Work Text:
9.51 am
Jeon Jungkook is a simple kind of guy. He likes simple values.
Yes or no.
On or off.
Go or stop.
Clarity.
And of course, there’s an inherent complexity to his life. Especially considering how out of control his life has become in just six short years. He’s done and seen more than most guys his age. Probably most guys double his age as well. Yet, to him, it’s still very uncomplicated. He’s told where to go, what to do and when to go home.
And he likes it that way.
He’s good at it.
He stares at the painting, narrowing his eyes at it as if that would help him see something that wasn’t there before. There’s four blue squares and two red ones. Three yellow dots in the corner. A black line going through the diagonal. It crosses three of the blue squares.
A journey into perceptive persistence.
Jungkook is sure that title is just five words thrown together.
“And?”
Kim Taehyung, one and a half years his elder, materializes beside him. Jungkook slowly moves his head to look at him. He gestures at the painting vaguely, “Squares,” he concludes.
Taehyung’s shoulders sag in disappointment and he shakes his head, “No Kookie, it’s about what the squares represent.”
“Perceptive persistence,” Jungkook says.
Taehyung’s face lights up in that way it does whenever he hears something unexpectedly amazing, “Yes!” Then he follows Jungkook’s gaze towards the small note beside the painting with the title, “Oh.” And then the disappointment is back.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Taehyung says lightly, leaning over to point at the two red squares, “These represent oppression. The blue squares are with larger numbers, yet they don’t have the means to rise up. See, the yellow dots represents the riches of the elite. They’re on the very edge of revolution. See the black line? That’s the societal norms and rules. They’re slowly crossing them. It’s society, Kookie.”
Jungkook blinks at his hyung. “You got all that from this?”
“It’s a story, that’s the cool thing,” Taehyung shrugs, “You can fill in whatever story you want just by looking at it. Right, hyung?”
Kim Namjoon appears in their peripheral vision. He purses his lips thoughtfully, observing the painting. “Societal oppression.”
“See? He gets it!” Taehyung exclaims.
“He’s Kim Namjoon, he gets everything,” Jungkook mumbles.
Taehyung shrugs cheerfully, gazing at the painting some more. Namjoon leans towards Jungkook, “When in doubt, always go for ‘societal oppression’,” he whispers before walking away.
Taehyung takes Jungkook’s hand and drags him towards another painting.
“Oh! Puppy!” Jungkook points out.
“It’s not about the puppy, though it is very cute,” Taehyung agrees. He leans closer, almost toppling over. His deep purple colored hair falls into his eyes. His jaw squares and Jungkook swears he could look at Taehyung’s face the entire morning instead of these paintings, and be content.
He’s a simple guy.
“Then what is it about?” He asks. He loves hearing Taehyung talk. It’s like a deep rumble. A thunderstorm in the distance. Far enough away to be safe and comforting, yet close enough to cause a thrill. And there’s a silky-sweet tone to it that Jungkook has yet to fully define. But heaven knows he’s tried. Countless of times. In bed, late at night with Taehyung so close, it shouldn’t be that hard to define him. But it was. It is.
Because Taehyung is not a simple guy.
He’s unpredictable and alien. He’s sometimes the sea, sometimes the shore. A walking contradiction, infinitely deep, yet comfortably shallow at the same time.
“There’s an unforgiveable tragedy happening behind the puppy. A young prince’s life being taken in the distance. But yeah, our focus will always inevitably be pulled towards the puppy first. I guess that’s the whole point.”
Jungkook moves his eyes away from the puppy and sure enough, behind it, there’s a dude dressed in hideous purple and red, dramatically being stabbed and robbed. “I hate it,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, not really my cup of tea either,” Taehyung shrugs.
They walk past a few more paintings. The imperfection of human existence. The solitude of the stars. The birth of a new era. A grand gesture for innocence. Taehyung tries to explain them all, and as far as Jungkook can tell, he’s spot on. Of course, Jungkook has no expertise in the matter.
Because he’s a simple guy. And fine arts are willfully complicated.
Stupid.
Why did he come here then? Simple.
Because hyung asked him to. And Jungkook can do a lot of things, but saying no to his hyungs is not one of those things. So he keeps listening to Taehyung and he might be a little bored, but that’s alright. He doesn’t have to understand art, Taehyung only has to think he’s open to trying. And maybe, when he looks at a picture with blue squares and yellow dots tomorrow, he’ll be able to find a meaning to it.
12.39 pm
“One more, give me one more,” Seongmin encourages and Jungkook throws his entire body into that one last punch. “There! You got it!” the gigantic security guard praises, tugging the guards off his hands before clapping Jungkook’s shoulder forcibly.
Jungkook makes an effort not to crumple entirely. He’s the strongest in their team, without a doubt, but he’s no match against Seongmin. Not in his wildest dreams.
“What’s for lunch? I’m starving!” Seongmin declares, playing with the hunting knife he always carries sheathed in his pocket by twirling it around dangerously on his fingers.
“Ramyeon, probably,” Jungkook replies, still panting. He can feel the sweat trickling down his forehead, his back, even the back of his legs. He took up boxing just a little over a week ago when Seongmin, the new security guard, offered to train him.
