Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

the world had been loud when it ended. sirens. screaming. gunshots that didn’t stop. planes overhead and voices yelling into radios that stopped working before the bodies hit the ground.

but now, it was quiet. almost too quiet.

wind curled through shattered windows like it had nowhere else to go. the hallway smelled like old blood, dust, and mold trying to grow where it shouldn’t. a light somewhere down the corridor flickered and buzzed — dying, like everything else.

no footsteps.
no breath but jungkook's.

he stood still for a long time. long enough that the muscles in his legs started to ache and his grip around the handle of his bat went numb. he didn’t move. didn’t twitch. didn’t blink much. there was a crack in the wall across from him. thin, jagged, like the building itself had flinched during its final breath. he kept staring at it. not because it mattered. but because it didn’t.

he was learning that most things didn’t.

jungkook exhaled. quiet, controlled, like breathing too loud might wake something. the silence here wasn’t the comforting kind. it didn’t offer peace or rest. it hovered. it watched. he shifted his weight. the floor creaked beneath his boot and that was enough to send a ripple of cold through his chest. every sound felt bigger than it was. like the walls were listening.

the air was heavy with grief. like the ghosts of people who hadn’t even died here were still trying to crawl back through the walls. jungkook didn’t know the name of the place. maybe it had one once. a school, probably. a university. the signs were too scorched and smeared with soot to read now. he passed by a fire alarm at one point with a dried handprint smeared just beneath it. small. maybe a kid’s.

he didn’t stop to look.

time didn’t feel real anymore. it felt like days have passed since he last saw another human being.

every room he passed looked the same. broken desks, overturned chairs, someone’s jacket still hanging off the back of a seat like they were planning to return.

they didn’t.

he paused by a window. or what was left of it. jagged edges of glass still clung to the frame like teeth. outside, the sky was the color of old bruises — purple, grey, swollen with the weight of things it hadn’t let go of yet.

jungkook didn’t look long. the world out there wasn’t any better than the one in here.

he kept walking, the bat in his hand swinging gently by his side. it wasn’t much, but it was something. 

he found a door that was closed, unlike the others that were broken open. his hand hovered above the handle for a moment. it was barely hanging on — a single screw anchoring it in place, rusted and trembling. the paint on the door was chipped, flaking off like old skin, and there was something dark smudged near the bottom.

jungkook gripped his bat tighter.

the hallway behind him stayed quiet. still, he pushed forward. the hinges screamed when the door opened, dragging that awful screech through the stillness like nails to a coffin lid. the air inside was stale and thick. he stepped in slowly.

the room had no windows — just four walls and darkness. the only light came from the hallway behind him, bleeding in through the open doorway, stretching long shadows over toppled chairs and a row of lockers shoved against the far wall. the air smelled… wrong. like something had been there too long and died badly.

his boots moved without sound as he scanned the corners, the ceiling, the floor. nothing. just a room. just silence. but silence was rarely empty.

he felt it before he heard it.

jungkook turned around and dodged — fast, instinctive — just as a chair came swinging down where his head had been just a second earlier. the boy who’d held it stumbled with the momentum and crashed to the ground, the chair clattering beside him.

jungkook blinked.

the stranger on the floor stared back, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. he pushed himself up slowly, still crouched low like a cornered animal, eyes wide and untrusting. he looked young — around jungkook’s age, maybe a bit older, though it was hard to tell under the layers of dirt and exhaustion painted across his skin. his hair was a thick mess of dark curls, sticking out unevenly in every direction, like it had been tugged and twisted a hundred times out of stress. his clothes hung loose, mismatched, like they’d been scavenged off different bodies — an oversized hoodie with the logo of a university long forgotten and threadbare sweatpants that dragged slightly at the ankles. his face was all sharp lines and shadows, cheekbones prominent, lips dry and split, but his eyes… his eyes were alive.

for a moment, no one said anything. the only sound was the low hum of dying electricity somewhere overhead, the flicker of a broken light bulb, and their breath — jungkook’s steady, the boy’s uneven. jungkook’s grip on the bat stayed firm but low. he hadn’t raised it, didn’t need to. he wasn’t afraid, just… careful. always careful.

the boy was still sizing him up, hand twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for the chair again or not.

"you done?" jungkook’s voice was low. rough, like it hadn’t been used much lately.

the boy didn’t answer right away. he looked around — at the door jungkook came through, at the bat, at his face. he licked his lips, his voice hoarse. “you’re not one of them.”

“no.”

“…you alone?”

jungkook didn’t blink. “are you?”

the boy hesitated, then gave a dry, almost bitter laugh. “guess that makes two of us.”

jungkook didn't return it. instead, he stepped past him, eyes sweeping the dark corners of the room. “don’t sneak up on me again.”

there was no threat in his voice, but there didn’t need to be.

the boy didn’t get up right away. his arms draped over his knees, fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of his sleeve. he watched jungkook move — the quiet, deliberate kind of movement that belonged to people who’d been surviving too long. not a single wasted step.

“been a while since i heard another voice,” he said softly, almost to himself. “thought maybe i was the last one.”

jungkook didn’t respond. he was across the room now, dragging open a toppled filing cabinet. metal scraped against the linoleum, loud in the dead silence as he dug through the rusted drawers.

the boy scratched at a fading scab on his knuckle. “place is cleared out. i’ve been staying here for a few days. it’s... quiet. too quiet sometimes.”

another drawer. empty. jungkook tossed it shut with a sharp clatter.

“not much left. i was hoping maybe— i don’t know. batteries. medicine. something.”

jungkook moved to the teacher’s desk, kneeling beside it. the legs were bent, one side half-collapsed. he lifted the drawer gently. a broken stapler, dried pens, old papers curled and yellowed with time.

the boy shifted, pulling his knees closer. “you always this talkative?”

this time, jungkook glanced at him. just for a second — not enough to reveal anything, but enough to make it clear he was listening. then he turned back to the desk, stood up, and wiped dust from his palms.

“you should be quieter,” jungkook muttered, heading for a supply closet in the corner. “things still listen.”

the boy’s mouth opened, then shut.
he swallowed.

jungkook opened the closet door and peered in. more dust, cracked shelves, an overturned mop bucket. a rat scurried away somewhere in the dark. nothing useful. he shut it again and leaned against the doorframe, scanning the room one last time.

the boy hugged his arms to his chest. “you gonna tell me your name, or are we doing this whole mysterious stranger thing the whole time?”

a beat. “jungkook,” he said.

taehyung blinked, surprised he’d even gotten an answer. “taehyung,” he replied.

silence stretched again, but taehyung didn’t let it settle. “so… jungkook. what’re you doing out here? university’s been dead for weeks.”

jungkook didn’t pause in his movement — just kept scanning the room, eyes like a scope. “looking for the antidote.”

taehyung let out a dry laugh, the sound a little too loud in the stale air. “you really think that thing exists?”

jungkook didn’t answer immediately. his jaw tightened, shoulders rigid. when he finally spoke, it was flat. “i know it does.”

he ran his fingers along a dented metal drawer, opened it, sifted through broken pens and a crumpled surgical mask. nothing. he shut it without a sound.

taehyung crossed his arms. “i mean… i was out there for a whole week. hospitals, clinics, even an old lab. nothing.”

“they wouldn’t leave it in the open.”

taehyung raised his eyebrow. “you think it’s here? in the university?”

“no.” jungkook crouched beside an old cabinet, eyes scanning the dusty floor for signs of recent movement. “i think the government hid it. somewhere no one’s looking. somewhere quiet.”

taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed. “sounds like a conspiracy theory.”

jungkook’s voice was low, flat. “the government was working on it before everything fell. the military was running extraction points. containment zones. they were moving people, testing survivors. you think they didn’t have something?”

taehyung scoffed lightly, but it wasn’t mocking — more tired than anything. “you sound like one of those guys from the old forums. conspiracy and survival tips and end-of-the-world rants.”

jungkook didn’t answer. he stood, moved to the back wall and started scanning the shelves.

taehyung looked down at the chair still lying sideways on the floor. “well, i’ve got nothing better to do,” he said after a beat. “you’re the first human i’ve seen in days who didn’t try to eat me or scream at the sight of me. so... i’m sticking with you.”

jungkook didn’t even look at him.

