Sooo, I decided to write another BTS READER INSERT because I'm trash and really shouldn't have because I still haven't finished writing 'You're Just A Kid' but this was in my brain and I just needed to get it out. And I've actually planned this one out, unlike YJAK, and it's only going to be a short one, so hopefully I'll have it done soon.
Anyway, if you like YJAK I hope you like this one too. It's quite different, but still angsty so I hope you give it a chance. I don't really write stuff like this.
So enjoy! Leave a review or fav/follow, everything is appreciated (:
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"She would grab whatever she could -a look, a whisper, a moan - to salvage from perishing, to persevere. But time is most unforgiving of fires, and she couldn't, in the end, save it all."
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns
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Y/N P.O.V
It's an interesting thing memory. So delicate and intangible that you almost forget it's part of you. A huge part at that, because what would you be without your memory? A shell that knows nothing about who they are, or what they're doing. You have to rely on other people, place your trust in them and hope they won't sway you wrong. Are they telling you the truth? What reason do you have to trust them?
You don't know them, but somehow they know you.
Your mind is a whirl of emptiness as you try to comprehend what he's saying to you. His voice breaks with tears that he's desperately trying to hold back as he tries to make sense of what has happened.
"Y/N." He speaks, his tone broken and choked. You turn to him curiously, wondering what he wants to tell you. "I'm sorry."
You're aware that you should know what he's apologising for, yet your mind is blank as to why you're even in this room at all. Blank to why he's sitting beside you. You close your eyes as he continues. There is something familiar about his voice, a feeling that puts you at ease as his tongue rolls lazily over his words. You just can't seem to place where you've heard it before.
"I should have been with you," He runs his hands over his face in frustration, letting out a hard breath. "If I hadn't been running late, I could have." He pauses. "I should have."
You hate seeing him so miserable, so you reach your hand out, wincing as the tape pulls at your skin and place it against his arm. "I forgive you."
He looks up at you, his dark eyes shining almost black with tears. "Don't."
Your eyebrows furrow together. Isn't that what he wants, to be forgiven?
He moves his arm away from your hand and you watch as it falls limply onto the sheets, no strength in you to stop it.
"Don't humour me, Y/N. It's my fault you're in here." He shakes his head again, looking as if he's battling with something. "If I hadn't gotten mad, then you wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have…" He trials off, not wanting to finish his sentence.
You wish he had, you have no idea what he's talking about.
Everything about this situation confuses you. Why did he get mad?
And why would that have anything to do with why you're here now?
You've grown accustomed to your room over the past week, the white walls surrounding you filled with small framed pictures has become your sanctuary, your safe place. The constant beep from the monitor next to you should have driven you insane by now, but you have come to find it comforting. For now it's the only constant thing in your life.
Much like him…
He's been here every day and you find it hard to think of a time when he wasn't next to your bed, constantly sobbing over broken words that he didn't know you could hear in your unconscious state. You like his voice, even though it's riddled with melancholy, you've found it soothing. You only wish you could make his pain go away. You thought maybe if you woke up, then things would be put right. But that only seemed to have made it worse. He rejected your apology, the one thing you thought you could give him. Now you don't know what to do.
You look at him, trying to figure out just what it is about him that seems so comforting. But you find nothing. You look from his light hair, an almost white blonde with a small amount of dark regrowth beginning to grow at the roots. He keeps it styled in a thick fringe that's parted off to the side, revealing some of the pale skin of his forehead. At times it falls into his dark eyes when he moves his head too quickly, you'd watch entrapped as he swept it back into place. He wears glasses you notice, thick square framed and black. And you wonder if he actually needs them or if it's just a fashion statement. You don't feel yourself leaning any particular way. You notice how pale his skin is, almost creamy in the dim light of the room, you find it oddly charming. He dresses well, colours complementing each other, from the light ripped jeans to the dark sweater and shoes.
You also notice; there is nothing familiar about the man in front of you.
"Do you think I'll be able to go home soon?" You ask abruptly, startling him.
"Yeah, the doctors say you should be fine to go home tomorrow."
You nod, understanding. "Are my parents coming to get me?
You watch his eyes widen slightly at your question. Well who else was going to take you home?
"No," He starts slowly, looking you in the eye. "You're coming home with me."
What? He can't honestly think that you would leave with him just like that. You don't know him. "What?"
"I'm taking you back to our apartment," He explains, giving you a confused look.
"Our apartment?" You repeat, testing the words out for yourself. "Are we roommates are something?"
He looks at you sternly. "That isn't funny, Y/N."
Well you weren't trying to be. How the hell does he know you? And where are your parents? They should be here, if only so they can drag this stranger out of here. The look he's giving you is so intense, that you feel the sudden urge to pull the thick hospital blanket over your face. "I wasn't trying to be funny," You mumble out instead, holding his stare.
His face turns angry at that. "Then what the hell are you trying to pull? Why are you acting like you don't know who I am?"
Perhaps you should be more cautious of his feelings; you obviously mean something to him. But you don't know who he is, and you don't feel particularly inclined to take what he wants into account. Still you could have chosen your words more carefully.
"Because I don't."
His breath hitches in his throat. You feel incredibly guilty.
