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his lungs filled with smoke, the front of his body warmer than he’d like it to be, jungkook coughs as he pulls his all-too-light old friend out of the burning room. if only i was stronger, he thinks. if only i got here faster. if only i had stayed in contact. if only i had been here for him when he needed me. if only. if only. if only.
his hands filled with a warm drink, his exposed arms and legs colder than he’d like them to be, jungkook shivers in the overly air conditioned, antiseptic-smelling waiting room of the hospital. it’s been several hours waiting for news of yoongi, and he’s getting restless. no news is good news, he reminds himself. news might mean that he’s—no, with a shake of his head, don’t even think that, jeon jungkook. and so he returns to pacing, with nothing else to occupy him.
his head filled with increasingly panicked thoughts, his drink cooler than he’d like it to be, jungkook waits. he waits. and waits. hold on, yoongi. hold on.
he buys another drink, lets it get cold.
it’s been five hours when he buys flowers from the stand in the gift shop. nothing to do. everything to hope.
it’s been six hours when he begins to compose letters in his head.
when you get better, yoongi, we should go to the beach again, like we always said we would.
you know, yoongi, some of the other boys came back and found each other. that’s how they found me. that’s how I found you.
to be honest, yoongi, i almost died, too. except i was trying to, on purpose. were you trying to die, yoongi? i hope not. i hope you stay instead.
i hope you’ll like the flowers, yoongi, when i show you my gift. i hope they’ll brighten your room like you brightened my life in the short time we spent together.
i hope you feel better soon.
you deserve to feel better, yoongi.
i hope...
it’s been six hours and fifty-two minutes when someone comes into the waiting room and asks if anyone is there for min yoongi. jungkook stands up, drink and flowers forgotten, not daring to think it’s good news (but letting a feather of hope float in his mind anyway).
as the nurse speaks, that feather floats gently to the floor and falls apart, as fragile things are wont to do. as jungkook does, sitting on the floor before he’s realized what he’s doing, eyes wide, fists clenched. no. no. no. no.
he’s in a better place now, the nurse assures him, kindness in her eyes, but also the detachment that comes with seeing tragedy every day.
is that true, yoongi? jungkook gasps to himself, short of breath, ever so slightly dizzy. i hope you’re better now, better than you ever were on earth, where terrible things kept happening to you.
i didn’t get to show you my flowers, yoongi. we never went back to the beach.
you didn’t stay, yoongi. yoongi, you didn’t hold on. you didn’t stay. why didn’t you stay?
yoongi. yoongi...
his heart filled with yoongi, his hands emptier than he’d like them to be, a young boy cries silently on a hospital floor.
a few half-wilted flowers lay discarded nearby.