He’s getting the hang of it, but it’s positively exhausting. But Seongmin is loud and enthusiastic and it gives Jungkook just that extra surge of adrenaline to push himself that much further.
“I’ll eat six cups,” Seongmin announces proudly.
“Yeah, I believe you would,” Jungkook chuckles, “What’s with the knife?”
“It’s a hunting knife,” the security guard explains. He stops twirling the knife around to show it’s shiny blade, heavily jagged on the underside near the handle, sharp and even towards the top. “A beauty, isn’t she? Just for sport, though.”
“Sport?”
“Yeah,” Seongmin exclaims with another clap to Jungkook’s shoulders, “Knife throwing. What? Are you interested?”
Jungkook thinks about this for half a second. It does sound really cool. Even cooler than boxing. “Yeah,” he nods eagerly.
“Awesome,” another clap, “Let’s pick up the basics next time.” Seongmin suggests. His eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, like he’s sizing him up.
Jungkook smirks at him, “You bet.”
2.14 pm
“Okay, okay, we are still nearly two seconds behind on that last chorus. How is that even possible?” Jimin exclaims in frustration and everyone stops dancing abruptly.
“I didn’t notice anything,” Taehyung shrugs.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jimin hisses.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s like you don’t even care!”
“Now wait a goddamn minute!”
“We don’t have a goddamn minute, Taehyung! We need to get this right! Sound check is in an hour and the show is tonight!”
“Could you two bite each other’s heads off outside of this room? The rest of us would like to finish rehearsal, thank you very much,” Yoongi interferes.
“What if they actually bit each other’s heads off?” Seokjin mumbles to Hoseok, who sniggers rather loudly.
Taehyung twirls around, livid, and Jungkook cringes at the rage in his eyes, “He started it!”
Namjoon rises from the floor, already a beacon of trust and calmness, “Now now. I know we’re all a bit stressed out for this first show. Jimin, we’ll get it right, don’t worry. You’re free to give feedback, of course, but try to be constructive.”
“Sorry.”
“And Taehyung?”
Taehyung is watching Jimin angrily, jaw working against the words he wants to say, “Why do I need to apologize?” he grumbles darkly.
“Try to take criticism a little more lightly next time, please,” Namjoon sighs.
“Fine.”
“So?”
“Sorry.”
“Good.”
The angry storm in Taehyung’s gaze doesn’t disappear entirely and Jungkook knows it’s just a matter of time before he and Jimin have another shouting match; probably during sound check. Jungkook hasn’t been able to figure out why, but Jimin and Taehyung have really been at each other’s throats these past few weeks. With the first tour date closing in and their whole careers about to be in the public eye once again, there’s just something that sparks a thunderous turmoil between the two.
Jungkook doesn’t like it.
He likes things simple.
7.02 pm
Jungkook shoves another roll of gimbap inside his mouth, smacking loudly. There’s a tense silence in the dressing room. Seongmin is standing by the door, playing with his knife again. Taehyung and Jimin are giving each other venomous looks. Yoongi has turned his back on all of them and demonstratively put on his headphones. Namjoon is pacing while trying to eat his fried rice at the same time. It doesn’t work. Hoseok and Seokjin are involved in a quiet, seemingly serious conversation about the correct positioning of the props during the encore.
And Jungkook is keeping his head down, because it feels like any sudden movement will break the fragile peace. Jungkook may be a simple guy; but he’s not stupid. He knows his hyungs. He knows what makes them happy and what sets them off. Probably better than they know it themselves. He’s spent most of his time observing them; wanting to be just like them. So talented and smart and flawless. He wanted Seokjin’s confidence, Yoongi’s genius, Hoseok’s mirth, Namjoon’s wisdom, Jimin’s persistence and Taehyung’s cleverness. Mix it all in a great big pot and bake a great big Jungkook pie.
Simple as that.
Yet there’s dark sides to each of them. Jungkook has begun to learn that slowly but surely. It’s like growing up and realizing your parents are just people. That no one knows anything about anything and that’s not simple. That’s not simple at all.
A feeling of anxiousness creeps through him and Jungkook shivers. A simmering discomfort, just below the surface. Always there, yet always shoved down with simple instructions of where to be and what to do. And Jungkook does his best every single day. Maybe a little too much. It’s exhausting. He overworks himself and all the while he’s convinced that it’s the only thing he can do to keep everything together.
He loves his job. It may be complicated sometimes, but he’ll leave the complicated sides to his hyungs. He’ll just do what he’s told and he’ll do it so well so that one day his hyungs will look at him and see that he does it all for them. And at the same time, it’s a very selfish notion. Because if Jungkook can’t see them tall and proud and unwavering, then the anxiety climbs and climbs until it swallows him whole. So he does what he can, and he can, so he does it well. To him, it makes perfect sense and so it keeps things simple.
He –and the rest of the room- heaves a sigh of relief when Jimin finally flicks a finger against Taehyung’s forehead and apologizes. Taehyung smirks, as if all is said and done in the short glance the two exchange. Taehyung stands up like nothing ever happened and declares a toilet break. Seongmin grins while he opens the door for him, watching him intently as he leaves. The tension slowly fades out of the room. Namjoon gives Jimin an appreciative nod, and Jimin smiles back at him. Jungkook offers Taehyung some of his gimbap when he returns and it heightens the elder’s mood even further.
