Chapter Text
Respect surely belongs to a higher tier than love. A higher tier, perhaps the highest tier.
A concept that belongs to that, isn’t that respect, huh?
Re-spect, like the word itself, means to look and look again.
When you keep looking at someone, you’re bound to see their flaws.
But, the fact that you nonetheless want to keep looking, requires absolute faith in that someone.
- Respect, BTS
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There’s an incessant beeping hovering just at the edge of Yoongi’s awareness. Beep. Beep. Beep. Steady, constant, showing no sign of stopping.
At first Yoongi thought it was his alarm, but his alarm tone definitely isn’t beeping. Metronome? No, that’s not even close to the same sound. Maybe a smoke detector where the battery is running out? But that doesn’t really make sense either, he’s heard those before, they don’t sound like this.
This is different. And unfamiliar.
If Yoongi could just turn it off, he could go back to sleep. He was having such a pleasant dream…
Or was he?
Now that all he can focus on is the noise, the edges of his dream are fading away. He can’t grasp onto it, the frayed bits slipping through his fingers and away.
Leaving only the beeping behind.
It feels like it’s knocking around Yoongi’s head, ricocheting off his skull to bounce back and forth and back and forth. Until it’s all there is, all he can focus on. Just the beep. Beep. Beep.
It’s making his head throb.
He should just get up and turn it off. Find the source of the noise and silence it. It can’t be that hard. Besides, Yoongi’s probably running late anyway. He can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply, so he must be running behind for something. Maybe it is his alarm, warning him that he’s sleeping through a final exam or an appointment or something. Though Yoongi can’t quite seem to remember where it is he should be.
But waking up, fully waking up, feels hard. When he tries to focus past the beeping, everything feels hazy. It’s like there’s a weight over Yoongi’s chest, a heavy blanket pressing him down. And just opening his eyes feels nearly impossible.
Sleep drags at him, presses on him. It’s like he’s swimming through soup, cloying, heavy haze tugging him back. Everything is fuzzy, in the strangest way, wispy cotton clouds switching to dense fog, and he wants to sink back into it. He could. He could just relax, lean into the weight and -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
No. Now that he’s aware of it, that beeping is going to drive Yoongi nuts until he stops it.
It feels like a big push, expending a strangely incongruous amount of energy. As if he is fighting his way through that fog and haze, trying to unglue his eyelids that feel pasted shut.
With a groan, Yoongi finally manages to peel his eyes open. He blinks, trying to focus, and -
What he sees doesn’t make sense.
This room is not one Yoongi knows. It’s not his room, that’s for sure. And he’s positive that it’s not one he’s seen before. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, the walls he can see are white and bare. He tries to lift his head, turn it, but it feels impossibly heavy. His neck does not cooperate and all Yoongi can do is swivel his eyes side to side, feeling an ache in the back of his skull as he does.
He doesn’t know this room, this place. The beeping is still there, and there are… wires and tubes and. Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?
His lips feel just as glued together as his eyes were. Yoongi opens his mouth, cracked lips difficult to part. His tongue is heavy, too big for his mouth, dry as sandpaper.
“H -” he tries to speak, but his throat is so dry. His voice cracks and nothing else comes out. It hurts just to make that small sound.
But, immediately, there’s a noise from beside him. Yoongi can’t turn his head to see who or what it is, but he hears movement, shuffling. And then a voice, deep and sonorous. But shaky, rough with sleep, maybe.
“Yoongi?” The voice is… familiar. Vaguely familiar. But Yoongi can’t place it. “Yoongi can you hear me?”
Instead of waiting for a response, hands come into view. Yoongi blinks at them, fuzzy and confused, whose hands are these? They’re holding a cup, bending a straw down toward his lips.
“Drink,” the voice urges. The straw is slotted between Yoongi’s lips. “Not too fast.”
It takes a couple of tries for Yoongi to remember how to drink, to get his muscles to cooperate. But the cool water feels heavenly to Yoongi’s parched throat.
“There you go,” the voice says. Softly, carefully.
The straw is withdrawn, cup pulled away and Yoongi sighs, letting his eyes close again. He moves his tongue around his mouth, it tastes strangely sterile, like iodine and cotton.
And blood.
Blinking his eyes open, Yoongi tries to sit up. Why does his mouth taste like blood?
“Don’t try to get up.” The voice again. “It’s okay.”
It doesn’t feel okay. Yoongi can move his head now, just barely and - none of this is right. None of this makes sense. He’s lying in a bed that is not his own, the clothes he’s wearing are not his own. The tubes and wires are still there, hooked to various machines. Beeping machines.
And when Yoongi follows them back, he realizes they’re all connected to him.
A hospital. Yoongi is in a hospital. But he has no idea why, or how he got here.
“Yoongi?” The voice again. Yoongi turns his head, vision blurring a bit as he does. There’s someone sitting in a chair beside him, leaning forward, elbows on knees, staring at him. “Yoongi?”
The voice belongs to them. This vaguely familiar voice, but…
“Who are you?” Yoongi croaks.
He doesn’t know this person, doesn’t know the man beside him.
“I -” the voice falters. “Yoongi, it’s me.”
