He didn't remember walking back to his home. He didn't even remember turning around from Namjoon's door. The last thing he vividly did was the look on Namjoon's eyes, the pitiful gaze and the 'sorry' that was repeatedly spoken from his lips like a broken record. The next thing that his mind could process was the elevator door opening in front of his eyes and the familiar hallway came into view. He blinked, not remembering the details to how he even got back to his own apartment with his sore legs.

Maybe it was a dream, then. Maybe he just dreamed the whole day, filling his mind with imagination he didn't believe he still harbor about boys who didn't exist and threatening nightmares. The elevator ride was indeed torturous he had maybe dreamed it all just to save it from the agonizing wait for that one particular 'ding'.

Yoongi stepped out of the elevator before motioning towards his apartment door, not feeling quite like himself or even being in a body that breath. His eyes lingered oddly towards the mail slot by the side of the door, the one that he never really bothered to check every single day. Retracting his hand out of impulse and feeling the empty air of the mail slot at the tip of his finger, Yoongi's eyes stopped at the name written on top of it, a bold 'Min Seunggi' engraved on the placard. Of course someone in their early twenty wouldn't be able to buy an apartment in Gangnam if it wasn't for their rich parents. It was nearing winter and in a few weeks mails would be coming, greetings from cousin he didn't even know he have or people trying to lick his ass (quite literally if it meant certain cash).

Fumbling with the keycard, it amazed him that he still had it in its pocket instead of losing it somewhere in the midst of his frantic run. Turning the knob felt easier than he thought it would, there was nothing inside him that he thought would deter him from doing such simple action for reason he couldn't really grasp upon. He opened the door to find chaos awaiting him. His belongings were scattered across the floor as if someone just robbed the place dry. Him being stupid thought about calling the police for a second before he remembered that it was the result of his doing.

The bloody knife, the scars on Jimin's wrist, the shouts and the screams.

His steps felt heavy. Yoongi walked passed the scattered belongings and headed towards the couch, one that would always welcome him with open arm and warm hugs. He'd been sitting there for months now he wouldn't be surprised to find his butt print engraved on the cushion in such a comical fashion. It would be funny, of course, but no such thing came as a laugh to his tongue. Yoongi easily found the invisible spot and he sat there once again, looking at the cracked television screen, one that he hit with his golf stick.

Funnily enough when he just sat there easily like that and closed his eyes, imagining that it was the smooth black screen of the television that was looking back at him, time didn't seem to pass at all. The context of time had been foreign to him for weeks. He could easily imagine himself sitting there alone inside of his apartment, doing and being nothing like he always did for the last couple of months before he decided to walk out of his apartment in a certain day at three a.m. to grab something from the grocery.

But then again he could also close his eyes and imagined a boy knocking on his door, imagined himself opening it and found a particular boy with chubby cheek and blinding grin, imagined himself conversing with the boy and feeling annoyed yet relieved at the same time, and most of all, imagined the fingers that would caress his skin afterwards and the warm breath that would make his skin shiver.

Yoongi's eyes shot open and he slowly lifted his wrist, exposing the skin underneath Seokjin's sweater that was definitely too big for him.

He had once cut himself when he was just a boy and it left his skin with nothing but faint marks that even one's eyes couldn't make out whilst squinting. He had once cut himself without remembering it and that time there was a huge vertical line on his left wrist. He had once had nails digging itself into the wound it always refused to heal afterwards and Yoongi never really questioned why he was greeted with red and angry-looking scar everyday because of it.

He had once sliced both wrists with a knife, etching beautiful lines of red Niles, too many to count against the white of his skin and mistaking it for exchanged moans and gratifying pleasure.

Because what he remembered was beautiful moans and flush skin against his. What he remembered was nails scraping his back and tongue darting sloppily against his. What he remembered was fingers around his cock and relentless thrust against his prostrate. What he remembered was pleasure beyond compare, exchanged with that surge of pain that made him feel alive, made him close his eyes and fall into a deep slumber he'd always been longing for quickly afterwards.

