Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a stranger staring back at Jungkook from the dirty hospital mirror.

It’s him, but it can’t be. He wasn’t like this yesterday. His hair is so much longer, grown over his nape, falling into his eyes. He’d never let it get this long—he always keeps his hair cropped, shaved in the back and on the sides, dark and straight and brushed away from his face, like his dad.

He’s also got the distinct look of someone who hasn’t seen the sun in days. Dry, tired eyes, a hollowness to his cheeks. 

Car accident, the doctor had said. He’d been incredibly lucky, escaping with just a few broken ribs and a nasty bump to the head.

And then she'd frowned, because Jungkook got the date wrong.

Very wrong, as it turns out.

According to your ID, you are twenty-seven years old.

That had come as a bit of a surprise to Jungkook, who’d celebrated his twenty-second birthday barely three months ago.

Amnesia was the other thing the doctor had said, a sympathetic look on her face.

And Jungkook’s face, well. It sure does look five years older, staring back at him in the dingy bathroom light.

"What the fuck," he says, bringing a hand to hover aimlessly close to his cheek. He runs his hands through his hair and it feels so strange, the way it just goes on forever. There’s an elastic band on his wrist. He must tie it up.

What the fuck. 

He goes back into the room and sits down at the edge of the bed, kind of dizzy and uncomfortable in the nasty hospital gown with its rough and papery texture. It feels horrible on his skin.

So. What the hell is he supposed to do? 

He’s never been in a serious accident before. Never even met anyone who has. His head is filled with static, his arms falling limply on the stark white sheets.

Where are his parents? Surely if he’d been unconscious for a whole three days like the doctor said, they’d have been notified. Where’s Yoongi-hyung? They must have called his emergency contact when he woke up. He checks the wall clock. It’s been forty-five minutes since then, and he has a vague idea of where this hospital is, so if someone did call him and Yoongi’s still living in the same area, then he must be almost—

The door swings open, and Jungkook turns to it in relief.

But it’s not Yoongi that he sees standing there.

"Kook," Jimin breathes.

He looks nothing like Jungkook remembers.

His hair isn’t the obnoxious red he last saw him in, but a soft blond, starting to curl around his ears. He’s wearing a simple knit sweater, and it looks old, worn and soft, but it’s still so much more elegant than the Jimin he knows. He looks like he dressed in a hurry, his boot literally unzipped, but even that—he’s wearing boots. Slick, black, pointed boots.

Jungkook never saw Jimin in anything other than worn out vans.

"Park Jimin-ssi!"

A nurse bursts into the room after Jimin, frown on her face. "You are not allowed to run in a hospital."

"I—" Jimin turns his body to her, but keeps his eyes on Jungkook like he can’t look away. Eventually, he manages to turn to her fully and bow in apology. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just—" He looks up at Jungkook again with eager eyes, that prickle unpleasantly all over him. "He’s been unconscious for days, and I just slipped out for a couple hours—"

"There is no good reason to run in the hospital."

Jimin bows to her again. "I apologise."

She finally seems to accept this and softens a little. "Please be aware that this can be a very overwhelming time for the patient."

"The patient is right here," Jungkook pipes up with a scowl. "I can speak for myself."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Very well," she says, but it sounds like another thing entirely. "I’ll leave you."

Jungkook wants her to come back as soon as she closes the door behind her, because Jimin’s back to looking at him with those eyes, scrutinising him and coming closer and—

Jungkook shifts back into the bed. "Where’s Yoongi-hyung?"

Why are you here instead of him is what he really wants to ask, but he knows how sensitive Jimin can get.

"I called everyone as soon as I got off the phone with the hospital." He swipes his hair away from his face, behind his ear, a gesture way too feminine for the Jimin Jungkook knows. "They’re on their way. They should be here any minute."

Jungkook nods. He wonders if everyone is still the same people.

And then they’re back to nothing. At least this is familiar; the awkward feeling that comes with being Jimin’s object of undivided attention. Jungkook’s never known what to do with that. This time, with Jimin’s pleading, prying eyes, might well be the worst one to date. 

"Kook, is it true? About your memories?"

He hates when Jimin calls him that. "Like it’s my fault?"

"I didn’t say that," Jimin says, with a soft tone that gets Jungkook to frown even harder than he had been. "I just can’t believe it. But we’ll get through it, right? Of course we will.”  He moves towards him again with a relieved smile. “I’m just so glad—" 

Jungkook tenses, and Jimin stops in his tracks.

He stares, and stares. Jungkook avoids it. 

"Kook," he says, like he’s trying it out. When Jungkook makes a face at it, his expression hardens. He amends, "Jungkook. When’s the last time we saw each other, for you?"

He doesn’t have to think about it. He knows exactly when.

"Your birthday party.”

“What year.”

“During my senior year."

Jimin’s face does something funny and horrible, some involuntary little spasm that he tries to hide by looking down; but Jungkook saw it. For a second, Jimin had looked inconsolable.

"Oh," he mutters, a breathless, humourless little laugh escaping him.

And now Jungkook feels guilty. Guilty for putting that look on Park Jimin’s face, like fucking always. Can’t he have a day of rest from this?

That was the same reason he’d left that stupid party, too. Jungkook hadn’t seen the point in going, especially since Jimin had graduated his masters and they didn’t go to the same university anymore.

He was off looking for jobs as Jungkook struggled through his senior year already a couple months in, and he didn’t have time for Jimin’s birthday party; but everyone yelled at him until he folded and agreed to go for a couple hours he really didn’t have. They all assured him Jimin would be very happy to see him there.

Responsible for Park Jimin’s feelings, again.

It had been a bust. He’d had one beer, sulked and sulked, and when Jimin tried to get him to dance, buzzed already, Jungkook had torn his hand away and told him to just back off for once before storming out and going straight home to finish his essay, like he should have been doing in the first place.

But that can't be the only reason behind that look. Behind the way Jimin’s hanging his head down, fists clenching at his sides like he’s trying to psyche himself up to look back up again.

What’s Jimin doing in his life, five years later? Why was he the first to arrive?

He looks at Jimin, head to toe, but no memory sparks. He has no choice but to ask. "What is it for you?"

Jimin takes a second to breathe deeply. He looks over Jungkook’s shoulder and says, "I’ve been here, every day since the accident. But the last time I saw you before was at home."

Jungkook frowns. He was at Jimin’s house? Why?

"We were all going to go out. But I wasn’t feeling very well, so I decided to stay home at the last minute." Fuck, is he getting choked up? "You said you’d stay with me, because you always do," he says, giving Jungkook a look of such tenderness he wants to hide. "But I insisted. I told you to go have fun." Jimin draws in a breath. "And next thing I know I’m getting a call from the hospital."

His voice fades, like he can’t stand saying those words out loud.

"I don’t understand. Why were you at my house?"

"Our house," Jimin corrects gently.

Jungkook can’t have heard that right. "What."

"We’ve lived together for two years, Jungkook-ah."

"But why?"

"Because you asked me."

He’s clearly avoiding giving Jungkook a proper answer, and it’s making his skin crawl, so he responds, "What, couldn’t I find a job out of uni?"

Jimin actually physically backs off at that, taking a backwards step towards the wall. He takes another breath and opens his mouth to answer.

He doesn’t get to, because the door slams open and chaos instantly breaks into the quiet room.

"Jungkook-ah!" 

Hoseok runs over to hug him tightly, shaking him from side to side. "Jungkook-ah, you gave us such a scare!"

"You know you can just call us when you want attention, right?" Seokjin says as he tackles Jungkook in a hug next.

A hug? He and Seokjin never hug.  He never hugs anyone. 

Could this just be a dream? A fucked up little nightmare born out of exam season stress? If he goes to sleep like he’s dying to do, exhausted by all this catching up, will he wake up on his desk, drooling all over his notes? 

Namjoon pokes his head in right after, followed closely by Yoongi, as he looks at the display, unsure if he also should go for a hug too. In the end, he settles for giving Jungkook a little wave and asks, "How’re you feeling, Jungkook-ah?"

"Like I got run over by a truck. Oh, wait."

Seokjin is the only one to burst out laughing, clapping Jungkook's shoulder as the others look at each other uneasily. 

Taehyung comes in last, looking frazzled. He takes one look into the room, locks eyes with Jungkook, wide-eyed. Jungkook looks away, and catches sight of Yoongi, standing by the door. He’s looking at Jungkook carefully, like he knows something’s not right, arms crossed over his chest.