Yoongi blinks once, twice, tries to clear the fog from his head. It’s like there’s a blurry filter over his eyes, like he’s wearing glasses in the wrong prescription. But he squeezes his eyes tightly closed, opens them again and -
“It’s Namjoon,” the man, Namjoon, says.
Namjoon. Yoongi knows a Namjoon. But barely, only sort of. Namjoon who is… who is a new addition to their friend group. He’s dating… someone. One of Yoongi’s friends. Yoongi can’t remember right now, but that doesn’t matter. Namjoon is… Nice. Yoongi remembers that Namjoon is nice but… Yoongi does not really know him. They’ve basically just met. So why - why is Namjoon here?
“Nam… Joon?”
“Yes. I’m here.” Namjoon leans closer, his eyes pleading. “Yoongi how do you feel?” He reaches for one of Yoongi’s hands, the one not filled with tubes and wires.
“I don’t -” Yoongi looks down, looks at Namjoon’s fingers brushing his own. He wants to pull away, but he can’t seem to get his muscles to cooperate. Blinking, Yoongi refocuses on Namjoon’s face. He’s smiling, almost. Almost a smile, something worried and hopeful and - “Why am I here?”
But what he really wants to say is why are you here.
Namjoon’s face crumbles, mouth twisting. There are unshed tears in his eyes. “Yoongi, do you remember what happened?”
There is a moment of silence and Yoongi tries to think, tries to remember… Everything feels hazy, blurry. And strange. There’s a blank spot in his memory, like a film strip cut and pasted together. Slowly, he shakes his head.
That doesn’t seem to make Namjoon feel any better. His hand tightens around Yoongi’s and, once more, he wants to pull back. He does not know why Namjoon is here, why he’s looking at him like this, why Namjoon is holding his hand. “Yoongi…” he begins, then hesitates.
“Why am I in the hospital?” Yoongi asks, his voice rough and hoarse with disuse. His throat aches.
“You were in an accident. You were hit by a motorcycle, you’ve been unconscious for…”
Yoongi doesn’t hear the rest. Namjoon’s voice fades into a rumbling drone, the words no longer distinguishable. Static fills Yoongi’s skull, loud and overpowering. It even drowns out the beeping, leaving only the fuzz in Yoongi’s head. There is an ache behind Yoongi’s eyes, an ache in his chest. A growing ache that spreads to the tips of his fingers and toes.
Vaguely, Yoongi is aware that Namjoon is still speaking. He is aware that Namjoon is saying his name, asking if he’s alright.
Accident.
Motorcycle.
Unconscious.
All words that suddenly don’t make sense. Not singularly or together. Yoongi cannot comprehend what they mean, cannot make sense of it.
“I don’t -” Yoongi tries to speak but the words die on his tongue as everything comes back into focus.
It’s like a bubble pops and suddenly the sound returns. The beeping of the machines, louder now, more rapid. Namjoon’s voice, cutting off when Yoongi speaks. Something that sounds like an alarm.
And over all of it, the thundering of Yoongi’s pulse in his ears. Blood rushing in his veins, pounding and throbbing through his skull. His vision swims and he feels Namjoon’s hand tighten on his own.
“Yoongi?” He sounds afraid now. “Yoongi can you hear me?”
Goosebumps erupt across Yoongi’s skin and he is suddenly ice cold and molten hot all at once. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck, behind his knees. He’s vaguely aware that his teeth are chattering and he’s trembling.
You were in an accident.
An accident.
Accident.
Yoongi turns his head, feeling like he’s underwater. It takes so much effort, the room rippling and spinning around him. Namjoon looks scared, clinging to Yoongi’s hand, staring at him. There are tears welling in his eyes and Yoongi does not want to see them.
“I don’t -”
Understand.
Remember.
Know you.
He can’t finish the thought, can’t get the words out. Yoongi’s head spins, the bed he’s on seems to tilt under him.
Help, Yoongi wants to say, but when he opens his mouth again, no sound comes out.
Help me, he wants to say, but his throat is suddenly closing. And he can’t breathe.
“Shit.” Namjoon curses, sounding truly panicked now. He lets go of Yoongi’s hand, standing up so fast that his chair nearly clatters to the floor. “I’m going to call for a nurse,” he says, lunging for the call button beside Yoongi’s arm.
Yoongi’s vision darkens around the edges and he can’t seem to draw in any air, can’t inflate his lungs. His heart is in his throat, thundering, choking him. I’m scared, he wants to say, fingers shifting, reaching. Reaching for Namjoon, for anything. For anyone. And -
“Yoongi-ssi?”
A new voice, one Yoongi doesn’t know. Suddenly there are people around him, leaning over his bed. Yoongi can barely focus on them, vision blurring and mixing.
“Yoongi-ssi, can you hear me?”
There’s a light shining in his eyes, hands on him. It hurts but Yoongi can’t move. He feels like he’s going to puke, or piss himself. Everything is going dark and everyone is touching him.
“Yoongi-ssi, we need you to calm down.” Another voice.
The voices all fuzz together, Yoongi swimming at the edge, barely holding on, fingers clawing at the blanket.
Pulse elevated.
Something to relax him.
He’s going to hurt himself more.