What he remembered was holding Jimin's hand by his side.

What he didn't remember was holding the knife instead.

"Jimin?" he called out, voice soft and weak to his own ear.

He was frantically searching for him, wasn't he? He argued with Seokjin because of it. What stopping him, then?

"Yes, hyung?"

Yoongi turned his head around. He just simply needed to turn his head around because Jimin had been sitting by his side on the couch all this time. How he even missed his figure the moment he stepped in was beyond him.

The boy was smiling like usual, it reminded him of Seokjin's though not quite similar. There was a tad bit of crazy to it like Taehyung's but there were also Hoseok's since he certainly wouldn't mistaken that playful grin and cheerful smirk. He took out his arm and touched Jimin's cheek slowly, feeling the warmth underneath his finger. He ran his finger down towards the boy's neck and Jimin leaned to the touch, shivering slowly as Yoongi stopped around the boy's collarbone.

Jimin was warm. Jimin was smiling and breathing in front of him. The Park Jimin who could laugh and cry. The Park Jimin with his own problems at home, the friends in his school and his stupid obsession with My Little Pony. The Park Jimin that ate healthy food, being the total opposite of him, yet the same Park Jimin whose parents as horrible as his. The Park Jimin that wanted to learn how to cook and study law. The Park Jimin that could always seem to read his mind.

"Are you real, Jimin?"

The boy's smile didn't falter. If only it just made him smiled wider, more genuine and warmer Yoongi could even feel the warmth against his skin. He reached out his hand and took Yoongi's with it, lacing their fingers together.

"What do you believe in, hyung?" he said.

He took Yoongi's arm and as always, ran his finger against his left wrist. He casted his eyes towards the hand, seeing and feeling the touch against his skin. How could such thing reside only in his imagination? No hallucination could be this real. No delusion could be this warm. No fantasy could be this sincere.

"You're real," he whispered, taking his arm and held Jimin's face with it, bringing it closer to his until their forehead met. He could even feel Jimin's breath against his. Now please explain to Yoongi how such thing was considered to be an imagination.

Jimin didn't say another word. He just kept on smiling and Yoongi knew without even looking. They stayed like that for a moment, Yoongi taking in Jimin's warmth and the boy holding his wrist, stroking his wound with his fingers.

Namjoon was lying. Taehyung was lying. They were the one being crazy, not him. They just didn't know how Jimin was. The moment they met him, everybody would admit that Jimin was real. There was no way that such a sweet, charming boy like him was nothing but a fragment of his own imagination, one that was filled with nothing but hatred and resentment. A piece of his mind, refusing to believe that he was crazy and needing help.

Everything would be all right as long as he got Jimin. Jimin was his remedy. Jimin was his everything. He wouldn't be able to breath without him. He wold be back to being that corpse again, just a body sitting in front of the television with no mean of life.

He held Jimin's face and tilted his own, finding Jimin's lips against his, feeling the chapped and softness of it underneath his touch. Their lips met and they kissed, slow and gentle. He took every little thing that Jimin gave him and felt his heartbeat quickened, his lungs taking in everything as if the boy in front of him was oxygen. But that was indeed what he was. Oxygen. Air. They kissed and Yoongi couldn't be more certain about any other thing in this world.

But Jimin pulled back. He did it naturally as if he just wanted to take a breath, wanted to gaze back into Yoongi's eyes. But if Jimin could read him easily then so did Yoongi, because he knew there was something that Jimin wanted to say. The boy looked at him with the same smile still painted against his face, only this time there was a hint of sadness decorating it and Yoongi's heart sank.

"Do you know what happen when we kiss?" the boy asked.

He didn't wait for an answer because Jimin took his wrist and raised it for the both of them to see. He put his finger rght on the middle of his wrist before tracing an invisible line softly against the dozens that were already engraved there permanently.

"Everytime we kiss there would always be a new red line against your wrist," he said, eyes casted down.

