too sick to cry, which is honestly really sad to look at. Jimin coos and closes his own eyes like the pain is his own. In some way, it feels like it is, emotionally if not physically. Jimin has always been easily impacted by other people’s feelings.
“You’re okay, Taehyungie,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry Jeongguk can’t be here with you.”
“No, can’t let him get this, oh no. I won’t kiss him for, like, a week just in case.”
“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. “You can sleep in our room once the puking stops if you want. Then you won’t get germs in the kitchen or the living room, so Jeongguk will be safe.”
“Hyungs though,” Taehyung moans. “They’ll get sick. You’ll get sick, Minnie.”
“I’ll be okay,” Jimin says, guilty because even if he’s not, it’s like he said: he’ll lose a couple of pounds, maybe the last bit of stomach around his waistline that he can’t get rid of even though he works out way more than he should, eats not as much as he should. Some days he has to convince himself not to go out and buy weight-loss pills or laxatives or diuretics or ipecac. All of his clothes are too big. All of Yoongi’s clothes are too big, and Yoongi is tiny and delicate and perfect and smaller than Jimin, at least in musculature. Hoseok’s clothes hang off of him so he almost can’t even wear them. The collar of the shirt he’s wearing now is slipping down one shoulder, and Jimin is freezing even though it’s almost July.
“Gonna puke again,” Taehyung says, and he finds the strength to push himself up before it happens. Jimin strokes fingers up and down his back, exhausted because it’s past 3:00 a.m. now, but Taehyung needs him, and there’s no way Jimin is going to fall asleep.
Taehyung finishes puking and completes rinse-spit-flush ritual everyone who’s ever had food poisoning or the stomach flu is unfortunately familiar with. Jimin rewets the cool cloth and lays it across Taehyung’s forehead when Taehyung lies back into his lap, and Taehyung sighs.
“Minnie-baby, I love you,” Taehyung mumbles, one of his hands somehow managing to catch Jimin’s fingers even though Taehyung is shaking hard and clutching his stomach and groaning. His grip is weak and clammy, and Jimin prays it really isn’t Taehyung’s appendix or something. “Hobi and Yoongi love you too. And Joonie and Jinnie and Gukkie.”
Jimin bites his lip, discomfort welling up in his chest at the affection. “Yeah,” he says, because cognitively, he knows it’s true. “Don’t let the hyungs hear you drop your honorifics or they’ll torment you for a week about how loud you are with Jeongguk.”
Taehyung whines. “They already torment me about that all the time. And I’m sick. Too many syllables to say ‘hyung’ for everyone.”
Jimin chuckles, fond. “Okay, Tae. You want me to help you take a bath or something?”
Taehyung groans. “Yes. But not yet. Don’t wanna move. Gonna puke again soon.”
“Do you always get this sick when you get the stomach flu? I’m pretty sure last time I got it, I only puked, like, four times, and I kinda just stayed in bed and dragged myself into the bathroom when it was gonna happen.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “Every time. I get fuckin’ so sick.”
“Okay,” Jimin says, still a little bit concerned that Taehyung needs to go to the doctor. But how would they even get him there if he’s this sick? They’d have to take Namjoon’s car, probably. Namjoon would be all concerned dad and wouldn’t mind if Taehyung puked in his backseat.
“My mom was really sick when she was pregnant with me,” Taehyung slurs, and maybe he’s finally getting to the heights of his delirium, because he sounds super out of it, like he doesn’t even really know that he’s talking.
“Yeah?” Jimin asks. Why not indulge the poor kid when he’s this ill?
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “Had to be in the hospital for a while. She couldn’t eat anything. She lived on those, like, high-calorie nutrition shakes for people who are severely malnourished.”
“Aw,” Jimin says. Then he giggles. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
Taehyung groans. “Oh my god, that would be—no, I’m only 22, I can’t have a kid now.”
“As if we wouldn’t all support you and Jeongguk and your magic love-child,” Jimin scoffs, blinking slowly through his exhaustion and feeding Taehyung an ice chip. They’re starting to melt now, cold water collecting in the bottom of the cup. Taehyung accepts the ice with a hum, and Jimin is struck by that warm, overwhelming surge of love he always gets in his chest when one of his housemates lets him take care of them.
Taehyung sucks at the ice chip and tenses, groaning again like he’s in a lot of pain, which, to be fair, he definitely is. “Fuck. I don’t know how people live through pregnancy. Like, it’s like being sick just all the time. And there’s something growing inside you.”
“Yeah,” Jimin giggles. “It’s kind of cool, though, right? Just think—if you had a uterus, you and Jeongguk could love each other and express that love physically and actually create life. That’s…it’s pretty awesome, actually. You guys would make a really cute kid, you know.”
Taehyung snorts. “It’s weird. Every time I talk to my pregnant coworker, I feel like I’m talking to two people and it’s super creepy.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Jimin jokes.
“I absolutely did tell her that! Except only the part about feeling like I’m talking to two people. Not the part about it being creepy.”
“Good call,” Jimin says, still kind of laughing. “Too bad you never use that kind of tact around here.”
“I think you’re insulting me but I’m too sick to understand what you’re saying,” Taehyung says. “Oh, I’m getting to the really rambly part of this. Might start singing Grease to you.”
“I request High School Musical. That’s why I brought it up earlier. Trying to plant the idea in your head without you realizing it, but you’re really sick so I don’t think it worked.”
Taehyung bites his lip and stays quiet for a second, and then he sits up and leans over the toilet. He doesn’t puke right away, but Jimin lets his fingers skitter up and down Taehyung’s spine for a few minutes while they wait for it. The dry heaves hit, and Jimin hums Jeongguk’s favorite lullaby, the weird one they all really like even though no one knows the words, and Taehyung gasps and chokes and throws up nothing, and then finally it ends, and Taehyung collapses into Jimin’s lap.