And despite the blackness eating into his vision, behind all of them, over all the people around him, Yoongi can see Namjoon. Standing at the back, a hand over his mouth, tears on his face. And Yoongi does not understand. As the darkness crashes into him and the world shutters, the last thing Yoongi sees is Kim Namjoon.
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Yoongi is running late. So fucking late, he’s always late. It’s not his fault this time, it’s not. Construction, a delayed train. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s late. Late to…
He doesn’t remember. Not right now. But that doesn’t matter. He’s running late and he just needs to get to - get to…
Stumbling to a stop on a street corner, Yoongi waits for the light to change. He looks down at his hands, vision jolting and stuttering. Stop motion, freeze frame. There are things in his hands.
A bouquet of flowers. Pretty purple and white, wilting a little.
Clematis, his mind whispers.
That seems important, but he doesn’t know why. But they’re important, the flowers.
His phone is in his other hand and he pulls up his texts, typing out a message.
I’m almost there. I’m so sorry. I’ll explain. I’m on my way.
Because he promised he wouldn’t be late. Promised he would be there. Would be… where?
Traffic shifts around him, someone bumps Yoongi’s shoulder. He almost drops the flowers.
He needs them, needs the flowers. Important. They’re important. Yoongi just… can’t remember why.
Gritting his teeth, Yoongi stumbles off the sidewalk. Distracted, hurrying. Not paying enough attention.
There’s a light, suddenly, bright, closing in, blinding him. A screech of tires, someone is yelling, and -
The light swallows Yoongi whole and the world explodes.
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Yoongi wakes with a gasp, jolting half-upright in bed. It hurts, pain throbbing through him as his body jerks and folds in on itself. He groans, squeezing his eyes closed as he melts back against the mattress, pain sparking through him. Muddled images swim behind his eyes and Yoongi scrunches up his face, unable to make sense of any of them.
When he opens his eyes again, he is still in the hospital. The beeping is still there, all the tubes and wires and machines. And, when he turns his head, Namjoon is there too.
“Hi.” A pause. “How do you feel?” Namjoon asks. He looks nervous, maybe even a little wary.
There is something… incongruous about Namjoon. About the Namjoon beside him and the bits of Namjoon in Yoongi’s memories. Something that seems different, or… off. Yoongi can’t quite put his finger on it, but this Namjoon is not the same Namjoon Yoongi knows. He looks… older? Maybe. Somehow.
Which doesn’t really make sense. Because Yoongi just saw him… a few days ago. Right? And Namjoon was… he was different then. Lankier, his hair shorter, face thinner. Now he looks almost larger… but softer too. Different.
Maybe it’s just because of him being here at the hospital. He’s tired, drawn, Yoongi can see that. That’s gotta be it.
“Yoongi?”
Blinking, Yoongi tries to refocus on Namjoon, trying to process his words. His head feels murky, thoughts sluggish and slow. The doctors must have given him something earlier to settle him. And everything just feels all… Weird.
“My head hurts,” Yoongi says finally, words a broken croak.
Namjoon grimaces, his hands twisting in his lap, like he wants to reach out. But he doesn’t, staying in his chair, sitting stiffly. “Do you want water?”
When Yoongi nods, Namjoon hurries to reach for a cup on the table beside the bed. He leans toward Yoongi, angling the straw toward his mouth. Careful hands guide it to Yoongi’s lips, holding it while he drinks. The water is cool, soothing Yoongi’s dry throat.
“Better?” Namjoon asks when Yoongi leans back.
Yoongi isn’t sure how to respond to that. He feels less thirsty, but he definitely doesn’t feel better.
“I still don’t understand,” Yoongi begins. “What… what happened?”
It takes a moment for Namjoon to answer. His mouth twists and he busies himself with replacing the cup on the table beside Yoongi’s bed. Then he fusses with the pitcher next to it, turns the straw, seems unsure what to do with his hands. Like he doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to tell Yoongi.
Which makes sense, really. Namjoon doesn’t really know him, they’re barely acquaintances. Yoongi wouldn’t want to be the one who has to deliver bad news to Namjoon. Which, once again, has Yoongi wondering why Namjoon is here? Why Namjoon and not… Anyone else.
“You were in an accident,” Namjoon says finally, bringing Yoongi’s attention back to him. “Do you remember anything?”
Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think so? I was… hurrying somewhere?”
Namjoon nods, lips pressing into a thin line. “You were meeting me for dinner.”
And that seems… strange. Yoongi has never met Namjoon for dinner. He’s met Namjoon at drinks, at other hangouts. With friends. They’ve never had dinner together, and they’ve never had dinner together alone.
“You had to work late,” Namjoon continues. “But you promised to meet me for dinner and promised to be on time. I got a text from you that you were on your way, but then you didn’t show up.”
The vague haziness of Yoongi’s dream comes back to him. Rushing down the sidewalk, flowers in one hand, phone in the other. Texting the person that he was on his way. The crosswalk, the lights.
And the flowers. If Yoongi was meeting Namjoon… Why was he bringing flowers?
“I don’t understand,” Yoongi mumbles. Because none of this makes sense. None of it fits in his head. It’s like someone has dumped out a puzzle in front of him, but none of the pieces go together. It’s all bits from different puzzles, varying sizes and shapes and pictures. Nothing matches up.