Yoongi thought that a scar would magically appear underneath Jimin's touch but it didn't. His wrist stayed the same, ugly from the small healing bumps and some red that still hadn't had the chance to heal. Jimin looked at him back in the eye, making sure he was following him before turning his attention towards the wrist again, this time drawing a vertical line and treated the skin as if it was canvass and his finger the brush.

"And everytime we make love you would wake up with this, hyung," he said again.

This time he looked back at Yoongi's eyes and sadness was everything that he could see.

"And maybe one day when you say that you love me and you want to be with me, you'll stop breathing."

He didn't even need Jimin to describe him the scene that would unveil.

"Seokjin-hyung would find you sitting slump underneath the shower upon the red floor. He would cry for you and he would hug your lifeless body, shaking you so hard he hoped you would wake up."

And Namjoon wouldn't cry but he would blame himself for years to come, plaguing with the same guilt to why he couldn't save a dear friend. Taehyung's grin would disappear and everytime he stepped into the elevator of his apartment there was something stopping him from smiling. Hoseok would cry the loudest amongst them all and Yoongi being a floating sould could only think about how ugly it would look.

"But you wouldn't wake up," Jimin said, caressing his cheek in return. "You just wouldn't, hyung. You'll only be sitting there painted in red."

Yoongi grasped Jimin's fingers on his face.

"But I love you, Jimin. And you promised you'll never leave me," he whispered. In the back of his mind he wondered whether he was dead the moment he finished the sentence. He wasn't afraid of dying. He already felt like one it wouldn't make much of a difference anyway. Yes, he would embrace death like a friend indeed.

The boy in front of him let out a small laugh. It wasn't condescending and oddly he didn't feel offended by it as well. Love, he had said. Min Yoongi had said the word 'love'. He didn't really know whether this was love, whether this feeling like he couldn't live without Jimin could be translated as love. Either way this was something more than a petty one night stand or a person he needed to lash out on. It was Jimin and he fell to a certain other category altogether.

"No you don't, hyung," the boy said. "The only person you ever love is yourself."

He vividly remembered Jimin saying the same thing.

"So I guess maybe that's true. In a way, you do love me," Jimin said, giggling and Yoongi didn't need to ask for an explanation. He simply didn't care.

"Why are you doing this to me, Jimin?" he asked.

Picking him up from the ground and crashing him back to the ground. That was the thing that Jimin did. He took him amongst the stars and when he looked down, he was too far up. He simply couldn't let go of Jimin because the moment he did he would die. Sadly the cold floor had been waiting for him, calling out his name, gravity pulling him back again.

"I'm not the one who's doing anything to you, hyung," Jimin answered, his expression hardened. "This is all yours."

"Even the girl?" he asked, feeling his voice shook.

"What girl?"

"The one i-,"

The one that he kept on hitting in his dream, the one whose body rolled over the hood of his car. What was that, then? A simple influence that found its way into his brain like a plague? He never questioned what that was for months, not even intrigued to find the explanation behind the horrible whispers. Just like finding the knife he refused to believe it at first, throwing it away into the garbage can if he could and pretend such thing never existed. Min Yoongi was definitely a master at playing pretend he didn't know which was reality right now. He was too immersed in the game he had made for himself.

Jimin smiled softly and of course, of course he would know without him finishing the sentence. Yet he still waited, believing that Yoongi would get the word out with his own tongue, finally acknowledging the blood on his car like Namjoon had pointed out.

He took a deep breath, curling his own finger into a fist.

"Did I hit her, Jimin?"

He didn't have any recollection of it, didn't even regard it. Yet certainly a part of him did, for it wouldn't be plaguing him with constant nightmares if it didn't. Or maybe, just like Jungkook had seen with horror written across his eyes, maybe she was a ghost right now, taking revenge on the horrible thing that her perpetrator didn't have the decency to remember, standing behind him right then and there.

"Did you?"

Namjoon had repeated the same word and he lashed out on his best friend because of it. Jimin did exactly the same yet he just sighed.

"I don't know," he said.