Taehyung rushes over to Jimin, who’s got his back to the wall, as far away from the bed as possible, hugging himself. He looks so tightly wound, and Taehyung must notice because he wraps his arms around him. Jimin’s face falls a little, clinging back.

The others seem to notice him then. "Jimin-ah!" Hoseok says brightly. "What are you doing all the way back there?"

"The nurse told me," Taehyung mumbles, hugging Jimin tightly. "It’s true?"

Jimin nods into his shoulder.

"What’s true?" Seokjin pipes up.

Taehyung looks at Jimin, but he’s clearly incapable of explaining. He looks to Jungkook, and Jungkook also doesn’t open his mouth.

"Jungkook’s lost five years of memory. He thinks he’s twenty-two."

Four sets of eyes turn to him all at once, and a chorus of questions erupts from Hoseok and Seokjin all at the same time.

"What do you mean—"

"How does that even happen—"

"I thought that only happened in dramas?"

"Do you even know who I am?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Hyung, I’ve known you since I was eighteen."

"Which, according to you, has only just happened?"

"What does this mean?" Yoongi speaks for the first time in all this. "What kind of care do you need?"

Jungkook’s so thankful for his hyung asking him a question he can answer. "The doctor said I need to come in for monitoring for a while, but I’m basically fine. I just…lost a few years. And she couldn’t say how long it’s going to be before I get it back."

"But you are getting it back?" Hoseok asks.

Jungkook can practically hear Jimin hold his breath. He tries not to look at him. "I should."

"But it’s not for sure."

"It’s head trauma, Hoseok-ah," Namjoon says with a deep frown. "I can’t imagine anything can be for sure."

Jungkook nods. That's what he got too, through all the medical jargon. "So, yeah."

"I don’t know what to say to this," Seokjin announces to the room in general. "I’m coming up empty."

"That's a first," Namjoon stage whispers. 

"Just, we’re glad you’re okay!" Hoseok rushes to say. "A little memory loss’s no match for our Jungkookie, hm? You’ll be back on your feet in no time!"

"Thanks, hyung." It's nice to see them all, even if they are visibly different from what he remembers. Hoseok's hair is a light brown with little blond highlights, which suits him. Like Jimin, they're all dressed more grown-up too—other than Seokjin's sweaters which features a giant looking cartoon fish. 

It's nice of them to rush here for him. 

Which begs the question. "Have any of you told my parents I woke up? Are they in the city, in a hotel or something?"

A hush falls over the room.

"Uh," Namjoon says, looking sideways at Yoongi as if asking for help. "Damn."

"I now know what to say even less."

Jungkook frowns at them. "What." No one answers him, and he’s terrified, suddenly, that his parents might have died, and Jungkook forgot. He grabs Seokjin’s forearm, the closest to him, squeezing hard. "Hyung, what?"

Yoongi’s the one who answers him. "You haven’t spoken to your parents in four years."

There’s no way.

He calls his mom every other day. His dad and brother were planning a visit just last week, and like, it was inconvenient because Jungkook was busy with school but he was going to take them around the city, go to restaurants—

Except that was more than five years ago.

"What the fuck? What happened?"

Hoseok looks to Jimin nervously, starting to finally notice his state.

"You, um." Jimin steps out of Taehyung’s arms, runs a hand through his hair, gathering himself. He rolls his shoulder a little, wincing. "You guys fought really badly."

"We wouldn’t."

"You did," Seokjin pipes up. "It got ugly! They said all kind of horrible things about Jimin, and—"

Jungkook is so confused. "What does Jimin have to do with this?"

"Oh, shit," Namjoon says under his breath.

It takes Seokjin another second to put it together, whatever it is that Jungkook’s missing, and when he does, his eyes widen comically, looking between him and Jimin.

Hoseok’s looking between everyone, deeply confused. Jungkook can relate.

"What? What’s going on?"

"Jungkook doesn’t remember him and Jimin are together," Yoongi says, looking at Jungkook assessingly. "Do you?"

Jungkook’s face must do something, because they all look horrified.

"Oh, Jiminie," Hoseok says, voice dripping with sympathy.

"What the fuck do you mean," Jungkook says, slow and steady and scared, "me and Jimin are together?"

"You’ve been dating since your senior year," Namjoon says calmly, like he’s trying not to spook him. "You came out to your parents when you and Jimin moved in together, and they took it badly."

"You haven’t spoken since," Jimin mutters, voice low.

Moved in together. With Jimin. Coming out. What.

"That can’t be fucking true," Jungkook says, getting up, because he needs—he needs to move, he needs to do something. "I’m not gay."

"Bisexual," Hoseok corrects. "Right?" Jimin nods when Hoseok looks at him in question, and Jungkook is mad.

Like Jimin knows him. Like Jimin is some sort of authority on Jungkook.

He brings his hands to his hair, twisting, and it stings, fuck. He takes his hand away quickly, but it tangles in the long, unruly strands and pulls harder, and now it’s throbbing. “Ah,” he gasps, wincing. 

"Maybe we should go outside for a minute," Jimin tells everyone, darting worried glances at him. "The nurse said we shouldn’t overwhelm him."

Jungkook completely ignores him, all of them, pacing up and down in the small room. His side hurts too. Didn't the doctor say something about his ribs? He can't remember.  Everyone’s looking at him warily, he knows, but he cannot handle that right now, so he goes on having his well fucking deserved crisis.

As they all start filing out of the room, Jungkook says, "Hyung, can you stay?"

Jimin turns to him, opening his mouth to respond.

"Yoongi-hyung," Jungkook specifies, and Jimin wilts right in front of his eyes.

Whatever. Not his fucking problem.

Yoongi throws Jimin a look, like he’s asking permission, which just aggravates Jungkook more.

Jimin mutters something in response Jungkook doesn’t hear, and just pulls the door shut behind him with one last sad look at Jungkook’s direction.

"Hyung, is this some kind of sick prank?"

Yoongi looks at him flatly. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?"

Jungkook nods.

"Then you know it’s not."

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

Yoongi lets him freak out in peace, moving slowly to the one-door wardrobe next to Jungkook’s bed. He takes out a bag and rummages through it, fishing out some clothes.

"Here," he says, handing them over to Jungkook. "Get dressed and then we’ll talk."

They sit next to each other, once he’s dressed, and Yoongi explains:

“Everything Namjoon said is true. You’ve been together since senior year, living together, the works.”

“But how ? I barely even like Jimin! He drives me crazy all the time, how in the world did I ever decide to live with him—”

“A lot can change in five years, Jungkook. And if you’re planning on saying any of that shit to Jimin, think again.”

Jungkook huffs. “Who do you take me for.”

“For a little shit already prone to outbursts going through a traumatic event,” Yoongi says. He puts his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder, squeezing. His voice is soft. “Jimin only wants what’s best for you. Remember that, okay?”

Jungkook grumbles an affirmative response, just to get him off his back.

▫

The elevator in their building doesn’t work.

"It’s been broken for months," Jimin tells him, readjusting Jungkook’s overnight bag over his shoulder and heading to the stairs.

The apartment is on the third floor. The door takes some jostling to unlock, but Jimin does it quickly. “Have to pull in,” he tells Jungkook, like he’s sharing a secret. He steps back to let him go in first. "Here we are. Welcome home."

It’s a small, slightly cramped apartment. There’s a wall covered in different size picture frames, and even from the door Jungkook can make out his and his friends’ faces. A bookshelf with a modest amount of books, an old-looking couch with a yellow blanket tossed over it, knick knacks all over, adding color to every surface.

He knows he should feel something, looking at this.

He doesn’t.

Still, he needs to say something, because Jimin’s watching him for a reaction. "It’s nice."

It makes Jimin smile, a hopeful look in his eyes that Jungkook can’t stand to meet.

"Let me give you the tour."

The tour lasts all of half a minute, and there’s a glaring fucking issue that becomes apparent right away.

"Where’s the other bedroom?"

"The..?"

"Where I’m going to sleep."

"We don’t have a second room. This is the whole place."

"Jimin." There’s no way he’s sleeping with Jimin. Recreating the routine can only go so fucking far.

"Don’t worry," Jimin says with a forced little smile, like he knows exactly what Jungkook’s thinking. "Until we figure all this out, I’ll take the couch, okay? You take the bed."

Jungkook frowns, crossing his arms. Evicting Jimin from his bed doesn’t seem right, but if that’s Jungkook’s bed too, there’s no other solution. 

"Look, Kook—"

"You know I don’t like when you call me that."