Soon enough, everyone is positively hyped for the show. Jungkook hops from one foot to the other in excitement. He’s not worried. He’s got the lyrics down. The dancesteps. He’s got his hyungs around him. If something goes wrong, then at least they’ll go down together.
He chuckles at that thought.
“What?” Jimin mumbles, visibly getting nervous.
“At least we’ll go down together,” Jungkook laughs, because it’s really funny somehow.
Jimin watches him like he’s grown an extra head, “You’re really weird sometimes, Jeon Jungkook.”
Jungkook nods in agreement.
8.26 pm
It’s twenty-four minutes until show time. Thunder is rumbling above them. Thankfully it’s an inside venue. Suddenly, everybody is in need of a toilet break. Jungkook is still not worried, but he would like to ditch the built up amount of water in his bladder, thank you very much. He hobbles towards the bathroom, takes a nice long pee break and returns nineteen minutes before show time.
Tension is boiling to a breaking point.
“The fuck is Taehyung?” Yoongi grumbles, head down as he waits for their cue to get up and head to the back stage area.
“Relax, he went to the bathroom after Jungkook,” Seokjin mutters back.
“I am perfectly relaxed,” Yoongi bites back.
“Like always,” Seokjin nods. “Hoseok-ah, what’s that step in Fake Love again? The one in the pre-chorus?”
Hoseok looks him straight in the eye. “We are twenty-five minutes from show time. If you don’t know that step by now, I will kill you.”
“I believe you would,” Seokjin concludes, taking a careful step back after observing Hoseok’s murderous glare.
“This one?” Jungkook questions, then demonstrates a few moves from the pre-chorus.
Seokjin quickly nods, “Yeah, yeah, that’s the one, thanks.”
They go through it a couple of times, carefully inconspicuous towards Hoseok. He catches them a few times, but just shakes his head.
At fifteen minutes before showtime, they get called towards the backstage area. The opening act is leaving the stage and music blasts through the stadium. Loud cheers are piercing through the thick walls and Jungkook feels lifted up with static excitement. He can hear the crowd’s anticipation, see their lights through the tiny opening that peeks through the stage. He can smell the slightly dusty air, feel the solid hilt of the mic in his hands, and taste the first words of the song he’s about to sing on his tongue. He’s ready. He’s hyped. He’s-
“The fuck is Taehyung?”
Yoongi. Again.
Again?
Jungkook swirls around in confusion. He does a quick head count. Forgets to include himself. Counts again for good measure.
Six.
Huh?
It’s ten minutes before showtime. Ten minutes before showtime is not a good moment to sneak away. And Taehyung is unpredictable and alien. Sometimes the sea, sometimes the shore. A walking contradict-
But he’s not entirely irresponsible.
The rest of the group is already beyond pissed though. Anger and disbelief flares at the nerve on this guy. Six years and has he not learnt that they need to stick together so close to the start of the show? He was just there in the dressing room, right? He went to the bathroom. Did anyone see him return? Ten minutes. Ten goddamn minutes. What were they supposed to do? He better show up within ten minutes. We’re gonna kill him.
Five minutes before show time and nothing is said, but anxious looks are thrown back and forth until Hoseok springs upright and announces he’s gonna look for that goddamn rascal. Seokjin quickly agrees and together with a manager, they head off.
And now there’s three people missing.
Namjoon looks about ready to explode. Stage manager Hanyun assures him they can delay the start by half an hour, if necessary. Namjoon looks at him in disbelief, “We wouldn’t need to delay if everybody just shows up in time.”
The chance of everybody showing up in time are next to zero by now. Namjoon throws his hands up and concedes, taking Yoongi and a security guard and also heading off.
That leaves Jimin and Jungkook, only a few feet of wood and concrete between them and a roaring, impatient crowd. Jimin is on the phone, trying to call Taehyung, but going straight to voice mail.
An anxious shiver wrecks through Jungkook. He knows his hyungs. This is nothing like Taehyung. There’s something entirely different about this situation and a sense of awful foreboding tickles through Jungkook at that thought.
It’s not long -one minute before show time- before Jungkook and Jimin decide to also start a search party of their own. They walk through endless hallways and past similar looking conference rooms. Go up a floor. Go down two. Everything looks the same. Jimin keeps his phone glued to his ear, running and running and never stopping. Jungkook lets him take the lead. There’s lead in his shoes, emptiness in his stomach. He’s supposed to be singing a slowed-down version of I’m Fine, right now. Instead he runs, heart pounding in his ears as the air gets thinner and thinner.
They round a corner. Jungkook doesn’t know where they are at this point. Some kind of office building. Jimin’s phone keeps trying and trying, yet doesn’t connect.
And then they hear it. Soft at first. Jimin starts sprinting even faster.
A ringtone.
Taehyung’s ringtone. A silly, deformed version of Serendipity that he set up for Jimin especially.
At full speed, Jimin skids around another corner, then comes to an immediate halt. His phone slips from his grip. It breaks despite the soft carpet floor. The ringtone stops. Jimin’s face morphs into a look of pure terror.
“No!” he screams. A long, agonized sound that shakes Jungkook to his very core, even if he can’t see what Jimin sees. He stops dead in his tracks; unsure whether he actually wants to see what Jimin sees.
