Taehyung hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Jimin’s words for even a moment. The idea that Jungkook was the one who found him, who helped him, who cried for him… It feels impossible, like it’s someone else’s dream, something he’s been told but can barely grasp the details of. A vague fantasy forming in his mind, with blurry edges and hazy shapes. It’s hard to place that realization in the present, especially since Jungkook hasn’t responded to his message. That silence feels like an unbreachable wall. But how can there be a wall between two people when one has saved the other’s life? It seems entirely irreconcilable.

Staring at a puzzle with crucial pieces missing, Taehyung feels adrift. He weighs his phone in his hands as a new day casts light across his room. Maybe Jungkook opened his message by mistake and didn’t really read it. It’s possible. Maybe he never intended to ignore him; maybe this wall exists only in Taehyung’s own paranoid imagination.

He likes to tell himself that’s the truth, that it’s all in his head.

That Jimin didn’t keep his promise to ask Jungkook why he hadn’t reached out.

That Jimin didn’t once mention visiting the guy Jungkook had pulled from the elevator floor before he drowned in his own blood.

No, that’s impossible.

Taehyung licks the corner of his mouth as he mulls it over.

The truth is, he could think about it endlessly—agonize over it for days or hours—and whatever conclusion he reaches will always be just speculation. He needs facts, solid and undeniable, to confront.

But more than anything, he needs to talk to Jungkook.

He picks up his phone and unlocks the screen. Opening Jungkook’s chat again, he sees the last time he was online was the night before. It’s not surprising; it’s only 6:30 in the morning. Hospitals wake you early for blood tests, and life is so slow and dull here that it’s hard to even fall asleep. After all, there’s little left to dream about.

His fingers move swiftly across the screen.

“Hey, it’s me again. I guess you don’t want to talk to me. Or maybe that’s not it, and I just come off as desperate. It doesn’t matter. I talked to Jimin yesterday—he came to see me, and we spent a few hours together. He told me it was you who found me. I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy for you. I never wanted you to go through something like that.

I spent all of yesterday agonizing over your silence, and I feel so stupid because, as I write this…”

Taehyung sighs. His fingers continue typing.

“…I think I’ve realized why you don’t want to hear from me. What you saw changes people, doesn’t it? Maybe you just want to forget, and here I am, bothering you, crossing boundaries you’ve silently set. I’m sorry. I won’t message you again after this. I just wanted to thank you for what you did. I guess you didn’t have much of a choice, huh? But it’s thanks to you that I’m still alive. And I don’t just mean the elevator incident. You’ve taken care of me all this time, even though you didn’t owe me anything. And here I am, having the audacity to feel hurt because you won’t respond.

The truth is, I owe you so much more than I could ever repay. And I’ve written too much. I’m sorry for that, too. But this room is quiet and empty, and words are all I have left. I’ll stop now. Thank you. Truly.”

Taehyung sends the message before he can second-guess himself—and he knows the doubts will come, and quickly. The message feels pathetic in so many ways it might as well be a plea. He’s ashamed of it, but only slightly. He needed to get those thoughts out, to turn them into words, to let Jungkook know.

His heart beats a little faster, and he closes his eyes halfway. He’s been denying it for weeks now. But does denying it make it any less real? What he feels for Jungkook stopped being simple attraction a long time ago, and Taehyung has lost control—no, he never had control—over his emotions.

Is he in love?

But how can you fall in love with someone you barely know?

Taehyung tilts his head back and shuts his eyes tightly.

Jungkook would never hurt him; he’s certain of that. But he’s still an alpha, and alphas are unreliable by nature. There are rare exceptions, but they’re so rare that hoping for one is like chasing an utopia. Their world is strange, driven by hormones and sex. It’s a promiscuous world with little room for feelings, and the few exceptions—the rare ones who truly fall in love and build relationships, families—are as scarce as white flies. Falling for an alpha, knowing all this, would be a grave mistake. It would be like throwing your heart into the thorns.