“Hey, hey, you’re fine,” Jimin whispers. “Just breathe.”
“Water,” Taehyung says.
“You’ll throw it back up.”
“I know,” Taehyung says. “Don’t care. So thirsty.”
“You should try to sleep,” Jimin whispers, but he feeds Taehyung two more ice chips. “Suck on these. If you drink water, you really will just throw it up.”
“Okay,” Taehyung says, pliant and accepting.
“You sure you don’t want me to carry you back to our room or something? You’ll probably be more comfortable,” Jimin offers, because Taehyung looks miserable on the bathroom floor.
“Can’t,” Taehyung gasps. “I’ll just puke in your bed. I gotta be here so I don’t get anyone else sick.”
“Okay,” Jimin says. “That’s fine. Try to relax, okay? Sleep a little, and then you can have a shower.”
“Might puke in the shower.”
“That’s fine,” Jimin says. “Not like you’re throwing anything up anymore anyways.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “You can keep telling me stuff, you know.”
Jimin ducks his head. “It’s okay.”
“You asked if Jeongguk and I were awake,” Taehyung says. “You at least kind of wanted to talk about it.”
Jimin bites his lip. “Yeah. I don’t know. I just—I guess I just can’t stop thinking about it. I got kind of overwhelmed. But I wake up Hoseok-hyung all the time by accident when I’m crying, so—” Jimin cuts himself off because no, he wasn’t supposed to say that, but—but maybe Taehyung didn’t notice, maybe he’s too sick to—
“Crying?” Taehyung asks, forcing his eyes open to look up at Jimin. “When are you crying? Why?”
Jimin shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s—it’s nothing.”
“Minnie,” Taehyung says. “You can tell me.”
Jimin leans his head back against the wall and gives Taehyung another ice chip. “I don’t know. Sometimes I’m just crying, and Hoseok-hyung always wakes up and rocks me to sleep. Like—every time. I don’t know how he does it. It’s like he has a sensor for Crying Jimin or something.”
Taehyung’s mouth twitches in almost-a-grin. “Hobi-hyung loves you, babe.”
Jimin puts his face in his hands. “Hmm. I guess.”
“What? Guess? Minnie, baby, have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s like—it’s like how Namjoon looks at Seokjin only maybe more because Hobi-hyung is so expressive with his face. Expressive face. So much smiley. Impressive. Ex—expressive? What are words?” Taehyung is mumbling by the end, and he sounds loopy as hell, and Jimin swallows and shakes his head.
“Yeah, you’re really out of it, Tae,” Jimin says. “Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Sick,” Taehyung mutters. “Gonna puke again.”
“Now?”
“Soon,” Taehyung says. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” Jimin says. “Let me know. I got you.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “You always do.”
Hoseok wakes up because the bed is not the right temperature.
“Mmph—Jiminie? Yoongi? Baby, you okay?” The whisper is probably too quiet for anyone to hear it over the sound of the fan they run for white noise, and Hoseok sits up from where he’s been lying on his back to rub his eyes and look around the dark room, only a sliver of light coming in from behind the blackout curtains. The bed is missing one of its usual occupants.
“Jimin?” Hoseok whisper-yells, wondering if maybe his younger boyfriend is in the bathroom, but there’s no response. There aren’t any lights on, but then Jimin doesn’t turn on lights unless he absolutely has to. Hoseok tries not to think about why that is as he pushes himself out of bed, leaving Yoongi sleeping peacefully in the corner. Yoongi has been busy at work for the past week, and he’s totally conked out, and he deserves the rest.
Hoseok has been practically on bedrest for a week due to his cold, so he’s kind of wired as he checks the time—3:55 a.m.—and heads out into the hall. Maybe Jimin is in the kitchen. Hell, maybe he decided to sleep in Taehyung and Jeongguk’s room, as Jimin is wont to do on occasion.
As soon as Hoseok has shut the door to his room, he hears the retching.
“Fuck,” Hoseok mutters to himself, because fuck, Jimin is sick, or Jimin is—Jimin is—
Jimin is sitting on the bathroom floor rubbing Taehyung’s back. He’s totally fine. Taehyung is the one doing the puking, and he looks pale and sweaty and shivery, and Hoseok sighs relief that Jimin is okay, sighs sympathy that Taehyung’s not, and treks off in search of more blankets and pillows before either of them notices him.
“Hey,” Hoseok says upon his return, dropping a few pillows and peeking over the top of the giant yellow comforter they only use when someone is sick.
Jimin looks up. Taehyung glances, but then he’s wracked by another wave of puking, and Hoseok winces for him.
“Hoseok-hyung,” Jimin says, “Did we wake you? I’m sorry, hyung, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, stepping over the water bottles on the floor, the bowl with a couple of washcloths in it that Jimin must be using as cool compresses for Taehyung’s sweaty forehead. “I woke up on my own. Kinda wired since I’ve just been resting all week.”
“Yeah, you should go back to sleep,” Jimin says. “You were really sick.”
“I’m fine,” Hoseok protests, rolling his eyes. He gets the yellow comforter draped out around Taehyung so that when he’s done puking, he’ll have something huge and soft and fluffy to relax into. Jimin bites his lip like he’s worrying about something. Hoseok steps back over Taehyung and makes space for himself, sinking to the floor next to Jimin and offering up one of the throw pillows from the living room couch. “You guys look like you could use some support.”
“Fuck,” Taehyung says. “God, I feel so horrible.” He’s whimpering, practically crying, his upper body slumped over the toilet. He looks like he might fall asleep there, and Jimin leans forward and starts to guide Taehyung back down, but Taehyung moans and shoves him off with a weak hand. “Nah, gonna puke again. Not done. Fuck, I hate this.”
