8

Even though Jungkook lives with his older brother, Jimin hadn't expected to run into him if they visited. But upon seeing the younger boy, he feels a shiver run up his spine as his body stiffens. He feels the heat rushing through his veins and his heart racing in his chest. He clutches his stomach to support himself.

"J-Jungkook.." Jimin breathes, his voice hitched. To everyone's surprise, Jungkook drops to the floor and bows in front of Jimin. He doesn't get up.

"Jimin-ah," He cries. "Princess, I'm so, so, sorry for how I treated you. I promise, I will never hurt you again. Please forgive me." Jimin can hear the sincerity and remorse in the younger boy's voice. His heart aches as he watches the small child in front of him. His heart aches as he remembers how close they were before things turned. His body aches as it remembers all of the things this person has done to it.

"I-I don't know, B-bun." He says, calling the boy by his old nickname, feeling his eyes filling up. Jungkook raises his head from the floor. His face is stained with tears that don't stop. Jimin feels a pang of guilt in his chest that he can't fight off. Then he realises; all of the pain. All of the anger. All of the fear. It is all something that he has wished to forget about for so long. A fresh start. That's all he has wanted. A fresh start with his old friend. He smiles at the idea and his heart starts to feel warmer. Jungkook watches him hopefully without moving from the floor. Jimin takes a deep breath.

"I forgive you."

Jungkook leaps from the floor, landing in his hyung's arms. He holds him tight, afraid to let go. Afraid that Jimin will change his mind. Jungkook knows now that he wouldn't be able to live like that. Jungkook feels JImin's thin arms reach around his back to return the embrace, softly crying into the younger boy's chest. Jungkook strokes Jimin's head. "Thank you, princess." Jimin feels a weightless surge of happiness inside of him that he hasn't known in years. At last.

/

Yoongi throws his tied body onto his bed and lies still for a moment. He tries to go to sleep but there's something bugging him that he can't place. He decides to do something to take his mind off of it, whatever it may be. Yoongi stands up and turns on a light, chasing away the comforting shadows and invading the room with colour. He picks up the guitar beside his bed. It has faded from the colour it supposedly once was and there are countless scratches on the body from the times when the pick has hit the wood too hard. Dust circles the rim of the sound chamber.

Yoongi remembers the previous owner of his guitar; his father. All of the songs the man used to play and sing to his young son, songs that now Yoongi's hands could do as mindlessly as if he were breathing or taking a step. He remembers the first time his father allowed him to pick up the guitar, and showed him how to hold his hands properly. That day Yoongi had sworn to himself that he would learn, improve. Make his father proud.

Day after day, week after week, year after year, Yoongi had practised. Bravely, he had signed up to perform in front of his school. It scared him that there would be so many people whom he did not know, but that did not matter; all that did was the fact that his dear father would see him. Only his father never came to the performance.

Yoongi remembers how hurt he was that night. Furious. Disappointed. He had planned to confront his father about it but his father hadn't come home either. He was in the hospital; there had been an accident on his way to his son's performance. That night Yoongi's anger turned towards himself for ever thinking so lowly of his father. For the first time, the boy wanted to hurt himself. And for the first time, he did.

Months passed and yet, Yoongi was given the same news every time he asked. His father was not getting better. Every day, Yoongi would visit his father. They would talk and he would bring the beloved guitar. Play their beloved songs. It seemed to ease the pain for both father and son. Yoongi realised soon after how lucky he was to have those final moments with his father.

After the funeral he had packed the guitar away, too weak to look at it but too weak to give it away. Slowly, as Yoongi came to accept things, he was able to breathe again. The guitar no longer reminded him of all of the pain and suffering. Instead, it was a window into the fabulous past that they shared together.

Yoongi smiles as he begins to play a new tune, humming along as he tries to imagine a melody for the music. When he is satisfied, he sets his phone on record and runs through the piece again, before playing it back to himself. He sways gently, listening to steel strings mix with his deep voice. He scrolls through all of his recordings until he finds the ones of his father.

At last he is able to fall asleep as the old lullabies and memories play quietly in the background.