Taehyung places a hand on his chest. His fingertips press against the thin fabric of his shirt. Beneath it, he can feel the warmth of his skin, and with a little more focus, the steady beat of his heart. He’s still alive. That should be his only concern. The only thing that matters. So why does he keep thinking about Jungkook?

He drags himself to the bathroom. It’s small but has everything he needs. He has to be careful not to get his wound wet when he showers, but he’s mastered the technique by now. He rinses those thoughts off under a stream of lukewarm water, but no matter how much he washes or scrubs, his skin retains that pungent smell of hospital—sanitized, sterile.

He dries his hair with a towel, then changes into clean pajamas. When he returns to his room, he’s surprised to find the doctor waiting for him.

“Good morning,” the doctor says. He’s a serious man, but not unkind. He seems like the type who’s always thinking about ten things at once—and he probably is. The morning rounds can’t be easy in a large, busy hospital like this one in Seoul. “We’ve got the results of your latest tests. You’re doing well, and the doctor who dressed your wound last night said it’s healing remarkably fast.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung replies, without much enthusiasm.

“It is. It really is. In fact, I have something for you.”

The doctor hands Taehyung a piece of paper. Taehyung takes it and reads the first few lines: it’s a discharge letter. As soon as he signs it, he can leave. He can go home.

“Really?”

“Really,” the doctor confirms. “You must be tired of being here, right? You can continue the antibiotics at home, and as for the wound, just disinfect it for a week. Then come back, and we’ll remove the stitches.”

Taehyung signs the paper. The doctor is still speaking, but his mind has already wandered elsewhere. His parents have prepared his old room for him, but no one expected him to be discharged so soon, and both of them are out of town visiting his sick grandmother. They’ll be back by evening, as far as he knows. Which means he has no ride. And he has no idea where his wallet is—it’s likely with his mother. Without money, he can’t exactly pay for a taxi.

He hates doing it.

He hates disturbing him again.

But what other choice does he have?

“Jiminie. I’m really sorry to take advantage of your kindness AGAIN, but… I just got discharged, and my parents aren’t in Seoul. I don’t have any money. Could you give me a ride?”

Jimin doesn’t take long to reply.

“I’m at work, but I can take a break for an hour. Don’t worry, Cinderella, your pumpkin will be there in half an hour!”

Jimin is an angel. When Taehyung thinks about the ridiculous way they met and the impression he first had of him… he realizes how full of prejudice his mind was from the start. Then again, were they really prejudices, or just jealousy? To him, Jimin was just another omega orbiting around Jungkook. How could he be okay with that?

Taehyung gathers his things and packs them into a gym bag his mother brought a few days ago. It’s just a couple of pajamas, slippers, his phone charger, and a set of clean clothes his mother had prepared for his discharge.

A warm mustard-yellow shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Taehyung slings the bag over his shoulder, careful not to let the strap rub against his wound. Then, noticing the half hour has passed, he leaves his hospital room. He walks down the corridor where patients stretch their legs, reaches the elevator, and feels his heart race in his chest. The doors slide open in front of him, a few people step out, leaving the elevator empty—and his legs are simply frozen.

What’s wrong with him?

His body won’t move.

His knees won’t cooperate; they stay locked, rigid, as coldness trickles down his thighs.

Without a second thought, he pushes through the metal door leading to a long staircase. He descends ten flights before arriving in the lobby.

It’s hard to accept, this new fear. The panic that seized him at the mere thought of stepping into the elevator—it’s irrational. Nothing would’ve happened. Miguk wouldn’t have appeared out of nowhere to—

He stops in his tracks.

Beyond the glass doors, he sees a car he knows all too well.

He approaches. The doors slide open, and Taehyung steps outside.

Through the lowered window, he sees a profile he’d recognize anywhere.

Jimin hasn’t shown up to pick him up. He’s been stood up.

But instead, Jungkook is there.