Oh no. Oh, absolutely not.
Fear grips him tight and nails him to the carpet. He can’t move. He can’t turn that corner. He can’t know. That corner is the difference between his old life and something else. Something much, much more complicated. He can’t do it. He can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’thecan’t.
And yet he does.
He takes in the view. Then blinks. He contemplates turning around and walking away. He saw nothing. He’ll just pretend like he saw nothing. He’ll just turn back to the stage and pretend like the shakiness in his legs is nothing else except for nerves. Yeah. Makes perfect sense. Nothing happened here. The split second of horror he witnessed here will fade into obscurity before he knows it. He will enter the stage, sing a few songs, dance a few dances. He’ll take a quick, late night snack. And then it’s off to bed.
Yep.
Hmhm.
A few seconds pass and Jungkook does not turn around and walk away. Instead he stares. Jimin is shouting, but Jungkook can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds like a different language. And Jungkook stares. At the wall. Off-white and smeared with red. Then at the floor. Deep blue, smeared with dark –probably red. Back to the wall again. He can hear his own blood rushing through his ears. He can hear nothing else. He watches the stain on the wall. Watches how it curves and spreads. Further to the left. Further to where Jimin has crashed to his knees, screaming and shouting and gripping and shaking. The stain gets darker, fuller. There’s a shoe on the floor. Shiny and polished. Part of the outfit for the start of the show. Green. Taehyung’s color.
Taehyung’s shoe.
A little further still. A socked foot. White sock. Soaked red. Red everywhere. Rivers of it. Pooling underneath the wall. Drenching the ugly, blue carpet.
Blood.
It’s blood.
Very much of it. Streaming and gushing and taking over everything.
And Jungkook doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want to. Because it already hurts and he can’t. He can’t. So instead he slides down the opposite clean wall and buries his face into his forearms, gripping his hair for support. He shakes and coughs. Jimin screams. There’s no one else.
Except Taehyung.
And Taehyung is lying crumpled against the wall at the end of the stain. And Jungkook can’t tell if he’s breathing because of all the blood. It flows from him to the floor. His skin has turned a grey-ish white. Come to think off it, he’s almost the same color as the wall behind him. His fancy dress-shirt is stained and crumpled and torn to pieces. His arms and hands limp and wet with blood. His pants are unbuckled and pool around his knees. His underwear torn off.
And Jungkook can’t look at his face. Can’t confirm that it is indeed him. His hyung. His everything.
A sharp pull at his sleeve tears his arm away from his face and suddenly, Jimin’s screams start to make sense, “Jungkook-ah!” he shouts, voice rough and breaking and hysterical, “Go get help!” he screams, sobbing, clinging, “Go get help! Goddamn it, Kook-ah!”
Jungkook stares back at him for a whole of five solid seconds before scrambling upright, putting as much distance between himself and the bloody scene in front of him as he can. He nods haphazardly back at Jimin. Jimin goes back to grabbing and holding Taehyung, pressing one shaky, but determined hand against Taehyung’s soaked abdomen.
And then Jungkook is running again. Faltering and falling and sobbing. Back where he came from. Trying to follow the signs back to the elevator but everything is spinning around him. Help. He needs to find help. Simple instructions. Jungkook likes things simple. He looks down after stumbling into the elevator and almost laughs. There’s not a speck of blood on him. Maybe, just maybe, that whole thing didn’t happen. Maybe everybody’s just impatiently waiting for him downstairs, wondering where the fuck he ran off to.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Jungkook shoots out like a rocket, sprinting across the hall. He’s on a mission, but he forgot what it was.
He sees Yoongi and Namjoon and their bodyguard, at the end of the next long hallway. He wants to say something to them, but there’s nothing coming out of his throat. It’s like all the words have dried up in his mouth and all that he can utter is a wheezy exhale. Yoongi and Namjoon take one look at him and there’s immediate alarm and concern on their faces. Jungkook has seen himself in the mirror only twenty minutes ago. Not a hair out of place. He wonders what they’re seeing now.
Namjoon grips his biceps, trying to look him in the face. Yoongi hovers beside him, arms crossed, expression pinched. Jungkook is panting; shaking his head. He can’t talk. But he has to. He has to. He waves towards the elevator, out of breath and out of mind.
“Please,” he begs them, sobs punching through him like a physical assault, “Please!”
“Kook-ah, look at me,” Namjoon says, perfectly reasonable as always. “Calm down, tell us what’s wrong.”
Jungkook shakes his head again. There’s no time to calm down and talk.
“Did you find him?” Yoongi gets to the point immediately.
Jungkook nods frantically, trying to drag Namjoon with him to the elevator, “We have to- we have to call an ambulance.” It’s the first rational thing that he has been able to come up with. It sounds perfectly logical, knowing what he knows, but he watches the color drain from both his hyungs’ faces.
The bodyguard comes back to life after his initial confusion and nods at him, then points at the elevator questioningly.
“Third floor, Mesat building. Close to room 317,” Jungkook recalls, perfectly sound. He needs to pull his hyungs with him; but they seem awfully reluctant all of a sudden. They watch the bodyguard leave first.
“What happened?” Namjoon demands, clinging to Jungkook’s shoulder to stop him from running off.
