Chapter Text
[moodboard by cata]
~ ~ ~
The iPad kept sliding against his thighs, but Jeon Jeongguk was nothing if not determined to depict the scene accurately.
“Hyung, do me a favor and turn just a little to the right while you do that.”
“Like this?” Min Yoongi, from his spot in the kitchen, shifted to the right and held up his middle finger as he continued to stir-fry the garlic and onion he was frying up in a pan. Jeongguk clicked his tongue and cocked his head to the side, but then he set his pencil back onto the surface of the iPad with a hum.
“Just like that. Brilliant. Showstopping,” he complimented, and Yoongi sniggered, dropping his middle finger and reaching for the large shrimp he had set off to the side, still turned to the right for Jeongguk to use as a reference. Jeongguk bit the tip of his tongue gently as he sketched, the arches of his heels pressed into the coffee table in the living room of his cozy apartment, the iPad still sliding against the sweatpants covering his thighs. He slipped his left arm underneath the bottom edge to keep it steady, the pleasant aroma of homemade shrimp with pasta filling the room.
“I told you that I hate when you sketch me,” Yoongi complained with a hint of fondness in his gravelly voice. “You have an internet full of references. Pinterest is right there, Gguk-ah.”
“Ah, yes, but you’re leaving after dinner,” Jeongguk replied in a sing-song tone, glancing down at his sketch. It was a peripheral view, and in it, Yoongi was sitting on his motorcycle, and Jeongguk had sketched him on his Kawasaki a thousand times. But sketching his best friend in a familiar position was like riding a bike—muscle memory, and it was good for his brain. It was something that he could remember. It was something he could do without having to overthink it, without feeling anxious about those moments when he couldn’t recall the details.
“So what, that means you can sketch me for the thousandth time?” Yoongi tossed the cooked pasta into the pan and mixed it all up with the sauce he had made, and then he beckoned. “Come on, I made dinner.”
“Are you trying to wine and dine me?”
“Can’t believe your shitty sense of humor is still intact,” Yoongi grumbled, and Jeongguk snorted in amusement, saving his sketch and setting his iPad aside. Months ago, such a comment would have sent Jeongguk into a mild tailspin with the potential to end in an anxiety attack. Now, though, he had gotten used to his situation and circumstances, so the jokes were bearable and often helped him cope.
Dinner was full of chatter and good white wine. Yoongi had been cooking almost every day for the past two months, and he had patiently taken time to re-teach Jeongguk some basic cooking skills and recipes. He had also been sleeping in Jeongguk’s second bedroom while keeping Jeongguk on a schedule, monitoring his every move while still being kind enough to give him the necessary space Jeongguk needed to recover. But now the mother was leaving the baby bird in the nest, so to speak, and Jeongguk was amused.
“I’ll be fine, hyung.”
“That’s what you said a few months ago, and then you called me asking if you had a middle name.”
“I had just watched an American TV show. Give me a break.”
“You’re Korean, you idiot.”
“I forgot,” Jeongguk emphasized, but then he and Yoongi both burst out laughing. Dinner had concluded, and Jeongguk had methodically done the dishes like a form of nightly therapy, letting Yoongi relax on the couch. But now Yoongi was slipping into his shoes and picking up his backpack; he had moved most of his clothing and other belongings back to his apartment throughout the week, and now he was ready to depart for good.
“Okay, well, forgive me for being a little emotional,” Yoongi snapped, removing his tortoise shell glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He shoved his glasses back on and ruffled his dark red hair, blowing out a breath. “I haven’t left you alone for a single night since…”
“Yeah, I know. Thought you were gonna hold my dick while I peed for the first month there. But we’ve come so far,” Jeongguk said with a sigh and a grin, and Yoongi balked, adjusting his backpack straps. “Kidding. You’re the first face I’ve seen every single day for over two months, and you’re beautiful, hyung, but I’m sick of you. Go home. Namjoon hyung will kill me if his partner is gone another minute.”
“Rude,” Yoongi muttered, but he picked up his keys off the kitchen countertop regardless. Jeongguk spun in a circle, fell gracefully onto the couch, and kicked his feet back up onto the coffee table while surveying his best friend, practically his brother, with a rush of fondness. Yoongi had bought him things, tucked him in at night, helped him remember his daily medications, brought him to three different therapies for weeks. Jeongguk had yet to figure out a way to pay Yoongi back, but he had time to work on it.
Yoongi had been the first face Jeongguk had seen when he had awoken from his induced coma about four months ago, and he had practically been the only face Jeongguk had seen every day for months for more than one reason. Each morning for weeks, when visitors hours had begun at the hospital, Yoongi had shown up before work to eat breakfast with Jeongguk and chat with him, attempting to inject little and safe memories of Jeongguk’s life into Jeongguk’s brain, things that had happened before the accident.
The accident.
Jeongguk had awoken from the induced coma with very little idea of what had happened to him. Only the splitting headaches and the minimal use of his legs had been clues. Yoongi had sat there with a clenched jaw and tears brimming in his eyes as he had explained that Jeongguk had been on his bicycle coming home from the convenience store one night when a car had hit him at full speed, sending him tumbling onto the windshield of the offending car before flying into the street. The helmet he had been wearing hadn’t kept his brain from rattling in his skull. He had apparently landed headfirst before his whole body had smacked against the pavement. He had awoken with temporary paralysis in his lower extremities and permanent retrograde amnesia from the head trauma.
It had taken the doctors (and Yoongi) a few days to figure out what was missing from Jeongguk’s brain, but they had determined that Jeongguk was missing about six to eight years of his most recent life memories. Jeongguk couldn’t remember much of his first week in the hospital—everything and everyone had been terrifying to him, traumatizing, anxiety-inducing. He had been sedated multiple times from the panic attacks caused by unfamiliar faces and his lack of ability to recognize people. Yoongi (and Jeongguk’s parents, occasionally) had been the only real constant.
But the panic had slowly faded, and Jeongguk had then spent every day in physical therapy, clinging to railings while three or four therapists moved his legs for him on the treadmill. Once he had regained control of his legs, his therapists had hovered while he had white-knuckled the bars and attempted to walk the full length of the walkway as instructed. Now he could walk with only a hint of a limp in his gait, improving every single day. He had done occupational therapy, even art therapy. Anything to help.
His memory, though, was never going to improve. It was just there. His brain was damaged. There was no working around it. Jeongguk felt like he was starting from scratch sometimes, starting over again at twenty-six when the last solid memory he could recall was enlisting in the military right after high school.
“Listen, just call if you need me. We can always crash together at my place.” Yoongi scooped up his keys and tossed them back and forth between his hands a few times, eyeing Jeongguk carefully.