“You were crossing the street and a motorcycle went through the red light. It hit you.”
The light from Yoongi’s dream, the screaming. Flowers scattering across the road. Everything going dark.
“I tried to call you,” Namjoon explains. “When you didn’t show up, I tried to call you. I was upset, because -” he cuts himself off, jaw snapping shut with a click. There’s a weird look on his face, indecision maybe. A strange sort of pained grimace as he seems to weigh his next words.
“Because what?”
Namjoon shakes his head, jerky and quick. “That’s not -” He shifts in the chair and clears his throat again. “That doesn’t matter right now. You didn’t answer and I didn’t hear from you. I called you again, about an hour later, and that’s when I found out what happened.”
“How?”
“A nurse answered your phone.” Namjoon’s expression slips again, his eyes darting over Yoongi’s face, as if studying him, memorizing his features. “I called and a nurse answered, told me you were - that you were here. I came right away, of course. And I...”
Of course? Why is it of course? As if it’s obvious Namjoon would come, as if he is the only logical person to be here. Which is not true. Namjoon is not the person who should be here, it doesn’t make any sense that he is here.
Vaguely, Yoongi is aware of the fact that Namjoon is still speaking. He’s explaining something else, maybe about what happened or when he got to the hospital. Yoongi’s head feels fuzzy again, the words seeming to flow right through one ear and out the other without Yoongi able to process them. Because…
“Why are you here?”
Namjoon abruptly cuts off and Yoongi realizes, belatedly, that he interrupted whatever Namjoon was saying. But Namjoon doesn’t look upset, just confused. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
That’s not the answer Yoongi wanted. It doesn’t help him understand any of this. “Why was I meeting you?”
“For dinner,” Namjoon replies, looking even more confused now. “I told you that.”
“Yeah, but -” How does Yoongi ask this without sounding rude? Without sounding ungrateful for the fact that at least someone is here. “Why you?”
That was not the way. All of Yoongi’s tact seems to be missing right now.
“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Namjoon asks slowly, carefully. His brow is furrowed and he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. Boy… friend? Namjoon is his…
“What?”
“What?” Namjoon echoes.
“You’re not my -” Yoongi cuts himself off. His head is throbbing, pain pulsing at his temples. “We’re not dating. I barely know you.”
There is a beat of silence where Namjoon just stares at him. Then slowly, carefully, he says, “We've been together for almost ten years.”
Ten years… Yoongi hasn’t even known Namjoon for ten weeks. And Namjoon is dating Yoongi’s friend. Jungkook. Namjoon is dating Jungkook. Yoongi is not, he’s not -
“Yoongi,” Namjoon murmurs, staring at him with pleading eyes. “Please tell me you remember.”
He can’t. Yoongi cannot tell Namjoon he remembers this. He has no memory of ten years with Namjoon. There are no memories of Namjoon like that. No memories of ten year relationships. Yoongi has never dated anyone for ten years, not even close. He hasn’t even been dating for ten years. There’s no way this is possible.
“I don’t remember you,” Yoongi whispers, his head throbbing. “I don’t - I don’t know you. Not like that.”
Namjoon’s face falls and he looks… devastated. It makes something in Yoongi’s chest clench, makes his head ache even more.
“We’ve known each other for thirteen, almost fourteen years. We’ve been dating for nearly ten. We live together.” Namjoon blurts all this, a desperate ramble of information, of facts. Facts that Yoongi does not know. “We have for years. We bought an apartment together, we have a joint bank account and -”
He cuts off abruptly, clearly noticing that Yoongi isn’t remembering any of this, that he just looks lost. And Namjoon looks lost now too, tears shining at his lash line once more.
Yoongi looks away, he has to. He can’t look at Namjoon and watch him cry for a relationship that Yoongi does not know. A relationship he isn’t even part of. Because Namjoon is not Yoongi’s partner. Namjoon is dating Jungkook. And Yoongi has a boyfriend, a boyfriend who is definitely not Namjoon. A kernel of panic blooms in his gut, stoked to life like an ember, and Yoongi tries to fight the rising wave of it, swallowing it back down.
“None of this is true,” Yoongi rasps. There’s a tightness in his throat and his palms suddenly feel sweaty. “I don’t know why you’re lying to me about all this, but it’s really fucked up.”
“I’m not lying,” Namjoon insists.
And Yoongi still can’t look at him. He stares down at his hands, curling them into fists over the thin hospital blanket. “We’re not dating, Namjoon,” Yoongi insists. The pain feels too big for his head now, pressing on the inside of his skull. “I don’t remember.”
“Why would I lie about this?”
A good question. Yoongi doesn’t know the answer. And Namjoon sounds so sure, but there’s just… There’s no way.
“Yoongi, please,” Namjoon pleads. “Please look at me?”
This has to be some kind of joke, some kind of messed up… what? Anger cuts through him then, mixing with the confusion and fear and Yoongi shifts away as much as he can. “You’re not my boyfriend. I want my actual boyfriend. Where’s Jungkook?” Yoongi sees Namjoon flinch with every word, but he doesn’t stop. “Where’s Seokjin?”