"Right. Sorry." It takes him a second to continue. "I realize that maybe, you might feel more comfortable elsewhere…especially since for you, we’re—well, we’re barely friends, right?"

"Right!"

He does turn to Jimin then, just in time to see his face fall. He brings his expression back to neutral in the blink of an eye and continues, as if he hadn’t heard Jungkook’s response.

"I know maybe you wanted to go to Yoongi-hyung’s, or a hotel or something."

Jungkook asked, but Yoongi couldn’t host him. He lived with Namjoon in a tiny apartment with two dogs, which took Jungkook way too long to process too. They had no space.

"But the doctor said you need to return to your home, recreate the routine. She said it would help jog your memory."

"I know that. I was there for that whole speech too."

Jimin’s face hardens. "Point being, this is where you need to be. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll try to respect your boundaries."

Jungkook huffs. That’s rich, coming from Jimin of all people.

Something flickers in Jimin’s eyes, the lock of his jaw tight. "You don’t believe me?"

He can’t get into this right now. He sighs. "I’m taking a shower," he announces, and goes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He ignores the sight of the two toothbrushes next to the sink and turns his eyes instead on the shelves. All kinds of products are lining their surface, creams and sprays and serums and even make-up. Lipglosses and eyeshadows and things Jungkook doesn’t even know the name of. All Jimin’s, no doubt.

He was wearing make-up at that party, Jungkook remembers it very well. He remembers the way he’d stared at the shimmer on Jimin’s eyelids. How Jimin caught him and smiled, and how it had made a terrible prickling sensation spread all over him.

He was ashamed for him. What kind of man does that? 

One that's into other men, apparently. 

He can feel a headache coming on already. How the hell is he supposed to believe this is his life?

Jungkook doesn't swing that way. And if he did, he definitely wouldn't go for Jimin. 

He undresses quickly and gets in the shower. His left side is all ugly and violet, bruises marring a huge expanse over his ribs. Lucky it's not worse were the doctor's exact words. 

Jungkook stays under the spray of the water for way, way longer than necessary, even after he’s done thoroughly scrubbing himself to get rid of the hospital smell. He lets it relax his tight muscles, groaning in satisfaction. He hasn’t had a shower with water pressure like this since living back home.

He puts his forehead against the tile for a second, just breathing. He knows Jimin is expecting him to join him in the living room as soon as he’s done, maybe to talk about those boundaries, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

The mirror’s all fogged up when Jungkook gets out. He reaches up a hand to swipe at it, as he always does, but his eyes catch on the elastic band on his wrist.

He lets his hand drop.

Who did he become in just five years?

His wardrobe is half comfortable sweatshirts and half black cargo pants with chains, ripped jeans. There's work clothes too, dark grey suits and white shirts, in a boring little corner of the wardrobe. There's three pair of huge stomper boots for every pair of sneakers.

There's other shoes too, much smaller. Simple, elegant looking boots and pointed loafers.

He can't resist a sneak in Jimin's side. The sweatshirt section is a bit more colourful, purples and whites and oranges, but it takes up a considerable amount of the wardrobe too. Then, there's the thin shirts, the sequined jackets, tight tight jeans.

Nothing like the muscle tees and shorts Jungkook remembers him in.

He’s overwhelmed with choice–nothing feels right, nothing feels his. He turns in a huff.

There’s folded clothes at the foot of the bed that weren’t there before.

Jungkook grits his jaw.

▫

Days go by, and Jungkook keeps waking up twenty-seven.

There’s certain perks to it: the bed, for one. The way he has space to move in now. Nothing like his room in the dorms—it always looks dirty, no matter how tidy he is, and there’s a distinct old smell he can never air out.

This place smells incredible. Clean and inviting. There’s candles everywhere, Jungkook’s noticed. He’s never touched them, but Jimin does.

It's a little small for two people. Jungkook doesn't understand how him and Jimin don't butt heads all the time. The kitchen is a fair size, with nice big windows, but there's no dining room, so it's either eat at the counter or eat on the floor of the living room on the coffee table—wherever Jimin isn't.

The armchair is nice and big, soft enough to sink into. He hasn't tried the couch at all.

So, the apartment is better than he thought it would be at first glance; unfortunately, Jungkook can’t really enjoy it. Not with Jimin always around, hovering anxiously.

He’s different, and Jungkook doesn’t trust it. He’s not loud, pestering Jungkook for his attention, teasing him until Jungkook cracks and reacts.

Instead, he’s all tentative questions. Somehow, it’s just as aggravating. I’m making dinner; want to join me? Nice day today, how about a walk? Do you want to come to the movies later? There’s that new action film.

I’m not hungry. I’m tired, I’ll stay in. Going out with Yoongi-hyung, sorry.

Constant, constant stream of suggestions. Why won’t he just take the hint already?

Respecting his boundaries apparently means never leaving Jungkook alone. Jimin’s eyes always follow him around the space, like he thinks Jungkook’s going to have an epiphany and remember everything in one fell swoop.

Fat fucking chance.

So during the day, he avoids Jimin’s gaze and his pestering, and during the night, he lies in bed all wired, tossing and turning until he’s had fucking enough and thrown the covers off him. 

It's sweltering in his house. The living room heating is always, always on, because Jimin gets cold easily. Guess that hasn’t changed, but whatever; at least he’s not coming to bug Jungkook into giving him his sweaters anymore. God, he stole so many from him. If he searches deep into Jimin’s closet, is he going to find them shoved in some box somewhere? 

Or, ugh. Probably steals the new ones, now. 

Well, he can try. Jungkook is itching to have a word with him about this heating thing. He’s not about to start a conversation if he can avoid it, but if Jimin comes looking, Jungkook will gladly start a fight. 

He fantasizes about it, about trumping Jimin in a verbal sparring match over the stupid heater almost every night, as he lies in his bed all sweaty and uncomfortable and staring at some strange ceiling. 

His ceiling back in the dorms was gross with marks from insects that had been brutally squashed, a dark grey hanging spider-web in the corner he never bothered to clean. The paint on this ceiling looks like it was retouched less than a year ago, bright and spotless. Nothing for his eyes to catch on. 

He suspects Jimin is a neat freak. 

It's fucking annoying. He can't leave a mug on the counter for more than five minutes without Jimin sweeping in to wash it. He never stands still, buzzing around him and tidying, tidying, tidying. 

The only place he doesn't go into is this room, so that's Jungkook's sanctuary. 

It gets stuffy, but he can open a window. It gets messy, but it's fine. 

It's boring, but that can't be helped. 

He texts Seokjin a lot. It's a sacred tradition to bother him when he doesn't have anything to do, and usually Seokjin is quick to respond—that's what's fun. 

But he takes a while, these days. His texts come back every two, three hours, sometimes with an apology, but mostly not. 

It just adds to the reality slip feeling Jungkook's got going on.

Ugh, sleep. Sleep, for fuck's sake . It's bad for recovery to stay up this late. 

Sleep, 

sleep,

sleeeeeeeeep.

Ugh, didn't think so. 

What's the point, anyway. What if he doesn't sleep now? He'll just wake up late tomorrow. Not like he has anywhere to be. All he has to look forward to is Jimin's forced small-talk. 

At least once per hour, he finds himself wishing he could close his eyes and be back in that smelly, cramped dorm.

▫

He’s driving along, humming to the radio.

It's rainy day, but it's okay. The road is busy, as downtown always is—everyone has somewhere to be. Red and orange lights flood his vision through the filter of the rain falling and being wiped away on his windshield. 

It's relaxing. 

He can see nothing of himself but his tattooed arm, a sense of ease and contentment all around him—he's probably late, but it's okay. He won’t be the last one to arrive, anyway. That shame is always Taehyung’s. 

Ah, the traffic’s a bit annoying, isn’t it. The car’s too silent, too. Usually there’d be a hand on his knee, a steady stream of chit-chat, a little music. They’ve been into retro girl group music lately. 

Oh, we’re moving. Okay! Now, where is he supposed to turn? He always gets this one wrong. Mm…

Turn the corner right there...

Something slams into the car and it all goes black. 

Jungkook jerks awake.

The dream dissipates instantly. Nothing left of it but a horrible throbbing in his head, soaked-through shirt. There’s something pressing, pressing, pressing into him–

“Jungkook? Jungkook.”

The good news? He’s safe. 

The bad news, he’s still in the terribly bland bedroom. Same spotless ceiling, same dark grey sheets that it takes him a second to register, his brain still reeling from the crash. The crash? Was there…

There must have been. The images are slipping away from him, but it must have been the accident, mustn’t it, to get him in this state? 