“unless you’ve got a problem with that?”

he paused. then, finally, jungkook muttered, “do what you want.”

jungkook didn’t care if the guy stayed, left, or dropped dead in the hallway. the only thing that mattered was finding something useful. something that pointed him closer to the truth. closer to the cure.

he moved past taehyung without sparing him a glance, stepping over cracked tiles and scattered papers. some had blood on them. most were blank. he crouched beside a desk, shoved aside a broken monitor, and dug through the drawers. 

most of it was junk — tangled wires, dried-out pens, old receipts — but in the bottom one, something heavier shifted when he yanked it open.

his eyes narrowed.

a military-grade compass. a fixed-blade knife, clean and sharp. a half-used pack of iodine swabs. a folded campus map marked with emergency exits and labs.

jackpot.

he took the knife first, checked the grip, tucked it into his belt. then the compass. then the map. all of it was carefully, methodically stored in the small tactical pack slung over his shoulder. the iodine would be gold if he ever got scratched again.

still crouched, he took a second to study the map. his eyes traced every red “X,” every blocked hallway, every place that looked like it might lead somewhere deeper. maybe the lab levels beneath the science wing. maybe even a sealed-off bunker. universities like this had strange bones.

“so…” taehyung’s voice cut through the silence again. “you been on your own this whole time?”

jungkook folded the map and stood, still not looking at him. “yeah.” he moved to the next cabinet.

taehyung followed. “for how long?”

jungkook didn’t answer.

he wasn’t trying to be rude — it just didn’t matter. days blurred. weeks bled into each other. time was measured in rations and footsteps and the number of times he’d had to swing a bat at something that used to be human.

he heard taehyung exhale behind him, frustrated. “you don’t talk much, huh.”

jungkook didn’t answer at first. he was crouched near a desk, rummaging through a metal drawer, his expression unreadable in the low light. but then — maybe because he didn’t want to come off like an asshole, or maybe because taehyung was just too persistent — he spoke.

“no point in making small talk.”

taehyung scratched the back of his neck. “i guess that’s fair.”

jungkook kept moving, opening another drawer and digging through its contents with quick, precise hands. “i’m not here to make friends,” he added. “i’m looking for supplies. somewhere safe to crash. that’s it.”

he found a roll of bandages, wrapped in plastic. dusty, but unopened. he tucked it into his bag without pause.

taehyung leaned against a nearby table, watching him. “sounds lonely.”

jungkook didn’t respond. just kept his head down, eyes scanning.

“you don’t ever think it’d be easier... not doing this alone?”

“no.”

the answer came too fast to be a lie.

taehyung tilted his head a little, studying him. “you’re not afraid of dying?”

jungkook finally glanced at him. there was something unreadable in his eyes — not fear, not anger, not even annoyance. just… stillness.

“i’m afraid of wasting time.”

and with that, he shut the drawer.

taehyung kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, the scrape echoing in the still room. “so… what now?”

jungkook had already slung his bag over one shoulder, tightening the strap with a sharp tug. “we move,” he said.

taehyung blinked, eyes wide. “what? now? i mean— do we have to?”

“nothing left to find. and there’s no point in staying here and waiting for something to come eat us alive,” jungkook replied, giving the space one last glance. the flashlight was useless, the drawers had been cleared, and the broken chairs weren’t about to rebuild themselves. it was a dead room.

taehyung looked around like he was hoping jungkook had missed something, maybe a box of snacks tucked under a desk, or a window that didn’t feel like a death trap. he sighed. “you really don’t know how to chill, huh?”

jungkook stepped toward the door. “chilling’s how you get killed.”

taehyung made a face behind his back but followed anyway, dragging his feet like a sulking teenager. “right, right. survival first. fun later.”

jungkook pushed open the door with the edge of his sleeve-covered arm, the hinges groaning in protest. the hallway beyond was as dim and decayed as when he’d come — flickering lights, peeling paint, silence so heavy it pressed on the lungs.

he stepped out first, eyes scanning left to right, bat still gripped in his right hand. taehyung trailed behind, adjusting the strap on his own backpack and whispering, mostly to himself, “guy’s built like a tank but got the charm of a brick wall…”

“i heard that.”

taehyung smirked. “good. you’re not a robot after all.”

the hallway stretched ahead, dark and uncertain. taehyung glanced at the lockers lining the walls — most of them bent or broken open — and then up at the ceiling, where water stains formed shapes that almost looked like faces.

they walked in silence for a while, footsteps steady and careful. the building stretched around them like a hollow carcass — quiet, stale, and lifeless. not a sound beyond their breathing. no distant footsteps. no movement behind doors. no signs of anyone, or anything, still alive.

ahead, the corridor split into two. jungkook paused.

taehyung stopped beside him. “left or right?”

jungkook’s grip on the bat shifted. “left.”

“why?”

“gut.”

“solid reasoning.”

they turned left.

the corridor that stretched out before them was wider than the last, flanked by tall windows smeared with grime and blood. bulletin boards hung crooked on the walls, flyers half-torn, fluttering weakly in the stale air. lockers lined both sides, most of them dented or swinging open, a few streaked with dried handprints too red to be old rust.

“this place is huge,” taehyung murmured, his voice echoing just enough to feel wrong. “i thought it’d be just one building. this is, like... a whole damn complex.”

jungkook scanned the area; eyes sharp, breath low, ears tuned to the silence the way prey listens for the predator.

and then—

a sound.

quiet, almost too quiet to catch at first. a shuffle. like something dragging across linoleum.

they froze.

“did you—” taehyung began, but jungkook raised a hand to quickly silence him while he listens for the sound.

the sound came again, a little louder this time. wet, dragging, like feet that didn’t quite lift all the way off the floor. it was coming from behind the row of lockers near the far end of the hall.

jungkook stepped forward, bat in hand, shoulders tensed. taehyung, swallowing hard, picked up a metal rod he had found earlier and slowly followed.

a woman. or what used to be one. maybe a teacher, judging by the tattered blouse and pencil skirt still clinging to her frame. but her skin was gray-blue and blotchy, eyes sunken, lips torn to reveal blood-slick teeth. and her hands — god, her hands — were twisted with blackened veins, nails split and curling, as she lurched forward like she could smell them in her bones.

the thing let out a rasp, a low choking sound that crawled up from its throat.

then it charged.

jungkook moved fast. faster than taehyung thought anyone could move. bat swinging up with practiced precision, he caught the thing across the jaw with a sickening crack that sent it reeling sideways into the lockers.

it didn’t stay down.

it shrieked — not like a human — and lunged again, claws outstretched.

a sharp slice bloomed across jungkook’s cheek as the edge of her broken nail tore skin. he hissed, teeth clenched, but didn’t stumble. didn’t panic. he grabbed her by the shoulder, slammed her back into the lockers, and drove the bat into her skull once — twice — a third time, until her body went limp and slid down the metal like a puppet with its strings cut.

blood dripped from the bat, slow and heavy. his cheek stung.

“fuck,” jungkook muttered, wiping at the cut with the back of his jacket sleeve with a grimace. 

“are you—”

but before taehyung could finish, a sound echoed from another hallway. footsteps. more than one.

taehyung’s eyes widened. “there’s more.”

jungkook sighed, “great.”

a second infected came barreling around the corner — this one younger, faster. taehyung didn’t think. he darted forward and jabbed his metal rod at its knees, knocking it off balance. it crashed to the floor, screeching like an animal, and tried to crawl toward him, jaw snapping open and shut like a trap.

jungkook stepped in with no hesitation. he brought the bat down in one brutal swing and it hit the target. bones cracked. it stopped moving.

the hallway was quiet again, except for their breathing — sharp, uneven. jungkook’s cut trickled a thin line of red down his jaw.

taehyung leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “jesus.”

“save your breath,” jungkook muttered, already walking past the bodies.

“you’re bleeding.”

“it’s fine.”

taehyung looked at the corpses, then at jungkook’s retreating back. “...you’re kind of terrifying, you know that?”

taehyung’s voice wasn’t mocking — if anything, it sounded like a weird mix of impressed and unsettled. he glanced down at the corpse, then at jungkook’s bloodied cheek. “not just ’cause of the bat-swinging murder thing. you barely flinched. that thing scratched your face and you didn’t even blink. most people would’ve screamed. or at least cursed more creatively.”

“no point.”

taehyung huffed a breath. “you talk like you’re in a war movie.”

jungkook stopped for a second, just enough to glance over his shoulder. “you think this isn’t one?”

that shut taehyung up. for a few steps, anyway.

“i mean,” taehyung said finally, “i get it. survival mode. keep your head down, get out alive. but... it wouldn’t kill you to be a little human about it.”

jungkook’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. “i don’t have time to be human.”

and just like that, they kept walking.

they walked for another five minutes in silence, the halls stretching long and quiet around them, the only sounds their boots scuffing against the dusty floor.

