—what if i
can't forget?

OCTOBER 4:
PARK JIMIN

==

he feels lethargic, strangely. even after that strange concoction of a protein shake mrs. kim recommended, park jimin didn't think that his four hours of sleep would affect him that much. he is proven wrong by the massive headache drilling into his brain after a few benchpresses.

jimin winces the slightest and places the weight onto the holder behind him, dabbing his pale forehead with a washcloth. he can't become so weak; his stamina was only built after years of workouts, anyway. scratching his temple with a few shaky fingers, he frowns and stares at his lap.

sighing, jimin leans back onto the firm bench and clasps the weight in his—quite frankly small—fingers, exhaling three times and pushing upwards. he stifles a silent groan as his migraine pounds harder, and after just a few more presses he drops the weight back and sits up with empty, sore lungs.

his dark eyes trail up to meet another guy staring incredulously at him, an eyebrow cocked and mouth stupidly gaping. jimin narrows his eyes in contempt.

"what?" jimin snaps. "never seen a short asian guy work out, is that it?"

the man shakes his head quickly and stumbles away with a quick, incoherent apology, and jimin curses softly under his breath. he can't help but notice just how much he's changed from four years ago.

four years ago. jimin stares at his hands, calloused with pink blisters and white scars from doing college work at twelve a.m. after long shifts. he squeezes them into gentle fists and finds them quaking with vigor, anxious to pull, rip, tear, do something because every goddamn time he thinks about four fucking years ago—

jimin shakes his head and lies back down, chest heaving against his old, big shirt. he takes the metal pole of the weight in his hands once more, wrenching his eyes shut and opening them after a long, deep breath.

"i'm not even that fucking short," he mutters through gritted teeth. after completing a set of twenty more benchpresses, he pauses momentarily to catch his breath. c'mon, park. keep going, you gotta. it's just a little more.

jimin pauses.

just a little more. the words rebound through his mind, picking away at every little memory of he and, and—and his best friend, his long gone, long dead best friend. swallowing down pent up feelings and words he wishes he could tell someone, jimin pushes up once more. and then once more. and then another.

just a little more, chim chim.

==

"i've got a concept."

those words were always the telltale sign that kim taehyung, sporadic to the core, was about to entertain those around with a seemingly insane idea. his only audience at the moment, though, was just park jimin, and the latter didn't look very enthusiastic at taehyung's words.

"here we go again," jimin sighed. he leaned back and dug his fingernails into the wood of the railing they sat on, turning to the boy beside him with an impish grin. "what's it this time? a conspiracy theory about doritos? the evolution of chocolate sticks?"

taehyung's eyes crinkled as a breathless laugh left his chapped lips, misty against the night air. he twisted his ankles over each other and nudged jimin with a sock-covered toe. "shut up! i've never talked about that."

"yeah, 's why i suggested it."

taehyung sighed and took a small sip of his soda bottle. his arms were awfully knobby and sickly, despite his natural tan skin, and it made jimin a little concerned. ever since taehyung started that damn medication, he never looked the same.

"so?" jimin prodded when his best friend didn't say anything. "what's your concept, tae?"

taehyung stayed silent for a long time. he played with the thin strands of grass he had plucked from jimin's backyard earlier and swallowed, turning to face the other. "here's a concept," he began shakily. "i...i think—" his eyebrows furrowed. "do you think i'm crazy?"

jimin stayed still for a moment. he cracked his fingers and turned to face taehyung, whose eyes were wide with nervousness and anticipation.

"chim chim?"

"that isn't a concept, tae, that's a question."

"i—i know, i just—" taehyung paused to swallow something in his throat. "it's been bugging me, because i—well, i mean, obviously i'm crazy but i was just thinking if you were starting to realize it and, and i dunno—"

"fucking christ, taehyung," jimin sighed, propping himself backwards on his hands. "you're not crazy, alright? you're not in a mental asylum, are you?"

"pretty sure my doctor is one visit away from sending me to one."

"listen, man." jimin knew this conversation would come up, and he was ready to provide the consolation his best friend needed. he understood it, anyway; no one would feel okay being told to take medication every goddamn day because you're seeing things that don't even exist.

"your hallucinations don't define you, okay?" jimin squeezed taehyung's shoulder, repulsed and quite frankly concerned at the boniness of it. "taehyungie, all those dumbass doctors don't know shit. i failed geometry and i know better than them."