Fuck. 

Jimin’s kneeling by him on the bed, clutching at his shoulder. Jungkook himself had half fallen off, turned on his stomach. He’s breathing hard, drenched in sweat.

"It's okay," Jimin's saying soothingly, "you're home. You're in bed, it was just a dream." 

Jimin’s hand is way too hot on him. He shrugs it off jerkily and sits up, drawing his hair away from his face. Jimin keeps talking to him, undeterred.  

"I can go get you some water. And something for your head, if it's hurting." He's looking at him with concerned eyes that make Jungkook's skin crawl. Wide, somehow uneven. They’ve always been a little bit different from each other. 

“What are you doing in here,” he spits out, voice gravelly and rough. Fuck, he was touching him when he’s all soaked in sweat like this? How fucking embarrassing. He scoots away from him, sitting up. “I thought you said you wouldn’t come in.”

“I knocked.” Wide eyed, apologetic, hand still hovering close. Jungkook wants to slap it away. “I wanted to ask you about lunch, but you didn’t respond, so–”

“So you just let yourself in?” Fucking great. “Is this how it’s gonna be?” He gets up, inelegantly shuffling off the bed and putting distance between them. Jimin’s still kneeling on the floor, eyes following Jungkook.

“You looked like you were having a nightmare, so I woke you up,” he says, his volume way lower than Jungkook’s. “Shouldn’t I have?”

“You shouldn't have come in here at all.”

The one place Jungkook is safe from those worried eyes.

“Right.” Jimin stands up slowly, way too still for the way Jungkook’s heart is still pounding away in his chest. He feels like he’s being chased. Is it a dream or is it a memory, the feeling of tons of metal crushing him until he can’t breathe? He brings a hand to his chest and presses, and Jimin’s eyes follow the movement.

“Are you sure you’re–”

“I’m fine.” He drops his hand, puts it in the sweatpants pocket. Why is he still here. “I’m not hungry.”

Jimin hovers uncertainly. “You didn't eat the dinner I left you last night either," he tries. "You should eat something. It's not healthy to go so long—”

He turns his back so that he doesn’t have to see Jimin’s worried face.  "I’m not hungry." 

“Jungkook–”

“Get out." He presses his hand to his stomach, a dull ache having taken root for a while now. He doesn’t want to eat with Jimin. “Leave me alone.”

He’s gritting his teeth waiting for Jimin to leave the room. He hears the creak of the door being pulled closed, but just before the click, Jimin says, in a voice that holds some emotion Jungkook doesn’t fucking care to discern, “I’ll leave you some food in the fridge.”

God, this is so fucking embarrassing. Why does it have to be Jimin who sees him like that? He’d live it down if it were Yoongi, but Jimin already thinks of him as a fucking baby, so this is just going to make everything worse. His coddling, his hovering. Leave him some food in the fridge. Like he’s Jungkook’s mother. Like he’s got some responsibility, the right to take care of him.

He’s a fucking caged animal. He desperately needs a shower. 

He doesn’t step a toe out of the room until all sound has ceased from the rest of the house. He cracks the door open to check, and sure enough, the living room lights are off.

The fridge is big and noisy, covered in things. There’s postcards, post-its with little notes on them, photos that look like they were taken a few years back, at least. There’s a polaroid of Jimin and Jungkook squished into an armchair together. Jimin’s got his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, speaking to someone out of frame, and Jungkook is nestled in the crook of his arm, head thrown back and looking up at him in what only can be described as a lovesick smile.

Jungkook hates this fridge. It makes his stomach twist. When the fuck did life go that way. When did Jungkook go that way?

It can't be real. And yet, here the photos are.

He plucks it off the fridge to look for a date, but there’s nothing. He holds it so tightly it bends a little, and he shoves it back under the magnet it was hanging from haphazardly. 

The living room walls are covered with photos too, and yet, not a single one of his family. 

How can they really be estranged? How can they have completely cut ties with him? There's no way. Surely, it's a misunderstanding. 

Surely, Jungkook will wake up tomorrow twenty-two and ready for his next exam. 

God, please. 

He grabs the plate of food in the fridge and rushes back into the room, balancing it on his knee, cross-legged on the bed. He forgot to grab paper towels, but he’s not going back out there right now, so he just eats carefully. 

Annoyingly, it’s delicious. The Jimin Jungkook knew didn’t know how to cook for shit, so that’s another thing to add to the ever-expanding what the fuck list.

Falling asleep is easier with a full stomach.

▫

He becomes familiar with the noises of the house. 

The fridge is big and old, so it’s never quiet. It goes from quiet humming to rattling at random times. It’s the second loudest thing in the house after the washing machine. It looks like it’s seen better days, and immediately shakes like it will be launched into space the minute the cycle begins. 

The scraping of the kitchen chairs is distinctive too. He relies on it to tell where Jimin is, so where Jungkook shouldn’t be. 

He can hear every time the downstairs neighbour takes a shower. He can hear people coming down the stairwell as easy as if they were inside the apartment. He’s heard the upstairs neighbour fucking at least twice. 

That’s not so different to the dorms, at least. 

There’s the absence of sound, too. 

Jimin doesn’t talk like he used to. 

The Jimin Jungkook knows is an endless chatter machine, and not just when people are around. He’s lost count of all the times he walked into a room where Jimin thought he was alone and found him talking to himself, to the objects he was holding in his hands. 

He’d sing, sometimes. Admittedly, his voice wasn’t bad. His taste in music was. Jungkook debated him on it a lot—but even he could admit to himself that Jimin’s voice was…well, it had potential. 

He never hears it these days. Is it the thin walls? Is it in an effort to respect Jungkook’s boundaries? 

If so, that’s fucking stupid. Jimin knows Jungkook hates it when he treats him differently to the others. He’s always doing that—ah, was. Saying embarrassing shit like but you’re special, Jungkook-ah, or you’re so cute, how can i not? ah, really, you’re so cute, what do i do? 

Annoying. 

Jungkook wouldn’t be against Jimin singing now, if he wanted. He’s not about to tell him that, though. 

It’s just so damn quiet in this house. 

▫

Keeping track of days is hard. It's more or less morning when he steps out into the kitchen, but he couldn't tell you the day of the week without checking his phone. 

Not like it matters, of course. Not like he has somewhere to be. 

Jimin's there. Of course he is. The apartment is miniscule, and he wasn't in the living room, so.

“Oh.” He nods in acknowledgement. “I thought you weren’t here.”

Jimin takes a sip of his coffee leaning against the counter, eyeing the pile of used bowls and cutlery in Jungkook's hands. He's dressed already, form-fitting jeans and a long knit turtleneck sweater. 

Jungkook feels like a fucking bum in comparison. He's gone at least two days without showering, so his long hair is a tangled mess, and there's definitely stains on his pajama pants from the last meal.

“Ah, I got a really late start this morning.” There's that tight smile again. Jungkook hates it. They both know it's fake, so why the fuck bother? “Did you sleep well?”

Jungkook grunts in response. He stands in front of Jimin and motions for him to move to the side so he can put the plates in the sink. Jimin takes a tiny step to the side, still way too close.

“I’m leaving soon,” he starts again, like Jungkook asked. “I have some things I need to take care of. Are you okay to make lunch?”

“I’ll manage,” he says drily. He drops his plate in the sink with a clink that’s louder than he intended, and he winces.

“Did you like it?” 

“Huh?”

“It’s your favourite,” Jimin says softly. “Did I get it right? I usually make it a bit blander than you like, cause of my spice thing, you know.”

Jungkook looks at him blankly. “Spice thing?”

“The—oh. You eat spicier than me. So you usually tease me about it, when I’m the one that does the cooking.”

Hearing his life being explained to him like it's some weird, absurd joke is getting real old, real fast. 

Jungkook shrugs. Anything to cut this conversation short. “It was fine."

“Okay.” Jimin’s smile is so forced it makes him sick. “I’m glad.”

In the absence of a response, Jungkook leaves. Forget about the bowls—he can do it later. 

Blessedly, Jimin stays away all day. 

Jungkook takes his time in the shower. His skin is red by the time he’s made it out. He winces. It’s going to sting later, dry dry dry. He frowns at the massive collection of products. There must be a hydrating cream here somewhere, right? It’s not like it’s a cosmetic thing. Everyone needs hydration. It’s fine.

Not on the top shelves. There’s one cupboard under the sink, but all he finds there is a box filled with…tape? Different widths, different colours. What’s this doing in the bathroom?