“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, perfectly even. He’s keeping things simple. His job was to get help. He’s in the process of doing that. It clears his mind.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Yoongi growls.
“I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t there,” Jungkook replies, perfectly holding it together.
“You said we needed an ambulance?” Namjoon continued prodding, “Why?”
Jungkook flinches, refusing to conjure up the image of hyung lying in a pool of bl-
“I don’t know,” he mumbles.
“Jungkook!”
And Jungkook looks at them pleadingly. Don’t they understand? It’s too horrible. Too horrific. Yet he needs them to come with him. He needs to get help. “Blood,” he whispers, and watches the fear in their eyes multiply exponentially, “Rivers of it. On the wall, on the floor, on his socks, on his arms, legs, hands, shirt.”
“Kook-ah,” Yoongi chokes.
“I didn’t know a person had that much blood,” Jungkook mumbles, “Seems unreal.”
“Is there anyone else with him?” Namjoon wants to know.
“Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook answers with a whisper, “He was screaming and crying and I didn’t know what he was saying. Then he told me to go get help.”
“You did, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon reassures him and Jungkook gives him a polite smile, “You did.”
“Should we go there?” Yoongi asks with a distinguishable tremor in his voice.
“We can’t leave Jimin alone up there,” Namjoon says and a hint of his normal determination settles back into his gaze. They walk to the elevator. The ride up is silent. Jungkook leads them through the halls. They slow down once Jimin’s sobs and cries come into earshot. They creep closer and closer. Round the corner.
“Oh no,” Namjoon deflates with a low groan of grief. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but stumbles back a few steps at the sight. Blood is still everywhere. Has even spread further throughout the carpet. Jungkook doesn’t want to think of the chances of someone losing so much blood and still surviving. Jimin sits against the wall, thoroughly drenched in red now himself. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, chest heaving and lungs burning. He doesn’t notice them. Has only eyes for Taehyung on the floor opposite from him.
The bodyguard –Jungkook can’t remember his name- is pressing down on Taehyung’s chest frantically and repeatedly. Jungkook knows what he’s doing, but he can’t let his thoughts go that far. Instead, he stares at Taehyung’s face. His eyes are half-closed. His bottom lip is split and bleeding. There’s a deep cut over his left brow, all the way up to his hairline. Also bleeding. Blood cakes in his hair, turning its rich, purple color a darker, much uglier shade. His lips are turning blue.
He isn’t breathing.
Jungkook realizes this with a crystal clear clarity. Maybe he wasn’t breathing the entire time. Maybe it was already too late when they’d found him. Maybe he had died the moment he’d hit the floor.
Jimin, in all his panic, has made a brave attempt at pulling Taehyung’s pants back up over his hips in order to make him look decent. The remnants are still clear in the way his belt remains unbuckled, though. Yoongi takes one look at it and makes up his mind. He marches over to the bodyguard and helps him in doing whatever they can, following the instructions of the emergency operator on the bodyguard’s phone. Namjoon takes out his own phone with shaking hands and calls Seokjin. He chokes out a few simple instructions. His voice is quiet, disbelief and shock lining every syllable.
He doesn’t know what happened.
Nobody does.
One moment, everything was fine. They were ready for the show. Ready to deliver an unforgettable night. The next moment, there’s blood and loose shoes and blue lips and no breathing.
The paramedics show up with all kinds of equipment. One asks how long it’s been since they started CPR. The bodyguard answers it’s been seven minutes. Seven minutes? To Jungkook, it feels closer to a lifetime. There’s no more color in Taehyung’s face. It has turned ashen grey. The paramedics rip whatever was left of his shirt off and examine his bloodied torso. Jungkook can barely see because their backs are blocking most of his view.
“Was he breathing before you started CPR?”
“No. No breathing. No pulse.”
“Jimin-ah?” Yoongi asks, softly.
Jimin looks up with empty, haunted eyes, “No,” he whispers, “No breathing. No pulse.”
A light is shone in Taehyung’s eyes. Jungkook can tell by various sagging shoulders that hope is slowly diminishing. No breathing, no pulse for up to… how long has it been? Seven minutes since the bodyguard started CPR. Before that, he and Jimin were here for… Jungkook tries to count backwards, then quickly remembers he’s shit at math. Despair sinks further and further down.
A high pitched scream jars him out of his spiral.
Hoseok starts running the moment he catches sight of the flurry around Taehyung and the amount of blood on the wall and on the floor and everywhere. Behind him, Seokjin falls to his knees; mouth still open in that curdling scream, yet no more sound is coming out.
“What happened, what happened?” Hosoek keeps demanding. Nobody answers him. It’s possible to imagine quite a few horrific scenarios, considering the brutal scene in front of them. Yet nobody has any definitive answers. Somewhere, far away, an audience of thirty-thousand fans is getting beyond impatient. In another life, simple and without any drastic turns, Jungkook would be sweating his face off in front of all those smiling faces and waving lights. He’d be doing what he does best. Seokjin would jokingly push him around. Yoongi would smile and rap at him faster than the speed of sound. Hoseok would laugh at all the strange little dance moves Jungkook pulls off right in between songs. Namjoon would swing an arm around him during one of his speeches. Jimin would pull stupid, silly faces, trying to distract him and make him laugh. Taehyung and he would do an epic dance battle in front of all their fans. And Jungkook would nearly collapse during the small breaks they get between some of the songs, because it’s just so exhausting. But he would hype himself up again a few seconds before he goes back onstage, because it’s just so exhilarating.