“hey,” taehyung said eventually, voice uncertain. “uh… i kinda need to pee.”

jungkook stopped walking, spine stiffening like that was the most inconvenient thing he'd heard all day. 

taehyung held up both hands quickly. “look, i know. we’re in the middle of the apocalypse and all, but my bladder’s still a functioning organ.”

jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose. “make it fast.”

“yes, boss,” taehyung muttered, already glancing around for a sign. “should be one nearby. they don’t build campuses without bathrooms, right?”

they turned a corner, and sure enough, the faded lettering of a restroom sign peeked through the dust up ahead.

the bathroom door creaked open like it hadn’t moved in months, the smell of mildew hitting them instantly. dim light flickered from the single dying bulb overhead. paint peeled from the walls. the cracked mirror above the sinks was fogged with grime, too far gone to reflect anything useful.

they stepped inside together. taehyung muttered something about hoping the plumbing still worked as he picked a stall and shut the door behind him.

jungkook stayed near the sink.

he dropped his bat against the wall with a soft clunk and leaned forward, hands braced on the chipped porcelain as he stared into the mirror. or tried to — the glass was so clouded it barely showed anything, but the faint outline of his own reflection still stared back at him. hollowed eyes. blood smeared faintly across his cheek, dried into his skin. a cut just above his jawline, sharp and thin like someone had drawn it with glass. bruising beneath his left eye from a fight two days ago. or maybe three. it was hard to keep track anymore.

his black hair was a mess, damp from sweat and matted in places. his shirt torn, leather jacket stained with dust, dirt, and whatever else the past few weeks had thrown at him. but still, there was something sharp about the way he looked. something grounded. dangerous, even. beautiful from afar. violent up close.

his throat bobbed once.

he didn’t want to look at his eyes. not really. not because of how tired they looked, but because he still saw too much in them. too much memory. too much of who he’d been before.

jia, his baby sister’s laugh. the way she always tugged at his sleeves when she wanted something. how her voice got small when she asked if dying would hurt.

his mother screaming from the kitchen, throwing a plate that shattered against the wall. the way his cheating father never flinched — just poured another drink, lit another cigarette, like nothing touched him anymore.

the way jungkook learned early that silence could be a shield. and later, a weapon.

he pressed his palms harder into the sink, knuckles pale under the gloves. the blood on his face itched, but he didn’t wipe it away.

he heard it then — faint, nearly swallowed by the buzz of the dying light above — a soft sniffling. quiet, shaky. from one of the stalls at the end of the row.

taehyung was already out of his, stretching his arms like he hadn’t slept in days. he froze too, head turning toward the sound.

jungkook raised a hand slowly, sliding to the knife tucked into his belt. his boots were soundless as he crossed the tiled floor. he stopped two stalls down from where the sound was coming from.

taehyung hovered behind him, whispering, “you think it’s a—”

“shh.”

jungkook tapped the stall door lightly with the butt of his knife. not a threat — a warning.

“who’s in there?” his voice was low. not unkind, but firm. controlled.

silence.

jungkook’s jaw tensed. his fingers wrapped around the stall’s flimsy handle, barely hanging on by a rusted hinge, and gave it a slow push. the door creaked open, and before he could even get a good look—

something slammed into him.

a body. fast. desperate.

arms wrapped tight around jungkook’s neck, legs kicking out for leverage, and hands clawed blindly at jungkook’s face. fingers raked toward his eyes, wild and trembling.

jungkook flinched — the sting sharp and real — but his body snapped into motion before the pain fully registered.

his hand shot up, yanking the attacker’s arm off his throat. he twisted, shifting his weight with fluid, instinctive precision. one hard pivot — a shoulder slam — and he slammed the smaller body against the cold, cracked bathroom floor with a thud that echoed off the tile walls.

they gasped, breath knocked out of them.

it was a boy.

jungkook was already on top of him, one knee pressing down beside his ribs, body tense and ready for another hit. he pinned both wrists above the boy’s head with one hand.

his other hovered near his belt, just above the knife he’d tucked there earlier.

taehyung shouted, “whoa, whoa — wait, wait!”

but jungkook wasn’t hearing him.

he stared down at the boy underneath him — messy blonde hair, tear-streaked cheeks, mouth open in a breathless wheeze. no signs of infection, just fear.

too much fear.

his chest rose and fell like he hadn’t breathed in days. eyes wide, soaked with panic.

jungkook stared at the boy beneath him, pinning his wrists to the filthy tile floor, and for a moment, something flickered in his gaze.

the boy was smaller than him. fragile almost, but not in a weak way — more like something that had been chipped away at slowly over time. blonde hair hung around his face in messy, uneven waves, dark at the roots from weeks without dye. his lips were cracked, flushed an angry red. his eyes — deep brown — were wide and bright, even through the haze of fear.

jungkook caught himself staring.

what the fuck.

jungkook shook his head, pissed at himself, and shifted back just enough to let the kid breathe but stayed crouched — alert, calculating. the boy didn’t look like a threat now, but jungkook had learned not to trust pretty faces.

he looked about jungkook’s age. maybe younger. it didn’t matter.

taehyung hovered nearby, hands still lifted in some vague form of peace offering. the silence stretched again, broken only by the sound of dripping water from a busted pipe in the corner.

“he’s not fighting anymore,” taehyung said softly, both hands raised in mock surrender. “maybe ease up?”

jungkook didn’t budge. not yet.

the boy flinched under his stare but didn’t try to squirm away again. he looked exhausted — not just physically, but deep in the soul. the kind of tired that came from running too long, losing too much.

“hey,” taehyung said, gentler now, crouching beside them. “we’re not here to hurt you. alright? promise. we didn’t know anyone was in here. just... tell us your name.”

there was a long beat. the boy blinked fast, jaw trembling. then, in a soft, barely-there voice:

“…jimin.”

taehyung gave a small smile. “okay. hi, jimin. i’m taehyung. and this grumpy asshole is—”

“…jungkook,” came the reply, flat. he didn’t look at taehyung, didn’t look at jimin either. instead, he just stood up, rising to full height and brushing invisible dust off his hand like nothing had happened.

taehyung stood too and offered jimin a hand, which the boy stared at before taking, hesitant.

the blonde boy stayed tense, shoulders raised like he expected another blow. his eyes darted between them — wide, glassy, filled with a thousand things he didn’t say.

he looked like someone who’d seen too much.

and jungkook… jungkook understood that look all too well.

jimin’s light blue shirt hung awkwardly on him — the collar torn at the top, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a jagged, dried cut across his collarbone. it looked weeks old, the kind that had healed without ever being properly treated.

his jeans were black but faded, worn in the knees and hugging his thighs like they were a size too small. his sneakers were mismatched — one laced up tightly, the other barely hanging on — and caked with dried mud and blood.

he looked like he hadn’t changed clothes in days. maybe longer.

“you wanna come with us?” taehyung asked, voice low but kind. he scratched the back of his neck, glancing between jungkook and the boy who’d just tried to claw his eyes out.

taehyung’s eyes flitted to jungkook, who was standing just a step back, broad frame stiff with suspicion, eyes dark and unblinking. what the hell are you doing?

taehyung ignored him and looked back at jimin with a smile, waiting.

jimin didn’t answer at first. his gaze flicked to jungkook — still quiet, still watching him like he hadn’t quite decided whether or not he was a threat.

it felt reckless. maybe even stupid. but jimin figured if these two wanted to kill him, they would’ve done it already.

he shifted his weight, his fingers twitching by his sides. “…okay,” he said finally, just above a whisper.

taehyung loudly clapped his hands once, making the other two jump, one more annoyed than the other. “great! off we go.” he slung his arms around jimin, who looked a bit startled at first before easing into the touch.

a human touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

they left the bathroom in silence, taehyung and jimin walking side by side with jungkook trailing silently behind.

“so,” taehyung started, tone light, “were you, like, squatting here the whole time? or did we just catch you mid-tour?”

jimin blinked, unsure if that was supposed to be a joke. “i was hiding,” he said quietly.

taehyung nodded. “solid plan. ten out of ten. definitely better than what we were doing, which was running around like headless chickens.”

“speak for yourself,” jungkook muttered from behind.

taehyung smirked. “he speaks!”

jungkook ignored him, eyes fixed ahead looking for the closest place they could crash in for the night. 

taehyung tried again. “you a student here?”

“was,” jimin said. “first year.”

“oh damn. what major?”

“dance.”

taehyung raised his brows. “really?”

jimin nodded. “contemporary. mostly.”

“nice. i took an intro to movement class once,” he said proudly, then leaned in like it was a secret. “failed it.”

that earned a breath — not quite a laugh, but jimin’s lips twitched.

taehyung kept going. “but to be fair, i pulled my hamstring in the first week, and i’m like 90% sure my professor hated my face.”