~~.~~
The apartment isn't what you were expecting. Not that you had a clear picture in your mind or anything, but still it feels different, in the way that nothing about it feels familiar to you. The drive here was filled with a stiff silence that neither you nor Yoongi wanted to be the first to break. . The doctor had informed you of your relationship and you really had no choice but to believe it, yet that didn't make the situation any less awkward. You had questions for him sure, but you had no idea how to ask him without making things tenser between you. He doesn't seem angry, more confused verging on frustrated, and you have no idea how to help him. You're not even sure if you want to, you don't owe him anything
Well, nothing that you're aware of.
You stand in the large front room staring at the walls around you. There's a single shelf running half way up the expanse of one of the walls. You step closer to it, noticing how Yoongi reluctantly stands behind you; you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you take in the items in front of you. For the most part the shelf is filled with awards and pictures of Yoongi with six other boys, one photo in particular catches your eye. All seven on them are standing hands on each other's shoulders illuminated by a bright light behind them. Each is grinning as a cascade of confetti falls over top of them; you glance at Yoongi, taking in his sombre expression, a complete contrast to the photo, with interest. It's strange to see him look so happy.
You're about to ask him about the awards when your eyes land on another few photos smaller than the others. You stare at them closely, recognising yours and Yoongi's face immediately. It's an obvious couple photo; his arms are wrapped around your waist as he places a sloppy kiss against your cheek. You stare at your own face; you look so incredibly happy with your mouth stretched into a wide grin causing your eyes to crinkle as you lean into him. You continue to stare at it, trying to remember anything, but your mind continues to be a blank to everything that involves Yoongi. You step back with a sigh, your feelings conflicted.
"Yoongi?"
He hums, stepping closer letting you know you have his attention.
"Were we together?"
He tries not to react over your use of were instead of are, you still are too him, memory loss or not.
He glances at the photos, remembering each day they were taken. He smiles fondly, remembering how happy the two of you were. "Yeah."
You nod slowly, letting him know you understand. You step towards the photos again, another having caught your eye. You pick it up, staring at the man with pale purple hair grinning with a somewhat boxy smile into the camera next to you.
You smile. He's cute.
"Who's this?" You ask, showing Yoongi the picture.
"That's Taehyung," He pauses, looking at your face. "You're best friends."
You look at the picture again, your tongue rolling awkwardly over the name. "Tae-hyung."
Yoongi smiles at your slight struggle. "You call him TaeTae."
You laugh at the nickname, placing the frame back on the shelf. "Sounds like me."
Both of you are silent after that, staring at each other neither sure what to do now. You look around the apartment, realising that you've only seen this room.
"So," You begin, not wanting to make the situation awkward. "How many bedrooms does that place have?"
He stares at you silently; you desperately want to know what he's thinking. He's quiet for so long you think he's never going to answer you when he sighs walking towards the hallway urging you to follow him. He stops outside a door and pushes it open. The room is pretty bare save for a king sized bed, a desk and some drawers.
"This is our bedroom. The other one is occupied -," He stops, glancing at you quickly almost unsure how to continue, "-with, other things."
You raise an eyebrow at his vagueness. Dear god, you two don't have a kid together or something do you?
You shake your head immediately, ridding yourself of such ridiculous thoughts.
He notices your panic, and continues. "You can sleep in here, I'll take the couch."
You nod, too exhausted to try and argue with him and step into the room. You walk straight over to the bed glancing around quickly feeling out of place.
"Y/N?"
You glance up to see Yoongi still standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he looks at you.
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to take you somewhere tomorrow, if you don't mind."
The only way you can describe his expression is guarded, but from what you're not sure.
"Sure," You smile. "What did you have planned?"
He smiles slightly, though his eyes don't soften. "There are some people that want to see you."
He leaves you then, shutting the door quietly as he walks back out into the front room.
You collapse on the large bed, still feeling weak after lying in the hospital bed for weeks. You stare around the room trying to find anything that connects with your empty brain. You sigh in frustration pulling your body back off the bed and trudge over to the light switch, flicking it off and making your way back to the sanctuary of the bed. You yank off your jeans and jacket before snuggling in under the covers. You breathe in deeply the scent of espresso and leather, mixed in with something distinctly feminine that you can't quite place. You feel strangely comforted as you slip into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
Yoongi P.O.V
They had told him that your memory might be hazy after the accident, something about blood in the brain. But this was beyond anything that he had prepared for. The fact that you don't remember him at all has caused a hole to open up within him that he doesn't have a clue how to start filling.
They'd said something about traumatic amnesia. The bleeding in your temporal lobe caused by the accident caused you to loose parts of your life. Two things are certain; you remember who you are, but you don't remember him. As far as he can tell you've only lost two years, which in any other case wouldn't be considered the worst scenario, but those two years were filled to the brim with him and he has no idea how to start helping you remember.
He paces around the apartment, his feet shuffling over the wood boards that line the floor, doing his best to stay quiet so you don't here, yet still needing to do something.
He grabs his phone from his pocket, jamming his finger on a contact and holding it to his ear, almost screaming as the dial tone seems to drag on forever. He's about to hang up and throw the phone across the room in frustration when a sleepy voice answers.
"Hyung?"
He breaths in deeply, steeling himself for the words he needs to say.
"Tae…" He pauses, knowing he's about to crush his whole world. "Tae, she doesn't remember."