“Please,” Namjoon pleads again, still trying despite Yoongi’s anger. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”
Yoongi shakes his head, clenching his jaw as another wave of panic surges through him. If this is true, why doesn’t Yoongi remember? Why doesn’t Yoongi remember a life Namjoon seems so sure of? And why does Namjoon look older, different? There are hazy, blank spots in Yoongi’s memory. Everything is wrong and Yoongi doesn’t know why.
As his thoughts spiral, Yoongi can hear the beeping of the machines increase. His heart rate speeds up, pulse loud in his ears.
“I don’t -” He cuts off, voice choked. “Namjoon, I don’t -”
The sound of hurrying footsteps cuts Yoongi off and he finally looks up, blinking as a man in scrubs steps into the room. Yoongi vaguely recognizes him from before, the last time he was panicking. The doctor glances at Namjoon, then at Yoongi, taking in their expressions before turning to Namjoon.
“Namjoon-ssi,” the doctor begins, “I think it might be best if you left for a while.” His gaze flicks to Yoongi, then back to Namjoon. “There are some tests we need to run and I’d like to talk to Yoongi-ssi about his accident. Is that alright?”
“I -” Namjoon looks stricken, but he rises from his chair. “Okay.” His gaze moves to Yoongi and he stares for a moment. Yoongi can’t meet his eyes. “I’ll just -” Namjoon pauses. “Just call me, please?”
“Of course,” the doctor says kindly. “Go home and rest, Namjoon-ssi. You’ve been here for days.”
Days? How long has Yoongi been here?
Before he can consider that, Namjoon is leaving. He gives Yoongi one last backwards glance before walking out of the room, shoulders hunched. Yoongi watches him go, watches him disappear. As soon as he’s gone, Yoongi feels very alone.
“Yoongi-ssi,” the doctor begins. “I’m Doctor Choi.” He smiles slightly when Yoongi finally looks at him. “We’d like to run a few tests, if that’s alright?”
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The tests are a blur. A whirlwind of being wheeled down hallways that all look the same, pushed into labs with huge devices that scan his head, his chest, his limbs. It’s all dizzying, Yoongi poked and prodded and shoved into various machines. It feels almost like a dream, everything happening far too fast for Yoongi to even keep up with. Fits and starts and Yoongi is so confused and overwhelmed, it’s like he loses the bits in the middle.
They ask him questions that Yoongi isn’t always entirely sure how to answer. Some of them feel like tricks, like they’re trying to catch him in some sort of lie. How he feels, if he remembers the accident, his birthday, how many fingers they’re holding up. It exhausts him, the throbbing in his head only intensifying.
By the time Yoongi is wheeled back to his room, he’s even more confused than before. Doctor Choi reappears, carrying a file and a stack of what look like test results. He takes the chair by the bed, the one where Namjoon was sitting, and settles the file on his lap. Dimly, a quiet part of Yoongi wishes it was Namjoon back there instead of the doctor.
“Well,” Doctor Choi begins, “you seem to be doing alright physically, all things considered.”
That’s a relief at least.
“No broken bones besides a couple of ribs, just a lot of bumps and bruises.” The doctor flips through the file, holding up what looks like a scan of Yoongi’s brain and squinting at it. “A concussion, but that’s to be expected. It seems that when you were hit, the impact was mostly to your side.”
Which explains the tenderness in Yoongi’s ribs, the full body ache he feels. How moving around to have the tests done felt exhausting and painful, his body like one big bruise.
“It seems that after the impact, you were thrown to the ground and hit your head.” The doctor holds up another scan of Yoongi’s brain. “Not uncommon, of course. Everything happened so quickly, no time to brace yourself or get out of the way. Your head hit the pavement and things got a little knocked around.”
Knocked around. That feels like an understatement. “My head fucking hurts,” Yoongi responds. “It’s throbbing and it feels… foggy?” The word doesn’t quite fit, but Yoongi isn’t sure how else to describe it right now. He can’t seem to find the words he’s actually looking for. “I’m… confused.”
“Mhm.” Doctor Choi nods along, noting something in Yoongi’s chart. “Of course, that’s normal with head trauma and we can give you more medication for the pain. We’re not entirely sure of the full extent yet, but there’s no notable internal damage. You were partially unconscious for a couple of days, mostly in and out. There’s some swelling, but nothing too concerning. The confusion is normal, but your memory…”
“Is it from the concussion?” Yoongi asks. “Is that why I’m so….” he trails off.
“It could be. When the brain experiences something traumatic, various areas can be affected,” he explains. “And this can manifest in different ways. You say you feel foggy. Confused?” Yoongi nods and Dr. Choi continues. “Do you feel like you’re missing things?”
“Yes,” Yoongi responds, twisting his fingers in his blanket. “But I - Namjoon, he says we’re dating. He says we’ve been together for ten years. But that’s not…” Yoongi trails off, shaking his head. “We haven’t. I don’t remember any of that and it doesn’t… It doesn’t make sense.”
Doctor Choi flips through a few pages in Yoongi’s chart, humming thoughtfully before he looks up again. “Yoongi-ssi, can you answer a few questions for me?”
“Um.” Yoongi blinks, confused by this sudden shift in topic. “Okay.”