“or your personality,” jungkook said flatly, eyes still scanning around.

“that too,” taehyung replied, unfazed. “it’s a package deal.”

jimin felt his lips twitch. he liked taehyung. the man felt like a breath of fresh air after weeks of isolation, the only company he had was the silence that stretched out for hours upon hours.

jungkook on the other hand… was strange. 

not in the obvious, “something’s off about him” way — but in that silent, storm-brewing kind of way. the kind of person you instinctively don’t turn your back on. jimin had met loud people, creepy people, reckless people — but jungkook wasn’t any of those things. he was quiet. alert. controlled. and that, somehow, was more unsettling.

and jungkook didn’t help. he hadn’t said a word to jimin since the bathroom. not even a glance. just that cold stillness, the kind that kept people at arm’s length. he was like a wild animal waiting behind its eyes. the way he moved — efficient, minimal, no wasted effort. his expressions didn’t change much either, just subtle flickers beneath the surface. if you weren’t paying close attention, you’d miss them entirely.

they passed a broken classroom — too open. an old lab — too much glass. finally, they reached a narrow hallway with old faculty rooms on either side. jungkook stepped ahead, checking each one in silence. jimin watched him, uneasy but curious.

eventually, they found it — a cramped office, maybe three by three meters. dusty but clean, a single window with the blinds still intact, and a door that could lock from the inside.

“this’ll do,” jungkook said, stepping in first to check the corners. always first.

taehyung waved jimin in. “welcome to the suite.”

jimin stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning every inch like it might vanish if he blinked. he still didn’t trust them fully, but he followed anyway.

the room was silent. jimin sat against the far wall, knees drawn up. jungkook took the opposite side, still tense, still gripping that bat like it was part of him. taehyung dropped to the middle, back against the wall and legs stretched out like they weren’t sitting in a post-apocalyptic broom closet.

for a long time, no one spoke.

jimin glanced at jungkook, curiosity winning. he noticed the dried blood on jungkook’s cheek, the way he hadn’t bothered to wipe it. the faded scar slicing through his brow. the long lashes shadowing sharp brown eyes that didn’t rest on anything for too long — unless it was a threat.

he wasn’t just guarded — he was trained. or traumatized. or both.

jimin could tell he didn’t like him. or maybe he didn’t trust anyone. the way he stood, always near the door, shoulders squared like he was ready to throw hands at a moment’s notice. and when he did speak — which was rare — it was short, clipped.

the air in the empty lecture hall was still and thick, like the world outside had stopped spinning. night had draped itself over the broken windows, shadows crawling up the walls, and the occasional distant moan of a stray infected reminded them they weren’t safe — just lucky. for now.

one knee drawn up to his chest, the other leg stretched out. he was fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve, eyes flicking between jimin and jungkook, then out toward the hallway beyond the door, as if it might fill with zombies at any moment.

“so,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “since we’re stuck here for the night… might as well get to know each other before one of us turns into a zombie and eats the other.”

jimin huffed out something like a laugh. jungkook, now sitting down, didn’t even look up — just kept sharpening the knife he’d found earlier, the steady drag of metal on metal cutting through the silence.

taehyung looked at jimin first. “you got anyone out there?”

jimin hesitated. it wasn’t a question he liked being asked. but taehyung’s voice was gentle, and maybe the warmth was enough to coax the answer out. “just my mom,” he said, eyes on the floor. “my dad left when things got bad. too much pressure, i guess.”

taehyung’s brows pulled together, sympathy softening his already tired features. “that’s rough.”

jimin nodded slowly. “i was at my dance studio when the city fell apart. we locked ourselves in for days… but eventually, one of the kids got bit. it spread fast after that. everyone either ran or turned.”

he didn’t elaborate. didn’t need to. the haunted look in his eyes said enough.

“how’d you end up here?” taehyung asked.

“i didn’t know where else to go. figured a place this big might have food, or at least somewhere safe to hide. been staying quiet, moving between rooms.”

“until you tried to claw my eyes out in the bathroom,” jungkook muttered.

jimin blinked at him. “you opened the door!”

“it was loose.”

taehyung chuckled under his breath. “could’ve been worse. he could’ve actually killed you.”

“he almost did,” jimin muttered, rubbing at his wrist unconsciously.

taehyung gave a tired laugh, then leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a second. “my turn, huh?”

no one answered, but no one stopped him either.

“i had a little brother. mom and dad too. we lived in a small apartment not far from here. when the outbreak started, they tried to board up the windows, reinforce the place. thought we could wait it out.”

his voice dipped.

“but they got in. somehow. busted the living room window one night while we were sleeping. we ran. i don’t even remember where we went, just… ran. and then we got separated.”

“i haven’t seen them since. don’t know if they’re alive. or…”

jimin looked at him, eyes sad. jungkook paused with his knife.

taehyung let out a slow breath and looked at jungkook. “what about you?”

jungkook didn’t answer right away. he didn’t like talking about it — not because it hurt (though it did), but because saying it out loud made it real. and real was dangerous. real made you soft.

he went back to cleaning the blade, eyes low.

“i was visiting someone at the hospital when it started,” he said finally.

“my sister. twelve years old. cancer.”

jimin’s lips parted, softly gasping with a sympathetic expression.

“i was just dropping by. figured i’d stay an hour, maybe two. next thing i know, the power goes out, the nurses start screaming, and people are… eating each other.”

he didn’t look up. didn’t blink.

“she didn’t make it.”

taehyung swallowed. “shit…”

the room fell silent again. the weight of loss hung between them, not quite crushing, but enough to leave their ribs a little tighter, their eyes a little heavier.

the quiet had settled again — not uncomfortable, but thick. jimin had eventually curled into himself on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. taehyung laid sprawled beside him, jacket balled up behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling like it might give him answers. jungkook, on the other hand, hadn’t moved from where he was sitting — near the broken window, legs stretched, back pressed against the peeling wall. knife in his lap, still.

then, he broke the silence.

“i’m heading out tomorrow.”

taehyung turned his head lazily. “what?”

“food,” jungkook said plainly. “we need some. and water.”

jimin lifted his head slightly, brows pinched.

taehyung sat up, propping himself up on one elbow. “are you serious?”

jungkook didn’t respond. which was answer enough.

“dude, we don’t even know what’s out there right now,” taehyung said, concerned. “you saw what happened earlier, that thing almost bit your damn face off.”

“but it didn’t.”

“yeah, but—”

“taehyung,” jungkook said, voice quiet but firm. “we’re out of food. i haven’t had water in what… two days now?”

jimin hadn’t said anything yet. he looked between them, eyes dark and heavy under the flickering emergency light still clinging to life in the hallway. finally, he spoke.

“maybe we should all go?”

jungkook’s gaze cut to him, unreadable. “no.”

taehyung furrowed his brows. “why not?”

“because it’s easier alone,” jungkook said, standing up slowly and brushing the dust off his hands. “quieter.”

taehyung stared at him for a long second. “you don’t trust us.”

“i don’t trust anyone,” he said, plain and honest.

taehyung let out a breath through his nose, like he wanted to argue more but couldn’t find the energy. jimin didn’t speak, just sank a little further into the seat.

after a beat, taehyung nodded, slow and reluctant. “fine. but you better come back.”

“i will.”

“don’t die,” jimin said suddenly. it was quiet, and his voice was hoarse, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

jungkook looked at him, slightly surprised. he looked away from jimin and pretended to brush down his jacket. 

“i won’t.”

he didn’t promise, not really. it wasn’t in his nature. but there was something in the way he said it — calm, steady, like a man who didn’t plan to go down easy. he reached down and adjusted the strap on the bag he’d taken from the hallway earlier, checking what little he had.

“we’ll find something to eat here in the meantime,” taehyung said, half-heartedly. “maybe vending machines, or…”

“rats,” jimin offered dryly.

taehyung gave him a sideways glance. “don’t joke about that. i’ll eat a shoe before i eat a rat.”

“i mean, protein’s protein.”

