Chapter Text
The headache wasn't anything new. That old, familiar pulse, pulse, pound that reverberated in his skull. Neither was the desperate, unquenchable thirst that would keep his throat and mouth dry for the better part of the day.
Yoongi was no stranger to hangovers. He knew how to handle them, how to function when he needed to after a bender.
But knowing and doing were two entirely different things. Just because he knew how to function in the aftermath didn't mean he couldn't simply lie on the couch all morning. Maybe even into the afternoon, if he felt like it.
He would've still been pressed into the table if Namjoon hadn't jostled him awake like that, but he supposed that was for the best.
The couch was comfier, anyway. Even if Jungkook was still taking up most of it.
Part of his hungover brain was trying to convince him that this was normal. That it wasn't anything new, Jungkook being there.
The other part—the sane part, if he had to attach a label to it—kept him just cognizant enough to know when Jungkook woke up.
To listen for when he stirred.
To stop him, maybe, when he tried to leave.
Because he was going to leave. Eventually.
How he was going to do that in his current state, Yoongi had no idea.
Points for trying, I guess.
Sure...
At some point, Hoseok took Jimin and Woochang to the dance studio. Yoongi had cracked an eye open for that, just to get a quick glimpse of Jimin's expression. He knew the kid wasn't okay, but there was something about seeing that for himself that was morbidly reassuring.
Maybe he'd just wanted to see the look on Hobi's face, or the way he gave Yoongi a brief nod before leaving for the studio.
Simple reassurance.
Was that really too much to ask?
Namjoon and Seokjin left for the police station sometime after that. Yoongi wasn't paying that much attention. All he knew was that the house felt too quiet now. The kind of quiet he could only ever find in his apartment.
The kind of quiet he'd been growing to despise.
Pulse, pulse, throb.
Pulse, pulse, pound.
Somewhere, someone turned a page. Maybe a book. Maybe a magazine. Maybe just his imagination. Either way, Yoongi blinked out of the half-sleep he'd been loosely clinging to all morning.
Taehyung sat on the floor against the far wall. One of Namjoon's library books rested in his lap, but Yoongi knew he wasn't really reading it.
Another page turned, crisp and clean as it cut through the quiet.
Pulling himself up, Yoongi heaved a sigh as he leaned against the armrest.
On the other end of the couch, Jungkook lay with his arms tucked beneath his head, his eyes wide open as they studied the ceiling cracks.
Yoongi didn't waste much time wondering how long the two boys had sat awake in the same room, saying nothing to each other. After all, he couldn't blame either of them.
Things were just awkward right now.
Simple as that.
"Everyone else still gone?" he asked Taehyung. A stupid question, he knew, but it broke the silence.
A step in the right direction, or something like that.
Tae didn't give him much more than a nod.
Unable to reply to nothing, Yoongi glanced back at Jungkook.
"I'd offer something for your thoughts," he began, "but I get the feeling I can't afford them."
Giving him the barest of glances, Jungkook shook his head. Yoongi had never found the ceiling to be all that interesting, but something told him Jungkook was seeing more than a few slits in the drywall.
"Something's wrong."
Across the room, Taehyung snorted. "What gave you that impression?"
Yoongi supposed he should've been grateful that Jungkook's only form of retaliation came in the pointed glare he shot Tae... Even still, the tension in the room had thickened with one simple exchange.
Too early for this, his mind groaned at him. It's way too early for this...
"I meant," Jungkook countered, "something besides the obvious. There's something Jimin's not saying."
Taehyung's response was so deadpan, Yoongi was almost jealous. "There's a lot he's not saying."
Clearing his throat, Yoongi figured it was time to add to the conversation before the two maknaes bit each other's heads off.
"What makes you say that?" When Jungkook shot him a look, Yoongi rolled his eyes. "I mean, specifically."
This time, Jungkook shrugged, flicking his gaze back up to the ceiling. "I don't know, he just... Well, he kept texting me last night, asking if... if the truck that hit me ever slowed down. He asked if I heard any screeching brakes or tires skidding or whatever. I don't know, it was just... weird. And it makes me think there's more to the story."
Yoongi knit his brows. "Did he say anything about it last night, or was it just over text?"
