My best friend's name is Park Jimin. He means the world to me. I love him to the moon and back times ten. We've been as close as the sticky side of duct tape that has managed to get stuck to itself ever since my 10th birthday. We were like brothers, but then he said that he is gay... for me.

What's the last thing I remember? I drank, he told me to stop drinking, but I didn't want to. Then we ended up on the floor. I can't remember anything after that. Next thing I know I'm in my own bed, unwilling to move.

My body hurts. I was beat up at some point, no doubt. But by who? And when? Where was Jimin? Where is Jimin?

Oh wait, it's Sunday. He's at home, duh.

I groaned as I sat up, my body aching in several places. I grabbed my mobile device off of my bedside table and checked my notifications. Huh, Hyuna hasn't texted me. Strange. She always texts me. I guess I'll shoot her a good-morning-text first this time.

To: Hyuna
Good morning babe

I didn't look to see what time it was, but I'm pretty sure it's early since there's no sunlight coming in through my windows yet. Plus, the house is totally still. No one should be up yet.

Holding my lower back, I slowly raised myself up out of bed with my other arm. I can't believe I'm in so much pain. What the Hell happened to me? I hesitantly took a step forward, and then another. I felt slightly relieved that both of my legs are functioning.

I turned the bathroom sink on and splashed some cool water on my face to help wake myself up. I rested my hands on either side of the sink and looked up at my reflection. My appearance was appalling.

I raised one hand and touched the deep tear in my bottom lip. How did that happen? I turned my head to the left and observed the dark maroon bruise that spread across my swollen face. The discolouration was darkest at my jawline, close to my chin. That must be why my jaw feels so sore. I turned my head to the right, only seeing one little green bruise near my chin, the size of a bottle cap.

The skin on my back crawled as I took off my shirt; so sensitive and tender. I looked in the mirror, seeing minor greenish-yellow bruising on my shoulders. I held my breath as hesitantly turned around, the mirror reflecting my backside. I craned my head around as far as I could. My back looked horrible. There were shades of purple and blue spread all about. There were some scrapes near my shoulder blades, but nothing too serious. I had literally been beaten black and blue.

The many scrapes that have accumulated on my skin stung due to the warm water's touch. I couldn't pinpoint exactly where all it was stinging because so many places stung. I stood still for what seemed like years to allow my injuries to become numb to the water's wrath before bathing.

I squeezed blue, strongly scented shampoo into my hand and slowly massaged it into my scalp. The back of my head was a little tender, but I wasn't too worried about it. The majority of my upper body is tender, so it wasn't exactly surprising.

What did surprise me, though, was the red and blue tinged water pooling at my feet as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. Was that really coming from my head? I felt around the back of my head until I felt a large, wet scab through my hair. Gross. I need to ask Jimin if he knows what the fuck happened to me.

Even though it was Sunday and I should spend time with my family, I needed answers. My family will want answers, too, once they see my condition. This more important than making them breakfast anyways, right? I threw on a black shirt and jacket, orange beanie, a black scarf, some blue jeans, and black converse, and rushed out of the house.

Early morning stars watched over me as I walked to Jimin's house. The star I wanted most, needed most, has yet to peek over the horizon; the sun. It's so fucking cold. I cupped my frozen hands over my mouth and blew warm breath into them before shoving them deep into my jacket pockets. I picked up my pace, wanting desperately to find warmth inside his house... or maybe his arms, maybe...

I raised my fist and hit door with more force than necessary. Knock! Knock! I waited and waited and waited. I knocked again, harder. Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

There's no way he can't hear this. Well, it is possible that he is just in a really deep sleep, or has headphones on. Still, my fist pounding on their front door should be loud enough to be wake his parents. Aish!

I tried his cell phone, but that went straight to voicemail. "Shit," I muttered under my breath. Answers aren't the only thing I wanted from Jimin. I also wanted his arms. I'm injured, cold, and alone. He's not by my side and I don't know what to do. I don't care if it is Sunday. He's always by my side, always! And now I can't even fucking find him.

What if he got beat up, too? What if he risked his life to save mine and is at the hospital now?  What if- no. Jung Hoseok, stop. You're just having anxiety. You are overthinking things. I let out a loud huff before burying my face in my knees and squeezing my eyes shut.

I lifted my head abruptly and blinked a few times. I must've fallen asleep. The sun was highest in the sky, the world around me totally illuminated by bright, blinding light. That light brings warmth to this world, yet I'm still cold. Maybe I'm just cold because I'm sitting in the blotchy shade caused by the tree in Jimin's front yard.

Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared before me. I could already tell by the boy's presence that this was my best friend. I can always tell when it's him. It's like a sixth sense. I looked up at the boy who wore a dishevelled school uniform with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Why is he wearing that on a Sunday?