“We stayed at your place over the weekend, hyung. Namjoon got pizza. I remember,” Jeongguk said, because he liked to prove that he could. “I just want to be home. You can go now. I love you. But please leave.”
“I’m serious. Call me if you need anything,” Yoongi said, inching towards the door.
“I will. Goodnight, hyung.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“One day, you’ll stop checking in on me!” Jeongguk called out as Yoongi disappeared into the hallway, and he saw Yoongi wave a dismissive hand before the door shut and beeped to lock.
Silence.
From his position on the couch, Jeongguk glanced around the living room, his ears ringing from the lack of auditory input. He had a two-bedroom apartment on the fifth and top floor of the building with fantastic natural lighting—a steal, prime real estate, and Yoongi always teased that pre-accident Jeongguk had been a rich asshole. Not true, but the way Jeongguk seemed to live said otherwise. The wall near the kitchen was decorated with a collage of photos of Jeongguk and Yoongi and Namjoon, pictures of Jeongguk with Kim Seokjin (his other friend who doubled as his agent). There were pictures of Jeongguk with his parents and their dog. Some of the photos were from his years at university, but those were years Jeongguk couldn’t remember.
Jeongguk could still remember walking into his apartment for the first time a few months ago with Yoongi holding his hand. Nearly three years living in the same space, and it wasn’t familiar to Jeongguk at all. Yoongi had given him a little house tour, and he had taken the time to explain each photo in the collage to Jeongguk, each trinket or keepsake in the living room. It had taken Jeongguk days to get comfortable with sleeping in his own bed, but now he felt at home, and he felt grateful to his past self for earning enough of a living to maintain a nice space.
Jeongguk hopped up and strolled over to the bookshelf in the living room, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black sweatpants and stared at his life’s work thus far. He had panicked in the hospital when Yoongi had told him about his career of choice, panicked when thinking that he had completely lost all of his talent just from being thrown off his bicycle by an elderly woman who should have surrendered her license years ago. But the books and photos on the shelves said otherwise, as did the sketchbook on the coffee table and Jeongguk’s iPad.
Jeongguk was a freelance illustrator, and apparently a talented one at that. He illustrated kids’ books and young adult books, and he had even done the illustrations for an entire pre-teen graphic novel trilogy called The Bulletproof Boys that had become a bestseller three years ago. Yoongi told him stories all the time about how Jeongguk had run on coffee and two or three hours of sleep every night to meet deadlines.
You’d be up until six in the morning at your work station eating seaweed snacks and playing classical music. Used to hate wearing shirts when it got serious. Literally. When it was crunch time, you turned into a stripper. Yoongi had anecdotes for days. The second bedroom was Jeongguk’s office space, where he had a full-blown work station with a multi-monitor computer set-up for when he used a drawing tablet. He also had an easel and a comfortable couch for lounging with his iPad. When Jeongguk had come home from the hospital, the first thing he had done was sit down with a sketchpad and a pencil. At first, his drawings had turned out rather curious, probably a manifestation of the chaos in his brain. But then they had flourished, his muscles had remembered (as had his brain), and now he was back in business.
Kind of.
Seokjin, his agent, was the kindest soul Jeongguk knew, and the moment Jeongguk had texted him saying that he was interested in some freelance work post-hospital release, Seokjin had called him in near tears with grandiose theatrics, promising to set something up. He had then asked if Jeongguk wanted to be set up on a blind date with his friend, and Jeongguk had laughed before turning it down.
Well, I guess I’m glad to see that almost becoming roadkill didn’t turn off the gay.
Yoongi had the worst wisecracks, and only recently had Jeongguk started to find them funny again. Losing chunks of his memory hadn’t affected his sexuality, and the point had been proven when Jeongguk had flirted mercilessly with one of his physical therapists for over a month, even though the poor man swore he was straight. Jeongguk was convinced he had turned the man curious instead of just straight upon leaving the hospital.
Yoongi had cooked enough food over the week to store leftovers in the fridge, and Jeongguk was a bottomless pit. He shuffled over and pulled out a small container of leftover curry, popping it into the microwave for a late-night snack. He stared dazedly, realizing how quiet it was in his own home without another human around. So he pressed his hands into the countertop and glanced down at his arms, which were covered in two full sleeves of tattoos. That had been fun to wake up to with amnesia. Jeongguk couldn’t remember getting a single bit of the ink on his arms, but there it was—his right arm was a sleeve of winding, whimsical staircases with clocks and patterns and falling roses wrapped around in circles. His left arm was a fun mixture of different animals and filler patterns and flowers—a tiger, a sea turtle, a bird. Apparently he had designed them all himself with help of the tattoo artist. The tattoo of the cherry blossoms wrapping around his right hip to his thigh had been his idea, too.
His phone vibrated as the microwave beeped, so Jeongguk prioritized his phone over his food.
“Yes, hello?”
“Hey, handsome. Wait—sorry.” Kim Seokjin laughed on the other line. “I’m talking to myself again. Hey, Gguk-ah. How are you?”
“You’re insufferable,” Jeongguk sighed as he popped the microwave open, and Seokjin laughed again. “Did Yoongi hyung tell you to call me and check up on me?”
“Of course he did, but surprisingly, that’s not what this phone call is about. I’m calling to ask if you want to do a small comic strip. Four panels for about two million won. Your style is preferred, too. You in?”
“Shit, definitely. That would be great,” Jeongguk said with a grin. “Tell me it’s for my favorite website.”
“Would I be calling if it wasn’t? They were fucking over the moon when I said you were taking work again. You want it?”
“Yeah, of course I do. Send me the contract. What’s the due date?”
“First of December.”
“Done. Shit, that’s almost too much time. Send me everything,” Jeongguk said excitedly.
“Yeah, will do. Are you taking care? I have to report back to Yoongi. He’s terrifying when he’s in dad mode.”
“I’m fine. It’s been an hour.”
“Excellent. Talk soon, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk hung up and stared at his food in the microwave for a moment, wrapping his brain around the new job he had just been handed. He could still remember the crippling anxiety attacks and shouting matches he had had with Yoongi and with his nurses and doctors, crying because he couldn’t remember names and faces, demanding that he only wanted people around him that he could remember and refusing to be reintroduced to anyone who scared him. It had taken some coaxing in Jeongguk’s panicked state, but Yoongi had slowly introduced Seokjin to Jeongguk again, a grand total of four times. Having Seokjin around meant that Jeongguk could become a functional, working member of society again. But anyone else, any other unfamiliar faces, had been immediately banned.