“you’re not helping.”

jungkook glanced back at the two of them — one sprawled out like a worn-out stray dog, the other curled up like he’d forgotten how to feel safe. he didn’t say anything sentimental. no parting speech. no take care of each other. it wasn’t his style.

instead, he just said, “sleep. both of you.”

taehyung rolled his eyes. “yes, dad.”

jimin didn’t respond. just rested his chin on his knees and stared at the floor.

jungkook sat back down. he wasn’t leaving yet — morning was still hours away — but his mind was already out there in the dark, mapping exits, counting breaths, planning routes like a soldier preparing for war.

he didn’t want to go.

he needed to go.

because hunger killed slower than zombies — but it killed all the same.

the sky was still dark when jungkook left.

not completely black — the kind of blue that creeps in just before the sun starts to rise. not enough light to feel safe. not enough dark to stay hidden. it was the in-between, and jungkook liked the in-between. most people didn’t move until daylight. most infected didn’t stir until they heard something worth chasing. if he was careful, he could slip through the city before either side noticed he was there.

his boots were quiet against the concrete as he moved across the cracked pavement outside the university building. the cold wind carried the scent of smoke and damp rot — the kind that had settled into every inch of the city since things fell apart. broken glass crunched softly beneath his heel.

there was an old pharmacy about six blocks east, tucked behind a row of collapsed apartment buildings. he remembered passing it a week ago. maybe longer. it looked mostly untouched, but that didn’t mean much. sometimes people avoided places for a reason.

the streets were a graveyard. cars left with doors open, bags spilled across sidewalks, jackets caught in fences like someone had been yanked clean out of them. jungkook didn’t stop to stare. he’d seen all this before. the aftermath was always the same. the only thing that changed was how many days it’d been since someone added to the wreckage.

he walked quickly but carefully, keeping close to walls and ducking into shadows when the wind picked up. the bat he held was starting to show its age — blood caked in the grooves, the grip worn down to the bare handle — but it still felt good in his hands. reliable. better than most people.

a low groan echoed from somewhere behind a pile of broken mailboxes. jungkook stilled. waited.

nothing.

probably just the wind. or something already half-dead finishing the job.

he moved on.

about three blocks in, he found a body that hadn’t finished rotting. a woman, maybe thirty, face down in a pool of something that used to be red. her wrist was bent the wrong way. there were teeth marks on her shoulder.

he turned a corner and finally saw the pharmacy’s weather-beaten sign poking out from a collapsed billboard. the building still stood, barely, but one side of it looked like it’d taken a hit from something heavy. maybe a truck. the windows were gone, but the front door was still hanging on its hinges.

about three blocks in, he found a body that hadn’t finished rotting. a woman, maybe thirty, face down in a pool of something that used to be red. her wrist was bent the wrong way. there were teeth marks on her shoulder.

he turned a corner and finally saw the pharmacy’s weather-beaten sign poking out from a collapsed billboard. the building still stood, barely, but one side of it looked like it’d taken a hit from something heavy. maybe a truck. the windows were gone, but the front door was still hanging on its hinges.

he approached, slow and quiet, stepping over bricks and glass. the silence here was heavier than before. like something was holding its breath. waiting.

jungkook reached for the door, nudged it open with the tip of his boot, and stepped inside.

the place was mostly ransacked. shelves were overturned. boxes split open. pill bottles scattered like someone tried to take everything and ended up with nothing. but there were a few drawers behind the counter that looked untouched.

he made his way over, keeping low. every step creaked. the wood was soft with water damage, like the floor itself was starting to rot.

he crouched, started checking drawers. found a pack of bandages. a sealed bottle of alcohol wipes. one lone protein bar, expired but still intact. he shoved everything into his bag without thinking. it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

then he heard it.

not a groan. not a shuffle. something smaller. a hiccup.

jungkook froze.

he rose slowly, eyes scanning the corners. there was a door in the back. probably a supply room. it was half open, and just beyond it, a shadow moved.

he gripped the bat tighter.

a child stepped out.

she couldn’t have been older than eight. dark hair matted to her head, face streaked with something black and dry. her clothes were torn, oversized, stained in places. one of her shoes was missing. her right foot dragged slightly with every step.

she wasn’t snarling. not yet. just… looking at him.

and for a second, he hesitated. a flicker of something twisted in his chest. familiar.

his sister had been small like that. small, and pale, and tired all the time near the end. he remembered brushing her hair once in a hospital room that smelled like bleach and sadness. she had told him she wasn’t afraid. she lied.

he blinked hard. shook it off.

the little girl took a step closer. her head tilted. her lips twitched.

and then she lunged.

jungkook moved on instinct, but it wasn’t clean. he faltered. just a second, just long enough for the hesitation to punch through his gut like a blade made of guilt. she was too fast for a kid. too light. her hands reached for him with fingernails like broken glass and a mouth already beginning to open wider than it should.

he stumbled back, breath catching in his throat. not fear. just the ghost of a memory — a hospital room, a child’s laugh, the sound of an iv drip tapping time into sterile silence. he blinked it away. now wasn’t the time.

she lunged again, and this time he didn’t flinch.

he swung the bat with a grunt, the weight of it cutting through air and crashing into her shoulder with a sickening crack. it sent her sideways into the wall, her small body thudding against the tile, but she didn’t stop. her head jerked up — wrong, twisted — and she charged again, a strangled growl pouring from her throat.

he met her halfway, drove his boot into her chest to knock her back, and when she hit the ground, he didn’t wait. didn’t breathe. just lifted the bat again and brought it down hard, once — twice — three times, until everything went still.

his arms trembled, heart beating a thousand miles.

he stared down at her. her tiny fingers. the curve of her jaw. the ribbons in her hair, caked with blood. she could’ve been anyone. she could’ve been her.

he clenched his jaw until it hurt, shoved the thought down so deep it couldn’t resurface. then he turned away — no hesitation, no second glance — and went back to digging through drawers and scattered cabinets. guilt scratched at the edges of his mind like a voice behind a locked door, but he shoved it down with the rest of the things he didn’t have time to feel.

this wasn’t the time. wasn’t the place.

he had a job to do. he needed to find more supplies. he needed to survive.

the bag on his back was heavier now. better supplies than he’d hoped for. water. gauze. painkillers, probably. maybe antibiotics. maybe nothing. didn’t matter — it was more than they had before.

he took one last look around the shattered room before stepping out.

the sun had sunk lower, bleeding through thick clouds like it was trying not to be noticed. shadows stretched long and crooked across the street, bending around corpses and rusted metal like they were part of the wreckage. jungkook moved through them without a sound.

he kept to the sides of buildings, slipping between cars, ducking into alleys with eyes sharp and bat ready. every movement was practiced. precise. his ears picked up everything — the clink of broken glass, the creak of metal under its own weight, the wind dragging someone’s forgotten coat across the pavement.

nothing living. nothing dead. just empty.

he passed the body again. the woman. still there. still bent wrong, still leaking something brown and dry into the sidewalk. he glanced at her for half a second this time. less.

she could’ve been someone’s sister. someone’s mother.

he pressed his lips into a thin line and didn’t look back.

as he walked, his mind went quiet — not empty, just… quiet. like the noise had finally given up screaming and settled for whispering instead. it was the part of the run where he let himself feel the weight of what he’d done. not enough to break. just enough to remember.

the kid.
the blood.
the hesitation.

and the worst part — the way it felt normal now.

his grip tightened around the bat.

he could see the university in the distance, broken windows catching what little light remained. the side entrance was still blocked like they left it, metal cabinet braced against the door. untouched. safe — at least for now.

the weight on his back pressed into his spine with every step, but it was the ache in his chest that dug deeper.

jimin woke to the sound of taehyung snoring.

he blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the faint light bleeding in through the curtains someone had haphazardly pinned back up the night before. the room smelled faintly of dust and something damp, like water had seeped through the walls years ago and never fully left.

his neck ached.

he’d fallen asleep curled up on the floor, back against the far wall. his legs were sore and his mouth was dry. but he was still here — breathing, blinking, thinking — and that counted for something.

taehyung shifted nearby, letting out a soft groan as he rolled onto his side. his hair stuck out in every direction, flattened on one side, fluffed on the other. jimin watched him for a moment. he looked younger in his sleep. softer. the lines that tension had carved into his face yesterday were gone now, replaced with something almost peaceful.

the early light coming through the dusty windows caught the strands of his dark hair, casting them in a soft bronze glow. it was longer than jimin had expected — thick and tousled, falling over his forehead in messy waves like he hadn't touched a comb in days, which, realistically, he probably hadn’t.

jimin glanced toward the door, still shut and blocked the way jungkook had left it.

jungkook.

gone before either of them woke up, without a word or a look back.

jimin wasn’t surprised. the guy radiated distance like it was a weapon. always had that unreadable expression, eyes like steel, movements sharp and deliberate. he hadn’t said more than five full sentences since they met. jimin didn’t even know if he could say more.

still… he’d gone out there. alone. for them.

strange. that was the word that jimin used to describe him before.