“How long has this been going?” Hoseok asks, looking at Jimin. “You need me to get anything? More hot water for the hot water bottle?”
Jimin nods. “Actually, um, more ice to keep the washcloths cold? They don’t stay cool long enough, and Tae’s burning up.”
“Aw, poor thing. Sure, Jiminie,” Hoseok whispers, leaping up to his feet and taking the bowl into the kitchen, where he washes out the bowl and then refills it with ice, and with more cold water, and then with the rags.
He comes back and Taehyung is slumped in Jimin’s lap, apparently all right for the time being.
“You okay, Tae-baby?” Hoseok asks.
Taehyung groans. “No. But there’s nothing anyone can do.”
Jimin wrings out a cloth from the bowl and presses it to Taehyung’s forehead, so Hoseok wrings one out for the back of his neck. Taehyung moans in gratitude when the cool washcloths soothe his skin, and Hoseok makes a sympathetic face.
“Taehyung is really sick, huh,” Hoseok asks, looking at Jimin.
Jimin nods. “Yeah. I’m never this sick when I get stomach viruses.”
“Me neither,” Hoseok says, shaking his head. “Have you been awake long? Did Tae wake you up?”
Jimin looks like he’s going to say yes, but then he shakes his head no. “I was awake. I actually texted Tae to see if he or Jeongguk were awake, and he was, but then he said he was up here puking. That was almost two hours ago.”
“Fuck,” Hoseok says. “Jeongguk is gonna be so upset.”
“That’s why Tae is up here.”
Hoseok nods. “It’s not like Gukkie isn’t going to find out, though. He’ll wake up without Taehyung and come up and Taehyung will probably still be here puking.”
Jimin nods. “I know, but we might as well postpone the inevitable. And at least this way, Jeongguk probably won’t actually get sick.”
Hoseok leans over to rest his head on Jimin’s shoulder. “You comfy, babe? Do you need to switch or anything? I can take over and you can go back to sleep or something.”
Jimin shakes his head, eyes clear and shining in the light coming in from the hall. “I’m fine, hyung. You can go back to bed, really.”
Hoseok shakes his head, grinning. “No way! I’ll keep you guys company. I can be the resident errand-runner, get whatever you need to get Tae feeling better soon.”
Jimin swallows and finally nods. “Okay. Sure.”
“Jiminie,” Taehyung cuts in, “You’re really good at taking care of me.”
Jimin huffs and smiles. “Thanks, baby. Try to sleep, okay?”
Taehyung hums. “You should tell Hobi. And Yoongi, but Hobi’s here right now so you should tell him first.”
Hoseok lifts his head off Jimin’s shoulder to make eye contact. “Tell me what?”
Jimin shakes his head. “No, no, it’s nothing.”
Hoseok bites his lip. “You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to, or if you’re not ready, but if you want, you know you can tell me anything, baby, yeah?”
Jimin nods, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I know, I know, but—it’s fine, hyung. It’s nothing.”
Hoseok’s heart feels like it’s breaking. Jimin looks so soft and sweet and innocent on the bathroom floor, looking after his best friend during an incredibly unglamorous episode which Taehyung will undoubtedly look back on later with at least some embarrassment, an episode which could land Jimin in the same position, actually, and Hoseok if they’re both unlucky.
But Jimin also looks so, so sad. So, so sad, and so, so thin. Muscular but with no fat, not even an ounce on him. Gaunt and pale in the darkness, with goosebumps on his arms even though it’s hot. Hoseok has been perpetually sweaty for a month now with the Seoul summer humidity.
“It’s not nothing if you’re crying about it on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, baby,” Hoseok says, cupping Jimin’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe the tears away.
Jimin tugs himself out of Hoseok’s hands. Busies his hands with refreshing the cool cloths for Taehyung, who seems to have dropped into a restless doze.
“Why did you text Taehyung in the middle of the night, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, looking down at his fingers. He studies his cuticles, the soft curves of his nails. “Why were you awake in the first place? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…”
Jimin squeezes water out of the rags and presses them to Taehyung’s skin. He’s still looking down at Taehyung when he finally says it: “I think about it all the time.”
“Think about what?”
“Food,” Jimin says. “What I’m eating. It’s like an obsession. I have a note in my phone to keep track of calories. I—I keep it hidden from you so you guys don’t worry but I have to—I have to keep track, so that I don’t go over 900. 900 is a good number for me, right, because of my current weight and how tall I am and how much exercise I get, which isn’t very much, really, because I’m so busy with my job and all, and I go to the gym but it always feels like it’s not enough, and a pound of fat is, like, 3,500 calories, you know, so I have to make sure I’m on track to keep losing like 3,500 calories every week if I wanna—and—and I know this all sounds so eating disorder–y but I can’t stop thinking about it and I didn’t wanna tell you,” Jimin gasps out, his confession some sort of plea, maybe, which Hoseok tries to sort through.
Taehyung stays asleep.
“Jimin,” Hoseok says, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s waist and hugging him tight even though it’s kind of difficult with them both sitting on the floor. “I really, really love you. I’m glad that you told me.”
Jimin nods, and then he takes a breath, and he keeps talking. He actually keeps talking, kind of rambling, really, like how Hoseok gets on Bad Days.