Jeongguk had taken to believing that if he couldn’t remember a person and if they induced his anxiety, they weren’t worth having around while he recovered. He hadn’t taken kindly to surprises. Seokjin had been his limit. Jeongguk could still remember hearing voices on the other side of the hospital room door, probably casual friends from his lifetime that he couldn’t remember, being turned away. But he had to isolate himself to heal. There was no other way.
Perhaps he felt okay now, but when he was alone, Jeongguk often wondered what, or who, was missing from his life.
***
Jeongguk woke up bright and early the next morning, giddy at the thought of an email burning a hole in his inbox with all of the specifications for his brand new job. He had sent back the signed contract late last night, agreeing to the price and the outline of work. The client had already messaged him saying how excited he was that Jeongguk was back onboard. Jeongguk couldn’t remember the poor guy to save his life, but Seokjin had shown Jeongguk several pieces of work that he had created for this website in the past, as well as receipts to show that he had been paid well. So Jeongguk trusted this client.
Jeongguk brushed his teeth with vigor, staring at himself in the mirror. Yoongi had said that Jeongguk used to dye his hair different colors for fun—sometimes the whole head, sometimes only the tips. But now Jeongguk’s hair was just black and long, and he had it tied in a low little ponytail, strands hanging in his eyes when he spat out the toothpaste. Once he was washed up, he threw on some black pants and a black hoodie, made a cup of coffee, grabbed a bowl of yogurt and granola with banana slices, and went straight to his office.
By the time the afternoon sun was streaming through the window and Jeongguk’s coffee and yogurt were gone, he had managed to flesh out a rough sketch of the first two panels for the comic that the client had requested. He normally liked illustrating stories, but comics and graphic novels had a certain appeal. Long-term projects were exhausting but rewarding. Webtoons also made Jeongguk feel some type of way. His goal was to one day create a webtoon of his own, but first, he needed a brilliant writer with a storyline to collaborate with him.
A loud knock on his front door startled Jeongguk so much that he dropped his pen. He glanced at his phone—nothing. Yoongi usually called or messaged if he was around, and so did Namjoon. Was Seokjin just showing up unannounced? Strangers made Jeongguk feel nervous, a bit like a skittish dog. Already feeling defensive, Jeongguk shuffled out of his office and quietly opened the door.
“Oh! Hello.”
Jeongguk meant to instinctively say “hello” in return, but it came out as an odd and embarrassing squeaking sound, and he felt his ears burn instantly. The man standing on the other side of the door was gorgeous, far too pretty for eleven o’clock in the morning. Angelic, actually, in Jeongguk’s eyes. He had thick, soft black hair parted messily and hanging in his eyes. His skin was porcelain with defined lines in his jaw and cheekbones, and his full lips seemed to be one of the most prominent features of his beautiful face. His eyes were the color of burnt caramel, and he was wearing black pants and a black and white wide-striped long-sleeve shirt, the sleeves covering his knuckles. He was clutching a container in his hands.
“Sorry. Um, I—hi. Hello,” Jeongguk said, his knuckles white as he gripped the doorframe.
“Hi.” The mystery man seemed almost breathless in anticipation, possibly thanks to nerves. “I’m Park Jimin. I just moved in. Um, I’m across the hall and one door down.” Park Jimin gestured with a twist of his upper body, shifting the container under one arm as he did. Jeongguk felt like a goddamn fool with the way he was staring mercilessly at this poor guy, who was magnetic just standing there existing. “I just thought I’d try to introduce myself to some of the people on this floor. The, uh… the couple in this apartment weren’t the nicest, but I figured I’d just keep trying,” Jimin added, tilting his head to the right towards Jeongguk’s neighbors with a tiny smile.
“That’s brave of you,” Jeongguk commended, and Jimin rolled his shoulders back with a prouder smile that melted Jeongguk from the inside out. Christ, either Jeongguk was desperate to flirt with someone cute, or Jimin was magic. Jeongguk had been in Jimin’s presence for all of two minutes and he was weak in the knees.
“Um, I made these.” Jimin offered up the container. “They’re double chocolate caramel cookies with sea salt. It’s about the only thing I can bake.”
“Double what now?” Jeongguk said, eyes widening. Jimin stifled a laugh and extended the container further, and Jeongguk just stared at it. “You just went ahead and made cookies for strangers? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do for you? You’re the one who just moved in, not me.”
“Maybe you like chocolate and caramel,” Jimin said with a happy smile and a shrug. “And maybe these cookies will be so good that you’ll be like, ‘oh, I’m out of rice, I should ask Jimin from across the hall if I can borrow some.’ You know?”
“I—yeah, I’m… when…?” Jeongguk laughed, completely thrown. “When did you move in? I’ve lived here for awhile, and I—I never saw a moving truck. Didn’t think anyone lived in that apartment.”
“I just moved in this past weekend,” Jimin replied, and Jeongguk let out a breath of understanding.
“Ah, right. That makes sense. I stayed at my hyung’s place all weekend. Well, thank you so much for the cookies. Wow. This is—thank you,” Jeongguk said with gratitude, his mouth already watering. He was addicted to chocolate, caramel was his weakness, and he had a soft spot for sea salt on sweets. This guy was a godsend.
“Yeah, of course. If they’re poisonous, just let me know,” Jimin joked, wringing his hands together once they were empty. “Um, I should go. Thanks for… yeah.”
“Are you sure? You—You can come in if you want,” Jeongguk offered, his heart slamming against his ribcage roughly. What are you even saying? his subconscious barked at him. You just met him. But he was cute, and he had made cookies, and he seemed nervous, maybe a bit shy. Yoongi had been encouraging Jeongguk to attempt to branch out and make some new friends, to be nice to his neighbors, to put himself out there and not be afraid of socializing anymore. Wasn’t this a good start? The opportunity had quite literally knocked on his front door. It had to be a sign.
“Oh, I—I really shouldn’t. I was going to take my dog for a walk, actually,” Jimin said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards his apartment. “Sometimes he sits at the door with the leash in his mouth, waiting for me. I think he can tell time.”
“That’s cute,” Jeongguk said with a grin. “Are you sure? You—um, you can have a cookie before you go. Or watch me eat one so you can see your poison work its magic and then dump the body.”
Jimin giggled, lifting a sleeve-covered hand to his mouth, and Jeongguk almost melted into a fucking puddle right on the spot. Jesus fuck, he was gorgeous. Painfully so, absolutely deadly. But the worst part was that Jeongguk knew that if Jimin put on a different outfit and went out to stroll the streets or walk through a nightclub, he would make girls faint. Jeongguk didn’t want to think that his personal radar was broken, but he couldn’t take a chance. He had to be cautious.
“I—I don’t want to intrude. I’m the new guy to the building, after all. Still unpacking.” Jimin shifted his footing.