Jimin smiled one last time before he put his arm around Yoongi's figure and pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He liked being held by Jimin and his mind couldn't remember the last time he did. He let his head fal on the boy's shoulder with his arms slump idly beside him. He could feel Jimin's heartbeat, beating at the same rhythm as his own. Just like he did with the kiss, he just took Jimin's warmth, smelling his shampoo on the boy's hair and this time a slight fragrance of his favorite coffee.

"Found out about it then, hyung," he whispered, working his hand on Yoongi's back, caressing them gently and being the total opposite of the scratching whenever they fucked on the couch. Jimin ran his hand across his back before playing with his hair next, the other drawing circle on his back still.

This was too much. This was too warm. This was too real.

And he objected if someone said otherwise. This was the reality because it would simply be too cruel if it weren't.

"You're real, Park Jimin," he whispered again.

The boy kept on stroking and holding him tight against his body. He swore he didn't imagine the warmth in front of him, didn't imagine the breath and rising chest of the living person that he was holding, didn't imagine the return 'I am' that was whispered on his ear. Yoongi closed his eyes and he sure as hell didn't imagine Jimin's figure, vanishing in front of him the moment he opened his eyes again.

"You're real."

And that was everything that he believed in.

"I love you," he whispered, feeling his finger grasping for the empty air.

And that was everything that he was going to prove.

.

.

.

Seokjin had always known. He should have, the very least. Or maybe, he was hiding under the simple fact that maybe Yoongi was nothing but a dear friend that oddly appeared as more to his eyes. Maybe his quickening heartbeat whenever the younger motioned close during their class together (to peak on his notes, of course, not for other reason whatsoever) or his own gaze that always lingered longer whenever his object of admiration decided to laugh always meant something more. Yoongi had always been needing that extra attention. Always needing that phone call to remind him to eat something other than ramyun, always needing a knock on his door and a promise of something warm and decent for lunch because of course he didn't listen to the earlier phone calls.

Seokjin didn't know when things become clear to his mind, when he absentmindedly labeled whatever it was that made him smile wider whenever Yoongi was around. His life was a series of unanswered maybes and hypothetical questions. Then again if maybe was everything decent he could come up with, then maybe he realized he'd been harboring feelings more than just a friend for a certain Min Yoongi when Namjoon asked him out of curiosity why he was smiling too widely when Yoongi gave him a half-hearted birthday wish and a poorly-wrapped little box as a gift on the 4th of December (it turned out to be a free coupon for an all you can eat buffet and Seokjin making food one of his top priorities had made sure Yoongi's gift didn't go to waste).

So with all of that stupid realization and hopeless dream, it wasn't surprising to find himself felt like breaking apart the moment Yoongi stormed out of his apartment, saying words as sharp as knife, feeling it cutting his own skin open just like Yoongi did with his own.

His beloved had evolved from cutting his own skin to others.

And he pretended like he didn't see them, at least. Pretended that he didn't see the mark Yoongi had under his wrist, the one he kept on scratching whilst sleeping. His heart sank the moment he did and selfishly the only thing that crossed his mind was a simple sentence of 'I'm not enough'. Oh-so-selfishly the only thing that he thought about was himself. Because he couldn't help Yoongi, couldn't help him from doing something so bad. He had failed his best friend. Where was he the last few days? Busy was an excuse too disgusting to even be uttered.

He couldn't help the joy that arose the moment Yoongi knocked on his door, looking frantic and helpless. He wanted to ask but realized that it was everything that Yoongi loathed. And the moment he fell asleep next to the small figure he could hardly keep his heart from beating too loud.

The same thing happened to the despair that broke him upon Yoongi's words and slammed door. He stood there awkwardly on the hallway, body eerily feeling hollow and his limbs went cold. He walked back towards his room and just fell on the cushion, sitting there absentmindedly, thinking that maybe he should run after Yoongi. But he didn't and he simply curled himself up on top of it soon after with shoulder shaking and a very apparent stain drenching the white sheet under his eyes.