“Hyung, I feel so out of control with my thoughts,” Jimin says. “I can’t make them stop; it’s like this radio playing in my head that won’t shut up, and I can’t enjoy anything, and I can’t break my routine or eat something spontaneously or miss a workout or do anything unplanned. I want to talk about it all the time but I can’t and it’s burning me up, it’s like me not eating is somehow eating me. And it just feels horrible, hyung, and frantic all the time, and a few months ago it wasn’t this bad, right? Like, in April I felt fine. Really. And now out of nowhere, I just feel so out of control of my own head which is stupid because the whole thing is a control thing, a perfection thing, a—a thing that I do because I started doing it in high school and it died down a little and came back and is all back and forth like that but it never actually stops, and I don’t think I’ll ever recover, and I’m so fucking scared.”
Hoseok pulls Jimin’s head to his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay,” Hoseok whispers. “Is it like that now? Right now, in the bathroom at 4:30 in the morning, with me and Taehyung. Is it like a radio in your head right now?”
“Yes,” Jimin says. “All the time, hyung, and it’s hard to tune out. I can, kind of, sometimes. When I get really genuinely distracted, like when I dance with you, or when Tae and Kook got high and I was in crisis mode. It was easier to ignore it then, but now, it’s just. It’s buzzing. I want to, like, humblebrag about how I didn’t eat lunch today, or yesterday. All the time, I want someone to ask me if I ate so I can say ‘Oh, I was too busy. I forgot.’ But that’s a lie—how could I forget when not eating is all I think about? Hobi-hyung, I skipped having a snack even though I was so hungry I almost passed out today, because Seokjin-hyung keeps buying those weird chocolate protein bars and they have too many calories so I can’t eat them.”
Hoseok feels his blood go cold. “Fuck. I’ll tell him not to.”
“No, no, hyung, you can’t—”
“I don’t want you to die,” Taehyung moans, out of nowhere. Hoseok hadn’t even realized he was awake, or that he was listening.
Jimin sucks in a sharp breath. “What—what are you talking about?”
“We all love you,” Taehyung says. “Don’t want you to die. Want you here with us, so you have to stay here, please. Please.”
Hoseok looks over at Jimin and suddenly Hoseok is crying. The tears spill over as Hoseok laces his fingers through Jimin’s and tucks his head into Jimin’s shoulder and sobs and sobs, and it feels like it comes out of nowhere, but also like he’s been waiting to sob this way for months.
“Hoseok-hyung,” Jimin says, startled, but Hoseok just keeps crying and pulls Jimin towards him, jostling Taehyung, who moans.
“Why’s Hobi-hyung crying,” Taehyung mumbles, half-asleep and slurry still, even though he hasn’t puked in an hour.
“It’s okay, Tae,” Jimin says. “Go back to sleep.”
Hoseok lifts his head and his cheeks feel all red and angry with tear tracks. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, sucking in a shaky breath and looking at Jimin. “I’m sorry, Jimin, baby, I didn’t mean to—fuck,” Hoseok says, breaking off into another round of sobs. “I don’t mean to put this on you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sounding genuinely confused.
Hoseok shakes his head. “Taehyung is right, Jiminie. And he’s so loopy right now that he’s not afraid to say it but we’re all thinking it and I’m thinking it, Jiminie, I don’t want you to die.”
Jimin looks taken aback. “I’m not—I’m not gonna die, hyung, it’s not—”
“Maybe it is,” Hoseok says. “Fuck, I love you, and I want you to be okay. I want you happy.”
“Being thin makes me happy. Being hot makes me happy.”
Hoseok takes a shaky breath and thinks about what his therapist has told him, about reflecting on feelings and thinking more about the root cause. Tries to guide Jimin into thinking like that, because he’s sure the therapist is telling Jimin (and all of them) sort of the same things. “Does it, though?” Hoseok asks. “Or do you just think it does?”
Jimin is quiet for a moment. “The second one,” he says. “It not not about how I look, but it’s not just that. I know that it isn’t.”
Hoseok sighs. “Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t—I feel like I’m being a bad boyfriend right now.”
“No, it’s okay,” Jimin says, leaning his head against Hoseok’s. “It’s—I love you. I don’t want you to be sad. I’ll eat more, I promise.”
The words are hollow and sharp, a knife in the gut. “No,” Hoseok says. “No, that’s not—Jimin, baby, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t trying to, like, get some promise out of you, that you’ll eat more or whatever. It has nothing to do with eating or not eating or how you look or—it’s just you, okay? I just want you, Park Jimin, to be as happy as you can. Because I love you, okay? I know we say it all the time, but I really mean it. I am so in love with you. You deserve to be happy.”
Jimin looks devastated, but his lips are twitching into a smile. “Hoseok-hyung, I love you too. I love you so, so much, and I’m in love with you, and I—I want to just be better. I want to be recovered. But it feels like that’s impossible.”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t…I don’t know that it works that way. Not quite. It, um…Namjoon and I were talking the other day, about. Um. Suicide things. Self-harm things, too. And he said that it’s, like, not something where one day you check the box and it’s like, okay, recovered! You can be ‘in recovery’, but it’s hard to say ‘recovered’. I don’t know. I know some people who have identified with that and have considered themselves fully recovered and—I guess if that empowers them, then that’s good. But I used to…you’ve seen the scars. And you know about the drugs, and stuff, and—and I wouldn’t say I’m a recovered self-harmer, even though it’s been more than two years since I cut. The temptation is still there all the time. I’m still in recovery.”
Jimin nods, eyes wide and glassy, like he’s soaking up the sound of Hoseok’s voice and committing it to memory. “Is Yoongi-hyung in recovery, too? Or does he not count, because he still does it?”
Hoseok shrugs. “I think he counts. You could ask him what he thinks about it. He might close off a little just because he doesn’t want to upset you, but I think if you let him know that talking about it would help you, then he would confide in you.”
Jimin nods. “The doctor said there were, um, in-patient treatment options. If I wanted. I, um…”
Hoseok closes his eyes. “Do you want to go?”