“One cookie. I’m in the middle of working, anyway. It would be a nice break,” Jeongguk said, opening up the door further to invite Jimin in. Please come in. Please humor me. Jimin glanced over his shoulder, lower lip between his teeth, but then he shrugged and nodded, so Jeonguk let him in with an inward sigh of relief and closed the door.
“Where did you move here from?” Jeongguk conversationally asked, his pulse racing as he moved towards the kitchen.
“Not far from here,” Jimin said ambiguously. “Across the river. I just, uh, had a change of roommates. As in, I went from having a roommate to being by myself. So I downsized.”
“Ah. Well, living alone has its perks. You can walk around naked whenever you want,” Jeongguk pointed out.
“That’s it? That’s the number one perk?” Jimin asked, leaning his elbows on the countertop with a grin.
“It’s one of them. Let’s try this cookie.” Jeongguk popped the lid off the container and picked up a cookie, and then he bit into it. It was a complete sugar rush and practically a food orgasm. He dramatically threw his entire upper body onto the countertop with a groan like he had fainted, and Jimin laughed.
“That bad, huh?”
“These are amazing.” Jeongguk took another bite while lying sideways. “I’d shove the whole thing into my mouth in one bite if I didn’t care about being decent and impressing you. These are amazing, Jimin-ssi. You made them?” Jeongguk straightened up.
“I did. I’m glad they’re not poisonous.”
“Are you a baker? Is that your profession?”
“No, no. I’m not a baker,” Jimin said with a laugh, and Jeongguk noticed that his eyes were wandering. “Oh, wow. You have a lot of books. Avid reader? Are you a collector? Sorry, I should have asked the polite questions first. Tell me a little about yourself. Wait, did you tell me your name yet? Did I miss that?”
Jeongguk stopped in the middle of chewing, and then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained expression, and Jimin burst out laughing.
“I can’t believe you walked into my apartment with cookies without knowing my fucking name,” Jeongguk groaned, embarrassed. “Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I was willing to just make one up for you,” Jimin said with a grin.
“No need. I’m Jeon Jeongguk. Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Jimin said with a gentle smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeon Jeongguk. So, now the polite questions. How old are you? I’m twenty-eight.”
“I’m, uh… I’m…” Jeongguk paused, suddenly feeling brain-dead as he attempted to do some quick math. The current year minus the year you were born. You can do this, come on —
“Should I be worried if you don’t know your own age?” Jimin asked, amused.
“Fuck, sorry. I’m—I’m twenty-six,” Jeongguk said, his knees locking. “Yeah, twenty-six. Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, I probably sound crazy.”
“It’s all good. What do you do for work? You said you were working. Working from home?” Jimin asked, shuffling over towards the bookshelf and blatantly, blissfully ignoring Jeongguk’s verbal fumbling. Mildly shocked at the nonchalance, Jeongguk followed.
“I’m, uh… I’m an illustrator,” he said, trying to sound convincing. Sometimes he felt like a fraud. He felt like he was just telling a story about someone else and not himself. He knew all of these details about himself and his past, had a list of facts in his head that he had memorized, but sometimes it felt surreal. He wasn’t quite sure who he really was some days.
“Oh, wow. So are these books that you’ve illustrated?” Jimin asked.
“Yeah, they are.”
“And all these drawings? All yours?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. You’re very talented. Can I look?” Jimin pointed to the first book of The Bulletproof Boys. Jeongguk immediately snatched the book off its little stand and handed it to Jimin, and Jimin gently flipped through it like it was an ancient relic and he should be wearing white gloves. No one ever did that with Jeongguk’s work. He watched with a strange kind of fondness as Jimin’s pretty eyes scanned the pages.
“This is amazing. I love it. A bestseller, too. That’s a big deal.” He handed the book back to Jeongguk, who carefully placed it back onto its stand.
“Yeah, it was pretty cool. That was, um… two years ago? I think? Two or three years ago. I draw all kinds of things, though. Kids’ books, young adult stuff, graphic novels, cartoons, webtoons, sketches.”
“I wish I had a talent in drawing,” Jimin sighed. “Is that what you studied at university?”
“Uh, yes,” Jeongguk said slowly, fighting hesitation. You got your degree in this. It’s hanging in your office. Come on, Jeon, pull it together. “Um, what did you study?”
“Literary and culture studies,” Jimin replied, taking a step back.
“That’s a mouthful,” Jeongguk said with a grin. “What do you do for work if you’re not a baker? Because let’s face it, you should most definitely be a baker.”
“Please.” Jimin laughed. “I’m actually a writer. I write short stories and poetry, sometimes song lyrics for a friend. There’s—um, have you been into town at all? I own a bookstore.”
“You what? An entire bookstore? What’s it called?”
“Prose and Cons.”
“Never heard of it. I should visit.”
“It’s small, but it does well,” Jimin proudly said. “Good mixture of gently used books and new releases. It’s next door to a coffee shop, so it gets good foot traffic. I split my time between there and working from home.”
“That’s amazing. A writer. And you write—can I read them? The stories and poems you’ve written? Are they any good?”
“No, they’re horrible,” Jimin deadpanned, and Jeongguk snickered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I mean, I don’t know what your taste is, but I can always lend you one of my books if you’re interested. They have some illustrations in them. I’m sure you’d like to judge those.”
“Well, yes, but I want to read your writing,” Jeongguk said as Jimin grinned. “That would be awesome. Next time I see you, I’d love to borrow one of your books.” He gave Jimin a small, hopeful smile.
“Yeah, of course. Um—Jeongguk-ssi, I’m really sorry, but I should go,” Jimin said apologetically. “I’d love to stay and talk more, but I have to get to my dog.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s totally fine. You didn’t even have to come over in the first place. But—well, I mean, I know where you live. Or, like, you know where I live,” Jeongguk said like an idiot, wanting to smack himself. Jimin didn’t seem to mind.
“I do. Thank you for being so kind and welcoming. It’s a nice contrast to the three doors I’ve had slammed in my face, figuratively speaking,” Jimin said with a grateful smile. “Your apartment is very nice, too.”
“Thank you. Um, it’s kind of big for me, but it’s home,” Jeongguk said with a small shrug. “Thank you for the cookies, Jimin-ssi.”
“Hyung. If you’re comfortable. No rush,” Jimin said quickly, sounding pleased. “It was very nice to meet you. Work hard.”
“I’ll try. It was nice to meet you too, Jimin-ssi—Jimin hyung,” Jeongguk corrected himself with a smile that he felt like he could barely control. “Wait, can I—? You have a dog. Can I meet him? Her? I really like dogs.”