That’s how it goes.
That’s his life.
The manager that had come with Hoseok and Seokjin has gone pale and barks something through the walkie-talkie. Hoseok’s voice sounds near hysterical by now, still demanding to know what happened. Doesn’t he realize that they know just as much as he does? They stumbled upon these remnants of violence –blood, open wounds, lost shoes and blue lips- just like he did.
Taehyung’s limp body is transferred to a stretcher, leaving a terrible pool of blood on the floor. It drips down from what remains of his clothes. It slides along his arm that hangs over the edge, dripping off his fingers in slow, teasing drops. Jungkook isn’t quite sure whether they got Taehyung stable enough for transport or if there’s even anything left to stabilize at all. All he hears is we need to move, now now! The urgency makes him rise to his feet as well. The stretcher races past him together with tubes and bags and wires and a trail of red red red. It disappears into the elevator, and then it’s gone.
The rest of them are left in this mess. Like they’ve stepped out of their lives of comfort and happiness and entered right into hell. Cause if anyone would ever ask Jungkook again what he imagined hell would look like, he would exactly describe what’s in front of him now. A gruesome view; blood everywhere, crying, panicked people moving around way too quickly, screams of grief and shock and a lost, lonely green shoe in the middle of it all.
There’s nothing left to do for them here, yet nobody leaves. Jungkook’s mind is swirling with possible outcomes. None of them simple enough for him to understand. Was Taehyung alive? The most important question right now, of course. They wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to we need to move, now now, if there was entirely no hope at all, would they? Jungkook nods to himself, clinging onto that little bit of logic and purposefully ignoring the gigantic stains of blood on the wall, on the floor, everywhere.
“Police is underway to start an investigation,” the stagemanager says softly. “The concert has been cancelled. The audience is leaving the premise.”
“We need to go the hospital,” Jimin says, his voice empty and monotonous.
“I’m sorry,” the manager replies, voice thick and empathetic, “We can’t. We have to wait for the police.”
“I don’t want him to be alone,” Jimin says and his face crumples. He’s covered in Taehyung’s blood from head to toe. His shoulders shake with the heavy sobs he’s trying to suppress. “He must be so scared.”
Jungkook wonders if that is true. The peak of Taehyung’s fear must have come right before he collapsed against the wall and dragged himself a few feet along the floor before losing consciousness. Somehow he doubts Taehyung would be feeling any more fear now.
9.45 pm
Nearly a dozen police-officers pour out of the elevator. They quickly go to work. Jungkook and the rest of the group are led into a conference room and told to wait. Seokjin and the manager make quick work of assuring everyone that they are not potential witnesses, because they only showed up at the last possible second. Therefore they also make quick work to get the hell away and go to the hospital. Seokjin promises to call as soon as he hears anything. Anything at all.
Jungkook and Jimin are called in for questioning first, each being led to a separate room. Jungkook carefully sits down at the big, round table in the middle. The detective on the other side smiles at him gently, like she’s trying to calm down a frightened animal.
“Water?” She offers, raising her brow.
Jungkook nods jerkily. The officer in the corner of the room fills a glass of water and puts it in front of him. Jungkook mumbles a thanks. The detective looks at him with a mix of concern and empathy. Jungkook doesn’t realize how much his hands are shaking until he tries to pick up the glass of water and bring it to his mouth. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he gives up and sets it back down.
“My name is detective Lee. You must have been through quite a lot tonight,” the detective says softly.
Jungkook nods immediately. That’s a simple question. Because he has been through a lot. So, so much.
“Can you take me back to what happened right before Taehyungg-ssi went missing?”
Jungkook shrugs helplessly, “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I was going to the bathroom. Taehyung-hyung went after me. So when I came back, he was already gone.”
“You two didn’t cross paths on your way back? That’s odd, isn’t it?”
He starts chewing his lips. The detective is leaning forward, studying him closely. Jungkook thinks back on it. Is that odd? Yeah, supposedly. Did he see Taehyung on his way back to the dressing room? He would have remembered, right? “I didn’t see him.”
“I believe you.”
He doesn’t know why, but those three simple words take a load off his shoulders, “Thank you,” he whispers, voice wobbling dangerously.
“He could have gone to a different bathroom, because he thought you were still occupying the other one. That makes sense. And you haven’t seen him after that until you and Jimin found him in the hallway later, is that right?”
Jungkook nods, looking at the glass of water in front of him. His throat feels closed up. It’s amazing he’s able to form and produce words at all. “Yeah,” he replies quietly, hoarsely, “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Do you know if any of your hyungs saw him in that meantime?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t think so. I heard Yoongi-hyung question where Taehyung was about twenty minutes before the show, but no one seemed to know.”
“You didn’t start looking for him then?”
“We’re not supposed to go out by ourselves and walk the perimeter. Taehyung-hyung has a tendency to wonder off sometimes, though. He usually shows back up right on time.”
“So you weren’t sure until right before showtime that he could be in trouble?”