Jimin shakes his head. “No. No, no, no, not even a little bit, please, hyung.”
“Whoa, whoa, we’re not going to make you,” Hoseok assures, rubbing his hands up and down Jimin’s arms to warm him up.
“I—really?” Jimin asks. “You won’t make me?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “No. You’d have to choose that on your own. But we would support you if you wanted to,” Hoseok promises. “Like I supported my mom when she said she needed to go.” It’s good for her, even if it hurts Hoseok that it has to be that way. He loves his mom, and he’ll never stop.
Jimin bites his lip. “Hey, hyung?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you let me go with you? To meet your mom, I mean.”
Hoseok freezes. “Have you been thinking about that? Because the therapist gave you the option of going to a center?”
Jimin blushes and looks down at Taehyung, who is blessedly calm on the bathroom floor. He bites his lip. “Kind of,” he admits, quiet and calm. “I don’t know. Not just because of that. I just…I want to meet her. And Yoongi does too, if you—if it’s okay.”
Hoseok sits back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. “Yeah, you can come. She’s in Gwangju, though, so we’d have to plan a trip. Maybe in a couple of weekends?”
“Sure,” Jimin says. “I’ll go to Gwangju with you. If it’s really okay.”
Hoseok grabs Jimin’s hand. “Yeah. I haven’t seen her in a long time. It would be good, actually. She’ll love you, Jiminie.”
Jimin blushes and looks down. “Anyways. Um. I’m sorry for spilling all of that to you on this bathroom floor right now,” Jimin says.
Hoseok shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. If anything, I want to say thank you. For trusting me, and for confiding in me. I know it’s hard.”
Jimin nods. “I don’t want to think about it. I need—why can’t I not think about it?” He sounds stressed and restless, kind of like—
Hoseok tilts his head. “Hold on a second. Jimin, have you talked to your therapist about anxiety?”
Jimin shakes his head. “No, why? I don’t have an anxiety disorder. I have. I have an eating disorder,” he admits, hanging his head and refusing to look at Hoseok.
Hoseok kisses the back of Jimin’s neck. “It’s okay, babe. I know, but they can be comorbid. And what you’re describing—feeling overwhelmed, like you can’t turn it off? Who does that sound like?”
“What—who?”
“Who in this house gets fixated on something to the point that he has panic attacks and can’t get his head off it even though he admits that he knows it’s irrational? Who says that knowing it’s irrational can’t stop him from disinfecting himself for two hours in the shower because he heard that some friend of a friend missed class and maybe has the stomach flu?”
Jimin freezes. “Jeongguk.”
“Jeongguk,” Hoseok says. “Have you talked to him about what it feels like for him to have anxiety, particularly about throwing up?”
“Doctor called it ‘emetophobia’,” Taehyung mumbles, apparently awake. “I’m gonna puke again.”
“Okay,” Jimin says to Taehyung, helping him sit up. “Pause this.” Jimin glances at Hoseok, and Hoseok can see the wheels turning while Taehyung heaves. It looks and sounds miserable, and Hoseok prays that he somehow doesn’t get this bug.
“You want a shower now?” Jimin asks when Taehyung finally spits, apparently okay again.
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “Don’t even care if getting in it makes me puke.”
“Help me?” Jimin requests, and Hoseok and Jimin each take one of Taehyung’s arms, and together the three of them get Taehyung undressed and on the floor of the shower, where he curls into a ball and whimpers. Jimin turns on the water and gets it to an okay temperature, and Taehyung closes his eyes.
“I’m goin’ back to sleep. You don’t have to leave the water on for too long,” Taehyung says.
Jimin and Hoseok resettle on the floor away from the tub, peering occasionally through the glass to make sure Taehyung is okay. Taehyung is breathing carefully and he still looks tense, but the lukewarm water seems to be at least a little bit soothing.
“Anyways,” Hoseok says. “You should talk to Jeongguk. He was telling me that the therapist said he might have an anxiety disorder, and—I mean, Taehyung said maybe he specifically has—what was it? Emetophobia?”
“He has super-anxiety over puking,” Taehyung calls from the shower. “Or, like, the stomach flu in particular. Some people with emetophobia can’t even drink or leave the house or anything because they’re so afraid of throwing up, but Jeongguk is, like, specifically triggered by the possibility of what I am experiencing now. Sorry, I’m kind of at the phase where I’ve been sick for so long that I can’t remember not being sick and this is my entire existence which is terrible but also sort of makes it more manageable. Also I’m gonna puke again.”
“Puke in the shower,” Jimin says. “I’ll bleach the whole bathroom later.”
“Okay,” Taehyung moans, and then he’s heaving again, but it mostly just sounds like coughing.
“Anyways,” Hoseok says. “You should tell your therapist that you can’t stop thinking about it. You could talk to Jeongguk, too. Compare notes about how it feels to have a radio in the back of your head all the time, because I bet that’s how it feels for him too when he thinks there’s a chance that he might throw up.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Yeah, I will. Hyung, I’m really tired.”
“You wanna go to sleep? I’ll sit with Taehyung if you wanna go back to our room.”
“Nah, here’s good,” Jimin says, and then he’s curling up in Hoseok’s lap, hair all fluffy and soft under Hoseok’s hands, and Hoseok starts humming Jeongguk’s lullaby, Taehyung finally quiet in the shower.
Ten minutes go by, and Hoseok is sure that Jimin is asleep. He’s just about to reach for Taehyung’s phone to distract himself when Jimin turns to look up at him, eyes wide. “Hey, hyung?”
“Yeah?”
“You know, you can tell me stuff, too,” Jimin says, sitting up all of a sudden to sit cross-legged in front of Hoseok.
“Yeah, I know, Jimin-ah,” Hoseok says, smiling softly at Jimin.