“Oh.” Jimin paused with Jeongguk’s front door open, and he giggled. “Um, maybe not today. Sorry. He’s still young, and he gets really excited meeting new people. He used to be scared of them, but now he’s just—yeah. One day soon, maybe. I promise.”
“Okay. Cool. Good. Thank you,” Jeongguk said awkwardly, his ears burning again. “Yeah, that’d be great. Have a good day, then.”
“You too, Jeongguk-ssi.”
Jeongguk watched Jimin cross the hall and slip into his own apartment after entering the code, and then he heard Jimin’s voice change to a happy, higher pitch as he addressed what had to be his dog, and then the door closed. Jeongguk closed his own door and let it lock, and then he rested his forehead against the cool surface.
I’m a fucking idiot.
mood: “i said hi” by amy shark
He practically ran back to his office, and he snatched up his iPhone and called Yoongi immediately. He paced until Yoongi answered, and even then, his feet didn’t stop moving.
“Jeongguk-ah? Everything okay?”
“Hyung, I’m such a moron. I fucked up,” Jeongguk sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Was I socially awkward before the accident? Be honest with me. I can take it.”
“Uh, no? I mean, you were pretty straightforward. Had a wild sense of humor. It threw some people off, but pretty much everyone I knew found it charming. You had all the boys chasing after you,” Yoongi explained in a teasing tone, for which Jeongguk was grateful. Months ago, when he had been bedridden, Jeongguk had scolded Yoongi (yelled, really) for, amongst a laundry list of other things, not giving him enough details about his past, being too vague. Jeongguk would ask questions, and Yoongi would give him distracted and ambiguous answers as if avoiding the topic. After a quick lecture, Jeongguk now received thorough and detailed information at the drop of a hat, no more bullshit.
“Okay, well, clearly I lost my charm in the accident,” Jeongguk lamented. “You know the apartment across the hall and one down? The one that’s been vacant?”
“The one… yeah,” Yoongi slowly said, sounding suspicious. Overprotective, surely. Jeongguk had met the landlord for the second time after coming home and Yoongi had been a skeptic every step of the way, doing all the talking to keep Jeongguk from getting anxious. He was just that kind of person.
“Well, someone moved in over the weekend while I was at your place, and he just came over and introduced himself. He showed up at my door with cookies, hyung. Just handed them to me and said he was new to the building and was trying to meet people.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?”
“Don’t go looking him up.”
“I won’t. What’s his name?”
“Park Jimin.”
“Well, did you talk to this Park Jimin guy?” Yoongi asked.
“Yeah, and he was really nice. He’s two years older than me, and I’m—hyung, I’m an idiot. I invited him in and everything,” Jeongguk all but whined. “I know you said I should make an effort to meet new people and make new friends, but I took it too far.”
“Gguk-ah, you have to relax. This is a good thing. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You’re overreacting.”
“I didn’t tell him my name for a whole ten minutes. Totally forgot. He had to ask me.”
“Ah.”
“Ah. I’m fucked,” Jeongguk complained. “He’s a writer, though. Writes fucking short stories and poetry and owns a bookstore. God, he’s so cute that I thought I was going to cry. He saw my bookshelf and said that I was talented. He thinks I’m talented, hyung, and I acted like a moron.”
“I don’t know why you’re freaking out, though. Meeting someone new is a good thing, Jeongguk-ah. And besides, you don’t even know if he likes men or not.”
“He’s too beautiful to not at least be bisexual. The universe doesn’t work that way. He has to be interested in men. Karma has to be on my side, here. Or maybe he’s just not interested in me. He was nice, but he wasn’t… I don’t think he was flirting with me. I don’t really know.”
“Should we talk about how much you’re overanalyzing this situation?”
“No, thank you. I don’t want to hear it,” Jeongguk sighed, running one hand down his face. Yoongi, true to his word, always asked Jeongguk if Jeongguk wanted to discuss his anxiety or his fixations on things before just diving right in. That was apparently new, a result of the head trauma. He hadn’t had anxiety before smacking his head on the pavement. “I should get back to work, actually.”
“Okay. Look, it’s great that you met someone in the building. He seems like a nice guy. I’m sure you’ll see him again when you’re more prepared. Just take it easy, okay? No overthinking. It’s your first full day on your own. Just—you know. Deep breaths, okay? If he didn’t leave running and screaming, then I’m sure he thought nothing of it.”
“Shit, hyung, I was so scared. I thought he was going to start asking me questions about myself that I couldn’t answer,” Jeongguk admitted, because that was the root of his acute social anxiety. What if they ask me things about myself that I can’t remember? It weighed on his mind constantly, kept him up at night sometimes. “I almost forgot my own age, and he noticed. I had to do the math. Had to remind myself that I went to university. Had to remember my own job.”
“Gguk-ah, stop. It’s okay. You’re still healing, right? Give yourself a little grace.”
“It’s hard when you and maybe five other people are the only ones who know what the hell happened to me.”
“Well, maybe you can become friends with Park Jimin and tell him about your accident. I’m sure he’d understand if he’s as nice as you say he is. And you can’t keep it a secret from everyone, Jeongguk-ah. It’s part of your life. It happened.”
“I know. Yeah, maybe. I just—hyung, he has a dog and everything. You know I love dogs. I fucking asked to meet his dog, though.” Jeongguk exhaled, frustrated. But then he chewed his lower lip. “You think he’ll let me meet him? The dog?”
“I’m sure he will,” Yoongi said with an amused laugh. “Listen, I have to get back to work. The songwriters will be here in five minutes.”
“Yeah, okay. Have fun, hyung,” Jeongguk said with a sigh. Yoongi was a pianist and a composer (he played violin and guitar, too), and he was starting to catch the eye of some pretty important people, so he was constantly on the go.
“I’ll try. Take care, okay? Call me if you need anything.”
“I always do.”
***
Losing years of his memory meant rediscovering old passions, and Jeongguk had had no idea about his passion for exercising and working out until Yoongi had reminded him. Apparently Jeongguk had enjoyed going to the gym almost on a daily basis, which explained the muscle build he had on his body that he had been attempting to keep post-accident. So when Jeongguk had asked if he enjoyed cardio and running, Yoongi had just laughed and shrugged, refusing to answer.
Being temporarily paralyzed had left Jeongguk with a ginger, tentative type of gait for weeks after he had been hospitalized. Upon release, Yoongi had taken a walk with Jeongguk every day to build his strength back up. The first walk had been about five hundred meters. But they had worked hard together until Jeongguk had been able to go about seven or eight kilometers without needing to rest. Towards the end, Jeongguk had been attempting a bit of light jogging. He couldn’t run a marathon or sprint by any means, since it had the tendency to trigger mild pain and phantom numbness, but he could go for a five-kilometer run if he felt up for it.