"Just text. When he told me about it in person, it wasn't the same. At least, it didn't feel the same. Like he was holding back or something."
"So, he told you about it." Taehyung turned the page with enough force that Yoongi worried briefly for Namjoon's clean library record. "That's nice."
"What is your problem?" Jungkook huffed, propping himself up on his elbows. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here."
"And I'm just trying to figure out what makes you think you can walk in here and pretend like nothing ever happened."
"Didn't I just say that something's wrong? How is that pretending like—?"
The sound of the book slamming shut sliced through the room like thunder. "I'm not talking about what Jimin saw!" And just when Yoongi thought Taehyung might be revving up for a fight, he deflated, tossing the book aside as he stood up. "Never mind. It's not like you'd care anyway. And for the record, Jimin only let you in last night because you were a new face. A novelty. But if you ask me, it was stupid to come back if you're just going to leave again. He doesn't need any more of your selfish pain."
"Well," Jungkook said after a beat, his voice low and, in Yoongi's opinion, dangerous, "it's a good thing I didn't ask you, then."
Rolling his eyes, Taehyung waved a dismissive hand and turned toward the kitchen. "Whatever," he muttered. "Go walk in front of another speeding truck again, for all I care."
Jungkook was up and off the couch before Yoongi's hungover mind could process the blur rushing past him.
Grabbing hold of Taehyung's shoulder obviously wasn't as effective as Jungkook had wanted it to be because he'd barely said two words before Tae shrugged him off.
"Do you want to say that again to my face?" Jungkook challenged, trailing Tae into the kitchen.
Groaning aloud was the best method Yoongi could think of to bury his rising anxiety. The arguing continued beyond the doorframe, with Jungkook shouting one nasty thing and Taehyung clapping back with something even worse.
It would be so, so easy to escape back to his apartment. To leave them to work things out on their own… but the venom that laced every word told him this wasn’t something he could walk away from.
By the time Yoongi dragged himself into the kitchen, both boys were squared up, faces flushed with rage.
You’ve got to be kidding me…
"Hey, knock it off." He tried for loud, but his throat was scratchy and dry.
And Taehyung was louder.
"Why would he pick you when you haven't even been around, huh? I was there for him last night, right after it happened! I sat next to him when he could barely take a breath. I listened. I helped him breathe. I cared when you only cared about yourself!"
“Maybe Jimin knows that I won't just sit around listening and breathing,” Jungkook hissed back. "He knows I'll actually do something about it instead of sitting around like dead weight, reading a book that's not even mine and pretending to care."
"You take that back right now!"
His brain was moving quicker now, processing at a faster pace. Yoongi could tell by the sharpness of Taehyung's movement. And yet, as he watched Tae snatch up the empty liquor bottle and point it at Jungkook, he found himself wishing he could go back to the sluggish world of alcohol and hangovers.
"I said, take it back."
"I would if I thought I said anything that wasn't true," Jungkook spat.
Stop them.
Stop them—
Yoongi's mind screamed at the same time as Taehyung.
He heard it before it even hit the ground. Echoes of a shatter sounded through his brain seconds before glass burst across the floor.
Taehyung didn't seem to notice the explosion. He had tunnel vision for Jungkook and Jungkook alone.
Well, came the vague thought over pulse after pulse of rushing adrenaline. Enough's enough.
It all happened over a matter of seconds. Mere seconds...
To Yoongi, it felt like an eternity of moving through jelly. His only goal was to keep them apart. To keep the rage from blinding them into their next mistake.
Taehyung lunged at Jungkook, snatching up Namjoon's shot glass in the process.
One fluid motion.
Yoongi countered with speed and fluidity of his own, jumping between the two as he shoved against Tae.
A second fluid motion.
Whether it was the intensity of the moment or the fact that his brain was still trying to catch up to his body, Yoongi couldn't say. All he knew was that the pain surged up his leg two seconds too late.
His bare foot had already committed to its placement. And a downward motion, once begun, must adhere to the laws of gravity.
The shard of glass jutted into his skin before he could react. Before he could shift his weight to his other foot.
Stupid! his brain screamed at him. You knew it was there. You watched it break.
Yoongi grit his teeth together until he was certain they would fracture apart.
How could you be so stupid?