Jimin looks off to the side, and Hoseok knows he’s thinking hard about his next words. “I just—you’ve said some stuff before, I mean, about. About how you’ve been treated in past relationships. How people haven’t respected you. And I just—I worry that I’m gonna do the same, because I like having sex with you, and with you and Yoongi-hyung together, and sometimes I ask for things and I worry because even when you give them, I just—you’re not always good at saying what you need, you know?”
And Hoseok sucks in a breath, because yeah, he knows.
Jimin shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m not trying to—to ask for you to confide in me if you don’t want to. Or if you want to tell Yoongi-hyung first, or Namjoon-hyung or something since he’s your best friend. I just. I wanted to say that you can. If you want.”
Hoseok shakes his head, surprised to find that he feels calm. Peaceful, and safe in the darkness of 5:00 a.m., the pale pre-sunrise light starting to creep in through the bathroom window. “Do you want to hear a story?” Hoseok asks, because he’s got one in mind. Something he doesn’t tell people—hasn’t even told Namjoon, and Namjoon knows everything.
Jimin nods.
Hoseok sucks in a breath. “I haven’t told anyone this before. I actually just remembered it a couple nights ago. When you and Yoongi-hyung were negotiating overstimulation.”
Jimin’s eyes widen. “Yeah, you—you said you didn’t like it, and got kind of quiet and said we should do it without you, and we watched Yuri!! On Ice instead.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Thanks for that, by the way. I couldn’t—I mean, if you guys like overstimulation, you should do it, really. But um. That’s one thing I’m going to take a hard pass for, if that’s okay.”
“Oh my god, Hoseokie-hyung, please stop saying ‘if that’s okay’ when you’re talking about your boundaries,” Jimin says, curling forward over his crossed legs so his head is in Hoseok’s lap.
Hoseok runs his hands through Jimin’s hair. “Okay, sorry,” Hoseok says, but he’s grinning. He feels so at peace, opening up like this. He catalogs the feeling and files it away as something to tell the therapist the next time he goes. Practicing mindfulness, and whatever. Hoseok is delighted to feel honestly proud of himself.
“Keep going,” Jimin says, sitting up.
Hoseok nods. “So, um. My ex—the one I’ve told you about before, who said I wasn’t really ace but just had never experienced good sex. Um. He used to have a thing for eating me out. Or giving blowjobs—just. Just using his mouth in general. I was fine with that at first because the girl I lost my virginity to was really good at oral sex, and she always made me really comfy during sex even though back then I hadn’t realized I was asexual? I mean, I knew something was different with me because I’d have crushes on people and I didn’t mind kissing, but I’d just never feel, well, anything? No desire to take things further than making out, at least, and I didn’t realize it was because I don’t feel sexual attraction until I read this article and—okay, that’s not the point, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Jimin smiles.
Hoseok breathes. Tries to sort through his thoughts. “Anyways. So, um, I like receiving oral sex, like, sometimes, you know, but my ex—the guy, not the girl—he wanted to go down on me all the time because he said it was like getting to be in charge of, like, my control center, or something. I remember him saying it once while he was about to go down on me and it made me feel kinda sick, but I thought—oh, maybe I’m just confusing a good feeling with something bad. I’m supposed to like this, right?
“He went down on me and I let him. I let him do it over and over. He would always say what he wanted me to be doing, like ‘oh you should squeeze my head with your thighs because I’m really good at oral sex and you’re gonna come so hard’—that sort of thing. I had this responsibility to come, even though most of time I didn’t actually feel like it. But I could—like, I could jerk myself off and force my body into an orgasm, which I had to because it wasn’t like whatever he was doing would make me come. It was so much work, and it hurt, but it was something I had to give him, and I had to, or else he would be mad.”
Hoseok breaks off and tugs his legs to his chest, and Jimin comes forward to tug Hoseok into a warm embrace. Taehyung moans from the shower.
“Hobi-hyung, is it okay if I’m listening too?” Taehyung asks.
“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “It’s okay.”
“‘Kay,” Taehyung says, fallings silent again.
“Keep going,” Jimin says. “We’re here.”
Hoseok nods. “So anyways. Um. He always wanted me squeezing his head with my thighs, like I said. He didn’t really care what I liked. So he would suck me off and I would come and then he wouldn’t stop, like, even though I was pushing him away and—and, like, shoving at his head and stuff,” Hoseok gasps. “I even—one time I came and he wouldn’t stop and I told him that I hate overstimulation, like, I hate it so much, and he just pulled off and said he was making my orgasm better and kept sucking me and I literally couldn’t get away. It was just painful and awful and—and just for him. It wasn’t for me at all.”
“Oh my god,” Taehyung calls. “I’m gonna puke again, but also that’s the most fucked up thing I’ve heard in a long time and I fucking hate your ex and—fuck.” Taehyung heaves.
Jimin is trembling on the floor next to Hoseok, and Hoseok stares at him, concerned, but then he realizes that Jimin isn’t sad or scared. Jimin is furious.
“Hyung,” Jimin says. “I am going to hunt down your ex-boyfriend and hit him across the face with a shovel. Repeatedly.”
Hoseok huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “No, no, oh my god, when did you get so violent?”
“When you told me that your ex fucking forced you into a sexual activity that you didn’t negotiate or consent to or want, all because of his own selfish desire,” Jimin says, seething. He looks fiery and passionate and beautiful, powerful in a way Hoseok hasn’t seen him for a while. It’s so different from Hoseok’s usual image of Jimin as this fragile, too-caring kid, small and naïve and helpless, in need of protection.