So Jeongguk found himself in the park across from his building for another beautiful, chilly morning run. He was wearing a long-sleeved black compression top and a black t-shirt with black sweatpants to combat the cold, and he had pushed back his long hair to hide it with a plain white baseball cap. With his AirPods in, the run was nothing short of cathartic. It was therapy, being out and about and enjoying what the world had to offer. Sitting in a hospital bed with a headache, Jeongguk had never thought he would have been able to run. Now he took advantage of it.
As he rounded the last corner and his apartment building came into view, Jeongguk smiled, swelling with pride as he always did. That was just short of five kilometers without any pain—a massive improvement. He would have to tell his physical therapist at his weekly appointment on Thursday, and maybe send Yoongi a text.
Jeongguk paused out front and grabbed the water bottle he had left with his name on it on the ledge of the flowerbed, always amused that no one ever touched or took it. He snatched it up and gulped down three-fourths of the water in one go, and then he swung his arms around while taking deep breaths, pleased with his progress.
“Ah, excuse me,” Jeongguk said with a polite bow when two girls a few years younger than him bounded down the stairs in the opposite direction, huddling together. They bowed in return with haste, and Jeongguk continued to climb the stairs to the fifth floor, appreciating the fact that he could. He had horrific memories of being caught by three pairs of arms while on a moving treadmill, so these days, he moved with gratitude.
After showering and throwing on another pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved white t-shirt, Jeongguk ruffled his damp hair and went to peer into the fridge for something to eat before he got back to the drawing board—literally. His life was in his office, but first, his stomach was taking control.
“What…?” he whispered to himself when he suddenly heard a little yelp from a hallway and a thud, followed by a door slamming shut loudly. Perplexed, Jeongguk set his protein drink onto the kitchen counter and opened his front door, and immediately, he lunged into the hallway.
“Jimin-ssi? Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked in a panic, seeing that Jimin was crouching down by his front door, shoulders shaking, surrounded by six grocery bags that looked heavy. “Hyung?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Jimin said, and when he glanced up, Jeongguk realized that Jimin was laughing at himself. He was wearing light wash jeans with tears in the knees and a white t-shirt with a black baseball cap covering his black hair, and he looked jokingly disgusted with himself. “I should know better.”
“Did you just carry those up five flights of stairs?” Jeongguk asked, bewildered.
“Yeah. The stairs are always more difficult than they look from the ground floor,” Jimin said with a laugh.
“Well, can I help you? Please?” Jeongguk offered.
“Um, well…” Jimin straightened up, and that was when Jeongguk realized that from behind Jimin’s apartment door, he could hear the little whines and excited panting of a dog.
“Oh, your dog. I’m sorry. I can go,” Jeongguk said nervously, but Jimin stammered nonsense a few times before clarifying.
“No, no, no. It’s fine. I just don’t want him to get over-excited. I mean, he will anyway, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Sorry. Um… you know what? He should be okay. He went for a walk earlier. But you don’t have to help me. I can bring these in myself,” Jimin swore, but Jeongguk shook his head.
“No, it’s okay. Please let me help.”
“Ah, okay. Okay, sure,” Jimin agreed.
“Good. Thank you. I’ll take these.” Jeongguk bent down and snatched up four of the six grocery bags, and they were quite heavy, though not impossible. Difficult to lug up five flights of steps? Absolutely. Jimin eyed Jeongguk warily, but then he picked up the other two bags and punched in the code to unlock his door.
“Here, come on in—hey, bud. You can help me in a second, hold on,” Jimin said affectionately as he held open the door. “I have someone I want you to meet, okay? I got you some treats, too.”
Jeongguk stepped into Jimin’s apartment and immediately set the grocery bags onto the countertop where Jimin was gesturing, but then he heard a yelping little whine of pure delight, and suddenly, he had a dog in his personal space.
“Oh—hi,” Jeongguk laughed, crouching down. “Hi—oh, shit, he’s really excited.”
“Bear, come on, honey,” Jimin sighed, pressing his palms into the countertop momentarily. “Sorry, sorry. This is Bear. He’s very affectionate. Really loves humans. Like, loves them. Adores them. Stranger or not. Doesn’t matter. Your personal space means nothing.”
“He’s really—yes, hi, oh my God,” Jeongguk said with continuous laughter. Bear was nearly frantic, tailing swishing as he let out excited, quiet little yips and whimpers, flopping around and nuzzling into Jeongguk’s chest, shoving his face into Jeongguk’s neck, licking Jeongguk’s face with enthusiasm. “He’s so friendly.”
“If it’s too much, just tell him to back off,” Jimin said.
“How old is he?” Jeongguk asked as he vigorously petted and scratched Bear’s ears with an uncontrollable smile, watching the dog’s tongue loll out of his mouth, eyes glimmering happily, tail wagging as he shimmied around with eagerness.
“Two,” Jimin said quietly as he started reaching into the grocery bags. “Um, he’s a border collie.”
“He’s gorgeous,” Jeongguk said, petting Bear’s beautiful black and white fur, seeing the dog’s almond eyes trained on him with a sparkle, tongue still out of his mouth in sheer excitement, tail still swishing on the ground because he was sitting and accepting Jeongguk’s affection.
“Yeah, he has enough energy to power the entire city of Seoul,” Jimin joked as he opened the cupboard. “He’s super intelligent and highly trainable. Working dog. He used to be really, like… kind of wary of strangers. But my—um, my method was—like, I trained him to be okay with it. He’s really protective of me, though, and he can get kind of hyper, so I’m sorry if he’s a little overwhelming.”
“No, it’s great. He’s really sweet,” Jeongguk almost cooed, scratching underneath Bear’s chin. “I love dogs. He’s awesome.”
“He’s very well-trained. Except right now,” Jimin sighed, sounding as if he disapproved but also sounding rather fond. “He does the usual commands, but he also does some fun human stuff. Wanna see?”
“Sure.” Jeongguk straightened up and stepped back, and Bear immediately lunged for him, nose at his knees, following intently, eager to please. Jeongguk chuckled, but then Jimin snapped his fingers twice. Bear immediately turned, almost skidded on the tiles, and plopped down right in front of Jimin, eyes up, tongue out, waiting.
“Good boy,” Jimin praised, and then he bent down and held out a bag of dog treats, pointing. “Put this away for me. Put it in your cabinet.”
Jeongguk watched in amazement as Bear gently clamped the bag of treats in his mouth, scooted through the small kitchen, and then set the bag down on the tile floor. Then he used his teeth to tug at a bandana that was attached to the cabinet handle, tugging it open. He then picked up the bag of treats and set it into the cabinet, nudging it in with his nose. He finished by using his nose to close the cabinet. Then he bounded over to Jimin and sat, staring up, waiting to be praised.