“Alright, just try your best to answer.” The doctor closes Yoongi’s file carefully, folding his hands on top of it. “Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital?” He pauses. “In Seoul?”
“And your name?”
These are not the kind of questions Yoongi expected. They already asked him these things. “Min Yoongi.”
“How old are you?”
Yoongi furrows his brow. That’s a strange question. All of this is strange. “Twenty-two.”
“I see.” Doctor Choi nods along. “And what do you do?”
“Uh. I just graduated.” The words blur in Yoongi’s head, his memories coming slowly. He has to think hard before he adds more. “I’m starting a new job soon.”
Nodding along, the doctor opens Yoongi’s file again, eyes scanning along a page. He frowns and Yoongi suddenly feels unsure about his answers. Which seems ridiculous, but…
“One last one,” Doctor Choi says. “What year is it?”
The year? Yoongi’s vision swims slightly and he blinks. “It’s -” Yoongi swallows hard, tries to focus. He stares down at his hands, forcing himself to think. “The year is… Two thousand… Two thousand and…”
“Twenty three.”
“What?” Yoongi blurts, head jerking up.
“It is two thousand twenty three. You are thirty-five.”
No. It’s - that’s not right. Yoongi just graduated university, he’s starting a job. He’s part of the class of two thousand ten. He’s… No.
“That’s not right,” Yoongi whispers.
“It is,” Doctor Choi says, his voice soft, sympathetic. “It’s September of 2023.”
There's a roaring in Yoongi’s ears. “That’s impossible. I don’t - I don’t remember any of that.”
“Yoongi-ssi,” the doctor begins, voice gentle, “have you ever heard of amnesia?”
---------
Namjoon doesn’t come back. At least not that night. Yoongi is left alone in his hospital room. Left with the noise and lights of the machines, the tubes and wires, the stark white walls.
He is left alone to stare out the windows at the city beyond the glass. The lights of Seoul are bright and alive. So many people out there, going about their lives, while Yoongi is trapped here alone.
Amnesia.
It doesn’t seem possible, not really. Yoongi’s heard of amnesia, obviously. He’s seen all sorts of movies and dramas where that was a theme. Someone getting in an accident and losing memories. But Yoongi never really thought it was true. At least not like the movies show it.
But, somehow, Yoongi has lost years of his life. He has lost more than a decade of memories that he can’t access. Like his life paused, someone pressed fast forward, and now he is here, in the future.
Retrograde amnesia, the doctor called it. A traumatic injury to the brain causing damage to one of the lobes or cortexes or… something. Yoongi couldn’t follow the specifics, too busy fighting down another wave of panic. His head had been spinning, bile burning at the back of his throat as the doctor talked.
It didn’t seem to matter, all the specific parts of it. Not when Yoongi was trying to sift through his memories, trying to pull out thirteen years of knowledge and relationships and life.
And there was nothing there.
Disorienting is too mild a word for the feeling. There is no word for it that Yoongi can find. The inside of his head feels scraped raw, carved out. So many pieces are missing and Yoongi does not know how to recover them, how to get them back.
Or if he ever will.
Huddling beneath the blankets, Yoongi tries to curl in on himself despite his pain. A tiny bit of comfort, whatever he can find. Despite the beeping of the machines, the ambient sounds of the hospital around him, Yoongi feels so alone. Adrift here on an island, missing half of himself.
“How long until I remember?” Yoongi asked.
The look Doctor Choi gave him was sympathetic, verging on pitying. “There’s no way to tell. There’s no timeline for something like this.”
No timeline.
“But I will get them back,” Yoongi insisted. His fingers were curled so tightly into the blanket that they ached. “Right? I’ll get them back?”
The doctor must deliver bad news to people all the time, but he still hesitated before responding. “Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing. Your memories might come back. Or they might not.”
“Ever?” Yoongi croaked, watching Doctor Choi nod. The tears came then, stinging and burning at Yoongi’s eyes.
“Would you like me to call Namjoon-ssi?”
Part of Yoongi wanted to say yes, just to have someone here. But… “No,” Yoongi murmured, turning his face away. “I’m just tired.”
And he’s been alone since. At least mostly, other than nurses coming to check on him, bring him dinner, give him medication. He has been here by himself and part of him regrets saying no. Part of him wishes Namjoon were here, because then at least someone would be.
Except, despite what he’s been told, Namjoon is a stranger.
It feels impossible that Yoongi could forget thirteen years of his own life, that it could be wiped out just like that. Apparently one moment he was thirty-five, in a decade long relationship, and then a blink and he’s… He’s twenty-two again.
Maybe it’s a joke. A sick one, sure, but a joke would be better than any of this. Better than the reality Yoongi is facing.
Or a dream. Just a bad dream, a nightmare that Yoongi can’t seem to wake up from. But maybe he will, he could. As he lets his eyes fall closed, exhaustion tugging at him, Yoongi hopes that could be true. That when he wakes up, everything will be back to normal.
---------
Yoongi has been awake for a little over an hour when Hoseok visits him. It feels good to see him, a relief for his best friend to appear in the doorway and hurry inside.