“I just- just didn’t think about it,” Jungkook answers, his heart leaping into his throat. Should they have done something sooner? They should have, right? Oh God. “We were getting more and more nervous as time went by. And then ten minutes before the start of the show, Hoseok-hyung and Seokjin-hyung said they were going to start looking for him. Then Namjoon-hyung said we needed to stay together because we had a show to do, but they didn’t listen to him and went anyway. Then Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung also went out to look for Taehyung. Eventually me and Jimin-hyung did the same. ”
“So you and Jimin went out last, but were the first ones to find Taehyung?”
“Yes. Jimin kept calling him, and kept getting voice mail. Then we heard his ringtone when we got to the third floor and we found him.”
Jungkook tangles his fingers through his hair as he’s thrown back to that moment. Trying to keep his composure, he again attempts to take a sip of water. The liquid is cool and smooth, but Jungkook thinks about the blood staining the wall and the floor and dripping down Taehyung’s arm and chokes before swallowing with difficulty. Detective Lee observes all this.
“The big question that remains here, is of course: what happened between the time you went to the bathroom and the moment you found your hyung in the hallway. I understand it’s really hard. But you’ve given me a lot of valuable information already, Jungkook-ah. You’re doing well.”
The praise feels like a warm hand on his shoulder and Jungkook can’t keep his face from contorting into a devastated grimace. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired.
“To answer that big question, there’s two smaller questions,” Detective Lee continues, leaning forward to squeeze Jungkook’s forearm, “How did Taehyung end up all the way in an office building, on a different floor, if he was just going to the bathroom? And why didn’t he take any security with him?”
Jungkook looks up at that, tears brimming in his eyes as they widen almost imperceptibly. “He did,” he whispers, mesmerized.
“Sorry?”
“I mean, he must have,” Jungkook explains, “We’re required to take at least one guard with us wherever we go on the premise. They wouldn’t have let him leave the dressing room without a guard.”
“Does he have a personal bodyguard assigned to this role?”
“Not really. They rotate constantly. I know them all by name though.”
“That means that there should be a guard missing then as well, if he did take one with him,” Detective Lee nods. “Is there one that you didn’t see since you came back from the bathroom?”
“There’s a lot of them, so probably a few,” Jungkook mutters.
“That’s alright. If you could make a list with some of them, that would help greatly. I’ll also ask your other hyungs about this.”
Jungkook nods slowly, taking the offered notepad and pen. He bites his lip, “Do you know what happened?”
“We’ll have to wait for the official report from the ER to get a clearer picture,” detective Lee replies, almost apologetically.
10.56 pm
Jungkook watches the city fly by his window. He doesn’t know where they’re going. Hotel probably. Jimin sits next to him. He and Yoongi have practically been commanded to change their clothes because they both had been covered in red red red. Jimin didn’t have any spare clothes with him that weren’t stage outfits, so now Namjoon’s spare hoodie hangs loosely around him. It’s way too big and now Jimin seems even smaller than usual as he sits there. He has that same, empty expression he’s been carrying around ever since he’d been torn away from Taehyung. Next to Jimin is Namjoon, also staring out the window, clutching his phone for dear life in case someone calls with information. It’s the one thing they’re all starving for. It’s been over an hour. Hoseok, in the back of the van, keeps saying out loud that no news is good news. Jungkook wonders who exactly he’s trying to convince. Next to Hoseok is Yoongi, who, in contrast, is eerily silent. He keeps his eyes on his shaking hands in front of him. Jungkook wasn’t aware that any of them knew how to perform CPR. If he had to guess anyone though, it would have been Yoongi. Hyung just seems responsible enough to have taken a course like that. Jungkook wonders how traumatizing it would be to actually have to do it on someone you know.
Jungkook wonders how traumatizing the entirety of this night will be.
They get to the hotel, manage to book the largest suite available, and all pour in there together. There’s only one king-sized bed. The hotel staff offers to pull a couple of mattresses from storage. It’s the most they can do at such short notice. Jungkook doesn’t care. He knows they are going to end up all five curled on the bed together.
The staff is anxiously flurrying around. Security has doubled in the span of an hour. They get new instructions to not leave the room under any circumstances. Nobody makes a bathroom joke.
They talk about nothing. About stupid, simple stuff. Do you have your toothbrush, Jungkook-ah? Yeah. Are you cold, Yoongi-hyung? We could ask for some more blankets. I’m fine. Does anybody have a Samsung charger? In your bag, Namjoon-ah. Thanks. Damn, this carpet is ugly. Yeah. This wallpaper too. Yeah.
Jungkook barely reacts. He watches the security guards just outside the living area and slowly, so very slowly, it starts to dawn upon him that they might be in danger. And then, he realizes like a sickening punch to the stomach, that tonight was not some kind of freak accident.
Someone did this to Taehyung.
He feels his hands start to shake. Stupid. So stupid. He should have realized sooner. But nobody talks about it. He feels his breathing speed up, heart hammering in his throat.
Hoseok notices him shaking and lays a hand on his arm, trying to give him a comforting smile. It looks wet and scared. He thinks Jungkook is afraid.
Jungkook’s not afraid.
He’s going to kill somebody.
Good thing he took up boxing.
And then it comes to him. Like a clear beacon in a head full of muddled thoughts.