 He checks the drawers, wading through extra towels, extra toothbrushes—what are they, a hotel? And what’s—oh. 

An unopened bottle of lube, hidden in the very back corner. It’s the big size. The small, half-finished version is in Jungkook’s bedside drawer. 

He feels his cheeks flaming, shoving the drawer closed. Just how much lube does one household need? 

He runs out of the bathroom, trying to dispel the images that are trying to worm their way to his mind’s eye. No. No way. 

He towels his hair dry in the living room, looking through channels to catch something, anything. He doesn't recognise the programming, so he flips and flips until he lands on something that looks stupid enough to entertain him mindlessly. 

His skin is dry, and it puts him in a bad mood. Why can nothing be easy? 

He's just about to consider dinner when the doorbell rings. 

He opens the door to a worn-looking Yoongi. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Yoongi walks past him without looking up from his phone. “I see you’ve lost all your manners with that accident.” He shoves the take-out into Jungkook’s arms and toes off his shoes. “Go get plates.”

“What are you doing here.”

“Had a craving for samgyeopsal that I know you’d appreciate, so I thought I’d be nice, since you’re sick and all.”

“I’m not sick.” He watches with his mouth half open as Yoongi goes to the kitchen and expertly locates the booze cupboard, taking out a glass only for himself. “I’m fine.” Dry skin and embarrassing discoveries notwithstanding. “Get me a glass too!”

“Like I said, you’re sick.” He pats Jungkook’s shoulder on his way to the coffee table. “I got you a coke.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“So, how’s it been around here lately?”

“Fucking weird,” Jungkook says around a mouthful of meat. Blessedly, it’s really fucking good. “I’m in a parallel universe. Except whoever came up with it was clearly high, because I don’t know how the fuck else he would have been able to come up with this. ”

“It’s not so bad,” Yoongi says in the closest thing to a scold he has for Jungkook. “Isn’t it better than your filthy-ass dorm?”

“Well sure,” Jungkook concedes, “that part’s nice. But I have to live with Jimin in exchange. I mean, who came up with that? It’s like those internet questions, you know? Skip the last few years of school and go straight into a job, but! You have to live with the most annoying guy you know making googley eyes at you all day.”

He’s expecting a huff and an eye roll, but Yoongi just stares at him. “Wow.” He puts down his chopsticks, reaches for his glass. He drinks it all at once, refills it, downs it all again. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s worse than I fucking thought.”

“What, the drink?” Jungkook grabs it to inspect the label. He gives it a sniff. “Smells normal to me—”

“No, dumbass.” Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head to himself a little, his black hair falling into his eyes. He swipes it to the side with his pinky, taking a breath. “Sorry. You’re going through some shit right now. I retract the dumbass.”

Jungkook makes a face at him. “Thanks, I guess?”

“But,” Yoongi says firmly, gesturing to highlight his point, “you can’t say that shit to Jimin, so, go ahead. Take it out on me.”

“What.” Of course he wouldn’t say that to Jimin’s face. He‘s not an asshole. He’s not an idiot. He crosses his arms. “Since when are you and Jimin such close friends, anyway?”

“Since my best friend went and fell for him harder than humanly possible.”

Jungkook flushes, looking away.

“And since his best friend ended up being the love of my life or something.”

He perks back up. “Now, how did that happen.” He grabs Yoongi’s glass and manages to down it before Yoongi snatches it back. “Tell me everything.”

“You were there for it.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha. Tell me.” Yoongi still looks reluctant, so he nudges him with his foot. “Might help me remember? Huh? Might jog a memory or something. You never know. Maybe seeing you have actual feelings for someone was so monumental it will knock something loose in there, huh?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re a pest.”

That means he’s giving in. It also sometimes means I love you, and this time it maybe means both. Jungkook hugs a pillow to his chest.

Yoongi sighs a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

By the end of the night, he’s finally feeling like himself again. Take-out and Yoongi has always been his reset button. He’s relieved down to his core that even in this weird bizzaro future, that’s still the same.

And then Jimin comes home. 

"Jungkook?" 

He sounds confused at seeing the lights on before spotting them on the couch, Yoongi in the middle of cleaning up their take-away. "Hyung. Hey." 

"Hi, Jimin-ah." He walks towards him and stands by him, squeezing his shoulder. "Just keeping our patient company." 

"I'm not a patient," Jungkook says, eyes flicking towards Jimin. He already treats him like one, he doesn't need any fucking encouragement. "I'm fine." 

"He's fine," Yoongi repeats, looking at Jimin as if to say you know what he's like. 

Jimin cocks the tiniest smile known to man. It almost lifts some exhaustion away from his face. 

Almost. 

Yoongi must notice too. "How are you?" 

Jimin just looks at him and nods—that nod people do when words can't come out without an attached sob. A twitch to his brow, a squeeze from Yoongi. "You know." It ends on a sigh. "Fine." 

"Fine." 

"Fine," Jimin repeats. He tries to smile, but it's more a grimace. "Did I interrupt you?" 

"I was just going to go," Yoongi says, heading to the kitchen to throw the garbage away. "Besides, you're on the couch for the moment, right?" 

"Yeah," Jimin says, "but don't feel like you have to stop on my account." 

"Yeah, hyung, stay longer," Jungkook proposes. The atmosphere had finally gotten bearable in here—he doesn't want to be trapped with Jimin again. "We can watch something." 

Jimin ducks his head. He doesn't say anything, but Yoongi darts a look towards him. 

"Nah, I'm wiped. And Joon's waiting for me." 

"You can really stay, hyung," Jimin says, low, but it really doesn't sound genuine. Is he just trying to be annoyingly polite again? Jungkook said this already. "It's really okay." 

Yoongi shakes his head. "I'll leave you to it." 

Jungkook snorts. To what? 

Jimin darts a look at him, then back at Yoongi. "Okay." 

"Bye then," Jungkook gets up, waving at Yoongi, "see you. I'll go crash." 

He barely hears the answering bye from Yoongi before he's turned his back and headed down the corridor. 

Yoongi doesn't leave right away. Part of Jungkook wants to eavesdrop. But then again, what does he give a shit what Yoongi and Jimin talk about? 

He puts on some loud music in his headphones and settles into bed, eyes on that fucking ceiling. 

▫

The days blur together. 

It can’t be just a brain injury thing. It has to be because he’s not

allowed

to do 

anything. 

The doctor had been clear about this resting thing, so he walks the apartment like a ghost.  

He thinks way too much for his liking. Thoughts just spiral around him, uncontrolled. Feels like he’s spending most of his day zoned out. 

Being outside on the balcony helps. The neighbourhood isn’t quiet by any means, but that reassures him. The city’s unchanged. The same smog and noise and clutter. It kind of rivals Jungkook’s brain. 

So yeah, he spends a lot of time out on the balcony. 

The danger zone is the kitchen, so he's taken to going out only when absolutely necessary—but the half-eaten noodle dish from three days ago is starting to smell, so it's time. 

He hears Jimin before he sees him. He’s hurriedly stacking the plates in the dishwasher, fully dressed to go out, cross body bag and everything.

Jungkook says a low, awkward hello, but Jimin turns to beam at him like he did something incredible. “Hey!” 

Some water from the rinsed dishes drips onto his pants, and he makes a disapproving little sound. He puts it away and dries his hands on the embroidered towel Jungkook can’t believe is in his home as he says, “How are you feeling today?”

Straight to Jungkook’s nerves that goes. “I am fine. Just like yesterday, and the day before.”

He doesn’t stand around to see Jimin’s smile dim, heading for the fridge instead.

“That’s good! The first check-up’s right around the corner, right?” His voice is way too bright for Jungkook’s foggy brain. Can’t he speak a bit softer?

He feels him come up from behind him and startles, moving away with a scowl. "What?" 

Jimin takes a step back, expression well and truly fallen this time. “Just wanted...” He plucks a paper from the fridge door. It’s stationery from the doctor’s office, so it must be the appointment date. “Yeah,” Jimin says with a quick scan. “A week from now. Wednesday.” He waves it a little, then tucks it back under the magnet. He looks at Jungkook expectantly, but what can he possibly want him to say?

“Alright. Cool.”

“Cool,” Jimin repeats with a nod. His long earrings move prettily, sparkling a little in the light. 

He’s got so many piercings now. Did he get them all at once? Did they hurt? Jimin can’t really take a lot of pain. Jungkook’s always been the stronger one, so how is it that Jimin’s got just as many now?

“I have to get going.” Jimin sounds like he doesn’t want to, though Jungkook can’t imagine what for.