All of a sudden, it kind of clicks for Hoseok. Maybe they’ve all been treating Jimin with kid gloves for so long that they’ve lost sight of the fact that Jimin is a warrior in his own right, fierce and loyal and ambitious and powerful. It’s time they started treating him like it, Hoseok thinks.
“Jimin, I’m sorry about how I treated you last week during that whole thing with the ecstasy,” Hoseok says. “And I’m sure Yoongi-hyung is too. We treat you like you can’t handle things, and that’s wrong of us, because you absolutely can. You’re like—an angel, yeah, but, like, a really strong, fantasy warrior one.”
“Like Mercy,” Taehyung says. “In Overwatch.”
“Sure,” Hoseok says, even though he has no idea what Taehyung is talking about.
Jimin giggles. “Fuck you, Tae; you know I play DPS.”
“Yeah, you instalock Genji every goddamn time and make me play support, you asshole,” Taehyung groans.
“You’re terrible at videogames,” Jimin retorts. “Go back to puking and stop being mean.”
“Rude.”
“What the hell is DPS?” Hoseok asks. “What’s instalock? What’s a genji?”
“Okay not important, sorry,” Jimin says. “I’ll tell you later. The point is, um, thank you. I guess. For saying that. I don’t—I don’t feel like you guys treat me like I’m weak all the time, but—but sometimes you do. Even Tae and Jeongguk, and they’re younger than me.”
“Not younger than you,” Taehyung protests.
“Technically,” Jimin says back. “By Western standards you are.”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Anyway. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to. You can—you should call me out on it, if I do. All of us.”
Jimin nods. “Thanks, hyung. That means a lot.”
And Hoseok can tell that it does. Jimin is glowing, his expression relaxed and open, his posture mirroring Hoseok’s like they’re two parts of the same whole. They’re missing a third, but that’s okay. Yoongi needs his sleep after the busy week he’s had.
“You can keep telling us stuff, you know,” Jimin says. “Tae’s not going anywhere, and I’m not either.”
Hoseok shrugs. “I don’t know that there’s much left to say. I guess in the end, it was a good thing my ex just took and took and took from me until I had nothing left to give. I don’t think I ever really believed I was in love with him, but it was close. I’d been in love before, with the first girl, my first love, and—and I thought I could get there, with the guy. I thought he would respect me, and not push me. Because with the girl, I didn’t ever say I was ace because I didn’t know, but still she didn’t push me. She was so understanding and I didn’t even have a label for what I was feeling but she went at my pace, and it was lovely, and I was so in love with her—and it ended, but it’s still a good memory, you know?
“And then here comes my ex, the guy, and he was—he was funny, and personable, and we laughed together. People thought we were cute. I thought we were cute. But he didn’t want me—he just wanted his idea of what I should be, and he didn’t have any awareness of my needs or desires or ambitions. He treated me like a child, because he was older, and he thought he knew best about everything. Everything.”
“Hyung, I’m sorry,” Jimin says. “You don’t act like that, if that’s what you’re thinking. You guys don’t act like that with me. I don’t feel that.”
Hoseok nods. “Okay. Okay, thank god. I’m glad. I don’t ever want to make anyone feel like that, because it was—it was hell. And I just lay there and took it, like I took it when I was having sex with him. Or maybe I should say that I just lay there and gave, and I gave and I gave and I gave until there was just…nothing left. He told me to kiss him one morning—he always told me, never asked, just like—‘Kiss me’, he’d say, and I had to. And one day, I didn’t want to. I’d been living with him for four months while he sucked me dry of all the love and pliancy and willingness that I had, and then one day I woke up and he tried to take some more and there was nothing left.
“I started crying, and that morning I left. Got all my stuff out of his place and came here. Namjoon and Yoongi and Seokjin were the only ones living here at the time, and that morning I moved in. They offered me the basement, but I was a wreck, so Namjoon let me sleep in his room and I just never stopped until you guys had all moved in and everything and now we live in Yoongi’s room. But our relationship snuck up on me. I didn’t think I’d ever feel love or affection ever again after my ex, honestly. Didn’t think I was capable of having a crush. It felt like all the love I had in my heart to share with others had been siphoned out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, stroking a thumb over the back of Hoseok’s knuckles. Hoseok doesn’t even remember when they had linked hands. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I know it hurts you still, and I don’t want to steal your love from you, not ever.”
“Jiminie, you don’t steal it,” Hoseok says. “You and Yoongi-hyung—and the rest of you, all of you. You don’t steal it from me. I’m offering it, and you give me love back. It feels good to give it to you.”
“Still,” Jimin says. “If it ever feels like we’re taking too much, please just tell us. And we’ll make sure we’re not, okay? I know it’s hard for you to tell us.”
“I told the therapist lady about that,” Hoseok admits. “How I hate expressing my needs. How I think I should accept the fact that if I don’t express what I want, then I’ve lost the right to want it.”
“I don’t know that that’s true,” Jimin says. “I mean, it’s not fair to expect other people to be mind-readers, but thinking that you’ve lost the right to something just because you can’t articulate it—that’s not reasonable either. We have to all work together to meet all of our needs the best we can.”
“Yeah, the therapist said that to me, too.”
Jimin smiles. “Hey, you know what?”
“What?”
“My homework from my last session was to make a list of things I’m grateful for. I didn’t—I mean, my therapist isn’t making me do it, but I actually kind of thought of it, and she thought it would be a good idea if I wanted to. And I said I did.”
Hoseok smiles. “Yeah, that sounds nice, Jiminie.”
“We should all make them!” Jimin says, grinning. “We can do it together, and we can share them if we want. Like, tape them up to the wall or whatever.”
Hoseok nods. “Okay, Jiminie. I love that. I love you. That sounds like a great idea.”
Jimin yawns, then, so wide his jaw almost pops.