"Hyung?" He must have cried out on impact because worry had replaced all traces of rage in Tae's tone.
And suddenly, it wasn't him holding onto Taehyung, but Taehyung holding onto him.
Tae being the only thing standing between him and a nasty tumble to the floor.
The pain spread like a spark kissing a pool of gasoline. Yoongi could feel it pulsing through vein and bone, cutting open parts of him he'd never wanted to see.
He looked anyway.
Looking down and surveying the damage was better than having to stare at Taehyung's face, anyway. Something had cracked in the kid. A hairline fracture Yoongi didn't want to dissect.
"Hyung," came Tae's tight gasp. A repeat of the only word his brain could come up with at the moment, if Yoongi had to guess. "Hyung, what—?"
Moving his foot felt like painting. Yoongi had never been much good at painting, but he'd always found it calming. Satisfying.
The blood splatter painted in the shape of his footprint didn't satisfy in the same way. If anything, it made him want to throw up.
"Chair," he ground out. If he kept his jaw locked, he wouldn't cry out again. No need to scare Taehyung than he already seemed to be.
But this fear, Yoongi noted as Taehyung helped him hobble the extra foot and a half to the nearest chair, wasn't surface level. Something deep-seated had taken root in Taehyung's expression. In his dark, trembling eyes.
"I... I didn't," Tae stuttered, flicking a hand through his hair. A hand that had no right being that shaky. "I hadn't... I never meant..."
He was gone before Yoongi could stop him, dashing out of the kitchen with enviable speed.
The front door slammed seconds later, the sound reverberating through Yoongi's chest and unlocking the one thing the pain had stolen from him.
Action.
That day on the dock flashed across his mind. The way Seokjin had climbed to the top to get a better view, or so he’d said at the time.
And what he'd told them all later...
"I climbed up there so you wouldn't."
His eyes had been fixed on Taehyung then, as if keeping the boy in sight was the only way to keep him alive.
Maybe for Seokjin, it had been the only way, once upon another time.
"To keep you from jumping."
"Yoongi..." Jungkook's voice bled with more pain than Yoongi's foot. "Hyung,” he amended, voice breaking, “what can I—?"
"Go get him," Yoongi choked out.
Jungkook blinked, his lack of understanding frustratingly clear.
Tired of always having to connect the dots for everyone, Yoongi slammed his palm on the table. A show of urgency as much as it was an outlet for the pain. "Now!"
Nodding once, Jungkook ran out of the room and—Yoongi could only hope—after Taehyung.
For a long minute, Yoongi worked on catching his breath. Worked on not jumping to conclusions. Worked on keeping his mind off Taehyung and focusing on the present.
On what he could do now, and not everything that was out of his hands.
With a steadying breath, he pulled his leg up, folding it onto the chair. The glass shard sticking out of his foot was both smaller and thicker than he'd imagined. The morbid part of him wondered how much of the piece was embedded inside his skin... and how much it would really matter if he just broke off the outside piece and left whatever was still inside alone.
Infection was the swift answer to that question.
He needed to pull it out, he knew that. He was well aware of everything that would entail, which is why he found his limbs to be largely unresponsive.
His brain told him about the towels in the second drawer on the left, but his arms refused to reach for them.
His mind let him know that he shouldn't begin the extraction until he was ready with water, towels, and bandages. And yet, his body preferred to sit motionless, staring down at the wound. At the thick trails of blood that oozed slowly down his skin.
Drip, drip, dripping onto the chair, each drop bigger than the last. Thicker. Darker.
Serves you right, a voice whispered, taunting him from the black depths of his mind. It's karma for drinking so much.
The excuse that Namjoon had shared the bottle with him wouldn't hold up, he knew. Not when Namjoon had drifted off long before Yoongi had made it to the bottom of the final glass.
Drip, drip, dripping. It was mesmerizing, somehow, the sound of his life draining. The haunting plop of parts of him slipping away. Staining the wood. The chair. Seokjin's chair, not his own.
Just pull it out already.
Yoongi pushed a sigh through his clenched teeth as his fingers curled around jagged edges of glass.
He could reach for a towel later.
If he felt like it.
Bracing himself, he ticked down from five in his mind.
And pulled just before reaching one.