The next thing that got him waking up was his cellphone ringing. He didn't acknowledge it at first, eyes blinking against the sheet and body felt stiff from the position he'd been sleeping in. He didn't even remember falling asleep. His eyes were dry and so did his throat the moment he blinked again, reality seeping in back into his red stinging eyes. Seokjin ruffled his hair before turning his attention towards the noise, his pink flip flop phone buzzing on top of the wooden table.

He flipped it open while rubbing his own eyes, cocking his eyebrow to Namjoon's name flashing on the screen.

"Hyung, you're there?" his friend said, the urgency in his voice being apparent through the buzzing of the background noise. Namjoon was on the road, it seemed, his breath huffing and puffing.

"Yeah? What's wrong?"

Namjoon took a deep breath before answering.

"It's Yoongi."

He felt like being slapped on the face.

His heart sank again, his fingers feeling numb and his eyes gone wide. A horrible scene flashed across his mind. There was a multitude of them in an instance with different scenarios and setting, but there was at least one common thing in all of them Blood. Yes, he could imagine it all. His mind could only repeat a mere 'no', hoping that the most he did, that terrible imagination would be rid of his mind.

"W-what happen to him?"

"He came to me earlier. Seemed really off and you did remember what I told you before, right hyung? About Yoongi saying I came over?"

Seokjin tightened his fist. He remembered it, hoping that Namjoon was wrong. Hoping that Yoongi was wrong. He initially didn't harbor any suspicion. Yoongi's last word back then was horrible enough he thought that maybe he was the one being too much. Right now he just realized that backing away that time was his biggest mistake. He shouldn't have just left Yoongi, no matter how much the man would despise him for his constant nagging. Heck, he shouldn't have even given Yoongi his keys. His shattered feelings were nothing compared to Yoongi's well-being and in the mean time he felt like he just exchanged the two, resulting in something much worse to come.

"He asked about Jimin and I told him I never met the boy. Fuck hyung, what's happening here?" Namjoon said, sounding frustrated.

What's happening to you, Yoongi?

Before he even realized it he was halfway running towards his own door, grabbing a coat and holding the phone with his shoulder while he grabbed on the car key by the kitchen table. His body moved automatically and his mind didn't need a direction for it to know where he was heading.

"Namjoon, where's Yoongi now?" he asked, voice stern.

"He left immediately soon after. I tried to run after him but I got held back and lost him on the street."

He cursed under his breath as he ran towards his parked car just outside of the building. "Find Yoongi, Namjoon. He must be at his apartment. I'll meet you there," he said, turning the car's engine on.

Namjoon gave him an 'okay' before he turned the call down and threw the phone at the passenger seat, his feet hitting on the gas. Seokjin had never driven this fast before, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was closer to Yoongi's place than Namjoon and his heart felt like leaping out of its rib cage with each passing moment.

He shouldn't have let Yoongi left.

He should have been there.

The moment he got on Yoongi's apartment the scene became clearer on his mind, the flashing images and the red he was doomed to see. No, he couldn't believe in that just yet. He just couldn't. He frantically pressed on the elevator's door button as if doing so would get the damn thing from descending faster. The ride back up was torturous and the moment he got on Yoongi's floor he ran towards the door, banging on it whilst calling out his name.

He tried to call Yoongi on the phone but of course the man wouldn't pick up. He never did. He resorted to call Namjoon and the latter told him that he was on his way. He knocked and banged and begged, even thought about kicking the door down if he could. But of course an apartment in Gangnam had doors that wouldn't certainly be easily knocked down, even when Seokjin had managed to take a fire extinguisher from the hallway and stroke the door down with it.

"What's with the noise really-,"

And that was when a certain Kim Taehyung came into view, casually opening the door from the adjacent door. He took a look at Seokjin with a face that seemingly wanted to protest at first, but it all shifted when he recognized Seokjin's face.

"Oh, you're Yoongi-hyung's friend!" the kid said, pointing at him.

Something clicked in his mind right there and he dropped the fire extinguisher to run towards Taehyung, hoping that the kid would turn into the unlikely savior of the day.