"Where do you go?"

Jimin blinks like he's surprised to be addressed.

"On Fridays. You're never here."

The confusion in Jimin's face clears. "Work. I have all my little ones on Fridays, since school's only a half-day."

"And it's always like that?"

Jimin nods. "Yeah. It goes from after lunch until eight, unless a class is cancelled. But that doesn't happen too much, they'd pretty much all have to be sick, and that just—" He cuts himself off, probably realising he's gone on too long without being asked. "Why, what were you thinking? If you need me for something, I can—"

"Just curious," he hurries to cut off. "See you."

He doesn't wait for a response, going back into the kitchen to get a snack instead.

The door clicks shut behind him as he pulls out his phone and the contact.

Two rings, three, and the pleasant voice of a receptionist greets him. 

"Jeon Jungkook. I'm just calling to reschedule an appointment." He gives the lady all the information she asks for so she can pull up his file.

"What is your reason for rescheduling?"

"Turns out I can only do Friday afternoons."

▫

Jungkook watches Jimin put his bag and coat into the backseat through the rearview mirror. 

He’s dressed up again, just a touch. Black turtleneck, some lip-gloss. He hasn’t taken the silver earrings off in a few days. 

Jungkook's all jittery, strapping in instantly. He watches Jimin do the same with none of the apprehension, none of the thorough checking that it’s well-secured. 

The way his heart is pounding might be a sign that it could still be a little too soon to be in a car. 

But they're here already. Jungkook's not about to say anything when they've gotten this far, like some kid. He can keep a handle on his own feelings. 

It's fine. It will be fine. The bar's not too far, anyway. Less than twenty minutes without traffic, that's what Jimin said, before he asked him three times if he was okay to do this. 

"I'll take a different route," Jimin had promised, and Jungkook had pretended not to hear him. 

Now, Jimin fixes the rear-view mirror with a practiced move and smiles at Jungkook when he sees him looking. "Ready?" 

Jungkook looks away, nodding and reflecting none of his cheer.

Jimin pretends not to mind. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot with ease, smoothly sliding into the busy road. He’s got both hands on the steering wheel, and he looks right at home.

It’s so weird. He looks so…grown up.

"I’ve never seen you drive before," Jungkook says, frowning.  He needs to talk to distract himself. "You always ask me to take you places."

Even though he’s the younger one. Jimin’s always been so inappropriate.

"I got my license a few years back. Once I saved enough from my first job."

"What was it?"

"Part time choreographer at this little dance studio." He doesn’t take his eyes off the road at all. He’s looking relaxed but attentive. It’s kind of reassuring, but Jungkook still can’t relax. "It took me an hour and a half to get there. Took a metro and a bus. After a while, I realised how much I was spending on tickets alone, so getting a car was number one priority." 

"And you saved enough for this?"

Jimin laughs, and his whole face brightens. 

Jungkook stares. Again, nothing like the Jimin he knows. He'd laugh a lot too, but it'd be louder—like he was making sure everyone heard. 

"God no. I made close to nothing with that job. I got a dinged up little Hyundai off some website for barely anything. Everyone told me it was shady and I was going to get kidnapped or something when I got there."

"What happened?"

"You came with me," he says, voice softening.

Jungkook frowns, sinking further into the seat.

"Said you couldn’t let me go alone, so we took two buses all the way to some neighbourhood that sounded made up." He smiles at the memory, eyes far away. "But the guy was there, and the car was there, and we drove it all the way back. It didn’t even break down!"

He sneaks a look at him like he’s expecting that to have sparked something, a memory. It puts Jungkook on edge again; he starts twitching his foot up and down.

It sounds like the life of a stranger. He volunteered to waste a day to go with Jimin all the way out just to get a car and drive back?

Jimin’s an adult. He’s always reminding Jungkook he’s older than him, worthy of respect, so surely he could handle picking up his car by himself.

He doesn’t say any of that. Be nice to him, Yoongi’s voice echoes in his head.

He really, really needs to distract himself, so he racks his brain for another thing to ask. "So, this car?"

"Just got it a few months ago. We figured that one wasn’t going to last long, so we started saving."

Jungkook straightens up in his seat. We? They owned a car together?

"Took us about a year and some of Seokjinie-hyung’s shady connections, but we got her."

Jimin keeps darting looks at Jungkook from the corner of his eye, and it’s making Jungkook’s skin crawl. He turns his head away from him, looking outside the window determinedly, leg still bouncing.

After a few beats of silence, Jimin talks. "How are you feeling today?"

Ugh, this again. What the fuck does he want to hear, exactly? "About as you’d expect."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that a few days ago I was writing a paper worth 30 percent of my grade, and now I have half a car and amnesia." And a boyfriend, of all fucking things.

There’s a pause before Jimin responds. "Must feel very confusing."

"Confusing’s one word for it," Jungkook mumbles sulkily.

"If..." He clears his throat, his hands tightening momentarily on the steering wheel. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here." 

"No offence, but I don't think that's a good idea." 

"I'm just saying," Jimin insists, "if you need—" 

Now he's forcing him to be a dick again. "I don't need your help, Jimin." 

Jimin opens his mouth, and promptly closes it again.

Whatever, Jungkook thinks. It's true, anyway. 

The silence in the car is heavy.

It’s a relief when they arrive and Seokjin greets him loudly, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Finally! Let’s get you a drink!"

"Hyung," Jimin speaks up from the other side of the table where Taehyung had pulled him down. "The doctor said he shouldn’t be doing anything that could be detrimental to his physical health, including strenuous exercise, eating badly and drinking heavily."

The doctor’s words from the day of Jungkook’s discharge, verbatim. "Why do you even remember all that? That was weeks ago."

Jimin looks at him, piercing and pointed. "Because it was important."

"I’m sure one beer wouldn’t hurt," Seokjin insists, rushing to break the tension again. He’s holding Jungkook by the shoulders like he’s his coach about to launch him into a game. "Plus, the whole point of coming here is recreating his routine. He always gets drunk when we come here! We’d be going against the whole exercise if we let him leave completely sober."

Jimin snorts, but he still carries something in his eyes.

"One beer, Jimin-ah," Taehyung says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "He’s a big boy, he literally won’t even feel it."

He doesn’t protest when Seokjin orders for Jungkook when the waitress comes, but Jungkook can feel him tensing from the other side of the table. Taehyung seems to feel it too, keeping his arm securely around him and pressing a kiss to his head.

Annoyance spikes in Jungkook, and he looks away. They're always touchy, but this much? Is that how Jimin acts when he's in a relationship with someone else?

He should be with Taehyung, if anything. They could cling to each other forever and be happy and Jungkook wouldn't need to bother again.

The vibe in this bar is nice. It's not too loud, and the music playing feels familiar to him, though he doesn't recognise it. He sheds his shirt immediately, warming up with the crowded room and the drink. 

When the first’s done, he orders another. Seokjin slaps him on the back. He lets the others talk. He listens, reacquainting himself with the rhythm of their conversation. 

It's the first time they've all been together since the accident. Something about the seven of them here has him relaxing. That, at least, feels the same. 

The soju comes later, and he keeps going, feeling loose. His cheeks are flushing. He hasn't properly drunk in a while, so it works fast. 

He can feel Jimin’s disapproval hover over him, and he downs another glass to make it go away.

He doesn’t need anyone’s permission, least of all Jimin’s. He can drink a damn beer if he wants to.

"It's weird," Hoseok comments not an hour into the night, looking between him and Jimin. "You guys never sit apart." 

Jimin bites at his lip, looking away. 

"Right!" Namjoon says, clapping him on the shoulder. "I was wondering what felt off. You two are being normal!" 

"Why would being normal feel off?" Jungkook asks, drawing his stupid fringe away from his eyes. 

"You're not all over each other," Namjoon responds with a shrug. He taps his fingers on the table. "By this point in the night you'd be practically in each other's lap." 

"Hyung," Jimin says in warning. 

"What? Shouldn't I have said that?" Jimin looks miserable, and it gets on Jungkook's nerves. "Sorry. It just makes me feel like you're fighting." 

"Yeah, but that's only natural, right?" Jungkook knocks back another drink. "We always fight." 

The entire table save Jimin look at him like he just grew a second head. 

"What." Hoseok says flatly. 

"Yeah." Jungkook is becoming unsettled. "Me and Jimin. We're always..." 

"Oh." Seokjin hits his own forehead. "Baby Jungkook. Duh." He shakes his head. "Yeah, not anymore." 

"I've never seen you fight," Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Not after you got together." 