“Good work, that was great,” Jimin praised again as expected, crouching down and ruffling Bear’s fur. Jeongguk glanced around and noticed that there were red bandanas hanging off a lot of the cabinets and doors, and there was even one on the fridge, which meant that Bear basically had access to the entire apartment at his will.
“He’s so smart. So you can literally tell him to go feed himself or get you something from the fridge,” Jeongguk said, awestruck.
“Yeah. He, um… he was really well-trained,” Jimin said, sounding a bit sad but also incredibly proud. Maybe Bear had been a rescue dog in despair before Jimin had gotten him, but Jeongguk didn’t want to pry. “Oh, you don’t have to help, it’s fine.”
“No, that’s okay. Just tell me where things go,” Jeongguk said, and then he and Jimin walked around each other, putting groceries away where they belong as Bear sat obediently, watching his master and houseguest work together. Jimin even handed Bear a box of tissues for the bathroom, and Jeongguk watched around the corner of the kitchen in amazement as Bear walked with pride to the kitchen, tail wagging, and then he hopped up onto his hind legs and plopped the tissue box onto the bathroom countertop.
“I need to get a dog,” Jeongguk decided on the spot. “Bear’s a genius. He’s the best companion ever. You’d never be lonely with him around.”
“No, never,” Jimin said softly with a small smile. “Do you want a drink? I have some hibiscus tea.”
“Oh—I mean, it’s okay. I can go, I don’t have to stick around,” Jeongguk said, but his brain was screaming at him. FRIEND! He could be your FRIEND! Don’t just leave! Yoongi hyung wanted you to make friends! So stay and make a new friend! “But, um, tea would be nice. Thank you.”
“Yeah, sure. You can go sit on the couch. Bear will probably come and use your lap as a pillow, so just—you know. Heads up. You can shove him off or tell him to leave you alone,” Jimin explained as he opened up the fridge. Jeongguk scooted out of the kitchen and gingerly sat down onto the couch, and Bear followed him loyally. The moment Jeongguk sat down, Bear sat right in front of him and rested his chin onto Jeongguk’s knees.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jeongguk praised quietly, scratching behind Bear’s ears gently. “I bet Jimin hyung just adores you. You’re so smart, too.”
“Careful, all that praise will go straight to his head,” Jimin said with a small smile as he sat down beside Jeongguk, handing him a glass of iced tea. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know why I always think I can carry all my groceries up here in one trip. It never ends well for me.”
“Well, if you ever need help, just tell me,” Jeongguk said, staring down at the ice in his drink, feeling a stab of shyness. Opening up and making new friends, according to Yoongi, had never been difficult for Jeongguk. He had been sociable and charming. But now, living in constant fear of forgetting details about his own life, Jeongguk was afraid of meeting anyone new. His palms were sweating. “I—I live right across the hall, you know. You can always text me.”
“I’d have to have your number for that,” Jimin said, and Jeongguk felt his face burn as Jimin stifled a laugh. “How about I just put it into your phone?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jeongguk said, glad he didn’t stutter. He handed over his phone, and Jimin typed in his name and phone number for Jeongguk to save. “Thank you. This—Um, this is good. Thanks.”
“So, you work from home all the time?” Jimin noticed, sipping his own drink and scratching Bear’s soft fur absentmindedly.
“Yeah, I do. Um, I tried working in one of those shared work spaces, you know? My hyung suggested it. You know what I’m talking about,” Jeongguk rambled, and Jimin nodded, still petting Bear. “But that didn’t go very well. I got too distracted, too anxious with all the strangers around me. It was on the edge of downtown, and I just kept leaving the office to hide somewhere.”
“You’re not tempted to ditch home to go hang out in the park?” Jimin asked with a small smile, and the moment he said “park,” Bear lifted his head in interest, ears perked, tail twitching. “No, bub, not right now.”
“I do sometimes. But I have a schedule for myself at home that I try to stick to,” Jeongguk said. “My hyung helped me make it after I—um, there was this—yeah. I just have a schedule to keep me on track and keep my brain from, like, short-circuiting.”
“I can relate,” Jimin said with a soft laugh. There was then a moment of silence as they both paid more attention to their drinks, Jimin cooing quietly at Bear and scratching underneath his ears lovingly. Jeongguk watched quietly, Bear still cuddling into him, feeling a strange, foreign appreciation for his current situation. He didn’t feel overly anxious, didn’t feel uncomfortable, didn’t feel like running away or hiding in his room alone to soothe his brain in any way he could. He socialized with virtually no one these days, so being with Jimin was nice.
Well, maybe you can become friends with Park Jimin and tell him about your accident. I’m sure he’d understand if he’s as nice as you say he is. And you can’t keep it a secret from everyone, Jeongguk-ah. It’s part of your life. It happened.
“I want to tell you something,” Jeongguk finally managed to choke out, and Jimin sipped his drink slowly, setting it on the coffee table and bringing his right knee up onto the couch to face Jeongguk. Bear still hadn’t moved from his spot on Jeongguk’s lap and seemed quite content.
“Okay. What is it?” Jimin’s tone was unassuming.
“About me. Something about me,” Jeongguk said, clutching his glass tightly as condensation dripped down the sides of his fingers. “That, um… well, I haven’t told a lot of people about it. It’s… It’s a lot.”
“It’s okay. I’m listening,” Jimin said with a small, gentle smile. What was it about him that made Jeongguk just trust? It had to be his calm, sunshine nature. Jeongguk had never been able to sense someone’s kind heart without much practice, but with Jimin, his kind heart radiated from his entire being without much effort. He was so gentle and so willing to listen, something Jeongguk couldn’t remember experiencing much in the life he could remember.
“Um… It happened a few months ago,” Jeongguk said tentatively, and then he reached down and petted Bear’s soft fur for a distraction. It was rather therapeutic, having such a pliant, happy dog in his lap as he spoke. “Back in early June. I—My hyung told me this story because I don’t remember it happening, so just… bear with me.”
“Okay. Back in June. What happened?” JImin quietly asked.
“I… I went out on my bicycle to the convenience store three blocks from here,” Jeongguk began, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “I guess I needed something. Probably ramen or something dumb. And it was kind of late, so I guess it was dark. I got what I needed at the store, and when I was on my way back here, I… there was a car. The driver was an elderly lady. She crossed right through the intersection at full speed. I guess I’d stopped and checked for traffic, but she was going really fast. She hit me.”
“Oh,” Jimin breathed. “Oh, God. What—What happened?”