he remembered how jungkook knelt by the door last night, one hand twisting a length of wire he'd pulled from the broken AV console, lacing it through the door handle and the lock. he’d tightened it with practiced fingers, like he’d done this a hundred times before. like he’d survived long enough to know that even locked doors weren’t good enough anymore.

there was something about the way his eyebrows knit together when he was focused. the slight curve in his nose. the way his jaw flexed when he tied off the wire.

the low emergency lights cast long shadows across the floor, just enough to highlight the curve of his biceps as he pulled the wire taut. his shirt — a dark, faded thing — stretched a little at the arms, clinging to his frame. he was built like a weapon. lean muscle wrapped around bone, not bulky, but efficient . 

his shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, everything about him sharp and symmetrical. there was dirt smeared across the side of his neck, and blood dried against his cheek, but it didn’t make him look messy — it made him look real. like a person pulled straight from the grit of a survival story.

and jimin… didn’t know whether to be afraid or fascinated.

probably both.

he shook his head, cheeks warming despite the chill in the air.

the guy had barely said a dozen words to him since they met — and yet here he was, taking up more space in jimin’s brain than any rational stranger should.

and he was a stranger. dangerous. unpredictable. maybe even unstable. jimin had seen people snap. had seen friends turn into monsters before the virus even touched them. strong men weren’t always safe men.

taehyung snorted himself awake, startling jimin.

jimin blinked as the other boy groggily sat up, hair plastered to one cheek, eyes squinting against the dull light. he looked around like he couldn’t remember where they were for a second, then scratched the back of his head and sighed.

“you’re alive,” jimin said.

“barely,” taehyung mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “my back feels like i slept on bricks.”

“that’s because you did.”

taehyung blinked at him, then slowly looked down at the floor beneath him, then back up. “huh.”

jimin huffed a breath, something akin to a laugh, shaking his head.

taehyung looked around the room, “he’s not back yet?” he asked after a beat, gaze flicking to the door.

jimin shook his head. “no.”

taehyung shifted where he sat, one leg tucked under the other, his elbow resting lazily on his knee. the dim gray light filtering in from the cracks in the boarded window gave everything a muted blue cast, like the world was trying to pretend it was still normal outside.

his gaze drifted, until something caught his eye — a sliver of silver peeking out from beneath the cuff of jimin’s sleeve. it shimmered faintly whenever jimin moved, subtle but persistent, like it had no business being that clean in a world so dirty.

“what’s that?” taehyung asked, tilting his head as he nodded toward it. “on your wrist.”

jimin blinked and glanced down instinctively, as if he didn’t realize it had been showing. the movement of his hand was small, but telling — fingers curling inward, tugging the sleeve down with a quiet kind of hesitation.

“just a bracelet,” he said quickly, like he hoped that would be enough.

taehyung didn’t push, but his eyes stayed there, waiting.

jimin shifted in place, then let out a breath through his nose. he looked down at his wrist again, fingers brushing over the silver band slowly, like the act itself was some kind of ritual. something sacred. something that grounded him.

“it’s from my mom,” he said, this time quieter. “she gave it to me when i turned sixteen.”

his tone didn’t crack, but there was something underneath the words. weight — like it meant more than he was letting on. like it was one of the few things left in the world that still felt like his .

taehyung nodded once, slow and understanding. the silence between them settled in for a moment before taehyung spoke again, softer this time.

“what happened to her?”

jimin stiffened.

“i didn’t mean—” taehyung started quickly. “i just… you said she was the only one you had. i was thinking about it. that’s all.”

“it’s fine,” jimin said, but his voice had changed — thinner now, the edges sharper. for a long moment, he sat still, hands folded in his lap. he stared down at the scuffed floor, at the torn hem of his shirt. his fingers twitched once, then stilled.

“was she strict?” taehyung asked after a moment. “my mom used to hit me with her slipper when i came home late.”

jimin smiled. “mine used guilt like a sword. ‘go ahead and skip dinner if you want, i’ll just eat alone. again.’”

taehyung laughed, and it made the silence in the room loosen a little. jimin let the sound sit for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. “she’s strong. stronger than me.”

he didn’t mean to see it, but he did — the image coming in like a slow, creeping fog.

his mother in the doorway of the dance studio, hair tied up, arms crossed. the look on her face that day when she realized he hadn’t made it home again, too many rehearsals, too little food in his system. she hadn’t yelled. she never yelled. just looked at him like she was memorizing the shape of him. like she was bracing herself for something she couldn’t stop.

“she used to come to every recital,” jimin said, voice lower now, eyes fixed on a crack in the wall. “even when she had work. even when she was tired. always sat in the same seat.”

taehyung didn’t say anything, just listened.

“last time i saw her,” jimin swallowed, eyes shiny with unshed tears, “was the day this all started. i was at the studio, and… i never made it home. i don’t know if she’s alive. i don’t know if she—”

his voice cracked, just a little. barely noticeable.

he cleared his throat.

“i don’t know anything.”

taehyung reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out something small and round — a single, half-melted candy. “here. in case you start crying or something.”

jimin looked at him, deadpan. “really?”

taehyung shrugged. “look, it’s either that or i pat your head awkwardly. figured this was less weird.”

jimin rolled his eyes, but he took the candy anyway.

it tasted like orange. fake orange. like the kind they used to hand out at dentist offices or stuff into birthday piñatas. jimin let it dissolve slowly on his tongue, leaning his head back against the cold wall behind him.

taehyung was quiet now, eyes closed, legs stretched out like he was trying to sink into the floor.

after a while, jimin spoke. “you said you had a family.”

taehyung didn’t open his eyes. “mm.”

“what happened?”

there was a pause.

then: “we lived in an apartment near the han river. top floor, tiny balcony. always smelled like garlic because my mom cooked too much. and my sister kept trying to raise a cat behind her back. when the outbreak started, we stayed inside. thought maybe it’d pass, you know? like the news would say everything was under control, and we'd go back to eating dinner in front of the tv.”

he laughed a little, but it didn’t sound like a joke.

“it didn’t pass.”

jimin’s chest tightened.

“a few got into our building. broke through the windows. i was the only one near the fire escape.” he rubbed a hand over his face. “i didn’t see what happened. i just ran.”

“you don’t know if they—?”

“no.”

“...i’m sorry.”

taehyung finally looked over at him. “you don’t have to be. you didn’t start this mess.”

“still.” jimin’s voice softened. “running doesn’t make you a coward.”

taehyung let out a shaky breath, something stuck between a laugh and a sigh. “yeah? you’d be surprised what it feels like.”

they both went quiet again. not uncomfortable. just… spent.

after a moment, taehyung tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “do you think we’re all just pretending to hold it together? like deep down, we’re all two seconds away from losing it.”

jimin shrugged. “probably.”

“makes me feel better, honestly.”

“why?”

“because if we’re all losing it, at least we’re not alone.”

jimin smiled, just a little. the kind of smile that barely moved his mouth but softened something sharp in his eyes. 

“poetic,” he said.

taehyung scoffed. “i’ll add it to my autobiography. title it ‘how not to die in the apocalypse: emotional damage edition.’”

that got a real laugh out of jimin. small, but it left his chest lighter.

taehyung turned his head and blinked at him like he hadn’t expected the sound. “you have a nice laugh,” he said softly.

jimin flushed, caught off guard by the sudden compliment, “thanks.”

taehyung stretched out his legs, side-eyeing him with a grin, “if we weren’t in the middle of the end of the world, i’d totally ask for your number right about now.”

jimin snorted, more amused than flustered this time. “are you flirting with me?”

taehyung shrugged, “i mean, we might all die today. you want me to hold back?”

“you always flirt like this?” he asked, dry.

“only with pretty boys who look like they could kick my ass if they tried.”

jimin rolled his eyes, cheeks slightly flushed, but he was genuinely smiling. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but charming,” taehyung said again, smug.

“debatable.”

this time, the silence felt different, like something between them had slightly shifted. it was like some ice had cracked — not melted, but enough to let a bit of warmth in. 

unfortunately, the silence didn’t last long.

a sound — soft at first. a brush of weight against the hallway floor.

then came the creak of the doorknob.

they froze.

jimin’s breath hitched, blood turning to ice as he turned toward the sound, heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. the handle twisted, slow, deliberate.

jimin bolted upright, heart leaping into his throat. taehyung jolted beside him, hands already scrambling for the broken leg of a chair.

the sound came again — slow, careful. deliberate.

someone was trying to get in.

jimin didn’t think, didn’t wait. he grabbed the nearest chair — half rusted, dented, legs uneven — and flung it at the door just as it cracked open.

a blur quickly moved past the doorframe, and the chair slammed into the wall with a teeth-rattling clang , ricocheting off the edge and toppling to the floor.

the person on the other side ducked just in time, and then stepped into the light.

jungkook.

he stood there in the doorway, dust-covered and blood-streaked, shirt ripped. his eyes were wide in disbelief, shoulders were tense. his gaze landed on the chair on the floor. then on jimin. then back on the chair.

no one said anything.

jungkook blinked once. twice. then muttered under his breath, “what the fuck?”

taehyung let out an embarrassed squeak. “i— i thought— we didn’t know—”

“you tried to kill me with a chair? again? ”

“in our defense,” taehyung said, raising a hand, “you’ve got kind of a dramatic entrance. door creaking, heavy footsteps, silence. it’s very suspicious.”

jungkook looked at jimin, who looked like a child waiting to be scolded for something he did. jungkook gave a long, tired sigh, all fight leaving his system.