"Of course we do," Jimin mutters. "We have our disagreements, like everyone does." 

"But not fights, though." Namjoon insists. 

"Can we just drop this," Jimin says, shaking his head. "Let's just talk about something else." 

"Agreed," Jungkook says, scowling. "Who's getting the next round?" 

Jimin looks at him like he's disappointed, but he doesn't say anything. 

Jungkook's insides are on fire. 

“She’s new, right?” Hoseok says after flagging the waitress down for the fourth time. “I don’t remember her here before.” 

“Started last week,” Seokjin supplies. “Boss’ cousin.” 

“How do you know?” Yoongi asks. 

“Hyung-nim talks to everyone, babe.” Namjoon puts his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, drawing him a bit closer. “You know that.” 

Seokjin smiles triumphantly. “Indeed. You just started, didn’t you?” he asks the girl, who’s just brought another round and started swiftly depositing everything to the table bottle by bottle.

She’s right by Jungkook. Her side is brushing his arm. 

“I did!” Her voice is bright and her smile is sharp. She cocks her hips, leaning onto the back of Jungkook’s chair. “So please make sure to take pity on the newbie and tip me well to encourage me.” 

The whole table laughs a little, but she turns to look at Jungkook. As soon as their eyes lock, she winks at him. “Okay?” 

Jungkook nods. “Sure.” He smiles at her. He likes her energy. She seems up-beat, despite the fact that she hasn’t sat down the whole night. “You’re working hard, it’s only fair.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” She briefly touches his shoulder. “Listen to handsome over here, hm? I’ll be right there if you need me again.” 

“Damn,” Seokjin says, elbowing him as soon as she leaves the table. 

“What.” 

“Do you think she’d still flirt with you like that if she knew you only had half a brain?” 

Jungkook huffs. “That’s not what it is and you know it! Amnesia just means my memories are missing. You can’t tell that from looking at me, can you? And she’s clearly been looking.” He smirks at Seokjin, puffing up his chest.  

“Excuse me, hyung,” comes Jimin’s small voice from the other side of the booth. Hoseok immediately gets up, letting him slide out. Jimin grabs his coat with a long face, not even crossing anyone’s gaze as he says, “Just heading for a smoke.” 

Jungkook scowls at Jimin’s retreating back. “The hell.” 

Since when does Jimin smoke? The apartment doesn’t smell like smoke. He’s never seen him smoke on the balcony, either. 

Before Jungkook can put his thoughts in order, Taehyung’s run after him, throwing a dirty look back at Jungkook. 

They don’t come back for a while, but maybe that’s for the best, right? 

Jimin hasn't stopped watching Jungkook like a hawk all night. He tried to avoid his eyes as much as possible, but that just meant that he couldn't stop noticing how he was practically in Taehyung's lap and how Hoseok wouldn't stop touching his shoulder, his hands, his thigh.

Did Jimin get mad about this waitress thing? 

What the fuck ever. Jimin's allowed to dry hump Taehyung in public but Jungkook isn't allowed to smile at the waitress? Please.

It's not his fault she keeps hitting on him, anyway. Smiling and touching his shoulder and winking at him, it's not his fault she's doing that, is it?

And him and Jimin are not a couple, so Jimin can take his jealousy and shove it. 

It must be a couple hours and three, four, five drinks in when he gets up to go to the bathroom, stumbling a little.

Seokjin laughs at him and the others make a couple jokes that he brushes off with a smile, stretching and heading to the toilet. 

He is a bit unstable on his feet, but so what? He’s feeling good. He’s finally relaxing. Finally talking to people. 

When he gets out, Jimin’s waiting for him outside the door, his coat in his hands.

Here we fucking go. 

"I’m gonna get going," Jimin says, looking at him pointedly, like that’s meant to mean something.

"Okay?" Why would Jungkook care?

Jimin seems frustrated by that reaction, but he continues, voice steady. "I think you should come with me."

Jungkook snorts. "No way."

"Jungkook." He closes his eyes like his patience is being tested, and you know what? Jungkook’s had enough. 

It’s Jungkook’s patience that’s being tested, if anything, with Jimin’s long-suffering martyred face and his little sighs and the way he keeps smiling sadly anytime any of their friends ask him anything. It drives Jungkook fucking crazy. He can’t stand it. He wants Jimin to snap, now now now. 

"No way!” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, makes himself taller and looks down at Jimin. “I’m having a good time. Why would I leave all my friends at a bar when we’re all having fun to leave with you?"

It takes a second for Jimin to open his mouth again. "You shouldn’t be drinking this much.”

You should eat, you should sleep, you shouldn't drink. Fucking please. 

“What will happen to me? I survived a car crash, you think a few drinks are going to hurt me?”

“It’s exactly because you survived the crash! The doctor said—"

"It's not like I'm that drunk!" 

"Not yet," he says, stepping closer, "but if you stay—"

Jungkook tenses as the distance closes between them. 

“That's not why you're mad.”

“I'm not mad," Jimin says, but his fingers are clutching tightly at the coat, turning white.

"You are." Jungkook takes a step closer, smirking. He’s almost there, he’s almost got him. “And you know why?" He leans closer, down to Jimin's height. Jimin’s eyelashes flutter. “It's not about drinking at all. It’s about the fact that the waitress keeps flirting with me.”

Jimin looks at him like he doesn’t recognise him. “Are you serious.”

“She’s pretty, you know?” He shrugs. “Looks just like that girl I dated last—”

“It’s not about that.” His voice is imposing, but about to break, Jungkook can feel it. Gone are his forced smiles and his titled small talk and his calming breaths. 

“I think you don’t want to let me out because you’re scared of what might happen.”

“I’m not letting you— you’re acting so goddamn irresponsible, when you know the doctor said—”

"My God, Jimin, you’re not my mom!"

"Of course I’m not," Jimin snaps, anger coating his voice. "I actually care about you."

Finally, a fucking reaction. A shiver runs down Jungkook’s spine. He’s about to snap something back, but Jimin turns on his heel and leaves, mumbling something under his breath.

Maybe it’s the drinks or maybe it’s the way Jimin’s eyes flashed, shoulders tense, voice hard, but Jungkook’s blood is rushing in his veins, electricity flowing through him. He’s fidgety, restless.

When he gets back to the table, there’s no sign of Jimin. Yoongi eyes him suspiciously. "Everything alright?"

"Amazing," Jungkook says. "Another round? On me."

He comes back from the bar with a refill of beers for everyone and the waitress' number.

▫

The knock reverberates in Jungkook’s skull, and he groans, burying himself under the pillow.

The creak of the door. Some light streaming into the room.

"Hey," he hears Jimin say. "How are you feeling?" He sounds closer.

"Like fucking shit." His voice comes all muffled through the pillow. He pulls it away a little to look at Jimin, who looks bright and awake and a little worried by the door. "Why do you care?"

"It’s lunch time," Jimin says instead of responding to his question. "Come on, I have painkillers and water for you in the kitchen."

His stomach gurgles unpleasantly. "No."

"It will help."

Why can’t he fucking stop trying to help? 

God, Jungkook had thought they’d gotten somewhere. That crack in Jimin’s facade would keep growing and they wouldn’t have to talk to each other so fakely, could fucking get into it, finally. 

But no, here Jimin is again, even after their fight, talking about helping. 

Jungkook tries to sit up, and his head pounds. He winces, but he gets himself up on his elbows, staring Jimin down. "Why are you doing this?"

"What."

"You were pissed at me. You didn’t talk to me the whole night and then you snapped at me and left. Why are you taking care of me?"

"What did you think I’d do? Leave you to suffer because I was mad last night?"

Jungkook frowns. Kinda, yeah.

Jimin sighs, shaking his head. "Jungkook-ah, just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m going to punish you for it."

"Not punish, just…"

"Sulk? Ignore you? You don’t do that to someone you love."

Jungkook tenses at the word.

Jimin sees this is getting them nowhere, so he heads back to the door. "There’s painkillers in the kitchen."

He closes the door softly behind him.

Absurdly, Jungkook doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t want to fold and admit he needs what Jimin’s offering, because fuck. that. 

He brings the covers over his head and curls up, knees to his chest. 

His head feels like it’s splitting open. He can barely remember how the night ended, lost in a haze of drinks and the excitement of being outside again. He does remember a sour feeling, a burning sensation down his throat—did he throw up? Was it at the bar? 

There’s pieces of his dream lingering around his consciousness too, sharp shards of metal. Loud, screeching tires. 

