What a strange thing, time. All it takes is one small detail out of place, an unexpected anomaly, and it stretches until it loses all sense of boundaries. Taehyung feels as though he’s trapped inside a bubble where nothing happens. His hospital room seems emptier, narrower, quieter. Thoughts crowd his mind—at first, just faint whispers easy to ignore, but as the hours pass, they grow louder, insistent, desperate for answers, almost anxious.

Why is Jungkook ignoring him?

No matter how you look at it, it doesn’t make sense. Jungkook should be worried about him, grateful that Taehyung is alive, that he’s okay, that he woke up. He should be rushing to the hospital to hug him so tightly it pulls at the stitches in Taehyung’s wound, prompting a dramatic line like, “Take it easy, or the wound will reopen!”

They should stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like eternity. Jungkook should stroke his face, his eyes welling up with tears as he thanks God that Taehyung made it. He should kiss him. He should have an epiphany: Taehyung is the one. They’re meant to be together, against the world.

That’s exactly what Taehyung expected after surviving a knife to the abdomen. That’s what he would have demanded from fate as compensation for the awful surprise it threw at him. Instead, this silence hurts even more than the blade that tore into his gut.

There isn’t much to do in the hospital, but now, with his head so heavy and his heart so hollow, Taehyung feels as if each minute stretches into an hour, and every tick of the clock’s hand is a flame burning under his skin. He hates it. He hates everything. He just wants to leave this place and go home. Maybe have a cry or two without a nurse barging in, asking invasive questions about the reasons why.

He picks up his phone, the screen lighting up.
No new messages.
Last online: eight minutes ago.

Taehyung tosses the phone onto the mattress, closes his eyes, and tilts his head back with a heavy sigh. The white curtains sway in the light breeze coming through the cracked window. The flowers his mother brought are starting to wilt, but they still give off a faint, sweet scent. From the hallway comes the slow sound of footsteps. In hospitals, doors must stay open when there are no visitors, so Taehyung only has to turn his head slightly to look outside. A girl using a walker hobbles past, her left leg barely supporting her, and her expression reveals the pain of each step. But she doesn’t look defeated. She looks angry, fierce. It’s as if her rage fuels her. Taehyung watches her silently until she disappears from view. He wishes he had that kind of grit. Instead, here he is, wallowing in bed like an idiot because one guy won’t text him back.

He closes his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply. He fills his lungs completely and then lets the air out.
Screw Jungkook. He doesn’t need him.

Maybe.

He picks up his phone again and searches for Jimin’s number. There are several messages from him—well-wishes like, “Thinking of you” or “You’ll be fine soon, and we can finally check out that new bar everyone’s talking about.” Jimin is precious, too precious to be friends with someone as awful as Jungkook. Maybe there’s a bit of resentment in that thought, but Taehyung thinks it’s entirely justified.

“Hey, Jimin. I woke up yesterday. I’m okay. It’s not too serious, but they want to keep me under observation for a couple more days. Thanks for your messages—you’ve been so sweet.”

His fingers pause on the screen. He wants to ask about Jungkook. He wants to know where he is, how he’s doing, if Jimin has any idea why he isn’t responding. But deep down, he knows that one question would make it obvious to Jimin that he’s writing only because of that—and that he’s no less awful than Jungkook.

But it’s not true.

He’s not writing Jimin just because of that. He cares about Jimin.

The problem is, he’s so upset by Jungkook ghosting him that even reaching out to people he genuinely cares about comes second to figuring out why Jungkook is acting this way.
This is Jungkook’s fault, right?

He sends the message without adding anything more.

Jimin comes online. A moment later, he’s typing.

Taehyung exhales sharply. This is exactly what he wanted to happen with Jungkook. Just this. A response. Even a simple, “Okay” or “Talk later” or “Good for you, goodbye.” Anything would’ve been better than this silence. The more he thinks about it, the more the ache in his chest intensifies—a pain that has nothing to do with the wound splitting his skin.

“TAE????!!!! OH MY GOD. OH MY GODDDD. WAIT FOR ME.”

Taehyung blinks a few times at the message. Jimin’s energy is something he’ll never fully get used to, though he adores it. That wait for me tells him his friend is about to visit… and for once, his expectations are met. Less than an hour later, Jimin bursts through the door to his room. He’s carrying a bag filled with what Taehyung assumes are snacks and treats. Jimin sets the bag on the floor and flings himself toward the bed to hug Taehyung but stops short, remembering the injury.
“Oops,” he says, keeping his distance, before grabbing Taehyung’s hand and squeezing it tightly in his. His eyes glisten. Taehyung feels a little emotional in return. If he were an alpha, he’d fall in love with Jimin right then and there. This is all he’d ever want—an alpha who loves him like this, who cares this much about him.

“You have no idea how worried I was. When Jungkook told me what happened, my whole world collapsed. I froze like ice and started shaking. I can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt. Oh my God, Tae—”

Jimin cups Taehyung’s cheeks, pressing them slightly as if trying to make sure he’s real and not some figment of his imagination—or worse, a ghost. But Taehyung has only one takeaway from that statement:
When Jungkook told me…

Taehyung clears his throat.
“He told you…?”

“Of course,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “Who else? God, that night was awful. I really thought I’d never see you again, but thank God you’re okay. You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a faint smile. “It was a close call.”

“That crazy bastard Miguk—”

“The police said they haven’t caught him yet.”

“But they will,” Jimin almost growls, his anger palpable. “That idiot isn’t exactly smart. He’ll slip up eventually, and that’ll be his end.”

Jimin strokes the back of Taehyung’s hand as Taehyung lowers his gaze. He bites his lower lip slowly, feeling its dryness against his teeth. “What happened that night…? I don’t mean with Miguk… I mean after.”

Jimin looks surprised by the question. He hesitates for a moment, then sighs.
“Jungkook found you. When you didn’t show up, he went looking and found you in the elevator, lying in a pool of blood. I don’t know what happened after that. I think he called for help first, then called me. He was crying. I’d never heard him cry before. He couldn’t even speak properly. It was terrible. I got him to tell me where he was, and I rushed over. The ambulance was loading you onto a stretcher when I arrived. Jungkook was covered in blood—his shirt was soaked red. I think he held you, trying to stop the bleeding with his hands. He was in shock. They wouldn’t let us ride in the ambulance because we’re not family, so I drove to the hospital. Jungkook kept muttering that it was his fault—he said it two or three times on the way. Then he just went silent. We stayed in the waiting room all night until a doctor told us you were out of danger.”

Hearing the story sends a chill through Taehyung. His hands tremble, and he feels cold. He closes his eyes, and suddenly the urge to cry is like a river bursting its dam inside him. Jimin would never lie about something like this… so why isn’t Jungkook responding? For the first time, Taehyung wonders if Jungkook is okay.

And sitting before him is the one person who might have the answer.

“…How is he now?”

Jimin gives a half-smile. “Jungkook has his own way of dealing with things. It’s hard to say. I’d tell you he’s fine, but who really knows?”

“I texted him. He didn’t reply.”

Jimin looks surprised. Then he sighs again. “I’ll try to figure out what’s going on in his head, okay?”