The relief lessens when Yoongi notices that Hoseok, like Namjoon, looks different from how Yoongi remembers. His dark hair is cut short, glasses on his nose, smile lines around his eyes. Older.
But Yoongi can’t focus on that now, not when Hoseok is closing the distance between them. He’s smiling, but it’s wobbly, tears gleaming in his eyes when he takes Yoongi in. There’s a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, soft pink and pale purple.
The bundle of clematis flowers Yoongi was carrying when he was hit returns to his mind. Pretty petals scattered on the pavement, crushed beneath tires. And Yoongi still doesn’t know why he had them.
“Hyung,” Hoseok breathes when he reaches Yoongi. He doesn’t sit down in the chair right away, instead folding himself over Yoongi to hug him. Careful, gentle. But warm, so warm, and welcome.
Yoongi can feel tears burning behind his own eyes and he tries to blink them away. He leans his forehead into Hoseok’s shoulder, craving this little bit of familiarity. When Hoseok pulls away, Yoongi misses the warmth immediately.
“God look at you,” Hoseok murmurs, eyes sweeping over Yoongi’s body beneath the blankets. His lips wobble and he presses them into a thin line, dabbing at his eyes. “You look so small like this.”
“I’m not small,” Yoongi huffs.
And Hoseok laughs, a surprised bark of sound. But it’s wet, slightly choked. He leans to place the flowers on the table beside the bed and then takes Yoongi’s hand. “God, this is horrible.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi fights back his own tears, staring down at Hoseok’s hand over his. “It’s kinda shitty.”
“I’ve been so worried,” Hoseok says. “We all have. It’s been a weird few days, we’ve all visited, but I’m sure you don’t remember that.”
Yoongi shakes his head. The doctor said he was in and out, and Yoongi doesn’t remember anything about the hospital before waking up yesterday.
“Well we’ve all been here, waiting for you to wake up. I wanted to come yesterday, when I got the call you were awake, but…” Hoseok trails off, his voice cracking slightly. “It sounds like yesterday was tough.”
All of this is tough. “It was,” Yoongi agrees.
“Of course.” Hoseok nods, gently squeezing Yoongi’s hand. “How do you feel now?”
“Like I got hit by a motorcycle,” Yoongi deadpans.
This time, Hoseok doesn’t laugh. Instead he bites his lip, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill again. “Oh, hyung,” Hoseok croaks. “This is all so fucking…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re still in one piece.”
It doesn’t feel like Yoongi is in one piece, not when he’s missing years of his memory. Not when he’s missing parts of himself.
“Just a little banged up, hm?”
“Ribs, concussion, bruises.” Yoongi does not mention his memory. Hoseok must know, he must have been told.
“I was so relieved when Namjoon called me last night to say you were okay.” Hoseok pauses. “Well, mostly okay.”
“What did he say?” Yoongi can’t help the way he stiffens at the mention of Namjoon.
Hoseok hesitates for long enough that Yoongi knows what he wants to say. “Hyung…”
“The doctor says it’s amnesia,” Yoongi blurts. “He says I might get my memories back or… or…” He can’t finish the thought, can’t say it out loud.
“And you don’t remember anything?”
Yoongi stares down at his lap. “I do, but it’s not - none of it is -”
It’s frustrating, not being able to find the words he’s looking for. Yoongi’s temples pulse, head beginning to ache again. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.
“Namjoon says you’ve lost years.” When Yoongi doesn’t contradict him, Hoseok sucks in a sharp break. “I didn’t think it could be true but -” A pause, Yoongi does not look up. “Hyung, do you really not remember Namjoon?”
“No,” Yoongi grits out. “I don’t fucking remember him, or whatever years he says we’ve been together.” He looks up now, finding Hoseok already watching him. Anger simmers in Yoongi again, anger at whatever all this is. It’s not fucking fair, to have his friends look at him like this and to not fucking know anything.
How can any of this be possible? They’re telling him he’s dating Namjoon, telling him he’s lost years. But Yoongi has no memories or feelings to associate with any of this. How can it be true when Yoongi doesn’t remember?
“Yoongi, I -”
“Namjoon says we’ve been dating for years,” Yoongi interrupts. “He says he’s my boyfriend, but I don’t know him, Hoseok. We barely know each other and Namjoon is dating Jungkook. We’re not dating! All of this is so fucking weird and confusing and I just want to see -”
The sound of the door opening has Yoongi cutting off. He jerks his head up, wincing at the slicing pain in his skull when he moves too quickly. But the door is open and Seokjin is there. Seokjin is in the doorway and Yoongi’s heart leaps, flips in his chest.
“Hyung,” Yoongi rasps.
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin replies, stepping toward the bed.
Yoongi barely registers Jungkook slipping in behind Seokjin, following him into the room. Because Seokjin is there, and Yoongi only has eyes for him. Only has eyes for his actual boyfriend, the man he’s been dating for two years. Who is here, closing the distance between them with a strained, unsteady smile.
Another feeling of relief as Seokjin dips down, hugging Yoongi so gently, so carefully. And Yoongi tries to ignore the strangeness of it. He tries not to see that Seokjin’s hair is black, not the chestnut brown it was last time he saw him. And he tries not to register, as he breathes Seokjin in, curling one hand in his sweater, that the cologne he’s wearing smells so different.