There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go down no matter how many times he swallows hard. 

When the pounding in his head can no longer be ignored, he drags himself to the kitchen. Jimin’s looking through the fridge, picking out ingredients.

He doesn’t say anything. He grabs the painkillers and water from the table and downs them quickly, his head a little spinny still.

"I’m making lunch." Jimin puts on that voice that pretends there’s not an unbridgeable chasm of five years between them. "Just a stir fry with everything we have left in the fridge. Haven’t gone grocery shopping yet."

Jungkook steps next to him at the counter in front of the cutting board, keeping a distance between them. Jimin had already started prepping the vegetables.

What the hell is Jimin trying to prove here? Just how much better he is than Jungkook? Just how much of a good person he is to take care of him like this when he’d have any reason to ignore him and let him fend for himself? 

Well, he’s not about to let him get away with it. 

He grabs a knife from the drawer and takes over the vegetable prepping with a dead focus. He can do this. He doesn’t need to be tended to like he’s an invalid. 

Jimin’s eyes follow him, a little brighter. 

"You know, you’re the one who goes grocery shopping, usually, since you get home before me.” He’s trying so hard to make it sound casual. "I work pretty late most days."

Annoyance flares in Jungkook again, but he stops chopping for a second. "But you’re always here."

Jimin licks his lips, busying himself with taking out oil and salt and seasoning from the cupboards.

"The doctor said you shouldn’t be alone for a while, just to be safe.” The different glass containers clink together and it rings out unpleasantly in Jungkook’s head. "Usually, I’m at work until eight, give or take."

"You’re not going to work to babysit me?"

"I am going, just not full time." Quieter, he adds, "And it’s not babysitting. You were in a serious accident."

"Like I could ever forget," Jungkook mutters, bringing down the knife on the board extra hard. "How are you even allowed?"

Jimin’s still next to him. "I had days off to take. It’s okay."

Chop. "I can stay alone. I'll be fine."

Chop. "I don’t mind."

Chop. "You should go to work."

"I’d feel better knowing that we followed the doctor’s instructions—"

"The doctor saw me already and said I’m fucking fine."

The blade of the knife is hovering between cuts, as if waiting for Jimin to understand what that means.

"The appointment is not until next week." he says, confused, eyes flicking over to the fridge door. Wednesday, he mutters to himself, just like they’d seen the other day. 

It takes one look at Jungkook’s face for realisation to dawn on Jimin’s. 

"You changed it.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“You changed it so I couldn’t come."

Jungkook bristles at the resigned tone. "I don’t need a keeper. I need space. I always tell you, and you never fucking listen. I went to the stupid doctor all by myself and I’m back in one piece, see?"

"You could have told me you wanted to go alone."

"And that would have gone well? Or would you have tried to guilt trip me into letting you come?"

"That’s what you think of me? Really? Kook—"

He drops the knife on the counter with a clunk. "Don’t call me that!"

Jimin flinches, falling silent. Jungkook doesn’t look at him. He digs his palms into his eyes. His head is fucking pounding now.

Whatever emotion had been playing on Jimin’s face before gets washed away by worry. "You need to rest," he insists in that quiet, pleading voice, reaching out like he wants to touch Jungkook’s arm.

"I am fine." 

Jimin drops his hand. "You were unconscious in urgent care less than a month ago."

"I left the hospital with a clean bill of health."

"And head trauma big enough to cause you to forget the last five years of our lives."

"That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it?"

"No," says decisively. "No, this is about you not taking care of yourself—"

"Please, you’re just butthurt because—"

"—not showing me basic human respect—"

"—I can’t help if I don’t fucking remember you!"

The words ring between them for a second, their echo unbearable in the silence of the room.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t mean for this to always end in a fight, but everything is just— too much, and this kitchen is tiny and Jimin is always here and Jungkook doesn’t care about lunch but here he is preparing it still because Jimin seems to insist on doing this for him, and it’s unbearable, it’s—

Jungkook can’t stay here anymore.

He rushes out of the kitchen, heart and head pounding. He hears Jimin say his name, but he ignores him.

He rushes after him as Jungkook puts on his shoes quickly. "Where are you going?"

"Out!"

He slams the door behind him.

Anywhere but here.

He doesn’t even register where he goes. He turns corners randomly, doesn’t choose left or right but just heads to where the sidewalk is less crowded, head bowed and pounding. 

Walking might have calmed him down, if things were simple. As it stands, he fumes more and more with every step, accelerating until he’s practically running. 

He finds a bench to sit on, pulse racing and foot bouncing up and down. 

It's impossible that he fell in love with Jimin. There's no way when he's so controlling, so insistent, so clingy. God, he's even worse than before!

He can't breathe in that house.

He needs to rant, to get it all out, but when he thinks about calling Yoongi, he sees a wall. He's clearly with Jimin on this, so Jungkook is just signing himself up for a scolding. 

And Seokjin, he's also precious with Jimin, if last night was any indication, plus he's always busy. Who does Jungkook talk to, then? 

You can always talk to me if you need to. 

No. Anything but that. 

He opens his contacts and sees a new one, saved just last night. 

cute waitress 

He doesn't let himself think about it too much before he shoots off the text quickly. Hey, it's jungkook from the bar.

I meet a lot of people at the bar, jungkook, you'll have to be more specific.

You flirted with me all night yesterday.

Eyebrow piercing, long hair?

Yes.

Hello :) I'm jihyo

Jihyo liked him because he was attractive, nothing more. Nothing as deep as filling up whole walls worth of photos or buying a car together. Just simple. 

She doesn't know he was in a car accident. She doesn't know who he's supposed to be, only who he actually is. It feels fucking good, to talk and joke without considering his words, without having to worry about making her cry with a wrong thing.

He spends the rest of the afternoon texting her. She's funny, and the time passes quickly. 

By the time he goes back to the apartment, the sky is dark. He’s getting tired, especially after the hangover that’s been banging softly around in his skull since the painkillers wore off.

He opens the door quietly, trying to find Jimin through echolocation. He’s in the kitchen, of course. He’s talking to someone. 

The corner wall hides him well, so he stands and listens.

Jimin sounds exhausted.

“I don’t know, Tae-tae.”

Fucking right. Who else would he be talking to?

"It's never been like this. Even back then, there was something...we were pulled to each other. Now...he can't stand to be in the same room as me. It's not my Jungkook, and it doesn't feel like it's that Jungkook either."

My Jungkook, that Jungkook. Who the fuck are all these people. He’s just him. Fuck, why can’t they get that?

"I saw him looking at the photos in the living room once. You should have seen the look on his face. I swear he must have been thinking about tearing them down and throwing them out the window."

He’s pacing, the drag of his slippers as familiar to Jungkook as Jimin’s voice. He can see him clearly in his mind’s eye, hand on his hip, phone clutched in his hand. 

"Don't I have the right to be dramatic?” Jimin responds to whatever Taehyung said on the other line. “My boyfriend forgot our whole relationship and now he hates me, but somehow I don't have the right to be dramatic?" 

The pacing stops. His voice turns hushed again, back to serious.

"What if I never get him back?”

He sounds so scared. Jungkook almost wants to go to him, comfort him like he would a child who’s lost their parent; but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because it’s not his fault. He didn’t choose to be hit by a fucking car, did he? Why is it up to him to comfort Jimin, for fuck’s sake? 

Oblivious to the quiet simmer of Jungkook’s rage, Jimin goes on.

“What if it's—what if it's been deleted, all of it. From his mind. And he never gets it back?"

Jungkook bets he’s biting at his nail as he hears Taehyung’s answer. Bets he’s been worrying at it with his teeth this whole time and it’s gone sharp, jagged, painful. 

"You can't know that. How could that happen when he doesn't even look at me? No, it's been weeks. Weeks, with zero progress. I don't think he wants to remember. I don't think he wants—" He doesn’t hide the way his voice shakes. He doesn’t apologise for the little hiccup in his words, because Taehyung presumably understands more than Jungkook ever would, right? "I don't think he wants me, or our life. I think it disgusts him.”

Fucking hell, enough. 

Part of him wants to grab Jimin by the shoulder and hash it out, get somewhere, but another part is begging him to give Jimin the decency of privacy and pretend he never heard all this. It was never meant for him, anyway. It’s way too honest, way too vulnerable to share with Jungkook—the way Jungkook is now.

Not his Jungkook, whoever the fuck that was. 

He shuts himself in his room—their room—and goes to bed immediately, ignoring the way his stomach is turning at the thought of Jimin crying in the kitchen just a few strides away.