"Taehyung, do you have a key to Yoongi's apartment?!" he said.

The kid blinked, probably processing the odd scene in front of him about a certain best friend breaking in to another's apartment before he made that gesture of thinking, scrunching his eyebrow hard and having his eyes towards the ceiling. Seokjin felt like praying already.

"Yoongi-hyung's keycard? Hm, I always give him mine because I kept on forgetting it and most of the time I won't be able to get through my door if it weren't for hyung. Yoongi-hyung never forgets his but at first my Mom said about exchanging ours and-,"

"Do you have it?!" he said, raising his tone, holding the boy on his shoulder and shaking him hard.

Taehyung blinked again before his eyes lighted up like crazy, an invisible light bulb shining above his head.

"Oh god, yes, yes I do!"

The kid ran back towards his apartment and came back with keycard that Seokjin took with his trembling fingers. He fumbled with opening Yoongi's door soon after, his shaking fingers obstructing him from doing so he had to grit his teeth and redo it twice before the door swung open.

"Yoongi?" he screamed as he opened the door.

What greeted him was scattered belongings and what looked like the remnants of a hurricane that happened in the room. The television was down on the ground, all cabinets open and the couch was teared apart. The room was a mess and he certainly didn't know what to think or feel, knowing that Yoongi still wasn't in sight. Should he be grateful for not finding the man in the midst of this chaos, or should he be worried that he would encounter something much worse?

"Hyung, what happen?" Taehyung asked, voice sounded weary as the boy stood behind him.

"S-stay out," he said to the kid as he took a hesitant step inside. "Don't come inside. I want you t-to call an ambulance."

"What?! Yoongi-hyung's all right, isn't he?"

Seokjin gulped, checking the spacious living room from edge to edge. His eyes wandered to the closed bedroom door. No, please no.

"Frankly said, Taehyung, I d-don't know," he answered, voice shaking.

He didn't know what to expect, hoping that Yoongi was beyond that door or the exact opposite. He heard Taehyung's hurried footsteps behind and he tightened his fist, bracing himself for whatever he would see behind it. Yoongi's bedroom wasn't unlocked and he opened it slowly, finding the same scenery of chaotic mess behind it. Everything was on the floor and he didn't know what to make of them.

The first thing that he realized was the open bathroom door at the other end of the room, slighly ajar with the light seeping through the crack. He could hear the faint sound of drizzling water, the shower being turned on. His fingers started to tremble again. No, he was wrong. He hoped he was. He hoped that it was just the man taking a shower and being oblivious to his friend's desperate scream. He hoped it was just Yoongi forgetting to turn it down and the man wasn't even inside of the apartment from the beginning.

"Y-yoongi?"

No answer. Of course there wouldn't be any.

He stepped towards the door, hesitant fingers opening it slowly.

The first thing that his eyes caught was a kitchen knife, lying on the white tile floor like it had been thrown from across. He remembered Yoongi's kitchen knife, having spent his time with them to cook the man a meal. Yoongi got the best apartment amongst his friends and the best kitchenette yet ironically the man had always seemed to relief his hunger with nothing but ramyun. It was a kitchen knife, a simple kitchen knife, yet finding it in a place like bathroom felt as odd as seeing the faint blood at the edge of it. Kitchen and bathroom didn't certainly suit themselves together. But a sharp blade and blood did. They were so very fitting.

His eyes trailed to the little droplets of blood, leading its way to another pool of red that swirled its way into the sewer, mixed with water. Everything was painted red. Red against white floor. Red against white tiles. Red against pale skin.

Red river gushing out from the white ground of etched skin. Red paint smeared on white canvass. Red bullets raining from the sky.

Seokjin didn't remember his knees meeting the floor. He didn't even remember having legs. He didn't remember breathing or having his heart beating. Maybe he was indeed as good as dead himself and that little moment he really felt like dying.

Yes, dying.

With Yoongi's motionless figure, sitting slump under the shower in front of his eyes, both wrist cut open and blood leaking out from them.

No wonder he thought about death.