"What are you doing here," he asked abruptly, monotone. I was taken aback by his approach. Is this really Jimin, or am I dreaming?

I pulled my soft scarf higher on the bridge of my nose to cover up the evidence of abuse on my ugly face. "I have been waiting for you to leave your house," I answered loudly, making sure I could be heard through my scarf, "but it seems you had already left." I faked a quiet chuckle out of embarrassment. The atmosphere became awkward.

Jimin let out a giggle. "I wondered why you weren't at school," he said cheerfully as he offered me his hand. He is Jimin. The real Jimin. My Jimin. His entire demeanour flip flopped and I gladly took it as he helped me up.

As if on reflex, my arms immediately wrapped around him. I bit my lip to hold my tears back as I nuzzled my face into his shoulder. His arms wrapped around me hesitantly and patted my back. I fought back a wince with every pat, but decided not to stop him. Hoseok, you dramatic pabo! Here you were, thinking that something bad happened to him, but really he was just at fucking school... School... School?

"Why were you were at school?"

"What do you mean," Jimin pulled back and I let him go, but kept one of my hands on his shoulder, just in case he disappears again. He cocked his head to the side like confused puppy, which is really, really cute.

"Well, it is Sunday," I stated very matter-of-factly. He stood there, unchanging. I was confused as to why he was confused. It's a legitimate question, is it not?

"No, it's Monday," he clarified, mocking me by emphasising the day of the week. There is no way that it could be Monday! My arm dropped from his shoulder so I could fish for my phone in my pocket. I opened the calendar app and sure enough, it was highlighted: 'Monday.' My eyes widened at the screen. Jimin rested his hand upon my shoulder. I wince slightly. He looked into my eyes, but I didn't bother looking back at him. "Hobi, you okay?"

"Jimin, wha-," my voice cracked, a lump forming in my throat. I'm kind of worried now. What the fuck happened to me? Why did I sleep for over twenty-four hours? The phone screen timed out and went black. I closed my eyes and asked again, "W-What happened to me?"

Jimin scratched the back of his head awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. Then he replied, "Ah, well, you got drunk and passed out, so I carried you home and tucked you in bed. I told your mom that you had a dizzy spell and passed out." I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, okay, so when did I get beat up?"

Jimin's face drained of all colour. "Let's just go inside."

"Don't avoid my question."

"But I'm cold," Jimin whined like a five-year-old.

"We're supposed to be at my house this week," I argued.

"We'll go to your house later." Jimin pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. "Come on," he ushered me inside. I sighed and threw my hands up in defeat as I walked into his luxurious home.

Jimin rushed into his room and put his bag down, me in hot pursuit. I closed his bedroom door and carefully took off my bright orange beanie and thick black scarf, placing it on the floor. While he was preoccupied with getting his things out of his schoolbag, I began stripping.

With my back turned to him, I took my jacket off, and then began to slowly unbutton my black shirt. My fingers fumbled with each button, struggling to get it undone, for my hands were trembling. I'm anxious to show him, not only because I'm beat up and am afraid of his reaction, but also because I now know that he's physically attracted to me. I feel sort of awkward around him now. What if he gets a... a boner?!

I sighed and slipped the button-up off of my shoulders. "Wh-what are y-you d-d-doing," Jimin stuttered, "W-woah. Y-your back." I bet this is making him feel flustered. Oh well...

"If you think this is bad," I said in a playful tone as I turned around, "check out my face." I flashed him one of my big smiles, though it kind of hurt. Tears slowly streamed down my best friends cheeks. Why is he so torn up over me being hurt? I'm the one in pain, not him.

"H-H-Hobi, I-," he fell to his knees. Immediately, I rushed to his side and shushed him, wrapping my arms around him protectively. I couldn't just let him cry. "I-I'm so sorry," he cried.

He crawled into my lap sideways and hugged my sore neck, soaking my bare shoulder with his tears. Like a baby brother, I cradled him in my arms. He pulled his head back to examine my face. His brown eyes darted all around.

He held the unharmed side of my face in one of his small, trembling hands and carefully skimmed his other stubby thumb over my swollen bruises. I pulled my face away from his thumb. "Aish... That's sensitive, y'know."

"Oops," he retracted his hand.  His hand has been painted with bruises, his knuckles swollen. I was about to question it, but he spoke up first.  "I'm so sorry, Hyung. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I-uh... that this happened to you," he whispered.

"What happened," I paused for a moment and reworded what I planned on asking. "What the actual fuck happened to me?"

ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ 저자의님 노트 ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ

Once upon a time, when Rekishii didn't like a story he had just written, he would ball it up and throw it in the rubbish bin. Now, when Rekishii doesn't like a story he just wrote, he clicks the 'x' at the top-right corner of the window, followed by "Don't Save"

Boom.
Technology.

~ Author-nim