“sorry,” jimin mumbled, cheeks burning.

jungkook didn’t answer. just limped a few steps into the room, shut the door behind him with a dull thud, and dropped his bag onto the floor with a heavy thunk. he then walked to the corner, sat down like nothing had happened, and started unpacking the stuff he risked his life to get.

taehyung leaned in toward jimin, whispering behind his hand, “we’re totally gonna be his villain origin story.”

jungkook coud hear them mumble something, but he paid them no mind. he started pulling things out: two protein bars, still sealed. a half-sleeved bottle of water, slightly dented. another, unopened, probably found somewhere that hadn’t already been picked clean. there was a bottle of antiseptic and a handful of bandages too, some folded gauze, the edge of a broken pair of scissors poking out of a pocket. it wasn’t much. but to them, it might as well have been gold.

he didn’t say anything, just set them down between the three of them like a dealer at a poker table, then leaned back against the wall and finally exhaled.

taehyung whistled low under his breath. “damn. didn’t think you’d actually make it back.”

jungkook didn’t reply. he picked up one of the protein bars and tossed it toward taehyung without a glance, then slid the other across the floor until it stopped just in front of jimin’s feet.

jimin hesitated for a second before picking it up, unwrapping it slowly. he looked at jungkook once, almost unsure whether to say something, but the older boy was already leaning back against the wall, jaw tight and eyes distant, like he was somewhere far from this room.

“thank you,” jimin said quietly, barely above a whisper.

jungkook merely gave him a nod.

they ate in silence, or close to it. the sound of wrappers being peeled open and brittle bars breaking filled the space, small noises that felt louder than they were. the bars were dry and tough to chew, barely edible, but none of them complained.

the water was passed around next. jungkook unscrewed the cap and handed it to them. taehyung took a few careful sips, then passed it to jimin, who drank a little slower. the plastic bottle felt light in his hands, far too light for the amount of thirst weighing down his throat, but he knew better than to drain it. he handed it back to jungkook, who took a single sip — not even enough to wash down the dust in his mouth — before capping it again and slipping it back into his backpack.

"we're gonna need to stretch what we have," jungkook said, "next time might not go this well."

taehyung nodded in agreement. their stomachs weren’t full, not really, but it was something, and for now, that was enough. jimin glanced at jungkook again, catching the way his chest rose with a tired breath, how his shoulders sagged just slightly once the pack was zipped up again. there was blood dried at his temple and dirt along the curve of his neck, but he hadn’t complained once since walking through that door. not about the pain, or the weight, or nearly getting hit by a chair. again.

jimin wanted to ask about what had happened out there, but one look at jungkook — the way his eyes had gone distant again, the way his mouth was set like a door locked from the inside — told him not to.

so jimin didn’t ask.

instead, he sat quietly, legs drawn close to his chest, picking at the corner of the empty protein bar wrapper in his hand. taehyung had gone to the far end of the room, trying to fluff what was left of an old hoodie into something resembling a pillow.

“wake me up if anything tries to eat us,” taehyung mumbled, curling on his side with a dramatic sigh. “or if jungkook decides to strangle me in my sleep.”

jimin quietly giggled, amused despite everything, but the sound faded when he noticed jungkook looking at him.

he was just… watching him. his gaze lingered, thoughtful in a way jimin couldn’t read, like he was trying to figure something out. there was a shift in his eyes, subtle but clear, as if something had cracked open behind them for just a moment.

and jimin didn’t know what to make of it.

jungkook didn’t avert his gaze right away. he just stayed there, still and unreadable, something flickering behind his expression that didn’t quite make it to the surface. then his brow twitched, and just like that, he looked away. like whatever passed through his mind had been shut down before it could take shape.

he shifted slightly, turned his face toward the wall, as if the peeling paint might be more interesting than the people sharing the room with him.

jimin, still and watching, tilted his head. curious.

there was something strange about him. not just the silence or the bruises or the way he moved like someone who’d been surviving for a long time. jungkook looked like someone who didn’t know what to do with people anymore. like connection had become foreign.

“why don’t you take a picture?”

jimin’s heart flipped sideways. he looked away fast — too fast. like he’d been caught doing something illegal. his shoulders tensed as he pretended to care very deeply about a crack in the wall that absolutely didn’t matter.

the silence stretched. taehyung was already half-asleep, breathing even and slow. outside, the wind had picked up again, whistling through whatever cracks it could find in the old university walls.

jimin glanced at jungkook out of the corner of his eye. he looked tense, even now. jaw tight. shoulders stiff. 

he shifted a little closer, voice quiet but not timid.

“jungkook?”

no answer — not even a glance.

“can i ask you something?”

a beat passed.

then a sigh. jimin took it as permission.

he hesitated, fingers curling around the fabric of his sleeve.

then asked, “why are you so… tense all the time?”

jungkook blinked once. slowly.

“what?” he asked, like the question didn’t make sense in the context of a post-apocalyptic bathroom.

“you’re always tense and pissed off. like…” jimin tilted his head, trying to find the word. “...like someone’s dragging nails down your spine.”

jungkook looked at him. really looked. his eyes scanned jimin’s face as if trying to figure out whether he was mocking him, pitying him, or just annoyingly observant.

“we’re living in a hellhole,” jungkook said finally. “forgive me for not being sunshine and rainbows.”

jimin didn’t flinch. “that’s not what i meant.”

jungkook let out a breath, rubbed a hand across his jaw. there was stubble there now, faint but rough. a shadow of a beard that suited the hardened angles of his face.

jungkook knew exactly what jimin meant — and he hated it.

hated the way the boy saw through him like glass. hated how casually he said it, like peeling back jungkook’s layers was just a way to pass the time. jungkook didn’t let people in. that wasn’t a rule. it was instinct. survival.

and yet… here was this stranger. this blonde-haired, wide-eyed, nerve-poking dancer who looked like he’d been through hell and still somehow had softness in him. still had the nerve to try and understand someone like jungkook.

he didn’t like it.

not one bit.

“you got a habit of saying shit like that to strangers?” jungkook asked finally, voice low.

jimin blinked. “what, calling it like i see it?”

jungkook shifted his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “calling it wrong.”

“so i’m wrong,” jimin said, raising an eyebrow. “fine. what am i wrong about?”

jungkook didn’t answer.

because he wasn’t wrong.

he just shouldn’t have been right.

jimin blinked up at him. “you don’t scare me, you know.”

jungkook’s eyes snapped down to him. “wasn’t trying to.”

“good. ‘cause it’d be a waste of time.”

the edge in jimin’s voice surprised him. he didn’t say it like a taunt. he said it like a fact. like someone who’d already been scared by real monsters and knew jungkook wasn’t one of them. 

“just sleep jimin,” jungkook muttered tiredly.

“why?,” jimin asked, softly. “why do you shut people out?”

jungkook scoffed. “you think you know me after, what, a day?”

“no,” jimin said easily. “i just know what it looks like when someone’s afraid of being seen.”

that hit harder than it should have.

jungkook looked away, lips twitching into something too bitter to be a smile.

“you talk too much.”

“you talk too little.”

jungkook felt a strange, creeping sensation, like a knot forming out of nothing. he didn't know what it meant or where it came from. it wasn't fear. it wasn't anger. but it didn’t feel safe, either.

jimin’s eyes were dark in the low light, full of something unreadable — not pity, not judgment. curiosity, maybe. patience. something softer than jungkook knew what to do with.

and jungkook hated how warm it made his face feel.

he looked away first this time, jaw clenched like he’d just lost a fight he didn’t know he was in.

“you don’t have to tell me anything,” jimin said, voice quieter now. “i just… get it. sort of.”

“get what?”