“Jung Seongmin,” he exhales.
Hoseok frowns at him.
Jungkook ignores him.
Seongmin is big and strong and loud and intimidating. He has a hunting knife –A beauty, isn’t she- with a jagged edge, that would leave grotesque, ugly stab wounds, causing major bleeding. Just for sport, he had said with that weird smile. Knife throwing, are you interested? Yeah! A clap on his shoulder. A chill over his spine at the sense of Seongmin sizing him up. He did the same to Taehyung when he held open the door for him.
He did the same to Taehyung.
Taehyung went to the bathroom. Seongmin is a security guard. He must have gone with him. He brought his knife with him today. He must have gone with him.
He must have.
Jungkook feels sick. Gets sick. He stumbles towards the bathroom, nearly falling over before he makes it to the toilet. He retches, images of shiny hunting knives and boxing gloves and blood blood rivers of blood flashing through his mind. He hears someone call his name. He waves back at them clumsily, trying to signal he’s okay.
He’s not okay.
He stumbles upright when he’s done. The taste lingers in his mouth and his stomach is still turning, twisting. But he has to tell them. It’s not easy, but sometimes, you have to do things that are hard.
“Jung Seongmin,” Jungkook chokes out, “He has a knife.”
Yoongi’s brow creases immediately. “What?”
“He showed me this morning. Said he used it for sport.” Jungkook feels his voice crack and break.
“So?”
Jungkook looks at Hoseok furiously. Does he really have to say it? “Taehyung’s been stabbed.”
They look at him like this is new information to them.
“There was so much blood,” Jungkook breathes, unstoppable now, “Seongmin’s knife is a hunting knife. It has very jagged edges. He was playing with it in the dressing room before the show.”
“Jungkook-ah, that is a very serious accusation,” Namjoon says softly, holding up one hand as if he’s trying to calm down a crazed animal.
“It makes sense though!” Jungkook cries out, “Taehyung couldn’t have left the room without a guard. Seongmin is a guard. He has a knife. And he’s been giving me and Taehyung the creep-eye ever since he started working for us!”
“What?”
“I didn’t realize it until now!”
They look at him like he’s gone crazy, yet Jungkook’s never been so sure of something his entire life. To be fair, crazy people are usually a hundred percent sure of their delusions, of course. Jimin narrows his eyes dangerously, his hands turning into fists. He doesn’t say anything, but Jungkook sees something shift in his face that he’s sure will never go back to the way it was.
“Jungkook-ah, let’s just think about this rationally for a few minutes and not jump to conclus-”
Then, Namjoon’s phone starts ringing.
1.21 am
All thoughts of Jung Seongmin have left Jungkook’s head. He stares through the window into the darkened ICU room and doesn’t think he can breathe. He’s not allowed inside. Only one at a time. He lives with us, he’s our little brother! Yoongi was close to terrifying when the hospital staff tried to limit visitation to family only.
When Seokjin finally called, it was hard to understand him through the sobs and shakiness. He looks so bad, Joon-ah, he had whispered.
Jungkook can’t tell how bad he looks. Yoongi is in the way. He sits curled around the edge of a gigantic bed, clutching a purple-bruised, bandaged hand and leaning close to where Taehyung’s head would be.
But Jungkook can’t see.
He looks so bad.
Jungkook doesn’t want to see.
Next to him is Seokjin; slumped in defeat and clutching a nearly empty coffee cup. He’s looking up at Jungkook, studying him before clearing his throat. “They couldn’t finish the surgery. He’s lost too much blood. His heart is very weak. He’s in extremely critical condition. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.”
Seokjin sounds like he’s reciting the exact words the doctors told him. Jungkook slowly turns his head to look at him. “He lives,” he says evenly.
Seokjin deflates some more, “Kook-ah,” he breathes, shaking his head.
Jungkook ignores him and turns his head back to the window. Yoongi has dissolved into tears, shoulders shaking and breath visibly hitching.
He’s saying goodbye.
An involuntary whimper leaves Jungkook’s throat. He didn’t think they came here to say goodbye. Is that what they’re supposed to do? He doesn’t want to.
Seokjin’s arms wrap around him. Jungkook has half a mind to throw them off and jump out of his skin. He doesn’t want comfort. He doesn’t want grief. He doesn’t want to say goodbye.
He wants…
What does he want?
He wants Taehyung; here, right now, next to him. Jungkook want him to say he’s being silly. And let’s go home. I’m tired, aren’t you tired? And God, Jungkook is tired. Yet any time he closes his eyes, he sees blood blood blood.
He wants Seokjin to make a stupid joke and stop looking like a ghost with a coffee cup. He wants Namjoon to come out of the hallway with a grin on his face and a fist pumping the air. Fighting! The concert is done, we did amazing! He wants Jimin and Hoseok, bundled up together in the corner of the waiting room, to start a silly little game between the two of them that only they can understand, but that will cause them to explode into laughter at the craziest of times. He wants Yoongi to come out of the ICU with a shrug and tell them there’s nothing to see. He wants Taehyung to tell him that in this painting, only the puppy matters; nothing else. Nothing else at all.
He wants… he wants…
He wants to kill Jung Seongmin.
And, from the looks of it as he crosses eyes with Jimin across the room; he’s not the only one.