When Seokjin pulls back, Jungkook is there to take his place. “Hi hyung,” Jungkook murmurs. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is puffy, as if he’s been crying. He hugs Yoongi too, featherlight touches because of his ribs, his bruises. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better,” Yoongi replies, his voice wetter than he intended. It’s hard not to feel choked up, here with his best friends around him. His best friends and…
Yoongi’s eyes move to Seokjin, taking him in. He looks older, Yoongi’s mind whispers. But Seokjin is Yoongi’s boyfriend. This is his Seokjin, even if he… If he looks different.
“Yoongi is a little confused about, um…” Hoseok trails off, clearing his throat before continuing. “The doctors say he’s lost some of his memories. He doesn’t remember Namjoon.”
“What?” Seokjin blurts. His eyes widen and he glances at Hoseok, then back at Yoongi.
Shuffling a little closer to Seokjin’s side, Jungkook puts a hand on his arm. Yoongi watches, confused, as Seokjin leans into the touch, leans into Jungkook’s space. The hand on his arm moves to wrap around Seokjin’s waist and hold him there. Hold him there and -
“Namjoon says we’ve been dating for years,” Yoongi croaks. “But I’m dating you.”
“Oh.” For a moment, Seokjin looks stunned. Then his face falls, expression crumpling. He steps away from Jungkook, moving back to Yoongi’s side and reaching for his hand. “Oh, Yoongi.”
The sound of his name like that, sympathy and pain there, anguish. Something in Yoongi’s chest feels like it splits in two. His gaze flicks between the three men in the room. “Aren’t we dating? And Jungkook is… Jungkook is…”
“Jungkook is dating me,” Seokjin says gently. “We’re not together, Yoongi. You and I haven’t been together in years. Over a dozen.”
“I don’t -” The throbbing in Yoongi’s head intensifies and he feels suddenly dizzy. “I don’t understand.” Is he really… going through a breakup right now? At least that’s what it feels like.
“I love you, Yoongi, of course I do.” Seokjin looks so, so sad now. “But we decided we were better as friends after graduation. I moved abroad for a while, things were different. We’re still best friends, but… things are different.”
Different. An understatement. It’s like the rug has been pulled out from under him. All of Yoongi’s reality has been changed, altered, and he can’t do anything about it.
This feels like the last shred of hope, the final straw. Yoongi was holding out for this, hoping that it was all a mistake, a dream. That something had just gotten… mixed up. But it’s clear that the only thing mixed up here is Yoongi. Seokjin was his last chance to hold onto what he had, or thought he had. But now nothing Yoongi thought he was sure of is true and it’s fucking scary.
“Hyung?” Hoseok’s voice. He crouches beside Yoongi’s bed, reaching up to brush Yoongi’s hair off his suddenly clammy forehead. “I know this must be so confusing, but we’re all here for you.”
Confusing. Confusing is another fucking understatement.
None of them know. None of them understand. Yoongi doesn’t even understand. His entire life is falling apart right in front of him, everything he knows is fucking wrong and… What? He’s stuck over a decade in the past, his entire world crumbling around him. All the facts of Yoongi’s universe are changed now, and he’s not sure how to accept that.
A sniffle cuts through the silence and Yoongi glances up, seeing Jungkook with a hand clasped over his mouth, his eyes shining. “I’m sorry,” Jungkook chokes out.
Exhaustion washes over Yoongi again and he sinks in his pillows, heart aching just as much as his head. Everything is too much and he does not want to see his friends cry, does not want to see them look at him with so much pity.
“I’d like to rest now,” Yoongi whispers.
“Yoongi -” Seokjin begins, but he cuts off when Hoseok touches his arm.
“We’ll come back,” Hoseok promises. “If you want us to.”
Yoongi doesn’t look at him again, just nods miserably and turns his head away. Squeezing his eyes closed, Yoongi waits until he hears the door close before he starts to cry.
---------
The next time Yoongi wakes up, Namjoon is there again.
He knows he’s not alone when he opens his eyes, turning his head to find Namjoon back in the chair beside him. They stare at each other and Yoongi can’t help but notice how tired Namjoon looks.
“Hi,” Namjoon says softly.
There is silence between them while Yoongi stares, while he scans every contour and detail of Namjoon’s face. And he searches his mind, trying to match this Namjoon to any scrap or recollection. Trying to find what everyone tells him should be there, over a decade of memories. Familiarity, comfort, love. But there is only a blank space.
“I don’t remember you,” Yoongi whispers.
Namjoon nods and bows his head, folding over the hands clasped in his lap. “I know I can’t convince you that we’re together, that we have been. But we are, Yoongi.” He peeks up at Yoongi, eyes pleading. “We have a life together, we love each other.”
And Yoongi still stares, something in his chest aching at the desperate, hopeful expression on Namjoon’s face. But there is nothing there.
“I’m sorry.”
He thinks he can see it, the moment when Namjoon’s heart breaks and his hope slips away. But he doesn’t fight it, just nods and lowers his head again. “Me too.”
They lapse into silence and Yoongi reaches up to his own chest, rubbing at the dull, hollow pain there.