"you didn't fail," taehyung laughed softly, "you got a c minus."

"yeah, well, that's a shit grade according to my professor. but listen. just 'cause you maybe see a monster here or there once in a while does not mean you're a lunatic." jimin paused from his (in all honesty, hypocritical) words, taking a sip from his lemonade and socking taehyung's shoulder lightly. "tae. you're my best buddy, okay? you're not insane. i would know."

taehyung bit his lip, eyes glassy from staring at the lights of jimin's awning for too long. "swear it? that you don't think i'm crazy, or anything?"

"i'll punch you if you say any more bullshit, kim."

taehyung finally laughed carelessly, eyes crinkling like little crescent moons and mouth stretching into a bright, squarish smile. he tipped his head back and locks of soft brown hair tickled his neck, and he laughed even harder, and then jimin started laughing and they both kept laughing, and laughing.

because we're best friends, and that's what we do.

"okay." taehyung placed his hand over his mouth to lazily refrain any more giggles (didn't work, of course, but jimin found it nice anyway). "thanks, chim chim. though you're a really cheesy loser, y'know that?"

"fuck off, tae." jimin grinned, staring at the other's trembling hands (why could he never stay still anymore?) and silently exhaled. there were so many things about taehyung that he wished he could revert back, like the massive bags under his dark eyes and the sickly veins popping out of thin skin and the occasional bruises on his knobby knees from lack of coordination.

and he'd never say it to his best friend's face, but jimin wished that taehyung's meds could actually work and get rid of his hallucinations once and for all. then they could go back. go back to all those childish memories they had as normal kids, without worrying about doctor appointments and monsters by windowsills and unhealthy medication.

jimin squeezed taehyung's arm again and asked, quietly, "want to go inside now? my mom's probably made some dinner."

taehyung shook his head, eyes twinkling, and dammit, jimin would've paid all the money in the world to keep his best friend smiling all the time like that. "nah, just a little more, chim chim. i want to watch the stars."

"the stars, huh? what a dork."

"just shut up and watch them with me, jiminie. it's just a little more."

they smiled obliviously.

taehyung was to be murdered exactly one month from that day.

==

"you don't think i'm crazy, do you?"

the words are so similar that jimin can't help but pause. he stares at mrs. kim, her hair frizzy and graying at the roots and eyes deep-set from countless sleepless nights. she bites her thin lip and clasps her trembling fingers together, eyes glued to the table.

"you don't think," her voice is shaky, "that i'm lying when i say that there were gashes on taehyung's body, do you?"

jimin steps to her. he places the groceries he bought only thirty minutes prior (damn, why does he always show up so late? it's past ten) on the table and envelops her into a hug.

"my god, jiminie," her words are garbled, choking on her own emotions, "i miss him, i miss my little taehyungie so much."

"i do, too."

"i just—it's been four years, jimin. four! what...how have the police not figured it out? how come no one gives a d-damn that my son is—is gone, is murdered and i don't even know who or what killed him—"

"hey. hey, hey," jimin tries to steady mrs. kim by massaging her tense shoulder blades, and he swallows inaudibly. "i know, i know, mrs. kim. i want him back as much as you do."

"i'm his mother," are her barely decipherable words. "i should have been there to protect him. for—for all i know, some damn beast killed my baby and i'll, i'll never even know because the detective agency is too busy p-publishing stupid magazine articles—"

"i know. i know." jimin lets the mother of his best friend sob into his shoulder, her shaky breaths the only noise in the dusty apartment, a woman deprived of everyone she's ever loved.  "i know, i—i'm angry, too."

the last words are silent, barely whispers past his lips, but he means it. he means it with his whole damn heart, because he needs to know who killed his best friend. he needs to know so he can pay the deed back.

he needs to know so he can get revenge for the boy he spent his whole childhood with.

as he drives back to his own (unfortunately nicer) apartment, jimin feels his eyebrows knit subconsciously together in something akin to determination. whoever the hell killed taehyung doesn't know what's in for them. they deprived a mother of a husband and child. they deprived himself of a best friend and companion.

he collapses haphazardly onto his musty couch once arriving and switches the television on, eyes thin from weariness. he always watches the news, nowadays. maybe it's just a subconscious thought that somehow taehyung's murder will be solved, and he'll be one of the first to know.

jimin doesn't expect to find out that a subway has exploded a few miles down from his apartment.

he doesn't expect to see taehyung's face in the news footage, either.

==