“It threw me off my bike. I was wearing a helmet, but I still hit the windshield and then landed on the street headfirst. The impact was… it was bad. I hit my head first and then my spine. It knocked me unconscious. And I guess someone else found me and called an ambulance. I woke up in the hospital almost two weeks later and I couldn’t walk. Couldn’t remember what happened.”
“What… What happened to you?” Jimin asked in a soft voice, gripping one hand in the other. Jeongguk hesitated, because Jimin looked both alarmed and sad. His empathy was making Jeongguk’s chest ache dully.
“The impact caused temporary paralysis from the waist down. I could barely wiggle my toes at first,” Jeongguk explained, moving his feet as he told the story. “Couldn’t walk. And the way I hit my head caused traumatic brain injury. My… My memory was affected. It’s called retrograde amnesia. The other kind is anterograde, which means you have trouble making new memories after the amnesia happens. Retrograde is the better one, but it still sucks, and mine is permanent. It means that I forget facts, things about my life. Not skills or anything. So, like, when I woke up? Um, I… I couldn’t remember what I did for work. I didn’t know I was an illustrator or that I went to university for it. But my hyung gave me a sketchpad and a pencil and told me to draw something, and I could.”
“Your body remembered,” Jimin said quietly. “So you… you can’t remember your life?”
“There are times when I can remember a lot of my childhood. I know my family. I know my family’s dog. I remember vacations from when I was a kid, friends I met back then. But high school is where it gets a little fuzzy, and then I remember absolutely nothing from age eighteen or nineteen up to the accident. Last thing I can really remember is enlisting in the military after high school,” Jeongguk said, still incessantly petting Bear in hopes that it would calm him down. “So when I woke up, I… you know. I mean, I’m missing about seven or eight years of my life. I don’t remember going to university. I don’t remember anyone I met at university. I have an agent, right?”
“Right.”
“He had to come to the hospital and introduce himself to me and sit and talk to me every day for weeks so I’d know who he was,” Jeongguk whispered. “Because I didn’t lose my ability to draw, you know? So he still wanted to represent me.”
“Sounds like more than an agent.”
“You’re right. He’s a great friend,” Jeongguk said, and then he chuckled. “If he didn’t have a longtime partner, I’d probably be busy flirting with him.”
“Oh. Shame. I was going to suggest you give me his number,” Jimin said, joking to lighten the mood a little. All Jeongguk heard, though, was that Jimin wanted another man’s number, and that meant that Jeongguk’s radar wasn’t broken and karma was being kind to him.
“He’d never go for you,” Jeongguk teased back, and then he blew out a breath and rubbed his face with one hand. “I’m sorry. That was a lot of information. There’s a lot more, but that’s—that’s the basic gist of it. Um, I’ve never told anyone that. Not since the accident.”
“Is that why you didn’t remember how old you are?” Jimin asked.
“Ah, fuck, you did notice,” Jeongguk sighed, and Jimin giggled.
“Kind of hard not to. But I don’t mind. I mean, I can’t even imagine being in your shoes. I would be afraid to leave the house. You’re very brave to be back working and just living your life the way you are.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk softly said, fiddling with his fingers. “Thanks, hyung, that—yeah. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to just dump that on you, but I haven’t really told a lot of people,” he rambled, and Jimin smiled softly.
“Well, I’m happy you trusted me enough to tell me. Sounds like a novel waiting to be written,” he teased gently, and Jeongguk snickered, deflating a little bit as if he had just shrugged the entire world off his shoulders.
“Yeah, maybe. I’m, uh… I’m isolating myself a lot right now. Too afraid to get back out there. I’m scared someone from the past will recognize me. So I take it one day at a time,” Jeongguk explained.
“Does it feel like you’re kind of re-learning how to be human? How to live your own life?” Jimin asked. “What about all the people in your life? How, um… you know. How do they feel about it?”
“Well, a lot of the people I knew from the years I can’t remember aren't really… like, part of my life anymore,” Jeongguk said quietly, guiltily. “It’s hard to explain. I know it might not make sense to you, but it was too overwhelming for me. I couldn’t handle being around people I couldn’t remember. I had a lot of panic attacks and anxiety attacks in the hospital, so I just—well, I just kind of chose to cut those people out to save my sanity. People who knew things about me that I didn’t… that scared me. It was—I don’t know. Difficult.”
“I can imagine it would be,” Jimin said supportively, his voice gentle. “It must have been hard when your agent walked in and you had to re-meet him. Did you have to do that with a lot of people?”
“No. My, uh, my hyung did a pretty good job of keeping people away,” Jeongguk said with a heavy sigh. “I know it sounds like an asshole move, but it really helped my sanity. I didn’t have anxiety before the accident, but here I am.”
“Sanity is important,” Jimin quietly said with a gentle smile, and then he downed the rest of his drink. “I have a feeling that there’s a lot more to this than what you’ve told me. But I really appreciate what you did tell me. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s okay,” Jeongguk whispered. “Um, I—hyung, I don’t want to take up all your time, so I can just…”
“Ah, it’s okay. I wish you could stay the whole day, but I guess I do have to get back to work. I took a break for grocery shopping, but I have a deadline by the end of the week,” Jimin explained.
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry,” Jeongguk said hastily, and he started to shift so quickly that Bear flinched and hopped off the couch, staring at the two humans in confusion. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to impose or anything.”
“No, no. Trust me, you didn’t,” Jimin said with a short laugh, shaking his head and taking Jeongguk’s empty glass to put into the sink. “I’m glad I have at least one nice neighbor. And I don’t… I don’t really know how much I can help. I’ve never known anyone with amnesia, so it’s kind of new to me. But if there’s anything I can do, Jeongguk-ssi, just let me know. Even if you just need to talk. If you need a friend.”
“Really?” Jeongguk asked incredulously, and Jimin leaned both elbows on the countertop with a nod as Bear sat obediently at Jeongguk’s feet, looking straight up at him like he was expecting a command.
“Really. New boy could use a friend,” Jimin prefaced as he waved a hand around his face, and Jeongguk grinned.
“Thanks for letting me stay for a little. And for listening.”
“I’m always here if you ever need to talk,” Jimin reiterated, and Jeongguk nodded, chewing at a chapped part of his bottom lip.
“Um, same for you,” he said awkwardly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Keep going, you’re doing well. Just finish the conversation. You can do this. “If—I can just—You can talk to me, too. About anything. Also, if you ever bake those cookies again, I will quite literally pay you for a batch. I’m not joking. Start charging.”
“Glad you liked them,” Jimin laughed. “But I’ll give you some for free. Thank you, though. It’s good to have a friend. I’ll see you around, Jeongguk. Maybe we can have dinner together one night or something.”
“No convenience store food, though,” Jeongguk warned, and Jimin nodded knowingly.
“Noted.”