“Hey, you wanna nap for a bit?” Hoseok asks.
Jimin nods. “Sure. Wake me up if you guys need anything.”
“Okay,” Hoseok says. Jimin curls up and dozes off almost instantly.
Hoseok plays around on Taehyung’s phone for maybe half an hour. When it’s almost 6:00, Jimin yawns himself awake, and they pull Taehyung out of the shower. Taehyung insists he still doesn’t feel good and needs to stay in the bathroom, so Jimin curls up with him while Hoseok goes out to make tea and get more ice water for the bowl.
Seokjin is in the kitchen. “Morning,” he says. “You’re up early.”
Hoseok nods. “Taehyung is sick. Jimin and I stayed up with him.”
Seokjin looks worried. “He get your cold?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “No. Stomach bug. He came to the upstairs bathroom so Jeongguk wouldn’t freak out about it.”
Seokjin closes his eyes. “He’s going to anyways.”
“Yeah, but at least he probably won’t actually get it.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “You guys need anything?”
“Nah, hyung, we’re okay,” Hoseok says. He rinses the cloths, gets more ice water. Carries everything back to the bathroom where Taehyung and Jimin are asleep, shrouded together under the fluffy yellow comforter. Taehyung looks pale and sickly still, and Hoseok runs back to the kitchen.
“Hey, hyung? Do we have any Gatorade or anything? Fruit popsicles? Something to get Taehyung some sugar and electrolytes or whatever?”
Seokjin opens the fridge. “Hmm, no. Namjoon and I can run get some, though, don’t worry. Taehyung has work today. We better call the store as soon as it opens, because there’s no way he’s going if he’s throwing up.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Jeongguk was supposed to teach some Saturday classes at the studio today, but if he has a panic attack when he wakes up and finds out what’s going on, I’ll cover for him.”
“You’ve been out sick all week,” Seokjin says. “You okay to go in?”
Hoseok nods. “Yeah, I was honestly fine to go back yesterday, hyung.”
“You were still sniffling.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I would’ve been fine. I’ll be fine today.” He grins as Seokjin makes a list of stuff to get for Taehyung. “Damn, though—Jeongguk teaches teenage girls all day today. They’ll be so disappointed when it’s me instead of the young, charming college stud Jeon Jeongguk.”
Seokjin laughs. “Maybe his anxiety won’t flare up too bad, or he’ll use some of the techniques I know Dr. Kwon has been teaching him, because Dr. Kwon is teaching that shit to all of us.”
“Did she recommend him any medication? Did she recommend you any medication?” Hoseok asks.
Seokjin nods. “Yeah, she suggested some stuff for me, but I’d have to go to another doctor. Psychiatrist instead of psychologist. I think she had some ideas for Jeongguk, too. CBT is great and all, but both of us might benefit from anti-anxiety meds.”
Hoseok nods. “Whatever you guys choose, we’ll support you through it.”
Seokjin smiles faintly and nods. “Sure.”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll call Tae out from work and figure out the thing with Jeongguk once everyone else wakes up.”
“Great,” Seokjin says. “I think this list should cover it. Anything else you can think of?”
“Um.” Hoseok looks at the list and almost says something about the protein bars that Jimin won’t eat, but Seokjin looks ready to run out the door for Taehyung right this second, and Hoseok figures they can have that conversation later. “Nothing, hyung. Thanks.”
Seokjin nods. “Anytime. Let me get Namjoon and we’ll go.”
Hoseok heads back to the bathroom. Taehyung is awake now, but Jimin is still fast asleep beside him.
“Hyung?” Taehyung asks as Hoseok sinks back down to the floor.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a really good boyfriend,” Taehyung whispers. “To Yoongi-hyung and to Jimin.”
Hoseok blushes. “You’re a really good boyfriend to Jeongguk, coming up here without expecting any comfort from him when you’re sick because you know it’s gonna make his anxiety spike up.”
Taehyung closes his eyes. “It’s okay,” he says, and Hoseok knows he gets it. “We all want to do anything to help the ones we love.” He sounds loopy and out of it, but Hoseok can’t help the smile that graces his lips.
“Yeah, Tae,” he says. “You’re so good at that.”
“You’re so good at it too,” Taehyung says. “I’m going back to sleep now. Love you, hyung.”
“Love you too, Tae.”
Hoseok sits on the floor as the sun rises and looks at Taehyung, and he looks at Jimin, and he thinks, yeah, Taehyung is right: they’ll all do anything to help the ones they love. They want to. Even if it means suffering through the stomach flu alone to protect the boy you love, or sitting on the bathroom floor with your best friend all night while they puke a lot, or going to the store at 6:00 in the morning to buy Gatorade for your sick dongsaeng, or all the countless other things Hoseok’s family does for each other on a daily basis.
Hoseok sits up and watches the light creep in the window, the dawn coming as Taehyung and Jimin slumber on beside him, both of them worse for wear but quiet, calm. Jimin’s arm is over Taehyung’s waist, his lips brushing Taehyung’s neck, but it doesn’t make Hoseok jealous, or worried, or anything but happy and a little bit curious about that. Jimin has always loved Taehyung, and they all know. Why else would Jimin stay up all night with Taehyung while he was sick in the least glamourous way possible?
Hoseok isn’t sure about what sort of love is going on there, but he’s not too worried about figuring it out. They’ll cross that bridge when they come to it, if they ever do.
And a few days later, when Hoseok’s stomach turns against him and he ends up with his head in Namjoon’s lap, Taehyung and Yoongi both like sentinels beside them, Hoseok thinks: maybe it’s not just Jimin and Taehyung. Maybe it’s kind of all of them.
Hoseok’s stomach flu is miserable too, but he weirdly doesn’t mind.