“when people leave. or don’t stay. or when you realize the ones who were supposed to protect you were the ones hurting you the most.”

that stopped jungkook cold.

for a second, he couldn’t breathe. his ribs squeezed inward, chest tight with something old — something that lived in the spaces between his scars and the memories he refused to touch.

alcohol on breath. raised voices in the other room. his mother’s eyes when she finally stopped crying — that hollow, resigned silence.

the sterile smell of the hospital. his sister’s hand, always too cold.

he shook his head.

“you don’t get it,” he said, harsher than he meant to.

jimin didn’t flinch. didn’t push. just clenched his hand that was resting beside his head. 

“okay,” he said.

and for some reason, that hurt more. for the first time in a long while, jungkook wanted to say more. but he didn’t know what. he didn’t know how. his throat felt thick and dry.

he didn’t say anything. instead, he leaned back against the wall, jaw tight, eyes fixed on a spot near the corner of the room that didn’t really matter.

“you should sleep,” jimin said softly.

jungkook’s eyes flicked over to him, skeptical.

“you already did the supply run and the whole getting almost mauled part. it’s your turn to rest. i’ll keep watch.”

jungkook looked like he was having an inner battle with himself, deciding whether to trust jimin’s word or not. and jimin didn’t blame him one bit. they were strangers, they had no reason to trust each other.

jungkook didn’t answer. the thought of closing his eyes while two strangers sat a few feet away made every instinct in him lock up. but his muscles were lead, his eyelids heavier than they’d been in days. if he didn’t stop, even for a little, his body would make the choice for him — and it’d happen somewhere far worse than here.

he hated it. hated that they were his only option. hated that trusting them, even for a few hours, might get him killed. but the truth was simple: keep going like this and he’d burn out, and the dead would finish what the world started.

“…fine,” he muttered.

he shifted against the wall, folding his arms over his chest like armor. his gaze lingered on jimin for one last, measured second before he let his eyes close.

the room was quiet, save for the faint hum of wind against the broken windows. footsteps, breathing, the scrape of movement — he listened for all of it, even as the edges of his awareness began to blur.

he didn’t know if he’d actually sleep. maybe just hover in that space between awake and gone. long enough to get his strength back. long enough to make it through tomorrow.

either way, morning would come. and when it did, he’d be ready to move again.

if he doesn’t get murdered in his sleep.

the wind cut through him like it carried teeth. sharp, damp, and heavy with the smell of salt and rot, it filled his lungs until breathing felt like swallowing something spoiled. the sky above was colorless — not gray, not white, just an absence of anything.

black stone spread under his feet, slick and jagged, forcing him to keep his balance with every step. the ocean below churned, but the sound was wrong — slow, deliberate thuds against the cliff face, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

and then he saw her.

his sister stood at the cliff’s edge, a frail shape in a thin hospital gown that clung to her like wet paper. the hem fluttered against her bare legs, her toes gripping the edge of the rock like they belonged there. a knit beanie sat crooked over her bald head, strands of hair slipping free in wisps.

his chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“jia,” he called, his voice breaking halfway through. it sounded small in the vast emptiness, swallowed almost immediately by the wrong wind.

she didn’t turn at first. just stood there, swaying slightly.

when she finally looked over her shoulder, he almost stumbled. her cheeks were hollow, eyes too large for her face — eyes that used to be so bright. her lips cracked as she smiled, and something deep inside him twisted in panic.

“you let me die.”

the words crawled into his ears, soft but sharp, like they’d been waiting to be said.

“no—” he stepped forward, or tried to. his legs felt heavy, like the stone had grown hands to hold him in place. “i didn’t—”

“you weren’t fast enough.”

her voice deepened on the last word, as if another voice spoke over hers.

he shook his head hard. “that’s not— i tried, jia, i—”

but she kept smiling. the corners of her mouth tore slightly, dark lines creeping across her skin.

“you didn’t save me.”

a piece of the cliff crumbled beneath her bare feet, vanishing into the restless sea. she didn’t move back.

“come with me,” she said, lifting a trembling hand.

his chest ached. it was the same hand he’d held in that hospital bed, the same one he’d squeezed when she’d been too weak to speak. his throat burned as he reached for her.

the stone beneath him felt alive, trembling under the weight of the wind and the churn of the black sea below.

“jia!” his voice cracked, raw and panicked, tearing out of him before he could think.

she turned her head just enough for him to see the smile — soft, almost gentle, and so horribly wrong on her sunken face.

then, without a word, she bent her knees and pushed off the cliff.

his chest seized. “NO!” he lunged forward, arm outstretched, the taste of salt and iron flooding his mouth.

his eyes snapped open.

his breath tore in and out, sharp and shallow, chest slick with cold sweat. the dark room pressed around him, the silence too heavy, too still. for a second he didn’t know where he was, the echo of the cliff’s wind still howling in his ears. his eyes adjusted slowly, shapes forming out of the dark.

jimin was crouched in front of him, hands still hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should pull back or keep holding on. his face was pale, his wide eyes fixed on jungkook like he’d just watched something crawl out of the walls.

“you were—” jimin’s voice was low, careful, but it still wavered. “you were yelling. thrashing..."

the last shards of the dream clung to him like wet clothes, heavy and cold, making it hard to breathe. his chest still ached from the lunge he never finished. his throat burned.

he swallowed hard, dragging his hands over his face, pressing against his eyes until stars flared in the dark. “i’m fine.” the words came out flat, unconvincing even to himself.

jimin didn’t move. he just kept staring at him. and jungkook hated that look — the mix of pity and worry, like he was something fragile that might break if handled wrong.

“i said i’m fine,” he repeated, sharper this time.

jimin’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. he only nodded once and went back to his place on the other side of the room.

jungkook braced his elbows against his knees, the cold sweat on his skin making the night air feel sharper. his pulse was still racing, each beat drumming against his ribs like it was trying to break free. the nightmare clung to him in pieces — her face, the cliff’s edge, the way the wind had pulled at her hospital gown.

he dragged in a breath, but it caught halfway. the sound of her voice was still there, lodged in the back of his mind like a splinter. small. trembling. and then gone.

he told himself it was just a dream, but it didn’t matter. it had felt too real, like he could still smell the salt in the air, feel the grit of dirt under his nails from reaching for her.

and that part — the part where he missed her hand — replayed over and over, each time hitting him like a fresh punch to the gut.

he pressed the heel of his palm against his brow until the image blurred. this wasn’t the time. it wasn’t the place.

he shoved it down hard, locking it away with all the other things he didn’t have the luxury to feel. he had more important things to worry about — like finding the antidote before it was too late, like making sure he woke up tomorrow with his skin still warm and his heart still beating.

sentiment got people killed. lingering on ghosts didn’t change anything except how fast the world chewed you up.

he caught jimin watching him from across the room. the other boy sat with his knees pulled up, arms loosely wrapped around them, expression unreadable in the shadows. but the second jungkook’s gaze locked on his, jimin’s head snapped away, eyes finding a crack in the wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. jungkook didn’t bother calling him out on it.

“your turn,” he said finally, his voice quiet but leaving no room for argument. “get some sleep. we’re heading out soon.”

there was the faintest pause before jimin moved, pushing himself off the wall and settling down onto his side with one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely against his chest, facing jungkook.

it’s the first time jungkook really looks at him.

now, in the muted wash of moonlight filtering through the blinds, the details emerge. his eyes travel over the curve of jimin’s cheek, still faintly flushed from sleep, the way his lashes fan out against his skin. his mouth is soft, lips slightly parted, their shape fuller than jungkook realized. strands of hair have fallen forward, brushing against his closed eyes, shifting slightly with every breath.

his gaze drifts lower — to jimin’s hand resting loosely near his chest, small and unassuming, the bones delicate beneath skin. his wrist looks fragile, almost breakable, a thin bracelet catching the light when he shifts slightly in his sleep.

he doesn’t get further than that.

a sound cuts through the stillness — faint, but enough to snap him out of whatever spell the quiet had cast. it’s the scrape of something against the floor. not inside the room, but close.

he straightens on the floor, eyes flicking over every shadow, every unmoving shape. nothing shifts. the air feels tighter now.

then it comes again — softer. slow steps.

his fingers tighten around the handle of his weapon. he keeps still, listening, following the rhythm until it fades — slipping into the silence as if it had never been there at all.

he waits for it to return. it doesn’t.

but he knows better than to relax. in this world, quiet never means safe.

so he stays there — still, eyes sharp, every muscle ready — while jimin and taehyung sleep on. the night feels longer than it should, the air heavy with the kind of silence that presses down instead of easing up.

so he stays that way, unmoving and watchful. outside, the footsteps are gone, but the unease they left behind lingers, keeping him awake long after the room falls silent again.